tagErotic PoetryFantasm Caning

Fantasm Caning

byWillow Rain©

Outside the playroom
Trin and I find each other.
She is pretty and pale in a new corset.
My husband cannot stop looking at her breasts
and grows flustered.
He teases her about this.
It is something in the color of her flesh,
the porcelain quality.
She is as soft as she looks.
That flawless skin
invites worshipful kisses.

As lovely as she is
she shows no sign
of how truly beautiful she will be
when she is face down
on the swinging leather table
in just her corset,
so tiny,
delicate feet bare
pink soles exposed.
Legs like poured cream,
a bottom small and refined,
offered up
for stinging bite,
heating flick,
and sinking thud.

She is first
and very willing.
I am curled toes,
And twined fingers as I watch.

We found the teacher
and his bag of magic sticks.
A swinging table is open for use
and we claim it.
Trin’s jeans, panties and shoes lay crumpled on the floor
and the table sways silently with her upon it.

He falls prey to Trin’s lovely skin
and her tiny delicate feet.
He lifts one to press the arch to his face.
His pleasure is visible
shimmering on the surface.
It opens in the space
and time slows.
I do not know how long we are there.
The sounds of her breath,
her cries,
the sing of the cane,
the tap,
the crack.
hold me entranced.
I hardly breath.
I jump for Trin,
when the cane strikes down hard.

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byWillow Rain© 2 comments/ 4002 views/ 0 favorites

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