For she

The sound of leather
Scrunching as she
Brings her
Knee up stretching
The thin cow skin
Along her thigh
And back across her
Ass to the last,
The final stretch
From rear to front
Sharply along her inseam

Me a prisoner,
Her lap for placing
Whatever, her lips,
Her palms slapping down,
The side of her tired
Pretty face, all snarl
With taut,
Taunting distain.
Begging for embrace,
Laughing at my strain.

The trainer or trainee,
She insists I learn her want,
My turn will turn its back
While she waits closeted,
Bound to a pole with buffed
Chrome cuffs, muffled,
Stuffed and with orders
Never to release her
Prize to keep, to hold
Till her thigh muscles fail
Letting it thud wetly to the floor.