Nice Form

Nice Form

This wooden desk is innocent;
And yet you seem to complement
It with your guilt: the wicked ways
Upon which you seem so intent.

I look at you and watch your gaze
And lift your skirts; I slowly raise
The fabric up around your waist;
You'll hold still to earn my praise.

I know your rear needs a good taste
I'll let you hear the air displaced:
A whistling cane; a wooden desk;
A backside where marks can be traced.

Tears may form; I know it's best
To spank you when you are undressed;
So panties down around your knees
I have a claim and I am pressed.

I will not hear your stifled pleas,
You should not play the wicked tease,
And, if punishment makes you sing,
Then, why should I put you at ease?

You may well flinch to feel the sting,
For it hurts more than anything,
You have experienced before;
And that's why it is chastening.

When you have counted home a score,
I think there is no need for more,
My wicked ways assuage your guilt,
A bruising you cannot ignore.

No, do not rise, the desk won't tilt
When I fill you up to the hilt;
And fuck you hard; I will perform,
Until you've clenched and I have spilt.

I've marked your flanks; they feel warm,
Turn back to me: don't look forlorn,
This wooden desk is innocent,
Blessed as it is by your nice form.