thinking [i like it] thursday

I live to be over Your knee.

Restrained within Your limbs.

Naked, vulnerable,  bottom in the air.

Your hand warms my flesh.

Kind caresses, gentle tickles.

Sweet, but we both know why I’m here. 

Your big hand lifts up, higher.

I wait for the impact, needy, impatient.

When I’ve given up, Your hand crashes down. 

I jump, I cry out, I wiggle on your lap.

You are steadfast and strong.

The onslaught begins.

Rarely a pattern, I think You’re afraid I’ll get lost. 

But tonight, I might get lost anyway. 

Left cheek, right cheek, center.

Center, left cheek, left cheek.

It’s so startling, but soon enough I calm.

I sink into it, tears threatening to fall.

Far too quickly, it’s over.

I want to be Your good girl, but I want more.

I think I need it.

Before I misbehave, You speak.

Bend over the bed.

I comply eagerl, listening to your retreating footsteps.

You return before I finish that thought.

Smackthud! The floggers hits hard.

Between my shoulder blades, causing me to flinch. 

Down my back, across my ass, the backs of my thighs.

And back up again. A beautiful, painful pattern this time.

Tears flow freely from my soul.

I’m not crying due to pain, but because of love.

Long ago, I explained this to You.

I never want you to worry – or to stop.

You tire of the flogger and pick up something else. 

Cracksting! The whip.

I was floating a little, but I’m back on the ground now.

This bites. In such a good way. 

I love the marks, the blood just at the surface. 

My back, my ass, my legs are on fire. 

I think I can’t take anymore, but I’m so glad I do.

Shortly, the whip joins the discarded flogger.

You pick up something else.

Thudboombloom! Ah! The metal loop.

The contrast between this and the whip is divine.

I don’t want it to stop, ever.

I want to float away, but You want me here.

I struggle to stay planted. I become still.

I am quiet. Living a full life within each strike.

It’s never long enough and tonight is no exception. 

You stop the torrent of blows.

But before I can protest,  politely of course…

You slam all the way into me.

We are one and I would do anything for You. 

You are my air, my water, my life.

A pump or two and I am gone.

Yours, and nothing else.
~shygirl

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His Impact

Beginning
Harsh, jolting
Protesting, begging
Strong arm holding
Push, struggling

Middle
Rhythmic, settling
Crying, cleansing
Deep words praising
Lifting, coming

End
Intense, testing
Melting, enduring
Hard lashes breaking
Floating, exchanging

After
Sliding, sinking
Worshipping, thanking
Two souls colliding
Completing, loving

*******
This was another prompt from Sir, for His private viewing. However, the things I’m trying to write lately aren’t very well-rounded (or coherent!), so I requested permission to post this.

Impact has become one of my favorite things and the harder, the more it hurts, the better. Sometimes that frightens me a little. Deep down, I know it isn’t “wrong”, but at times I feel like I am, and that can manifest as a struggle – against the blows, against Sir… especially when the impact alone brings me to climax. This poem reflects the stages.

Happy Tuesday!
~shygirl