He Craves the Sting of Her Rod
He waits in hush as she draws near,
Heart racing wild beneath his fear.
Her wooden rod gleams in her hand,
A promise writ by her command.
Each strike awakens something raw,
A trembling need he can’t ignore.
The echo burns along his skin,
A lesson carved from deep within.
He leans into each burning kiss,
Finding solace in her strict bliss.
The sharper pain reveals his pride,
In every blow he feels alive.
When all is done and silence falls,
He thanks her voice that softly calls.
For in her rod’s relentless song,
He’s found the place where he belongs.
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Thank you so much, I certainly will.
Hi, eleven. Thank you — I’m going to try!
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