The Mistress’s Hand

The sting of her palm against my skin,
The crack of leather against my back.
Her words, a whip in themselves,
Lash me into submission.

The Mistress’s hand is firm and cruel,
But I would not have it any other way.
She knows what I need, what I crave,
And she will give it to me without fail.

In her presence, I am small and helpless,
A mere plaything for her amusement.
She takes pleasure in my pain,
And I take pleasure in giving it to her.

I bend over her knee, baring myself
For her punishment and her pleasure.
I am at once humbled and empowered
By the Mistress’s hand upon me.

With each strike, I feel my body submit,
My mind clear of all else but her.
And when she is finished with me,
I am left raw and whole, renewed.

For the Mistress’s hand is not just a tool,
But an extension of herself.
It guides me, shapes me, teaches me
To be the submissive she desires.

And so I willingly offer myself
To the mercy of the Mistress’s hand.
For in its touch, I find my release
And the fulfillment of my deepest desires.