Wicked Butterfly


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The surface of his ass

looked like a ripe mango.

He flinched when he saw me raise my crop.

The hairs on his backside looked as prickly as a thistle.

They were tempting me to deliver another “thwack”.

I’m sure, one time, he thought that this would be a passing fad.

I’d grow bored with this and put my toys away.

Like his ass-cheeks, his balance sheet is always in the red.

I’ll keep going until I feel his debt’s been paid.

I dropped a cube of ice into a glass and fingered it, lustily.

He longed for the ice to stop the pain that he endured.

I kept him standing there while I took my leave.

Like a wicked butterfly.

Diva’s Loving Leadership (c) 2016

 

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