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