Ups and Downs

He pulls me up - one hand is in my hair;
The other clasps my throat and makes me gasp;
He turns me, pushes down and will declare
That I'm his slut; my plaid skirt will not mask
My backside, as my hands reach out and spread
To rest upon the mattress, as he flips
My skirt and plants a hand print, that's still red
Long after his palm's landed; and he slips
His hand down to his flies - I hear the zip
Come down; although I'm sighted on the wall,
He knows I sense his lust; I feel the tip
Of his cock, as he starts to fuck and all
That forceful prelude slides into the past:
He presses in, and we are one at last.