Quiet Dreams

I love it when he tells me of his dream,
And pulls me to his lap, so he can spank
Me gently, for the smacking tends to mean
That he adores these reveries: I thank
Him for each slap, applied to my behind:
I feel their resonance, as he ensures
The rosiness that means I'll be assigned
A kneeling pose; his need surely endures
Beyond mild punishment; my lips mould true,
So they're aligned, as flicking tongue inspects
His hardened pleasure; let delights accrue,
His hand in my hair, tugs, pulls and directs,
And brings him closer, as his treasure wells
To fill my mouth (as my quiet dream foretells).