Sitting On The Step

You're sitting on the step, my body's clasped
Over your lap; I look down at the grass  
And wonder, vaguely, if the hedge will mask  
My febrile cries; or will my noise be classed  
As some excited chaffinch before dusk,  
As fulsome as it has the right to be  
In welcoming the spring; as you adjust  
Your stance; and, then, my panties; you can see  
Exactly what to tug for my skirt's raised;  
I contemplate my fate and squeeze; you slap  
Your hand against bare bottom cheeks; unfazed,  
You sense me sparkling at each firm, harsh smack;  
Desiring discipline: I'm never wet  
Nor quenchable, until you take this step.