The Climax

The context seems important when he spanks
My bottom as a prelude to his fun;
Or, as a real warning, when he ranks
My misdemeanours softly; he's begun
To tell me off for every sort of thing,
Including those right outside his domain:
First work and, now, my boyfriend, he will bring
These matters to a head as, once again,
He tells me, gently, I must fetch his belt
And place myself over the sofa arm;
Or right across his desk; I sense the felt
Against my breasts and belly, as I calm
The butterflies that flutter on, regardless
Of my attempts to stop the quivering;
Then he undoes my jeans (with a caress
To my mons in passing); yes it will sting
My derriere much more than when the tawse,
He uses normally, is so employed;
The panties follow quickly (well, of course,
A backside that is naked is enjoyed
Far more than one that's covered; and I know
That he wants his delight now, just as much
As if I were there kneeling keen to blow
His hardened cock (that I would never touch
Unless he gave permission and allowed
My mouth to open up to take cock in);
Or fingers that will maul tongue. once he's ploughed
My cunt; I wonder when he will begin
To whip me with that belt and will it mark
My backside and my flanks more than his hand,
That he applies, so often, when I'm stark
And staring naked on his lap - he's planned,
At least, he always tell me, to ensure
My boyfriend will be present, when he next
Takes pleasure in the discipline to cure
All my reluctance; he kindly inspects
The target very thoroughly before
He asks me if I'm ready and prepared
To push my backside back, as if the core
Of his manhood were pressing in the bared
And spreading hole he sometimes likes to use,
(When I'm having my period and he needs
The tightness of my rear hole to abuse
With his fat, ugly cock that he presents,
With little conscience for the fact the man
That I'm betrothed to stays in ignorance
Of all the things sir does to me; he can
Take such control with mere words, so I won't
Object to any request that he makes;
I'm young and I mend quickly, so I don't
Sob on too long or bemoan any aches
Or pains that he inflicts on me when vexed;
Or when he's simply lustful and, I think,
He uses whispered thoughts as the context
To take me to the edge - beyond the brink
Of any moderation to excess,
When boyfriends are shut out and he instructs
Me to behave and to swallow the mess
He sprays against my coccyx, once he's fucked
And spanked me hard and gathered up his juice
Upon two fingers, offered to my lips,
And let's me thank him for this further use
Before he feeds me fluids from the tips
Of digits and, then, cock to represent
The climax of an hour of punishment.