The Sweet Spot

Upon the wooden stool you are perched still    
slightly forward with lithe legs open so wide    
Your arms flexed behind your head fingers laced    
tight eyes looking down awaiting your fate    
   
In my hand I hold my wide brush at the ready    
but this artist will do much more than paint    
While this masterpiece will be most colorful    
it will pale next to the symphony of senations    
   
Pulling the leather ottoman closer I sit down    
situated perfectly between your silky thighs    
Taking a long deliberate pause I drink you in    
as I play devilishly with the brush's bristles    
   
Leaning forward I hear you breath in deeply    
your body tenses anticipating my next move    
So I begin brushing your furry triangle gently    
throwing you off balance with my tenderness    
   
Then without warning I deliver the first blow    
you hear the loud thunderclap before its sting    
I study your left thigh with childlike wonder    
as your long exhalation is slow and ragged    
   
Sharply I resume ... one ... two ... three    
precise swats exact red welts near the first    
While your eyes water and tears cascade down    
I know for certain that you are my soulmate