Her Crop

[Janks]

A riding mistress.
In her tight jodhpurs,
Is a picture of finesse,
As she flexes the crop of hers.

Tapping her boots, with her crop,
Makes a horrible sound.
As I know my pants will soon drop,
And I’ll be facing the ground.

She orders me over a bale of hay.
I start to feel tense,
And dare not disobey.
Soon the cropping will commence.

She swishes her crop through the air.
The sound makes me jump.
As her crop lands on my bottom so bare,
A stinging red line appears across my rump.

Again and again her crop does fall,
Bringing each time a red line of fire.
I no longer feel tense at all,
For the sting of her crop, is what I so desire.

Janks

[verybrightgreen]

Nice poem, thanks.
vbg

[roddy9uk]

I couldn't possibly imagine who you were thinking of when you wrote that Janks?

[Janks]

Originally Posted by roddy9uk

I couldn't possibly imagine who you were thinking of when you wrote that Janks?

Now who could it be,
That my poem is about ?
It is an equestrian lady,
Of that there is no doubt.

At her stable.
When using her crop,
She is most able,
To make me jump and hop.

When I’m in her tack room,
Bent over a saddle trestle.
Her crop does zoom,
Bringing a sting I can tell.

Across my poor posterior,
The red lines of fire,
Do appear.
That is what I desire.

Janks

[cheekyone]

It very good Janks keep up the good work hugggggggggggggssssss