'Spankings' poems - Hello Poetry

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Lucius Furius Jul 2017

Spankings

I
I've never hit my children.
My own father spanked me perhaps ten times:
for riding my bike on a busy street,
for "acting up" in church.
I have no nostalgia for these beatings
(as in: "Sure glad Pa whupped some sense inta me as a young'n—
   don't know where I'd be if he hadn't.")

He would make me pull down my pants and underpants
enough to expose my buttocks,
position me between his legs so he could hold my own legs still,
bend me over his left leg with his left arm,
and hit me with his bare right hand.
What I remember as much as the pain
is his angry expression: Was he angry at me?
Or at something else?
I believe it was mostly an unpleasant duty;
usually done because my mother had asked him.
They were afraid we'd become juvenile delinquents.

I suppose his own father had spanked him--
and that he, in turn, had been spanked by his father--
a family tradition. . . .

There've been times with my own children--
God knows they're far from perfect--
where I've almost given in to anger.
Somehow I've always caught myself,
always remembered that unseemliness. . . .

            II
Our house is kind of ugly from the front, a split-level
with the whole left side facing the street being a solid brick wall.
Our picture window faces the grass and trees of the back yard.
Each morning, no matter how much of a hurry I'm in,
I open the curtains to this window--
that my children might see not just the man-made objects of our living room
but some hint of the grace and beauty of the whole, great, natural world.

Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_036_spankings.MP3 .

#spanking #parenting #nature

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John Patrick Robbins Aka Gonzo Feb 2012

The Poets Studio Hosted By Gonzo/Cheer's Raitch.

The lights are hit but in a naughty way like ***** little hampsters like.
Befor the audience sits the greatest okay most perverted mind Hello has ever known
yet much like a bad habbit can't ever seem to get rid of.
The man ,The Mith ,The guy who mispells everything and think's that silent movies
that win oscars shows that the oscars are more high than Whitney Huston was on a five week crack binge !

The Icon of Hello Gonzo.

I view the room looking at the young minds and for naughty hampsters with short skirts who
are allergic to underwear.
You have to admire young minds that dress like total ***** well ya do if your a perverted *****
hampster like me.

After taking a sip of a smooth 100 proof and finally starting to  breathing again.

   Raitch

What can be said about this legend of Hello.
Poet ,Writer,Thespain although ive herd she's into guy's.
Yes indeed she is a fire from down below that can not be put out by any simple vist to
a free clinic.

With works that have captured the hearts of the young,The old,And  the  recently incarcerated.
This poet is a more than a icon but a wheel that runith over my ankle in a schoolyard and has
parked it's self apon are hearts or other places closer to are hearts for those of you into pain.

Please Poet's Studio welcome Raitch!

The crowd exploded in the verbal sense that is at the site of are beloved brit.
Hey Gonz how are you?
And btw why the ******* did you get this gig?

Cause I thought of it first cause I sit around all day drinking watching **** and playing video games
yeah i know i totally kick **** !
Im kidding I never play video games  but enough with the forplay children.

Raitch

In the modern classic Belive you wrote.
It's warm there like a child.

I must say it strikes me like a ****** ****** in a subway after ive grabbed her fake ****.
Your response?

Raitch looked at me in that strange way often people do like I wonder should I brake out the pepper spray or just run for my life.

Finally in ahh of the greatness of my statement she responded.

Umm well that's nice Gonz hey are you high on something new or just maybe
had to many?

Dear Raitch im high on the poetic genius for which you have displayed.
Why do you have any pills?
Umm no she replied in that yummi little accent the brits have hey why ya think i im
such a big fan of Rich hey even if he ses he's gonna stap ya in a back alley still he ses it with such grace
oh spank my **** and call me Jackie Chan.

Raitch when in doing your craft do you find it best done in warm enviroments ?
Gonz if you dont stop this pervert ***** im gonna stab you.
Yes she's a charmer.

Knowing I was on the verge of being knifed or the edge of glory dam you Lady Ga Ga!
I being a true reporter pressed on like a underage schoolgirl with a really ****** fake ID.

Raitch in these warm like desrt conditions do you find it best to write in next nothing at all?
And if so do have any pictures ?
Gonz your a pervert .

Pervert ? me?
I swear you strike at the heart and also kick in the ***** at the same time you poetic Godess of the
east.
Gonz Im from the U.K.

Duh I know Rach its not like im dumb and dont know where the land of dungeons and dragons
is yeah i went to school once .

Raitch i most know were does this tortred genius come from ?

Suprized i asked a real question she paused.

Well Gonz .

Next question  was it from the lack of spankings as a child ?
or do you find it helpful to find stranger's to help recall these memories like myself?
Gonz you are so ****** up on so many levels ?

Thank you Raitch.

Students of poetry what you must see here is through the pain there is a true art that will
always shine through a talent that speaks directly to the reader.
Raitch has been a friend and as a true friend doesnt let us slip  when others just kiss are ***
and tell us were doing great.

She's the one who's never left and still I know no matter how bizzar i get is always there as a
true friend.
In her work we view her pain and the many stages of her life.
And as any great poet she is a book that always desserves to be read.

Hello will always remain a bit brighter for her pressense.
So this is why I honor her.

Well that and hey this is a late Birthday pressent.

The audience clapped in joy and honestly whats better than a happy dose of the clap?
Raitch looked to the twisted hampster of Hello  no not Eliot.
Gonz thanks for this .

Rach your very welcome but one thing I have to ask?
Sure Gonz Shoot.
Thoose pics we mentioned i mean come on we are in the spirt of giving i mean.

I was met with a surge of pain worse than when I first herd Justin Bieber.
The audience must have not seen my cruel and unjust assault for they applauded even louder.

Raitch much like that kung fu master Elvis had left the  building.
taking with her a little bit of my heart fly little bird fly back to your garden and try not stab anyone
or crap on any tourist im kidding who doesnt think thats funny.

Yes Ive learned many things from Raitch one of the most important lessons is to wear a cup.
That and if you **** her off she'll make you cry like a school girl at a Twilight flim.

Stay crazy kids

Dedicated to a true friend hopefully this gives ya bit of a laugh .
Happy Birthday sorry its late but hey I was on the road.
Cheers Rach your buddy forever Gonz

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Jon Tobias Apr 2012

When Kyle was a Little Warrior (FLP)

Paint splashes of dirt on the bathroom floor

Kyle coats the room with war paint

He shakes dirt from his ****
and it splatters walls with childhood

This is when being ***** was a good thing
When showers were a chore

He is still muddy when he steps from the tub
Pigeon chest protruding like a plate of armor

She is not mad at Kyle
His smile is a saving grace

She is practiced in spit baths
And spankings that didn’t hurt
Only scared him

Kyle is a little warrior
With long skinny arms
And long skinny legs
And a smile like a lighthouse

She ruins a white towel
Is rough when she rubs the dirt away
Pays much attention to his ears

Kyle knows this is pointless
She knows this is pointless

It’s what boys do
They get *****

And mothers
Can only do so much
Acknowledge that they are helpless to the process
Of becoming a man

Kyle will always find ways to get *****

She won’t always clean up his messes

But parts of her
Will always want to

First line donated by Andrea Hugg Pabalan.

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William Alexander Jun 2012

daddy issues

i searched for you
in the countless bodies
of over 30 year olds
before i reached 18,
in the multiplying bruises
from the spankings on my ***
that you and they
adorned me with,
calling any man
who held me
after entering me
daddy.

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Terry Collett Dec 2013

Ingrid knows
the absence
of real love,

she 's known it
all 9 years
of her life.

Her mother's
indifference,
her father's

strict and cruel
attention,
the beatings,

the cold stares,
the loud shouts,
the harsh threats,

promises
of spankings.
There is just

the one love:
Benedict
from along

the narrow
balcony
of the flats,

9 years old,
brave of heart,
with his sword

painted blue
(his old man
had made it),

false silver
6 shooter,
cap firing

toy hand gun,
gun holster,
leather belt,

with wide grin,
hazel eyes,
with talk of

cowboy films,
Robin Hood,
Ivanhoe,

and she his
pretty Maid
Marian,

so he says
or cowgirl
borrowing

his rifle,
to shoot down
bad cowboys

or Injuns.
He takes her
to his haunts:

the bomb sites,
the bombed out
old buildings,

the play parks,
cinemas
to watch films

in the dark,
feeling safe
beside him.

He has seen
her bruises,
her medals

of beatings,
the red welts
on her skin;

understands
the reasons,
who did it,

but not why;
giving her
cruel father

the cold eye
or hard sneer
when he sees

her father
in the Square
or passing

on the stair,
*******
two digits

(up you pal)
gesturing
behind her

father's back.
Ingrid knows
the absence

of real love,
she known it

all 9 years
of her life;
except for

Benedict,
her young knight
with blue sword,

and one day,
when they're grown
and left home,

she'll be his
pretty Maid
Marian

love and wife,
so she dreams
in her bed

in the night
of her sad
childhood life.

BOY AND GIRL IN 1950S LONDON.

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Squanto Feb 2014

I practiced my sassing in the bathroom mirror
in all seriousness until a grin and a giggle escaped in spurts.
Watching unfiltered laughter chase after
the string of bad words exiting my ****** mouth.
Lethal darts trailed by curls of silk ribbon.

Insulting my reflection wasn't nearly as satisfying as racing around on my bike
letting filthy words fly into wind that tangled my hair.
As far as I was concerned there were too many things to curse at
outside, where I belonged.
Less spankings, more freedom.

It's fair to say I was an active *******,
never waiting around for reactions.

This was my first time trying on the four letter word sweater.
I certainly didn't know how to wear it. Felt funny,
the way your stomach feels when it drops.
I liked this swearing business.
I liked it a lot.

My days were rich with aimless curses
tasting of cotton candy and I fancied myself quite the sass master.
Telling chattering squirrels that they were "stupid *****"
as they spryly leapt limb to limb. I was filled to the brim with
pleasure found in profanity.
I rode on towards the frosty haired couple driving my way.
I considered ditching the bike to run laps around the snail paced Pinto
while chanting all of my favoritest swears.
But they were "old *****" so I left them to that.

I continued to grace cats, curbs, and cars with cross words,
smiling all the while.
It felt good
Real good.

I told off every ****** thing on my block
several times a day.
My seat melded to heinous purple bike's.
Handle bar tassels whipping my wrists, shaming me.
Beads on my spokes telling me they were sick
with the click and clack of my wheels turning, covering every inch
of that dead end street.

One day I rode swiftly down a retired grassy path behind my little house
towards the majestic tree that had cradled me in its branches many times.
It's massive leaves had raised the hair on my slender arms
as I hung with my crown
upside down, legs halved over steady limbs.

It had met my mother as well.
Her gentle voice coaxing me from its arms for supper,
sitting pretty on our back porch,
petting our fat grey cat and pondering things beyond the tree and I
in the early evening glow.
Upon my approach I can only assume that the tree was pleased to see me
despite my new found nastiness.
Wise enough to know that it wasn't a "dumb *******"
and that it wasn't going to "go to hell"

and neither was I.

So it moved from an ancient position and proceeded
to lace its twiggy paws into my hair,
yanking me and my deep seated smugness
promptly off the old bike.
Contrary to my prior endeavors mastering the casual cuss,
I opened my mouth finding curses replaced with crying
for my mother, who couldn't hear me,
resting 40 miles away through 6 feet of still soft soil.

Rooted in the same dirt, both my mother and the tree.
Silently vowing to love me well. Keeping each other company
in sediment whispers, echoing.

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Terry Collett Apr 2015

O MISS PINKIE SAID 1974.(PROSE POEM)

O Miss Pinkie said – she dropped the Mrs once her divorce came through although being a Catholic it didnt amount to much- if I could have my life over again and had the wisdom I have now and a lot of understanding of the human machine Id have lived differently and not married the **** I did but there you go we must live forward and not backward although at times we wish we could but we cant so there you are and as a child coming from a strict Catholic family church going and the Mass were our Sundays highlight or so it seemed at the time and the priest as often at our house as a neighbour or a member of the close family and would come and sit and drink and eat and say things about others and how so and sos daughter had gone by the wayside and needed taking in hand and my father said any daughter his going by any wayside would get a good tanning of their backside and the priest saying that is a way going from homes now but my father said not here Father not here and it was true as my sister knew as she was many a time feeling his hand on her backside if she step out of line and me too now and then and my mother stood in his shadow and said do as your father says and would shake a finger at us if she thought we were out of step with our fathers wishes and a cousin wanted to join the Little Sisters and encouraged me to go too and talked me into it when I was old enough and with my fathers blessing- blessing being his agreement or his say so- and he said I know what men are like youre better off there with the Sisters than with with some of the specimens around here in Glasgow to wed and bed so I joined the Little Sisters as did the cousin and were set to become brides of Christ but I couldnt settle to it never had the vocation for the life what with all those maidens and their narrow views and the cousin went first and within a month or two was out with a man named Scott and before you could say hows your ***** off for spots she was up the aisle dressed in the white with the thin rod of a man beside her and within a seventh month she dropped a babe- his we assumed- and then just before I was due to take my simple vows I left too much to my fathers annoyance and being put out by it he said nothing to me for months on end turned his back on me if I entered the house- lived after leaving with my cousin her her thin man and the babe in a room in the attic- but he came around and knowing he could no more put me over his knee he used his words to have a go at me if I stepped beyond his likes then I met the man who was to be and was my husband and on the first date- the cinema where else- it was kiss kiss and fiddle fiddle in the back rows with others also so inclined and after a few weeks he had me in his bed-he lived in digs as he called them- and I knew nothing then about *** or anything relating to that side of matters and I was surprised by what he was doing and where and how and I said is this how it is? and he said it was and had always been so and so it was and I got to enjoy it after the first few times and then we had our child a boy and then my husband got a job away a lot and then he started having it with other women or girls while away and I had it fewer and fewer times until one day I found out about them all and I said no more with me and he said good and left and that was it and I brought up our son on my own until he left home to get a job abroad and I was alone and began needing to work myself having no husband to support me and it was there that my met young Baruch-Benedict he called himself but I liked Baruch better- and at first I never thought about him and *** and that because he was nineteen years younger than I was and I was old enough to be his mother but he had that way with him and he said can I come to your place I want to read you some my my writings and so I said yes and he came and I gave him whiskey or wine and I put on music on the record player and he read his work and I watched him read and sensed him near me and the drink softened him up and the music got to him and he said I need you and I said in what way? he said in what way and I went and undressed and came back in a kimono and he said I looked like a Japanese woman he once saw in a book and he drank more and then he undressed and so it began almost every other night after work in the evenings hed come around and we had drinks and he brought some Mahler and we played that and it became our love music and he had me in ways id not been had before and played at spanking me prior to ******* me- as he called it- and it reminded me of my father- the spankings not the *** of course- and it made me tingle and sometimes it was on my double bed often or not if we couldnt make it on the sofa with the Mahler symphony blaring away and the glasses empty and him over me and I eyeing him or closing my eyes imagining him and sometimes he was underneath me and it was him and me and Mahler and his hand on my behind and him in me and hed say come on come on and I was becoming out of breath feeling my age or so it seemed then he met some young girl and that was it I was alone again and sat listening to Mahler and I drank my ***** thinking of him knowing he would leave after all he was just a boy I was getting to be older but wanting to recall our nights together and Mahler and whiskey and that time we had it on the carpet the carpet soft and thick and he saying wheres the fence where can we ride? and we laughed and that time at work in the wash room where I got him stiff as a rifle and ready to shoot but it was too public and he had to walk it off but then he left work and it became a mere echo of former days my hair less dyed letting my hairs become different coloured greys.

A WOMAN AND HER REFLECTION ON HER LIFE AND *** AND MEN IN 1974 AND BEFORE.

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Amelia Jo Anne Jan 2014

XIX

To my parents, a child was not a clay piece to mould with a master's hand, or a house that needed to be built up. A child is already a skyscraper that blocks the view of the landscape, or a tree that needs to be felled to make way for a parking lot. & oh, the cars they parked over me. Cars whose drivers were molesters. Trucks whose beds were piled high with excuses, empty promises, disappointments, backhanded compliments, interruptions & interjections. Cars whose trunks hid hateful words, accusations, pointed fingers, upturned noses, condescending looks, faces red from screaming, exasperated sighs & enough rolled eyeballs to make your head spin. They parked traffic-jam's worth of vehicles, stuffed & threatening to burst, of spankings for all the wrongs they thought they could slap right. To my parents, a child should not be guided, but told the way; a child should not wander & find his own path, but be dragged by the hair down the one they once marched obediently. To my parents, a child's spirit is to be methodically torn down; the gaping hole it leaves is to be packed tightly with worries of what others would think & beliefs that the world is untrustworthy, angry, spiteful, & always alert to where you are vulnerable. They never realized that when they thought they were gazing through windows, they were, in fact, with wild, bloodshot eyes, staring down mirrors.

to: my parents

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lilah raethe Jul 2013

Behind a Lovers Eyes

why are you so
scared?
I whisper to
every
pair
of lust clouded eyelids
as they float
above my pillows;
manhandled
by unfamiliar fingers
and bent to
accommodate
strange strands of hair
against their cool cases

they fight to
hide the fear,
they fight
through kisses and spankings
and false encounters
of meaningless
embraces

they enable fright
as it
oozes out of their ears,
surrounding their
bodies
in layers of
impermeable
slime
that not even the
needle
of a lovers touch
could penetrate

so I'll never understand
the paradox
as they cling to me--
flesh to flesh--
with desperation
don't leave me
alone*
but repel my same soul
so I may never
touch
their
truth

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Quip the Quandary Sep 2015

hereditary recycling

I was someone's child once,
I played their mind games,
I took all the spankings,
I watched all the hollering matches,
I even took some hits.
I told myself when I was a mom,
I would never do these things,
but then I had my baby and
I lost my mind one day when
he reminded me of someone I knew
I thought it was my mother but,
I realized it was me.
This is where the cycle ends,
to this I guarantee.

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Lawrence Hall Jul 2018

The Awful Majesty of American Law, Free from the Tyrannies of Kings and Czars

Children shot daily despite our stern laws
But at least they are safe from plastic straws

Children shot daily, caught in street-gang fights
But at least they are safe from 100-watt lights

Children shot daily, high death rankings
But at least they are safe from parental spankings

Children shot daily, murdered by crooks
But at least they are safe from The Little House books

Children shot daily, may God bless their souls
And too our regulated toilet bowls

Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

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Sam Stone Grenier May 2015

Seasons

miles that have been
miles that will be
interwoven throughout
my heartbeats

miles in grassy utopias
of mother's day and
emotional spankings
or slaps to the face

to death
to life
let's drink to breath
and smoke to exhale

this life of stress,
anxiety
living inside
the shadow of the past

this is so real
as the blood gushes out of my nose
the sound it makes
hitting the cold tiles

those cold white tiles
whiter than the noting itself
I keep moving on
through time

in the lawn now
looking at the midnight's
in mirrors
that reflect reflections

of her embraces
the leaves wind around us
interwoven like a wicker basket
this is romance my friend

my fireside poet
who burns in the seat
Only singed him
with these words

these words
It's snowing out
these words are waning
and the cold will **** them all

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Madison McEnroe Apr 2015

Mother

I wonder a lot of the time,
If I ever cross your mind,
If I’m strung alone in your path of thoughts,
Or if its just a bar full of shots.
Because I can grovel for your attention,
Beg and plead because I was your seed
Then be looked upon with conviction,
Of crime I never did conceive.

“Mothers always love their daughters”
Like society likes to see,
But some are suffocated with confliction,
To a person they never wanted to keep.

So the treatment she picked was one of sorts,
Doing exactly what you don’t want to your liver,
Ripping it apart,
Punishments fell as if it was life or death,
Spankings went from soft,
To full out falling of your fist.

So I'm sorry that you bred me,
And carried me for so long,
That I was never capable,
Or competent,
Or energetic,
Or pretty enough
To capture my mom

Missing you is one aspect that my mind lacks,
But it’s still in one piece,
Even after your mess,
And If I could make one everlasting wish
It’d be that you’d face what’s destroying us,
because Mom before you get any sicker,
I beg you to drown in your liquor.

My mothers an alcoholic and the every day struggle living with her influenced a lot of my writing, but I'm currently moved out.

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Skyy Blu Jan 2017

Don't Mess With Me{ If, You're Not A Freak}

You.... Stepped-To-Me.... Like you knew me! Oh-Boi.... You-Say.... You wanna get next to me. Tell-Me, Is-Your-Freak-Flag-Free? Are-U..... bout---- eating my-oooooo.... Like groceries? Cause.... If, I give-it--- You-Gotta.... ****-It! Way-Deep..... I wanna feel-it.... Like-Like.... It's Post-To-Be! If, You're..... Not--- A Freak..... Don't Mess With Me! AWWW! Just, Let me be..... If, You're not a freak..... Don't Mess With Me. I'm the girl ....Mama warned you bout..... mess with me and get--- turned-out! I'll take you places you've never been....and if---- you please-me..... I'll take you there again. Down- For-Whatever..... We can kiss to be clover! Leather- Lace, Candle-Wax, Spankings, Ice, Golden- Showers, Mini-Beads, Kisses-Down-Low or whatever--- You-know, I'm down for-sho! If, You're not a freak close the door.... I Be Freak Evermore...... and if-you're not...... Don't Mess With Me!

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Absent Moniker Apr 2018

Black Confession

So you asked me to send a vn to help you ***, hahahah well I guess I'll give it a go. First though I need you to hear this.

It began as lust,
In a desire to mark you,
With every bite and ******,
And leave you with shades of blue

The it began to change,
Where kisses slowed,
my heart uncaged,
A red ribbon between us flowed

It become love,
To stop the time,
Sating heart that's starved,
And call each other mine

Now my heart is yours,
Our bodies dance,
Opened all doors,
And together we advance

For my heart is owned by you,
The arrow of my heart aimed true

So anyways I've been going over the best scenario of which we could **** in, like the ultimate **** I guess.

Whether we **** at work or at a loft in a shower, and I think this is the one.

It uses a voucher pretty well to my thinking.

My name is Luke, and I live in a loft apartment in new York, I move between it and the one in the uk quite abit but my studio is based here in the NY. I am architect, writer, painter, sculptor, chef and a avid reader. I am single, a bachelor in my early thirties',
And I am also one of times most eligible bachelors.

I am Vanessa, I live in a Studio in Paris, though I own multiple properties around the world, I am mostly based in Europe. I am an architect, a writer, a dancer, a photographer and an avid reader. I am single, in my early thirties, and I travel the world finding pieces of myself.

This is one of our encounters.

Vanessa's setting:

Her arms are heavy, she's spent the entire day moving around since her flight came in only this morning.

The exchanging of currencies to dollars took long this time, longer than it should of, so it took longer to buy what she needed, the light blue lingerie, lace as usual, stockings, the new night gown, food and some such.

All the things she'll need for tonight. She has plans for later, ages abit nervous ages never done this before.

She unlocks the door and goes in, abit late but she'll make it.

It's only just hit 17:00

Luke's setting:

His blazer across his bag next to him on the passenger seat, he's hungry and tired.

He's had quite the long day, work went into late again today.

His meetings with artists took longer than he thought he would, but the sun is still up and the shades cover his eyes from the afternoon sun.

His 1967 Shelby Mustang is running smoothly, all American muscle. Not a bad drive, not too much traffic, well for a New Yorker that is.

But he made it to the parking in good time, It's only 18:30.

The vehicle life takes him upwards into the apartment and he walks into the lounge, as the lift fixes in place in the middle of the loft.

He sees her, she sees him.

Luke: Are you really here?
Vanessa: Unexpected?
Luke: Well I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

The shock on his face was short lived, his attention was fully caught up with the sight of her.

The light blue lace was caressing her body, it held her, pushed her full chest upwards and right showing it's shape, she was... as her skin lighter was catching light in the most ****** way he had ever seen. Her absorbed her, the sight of her.

He could feel his heartbeat speed up, he could see all the ways he could take her on the kitchen counter she laid on.

Luke: I didn't realise you would use the key so quickly, I only posted it a few weeks ago.
Vanessa: Well I couldn't stay away, only so much can be taken from words on paper.

He stood next to her now, His bag already forgotten, glasses jacket and tie already off, and he still drank her with his eyes. His eyes absorbing ever part of her.

Luke: You are mine
Almost a whisper

Vanessa: Take me

His right hand gripped her thigh with a hunger she felt up her back, her neck hair standing. His left cares her check softly with the ends of his fingers.

They kiss and all thought flees. The hunger held too long takes over.

She rips his shirt of, buttons flying, her bra is taken, stockings torn.

He is devouring her scent, her feel, her taste, her entire being through the kisses he places all over her.

She is already lost in the moment, his string grip makes her want him more, his muscles well maintained have given it the perfect strength, not too much not too little.

They both lay on top of the kitchen counter, him on top of her, both only one their basic underwear now.

He moves of, takes her legs owns them, underwear already torn, and with barely controlled aggression puts his head between her thighs to taste her.

She moans loudly from it, the ecstasy moving through her as he eats her out, she's already on the brink with him ******* and licking her shaven *****.

He lets go, It's not enough, he pulls her of and turns her around, three quick spankings crack the air from his firm hand , she moans aloud once more.

He's rock hard now, pulsing with desire, with a string **** of her head backwards to his chest, and her back arched, behind facing her, he pushes his **** in. Her ***** gives slowly, but with a strong ****** he goes all in and nudges her womb.

A soft scream mixed with a moan of ecstasy leaves her, she could've never imagined how big he was, how well he fit. And he moved.

Each ****** harder and faster, she could feel his entire duck pushing her insides apart, he could feel her tight on him.

Luke: This is what you wanted isn't it?

He says while he ***** her.

Vanessa: Yes

She's breathe less, between his **** and his questing hands that squeeze her body she's beyond what she's known as pleasure.

She comes in quick succession 5 times while there, her juices flowing both down their legs.

He turns her around, licks her up and pushes her against the free standing lounge wall. The exposed brick scratches her but she does not feel it she's already lost in the dance, he pushes inside again with her against it, chest to chest he takes her there against the wall.

Their lips interlocked moans escaping between kisses the ****, sweat beginning to lave them both he's approaching his limit she feels too good but he's held his own.

She feels him thicken inside her, he's about to come put he pulls out, she moves by reflex going on her knees and putting her **** in her mouth while stroking his ***** with one hand.

He **** while ***** him, his muscles tensing, while she drinks him down in gulps.

They both trembling stand there in each others arms, they know this is only a short rest from a whole night of desire filled *******.

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JoJo Nguyen May 2022

My breakfast, my

My breakfast, my
vilifying to build internal
cohesion, moving in sync--
to actuate what?
Stylized, synchronized violence
resolves vanilla limits--
resources, rarity
barter, banter
to rectify an austere
child in a hood.
Stylized, synchronized violence
corporal spankings--
to hold a center
doing, doping--
to push our child
even though she is not better
than my non-existent
one.
We are too busy
hustling, hating--
building, breaking
Stylizing our grotto
with shadows on wall,
ghosts in grime,
reminders of death
and dying
<Didn’t know we had a king. I thought we were an autonomous collective.>

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Nola Leech Nov 2019

This is the story of
A little girl
Who didn’t want to be a big sister
But the moment she saw my face
She knew she had to protect me
And for that I’ll always be grateful
I’ll always wish I was able to save you when you needed me
But often times when I tried I failed
Because I was too small and I wasn’t strong enough or my voice wasn’t loud enough
From the moment I saw my big sister
I knew she would be my best friend
The one I’d laugh with
The one I’d cry with
The one I would defend
Against anyone
The one who’d pick me up
When I’m down
The one who’d tell me I’m beautiful
Even when I look like a clown
The one I would make inside jokes with
The one who’d protect me
Stand up for me
The one who’d never let me go through anything alone
The sister that asked christmas morning if
I could go to the bathroom before we were locked in
The one who gave me her sandwich when we didn’t have
Any money to buy food and there were only 2 and mom had ate hers already
The only one who believed in me when no one would and actually helped me
The one who tucked me in at night
The one who made me broccoli cheese soup
The one who made me try new things
The one who took my spankings for me even though the belt would draw blood
The sister who was more of a mother to me
Then our own mother
Thank you
For being here
For being
My sister

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— The End —