He's my woman.
I dress him in black-
strapped pumps
and short stretch skirts
that reveal
whatever I've left
unhidden.

Stockings crawl
up his thighs,
my hand follows,
smooths silk over
hairless skin.
Baby-blue garter belt
paints his hips and trickles
down his thighs
to lick the top of
stockings.

Feet
arch high,
stretch tight,
balance on the ball,
hips sway, enhancing
tiny steps.
He stays close, needs me
to aim his motion,
anchor him
when muscles tire and
delicacy falters.
He knows my fingers
can be loose
or tight
when he lays in my palm.
Inside him, I can
pleasure or
punish.
Standing before me, skirt
clutched at waist, satin panties
discarded at ankles,
I touch, watch
his eyes plead and
submission run
up his cock.