Me – since she wants to be the best –

I’m glad to be her teacher, however long it takes.  

I revel in the pressure of her chest,

Am taken by the way she now makes

Use of lozenge eyes in order to step past me.

She does make a lot of mistakes.

Nevertheless, she likes it when I’m strict with her. 

 

I’ve noted how obedient she can be. 

For instance, she complied when I suggested

She lie on her back, squeezing an inflated

Ball between her knees, so as to strengthen

Her inner thighs. Flustered, as she spread

Her legs to hold the ball, she tried to find a way

To keep the hem of her frock from rising. 

 

Brusquely, I told her not to be so coy.

The exercise would help her tone the knees.

So the frock rucked up, revealing

The V of her panties. This was such a tease!

There she lay on the floor in front of me:

Disguising it, I gazed, and gazed my fill,

Even as I instructed her to squeeze

 

The ball hard, increasing the pressure,

Then to relax, then to repeat the exercise. 

Thrilling it was to see her like that – 

Unconsciously a stimulating sight,

With smooth, bare, inviting thighs

And panties so delightfully exposed.

I told her if she didn’t get it right

 

I would have to punish her.

She laughed at that. I tried to smile

As I endeavoured to remain polite,

Pretending that my threat was but a joke.  

She laughed, just as she often will

When I drive her home and say good night,

And a peck on the cheek is the thanks I get.

 

If I should muster the guts to say

That I wish that for once she would give

Me a kiss on the lips, again I get that laugh,

Then out she slips, for as she is aware,

The kiss would not end there. That kiss would be

The start. Revenge informs my need

To punish her – for peck and brisk depart. 

 

I also need to adjust the carriage of her pelvis. 

It’s the way she’s built: she carries her arse

At a tilt. Her behind lifts upwards at

The back. This is a fault. It has to be corrected. 

When next she comes for tuition

I shall be strict about this fault of hers. 

Should she tilt her bum up, it will be detected.

 

Straight out, I will question her position.

Tell her she’s a silly girl, yes, with a silly behind. 

Her bum is lovely, but a proper bum

Should never tilt up eagerly like that

Except when made available for punishment.

Brutality’s built into my designs on her.

Carnage turns the key to my intent.

 

The tenor of our weekly lesson manifests

The urgency she’s able to stir up in me:

I write this in a state, you see. My guise

Is at her beck: lewd are the feelings

That ensue; emotions prompted

By her softness, her smoothness, her eyes,

Her delicious scent – just as the crudeness

 

I daren’t voice, the harsh part of my fantasy,

Feeds upon her svelte Oriental identity.             

Thus it must always be, for passion needs its opposite:

Steel seeks out water, water longs for steel.

She is an atheist. I am. So be it.

But I can’t place her in her communist China.

Some refined locale has more appeal.

 

There, I would have her lightly dressed,

Yes, in a flowing chenshan. The lightest silk

Chenshan, as liquid around her as water. 

However there is no way to fasten it, so

She has to hold it together. It’s then that I start

My approach, and, as for her chenshan,

She cannot help but let it fall apart. 

 

I’m gentle, yet within an air of calm

There is that hint of cruelty. A cruelty I hide,

As a cat may purr before it hurts the bird. 

She has gone weak at the knees. She senses

Me inhaling her desire. We are both

On a couch now somewhere and the breeze

Comes stealing, through some muslin draperies.