This is from one of of my favorite bloggers/poets.
https://afadedromantic.wordpress.com
STABLE
.
We shall meet
in the close, cramped,
tack-room dark where,
for almost an hour
I have shared the tight space
with saddles and hats,
bridles & bits.
.
The pungent odour
of horse and leather
and something sweeter
has made me heady,
has made me dizzy,
has made me hard
and tight in my jeans.
Waiting for you.
.
I can hear the horse
in the next stall
noisily shifting
his fifteen hands
on thin, muscular legs.
Hooves striking concrete
through soft smelling straw.
.
Your favourite mount
is soft mouthed
and compliant,
alert and responsive
to your hand on his flanks,
and your weight on his back,
your legs astride,
your legs open wide,
open so wide,
forgive me,
so wide.
.
I am leaning against
a smooth wooden table.
In the musty dark
my fingers have found
a dozen deep carvings
of passion and lust,
scratched in the wood,
ingrained with dust.
Names and arrows
and irregular hearts.
I cannot find ours.
Why can’t I find ours?
.
The surface is full
of today’s coats and tack,
still damp from the hack
still fresh from your back.
My throat tightens
as I breath in your smell
and the muscles of my stomach
dance beneath my skin.
I want to begin.
I can’t wait to begin.
.
I have your crop
clutched firmly
in my hand.
It swishes and cuts
through the silence.
Tested on my thighs
its unexpected bite
makes me cry out aloud
With my eyes tight shut
I brush my face
with the whip,
with the loop at the tip.
I imagine its hiss,
its hot stinging kiss
its fierce burning kiss.
Just a flick of my wrist.
.
A rhythmic swishing
through the razor edged grass
signals your arrival.
Whinnying horses
confirm your presence.
And now, at this moment
my shirt feels clammy,
my breathing is unsteady.
My heart beat deafens.
I clutch at my chest
Be quiet.
Be quiet.
You must not hear me,
until I am ready.
Until I am ready.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant