I don’t know what turns me on more: your face right before you’re about to get fucking smacked – as you wince and grit your teeth and prepare for it? Or your face after you do, where you look satisfied but craving more, craving it harder. My fist in your hair, holding you firm, you look at me with eyes that clearly tell me you need it harder than that. So I wind up to give your face a slap it won’t soon fucking forget. Your face looks like poetry after it gets hit.