She dressed as he commanded …
did as she was told
passing him on the street
as if he were a stranger
Thigh highs ... stiletto heels clicking
like a street walking beauty, smelling
like cheap perfume,
and degradation
Silently, he watched … as she walked
down the alley
knowing what was to come
There she stood, skirt hiked up
like a cold soaked whore of the night
her scent
Of desperation fermenting
like a dark bordeaux, uncorked,
waiting to be tasted
He advanced...
his hardness straining against
the zipper
of his pants
She felt the cold steel of the cuffs
encircle her wrists, feeling his
hot breath on her neck
she listened …
As he spoke of freedom
impenetrable darkness
dreams sweet as vintage port
Her body betrayed her,
while his fingers traced
the outline of her shame
Pushed up against the wall,
stripped … whipped … fucked
taken to the extreme
She cried … as the acrid taste
of her tears
turned
to
fine
wine
~Wicked
