Deux
The same man?
The black suit, stark white cuff
Manicured fingernails
The turned up thumb of the practiced hand
The clutched hair holding her powerless
Bound wrists, fingers locked
Positioned so close to his target
Yet impotent in their proximity
I can hear her gasps
as
Thought stops
Time stops
Feeling stops
Except the sizzling spice of his swats
It permeates her being
Like the ripples from the stone
Spreading its wet heat through her sex
He drinks from her need
Is fulfilled by her wanton craving
As she is satiated by his Dominance
They are bound in harmonious accord
Each meeting the other in perfect polyphony