Trick

– ok ok okaaaay. preliminaries over. let’s go on a bender, you and me, huh?

Yeah, I understand, punk. I understand perfectly.

Move now. Cab. Your decision, punk. So show me commitment. Read my mind. Read it, you cunt. Yeah, you get me, right? It’s simple, for a guy like me: Mayfair indignities might reawaken my game, in this specific case.

Into the dungeon den, deal within deal: love’s thieves approaching and mine’s a richhhhh scotch on the rockkkks, champagne for these two.

The black sisters, leader who negotiates, and her silent accomplice.

– imma economics. I know how to strike a deal with your pal.

– you could stay out here in economy. Or you could fly first class.

– first. Class.

Yeah, okay, let’s partner.

– got a big one riding on this: let’s trick?

Momma trick on it. Negotiation, bitch is on it, sparkles and such, hustler tropicale, g string and chains, because she gets into his head, low, low and low, his career head here. Down and down and down, here, within the dungeons of Mayfair.

– we’re on.

– let’s fucking do it.

– come here.

The shadow lands, the enclosure of the trick: the trick that knows the trick, these perfect, perfumed cannibals. Slow writhe, slow move, examine the goods, predict the prey, analyse the gaze, all fours, baseline bitches: she kneels before him, allows the choke hold, champagne over naked body.

– let me feed you, imma your slave.

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