What Art Can Learn From Porn

Beautiful, strung up in the center

of the room, leather caressing his wrists

pulled tight like the blindfold

pressed against his eyes. The centerpiece

of a mouthwatering feast.

Suspended,

on his toes,

metal bar between his legs

to keep him spread

and exposed, vulnerable.

Excited.

Red rubber fills his mouth,

presses down on his tongue,

jaw aching, chin

shiny and wet with spit.

The host arrives

silently, pressed suit, paisley tie.

Dressed to kill with hunger

in his eyes. A predator

lurking behind mahogany eyes.

His hand slips into sweat darkened

curls, gently at first,

only to tug, baring his throat,

lips descending to brush against

a bulging tendon, teeth baring

nipping at the pulse

beating wildly.

At his mercy.

The other squirms, bound, helpless.

He tastes like salt

and sounds like desperation

as he whimpers, begging for release,

and his lover almost wants to give it to him.