A damsel in distress or a damsel in need?

They just drift in; streetwalker or floozy, cis or gender bent. They swarm to fill the need, irrespective of how the winds of Eros are blowing. The harlots are thickest when the weather is fairest.
The dungeon master exhibits preference. Subjects for torturous doom! They sate his tick to clean their clock with the wonderful sounds of screaming whores.
A few hours in the hot sun tames even the most stubborn street meat.
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The dark passenger cruises the city streets at night and the early mornings before dawn. He is me, I am of him that will always be. I know him as a cruel and cunning dude that collects the lost and bates them with food. He is sly and shameless, nocturnal and ageless. He hunts for Jack or Jill, the runaways, the homeless not the pigswill.

But I am different than this Master of perversion, that I watch with blurred vision. He dose not care if it is wrong or right, he has a code. He trains these captives to be sex slaves, puts meat on their bones. He whips these chattel to trade them like cattle, at auction that supports the underground commercial sex economy in Austin or Boston Bull. He is a busy man, cages are full.

You cruise the city streets at night and the early mornings before dawn, your kerb crawling for the falling, perverting the innocence. I am He, I will always be!
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