The tramp knew what he had, they walked slowly through the alley, like prince and princess waiting vows, but he knew where he stood, a lowly tramp, and a lady true, his hands were still at his sides, the adventurous spirit locked within an ice cube of fear and lost lust.
They neared the other side, barely acknowledging each other, they stayed silent, like the beauty and the beast which they truly were, he looked over her body with a lust which burned like lava, the simple silk dress which hung over her curves, the leather gloves the satin craces and tights, it was as if someone wanted to hide her talent, they wanted to keep secret everything which god gave her, everything which a man could desire in pure passion and want.
Time was gone, he lowered his fingers through her hair, and then over her silky soft cheeks, he pressed her between his body and the white Victorian wall before them. Her escort was now well out of sight, they both pressed firmly into each other, this was the time, now or never.
The tramp slid his hands adventurously inside her bodice; he found her skin and teased gently with his dirty fingers her nipples, her pink skin showing the marks of his dirty abuse. She moaned lightly under her breath, a moan of mixed emotion, pleasure and pain, lust and regret. If her husband to be found out that a mere peasant man had desecrated her body in a pre marital bliss, he would be killed like tramp that he was.
But it didn't matter he was now bound in fate, his fingers were locked to her skin, his lips were seeking her neck and shoulders, his tongue tracing her cheek and earlobe.