She Cries Aloud

She cries aloud, she often does, curled up alone in corners. Never minding mother's words have put her here, she warned her. Now she's bare a gift for me, a lovely little treasure. With me and all my wicked ways, use for my nasty pleasure. I know she fears the first of touch, but she's not to young to feed her lust. I've seen her smile and felt her thrush, I've smelled the handle of her brush. She's grown from captive to a ****, she thanks me in some ways. Most every night, and often days. I've cut her loose to let her leave, and think that now she's using me. I'm not her capture this I see, for what's its worth I never was. She cries aloud, she often does...