“HOPED” ft. Daisy Dabs
The HOPED music video, an auditory Zeitgeist brought to you by the sultry siren known as Daisy Dabs, is a sinfully seductive spectacle that holds nothing back. From the first pulsating beats to the final breathless chord, this audiovisual masterpiece delivers a merciless onslaught of carnal delights, anchored by the mesmerizing presence of Daisy herself.
The clip opens with Daisy, our hapless protagonist, handcuffed and leashed like a bound pup, her eyes wide with fear and anticipation. She’s outfitted in a skintight black latex bodysuit, a modified nun’s outfit complete with peek-a-boo windows that showcase her heaving bust. A plastic muzzle clamps her mouth shut as she kneels before her malevolent mistress in a garishly lit dungeon, a fitting set for such a sordid show.
Dubbed over this delectable tableau is the music video’s titular bosomy belle, her voice a honeyed whisper that grows into a brash, brazen shout. “HOPED she knew better,” Daisy slurs between licks of a hand-held whip, applying its supple sting to her captive’s bountiful curves. “HOPED she could take it.” With each enunciated word, the on-screen Daisy punctuates her mortal counterpart’s prince pendants a crack of the lash.
The camera lingers lovingly on Daisy’s reddened skin as she writhes and moans, not in pain, but in twisted ecstasy. Her body is a canvas, these crimson lines etched by a cruel brush, all part of the elaborate tattoo she’s endured. Entwined ropes and gnarled vines coil around her neck, across her chest, down her dripping, quivering thighs – all the parts her mistress seems to favor.
As the music swells and soars, the camera takes us on a breathless journey across Daisy’s boundless figure. Her sweating, glistening, heaving, quivering figure. A cruel set of nipple clamps dangles from her heaving bosom, taut and straining against the gravity defying shelf of her bustline. Her eyes are two pinpricks of speculative desire, drilling into the pulsing nightmare of flashing lights and pummelling beats.
The video’s pulse quickens, the song reaching a fever pitch. Like a maestro conducting mayhem, Daisy strides through the dizzying whorl of neon lights, trailing fire and fury behind her. Her captive’s leash is twined around her fist, guiding the pleading castaway through the hazy inferno. The shot cuts and weaves, Daisy looming large and dominant in the frame.
With the final, explosive crescendo of the song, Daisy Dabs seizes her prey. She tears free her brunette beauty’s muzzle, replacing it with the meaty, throbbing promise of her own quivering lips. The two sinners clash in a fierce, fevered, feral kiss, hands groping and grasping at each other’s yielding flesh.
The camera zooms in, lingering deliciously on the moment of blasphemous oral communion. Panting, writhing, writhing – and then, the music dies in an abrupt funk-cutting sigh. Daisy Dabs and her fair-skinned maiden freeze, lips mashed together in a lip-locked death mask. The music video ends, leaving the viewer to prickle with fear and frustration and frustration. Giving in to their basest, most debased, most shameful, most enthusiastic urges.
