Beneath the abandoned underground parking lot that has become, ironically, the XHouse there is another underground. It's a migratory station along the pathways for darker perversities that are constantly on the move, always "traveling elsewhere". Beneath the pseudo-raves, the gyrating lights, the hallucinatory ambiguities of party – other things go down. Go down deep.
Of course, they prefer the shadow and the dark. The chilling indigo of night underground – pierced only dimly by starlight and moonlight – emits a kind of white noise whisper and hiss, the rising and falling sighs and moans of the pleasuring that echos through the ruined hallways and byways and alleys of this deepness.
The bizarre and nude merge more obscenely below than the wildest fetish fashion of above. XHouse is the flirtatious edge; The Deep is a bottomless abyss.
Neophytes and virgin clubbers from above fall through the cracks sometimes. Sometimes are lured by their own dark urges or seduced by shadow masters and mistresses of magic power to take the stairs, climb down a hole, get deeper.
The voyeurs in the shadows – not even eyes revealed – take up the scent of the new and wet, the erect flesh, the salivating mouth like the incense of foreplay. Leering and invisible, they fondle themselves watching the descent.
The new are aware; do not care. Their raw sexuality is their exhibit to self love; fetish on parade. Take me, fuck me, dump me, fuck you! is obviously tattooed across their skin in symbol and ritual scarring. They are prepared for the immortal and monstrous in their casual passion. Sex and trans are words in their brief vocabularies. "Shit happens" and "life" are synonyms.
And yet...
Fucking the punk, the goth, the emo, the beatnik, the hippie, the eternal One, the slave girl and the Princess...romance and intimacy sprout unexpected.
That yearning for the more comes out in their eyes. Higher, lower, deeper, further, they just want you to make love to them...more.
For a being with Hell between its thighs, it's not easy to resist that yearning and innocence. The naive imaginings of what the dark and deep is, to them, is romantic; romance of shadow and blindness. Like the heathen gods, if it's a mortal fuck, they burst into flames.
Bursting their arteries on meth and their brain functions with E, the Xhouse clubbers stamp their feet to noise those under them never hear. The forgotten audience; the never were nor known.
Like a bazaar, the weird byway maze of The Deep knows sex sells and how to sell it. Succubus-Incubus cons at double the prices for the same demon. Thrifty up-the-ass-with-a-hot-poker booths on the cheap. Live nude souls. Monster giant cocks and fairy pussies. All Magic, All Sex, All Eternity. Nothing is real but your next climax. Everyone knows; everyone sells it.
Pockets full of credit, veins full of blood, the Xhouse drifter descends lower – level to level – the incense of the just fucked a mist in the air. Inhale it: salt, sour, old, pungent, earthy, wetness. Dripping off your skin, it's so thick in the air. Like the juice of Mother Earth herself. It stings in the lungs and sets a fire between your thighs the wanderer believed was ashen. Arousal!
Zombies, jaded nipples erect once more and ache for the feel of lips and tongue and teeth. The deeper the breath – so deeply now – the more aroused by the scent of it; the slight burning of nostrils as they flare to suck in more and more; that chilling feel of the darkness and The Deep taking control: breath, heart, skin, surrendering to the tidal wave of erotic overload – and only steps along the path. So much further to go.
Tripping now and easier, the Xhouse nomad plies fingertips along the rows of cock heads – taut and multicolored – each glistening with a drop of precum atop the slit – each drop licked off by a pink tongued shiny oiled demon with impossible sex parts. A huckstering hulking nude with an enormous set of male and female genitalia offers a bisexual threesome with his twin sister. And suddenly – silence – stillness...
The shock wave roar of a cavernous female climax deafened The Deep. The world reeled and parts of it crumbled. Again.
"Oh, fuck! It's her again!" cried each denizen in turn. In their mind. Never aloud.
The newly arrived, the explorer from above, the neglected or stalked – the newbie from up there – wipes blood from her split lip and crawls painfully into a hissing pool of shadow in the darkness. She tastes her own salt, licks the wounded mouth. She likes the taste now. It's not blood, it's ink, darkness, blackness, blindness. Blindness where they say love is.
Her pussy was so wet and hot she felt diseased; scaled beyond want to NEED. The need to be made love to; taken, possessed, owned, and cherished. Her thoughts radiated out like a nova. The darkness in The Deep sighed with hunger for her. Surrounding her with obscene whispers of pleasure beyond dream or nightmare. Surrounding her with the promise of caress and grip; the whispering.
Chained, she knelt. Chained around, nipples, breasts, belly, cunt. Chained as an adorned slave, a captive to be tamed, a princess to enslave. Chained for the first time – for real – she climaxed in several shudders on her knees. The sensation of the stiff collar locked around her neck – the hard tug of the chain leash – a leash that felt locked to her nipples and clitoris as one. And her mind and heart. Each pull, each command, rippled her sensations like a drug. She was rolling in The Deep...
