The sound of rain… heavy… dark… compelling. A woman stands at the long bank of floor to ceiling windows - rivulets of heavy prisms dance against the expanse of thick glass. The city - alive and glowing - shines in throbbing bursts through the rain. The electric pulse of a million hearts sprawls in decadent splendor thirty stories below.
The penthouse. Cool modern excess in a world of overindulgence and narcissism. Everything is for sale, even the slender blonde gazing pensively into the rain swept sky. A phone call taken by a hard soul - a bargain struck… arrangements made.
Thunder. The crack of jagged lightening splitting the sky and exposing the half saddened expression she cannot hide. An image painted on the mind - innocence beguiled by lust and greed. Whore… such a nasty word for who she is.
A masculine hand - long fingered and elegant - curls slowly around the woman's neck. A squeeze, nearly tender, as she is pulled inexorably back… into a wide chest and away from the acres of stormy sky. Slowly, he slides the blouse and skirt from her body - she knows better than to touch, the client's directions always took precedence. A cascade of blonde silk tumbling to bare shoulders… breasts held within a lacy prison as the storm rages on.
Gently, the straps fall beneath the pressure of seeking fingertips, exposing the curve of breast, the slowly rising nipple against the shadowy night. Caressing hand slipping beneath the lace, seeking the puckered rise of flesh… stiffened nipple. Shivers take her form. A hot grip between her thighs, pushing tight, pressing the wet silk between the swelling lips of excited cunt and grinding brutally against the tender pearl of engorged clit.
This one so different than the scores of rich old men with dry hands and shriveled cocks. Power and strength nearly oozed through the very air. A whore's excitement boiling within. The slither of lace as the bra falls. A shift of hips, assisting the hand slipping under the elastic band clinging to trim muscles and long flanks. She steps from the silky puddle caressing her feet, and stands naked and glowing in the flash of lightning and the heat of his gaze.
A whisper against her ear, rich voice, a fan of breath. Compelling baritone, hot and sexy. Slowly, he pushes two fingers deep within the velvet clutch of wetness… stretching… filling… thrusting into her as he prepares her for his use and pleasure. Body pulled to him - thighs spreading, opening to the rise of manhood jutting into the air and finally the heated clutch of succumbing woman.
Heated bodies undulate slowly. Flashes of light, hungry moans filling the air. Coupling there in the cacophony of raging night and furious need. Her head thrown back as he lunges beneath her, filling her, taking her completely. Savage movement - ravenous screams. Lost in his pleasure… and her own.
He rises - masculine seed oozing from the warmth of sated cunt. She watches him through heavy eyes and drinks deeply of the glass of wine pressed slowly into a trembling hand. Fruity relief to a mouth gone as dry as the sands of a desert - gratitude in every deep drink.
The confusion in her eyes is captured in the staccato play of lightning streaked color. A gentle sigh as slowly she succumbs, and the world merges into the murky depths of sweet darkness - anesthetized dreams.
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Surreal. Surrounded by the rustle of black velvet. The faces are cloaked in cowl draped shadow, taunting her with their mystery. Slow steps, anxious eyes look into the darkness, trying to see… trying to know.
Each step drawing her closer - burnished wood, icy stone. She can not escape the circle of souls surrounding the white draped form. She struggles inside as she realizes she really does not wish to. Emotions filling her soul, calling to her in a dance of ancient desire and the emergence of restless anticipation.
Guiding hands - urging fingers - sibilant whispers. A reluctant awareness as the leather slides over wrists… ankles… neck… and the dip of her waist. Standing against the vertical poles, the polished stone pressing gently into the curve of tender ass. Heavy eyelashes fluttering downward in a silky dance of purest jet as the frame - the woman frame - is lifted by strong hands. The world tilts, a sharp gasp, as the poles slip into their place within stone columns. White gauze drapes the altar - breasts rising and falling in uneasy anticipation of the unknown.
They touch her. Gentle hands - probing fingers. Her body arches and twists under the slow heat building in captured limbs. Yet she remains locked in icy splendor upon a small slab of polished stone.
She can hear them, you know… the pull of air, the soft sigh of pleasure at a slick bit of flesh, a tucked treasure responding beneath a gentle fingertip. Consciousness growing as the gentleness tightens, the rush of fear, the awareness of flesh no longer stroked like the back of a purring kitten. Pain - growing and spreading as the blindfold slides over the suddenly panicked eyes.
A woman's voice rises in chanting song. Earthy sounds, primal beat. Each note reaching inside of her as she undulates upon the ancient stone. A quiver at the center of belly - probing fingers slide slowly into the wet sheath between widely opened thighs. Heart racing in rhythm to the Priestess' song as the night takes its penance.
