Marc Mixer - Palace Of Lust

The windshield wipers briskly labored back and forth. In the drenching rain, each wipe swept away solid sheets of water. One moment the windshield was crystal clear; the next moment it was splashed with an opaque wall of water. In the clear moments Stephanie could see the headlights of her Mark Four Continental slicing through the massive downpour. The twin cones of light illuminated the circular drive leading to the front gate of Pasha's modern California mansion. The mansion, often referred to as "The House of a Thousand Orgies," was now dark and quiet. Silent… as the hush of death!

But the relentless sounds of the swishing windshield wipers exploded in Stephanie's tormented and nerve-wracked brain. Tears of sorrow and hysteria streamed down her face. Her long, sensuous red hair, normally well-groomed, was now wild and unkempt, like the mane of an African lion. Her tattered and torn dress was soaking wet. The sheer silk material pasted to her voluptuous body, clung to a sensuous figure, outlining the kind of body usually featured in a Playboy center-fold. Stephanie's figure was flawless. It was as if God had created the perfect woman, the ultimate design, with round firm breasts that were perfectly shaped, that stood high and full, jutting proudly forward without need of a brassiere. She had long, sensuous legs; legs that stopped traffic; legs that drove men crazy with lust and desire. When Stephanie wore a short, snappy dress, with each stride her thighs would play against the dress and it was almost as if she had nothing on at all. Her thighs were strong but slender and even when she stood unmoving, there was always the subtle play of muscle in them. She always made sure to dab a few drops of exotic perfume on the insides of her creamy thighs. Stephanie could turn herself on simply by caressing the rich velvet skin on the inside of her thighs. In her loins was always the waiting fire, the hot coals, waiting to be fanned into a raging fire. It was one of the reasons she preferred women to men. A woman could understand and appreciate how divinely erotic and beautiful it was to have one's thighs loved. Only a woman knew the subtle ways of lighting another woman's fire.

Stephanie was fortunate in one other respect. She had an extraordinarily, beautifully developed, wellrounded Mound of Venus… that black and secret cave of pubic hair. Any sort of clinging material would outline her pussy. She could walk across campus wearing a short jersey dress, and the vee of her crotch would be clearly defined and remarkably curved in the form of a constant invitation.

Stephanie had had a riot-inciting body from the time she was fifteen, and she often had the urge to publicly apologize for her beauty-or at least explain it. By the time she was eighteen years old, she had lost count of the number of men she had slept with. She never failed to feel a mixture of confusion and desire when men indicated they saw her body as an invitation for a quick hot fuck!

But Stephanie had long since learned to appreciate her sexuality. In fact, she relished it. Perhaps "obsessed" would be a better word. She loved the idea that men and women were turned on by her sexuality.

Stephanie breathed deep gulps of air. The water-soaked dress clung hungrily to her heaving breasts, grasping each beautiful tit individually like the hands of a horny, impatient lover. Her nipples were rich and brown, large and erect. Her nipples existed only to be kissed, to be licked, to be sucked.

That's one of my problems, thought Stephanie, my nipples are never satisfied, unless they're being sucked on… or drenched in spurts of hot come! One of her favorite turn-ons was to imagine a big stiff cock squeezed between her luscious tits. She would spit on her tits so that the man's prick would slide easily between her boobs, and open her mouth trying to catch the spurts of thick white come drenching her face. Stop it! Goddamit! I have to stop thinking like that! Hang on. Keep it together. Maintain. He's in there. I know he is. All I have to do is… just maintain.

As if in a trance, she watched the windshield wipers wave from side to side. Back and forth… to and fro… up and down… back and forth… in and out… in and out… in and out…

Suddenly, the images began-a flood of erotic memories. She couldn't keep them out. In spite of herself, the pictures flashed in her mind like those in a slide projector, pictures of giant cocks she had sucked! Throbbing, rock-hard cocks! Beautiful, delicious, potent cocks. Her mouth slurped and slid up and down a muscular prick… in and out… up and down, deep in her throat! Oh God, how she loved to suck cock!

More images. More projections. Tits. Hundreds of rich, full, beautiful breasts, satin-skinned boobs with their brownish, berry-like nipples. All those beautiful tits she had sucked on and enjoyed. She loved to feel a nipple swell and grow hard in her mouth. The thought of a juicy erect nipple would nearly drive her crazy with desire. It thrilled her to bury her face between a pair of big, beautiful, soft tits. She could almost come by rubbing her nipples against another woman's tits… especially if her lover's tits were bigger than her own. There was no doubt about it, she had a fascination for tits… a fixation that more than rivaled a man's. She often thought that if she were a man, she would be walking around with a constant hard-on, simply from looking at a girl's tits.

One of her favorite pastimes when she was a student in college was to sit on a bench on the campus and pretend to read a book, when in actuality she was tit-watching. She would watch a beautiful girl walk by and fantasize what it would be like to undress her, to remove her bra and have those beauti ful breasts rumble out into her mouth. She would get herself so turned on that her panties would be soaking wet. She would have to hurriedly find a secluded spot-her dormitory room, a deserted hallway, the bathroom, anywhere-and jerk herself off. She loved tripping herself out like that because usually the fantasies would trigger a mind-wrenching orgasm.

Just thinking about it made her yearn for sweet musky-tasting cunt. She didn't know which turned her on more, a warm, slick wide-open cunt or a throbbing, hard prick, spurting gobs of delicious come, filling her hungry mouth. Stephanie felt her pussy twitch. A rippling spasm of need and desire surged through her flamed loins. Jesus Christ! She had to stop before the spasms got carried away and took over her body… before she lost control. It had happened to her before. This driving need for sex… a hard cock, a cunt… any kind of sex. It was a deep surging need that wouldn't let up, that demanded to be pacified. She would get so hot and horny, no matter what she was doing, the feeling would interfere with anything and everything until the pounding, aching hunger was fulfilled. It was the nightmare of her life-the constant searching, the never-ending pursuit of sexual satisfaction. Goddamn that throbbing cunt! She had to stop it! Get hold of herself… stop it! Please… stop!

A blinding flash of lightning ruptured Stephanie's hypnotic trance, and the crack of thunder broke the erotic spell and wiped away the mental pictures. With the distraction came relief. The spasms in her pulsating cunt subsided and once again she was confronted with the present… the reality of the swishing windshield wipers. She set the emergency brake, turned off the ignition, then studied the blue steel revolver lying on the seat next to her.

She looked up at the mansion. Suddenly, like a photographer's flash bulb, sheets of lightning exploded, ripplfng across a storm-tossed sky, momentarily silhouetting the old Victorian mansion against the horizon and the arches and spires amidst a thousand silver slivers of drenching rain.