<tt>big brother is watching you</tt> -- Death Valley

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Date Posted: 15:46:12 06/07/03 Sat
Author: Big Brother
Subject: big brother is watching you
In reply to: Roxy 's message, ".boredom post, but long and mayhaps interesting--give it a click." on 00:30:46 06/01/03 Sun

The dictator narrows a practiced eye along the ruby fleshed native that pranced in front of him. He couldn't help but feel she was the slightest bit frivolous. From her long eyelashes to her dark cloak of a tail, she was the showgirl, the flapper. His dark muzzle is held close to his chest as he watches her parade around. He supposed it was his turn to step up to the plate and perform right alongside with her. He himself preferred the more emotion gamut of typical classical movements. Puffing 'pon a metaphorical cigar he draws a bit closer. Take a bow, hotshot. His ears were set on her, his noble Roman nosed head was escalated over hers, making his tall stature all the more obvious. "Your flamboyance is like a solar flair, I had to come investigate." [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] Replies: [> Affirmed. -- Roxy, 16:56:44 06/07/03 Sat [1] The cortezan snagged those fishnets on her spiked heels for that one brief moment as her internal record hit the same snag--he responded? Well watch yer seat, Billy Flynn. She took a quick drawl from her long cigarette, blowing it out in an evanesce cloud in the direction of the dancing maven. She downed her gin as a man, taking her swig with practiced antiquity. She had done her deal of sleezebag bars, nightly brawls and drunken plunders of grubby hands. No, Im no one's wife, but oh, I love my life. She built him up, relieving the smoke with the seductivity of any feminist--well, whore. But her upfront naivety prevented any lackluster steeds from slipping beneath a sequened corset. She prepared to carry on a legacy that her martini-drinking, mink draped ancestors had not--not so much celebacy, but a sexual prescence without sexual preference. And trust me, this was a hard promise to upkeep; this one has some guts. Her wiry frame dripped with a coat of electric red, adorned with pearls on anything that would hold still. And that wasnt much. She graced his chest with a brush of taught hindquarters as her crimson silk slid across his. Moments into its future, the elusive bodice rejoins the line of sight, galavanting about with an intriguingly accentric collection. From there, it takes to the grounded wing in a left-led waltz, blood-bay limbs dancing with a click of the taps across the ashen plantation. As the dim trickle of sun that penetrates a wooly cloud alights upon the forequarters, a hollow chest carves attention to detail, each sensual curve sparkling beneath the persperation-egging stage lights. C'mon babe, why don't we paint the town. And all that jazz. The hollow body is no longer empty to its spectator. It now contains the soul of a cortezan, a tempest, a mare. She was no longer the nimble filly, flouncing in her tutu and gaudy makeup, egged not by the mother but by the ire formed without one. She lowers her elegantly chisled facade as she approaches again, the winds interwoven with every pitch tress and leaving it snaking about a flexibly arched neck, drawing the forelock nearer its brothers of the right dexterity and revealing a sharply cornered stygian orbs. They shone like the dice, always gambling and daring for more. They were tossed and rolled, dancing as vigorously as the physique which contained them. Rolled a crazy 8, baby. The lead changes quickly in a seamless leap, a single stride and sensual landing in a brief poss� as the left flint rises to greet the right knee, which had chafed the sleazy fishnets, revealing an erotically enticing quadroset of poised limbs. Balance having been gained and maintained with a flawless and wanton percision, Roxy lifts her skimpily draped monument to leap profoundly off the ground, legs tucked neatly. But enough for some uncouth eye candy. Landing with a skid, her tail stood poised, flagging her ruby banner of tentalizing jazz as the tawny dust dissipated about her in hallucinating puffs. She turned her articulate head, batting eyelashes thick with mascara and flashing a set of teeth to the nines. She wasnt flirting, she was just being lascivious, lewd, unchaste. Hell, she was being Roxy. "If your tongue is as quick as your feet I've found myself a dance partner." Dont take it the wrong way, and dont read into her sentancing. She might as well be a french whore for her straight-foreward, blantant promiscuity. However, in this situation her words were true--true as the four words of the 30's, the 4 to swear on above all overs in the revolutions of sex and nimble forms. Truth, beauty, freedom, love. She loved them all, swore by them at any sip of gin--but love? Hell no. She didn't want him as a lover, she wanted him as a leader--if he accepted. As was prestated, she didnt want anything out of him but a dance. Takes two to tango, after all. [ Post a Reply to This Message ] [ Edit | View ] Post a message: This forum requires an account to post. [ Create Account ] [ Login ] Forum timezone: GMT-5 VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB: Before posting please read our privacy policy. VoyForums^(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems. Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.