Affirmed. -- Death Valley

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, 2, 3 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 16:56:44 06/07/03 Sat
Author: Roxy
Subject: Affirmed.
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 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.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

[> Affirmed. -- Roxy, 17:16:33 06/07/03 Sat [1]

The cortezan snagged those fishnets on her spiked heels for that one brief moment--he responded?

Well watch yer seat, Billy Flynn.

She took a quick drawl from her long cigarette, blowing it out in a dissipating 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.

Moments into its future, the buxom thespian rejoins the form of the sentalating sinner, brushing across his hidquarters, flaring her nostrils with a smirk. From there, she takes to the grounded wing in a left-led waltz, blood bay limbs tapping lightly on the ashen plantation. As the dim trickle of sun that penetrates a wooly cloud alights upon the forequarters, a salacious chest carves attention to detail into the memory of anyone that dares to gaze upon its roll and consistancy with the sequins glaring into their erotically enticed orbs.

The hollow body is no longer empty to its few spectators, as it appeared those years ago in her youth. It now contains the soul of a cortezan, a tempest, a mare. She worked off the couple of bucks tucked in unseen places and the ire formed of a phantom mother, not from the encoragement of the one around.

Thats a laugh.

She lowers her sensually arched frame as she repproaches, the winds interwoven with every pitch tress, seductively fingering a blood red neck, scintilating with beats of persperation, and drawing the forelock nearer its brothers of the right dexterity and revealing a soflty ebbed stygian pair. The lead changes quickly in a seamless leap, a single stride landing in a brief poss� as the left flint rises to greet and scrape the fishnet adorning the right knee, which had been ripped to the point of visibility of the four robust quadropeds. Balance having been gained and maintained with a flawless and erotic percision, Roxy lifts her head with a sneer to jump lightly to the side, prepping herself before galavanting in a brilliant leap into the air--legs tucked under neatly but still enough sensuality to keep em watching.

Just a bit of uncouth eye candy.

This was her job, and she was damn good at it. Skidding to a stop, the cloud of tawny dust slid evanesce about her waif form as she smirked to him, sides rising and falling rapidly beneath a tightly strung corset.

"If you've got as much fire in your feet as in your tongue, I believe I've just found myself a new dance partner."

She meant nothing by it; nothing sexual, anyway.

Now, at least. The very least.

She was all for truth, freedom, beauty, and lycra. But love was something which she avoided at all possible costs; it was nowever, what she attempted to entice in all of her more testosterone-riddled audiences.

She awaited his answer blantantly as she turned with a flash to face him; lobes flicking provocatively; imagine it, she can even make her very ears enticing. Something about her was charismatically consuming, overpowering which numbed all mind and senses except those working off the more personal leagues of energy.

Ahem, if you catch her drift.

But she wasnt flirting; she was just being lascivious, lecherous, lewd, lustful, or any other enticing word which would describe her zaftig persona.

Hell, she was being Roxy.

Waiting quaintly--quaintly, believe it or not.....-- for his reply, she eyed him steadily with beatifully charred orbs. They showed her true honesty, or perhaps her false honesty; they showed the emotion she wished for him to read, at least.

There's no sexual connotation in my language, Flynn.

Takes two to tango, after all.

[ Post a Reply to This Message ]
[ Edit | View ]