11-20-2025, 03:15 PM
Helina’s make-up is for the stage, alluring and smoky, glittery shadow and thick mascara accentuates her eyes. Her foundation and contouring are flawless, and her nude lips form a plump pout of perfection. She wears spike heels and a plush, leopard print coat.
Beneath that coat Helina is naked, save for a long pendant which reaches almost to her navel. The coat’s silky lining strokes the curves of her bare skin, while the plush outer layer of fur tickles against her breasts and upper thighs. Her desire is naked too, raw and primal, tightening her throat and making it hard to swallow while thudding like the beat of club music between her thighs. As she strolls languidly down the backstage corridors to find her quiet place with its deep leather armchair, anticipation floods her body. She always arrives before everybody else, a habit she’s formed over years of performing. The expectancy of taking the stage never fails to turn her on, and desire slithers down her spine. She is giddy with need but quietly determined not to rush her pre-show ritual. Every moment must be savoured, an exhibition of lewd devotion to herself.
Helina Dream is a star, who loves her work. Her art is edgy and risqué, her performances designed to shock as much as they titillate. She seeks constant adoration from her audience—fuel, to make her feel validated and alive. Today she is the epitome of a femme fatale from a black-and-white movie as she sucks on her cigarillo, letting smoke curl past her nostrils. She opens the glossy magazine in her lap, the cover is cool against her smooth thighs. Flicking idly past perfume ads and fashion spreads, she loves searching for her own image sizzling out from the pages. She finds what she’s looking for. The photographs are arresting: A sultry diva smoulders from those glossy pages. Helina, who is well versed in the transaction of tease, knows how to look down a camera lens as if she’s flirting with a prospective lover. She’s studying her centrefold, her skin already prickling with the hum of desire, anticipating the promise of what comes next.
At the end of that particular photo shoot, Helina had acted on the sexual tension it elicited. While the photographer directed her, “move your shoulder, tilt your chin, give me aloof, unattainable,” the air between them had been charged with attraction, like ozone before a thunderstorm. Desire and lust had crackled as she struck provocative poses, and it refused to be ignored. If she lets her mind wander back to how, when everybody left, she had fucked the photographer on the deep leather saddle chair, her nerve endings will still spark with echoes of the sensations drawn out of her body that afternoon.
As she flicks through the rest of the pages, a note flutters out.
Look beneath your chair.
Her fingers are elegant, with a nude manicure that matches her lips, and she reaches for the box, placing it to the side, stifling her curiosity and teasing herself for later. The note is from her lover, she recognises the slant of the handwriting.
Her fingers stray to her chest, skimming over the taut skin to caress the slope of her upper breast and play experimentally with her darker nipple. Featherlight touches are enough, awakening their tips to stiffness. Grazing their stalks with the edge of her nail, she transmits a shock of sensation between her thighs and Helina parts her lips in a sigh.
She tugs the lapels of her coat and luxuriates in the contrasting texture of its softness and warmth, how it rubs the pulse point in her neck. She’s feline, like a cat that’s persuasively preening her cheek against its owner, seeking attention, Helina snuggles deeper into the embrace of the coat and the low-slung leather chair.
Pouting, she smooths the pads of her fingers along the length of each thigh, over her small breasts, to trail them over her ribs. It’s a ticklish route that heads down to her slender legs, which she parts a fraction. She brings both hands back to her breasts, ready to pinch each nipple, jiggling them in an alternate rhythm that evokes another irresistible electric tingle. Her body is like a sexy circuit board, the slightest touch to her nipples sizzles directly to her clit like they are hard-wired to pleasure.
While heat pools, her pussy drools. Arousal is simultaneously plumping her lips and painting them with a dewy gloss. She rubs her fingers over her mound, where her skin is silky smooth; waxes and massages are part of her regime. Helina regards her body as the tool of her trade, the foundation on which she has built her fame and seductive reputation, and she constantly aspires to perfection.
Tipping her head to rest on the back of the chair, she bites her lip and strokes her labia, delighted when her finger’s tip discovers the cream created by her playful touches. Now, dipping that finger into her honey pot, it glides like silk, drawn into her heat. Pleasure fans out from the insistent pressure as she delves deeper inside. Drawing it back out, she raises it to her lips, eager to taste her nectar and share it with her lover. It’s sweet and tangy, slightly tart and musky, her juices are fragrant with pheromones that make her pulse flicker.
Helina continues to rub and press. Using two fingers she smooths an insistent path along both edges of her sensitive slit, massaging every nerve ending awake. Her body comes alive, thrumming and ready. Time seems to stretch, she lazily watches both index and ring fingers as they glide in tandem, performing a dance they have done since her first sexual awakening.
Her pussy lips weren’t so smooth back then, and the recollection of her younger self triggers a secret smile.
Helina can remember, in the early days, taking time to find pleasure in the bath. Her nubile body always became aroused by the heat of the water, and would quickly be flooded with a chain reaction of desire. Her small breasts bobbing like exotic islands above the bath’s perfumed surface, their nipples became scrunched to dark, aching points, and their curved surface peppered with gooseflesh, while steam from the water swirled around her.
Lazing in her tub, she’d daydream of the many ways she intended to touch herself long before she succumbed to the temptation. The anticipation would fervently heighten her arousal, so that when her hand finally reached between her legs, she’d find a slick of her juices not yet mixed with the water. Parting her thighs in the confines of the narrow bath, she liked to begin by stroking; making tender, tentative movements between her pussy lips. These awoke thrilling shudders, as did her fingers’ first brush against her clit. Back and forth, back and forth, she’d strike a rhythm for strumming her quim, drawing out the moments, allowing her mind to empty of thought and focus purely on sensation.
Helina would gently comb fingers through the curls that topped her mons, a sparse thatch that she could smooth this way and that, awakening sensations that fizzed and sparked within her core. Like a finely-tuned instrument, her pussy would vibrate, abuzz with pleasure. Then she’d begin to pluck and tug on the soft hairs, and desire would coil and build, until climactic fireworks went bursting around her body. She imagined herself lit up from within, transformed into a Roman candle from the incandescent joy that throbbed in her veins. When her epiphany faded, she was left boneless and limp.
That was a glorious memory, and savouring it has let down her honey. Helina’s fingers easily slide in and out of her pussy, her kegel muscles thrum around their invasion. She pictures her lover nestled between her thighs, how deftly their fingers would dip and dive. Circling her clitoris, now oiled with desire, they would graze her g-spot and, with skill and dexterity, set about teasing forth ripples and flickers of lust, pushing Helina’s pleasure to new heights.
She reaches her arm to locate the toy in its box, sliding off the lid to admire the naughty item nestled within. It’s beautiful, coated in high-quality, soft silicone, of a texture that drags slightly at her skin as she strokes its length and eases it from its moulding. She admires its rounded ends and the almost indigo colour, somehow fitting, as she has wicked intentions for the dildo.
Helina raises it and presses it against her full lips, wishing for her lover’s kiss. In their absence, she licks it seductively. If only they were here to join in: Tease and be teased. She intends to put on a smoking sexual performance. Taking the dildo’s length between finger and thumb, she manipulates it, bending it into a curve, one she predicts will nudge deliciously against her g-spot. It slips inside her pussy with ease and she rocks it deeper, licking her lips as she pleasures herself, quickly becoming stimulated to new levels of excitement.
Helina pouts with disappointment. She has missed an opportunity to record her self-pleasure for her lover, but it’s too late now. Still, she’ll perform as if she has an audience; she’s a woman who gets her kicks from putting on a show and being centre stage. She visualises her lover looking on at how she touches herself, shamelessly coaxing pleasure from her body. Why not? They arranged this gift, they must surely know she’ll use it.
Determined to draw out each moment, and demonstrate how her pleasure ratchets up the scale, she grasps the toy to straighten it, then liberally coats its girth with lube. There’s something about being as slippery as an eel that’s very sexy, and the slight chill of the gel against her over-heated folds makes her shiver and squirm.
Helina rubs the tip of the toy through her slit and around her entrance, grazing her clit to thrilling effect. She imagines her lover asking, How much do you want this, bitch? If only the photographer was here, she would share her greed for stimulation: Give it to me, I want it all!
But would they penetrate her forcefully, plunge in for her to enjoy the stretch? Or would they prefer to be a tease, to edge her for longer? Right now, she is teetering, her thirst balanced on a sharp blade, clawing at her to submit and succumb or risk a climax slipping through her fingers forever. She doesn’t know if her lover would be merciful, and give her the green light for pleasure.
Helina needs this, it’s what she craves but—she bites her lip—does she deserve it? Sometimes she enjoys acting the bratty bitch. She needs somebody who embraces that, a dominant lover with a slow hand, like in the song.
She closes her eyes, lets her fingers rock the dildo into her body, setting a steady rhythm. Heat pools in the cradle of her pelvis as she takes some deep thrusts, other times more shallow. She sits cupped in the embrace of the leather chair, exploring her limits. Helina’s channel ripples and she’s enslaved by her enthusiasm. Her pelvis strains and rises, themuscles in her legs and abdomen tighten. She drives the toe of her killer heel downwards, tramping the floor. One calf tenses in her effort to cant her hip upwards. She tucks and angles her pelvis, desire holds her body as taut as a bowstring, her whole being keening for more.
Her mind screams out her need for satisfaction, but what if her lover doesn’t hear her, or they live to tease? The ache in her core is powerful, a tension that drives her to crave and beg, but today the power is in her hands.
Le petit mort the French call it, and as Helina’s body climbs the sheer precipice of needful desire, she will grasp it, whatever the cost. The little death is not such a silly name when, in the throes of passion, devil’s bargains would be made to reach that pinnacle, capture that high. The pursuit of an orgasm is a thrilling challenge: an obstacle race, a mountain climb, chasing a tiger over rugged terrain.
Even as Helina masturbates, able to control the depth of penetration, the speed of the thrusts and all the angles, there’s no certainty. A climax might still evade her, dancing its Nirvana-tinged allure just out of reach. She will not give up, her body needs this.
Helina fondles her breasts as she moves the dildo. They require rougher handling than before, mild pain to generate sparks of need, so she is pinching and pulling them. She wishes her lover was near enough to nip them, or suck hard and draw her teats into their mouth. While she imagines how they would roll and tease her fevered flesh between puckered lips, the touchpaper ignites and her inner heat flares. A starburst in her pelvis makes her cry out, and her toes curl in her shoes.
It’s an explosion followed by a fizzing response, like popping the cork of Champagne. Now Helina’s mind turns over a sexy fantasy her lover recently shared. They want to drizzle vintage golden bubbles against her flawless skin: Use only their tongue to lick it off. How decadent it would be to feel Champagne froth from the neck of a heavy green bottle and spill down her tawny torso, a trickling line of liquid running from her clavicle to her navel? It enhances her pleasure to visualise a trail of Veuve Clicquot creeping sensually onwards, a rivulet that puddles in the shallow dip in her flat stomach. Its presence would be ticklish and cool, but gravity would coax it ever lower, leaking into the musky shadows between her thighs. Down to where she longs to be licked, the source of the ache within, which is gnawing like hunger, pulling like need. This fantasy fuels her desire, she pushes her hips up to meet the thrust of the dildo with a primitive urge. The muscles of her pussy grasp and draw inwards, craving its insistent invasion to plunder her depths, the toy’s length hits all the sweet spots, but it doesn’t spill her into oblivion.
More, fuck me harder! Her mind and body cast off caution and refuse to tolerate another moment of tease. When she splays her fingers and circles them around, pressing against her clit, she is skilfully playing that bundle of nerve endings in a swirling dance, like a fiddler bowing a furious jig. Her fingers can perform magic, weaving a web of desire so strong she can neither evade nor deny it. Helina’s body is pulled tight on a rack of sensation; her breaths become deep and gasping to match the rhythm of her wrist action. While rocking the toy inside her, she is stirred to silken heights, decadentimages swirl in her mind, fragmented and inflammatory.
Helina bites her lip and tilts her pelvis, every muscle strains to pull their goal into focus. She raises her legs, drawing those wild sensations as close as she can. Desire possesses her, raking like burning fingers down her skin, pricking her scalp, thudding like a bass drum between her thighs until she gasps.
More, more. I want to take it all! Her confession of hunger is insistent, it’s written like a mantra over her skin, puts lava in her veins, a cry of jubilation on her lips. I’m coming! I’m coming!
When her climax crashes over her, it’s like a rip curl that sweeps her along with its force. Helina is both broken and rescued by the intensity. It is natural like a thunderstorm, with clashes of lightning. A magnificent reaction, chafing her sensitivity raw, every nerve ending hums with its power, vibrating pleasure from her buzzing lips to her cramping toes. She’s turned on and turned out. Pressing her thighs together she attempts to contain the pulsing that she chased so hard to capture, but she’s awash with satisfaction and release.
As she comes down, she continues sliding the toy gently between her legs, extending the aftershocks that ripple through her, wrapped in the hazy bliss from that tide of endorphins. She smoothes one hand over her breasts, which are hypersensitive, their nipples still peaked. They send fizzing messages to her overloaded clit: The hub of the orgasmic frenzy she has just endured.
Helina stretches gently, her languor lends her grace, but before she can unfold from the deep chair and return the toy, her source of pleasure, to the box, she hears a click. The distinctive snick of a camera shutter alerts her to the presence of a voyeur. At first she is curious, and then becomes delighted. She pretends to be unaware of the intrusion, moving casually to pick up the magazine and open it to the place where she found the note. Now her lover is here, in person, bending to steal a kiss from her smirking lips.
“I very much enjoyed your show, my little vixen,” the rasp and thickness of the photographer’s voice lends truth to that statement, and Helina preens with visible pride.
“I needed you earlier,” she pouts, letting the fur fall open to put her perfect breasts on display.
“Oh I don’t know…” Helina’s lover traces the topography of her beautiful body with cool fingers, slowing only to pinch a nipple before dipping between her thighs into the dewy heat of her pussy. “You seemed to grasp pleasure with both hands. I’m worried my little gift may replace me.”
“Never,” Helina’s steady gaze brooks no argument, “I know plenty of things it can’t do.”
She fists her hand in her lover’s jacket and draws them down to their knees.
“Kiss me,” she commands, leaning forward.
She stops short of their lips, allowing them to take the initiative and claim her mouth, their tongue sliding against hers. With a grin the photographer draws back.
“I can taste you,” they remark, planting a hand on each of her bare knees, “but I want more.”
“Take it, it’s all yours,” Helina sighs expansively, allowing her legs to be spread wider. As she submits, the weight of one shoe dangles precariously from her toes.
Her lover presses warm lips and a lithe, tickling tongue to her slit, keenly lapping and suckling. Their ministrations magnify every sensation Helina recently experienced. She sinks her fingers into her lover’s hair and writhes greedily against their mouth.
“If there’s a toy that replicates that, I haven’t found it yet,” she sighs, immersed in bliss yet alert to the sound of the cast buzzing to get in at the stage door.
The End
Beneath that coat Helina is naked, save for a long pendant which reaches almost to her navel. The coat’s silky lining strokes the curves of her bare skin, while the plush outer layer of fur tickles against her breasts and upper thighs. Her desire is naked too, raw and primal, tightening her throat and making it hard to swallow while thudding like the beat of club music between her thighs. As she strolls languidly down the backstage corridors to find her quiet place with its deep leather armchair, anticipation floods her body. She always arrives before everybody else, a habit she’s formed over years of performing. The expectancy of taking the stage never fails to turn her on, and desire slithers down her spine. She is giddy with need but quietly determined not to rush her pre-show ritual. Every moment must be savoured, an exhibition of lewd devotion to herself.
Helina Dream is a star, who loves her work. Her art is edgy and risqué, her performances designed to shock as much as they titillate. She seeks constant adoration from her audience—fuel, to make her feel validated and alive. Today she is the epitome of a femme fatale from a black-and-white movie as she sucks on her cigarillo, letting smoke curl past her nostrils. She opens the glossy magazine in her lap, the cover is cool against her smooth thighs. Flicking idly past perfume ads and fashion spreads, she loves searching for her own image sizzling out from the pages. She finds what she’s looking for. The photographs are arresting: A sultry diva smoulders from those glossy pages. Helina, who is well versed in the transaction of tease, knows how to look down a camera lens as if she’s flirting with a prospective lover. She’s studying her centrefold, her skin already prickling with the hum of desire, anticipating the promise of what comes next.
At the end of that particular photo shoot, Helina had acted on the sexual tension it elicited. While the photographer directed her, “move your shoulder, tilt your chin, give me aloof, unattainable,” the air between them had been charged with attraction, like ozone before a thunderstorm. Desire and lust had crackled as she struck provocative poses, and it refused to be ignored. If she lets her mind wander back to how, when everybody left, she had fucked the photographer on the deep leather saddle chair, her nerve endings will still spark with echoes of the sensations drawn out of her body that afternoon.
As she flicks through the rest of the pages, a note flutters out.
Look beneath your chair.
Her fingers are elegant, with a nude manicure that matches her lips, and she reaches for the box, placing it to the side, stifling her curiosity and teasing herself for later. The note is from her lover, she recognises the slant of the handwriting.
Her fingers stray to her chest, skimming over the taut skin to caress the slope of her upper breast and play experimentally with her darker nipple. Featherlight touches are enough, awakening their tips to stiffness. Grazing their stalks with the edge of her nail, she transmits a shock of sensation between her thighs and Helina parts her lips in a sigh.
She tugs the lapels of her coat and luxuriates in the contrasting texture of its softness and warmth, how it rubs the pulse point in her neck. She’s feline, like a cat that’s persuasively preening her cheek against its owner, seeking attention, Helina snuggles deeper into the embrace of the coat and the low-slung leather chair.
Pouting, she smooths the pads of her fingers along the length of each thigh, over her small breasts, to trail them over her ribs. It’s a ticklish route that heads down to her slender legs, which she parts a fraction. She brings both hands back to her breasts, ready to pinch each nipple, jiggling them in an alternate rhythm that evokes another irresistible electric tingle. Her body is like a sexy circuit board, the slightest touch to her nipples sizzles directly to her clit like they are hard-wired to pleasure.
While heat pools, her pussy drools. Arousal is simultaneously plumping her lips and painting them with a dewy gloss. She rubs her fingers over her mound, where her skin is silky smooth; waxes and massages are part of her regime. Helina regards her body as the tool of her trade, the foundation on which she has built her fame and seductive reputation, and she constantly aspires to perfection.
Tipping her head to rest on the back of the chair, she bites her lip and strokes her labia, delighted when her finger’s tip discovers the cream created by her playful touches. Now, dipping that finger into her honey pot, it glides like silk, drawn into her heat. Pleasure fans out from the insistent pressure as she delves deeper inside. Drawing it back out, she raises it to her lips, eager to taste her nectar and share it with her lover. It’s sweet and tangy, slightly tart and musky, her juices are fragrant with pheromones that make her pulse flicker.
Helina continues to rub and press. Using two fingers she smooths an insistent path along both edges of her sensitive slit, massaging every nerve ending awake. Her body comes alive, thrumming and ready. Time seems to stretch, she lazily watches both index and ring fingers as they glide in tandem, performing a dance they have done since her first sexual awakening.
Her pussy lips weren’t so smooth back then, and the recollection of her younger self triggers a secret smile.
Helina can remember, in the early days, taking time to find pleasure in the bath. Her nubile body always became aroused by the heat of the water, and would quickly be flooded with a chain reaction of desire. Her small breasts bobbing like exotic islands above the bath’s perfumed surface, their nipples became scrunched to dark, aching points, and their curved surface peppered with gooseflesh, while steam from the water swirled around her.
Lazing in her tub, she’d daydream of the many ways she intended to touch herself long before she succumbed to the temptation. The anticipation would fervently heighten her arousal, so that when her hand finally reached between her legs, she’d find a slick of her juices not yet mixed with the water. Parting her thighs in the confines of the narrow bath, she liked to begin by stroking; making tender, tentative movements between her pussy lips. These awoke thrilling shudders, as did her fingers’ first brush against her clit. Back and forth, back and forth, she’d strike a rhythm for strumming her quim, drawing out the moments, allowing her mind to empty of thought and focus purely on sensation.
Helina would gently comb fingers through the curls that topped her mons, a sparse thatch that she could smooth this way and that, awakening sensations that fizzed and sparked within her core. Like a finely-tuned instrument, her pussy would vibrate, abuzz with pleasure. Then she’d begin to pluck and tug on the soft hairs, and desire would coil and build, until climactic fireworks went bursting around her body. She imagined herself lit up from within, transformed into a Roman candle from the incandescent joy that throbbed in her veins. When her epiphany faded, she was left boneless and limp.
That was a glorious memory, and savouring it has let down her honey. Helina’s fingers easily slide in and out of her pussy, her kegel muscles thrum around their invasion. She pictures her lover nestled between her thighs, how deftly their fingers would dip and dive. Circling her clitoris, now oiled with desire, they would graze her g-spot and, with skill and dexterity, set about teasing forth ripples and flickers of lust, pushing Helina’s pleasure to new heights.
She reaches her arm to locate the toy in its box, sliding off the lid to admire the naughty item nestled within. It’s beautiful, coated in high-quality, soft silicone, of a texture that drags slightly at her skin as she strokes its length and eases it from its moulding. She admires its rounded ends and the almost indigo colour, somehow fitting, as she has wicked intentions for the dildo.
Helina raises it and presses it against her full lips, wishing for her lover’s kiss. In their absence, she licks it seductively. If only they were here to join in: Tease and be teased. She intends to put on a smoking sexual performance. Taking the dildo’s length between finger and thumb, she manipulates it, bending it into a curve, one she predicts will nudge deliciously against her g-spot. It slips inside her pussy with ease and she rocks it deeper, licking her lips as she pleasures herself, quickly becoming stimulated to new levels of excitement.
Helina pouts with disappointment. She has missed an opportunity to record her self-pleasure for her lover, but it’s too late now. Still, she’ll perform as if she has an audience; she’s a woman who gets her kicks from putting on a show and being centre stage. She visualises her lover looking on at how she touches herself, shamelessly coaxing pleasure from her body. Why not? They arranged this gift, they must surely know she’ll use it.
Determined to draw out each moment, and demonstrate how her pleasure ratchets up the scale, she grasps the toy to straighten it, then liberally coats its girth with lube. There’s something about being as slippery as an eel that’s very sexy, and the slight chill of the gel against her over-heated folds makes her shiver and squirm.
Helina rubs the tip of the toy through her slit and around her entrance, grazing her clit to thrilling effect. She imagines her lover asking, How much do you want this, bitch? If only the photographer was here, she would share her greed for stimulation: Give it to me, I want it all!
But would they penetrate her forcefully, plunge in for her to enjoy the stretch? Or would they prefer to be a tease, to edge her for longer? Right now, she is teetering, her thirst balanced on a sharp blade, clawing at her to submit and succumb or risk a climax slipping through her fingers forever. She doesn’t know if her lover would be merciful, and give her the green light for pleasure.
Helina needs this, it’s what she craves but—she bites her lip—does she deserve it? Sometimes she enjoys acting the bratty bitch. She needs somebody who embraces that, a dominant lover with a slow hand, like in the song.
She closes her eyes, lets her fingers rock the dildo into her body, setting a steady rhythm. Heat pools in the cradle of her pelvis as she takes some deep thrusts, other times more shallow. She sits cupped in the embrace of the leather chair, exploring her limits. Helina’s channel ripples and she’s enslaved by her enthusiasm. Her pelvis strains and rises, themuscles in her legs and abdomen tighten. She drives the toe of her killer heel downwards, tramping the floor. One calf tenses in her effort to cant her hip upwards. She tucks and angles her pelvis, desire holds her body as taut as a bowstring, her whole being keening for more.
Her mind screams out her need for satisfaction, but what if her lover doesn’t hear her, or they live to tease? The ache in her core is powerful, a tension that drives her to crave and beg, but today the power is in her hands.
Le petit mort the French call it, and as Helina’s body climbs the sheer precipice of needful desire, she will grasp it, whatever the cost. The little death is not such a silly name when, in the throes of passion, devil’s bargains would be made to reach that pinnacle, capture that high. The pursuit of an orgasm is a thrilling challenge: an obstacle race, a mountain climb, chasing a tiger over rugged terrain.
Even as Helina masturbates, able to control the depth of penetration, the speed of the thrusts and all the angles, there’s no certainty. A climax might still evade her, dancing its Nirvana-tinged allure just out of reach. She will not give up, her body needs this.
Helina fondles her breasts as she moves the dildo. They require rougher handling than before, mild pain to generate sparks of need, so she is pinching and pulling them. She wishes her lover was near enough to nip them, or suck hard and draw her teats into their mouth. While she imagines how they would roll and tease her fevered flesh between puckered lips, the touchpaper ignites and her inner heat flares. A starburst in her pelvis makes her cry out, and her toes curl in her shoes.
It’s an explosion followed by a fizzing response, like popping the cork of Champagne. Now Helina’s mind turns over a sexy fantasy her lover recently shared. They want to drizzle vintage golden bubbles against her flawless skin: Use only their tongue to lick it off. How decadent it would be to feel Champagne froth from the neck of a heavy green bottle and spill down her tawny torso, a trickling line of liquid running from her clavicle to her navel? It enhances her pleasure to visualise a trail of Veuve Clicquot creeping sensually onwards, a rivulet that puddles in the shallow dip in her flat stomach. Its presence would be ticklish and cool, but gravity would coax it ever lower, leaking into the musky shadows between her thighs. Down to where she longs to be licked, the source of the ache within, which is gnawing like hunger, pulling like need. This fantasy fuels her desire, she pushes her hips up to meet the thrust of the dildo with a primitive urge. The muscles of her pussy grasp and draw inwards, craving its insistent invasion to plunder her depths, the toy’s length hits all the sweet spots, but it doesn’t spill her into oblivion.
More, fuck me harder! Her mind and body cast off caution and refuse to tolerate another moment of tease. When she splays her fingers and circles them around, pressing against her clit, she is skilfully playing that bundle of nerve endings in a swirling dance, like a fiddler bowing a furious jig. Her fingers can perform magic, weaving a web of desire so strong she can neither evade nor deny it. Helina’s body is pulled tight on a rack of sensation; her breaths become deep and gasping to match the rhythm of her wrist action. While rocking the toy inside her, she is stirred to silken heights, decadentimages swirl in her mind, fragmented and inflammatory.
Helina bites her lip and tilts her pelvis, every muscle strains to pull their goal into focus. She raises her legs, drawing those wild sensations as close as she can. Desire possesses her, raking like burning fingers down her skin, pricking her scalp, thudding like a bass drum between her thighs until she gasps.
More, more. I want to take it all! Her confession of hunger is insistent, it’s written like a mantra over her skin, puts lava in her veins, a cry of jubilation on her lips. I’m coming! I’m coming!
When her climax crashes over her, it’s like a rip curl that sweeps her along with its force. Helina is both broken and rescued by the intensity. It is natural like a thunderstorm, with clashes of lightning. A magnificent reaction, chafing her sensitivity raw, every nerve ending hums with its power, vibrating pleasure from her buzzing lips to her cramping toes. She’s turned on and turned out. Pressing her thighs together she attempts to contain the pulsing that she chased so hard to capture, but she’s awash with satisfaction and release.
As she comes down, she continues sliding the toy gently between her legs, extending the aftershocks that ripple through her, wrapped in the hazy bliss from that tide of endorphins. She smoothes one hand over her breasts, which are hypersensitive, their nipples still peaked. They send fizzing messages to her overloaded clit: The hub of the orgasmic frenzy she has just endured.
Helina stretches gently, her languor lends her grace, but before she can unfold from the deep chair and return the toy, her source of pleasure, to the box, she hears a click. The distinctive snick of a camera shutter alerts her to the presence of a voyeur. At first she is curious, and then becomes delighted. She pretends to be unaware of the intrusion, moving casually to pick up the magazine and open it to the place where she found the note. Now her lover is here, in person, bending to steal a kiss from her smirking lips.
“I very much enjoyed your show, my little vixen,” the rasp and thickness of the photographer’s voice lends truth to that statement, and Helina preens with visible pride.
“I needed you earlier,” she pouts, letting the fur fall open to put her perfect breasts on display.
“Oh I don’t know…” Helina’s lover traces the topography of her beautiful body with cool fingers, slowing only to pinch a nipple before dipping between her thighs into the dewy heat of her pussy. “You seemed to grasp pleasure with both hands. I’m worried my little gift may replace me.”
“Never,” Helina’s steady gaze brooks no argument, “I know plenty of things it can’t do.”
She fists her hand in her lover’s jacket and draws them down to their knees.
“Kiss me,” she commands, leaning forward.
She stops short of their lips, allowing them to take the initiative and claim her mouth, their tongue sliding against hers. With a grin the photographer draws back.
“I can taste you,” they remark, planting a hand on each of her bare knees, “but I want more.”
“Take it, it’s all yours,” Helina sighs expansively, allowing her legs to be spread wider. As she submits, the weight of one shoe dangles precariously from her toes.
Her lover presses warm lips and a lithe, tickling tongue to her slit, keenly lapping and suckling. Their ministrations magnify every sensation Helina recently experienced. She sinks her fingers into her lover’s hair and writhes greedily against their mouth.
“If there’s a toy that replicates that, I haven’t found it yet,” she sighs, immersed in bliss yet alert to the sound of the cast buzzing to get in at the stage door.
The End