April 4th

"Well. Can never deny you a good shot Isabel." He exchanges a fist bump with Annie, whose acerbic expression is mixed frustration and relief as you two take a maintenance staircase up toward the skylight. Still, you can smell the beryl tang of her envy...and you can't help but smile in triumph. You're clearly the dominant female Turnskin. This is your turf, and Vahn is yours to enjoy.

The stairs are tall, and you're a couple steps above Vahn, giving him an unabashed view up your skirt and along the pale curves of your thighs, the round firmness of your buttocks. It's a tight little space, like a former elevator shaft and poorly lit, and...speaking of shaft...you turn your pretty, dark eyes downward at Vahn, who's got this knowing look on his Gypsy dancing-boy's face. You can see the hardness of his cock, its length pressing down his leg as he walks.

What's this Vahn? You think you're gonna get lucky, hmm? You tease, turning and placing your hands on your hips with a 'tut', even as you roll them invitingly forward.

The handsome skate star doesn't even grace your query with an answer...he knows he is, and his shirt is already peeling free from his smooth-skinned, defined chest. The low light glints against the barbels through his nipples, and as your prettyboy ascends to close the distance between himself and the gratification he knew was coming, you reach down and place your hands on his shoulders, laughing as he takes your ass in his grip and pulls you onto his hips. You love when your lovers do this, and come to think about it you recall he and Mizrah laughing animatedly together, deep in conversation. Had Yusuf been sharing...advice? There's something...hot about your lovers talking about how to please you, now you sort of wish you were there for that.

His kiss is fierce and hungry, your tongue tangling with his as he carries you to the landing. You caress his smooth, beautiful face, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his jaw and nose. You whisper hot, utterly lascivious things to him:

"We don't have a lot of time, so you sit back...I'm going to make you cum, Vahn."

"...love when you try to resist, and you put up such a good fight last time - "

"Sit down, pretty boy..."

You unbuckle his belt and do away with his pants, relishing his nudity as he sits before you in a simple metal chair at the top of the landing, smirking up with lust and anticipation...he's more than willing to let you take charge, as you often do with him. Vahn's hands reach down and shamelessly caress the length and heft of his penis...it's really something. He doesn't quite have Yusuf's girth, or those incredible adornments and curve, but it is long and glistening with a broad, full glans, and the way he used it...You feel yourself grow lush and wet, hot with desire at the sight of him, at the way he's touched you...and so you smoothly stand over his lap, your own fingers sliding down over the front of your skirt temptingly, fingering the zipper with your other.

"You're so...fucking...hot," he chuckles, as if in disbelief.

"Show me you think that," you invite him, your other hand pulling his hand up over your smooth stomach as you undo the zipper of your skirt.

He does just that, and as always he laps eagerly at you with youthful enthusiasm. Vahn Svarapahn - who yesterday told you his uncle was a ship manufacturer in Alexandria, and the day before that his family was descended from Armenian nobility - adores your body and has no shame showing it. His hand slides up between your breasts, adoring your lower stomach, your hips with his mouth - his other hand eagerly pulls your skirt away, revealing the simple little red thong girding your loins; already aroused and ready for his touch, you caress his head toward your groin.

"Haaanhh...nggghhh good, taste deeply of me, you see how I want you, don't you?" you tease him as you roll your hips against him, a sound somewhere between gasping and laughter bubbling forth from your throat as his tongues roll along the hardening pearl of your clitoris. It slides with smooth tingling ecstasy inside of you and your head tilts back, a sigh escaping your lips like a flight of butterflies.

His hands hold on to your ass firmly as his tongue fucks you with vigor, and he pulls away to whisper, a string of your arousal breaking from his lips to yours. "I do...you know yours is my favorite to lick like this." Vahn seals his point by pushing one, then another finger into you and crooking them upward, parting the juicy petals of your labia to better enjoy you as you squeeze greedily around them. He snakes in amazing zig-zag patterns, up your vulva and making lovely circles over your node, suckling deeply of you, and as your legs begin to shudder with release he keeps you steady; your fingers dig into his shoulders for support as your nectars drip and flow across his eagerly lapping tongue, over his chin, further embedding your scent upon him and Enthralling him to your sexual potency.

When the pulsing, roiling waves of release originating from your clitoris throb to completion, you pull away from his lips and push his hair back affectionately. "You never fail to please, my sweet skater boy." You bend forward and taste yourself upon him, reaching down to take the tall staff of his masculinity, stroking it gently to find him turgid and hot. You're soaked; it's easy to take his girth.

You know how to draw forth his own climax, and he's shown you such dedication and adoration, so...you reward him. Your hips gyrate in the sort of hypnotic motions that transfix a man's attention as you polish his cock, gripping the back of the chair, a drawn out call of pleasure as his teeth find your nipple, tugging gently. "Nnngh yeah, ohhh fuck me...god, god you are the best ride, I've ever, wow!" You watch the defined cords and sinews of his shoulder bend and tense just for you, digging into the edge of the seat with one hand as you skillfully thrust him into your sex. The creamy, illicit sound of your lubricated, velvet grasp slicking over his cock fills the confined space, the potent, feminine scent of your climax a sweet perfume on the air.

You delight in the way his flared glans seems to grip at the entrance of your sex, driving deeply into you and sliding wonderfully against your fundament when you hilt your lover. "Do you want to cum in me, Vahn?" it is a loving invitation, one that melts him in your arms, eyes glazed over with ecstasy.

"Yes, I do, are you gonna make me Isabel?" his wide, excited grin reminds you of when you gave him his Christmas present last year, and you can't help but laugh musically and kiss him as you increase the tempo of your rut. It's deep, affectionate, caring, and it feels good to make him feel good. Your silken lips pull and slurp over his shaft until you reach down, fingers finding his testicles and giving them a light squeeze - at that moment you take all of him into you, and you savor the masculine, deep grunt of effort and hunger when he cums.

The force of his hot emission pumps up into you, thick and vital and filled with his lifeforce - were he one of your kind you'd be taking his Mark into your self, but as it is, you simply further drive home the point that he's yours. His pretty face with his slightly hollow cheeks, his soft cupid-bow mouth, the beads of sweat caught in his feathery dark hair...he's beautiful to watch when he releases in you, almost at odds with the deep sounds reverberating in his chest...until he is finally done, and his semen is trickling slowly down his shaft from within your sex.

"Ahhh yeah, ffffffffuck that was, so good...I don't...know how you do that, how you..." ride him so powerfully? How you please him like no other woman possibly can, your allure continually drawing him back? Mizrah doesn't mind, so long as you come back to him...and besides, Yusuf is so incredibly magnetic it's hard to resist.

"It helps that I like you, Mister Svarapahn." You make sure he knows this by milking his cock within your silken grasp, provoking a final gasp and a last pump of his seed into you. You kiss the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and your lips meet lovingly as you dismount him. Vahn's sperm drips in thick, hot droplets, flowing down his shaft and over his testicles; your sensitive eyes pick up on how his muscles unclench under his taut, almond-dark skin. You've made him really happy tonight, and you even do him the kindness of cleaning him with your tongue, swirling it gently against the tip to taste the last of his ejaculate.

You love him; not the same as you love Mizrah or Ascher, but are any two (or three) loves the same?

"You're...sure..." he swallows dryly, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead as he rises from the chair, handing your skirt to you as you pull your underwear back up, keeping his warmth within you. "...you're sure Yusuf...he isn't gonna like, beat me up? He's kinda big."

Hah, big...yes he is - not towering or enormous, but Mizrah's presence is larger than life and he's definitely big where it counts. "He hasn't beaten you up yet, has he?" you chuckle in a low, somewhat sinister tone, holding him close to you and nuzzling his cheek. "Mizrah doesn't have any reason to feel threatened. He knows I have fun fucking you, and you're good at it. Relax. If you're worried, you're welcome to join us sometime." You smile at his flushed expression, offering him his boxer briefs.

In truth, Vahn knows how to make you feel good, he's terribly cute and an unfailingly sweet, fun young man. If things were normal - hell, if you were normal - you might even consider dating the guy; his undying compassion, his generosity and his lovable affectation are prized traits...but you simply feel yourself growing further aroused at the thought of Yusuf waiting for you after the show. He's the one you really desire tonight.

You couldn't help but wonder who'd gotten lucky with him tonight...that Lola girl who supposedly 'hated men'? That pretty girl with the ebon skin and rainbow braids, and all the attitude? Maybe the scary green haired bitch, the one who gave you the shivers with her tanned, muscular arms and all that eyeshadow. He didn't just randomly fuck groupies, but both of you had a network of partners...Thralls...lovers...appetizers before the main course that is each other.

True to his word, Vahn does accompany you into the catwalk after getting dressed, and he's helpful for keeping a grip on your shirt as you lean out to get a good shot of the second band, despite his protests.

The second shot: No wonder it took so long to set up for the next band - they've practically remodeled your stage! A great, black web of some plaster-like substance swings on suspension wire in their background, upon which they've bracketed these animatronic severed heads - that's pretty high budget for an indie metal show, you wish they'd brought it up with you. They play as good as they look however, putting on a real masquerade of a show - the lead singer...you can't tell if they're a man or a woman, a looming figure in towering platform boots, a striped black-and-white leather cloak with its thorned shoulders; a costume of black leather armor covers them from head to toe, and it must be sweltering, sweaty hellpit in there. The drummer is similarly tall, massive, cloaked in shadows...you simply see white-painted, tree-trunk thick arms smashing those snares. The rest of their music seems handle by a singularly talented woman - an ice-pale valkyrie in a sort of City-of-the-Damned get up, a golden spined and frilled halo upon her back shimmering as she moves. She's...piping forth guitar riffs, synth and bass on something that looks like a highly technical bassoon; rainbow slick, it vaguely reminds you of a strange, giant alien sex toy.

You snap another collection of deliciously clear photos for the venue's site...you thank Vahn with a deep, sincere kiss, suspended high above the entire crowd, nipping the tip of his nose and allowing him a grope of your ass before you circle down the stairs with him and out into the main floor. Popular boy he is, Svarapahn is intercepted by a crowd of skaters who eagerly tug him toward an improvised ramp they've rigged up outside.

No matter. You have your own duties to attend to during the interlude - you're already getting alerts on your mobile from your lighting guy that some of the wiring is starting to smoke in sector D; you had to do everything yourself these days, so you grab a box of tools from the back of your car and move to keep the whole venue from burning down.

It's...a frenetic ten minutes of quickly replacing a bit of burnt out wiring, executed speedily with a pen-knife, duct tape and a high-definition clarity of senses...and it's not just the wiring, a whole speaker bracket is starting to falter and you have to clamber up behind it to keep it from falling down and mashing audience members.

The entire time you work, your mind is nonetheless scanning the world around you; sex has a tendency to enliven your senses...to energize you. Where the mortals in this land occupy themselves with goals for fulfillment, your kind's concerns were sort of...spoken of in this lumped-together way: 'Satiaty' - it's not just about eating the right kind of meat, you realize, but having the things that make you satisfied. Mizrah had often emphasized that point, that you should actively Hunt for satisfaction rather than seeking whatever lay over the next hill or running some mortal rat race; as he'd pointed out, unhappy, dissatisfied humans were corrosive to the people around them, and Turnskins were just as bad if not worse.

You needed to Hunt, yes, but you also needed love and closeness in addition to scratching that sexual desire...flings were never truly satisfying, but the network of tight relationships you'd built since re-entering this world of concerts, art and revelry you'd once inhabited actually is.

Your lover's orgasm is still wonderfully slick and inside of you, leaving you feeling slick and aroused...this was a ritual you'd performed once or twice with him, and you wondered if Mizrah would be interested in the game. Your dominance, the way you'd fucked Vahn to completion, and the echo of his tongue lapping eagerly over your sex leave you hungry for more sex.

Your mind is drifting to memories of last night in Yusuf's bed when you hear a voice from below, where you stand at the top of a ladder. "You didn't think I wouldn't smell him, Isabel, dripping out of you?"

His voice is low and sultry, a leonine growl underpinning his words that you feel shudder in your lower belly. A telltale, piquant smile of satisfaction graces your lips as you easily turn around where you stand at the top of the ladder and sit down at its apex.

"What's the matter lover? Make you jealous that I fucked another guy so hard he couldn't keep it in, hmm? The way I fuck you?" you taunt him, pressing your fishnet-clad thighs together underneath your leather skirt; it squeezes Vahn's semen within you, a sound you know to be audible to his inhuman hearing. "You gonna do something about it?"

The challenge makes his heart race, you can hear it all the way up where you perch. Your eyes run over his body, delighting in his sheer physical power, the charm of his presence. Yusuf Mizrah, lead singer of INSTRUMENT OF AGGRESSION, is wearing nothing but that leather vest he favors, giving you a nearly unobstructed view of his carved, powerful torso. All the lines, from his pectoral muscles to his abs, to the furrows of that rare Apollo's Belt, seem to lead suggestively below his belt buckle...the tight leather pants he favors (at your recommendation) as part of his stage costume show every line and contour of his shaft, the round, ridged prominence of his glans and, of course, the suggestion of ring and clasp. He's erect...the curve of his cock outlined against his thigh.

Your sex gives a clench of excitement at the scent of his sweat, the sight of his manhood barely restrained.

To spur him on...you move your thighs open, shifting your skirt up and giving him a wide, evil smile. Your bare, scarlet panties carry the obvious stain of your recent sexual romp with Vahn only a few meters from where you stand, the wetness of your arousal and the white of another man's semen pressing the impression of your plump, aroused lips, your hard pearl against the fabric of your underwear.

He makes an inhuman sound and begins to climb the fucking ladder - now this is interesting because an aggressive motion like this should result in the both of you falling down and dealing with the consequence of tangling with gravity...it should...but you have some influence over the land of Could, and you will probability in your favor with a flare of otherworldly energies; the ladder remains stable.

Your laughter is low and musical as you let him between your parted legs, impossibly balanced, and release a snarling rumble of desire when his sharp canines find your shoulder, then your neck...he could tear you open at any moment if he wanted to, and you could do the same to him; the bare existential threat has always made this intimacy a tantalizing experience.

"I'm going to take you...and make you mine," the musician purrs against your lips, and giddy lust pulls an enchanting little smile across your face, fingers tightening on the ladder's step. "...but first, you're going to want me so badly you'll be begging for me."

You two have played this game before; it isn't anything you've done with prior lovers whose possessiveness, weakness of flesh, and lack of confidence would have prevented them from handling it, but Mizrah is something different. Well, maybe he's a little jealous, but it's hard not to like that. Besides. You can smell that pretty girl all over him - the one who'd dipped surreptitiously from his dressing room before...the hypocrisy - so cheeky!

"Hmm hmm, and how do you intend to do that MizrahAaahhaa - "

No man has ever kissed you like he does...probably because no man you've ever kissed had wolf-fangs, or a tongue stud, or gave off enough heat to turn water to steam. Your fingers dig into the ladder hard enough that your nails turn claw-like, piercing the black rubber like hard meat, and the tingling electricity of his thumb running over your already hard nipple makes your breath hitch. "Like this Isabel...see?"

It's...working, but you snarl at him, your own fangs making contact with his and seize his collar, speaking inches from his lips. "So that's how it works, rockerboy, you think you can just go fucking every girl who traipses within cock's reach? I can smell her you know...bastard."

You bite his lips, your tongue catching against his...and shove him back from the step ladder with a grin. His arms pinwheel and you watch with lemon-sweet maliciousness at the way he falls...but that preternatural Turnskin dexterity sees him land on all fours like a cat, even as you traipse down the ladder toward him.

"I'll be the one reclaiming you, and I'll have you when I want you...which is now, Yusuf."

Your fingers find his shoulders as he rises, and you shove him back against a support pillar, your knee brushing up against the side of his hip; your sharp fang could puncture his lip like a plump fruit, drinking the blood from it. "Only one way to Mark your turf, agapouia mou, to take back that which Vahn marked...and just so you know," you purr as you nip his chin with a sultry little chuckle.

"He made me cum. Think you're the only one who can?" See him resist -that-.

He's straining against his pants...you can practically taste his desire, anticipate him losing his cool and giving in to enter you - it's a sensation you relish, being able to take all of him at once without the need for foreplay (even though you loved how he warmed your body); Vahn had simply...eased the way, so to speak.