STARTED JAN 2023--
MATURE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT. Viewer Discretion is advised.
Priscilla Pearl Wolfe is a Pornstar.
Halen Elle used to be.
That is until the apathetically charming jackass with a back pocket full of guitar picks and skittles moves...
"Everyday I want you just a little bit more..." ♪ Ev'ryday, I love you • Jo Stafford.
COLD BLOODED, CLIMATE KILLER
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Shame, she says.
I put other male Pornstars to shame.
This candid praise, this stroke of my ego at Priscilla's hands is slow and torturously glorious. Her adoration and affection may be for Bates, but I can feel it in my bones. In my chest. Like vibrations that echo in the wake of her words. I close my eyes, tilt my head to the side and take a deep breath as excitement and arousal rustle through me, jolting the nerves in my neck.
Nothing makes me tic more than a heightened state of emotion. Anger. Sadness. Stress. Excitement. Happiness. I knew this was coming, but the temporary immobility is worth every word that I heard from her menacing lips.
My tics start to calm down with only the occasional hard blinking and tongue clicking, and I decide it's safe to lean back in my chair then. I watch through the frosted, blurred glass of her bedroom divide as Priscilla changes.
I gave her twenty minutes to get ready for the day.
I'm feeling generous.
The clock on the wall chimes for nine o'clock, signaling her time is over and I'm not surprised to hear the slow clicking of her heels against the wood floors as she nears; perfectly on time.
She slides open the door and I can tell by the way her face is set and her shoulders are back that she's feeling more like herself. I skim my eyes down her figure to appreciate the stockings and silk black dress on her figure, similar to the style of Audrey Hepburn, except coming her to her knees. Her shoes are the same simple pair of buckled black heels that she wore the day before; complete with a silk bow.
She's a Pornstar with the wardrobe of a Primary school teacher.
It's, interestingly enough, very cute to me.
"We have rules for the manor and rules for the tenants, so try to keep up, because I won't fucking repeat myself." She smooths her dress down and walks to the door, "Let's go. Chop, chop."
I need a cure for that foul mouth.
I take a swig of the remainder of rum left in my crystal and then put the glass down before getting up slowly. I'm in no hurry.
Letting my restless bones crack into place for a second, I follow her into the hallway.
"The rules for the house are new and mostly precautionary because it's getting so old, but that's neither here nor there. So, rule number one: don't use the sink in the kitchen unless you want whoever's in the shower on the third floor to come out with icicles hanging from the wrong places. The last time that happened, Rick came down and punched a hole in the wall."
