The seven demons were cramped in seven different mundane...
Rain falls from the bedarkened and weeping widow's sky. The gusting wind will carry them in wild vortices one moment, and in a diagonal pace the next. Its symphony accompanies the menacing sound of thunder. Its motion, though ravaging and perilous, seems to perform a perfect pirouette that deters and refrains anyone from cooing under the covers. The air is cool, but not as cold as it will be when the pouring continues in the next hours.
The air is cool, but not that cold to ignite fire out of two rubbing bodies.
Like the turmoil outside, this dingy room of a tiny straw-hut is in a rather ragged and feral state. Whimpers and other sounds of pleasure flaw the cry of nature. The warmth of touching bodies---skin to skin, tongue to tongue with overflowing libidos, with a pleasured arch for every hungry thrust--- belittles the wintry essence that the abundant downpour supposedly brings.
Her hands explore and feel the fire that is his body, pleasing him even more. Knowing that she made him growl, she laces her legs around his waist, giving him the permission to be completely inside her depths--- to his extent. Her whimpers, he takes no notice of and instead move his hips briskly, satisfying himself to climax.
"I'm close," he says in between panting breaths, plunging inside her savagely. Her nails dig deep to the furriness of his back, the same way he buries his teeth in the flesh of her neck.
"Leon..." She calls, feeling him grow bigger inside her.
He pulls out, giving himself a few strokes before his seed showered on her gut. He falls beside her. Their bare skin is gradually feeling exposed to the real setting of the atmosphere, losing the hotness that was evident just a while ago.
Furry beings are only shaped as humans, but they are still animals. So when he inches away from her and leaves when the rain comes to a halt, it won't matter. The itch this boring weather brought on both of them was needed to be scuffed. And they just scratched it.
End quote.
You run your hand from your lips, creeping through your neck, to your bosom, down to your torso, staying there longer. Your free hand clutches the Japanese manga of furry porn near your cheeks, believing that what you've read is happening to you right now.
Of all the good stuff you had read, this kind of read always gives you the feeling of satisfaction. You find it so arousing that you no longer mind that you are confined inside the four corners of this pure white room. But still, it can't make you disregard something.
Your hand continues to run down to the line of your undergarment but stop halfway through because you realize you are not wearing any. Instead of fabric, you feel completely constrained because of the chastity belt that prevents you from making yourself feel such content.
You wanted to shout, but the twisting of the knob stops you from doing so. You hide your book instead; afraid they might take it from you. You hide it in your usual hiding place, under the bed, and lie purposefully on your back, seemingly uninterested of anything.
"Magdalene, time to take your shots." A smile graces your lips as a familiar voice fills your ears. It is Leon, in his pallid white uniform, carrying an elongated, silver plate containing several syringes.
He smiles at you and you try not to be affected. But the truth is you feel movements in your stomach. No, not butterflies. It's the urge to force him to be inside you. You just look away and secretly lick your lips.
"Are they treating you well? Do you feel better?" You didn't answer. Not that you didn't want to, though. It's just that, you notice the infamous key dangling in his hand, making you hiss in anticipation. Especially when he unconsciously places it on the bed along with the plate.
With the wit in you, you shift in your bed, knocking the plate to the ground. Leon sighs but you just mutter a simple sorry, making it look like an accident. An accident on purpose. You know he's enticed with your charm. So when he smiles at you before leaning down to get the syringes, you know this won't be as hard as you think it will be.
Swiftly, you snatch the key and hide it under your pillow. But there's no way he will not notice it. So after he straightens up, before giving you the shot, you grab him by the collar of his uniform and take captive of his lips.
It doesn't take long for him to kiss you back. You expect it to be gentle, but it is rather rough and longing. So before you totally forgot what your plan is all about, you push him away and plaster a fake shock on your face.
"I---I'm sorry." Shaking, he gathers his things and hurries to the door, a shade of red creeping on his neck. "I'll just give you the shots later." But you know he won't be back after a few days. Like the last time.
Feeling ravenous, you waste no time and unlatch the belt from your being, exposing your flesh tainted with mane that shows how grown up you already are.
Under your bed, except from several manga books you made your geeky boyfriend brought in his last visit, is a dildo you requested a random nurse you hooked up with to give you. You've been waiting such a long time to do this. But if everything has its own season, then this is your right time.
You spread your legs and pull the patient gown up to your torso and position the fake male genital to your entrance. You moan as you rub it with your flesh. You hiss when you slightly push inside. And when you commence to plunging it in and out, you almost lose it.
They say that love can make you feel the best of things in life.
No.
Lust offers pleasure.
And for you---the beauty of dark alleys and flickering street lights---that's what makes everything worth living.
End quote.
Magda is too engrossed with reading her discourse in front of the class. After the last words, she gazes back to her blockmates. Most have their mouths hanging open, like they can't believe they just heard such thing form Plain Magda--- the university nerd, and Ms. Goody Shoes. Some are like Mr. Jenkins who is drooling in his sleep. A group of jocks at the back just got their hands from inside their pants, while the blondes are giving her a disgusted look.
Snatching her bag from her seat, a devious smirk paints her lips. From the reaction of her fellow students, she knows she inflicted some knowledge inside their empty skulls. And that's how she knew her task is done.
... The Greed in a pair of earrings, The Sloth in a wrist charm, The Pride in a posh hat, The Wrath inside a cassette tape, The Envy in spectacles, The Gluttony in the form of a book... and The Lust as a cloak.
She gives her shawl a final tuck before confining her head inside its over-sized hood. As she reaches for the door and the class finally decides to make some noise, a piece of white paper accidentally falls from her folder. An accident on purpose.
One random girl of thick-rimmed glasses chooses to pick it, making her brows furrow. A triangle with an eye inside is drawn at one side and the words, "The number of time: Birth. Life. Death." is written atop.
Flipping it, at the back is a number. The girl doesn't know why she finds it hard to roll the words in her mouth. But when she finally does, a search for pleasure builds up inside her.
"3."
