The lights below shimmered seductively, reflecting the glassy heartbeat of a throbbing metropolis. He breathes in wicked smoke. Projected in front of him, the sweet panorama gently teases the knife edge of his dilated pupils. Lord forgive, this feels too damn good.
Soft glossy bodies wrapped and writhed against expensive-fucking leather couches. The smooth Makassar ebony floor no longer pristine, with drips of coy lustful laughter blended with Ley .925 tequila staining its brief perfection. This whole farce was an exercise in opulence. An impossibly spacious penthouse condo filled to the brim with immaculate beauties in their too-tight designer dresses made by names far more important than their own. A select clientele of uber-rich male hot shots and cockier than Lucifer assholes, all looking to get their dicks wet. The girls try to amplify their sex, they purr, they pout, how much are their curves worth? In the end, they’re merely pyrite.
He grins wearily at the scene unfolding around him. Why the fuck does he organize these gatherings anyway? Nothing is so beautifully disgusting. He thinks this even as another one wraps herself around him, peppering his neck gently with smoky, fruit-infused-kisses.
“Come back” she whispers sultrily while gently nibbling his ear. The promise of a space filled with only his deepest carnal fantasies clawed fervently at his mind.
He persuades himself to be persuaded. Her runway caliber strut shamelessly showed off her assets as he followed her hungrily.
Around him were dickheads entertaining diamond-hungry nymphomaniacs with their half-assed narcissistic rambles, drug-fueled anecdotes and borderline pedophilic jokes. Money talks. The girls lap it up. Puppy eyes each and every one of them. Pussy to catnip.
It pushed mercilessly against him, that gnawing emptiness at his heart, or was it her mouth around him? Nothing ever felt so warm and pointless. There must be more than this. This fuckery. He tries to recollect some semblance of purpose and innocence. To crawl through the dark corridors of memory, to find something other than this convoluted world of lies built on Louis Vuitton bullshit. All he found were more bags, each one more expensive and useless than the last.
His eyes rolled back in his head as he let go. She kept moaning. Play-acting. He didn’t even care to know her name.
But it was going to be alright now. All these stand-up gentlemen and worldly women. They were the summit of human civilization. The epitome of sophistication and the zenith of class. Exalted in their nakedness, coarse animals fucking their way to oblivion.
He smiles, and the wicked smoke envelops all of them, blanketing them with their deluded aspirations to nowhere and their hollow dreams of nothing.
Breathe it in.
Those dreams, soon, no more.
