Catalina, Queen of the Nightlings – Volume 1: Cleopatra’s Pearls
J. Lee Roberts
Strobe lights flash and electronica pulses, their only escape a small crack at the base of a huge, black padded door.
The bodybuilder, who is posing as a doorman reeks of sweat, sex, and the sweet cocoa scented fog that saturates the interior of the club. His eyes widen and he curtly nods, quickly opening the door to the exclusive crowd within.
Not that anyone would ever deny me. Not dressed like this, or any other way for that matter. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m really not all that conceited, I’m just practical. I mean, who would turn me away? Especially tonight when I am in my best dominatrix finery.
Tight black, thigh-high boots and a blood red corset, my favorite. I like to wear it so tight that my nipples are constantly in fear of popping out, not that I would be concerned if they did. However, my nipples are always so hard from arousal, they could inadvertently put an eye out. A tiny black lace miniskirt is really just in place to hook my black fishnet stockings to, but it is such a necessary evil. I mean, pantyhose are such a cock blocker. Literally.
It may all seem like a bit much, but really, except for my wardrobe, all I really did before leaving home was to comb out my long, wavy, auburn hair, cake on some thick black mascara and my fav black liquid eyeliner. Just for fun, I painted my full red lips black—always a crowd pleaser.
When the gorilla watching the door opens it for me, I am assaulted by the obnoxiously loud, repetitive electronic music that seems to infect every Goth club on earth. The flashing lights have been released, and they pulse in rhythm with the doorman’s heartbeat. I hear it quicken, as if trying to keep up with the music, as my heaving breasts jiggle wildly crossing the threshold. Four-inch heels will do that.
“Mmm.” I breathe in one of my favorite perfumes, sex. It’s no wonder the scent is so pungent, half-naked, sweaty, slick bodies writhe in ecstasy against one another everywhere you look.
The theme tonight, just like every night at The Blood Moon is Goth chic. It looks like nobody bothered to call anyone else, because everybody is wearing the same damn thing. Or at least a variation there of—black leather, black fishnet, black boots. Like I said, not much originality, unless of course, you consider torturous looking facial piercings a unique style.
I can’t really talk too much shit though. My closets are lined with all the Goth finery a girl could want, or not, for that matter, but that’s not who I am, or even why I’m here. You see, the clothes are just a means to an end.
I work my way through the throng of leather-clad bodies, and head straight for a drink. I like how the bar in this club is located, directly in the center of the building. It gives me full access to enjoy one of my favorite hobbies, people watching. Well, kind of.
I seductively lean over the bar to order a glass of Merlot, and my mischievous tits come dangerously close to popping out of their deep red bondage. As I’m handed the glass, someone salaciously cups my ass. I turn slowly, seductively sipping my wine to see who has called.
He’s tall and broad. I wouldn’t go out on a limb and call him handsome, but his eyes are bright blue and his muscles are hard. He’s wearing loose, faded blue jeans. They’re ripped and worn, the button only a distant memory. They hang open, exposing his tuft of curly blond hair. His tired black boots, and a single dangling earring is all he wears. It’s more than enough.
I can tell he is mesmerized by my looks. It’s understandable. It’s not every day a woman like me responds so willingly to an ass grabbing. Then again, I’m not technically a real woman, but I’ll tell you more about that later, let’s get back to the hunk.
“I already have my drink,” I purr salaciously before he can even get his mouth opened. “Let’s see if we can find something for you.” It may sound like I move fast, but I have come out for fast food after all.
The stud takes my hand as I lead him to one of the private alcoves along the red velvet padded walls. We pass couples and triples in various stages of play and passion. The intoxicating fumes quicken my step, and the stud hurries along.
I pull the blue-eyed stud into a dark, empty corner, and back myself into its shadowy embrace. His thick, tanned arms are slick with sweat. God, it’s always so hot in these places, but that’s why I come. I hope. A girl can dream.
His hands are large and callused, but gentle, and he easily takes both my wrists into one of them. He brings my soft, silky arms over my head, and my tits finally betraying their jailer, bounce free. His bright blue eyes go wide, devouring every inch of my firm white breasts.
“The things I could do to you,” he threatens, sensually.
“I’d like to see you try,” I purr, as I make a pitiful attempt to wriggle free. He tightens his grip and leans in, taking my hard dark nipple, into his hot wet mouth. He sucks and nibbles and I moan loudly, thrusting my breasts forward, deeper into his eager mouth.
I easily release one of my hands from his powerful grip, and run my blood-red nails down the soft top of blond hair that graces his hard chest. I follow the trail down, down, down, all the way, firmly grasping his hard, strong shaft. I quickly size up his manhood, and find his great beast to my liking. I start stroking his growing length through his tattered jeans, until his zipper is ready to burst.
“Let me help,” he suggests, unzipping his tattered jeans. His long rod flops out now that all restraints are gone. I grip its wide girth in my palm, and explore its full length. My fingers now free from his iron grip curl into his wavy locks, guiding and encouraging his work on my breast.
With both of his hands free, he is able to explore the rest of the treasure he has encountered. I like that he is on the same wavelength as me, not too eager but not too shy. He expertly kneads my breasts, giving each the individual attention they deserve. He takes his time, flicking his tongue, teasing around each areola in turn.
Seeing that he has erected both nipples to his satisfaction, he works his mouth up, kissing and licking my collar, my neck, my ear. As his kisses move up, his hand slides down, discovering my hourglass figure in the dark. He keeps moving down, expertly unclipping my stockings from the flimsy piece of lace I had the nerve to call a skirt.
“Tell me what you want, baby. I want to hear you scream,” he says, enticing me.
“Make me come. I want to feel you inside me,” I purr, thrusting my hips forward, encouraging his movement.
He moves his hand up my skirt and finds nothing blocking his progress.
“You, are a naughty woman,” he pants, rubbing the soft curls of my mound. “And ready.” His fingers find me wet and wanting.
I place my hand over his, and encourage his gentle massage. He slides a long, strong finger inside of me, and I moan in delight of his touch. I adjust my stance, and widen my long legs to encourage his progression. My advancement on his stiff cock is slowed by the steady drumming of his hand. In, out. In, out. I throw my arms up above my head, and gyrate with his movement.
“God,” I cry, and lift my leg, hoping for a deeper penetration. He takes the hint and firmly grasps my thigh. Holding it up high, he slips in another long finger. In, out… “Yes.” In, out… “Oohh.” In, out. He pounds.
I want to please him entirely, so I grasp his hard pulsing cock, and start to massage. His great length glides in and out of my hand, in rhythm to his penetrating work on my cunt. He throws his head back in ecstasy, and I smell what I came for, his climax. Seconds before he lets his ejaculation flow, I pull him in. My fangs extract, and I sink them into his sweet soft flesh, and drink in his intoxicating elixir.
The endorphins I deliver are a gift. To him the process is painless. To me, I’ll have to find my release elsewhere. I suck his juices from my fingers, delighting in the concentrated neurological chemicals within. I quickly zip up his jeans, and shove my tits back into their cell. I smooth his hair back, and lightly graze his ear. He stands dazed and utterly confused against the wall.
“Sorry you won’t be able to remember this,” I apologize, walking away.
I saunter to the door, grab my coat from the clerk, and head for home. Like I said, fast food.
To read more [btn text=”Click Here” tcolor=#FFF bcolor=#800080 thovercolor=#CDCDCD link=”https://luminositypublishing.com/product/catalina-queen-of-the-nightlings/” target=”_self”]
