I gently ascended and saw light from under one of the two doors fed by the upper landing. I twisted the knob and ducked inside with her bags of booty.What a scene. Inside, the room was imbued with Martha's scent. Her small bedchamber was eclectically decorated with young-girl items like posters for rock bands and brightly-colored stickers on everything. In contrast she had added touches of her emerging adulthood. A pair of handcuffs hanging from one bedpost, a painting of a woman wearing a masquerade eye-mask, a coiled bullwhip nailed to one wall. The room was lit by a single lamp covered by a faux-zebra fur shade. On the floor were unmatched area rugs and a quilt-style coiled oval rug. Her clothes and possessions were strewn about everywhere. Her bureau and dresser drawers were half-open and spilling a wild array of papers, books, clothes, gadgets, trinkets. On her nightstand were so many water glasses that they crowded out her alarm clock. The time was nine PM, on the. Her figure screamed fertility – avatar of nature that she was – with child-bearing hips and breasts so bountiful that he would scarcely be able to cup one in two hands. There was a pleasant fullness to her, the soft flesh that clung to her thighs and belly giving her curves that drew the eye with an almost magnetic power. She embodied a standard of beauty that was lost to time, but one that nonetheless ignited an ancient and primal lust in him, like a hunter-gatherer obsessively carving fetishes from ivory.Where her skin was clear of her delicate wool, it was as smooth as polished stone, shining almost like silk beneath the lights. It was pale, though not pallid – warmth and health radiating forth to make her glow.His eyes followed the thin trail of fur that began between her breasts, his gaze wandering up to her neck and shoulders, where it created a sort of fluffy ruff that framed her face. It continued to her head, where it served as her hair, those black horns and her large ears.
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