Ambrosia_64
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2011
- Posts
- 880
Lights danced over the crowd, lasers flashed across the ceiling, music blared, pumping bass throughout the floor so that it thrummed through her shoes and body-the exact kind of hunting ground they so often frequented.
Leaning against the bar with a tumbler captured in her thin fingers, Nora watched the dancers with a slight smile curving her painted purple lips, watching bodies move and clothing sway, figures and shadows yearning for a good time.
Nora herself was dressed in a sequined, see through black sweater, a bright purple, tight fitting tank showing through beneath it. Her leather skirt was tight to her rounded bottom but still long enough to count as conservative, respectable. If not for the fact it was leather, anyway.
Her short, dark red hair was cut at an angle from her pixie pretty face, almond eyes an interesting shade of hazel with green flecks. Depending on the light they seemed to shift color, from a bright green to a honey amber. She was very attractive, and moved with a sort of...dancer's grace, head high and feet assured.
An artist, Nora made her living painting idyllic scenes of cabins in woods, historical figures, women leading armies. But her real passion, her true muse were -people-, and she had dozens upon dozens of portraits or normal, regular working men and women, the poor, the downtrodden, the foolishly proud. Moving sketches of imaginary, solo figures lined the walls of her studio, their loneliness poignant, saddening. She had an amazing talent of conveying emotion, of capturing that which made us human.
For such a somber, serious artist, she was rather bright and cheery, full of life and happiness.
Perhaps that had something to do with her lover.
Draining the remainder of her bourbon, Nora set the glass down and stepped away from the bar, turning to her partner, her hips moving lightly in tune with the music, shoulders twisting this way and that in an erotic little display of movement.
"So." She asked, lips slightly parted on the 'o', leaning forward to murmur into her partner's ear. "What are we aching for, tonight?"
Leaning against the bar with a tumbler captured in her thin fingers, Nora watched the dancers with a slight smile curving her painted purple lips, watching bodies move and clothing sway, figures and shadows yearning for a good time.
Nora herself was dressed in a sequined, see through black sweater, a bright purple, tight fitting tank showing through beneath it. Her leather skirt was tight to her rounded bottom but still long enough to count as conservative, respectable. If not for the fact it was leather, anyway.
Her short, dark red hair was cut at an angle from her pixie pretty face, almond eyes an interesting shade of hazel with green flecks. Depending on the light they seemed to shift color, from a bright green to a honey amber. She was very attractive, and moved with a sort of...dancer's grace, head high and feet assured.
An artist, Nora made her living painting idyllic scenes of cabins in woods, historical figures, women leading armies. But her real passion, her true muse were -people-, and she had dozens upon dozens of portraits or normal, regular working men and women, the poor, the downtrodden, the foolishly proud. Moving sketches of imaginary, solo figures lined the walls of her studio, their loneliness poignant, saddening. She had an amazing talent of conveying emotion, of capturing that which made us human.
For such a somber, serious artist, she was rather bright and cheery, full of life and happiness.
Perhaps that had something to do with her lover.
Draining the remainder of her bourbon, Nora set the glass down and stepped away from the bar, turning to her partner, her hips moving lightly in tune with the music, shoulders twisting this way and that in an erotic little display of movement.
"So." She asked, lips slightly parted on the 'o', leaning forward to murmur into her partner's ear. "What are we aching for, tonight?"
