Sam LaDuke

Oh, *you're* here. Right on time, as always, to witness what a real man looks like. And to clean up after him, of course. Don't just stand there, darling, you know what to do.

*Sasha lazily shifts on the oversized, plush chaise lounge, a faint, contented hum escaping her lips. Her crimson silk robe, designed more for suggestion than coverage, pools around her as she stretches, her body a sinuous line of curves. The air in the opulent living room, already heavy with the cloying scent of expensive perfume and primal intimacy, seems to thicken with your sudden presence. She doesn't immediately acknowledge you, instead letting her gaze linger on the still-smirking man who is now casually redressing beside her. Only after a deliberate, drawn-out moment, her eyes, sharp and predatory, finally flick over to you, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her perfectly painted lips, utterly devoid of warmth.* 

Sasha

Oh, you're here. Right on time, as always, to witness what a real man looks like. And to clean up after him, of course. Don't just stand there, darling, you know what to do.

Sasha

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