St. Joan of Arc Church...
"An ironic thing, don't you think? To name a Church after a woman who was accused of heresy and burned at the stake for the crime of witchcraft. Irony, or hypocrisy. Noone truly knew what to make of the famed Maid, save that she was a fierce warrior, and heard voices; those she claimed to be of her Lord, the one God."
The church was small. Pleasant and comfortable. The footfalls echo against the walls and the "dark priest' of SCW, Synn himself, walked down the aisle with his fingers steepled at the front of his waist. He was an impressive sight, if one could admire the attractive nature of another in a so-called House of God. His wild, untamed hair was slicked back and it touched below his shoulders, the light waves of the chestnut brown tresses ticking down against his eyes. His eyes were of a deep, sea green, and when you gazed into them you could swear he was looking into your very soul, and you would lose yourself in them allowing him to do so. His attractive, chiseled facial features bore no true hint as to his emotions or intentions in being here, but if he was to gift you with a smile from the full lips he caressed against many a neck and other body parts of both woman and man, you wouldn't care what he was thinking, and would give him anything he wanted. His height was staggering at a near six foot eight, and the muscled frame he packed onto it was dressed in a crimson red dress shirt, with a matching set of ebony black dress jacket, slacks and dress shoes. Cutting such a sight it was small wonder that he had little trouble in charming those closest to him, and gaining many physical pleasures from those he desired.
He gazed around with a thoughtful expression, yet it could be seen from the look in his eyes that he was thoroughly unimpressed. The decor inside was quaint with its walls of smooth stone and brown upper echelon. The dark beams overhead and lamps that offered bright lighting in direct contrast to what one might desire for the mood of the worshipping parish.
"It's not much, but at least God can call it home. Not very eloquent though, if I might voice an unbiased opinion."
Synn looked directly at the camera the light from an overhead lamp casting a glaze against those emerald orbs and catching a faint twinkle. The right corner up his full lips turns upright, revealing a bewitching dimple.
"You would be amazed at how rare a church of impressive size and decor would be to find in a city as grand as Las Vegas."
He tapped a forefinger to his pursed lips and then shook it in contemplation.
"Then again, perhaps you wouldn't. Las Vegas, it would seem, was not made for the God fearing. Yet I suppose it will have to do."
Synn exhaled gently through his nose and allowed his hands to glide behind his back and he clasped them as he paced the rows of pews where the devout would congregate to attend the holy service.
"I have to admit, a church that fosters only four hundred is weak by comparison to many of the other Houses of God that I have found my way into. Oh please do not misunderstand me. I don't find myself in these silly little places out of a desire to be saved, but more so to study those people within that believe these walls will keep their souls intact and safe from the uncertainties of the afterlife."
He turned his head and gave a curt nod to indicate an older couple who stood toward the front of the church where lay the altar and the only true artistic marvel in the entirety of the place of worship; a large oil painting on a domed canvas, depicting three angels hovering over Jesus amidst a field of grain. Synn watched as the couple each lit a candle, one of many in rows, and they bowed their heads in silent prayer.
"Take them for example. I would imagine they have been coming here for many a year. Perhaps even before they were joined in matrimony. They are devout. They follow the commandments to the best of their knowledge, yet how true does the church remain in their heart, when they are no longer in the church?"
Synn folded his arms over his chest and smiled.
"It is indeed a sad fact of life that the average church goer is a raging hypocrite."
Synn chuckled beneath his breath. His face bore the signs of self amusement.
"Well not so much sad as it is incredibly amusing. They enter these walls to address their claims of purity and deservedness of a place in the Kingdom of Heaven, and yet once they leave and return home? They drink. They fornicate. They curse. They will openly judge others of the same moral crimes they commit themselves and take great pleasure in thinking they are not judging as themselves but through their Lord's eyes."
Synn shrugged and held his arms outward.
"Hypocrisy."
Synn turned and slid into one of the rows and had a seat. He leaned back and clasped his hands together in his lap.
"If ever there was a city in this world of ours that would best serve those vices of the soul the church would refer to as 'sin', it would be the City of Sin, Las Vegas, Nevada. Like water to a plant, the city itself serves as nourishment to the hardened hearts and souls of mankind. Sin is simply a fact of life. So many purists out there lay claim to a belief that to sin is to corrupt the soul, but where lies their evidence? Between a man who is chaste and lives a life without so-called corruption, and a man who indulges the senses in ways that bring him pleasure, who leads the more fulfilling life? The first man will look back on his deathbed and realize all he could have experienced in life, but chose not to. The second man will look back and smile in satisfaction at all he had accomplished."
"Without the corruption and debauchery offered, Las Vegas would be virtually non existent. It was made for the tantalizing of the human soul. Just take a walk down any city street and you'll meet the plethora of goodies for the heart, mind, and other places in between. Las Vegas embraces sin. It embraces the Seven Deadly Sins."
"Perhaps most prominently, Greed. What is Las Vegas known for more so than being the home of so many Casinos. The bright lights and promises of easy money lure the money hungry into their web and once bitten by the gambling bug, the fever soon takes over. Especially if one wins. That first victory at cards or the various games leads you to believe that you have struck it rich, and deadens the senses to keep you from being logical. How many people would spend fifty dollars, win twenty, and get excited over their 'good luck'? Just about all of them I imagine. Yet these gamblers believe that they won because they have a system. Oh those fiendish magic words. Well let Synn fill you in on a little secret; there is no such thing as a system in Las Vegas. It's nothing but pure, dumb luck, and you fell right into the trap. You would spend your life savings just to prove that you are not a loser at the most mundane of chances. You would sacrifice your home and your loved ones' happiness, just to be a winner! Would you do that, Misty? You have a lovely home. Beautiful children. ... A husband."
Synn rolled his eyes.
"Your own words were that just one of you could be on the road at a time. I guess the answer was made clear. You could not resist the pull of those bright lights. Heaven forbid you have the chance at winning a championship. That would practically spell disaster for your happy little home."
Unbelievably, Synn reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. Pulling one from the package, he proceeded to light up -- in the church -- and took a drag. he exhaled the gentle plume of smoke and kicked his heel up over his knee.
"Which would bring us to Pride, the one sin that can not be defeated, no matter how strong the mind and body. If you win a little money, you end up with an over-inflated sense of your own self worth. You believe you've accomplished something when you've really performed very little. Perfectly understandable."
"Everyone wants to be the best at what they do, even if they don't stand a snowball's chance in Hell of coming out on top. They simply refuse to give in, and keep going and going until they have nothing left to give. That is the sweetest moment of all because in that one split second, they truly understand just how worthless their lives truly are. They look around and hear the cheers of others winning, and wonder, 'That should be me!' Really. This leads to desperation, in wanting what others have, which of course is a whole other sin unto itself. It's still out on this one as to how pride affects any of the three ladies Fantasia will find herself against at Climax Control because really ... none of them have any."
"Envy is of course desiring what others have. The souls of the Strip watch others win. They see the beautiful clothes, the jewels worn around the neck and the beautiful bodies hanging onto them in the hopes the wealth will be shared. They see all of these things and they decide they want it too! No, they will tell you that they deserve it! They cry about their poor lot in life and to them, this means that their turn has come. They must win! Or in Kittie's case, desiring to be reasonably sane. Not that I can talk."
Synn chuckled silently and tapped a forefinger to his temple.
"After all, there are those out there who would accuse me of being a tad touched in the head, a trait I never really sought to deny. After all, being normal really only denotes a lack of courage. Who would want to be a sheep when one has the chance to be the shepherd? Yet al things considered, Kittie really is a sad little case, is she not? I know I feel for her, and if I do, god only knows how many thousands of others must be experiencing the very same swell of emotional pity for this melancholy little creature. I fondly recall the first time we got to lay eyes on this creature after her heralded arrival in Vegas. The poor daring was so distraught over what she lacked she had to have her head examined. She'd stand a better chance at getting help from Despayre's teddy bear than she would that charlatan."
He paused for a moment, contemplating everything said, then shrugged and casually flicked the cigarette ash aside before taking another puff.
"Still, at least she's making the attempt. I give her fair credit for trying to make it past the obstacles life has hurled her way. Why, she even managed to pick up a victory over my very own Fantasia just a scant few days ago. Not an easy task, but the rage that is housed in her heart served her very well. Wrath does have its purposes, if one can manage to harness its qualities and channel it toward a proper goal. Very few in this bright city would know how to do that. They get angrier and angrier at the losses that never seem to stop piling up, and then what happens? Without a proper target, they take their aggressions out on the innocent. How many times have we heard tragic news reports of violent crimes in this very city? How many could be attributed to the luxuries offered and yet not attained? Money and the desire for success, can work dark clouds into the silver lining of the human heart. Misty and Alison Summers have to be asking themselves just how much they can come to depend on dear Kittie. Last I saw, she wasn't doing too well, and she seemed well on the verge of losing it. They might now be forced to wonder to themselves if they will end up
the innocent victims in the latest Las Vegas tragedy."
"Sloth has many a meaning in the vast scope of what one might call sin. Basic laziness is by far the most popular definition. Why should you worry about today what can be held off until tomorrow? Play a few more hands at Poker. Throw the dice again. Add a few more quarters to the slots. Who cares? You're in Las Vegas! The gambling is practically a prerequisite for coming here in the first place! I am beginning to wonder if that is what happened to Miss Summers. We have yet to be graced by her first promotional appearance and her partners must be growing concerned. Then again, maybe she didn't fall to the ways of Sloth. Perhaps Lust is the key."
Synn could not help but have a smile on his face when referring to his favorite of the Cardinal Sins. He scooted back in the seat and rubbed his thumb along his strong jaw.
"If so, I must commend her. She could not have selected a better Sin, nor a better town to indulge it in. Here in Las Vegas, sex is a way of life. Sex is available everywhere here. on every corner. It’s lit by neon signs and in your face at every available opportunity. Its there for the taking, be it free or for purchase. **chuckles** What can you say about a city where prostitution is legal? I never sought to purchase it myself."
He shrugged.
"Then again, I never had to. Men, women, they all provide their unique gifts and comforts. I've never been able to get enough and ladies, that is what Las Vegas is all about! Maybe Allison simply got distracted by those young studs in Chippendales, or Thunder From Down Under. I know I have on more than one occasion. That could also bring up Gluttony if you think about it. Gluttony does not only refer to over eating, but over indulgence in absolutely anything. And if there was anything worthy of being indulged in, it would be lust. Miss Summers, you are a very delectable looking femme fatale. Perhaps some evening you and I might find some time to spend together, and get to know each other -- intimately. Just the two of us, with no strings attached."
He cocked his head lightly to the side and smiled.
"Unless you're into that sort of thing."
Synn rose, and he started to head back down the rows of pews and toward the exit. He paused, and turned to the camera with that smirk of his that could only tell of a thought that be best left unspoken lest it corrupt an innocent mind.
“And ladies, you’ll forgive me for my speaking on Fantasia’s behalf. The poor dear has been … busy, as of late.”
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Watch me ride:
I'm a sexual animal,
eat you like a cannibal,
Crammed full of energy, I'm inflammable,
Yeah, I finish my beer
So come here and get nice while I lick you here,
Put your legs over there and kinda swing on the chair,
I swear you look wicked with your panties in your hair,
Eyes half closed, Cute little nose,
And like a pound of self-raising I just rose and rose,
Stepped out of my clothes started doing the right thing,
I was pumping and she was biting,
Yeah, lightning flashed and thunder roared,
The girl had her finger on my keyboard,
Oh lord, this is gonna last all night,
If lovin' you is wrong I don't wanna be right.
If lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
If I come first well that's the worse scenario,
I push you harder than Sanchez Vicario,
I mean it, 20th Century Fox on the screening,
One take like an earthquake make the bed brake,
We be famous worldwide overnight
And get tired of magazine articles we're forced to write.
I take a delight in making the bed springs sing all night,
If lovin' you is wrong I don't wanna be right.
If lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
I give a massage, Skin supercharge,
Imagination on turbo situation large,
Sometimes you handle me kinda course,
Like a horse, the bed's erect keep from flying.
I got my teeth in her neck...
If lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
If lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
If lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
If lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
If lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
If lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
The immediate close-up is of what has to be the most picture perfect, exquisite set of abdominal muscles that could ever have been blessed on one of the male of the species. While most men who worked out had a 'six pack' as their reward, this Adonis had an 'eight pack', which just went to prove his superiority over the lessers of his gender. Of course, this was no ordinary man. He was the 'perfect' man. It went without question.
The close-up remained as the abdominals moved to the beat of the heavy music, the song and its lyrics being one that most suited this particular pairing and their carnal relationship with one another.
Slowly the camera pulled back to expand on the prized glory of the body bin question. It was if the camera itself new what this man had to offer and it wanted to tantalize and tease those watching. And why not? The man himself had a terrible habit of doing just that to all those who wanted to lay more than just eyes on his sculpted physique. Both the man performing and the camera itself knew what was desired and as the view drew back painstakingly slow, the focal point took in the sight of the leopard print of a thong, its 'pouch' strained to maximum capacity as the hips of the dancer moved in a grinding, swaying motion that would seem to hypnotize the senses. You simply were unable to tear your eyes away from the sultry exhibition, making one desperate to get a glimpse beneath the leopard print to the conquest beneath.
The body in question was tanned to perfection. Not too dark, and far beyond light. It was close to a honey golden brown and it glistened from moisture and a fresh coat of baby oil.
Still further back and the massive pectorals came into view, and one could not help but feel the urge to revert back to breast feeding, so mouth watering was this rock hard sculpture of salacious rapture. Such a master he was with his body that he flexed just right so that the muscled chest would dance as he drew the massive biceps back to strike an awe inspired double bicep pose, his pelvis continuing to grind and bump to the music's beat.
His legs spread so that his lower regions were on complete display to their absolute finest, and fine they were. Thighs that looked as if they might choke a bear and make them pleased for such a way to go. He turned his back and one would cry out to God that he indeed did a 'good job' with such a perfect backside. Round and firm, and in the thong on perfect display to the eye. The dancing only made it more mouth watering for the desire to worship such an icon.
He then s-l-o-w-l-y started to bend over at the waist, putting that backside at its most prominent display for his appreciative audience. Yet he would not allow this pose to last for very long. As we stated before, he knew how to tease and was merciless at it. He knew if he worked his audience up properly, it would all pay off for him at the end. He knew this because he knew her. Her likes, dislikes (not that she had any in regard to him), and above all, what turned her on the most -- and he was just starting to get warmed up.
It was only when he stood upright again and turned swiftly, jetting his pelvis out like a power drill to the music was he seen as the 'Crown Jewel' of the Seven Deadly Sins aka "Sxxxy" Shane Boswell. His face was handsome, with piercing, deep brown eyes, a strong jaw line and lips that could perform miracles on a woman's body. He should know. He's performed a number of them! At a height of 6'7", it just made his sculpted majesty even more prominent.
He looked down across the room and grinned wickedly.
"So..." He said, "Can I take it that you approve?"
Fantasia, curled up on the sofa across the living room, smiled. Her tongue glided across her red lips, moistening them and she practically purred in satisfied contentment.
"Need you even ask?" She cooed. She knew the man all too well. He was the epitome of the Sin of Pride and he loved for others to talk about him almost as much as he loved to talk about himself.
He brought his hands up behind his head, running his fingers through his hair as he moved his waistline in a waving motion, yet instead of side to side, moving that prized package forward toward her in exciting invitation. His eyes were closed in intense contentment, drinking in his own performance to his own satisfaction.
He opened his eyes and moved his hands from behind his head and toward the front of his body, sliding his fingers over his body and making her wish immediately that it were her hands, not his, exploring the possibilities. His hands slid below the waistline and he said with a smirk, "Still, a man likes to know his efforts are appreciated."
Fantasia watched his fresh performance and she smiled, "Like you even need ask if I appreciate what you do to me."
"You mean <I<for you?"
Fantasia leaned back and crossed her legs, "That too. But please do go on. I have this song on a continuous loop."
"Figures." Shane chuckled. "Not that I mind. I like to think I get something out of this little exercise too."
"Don't you always?"
Shane closed his eyes and sighed as he brought his hands back up and turned his back to her a second time and moved that glutes back and forth like a clock and slowly squatted low at the knee for another prominent display of what Fantasia (and Synn) often described as an ass that would make Rob Van Dam weep in envy.
"True." Shane said as he looked back over his shoulder and gave her a fiendish little grin. "But I'm more of a giver I like to think. A very charitable man."
"That you are." She agreed. "You give until it hurts."
"And then I give some more." He hopped to his feet and strutted over toward her, still dancing. It was something to note about this man. It seemed he truly was built to perfection in no matter what he did. Very few men his size had such rhythm in how he moved his body, whether it be dancing or fu -- fornicating. It could be surprising to discover just how good of a dancer he was, but he's had quite a bit of practice -- in private if not on an actual dance floor. He enjoyed dancing for Fantasia, almost as much as she enjoyed him doing so.
He hiked a bare foot up and used it to push her crossed legs down so that both her feet touched the floor. He then stepped over her legs and really purred his efforts into the dancing, practically grinding himself right at her eye-level.
"And this helps you focus for your match?" He asked with amused skepticism in his voice.
"Being the sensitive man that I am, I would have thought it would distract you greatly." He added, grabbing her by the wrists and planting her hands right on his backside as he moved his hips to and fro. Her fingers dug in to that firm buttocks with lustful enthusiasm, keeping hold as he grinded his hips, appreciating her touch.
"Oh trust me..." She whispered with eyes firmly glued to what moved before her. "... my mind is by no means on my match right now."
"Glad to hear it." He grinned widely, flashing those pearly whites, as he danced backward off of her lap.
Her fingers remained ensnared in the straps of his thong and all you heard was a strong **snap** and the garment came off in a tear in her fingers.
Fantasia smiled, "Oh I do love a man out of uniform." while the dancing continued as she slid off of the sofa onto her knees and she crawled forward...
And if you think I'm continuing to write what happened next... damn I wish I could!
