Just a simple latch, nothing difficult. A short, very thin bladed knife appeared in the executioner’s hand. He carefully worked it between the frame...and the casement, whispered a single word to silence the latch, and eased the metal hook over. The window swung silently open as Kallin vaulted over the sill. His eyes, opened wide as a cat’s, were already searching the dark room as he sailed in. The moment his shoulders crossed into the room, however, a flare of light bright as a dozen blue suns. You wipe your lips to the back of your hand and smear that nasty little slut's lipstick from your mouth and breathlessly whisper. “thank you, baby.” And you are the perfect whore aren't you? The goddess of whores. I'm simply in awe of what you're doing, how you look, and that smell. That gorgeous mix of weed, perfume and pussy tickling my senses. I'm in awe of the perfection of the slightly smeared lipstick. It's perfection is ethereal, almost spiritual in it's essence. An archetype of the. More

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