[ Graves is a man of varied but discerning tastes, and his choice of night-time entertainment is no exception. Instead of the trendily gaudy nightspots that plague New York City and its ravenous, unfulfilled inhabitants, Graves' finds himself a patron of the city's most exclusively restricted clubs; the ones that thrive in secret and on the glittering, ironclad promise that its many exquisite pleasures are only to be sampled by the men and women whose wealth and influence eclipse even the greatest titans of industries.
Within this piece of paradise dwell the real gods, moving amongst the world's prettiest faces (their bodies on display for every imaginable carnal desire, offered for consumption, glittering and dripping with jewels, the finest wine, and come); oracles of their own order, lambs offered to the altar of the world's most powerful men and women.
Graves samples the fine offerings as he pleases, but he is never alone. Tonight he comes with his husband, a young man half his age who is as dangerous as he is beautiful, a captivating thing with high cheekbones and glittering eyes, a sensuously generous mouth reserved only for Graves' pleasure. They have rules; they've made them together, when they were first married and Graves had shown him into this world, and despite Graves' taste for the finest things in life, he remains faithful to Credence, and demands the very same in return.
Tonight, he is impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his features hidden under a sleek onyx and white-gold mask; tonight, his Credence is a lamb by his side, so very scantily, provocatively dressed. His lovely, lean body turns heads, as does the lacy, jeweled, barely there underwear that Graves has gifted him with earlier on in the evening, the only thing he wears underneath the gossamer, translucently shimmering Oriental robe that flutters around him when he moves.
Credence is the prize tonight -- the way he is all other nights; even underneath the mask he wears, his beauty is unmistakable. He is desired, profoundly so, and Graves knows how Credence so expertly holds that over so many of them. He is sure to lean in to kiss his mouth as they move with each other to the low, sultry crooning of a similarly masked singer (stunningly beautiful in her own right, voluptuously poured into her glittering gold dress), commanding the middle of the dance floor as if this is their own kingdom, their court. Graves doesn't miss how both men and women are watching them; some surreptitiously, some not bothering to hide -- and some perhaps jealous that this lovely boy has allowed himself to be kissed so fully on the mouth.
Graves, in the meantime, doesn't bother to hide his possessiveness, his hand resting on the curve of his ass underneath the near-transparent robe, stroking over where he'd slid the anal plug into him barely an hour ago. He murmurs, soft against his mouth. ]
proscribed. (sex party)
Within this piece of paradise dwell the real gods, moving amongst the world's prettiest faces (their bodies on display for every imaginable carnal desire, offered for consumption, glittering and dripping with jewels, the finest wine, and come); oracles of their own order, lambs offered to the altar of the world's most powerful men and women.
Graves samples the fine offerings as he pleases, but he is never alone. Tonight he comes with his husband, a young man half his age who is as dangerous as he is beautiful, a captivating thing with high cheekbones and glittering eyes, a sensuously generous mouth reserved only for Graves' pleasure. They have rules; they've made them together, when they were first married and Graves had shown him into this world, and despite Graves' taste for the finest things in life, he remains faithful to Credence, and demands the very same in return.
Tonight, he is impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his features hidden under a sleek onyx and white-gold mask; tonight, his Credence is a lamb by his side, so very scantily, provocatively dressed. His lovely, lean body turns heads, as does the lacy, jeweled, barely there underwear that Graves has gifted him with earlier on in the evening, the only thing he wears underneath the gossamer, translucently shimmering Oriental robe that flutters around him when he moves.
Credence is the prize tonight -- the way he is all other nights; even underneath the mask he wears, his beauty is unmistakable. He is desired, profoundly so, and Graves knows how Credence so expertly holds that over so many of them. He is sure to lean in to kiss his mouth as they move with each other to the low, sultry crooning of a similarly masked singer (stunningly beautiful in her own right, voluptuously poured into her glittering gold dress), commanding the middle of the dance floor as if this is their own kingdom, their court. Graves doesn't miss how both men and women are watching them; some surreptitiously, some not bothering to hide -- and some perhaps jealous that this lovely boy has allowed himself to be kissed so fully on the mouth.
Graves, in the meantime, doesn't bother to hide his possessiveness, his hand resting on the curve of his ass underneath the near-transparent robe, stroking over where he'd slid the anal plug into him barely an hour ago. He murmurs, soft against his mouth. ]
Do you want to play with them now?