09-11-2018, 01:41 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-11-2018, 01:43 AM by Jaxen Marveet.)
Yesenia mingled the tables, her tray flashing like a disc perched upon elegant, expert fingers. Feathers trailed in her wake, tickling noses along the way. A smack to her thigh and she turned, smile big, a wink freshly flickering from sinful-lashes. She placed a Slippery Nipple upon a table on a spin and caught the eye of the lights-master before hurrying back to her post. The lights would go down in a moment and skyscraper heels were dangerous platforms in the dark.
A flamboyant and mischievous compere commanded the stage, brilliant spotlight illuminating his form. Yesenia smacked her lips at a passing patron, stealing the empty stems like an expert thief. The band, Top Shelf chiseled at their brass, and all eyes swiveled forward. Giant feathered fans, burlesque dancers, acrobatics, vertiginous high heels.. the flash of exotic glamour gripped Yesenia by the soul. She was a lifer and always would be. Hopefully the CCD didn't shut them down after tonight!
She paused long enough to listen to the initial denunciations of their first act. Hoots and hollers whistled forth when he spoke.
The room throbbed with excitement. A titilating atmosphere clung to velvet walls like smoke. The clink of glass, the aroma of perfume, the jowl of laughter. The thrumming of a stringed-ensemble. Back stage Jaxen quivered with giddy merriment. Ten minutes to lights lowered. The show infused his blood like vodka, metaphorically of course, the real thing rested on the vanity before him. He put the glass to his lips for one last toast. Careful not to smudge the palette of freshly paint around his lips. The smile that beamed at himself in the mirror was one of pure adulterous mischief.
From the dressing room, Jaxen twisted on the stool when the music began to play. Laughter erupted. He could almost mouth along with those opening lines. He hopped lightly to his feet, hand laid to his heart, falsely blue eyes peering far upon a distant horizon. But he dared not break the spell of character wrapping him like a blanket. Tonight was likely his only chance on stage, at least so clad. The show was doomed by tomorrow, but for the moment at least, the flame burned brightly.
He went to stage right, waiting his cue. An optics screen bloomed to life. The Kremlin projected holographic. So close.. His heart pound greedily in the final moments of Desmond’s Du Marc’s closing statements: “And now, stand with me as we welcome his magnificence, the illustrious, fearless, glorious, soulless, Ass-candy!”
The curl of Jaxen’s smile faded into utter seriousness as he stalked onto the stage. Ass-candy was a serious, serious man.
Lights burned his retinas as howls of laughter erupted. Ancient power swirled like water draining from a toilet.
Giant ass-molds juggled in impossible combinations as he limbered out center-stage. Each one was glittered with colorful sparkles. His mouth mimed the chomping on the nearest, only for it to chase away. Frustrated, ass-candy howled in frustration and they all caught flame, twisted and floated away like spent lanterns.
Then he froze. “OH?”
He spun upon realizing the audience’s presence. Palm splayed delicately across his chest. His accent was a softened Russian. Brilliant blue eyes gleamed embarrassment. The dark swath of hair styled in an oh so neatly comb-over. “I did not know you were there!” The exclaim and harrumph continued. It was absolutely obvious who was portrayed.
A poised turn of the body positioned the lean line of his form, and Jaxen flicked the tip of that very-pointy silver band wrapping his temple like twin penises. The ancient power wrapped him with illusion so expert, the audience only saw the facade for the absurdity that Ass-candy could not possibly be there in the flesh. But he didn't make it perfect. When the show was over, it was Jaxen Marveet who would be the star. Not Nikolai Fucking Brandon. What use was satire if the crowd didn't know who to thank for the entertainment?
“Allow me to put on something more comfortable!”
Twinkling toes leaped across the stage. A heavy desk. Twin flags. The hop of a traceur and he stood tall upon the desk, hand to his eyes peering into the crowd. “Where are my hounds? Bring me my hounds!”
A young man wrapped in the bonds of an S&M chainmail brought out a teacup poodle. The audience roared with laughter as the apparent arms of Nikolai Brandon cupped the vicious little beast in his elbow. Satisfied, he placed the itty bitty pup on the desk otherwise distracted by treats, while he studied the literal ass-candy that sauntered to the background.
His brows waggled at the audience with shared appreciation. Laughing at his own humor, he started to sit, only to jerk around the last moment and realize the bonded servant was smiling at him, mouthing silent words. Brandon tried to regain his composure, but every time he started to speak, he’d jerk around again. The servant inched closer every time. Until he was standing right behind Jaxen’s head. He rested upon the brick-wall of the servant's chiseled stomach.
Fingers splayed his scalp and he groaned with reaction. Until the dick-wrapped headband that was the satirical crown was gripped hard and yanked free. Brandon yelped. The pup squealed. And in one smooth motion, he ripped his own jacket from his shoulders, twirled it overhead like a lasso and chucked it at the servant. “LATER!” Whistles called for more.
Realizing he was quite bare-chested, Brandon admired the pink coins of his own nipples a second before seating himself quite seriously behind the desk. The glint of an ornate silver cross was nestled on a meager bed of chest hair. “AS I WAS SAYING.” The muted Russian accent continued.
The audience fell silent. Jaxen cleared his throat, stiffened his jaw, and bellowed: “Members of MY Custody, welcome!” a brooding stare gripped hearts. “I have come to show you the might behind my clothes!” Pecs flexed back and forth, a single brow lifted. Whistles reemerged. “I will uphold my promise to you! To make Moscow the center of earth!” Hip thrusts met victoriously raised fists.. Until a flash of a light burst from the corner. Brandon squealed and ducked under the desk.
The bonded servant padded over, attempting to coax him out. He had to implore the audience’s help. Finally, the little pup was scooped and offered like some kind of security-blanket. Brandon emerged, pup nestled beneath his skin. A shy expression darted. At that point, Ass-candy regained his bravery, smacked a kiss at the servant, handed off the pup…
… and dived to one knee, fist at his forehead oh-so-dramatically.
The music rose. The lights went down. When both came back, Nikolai Brandon was center-stage surrounded by the fullness of the cabaret dancers. Jaxen howled with delight. Glittering rhinestones, dazzling sequins, and most importantly, feathers. The extravagance dripped like diamonds. The backdrop sparkled like stars. And he was at its center. Orange pants the color of bright marmalade wrapped his thighs like tights. A mesh shirt sparkling with jewels of candy asses decorated his chest. A bright white belt hugged sinfully low on his hips. He grinned devilishly in their delight.
Hundreds of orange, white and purple feathers came alive, slithering and coiling like the bodies that swarmed. He snatched the hand of a partner, spinning the drag queen into a mini-Charleston. She seamlessly complied as Jaxen spun to accept another before twirling penchee himself. Muscles corded. The air brushed cheeks sweating beneath the lights. The ancient power whirled fireballs of rainbow colors around the stage. Long horizontal jumps stretched his thighs hard. Cheers urged him on. He devoured all of it. Never wanting the moment to end. But first, the finale. He stopped. Panting with exertion. The lights baked his skin. The power sizzled around him. The audience held its breath.
A flamboyant and mischievous compere commanded the stage, brilliant spotlight illuminating his form. Yesenia smacked her lips at a passing patron, stealing the empty stems like an expert thief. The band, Top Shelf chiseled at their brass, and all eyes swiveled forward. Giant feathered fans, burlesque dancers, acrobatics, vertiginous high heels.. the flash of exotic glamour gripped Yesenia by the soul. She was a lifer and always would be. Hopefully the CCD didn't shut them down after tonight!
She paused long enough to listen to the initial denunciations of their first act. Hoots and hollers whistled forth when he spoke.
The room throbbed with excitement. A titilating atmosphere clung to velvet walls like smoke. The clink of glass, the aroma of perfume, the jowl of laughter. The thrumming of a stringed-ensemble. Back stage Jaxen quivered with giddy merriment. Ten minutes to lights lowered. The show infused his blood like vodka, metaphorically of course, the real thing rested on the vanity before him. He put the glass to his lips for one last toast. Careful not to smudge the palette of freshly paint around his lips. The smile that beamed at himself in the mirror was one of pure adulterous mischief.
From the dressing room, Jaxen twisted on the stool when the music began to play. Laughter erupted. He could almost mouth along with those opening lines. He hopped lightly to his feet, hand laid to his heart, falsely blue eyes peering far upon a distant horizon. But he dared not break the spell of character wrapping him like a blanket. Tonight was likely his only chance on stage, at least so clad. The show was doomed by tomorrow, but for the moment at least, the flame burned brightly.
He went to stage right, waiting his cue. An optics screen bloomed to life. The Kremlin projected holographic. So close.. His heart pound greedily in the final moments of Desmond’s Du Marc’s closing statements: “And now, stand with me as we welcome his magnificence, the illustrious, fearless, glorious, soulless, Ass-candy!”
The curl of Jaxen’s smile faded into utter seriousness as he stalked onto the stage. Ass-candy was a serious, serious man.
Lights burned his retinas as howls of laughter erupted. Ancient power swirled like water draining from a toilet.
Giant ass-molds juggled in impossible combinations as he limbered out center-stage. Each one was glittered with colorful sparkles. His mouth mimed the chomping on the nearest, only for it to chase away. Frustrated, ass-candy howled in frustration and they all caught flame, twisted and floated away like spent lanterns.
Then he froze. “OH?”
He spun upon realizing the audience’s presence. Palm splayed delicately across his chest. His accent was a softened Russian. Brilliant blue eyes gleamed embarrassment. The dark swath of hair styled in an oh so neatly comb-over. “I did not know you were there!” The exclaim and harrumph continued. It was absolutely obvious who was portrayed.
A poised turn of the body positioned the lean line of his form, and Jaxen flicked the tip of that very-pointy silver band wrapping his temple like twin penises. The ancient power wrapped him with illusion so expert, the audience only saw the facade for the absurdity that Ass-candy could not possibly be there in the flesh. But he didn't make it perfect. When the show was over, it was Jaxen Marveet who would be the star. Not Nikolai Fucking Brandon. What use was satire if the crowd didn't know who to thank for the entertainment?
“Allow me to put on something more comfortable!”
Twinkling toes leaped across the stage. A heavy desk. Twin flags. The hop of a traceur and he stood tall upon the desk, hand to his eyes peering into the crowd. “Where are my hounds? Bring me my hounds!”
A young man wrapped in the bonds of an S&M chainmail brought out a teacup poodle. The audience roared with laughter as the apparent arms of Nikolai Brandon cupped the vicious little beast in his elbow. Satisfied, he placed the itty bitty pup on the desk otherwise distracted by treats, while he studied the literal ass-candy that sauntered to the background.
His brows waggled at the audience with shared appreciation. Laughing at his own humor, he started to sit, only to jerk around the last moment and realize the bonded servant was smiling at him, mouthing silent words. Brandon tried to regain his composure, but every time he started to speak, he’d jerk around again. The servant inched closer every time. Until he was standing right behind Jaxen’s head. He rested upon the brick-wall of the servant's chiseled stomach.
Fingers splayed his scalp and he groaned with reaction. Until the dick-wrapped headband that was the satirical crown was gripped hard and yanked free. Brandon yelped. The pup squealed. And in one smooth motion, he ripped his own jacket from his shoulders, twirled it overhead like a lasso and chucked it at the servant. “LATER!” Whistles called for more.
Realizing he was quite bare-chested, Brandon admired the pink coins of his own nipples a second before seating himself quite seriously behind the desk. The glint of an ornate silver cross was nestled on a meager bed of chest hair. “AS I WAS SAYING.” The muted Russian accent continued.
The audience fell silent. Jaxen cleared his throat, stiffened his jaw, and bellowed: “Members of MY Custody, welcome!” a brooding stare gripped hearts. “I have come to show you the might behind my clothes!” Pecs flexed back and forth, a single brow lifted. Whistles reemerged. “I will uphold my promise to you! To make Moscow the center of earth!” Hip thrusts met victoriously raised fists.. Until a flash of a light burst from the corner. Brandon squealed and ducked under the desk.
The bonded servant padded over, attempting to coax him out. He had to implore the audience’s help. Finally, the little pup was scooped and offered like some kind of security-blanket. Brandon emerged, pup nestled beneath his skin. A shy expression darted. At that point, Ass-candy regained his bravery, smacked a kiss at the servant, handed off the pup…
… and dived to one knee, fist at his forehead oh-so-dramatically.
The music rose. The lights went down. When both came back, Nikolai Brandon was center-stage surrounded by the fullness of the cabaret dancers. Jaxen howled with delight. Glittering rhinestones, dazzling sequins, and most importantly, feathers. The extravagance dripped like diamonds. The backdrop sparkled like stars. And he was at its center. Orange pants the color of bright marmalade wrapped his thighs like tights. A mesh shirt sparkling with jewels of candy asses decorated his chest. A bright white belt hugged sinfully low on his hips. He grinned devilishly in their delight.
Hundreds of orange, white and purple feathers came alive, slithering and coiling like the bodies that swarmed. He snatched the hand of a partner, spinning the drag queen into a mini-Charleston. She seamlessly complied as Jaxen spun to accept another before twirling penchee himself. Muscles corded. The air brushed cheeks sweating beneath the lights. The ancient power whirled fireballs of rainbow colors around the stage. Long horizontal jumps stretched his thighs hard. Cheers urged him on. He devoured all of it. Never wanting the moment to end. But first, the finale. He stopped. Panting with exertion. The lights baked his skin. The power sizzled around him. The audience held its breath.