wizardofoz
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Chapter One - The Awakening of Desire
Celica Richards was an amateur photgrapher for sports Illustrated magazine, and she was good at her job. When she wasn't enjoying the scenery on the incredible trips she regularly went on, she liked nothing more than relaxing at her cottage in the shetlands. Miles from anywhere she was free to do as she pleased, she enjoyed the space that the countryside afforded her, and truly, if the land could speak its will it would say that it enjoyed her company too.
She was a stunning redhead, with the sort of toned body that simply gives you an instant physical reaction whenever you catch a glance of exposed abs or thigh. Her facial features were exquisite, to say the least. Her childhood had been a long series of reactions to her beauty, so powerful was her presence. Both girls and boys were awed by her appearance, attracting glances from the young men, and jealous sniping commentary from her female classmates. To this day, memories of that youthful innocence chilled her spine, and set her in a cold sweat.
Perhaps it is not surprising then that she chose to become a photographer and hunter of beauty. Her mainly male co-workers didn't probe, but they had their suppositions. A female photographer soothed the agitated spirits of the objects of desire when the swimsuit issue came around, and helped alleviate the obvious suspicion and tension in the air that no amount of gentlemanly conduct and smiles could gloss over. But even in her refuge from persecution, Celica couldn't help feeling the same childish drives in the swimmers, and wives of football stars. Apparently, retreating behind a camera lens wasn't a retreat far enough for these enviers of true beauty.
Her photographs were always head and shoulders above the rest, even when the sheer anger blazed in the eyes of the specimen, beauty knew how to find beauty, and find beauty she did. It was during one of these sessions that Amy, a sultry brunette from the bronx started to plot revenge on the one photographer that she could not intimidate sexually, either directly, or through threats of expulsion from the "accepted". All through her life she had enjoyed being the arbiter of sexual fulfillment, as the lead it girl, she could mould the will of any man she chose to, break them like wild horses or lead them over cliffs, purely for the pleasure of dominance. Girls too were not outside of her sphere of influence, and if any female was daring enough to tempt her wrath, her group of trusted subordinates would amass, and manipulate the scene to their full potential, working in numbers, always in numbers. Celica had awakened this urge in Amy, and woe betide those who awaken such a wrath, for they are cursed to endure that which no person should have to.
As Amy grew older, she realised the extent of her powers, and set them to work, grasping the souls of those whom would afford her the most lavish, the most luxuriant pleasures. Lucky for her that the act of grasping itself was pleasurable enough for her to warrant a lifetime of service to it. She was absolutely powerful, and corrupt as would be expected of any streetwise goddess. Her firm toned thighs were milky testaments to the eternal gods of lust, her firm pert breasts, the pinnacle of desire of every adolescent frustrated teenager that was lucky enough to steal a glance as she passed by on clouds of the most heavenly perfumed, sensuous, aromic, landscape. One whom modesty, even in this age, could not restrain onlookers from gazing at her firm, almost bulbous in their muscularity, curves that did not so much lend themselves to a stereotypical sexual allure, but rather, the perfection of simplicity. She was simply put, the pinnacle of human endeavour in the feild of sexual power. Versed in every ettiquette, in every situation where there was an advantage to be had, she was pure sexual predator, and in her nightime fantasies, she was as feral in loving as any animal. With full mauve painted lips, she would tense, and grasp, and grind. Pant, and sweat, and spasm, as her full power was revealed to the lucky recipient. I say lucky, as no exchange on earth could leave the receiver of her passion as anything but debtor. Except for true love.
And as far as Amy extended her reach, she could never even graze the cheek of that eternal mistress. With the extension of her power, her awareness had also flourished, and the dawning of her realisation that she would never know true love was only matched in brightness by the burning desire for it, that lay dormant beneath her outwardly simple, and fun loving facade. The leapord gazed with unblinking eyes from the camoflage grasslands of her psyche towards the gazelle, elegant and fleeting. Celica, she had strayed into her territory once too many times, and had aroused an attention in the males that she could only dream of, and even then, the dream lacked flavour. Her prey was putty in her hands, but this was because she eliminated competition whenever it was (usually) foolish enough to expose itself to her jungle cunning. The way she acted at parties, as if Amy was no better than anyone else present, as if she was no threat. She knew the longer she allowed this to continue the more sure her followers would become in a way of living where love, and making love would not be touched by competitive urges, and monetary pressures, and the devils trickery. She could not, would not allow this to happen, at any cost.
Celica snapped away, Amy's nubile full frame had an air of relaxed sensuosity, and yet, muscular tension along her abs, and calves betrayed a dormant urge that Celica would become fully aware of only too soon.
Celica Richards was an amateur photgrapher for sports Illustrated magazine, and she was good at her job. When she wasn't enjoying the scenery on the incredible trips she regularly went on, she liked nothing more than relaxing at her cottage in the shetlands. Miles from anywhere she was free to do as she pleased, she enjoyed the space that the countryside afforded her, and truly, if the land could speak its will it would say that it enjoyed her company too.
She was a stunning redhead, with the sort of toned body that simply gives you an instant physical reaction whenever you catch a glance of exposed abs or thigh. Her facial features were exquisite, to say the least. Her childhood had been a long series of reactions to her beauty, so powerful was her presence. Both girls and boys were awed by her appearance, attracting glances from the young men, and jealous sniping commentary from her female classmates. To this day, memories of that youthful innocence chilled her spine, and set her in a cold sweat.
Perhaps it is not surprising then that she chose to become a photographer and hunter of beauty. Her mainly male co-workers didn't probe, but they had their suppositions. A female photographer soothed the agitated spirits of the objects of desire when the swimsuit issue came around, and helped alleviate the obvious suspicion and tension in the air that no amount of gentlemanly conduct and smiles could gloss over. But even in her refuge from persecution, Celica couldn't help feeling the same childish drives in the swimmers, and wives of football stars. Apparently, retreating behind a camera lens wasn't a retreat far enough for these enviers of true beauty.
Her photographs were always head and shoulders above the rest, even when the sheer anger blazed in the eyes of the specimen, beauty knew how to find beauty, and find beauty she did. It was during one of these sessions that Amy, a sultry brunette from the bronx started to plot revenge on the one photographer that she could not intimidate sexually, either directly, or through threats of expulsion from the "accepted". All through her life she had enjoyed being the arbiter of sexual fulfillment, as the lead it girl, she could mould the will of any man she chose to, break them like wild horses or lead them over cliffs, purely for the pleasure of dominance. Girls too were not outside of her sphere of influence, and if any female was daring enough to tempt her wrath, her group of trusted subordinates would amass, and manipulate the scene to their full potential, working in numbers, always in numbers. Celica had awakened this urge in Amy, and woe betide those who awaken such a wrath, for they are cursed to endure that which no person should have to.
As Amy grew older, she realised the extent of her powers, and set them to work, grasping the souls of those whom would afford her the most lavish, the most luxuriant pleasures. Lucky for her that the act of grasping itself was pleasurable enough for her to warrant a lifetime of service to it. She was absolutely powerful, and corrupt as would be expected of any streetwise goddess. Her firm toned thighs were milky testaments to the eternal gods of lust, her firm pert breasts, the pinnacle of desire of every adolescent frustrated teenager that was lucky enough to steal a glance as she passed by on clouds of the most heavenly perfumed, sensuous, aromic, landscape. One whom modesty, even in this age, could not restrain onlookers from gazing at her firm, almost bulbous in their muscularity, curves that did not so much lend themselves to a stereotypical sexual allure, but rather, the perfection of simplicity. She was simply put, the pinnacle of human endeavour in the feild of sexual power. Versed in every ettiquette, in every situation where there was an advantage to be had, she was pure sexual predator, and in her nightime fantasies, she was as feral in loving as any animal. With full mauve painted lips, she would tense, and grasp, and grind. Pant, and sweat, and spasm, as her full power was revealed to the lucky recipient. I say lucky, as no exchange on earth could leave the receiver of her passion as anything but debtor. Except for true love.
And as far as Amy extended her reach, she could never even graze the cheek of that eternal mistress. With the extension of her power, her awareness had also flourished, and the dawning of her realisation that she would never know true love was only matched in brightness by the burning desire for it, that lay dormant beneath her outwardly simple, and fun loving facade. The leapord gazed with unblinking eyes from the camoflage grasslands of her psyche towards the gazelle, elegant and fleeting. Celica, she had strayed into her territory once too many times, and had aroused an attention in the males that she could only dream of, and even then, the dream lacked flavour. Her prey was putty in her hands, but this was because she eliminated competition whenever it was (usually) foolish enough to expose itself to her jungle cunning. The way she acted at parties, as if Amy was no better than anyone else present, as if she was no threat. She knew the longer she allowed this to continue the more sure her followers would become in a way of living where love, and making love would not be touched by competitive urges, and monetary pressures, and the devils trickery. She could not, would not allow this to happen, at any cost.
Celica snapped away, Amy's nubile full frame had an air of relaxed sensuosity, and yet, muscular tension along her abs, and calves betrayed a dormant urge that Celica would become fully aware of only too soon.
