Palace Of Lust

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The windshield wipers briskly labored back and forth. In the drenching rain, each wipe swept away solid sheets of water. One moment the windshield was crystal clear; the next moment it was splashed with an opaque wall of water. In the clear moments Stephanie could see the headlights of her Mark Four Continental slicing through the massive downpour. The twin cones of light illuminated the circular drive leading to the front gate of Pasha's modern California mansion. The mansion, often referred to as "The House of a Thousand Orgies," was now dark and quiet. Silent… as the hush of death!

But the relentless sounds of the swishing windshield wipers exploded in Stephanie's tormented and nerve-wracked brain. Tears of sorrow and hysteria streamed down her face. Her long, sensuous red hair, normally well-groomed, was now wild and unkempt, like the mane of an African lion. Her tattered and torn dress was soaking wet. The sheer silk material pasted to her voluptuous body, clung to a sensuous figure, outlining the kind of body usually featured in a Playboy center-fold. Stephanie's figure was flawless. It was as if God had created the perfect woman, the ultimate design, with round firm breasts that were perfectly shaped, that stood high and full, jutting proudly forward without need of a brassiere. She had long, sensuous legs; legs that stopped traffic; legs that drove men crazy with lust and desire. When Stephanie wore a short, snappy dress, with each stride her thighs would play against the dress and it was almost as if she had nothing on at all. Her thighs were strong but slender and even when she stood unmoving, there was always the subtle play of muscle in them. She always made sure to dab a few drops of exotic perfume on the insides of her creamy thighs.

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