Kimber Monroe stands casually outside an ominous warehouse in the heart of the Meatpacking District in New York. The warehouse, now a nightclub called Babylon, is exactly what one would expect in this part of the city and certainly lives up to its name with the general themes appealing to an alternative and unconventional subculture. Subtle vibrations of the loud music beyond the walls filter into the streets only to mix with the cat calls, yells, squealing tires, honking horns, and police sirens that make for a gritty New York soundtrack. People, mainly New York's undesirables, consisting of club goers, punks, metal heads, goths, dealers, addicts, hookers, and kinksters are coming and going along the avenue. All on the prowl for anything or anyone to make the night eventful. Shockingly, the raven haired minx blends in quite well with these so called undesirables and yet from the crowd she stands out in all her harlot glory.
Playing the part of said harlot well, she dons a slinky, form-fitting black leather mini-dress with a plunging V-shaped neckline down the front to reveal the valley between her ample, perky breasts and an open back with fishnet stockings, and shiny black fuck me pumps. All complementary to the rest of her appearance. Baby blues, offset by heavily smeared charcoal eyeliner and eye shadow, and her plush pout stained crimson with her lush and tousled, onyx locks trailing freely down the of her spine, reaching the small of her back--she is a sight to behold. Brass knuckles decorate one delicate hand and bulky, sterling silver rings the other. Both of which showcase her perfectly manicured fingers with oval shaped nails in a shade of dark pewter. On her wrists she wears thick leather bondage bands accompanied by a few silver bangle bracelets. The edgy ensemble, just her normal attire for a night out on the wrong side of the tracks.
It’s rare she ever comes to Babylon alone, and usually Carver is her escort, especially with this particular club being one of their personal favorites. Their own den of debauchery. Typically, Carver picks her up for these excursions out, but tonight circumstance has dictated otherwise and it was more convenient to simply meet up at the club. Leaning against the wall just a few feet from the entrance and the long line of people waiting to get inside, she casually keeps on the lookout for him, knowing he will be driving the hearse. Kimber didn’t feel the need to wait in the line because the bouncers, knowing Carver and Kimber well as regulars, are always quick to wave them inside. The wait, having been less than ten minutes, is finally over as she catches sight of the hearse creeping down the street. Cool cerulean hues follow its path even as it rounds the corner to find a parking spot. Eager anticipation builds and her whole body tingles with electricity. It’s been a few weeks since the two of them were able to get away and have the night all to themselves. Moments like this are often what she lives for.
Audaciously painted in ink stain and heresy, he has the aura of a fallen deity that sprang from the cracks of city street asphalt and crafted himself in the image of weathered, graffiti covered brick. It never fails, the moment Kimber sets her eyes on Carver or is in his presence, she comes ALIVE. https://youtu.be/VpdHMaccjw4 It is as if his very essence sparks a voltaic flame within her heart and soul, and the longer she courts him, it’s like gasoline being constantly thrown into an already raging fire. It is all consuming and undoubtedly dangerous, especially with such potential for destruction, but one of the things she craves most in this life. Being the glutton that she is, Kimber has no apprehension feeding into said cravings and binging on the passion elicited. Always a Sinner’s Feast, both Kimber and Carver ritualistically dine on the debauchery and are devoted when it comes to paying proper reverence to this hedonistic God.
As the Reaper rounds the corner, dressed ominously in slick black and donning a HEAVY mood, she can’t resist the urge to move in his direction. Desire and passion, two components similar in nature and essential to the human design, one not truly having meaning without the other, but neither completely dependent on the others existence. Most people find themselves slaves to both, no matter what form they come in. Kimber is NO different. Like a Lioness honing in on and stalking her prey, she glides smoothly in a determined stride just ready to pounce when the perfect moment presents itself. Carver, undoubtedly aware of the regal feline and her carnal intent, is not easy game by any means and it is as much as evident by the expression etching his eerie features. He would never be a casualty of her elegant savagery and primitive nature. Carver is simply not of that ILK.
A predator in his own right, feral and ravenous but no less Machiavellian, like one possessed of the spirit of a Hyena, he brazenly creeps her way. The languid migration is MAGNETIC. Eyeing her lover upon approach, they meet in the middle and just as he takes an artful drag from his cigarette, a plume of smoke pushing past his wry pout to follow, his inked duke fearlessly takes hold of her and in a forcible, eager collision their lips meet and engage in fevered combat. Whimpering softly into the kiss, she savors his unique taste. It is one entirely innate to him and him alone. A POTENT and addictive flavor, she is taken hostage by the sudden impact of a high only he can provide. Just like a junkie always susceptible to chosen vice, she is quick to dose and lose herself to the euphoria. He IS her drug of choice. As a wave of ecstasy washes over her, ravaging her coast, she welcomes the impending delirium.
For Kimber, it is like a thousand dormant Roman Candles that have been secretly nestled within her are suddenly ignited by a powerful, metaphysical force. It’s enough to steal the very breath from her lungs and make her weak from the intensity of the heat. Her fierce, headstrong and liberated temperament is subdued, making her malleable to his masterful authority. She welcomes him like a mistress, genuine in her desire to submit and eager to both appease and please equally. Lithe and nubile form, stacked and molded to perfection with all the soft dips and curves in the appropriate places, Kimber ripples slowly, seductively against his crudely designed, hardened musculature. Leisurely basking in the kiss, she is NOT inclined to peel back her greedy lips, but manages to do so. If she had not, it’s likely they wouldn’t make it past the ‘gates’ and into Babylon.
“Daddy,” she murmurs in low, wanton tone of voice. “I missed you,” Kimber adds affectionately with her voice a little less wanton. Alert with her mind open and her guard down, the empath can sense more than just his desire and hunger for her and all the iniquity awaiting them in Babylon. He emanates residual frustration and malcontent. “One of those days?” She can’t help ask with curiously quirked brow and flash of concern. Without giving him much of a window to answer, not like she needs him to validate what she knows he feels, Kimber takes reluctant step back whilst reaching for him. She slips her delicate paw into his hand and with a slight nod of her dark crown tipping toward the entrance door of the nightclub, she leads the way. Turning away from him, she moves catlike and just enough ahead to give him a stellar view of her backside.
Indigo hues meet the imposing gaze of the burly bouncer and they exchange a conspicuous glance of recognition as he greets her with a nod. Aware of her escort for the evening and his reputation, the bouncer knows better than to let his eyes linger too long on her and drift in Carver’s direction. From her peripheral as she moves past the bouncer and Carver slides next to him, she catches another greet being exchanged, but is quick to find herself distracted upon entering the underground metropolis by a cacophony of sound and motley of imagery as well as the overwhelming feeling of depravity. It’s almost as intoxicating as Carver’s kiss and Kimber can’t help embrace the onslaught. https://youtu.be/YbeBLvMFAcs With cadence and ease, seduced by the abrasive beat and provocative melody, she guides her lover through the dim glow veil of red light and smoke known as the outer sanctum of Babylon.
The ambiance of the parlor, one just as alluring as it is prognostic, offers faint glimpse of the lecherous and infernal marvels to come. The bodies decorating the room, all morbidly ornate despite the minimal packaging of leather, spandex, velvet and mesh. Flesh inscribed with ink and pierced by industrial metal add a lurid flare to these corporeal specters. The lovers float on, making their way through a large archway painted in tribal design. It’s into the mouth of darkness they arrive, accosted by ominous shadows and flashes of sharp, bright silver light and they find themselves standing at the edge of a large platform aligned with a thick steel railing overlooking a massive, open pit where a twisting, coalesce mass appears--enticed by the loud, pulsating rhythm.
The scene playing out before their eyes, depicted by modern philistines, brutes and jezebels is deliberately crude and so immorally suggestive that for many, the vulgarity would inspire instant offense. Good thing both Carver and Kimber have strong constitutions with progressive attitudes and mindsets. Truth? Kimber sometimes can’t help wondering what her religiously devout, Evangelical parents would say if they could see her now. They’d be both appalled and horrified. Taking it ALL in, Kimber scans the ‘plutonic’ landscape. She likes what she sees and has a hunch Carver is just as pleased by SIN permeating. It invokes certain proclivities, ones that rouse a spirit of rebellion compelling enough for an individual, especially one often constrained by societies rigid expectations and mores, to indulge in the moment and whatever wicked delights it bestows. Kimber has been here many times before with Carver, this being the preferred devil’s playground, their own special den of degradation.
At the center of the pit is a large yet cramped dance floor that is surrounded by various tables and random semi-private areas constructed in the fashion of open, concrete cubicles for a more intimate setting. Erect platforms varying in height are strategically placed across the pit where Goth Go-Go dancers bounce their pale, ample tits and shake their tight, round apple shaped asses with two platforms, one at each end of the club are grease burnished Fire Breathers spitting flames high above the crowd. To the far right, located at the back of the club, is a stage meant for the occasional show/performance or DJ with a screen in the backdrop playing a fast-paced montage of questionable acts currently transpiring within the walls of this proverbial Babel. Tonight, a grandiose Beast takes the spotlight on stage as he hangs from industrial strength chains with hooks digging into his meaty flesh. Even from where Kimber stands, she can see the look of orgasmic pleasure on his brusque, rugged face.
On the wall opposite the platform there is a long, narrow bar filled with warped mirror lined shelves of liquor, but it isn’t just spirits being offered or even the cornucopia of illicit substances being dealt and shared nightly. One can also enjoy the oxygen and nitrous bar available. Beyond the bar and wall, wide swinging metal doors manned by a bouncer at all times leads to a part of Babylon so few venture. Through the threshold are the private back rooms for more base and clandestine encounters and experiences. A smirk curls at the corner of her plush pout, twitching lightly as she turns to Carver, eyes mapping his face. In any light and/or shadow, she always admires him, but tonight she WORSHIPS him and it is at his corrupt altar she plans to pray. “What first, Daddy?” Kimber asks him, absolutely willing to do whatever his villainous, Wendigo heart desires.
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