Jean-Paul was in extasy. It was his first time that he was so fulfilled, in a landscape of flesh, pleasure and blood. He only had to lick, to kiss, to pierce to hear a delicious moan, a symphony of pleasure, as the delicious substance ran in him.
The perfect scene of deligth, and he was in the center of the spotlight. The actor, the realisator, the scenarist, he was them all, and he could feel his mind wonder, fully drowned in the pleasure.
And that's when he saw.
He saw a blonde figure looking at him, having pulled the curtain, as he was biting one of his séides.
Cassiopea.
The pleasure of knowing that she looked at him while doing that, that it meant danger was total. Intoxicating. And yet, he saw her look, horrified, as she dissapeared.
He knew what it meant.
Masquerade breach.
2
2
