This is a open ended story...

So, feel free to read it and watch it.

You can always came up with the different end.

Here we go!

In a world overflowing with suburban rot, our protagonist is just looking for a corner of the earth that doesn't smell like pine-scented floor wax. He wanders into the glorious, rusted sanctuary of the city dump: a cathedral of discarded dreams and leaking fluids. Finally, he thinks he is alone. Finally, he can just be.

He unzips, ready to give back to the earth in the most primal way possible. But the trash isn't the only thing steaming today.

Enter: Goddess Victoria

Emerging from the heap like a deviant vision of high-fashion delinquency, Goddess Victoria arrives. Clad in a slick, oil-bl*ck leather jacket and a skirt tight enough to stop a heart, she struts through the muck in high-heeled boots that pierce the grime with every step. Her hands, encased in half-finger motorcycle gloves, are ready for work.

In a sudden, silent blur of leather and adrenaline, the solitude is shattered:

One gloved hand clamps over his mouth, stifling his gasp into a warm, muffled whimper.

The other hand finds its target, claiming his private anatomy with the confident grip of a woman who owns everything she touches.

The Game: She doesn't say a word. She doesn't have to. In the absolute silence of the scrapyard, she plays a rhythmic, filthy concerto with his anatomy and his frantic, ragged breathing.

It is raw. It's unhygienic. It is beautiful.

The Departure

She is seen enough, and she is decided he is a keeper at least for now. With a look that says "you're coming with me," she prepares to drag her new human trinket out of the gutter and into her own private underworld.

"In the kingdom of trash, the woman in leather is Queen... and she just found her favorite new piece of junk."

Lederhandschuhe Hand Fetisch Ersticken The Wrong Kind of Solitude mit C4s.com