This is Orbis. Here, the Roman nations are always a superpower.
This is São Paulo state...under Italian Union (IU) rule. The state is very urban...and, as far as square clicks go, very small. Despite this, capitalism thrives here. With that said, Vanessa Carlysle often feels like she's in hell, when she stays here.
Beyond the megacity, the land is mountainous. Rain falls on them, for at least three quarters of the year. They're all covered in jungle. Between them, rivers flow, and lakes catch rainwater.
Back in the megacity, capitalism grows. Its towers reach high, and contain many floors of business.
Atop many of these towers, there are neighborhoods of penthouses. Up here, some of the luckiest stockholders in the megacity live the high life...including a lot of Greyshirts.
There's a communal outdoor swimming pool. The maids attend to it with generosity.
Vanessa is among the maids. Clad only in a tan bikini, she sprawls out on a pool chair, in a pair of shades. Above her, the sun threatens to steal her vision. All she's gotta do is take the shades off, and keep her eyes open long enough.
She'd never do that, of course. She's a bitch; bitches need their eyes.
Technically, Vanessa doesn't live here. She does, but she doesn't. It all began when she beguiled a man who does. After doing some extensive research on him, including pirating the info for his credit cards, bank accounts, and public welfare assets...one night, after allowing him to fuck her for the final time, she shapeshifted into a wrestler, and threw him off the roof of this tower...many stories down, to his death.
By the time the Greyshirts could react, she'd disposed of the body. When they came upstairs to search his penthouse, she simply shapeshifted into her late pimp, and dismissed all of her own ladies' garments lying around the place as those of his mistress's.
Since then, Vanessa's lived here in fragile security. She usually shapeshifts into her ex-pimp's wife, when she goes outside.
And now, each time someone joins her at the pool, she shapeshifts into her ex-pimp's wife. (She was a French blonde; not that that matters.) And, lucky for Vanessa, the real widow hasn't come to visit her husband since his murder. The poor hag still doesn't know she's a widow, bless her little Eiffel heart.
Vanessa giggles; if she's a bimbo, she probably doesn't even know what a widow IS...
As she giggles, she turns the head of a man in trunks. Vanessa makes up for this, and pretends to flirt with him...as Ms. Eiffel. He nods, and leaps into the pool, making a big splash.
Vanessa sighs, as she surveys the man's butt. It's been too long, since she's had a man in her.
Through the sliding glass back door, she returns to her late pimp's penthouse...and shapeshifts back into her small-bodied, short-haired shape, once she's ducked behind a wall. She pulls a thread just behind her ass...and drapes cloak the back door. She'd hate for someone by the pool to peep through her back door, and see her turn into someone who's not an Eiffel.
She adjusts her black bikini panties. Good thing she can shapeshift clothes, as well as her body. Even so, these feel big. She should be used to it.
There's clean laundry in the dryer. She takes it out, dumps it on the sofa, and folds it...one G-string at a time.
Afterwards, she showers. She nearly drowns herself, beneath a hot steaming waterfall. It is a VERY generous waterfall. And these are very generous soaps, with which she both cleanses herself, and sweetens the fragrance within this glass box of a shower stall.
Below her small feet, the excess water drains, and flows to the wetlands. She's so happy, she's not thinking about what, or who, could be lurking down there...
Online, she pays the gas bill. She's still using her late pimp's name, after all this time...
She washes dishes. Around in circles, she caresses the microwave dish with a rag. It's getting clean...but never fast enough for Vanessa.
Here, she looks out the window, and sighs. She'd be up a creek without a paddle, if a stalker looked right into this very window, at this very moment, and saw that the face washing Ms. Eiffel's china ISN'T Ms. Eiffel...although she is one of the maids who works up here...
Down the hall, there's a closet. In it, Vanessa's ex-pimp once kept a LOT of rugs on its floor...
Stealthily, the closet door opens. A hairy arm protrudes out...and sets its fingers on the floor...like a wolf paw setting itself outside a cave opening...
Meet Claudios. He's a non-resident gigolo...who might as well be a resident, considering how often he house-sits for some of the rich women who live in some of these penthouses. Now, though, he doesn't seem to have anyone richer or prettier to attend to. Most times, Vanessa doesn't even hear him come in.
He knows she doesn't live here, and he knows that her real ex-pimp hasn't slept in the master bedroom for a while... But lucky for Vanessa, he almost doesn't care.
He's a Cretan...and I don't mean that as an insult. A lot of married men who live here do, of course...but Claudios really does call Crete his home...if not his residence.
Back in the kitchen, Vanessa adjusts her lingerie panties. They stretch over her hump...but not much so.
She sighs, and keeps washing. She doesn't consider herself a pig...but some of her choices in food sure seem clingier than she is...especially when it comes to the dishes she cooks them in, or serves them to herself on...or even some of the other penthouses' patrons on...
From behind, a man's hands conceal her eyes. Vanessa freezes. She doesn't know who's got her cornered...but she's already too horny to resist.
Next she knows, a man's lips are to her ears. She can feel the lump of his hardened cock bumping against one of her ass cheeks.
"I am black wolf," he whispers. "I have come to devour you...murderous slut."
She makes a move to pull her hands out of the dishwater. He hisses, and restrains her. "Not so fast," he whispers. "I'LL get those for you."
From a drawer, he retrieves a fresh towel. With it, he caresses her wet, suddy hands, as he dries them for her.
They resume this atop the kitchen island. She's in black lingerie. He's in black briefs. He's on top, with a gluttonous and lustful appetite. She's on bottom, lying flat on her bare back and doing nothing to resist.
He's a Cretan whore. She's not even rich, or high-ranking...and yet, he's guzzling the dark waters of her soul as if she was. And she's collecting the light diamonds of his...although she's not sure if she has use for them.
"Dirty slut," he whispers into her ear. "Your pimp is dead, is he not?"
Eyes closed, she nods fervently.
"Good. Now I have you all to myself." She grabs some of her short raven hair, and pulls it. "And you WILL stay that way!"
"What do you demand, o wolf," she moans, "in exchange for my squatting?"
"For now," he pulls her panties away from her pussy, fanning it, "nothing." He bares his teeth, and flicks his tongue over them. "I'm sure I'll think of something. You're a small girl with shallow pockets. For you, and you alone...I will dare cut you slack."
"I am a maid here," she adds. "I also have other pimps who live here."
"You're not a maid here," he reminds her. "You were, once...but you've been fired. You're gone a lot...and you never put in leave requests."
"I didn't say I was a PAID maid."
"You fascinate me," he hisses. "And I'd just LOVE to interrogate you more. But for now, that can wait. I STILL haven't guzzled all of those dark waters from your soul!"
With that, he goes right back at it. And what can poor frail Vanessa do, but lie there helplessly, and take in every single light diamond of his, that he trickles into the pit of her long-forlorn soul?
