Corona Games

Erotica

Corona Games

The doorbell rings one point five metres away.

Jack, steps back and waits, his head bowed in deference. A shudder circulates through his body and returns to his groin where his pathetic little worm jerks awake momentarily before it retreats, almost disappearing.

Domina, hazmat suit fitted, respirator adjusted and hands fully gloved, makes one final survey of her apartment noting everything in it’s rightful place before opening the door.

‘I see you followed my directions correctly, eventually’, she quipped.

‘Place your shoes in the bucket and strip’.

Her deadpan face and hardened stare conveying a don’t-fuck-with-me stance.

Domina’s new fetish was playing out like a Hunger Games episode: full lockdown, curfew and quarantine rules apply.

‘Follow me’, she commanded, leading the way to the bathroom.

‘Shower, put on the hazmat suit and mask and come into my den’.

Jack does as he is told, noticing the hairs on his arms and neck bristle and shrink back as the icy air-conditioning slaps his skin.

He’d been fantasizing about this day, ever since the first wave of Coronavirus (Corvid 19) swept across Europe, with Italy almost decimated in it’s wake.

It reminded him of his mortality, the beck and whim of governments and George Orwell’s 1984 dystopian nightmare coming into fruition. It made him feel alive, on the contrary, gave him a reason to live out his last days letting go of the old ways, going out on his terms.

Domina was a survivor. Gone were the days of luxurious 24 hour bookings, champagne and wads of cash. It was adapt or die slowly in her isolation, knowing her body wouldn’t be found for weeks.

These were the days of demeaning quickies and blow n’ go’s for a fraction of the price and the odd apocalypse fantasy that gave her just enough extra to remember how she once felt secure. Now, she controlled her working environment to suit and insisted on safety protocol.

It didn’t preclude the risk of contracting the disease, but it was harm minimised. What choice did she have? She had arrived in Australia post Iraq War and her protected immigration status had been drastically diminished, as would her bank balance be in the not-so-distant future if she didn’t find a way to make the most of a shit situation.

Jack looked at himself in the mirror, putting on his mask. He was reduced to an anonymous automaton. Nameless, faceless and nothing more than a number in a system designed to suck every last drop of humanity from his wretched soul, if he even had one. A nobody. A pitiful excuse for a human being. He wanted to feel the humiliation of his meaningless existence playing out one last excruciating time.

Domina watched her pain slut enter and ordered him to get on all fours on the bed. She picked up a 1 metre length of flexible plastic pipe and gave him six of the best in quick, hard succession.

/ / / / / /

Jack felt the weight of the whole world reign down. Searing pain shot through him and waves rippled along the length of his flaccid cock now awakening from it’s morbid slumber, standing to attention. It was all he could do to stop from crying out.

Jack knew he would fail, miserably and so did she.

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Corona Games Fantasy

Nefertiti, Akhenaten & the Qedesha

Erotica

Sacred Prostitute

Sacred Qedesha (Prostitute)

 

Nefertiti has her father’s eyes: blue grey, round and slightly protruding but entirely captivating. The all-seeing eye of Horus and Crow’s feet compliment her aesthetic smile by design. She enters the chamber, swathed in flowing layers of ivory silk adorned with lapis lazuli, onyx and handcrafted strands of golden pearls.

Akhenaten sinks low. Robe, legs and heart open admiring her curves, her sweet sway – ripe fruit seducing his eyes and craven appetite with every languid step.

Nefertiti slides in between. Akhenatens’ serpentine manhood rears, her narcissis skin soothsayer hips, drape and he slips, thrusts and bursts! She lifts, slides and rides his chariots rhythm, beaming through Ra’s realm and back again into her self, sated.

Amarna steps aside, hides behind a sandstone pillar. Stealing moments, she watches the lovers embrace, arch and peek.

She notices the tingles first, then a soft thudding throb that intensifies with every passing moment. A gasp! An electric spasm shooting upward from her liquid apex, filling her with euphoria. She quickly muffles her mouth, burying her face in her hands and shrinks back into the shadows.

Nefertiti pricks her ears and looks over her shoulder, peering back into the chamber. Akhenaten raises up on his elbows and follows her gaze, glimpsing a wisp as it pulls back out of sight.

‘Step into the light’, he commands, lifting Nefertiti from his rod, setting her aside.

‘Come forward slave’, calls Nefertiti, beckoning the shadow from the dark.

Amarna bows her head in an odd mixture of shame and excitement, tepidly stepping a toe out from behind the scene, testing her courage with fright, flushed cheeks betraying her conflicted desire.

Moving forward, she stands deferred waiting for her next command, allowing her hot wetness and damp musk scent to allay her senses.

Nefertiti glares. Akhenaten stares, his mouth parting at the recognition of his newest and most beautiful sacred qedesha. He leans into Nefertiti and whispers Amarna’s name, betraying his lust. She turns, spurned then reads Akhenatens desire, rekindling her own.

‘You have come to join us unannounced Amarna’?, Nefertiti leads. ‘What have you to offer your King and Queen that we have not taken before?’

‘Ripe fruit, my Queen, and moist Basbousa’…

 

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