Ajoat Iamon

She was in her mid-twenties, enjoying life. She was a trust fund baby. She didn’t have much going on in her life except going out and partying. She loved to use her body and her money to get what she wanted. She was also a big fetish enthusiast, into everything you could imagine: latex, bondage, submission. She loved sex and used it as a weapon. Karen was 26 years old. She had a 24-inch waist and double-D breasts, which she appeared to have enlarged, and she had a body that would knock anybody’s socks off. She had undergone numerous surgeries over the years to increase her sex appeal, and she loved being a bimbo. She had Brazilian butt Lift, breast implants and lip implants. Anything you could think of, she always wanted to have done. ...

The air in the tomb was dead. It hadn’t moved in a millennium, thick with the dust of forgotten kings and the silence of eternity. Kaelia, however, was vibrantly alive. Her platinum blonde hair, pulled into a tight ponytail, was a stark beacon in the beam of her headlamp. Her six-foot frame, honed by a life of adventure and excess, moved with a lithe confidence that bordered on arrogance. She was a treasure hunter, but not for history or knowledge. She hunted for Damon. ...

The silence of her apartment was a pressure, a bland weight that Anya had come to despise. It was a world of beige walls, sensible furniture, and the quiet hum of a life lived in conformity. By day, she was an efficient administrator, her white-blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun, her movements precise and unremarkable. But by night, in the cathedral of her mind, she was a symphony of squeaking latex and clicking steel. ...

“The city skyline was a glittering tapestry of stolen jewels, a view Krystal appreciated from the penthouse she was currently liberating of its contents. She was a ghost, a whisper in the world of the ultra-rich, a beautiful phantom who took what she wanted. Krystal was a masterpiece of her own design: five feet of curated perfection, with hair the colour of spun moonlight, lips perpetually swollen into a pout, and a body that defied gravity. Her Z-cup breasts and impossibly round, high butt were her trademarks, assets she used as much as her lockpicks and charm. She was, in her own mind, the ultimate prize, so it only made sense she should possess all the others. ...