Part One: The Lifestyle.

Just beginning..Hopefully more to come soon.

She presses her hands against his chest and pushes him onto the bed. She can see the shock in his eyes turn quickly to raw, carnal lust as she climbs on top of him, straddling his waist. He rises on his elbows in an effort to meet her lips with his just as she leans her head back, flipping her long blond hair.
Incidentally, his lips touch her neck, and he wraps his arms immediately around her, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of her back. He undoes her bra without hesitation and she moans softly as he slides it off, moving his hands to her chest. He cups her breasts gently, slowly massaging them, and he can feel her n*****s harder under his fingertips.
The thought occurs to him that she feels quite a bit larger in his hands than he would have thought when he first saw her from across the bar, wearing that tight black corset and that barely-there white denim skirt. The mental images flashes through his mind and he feels a slight smile touch his lips.
He can hardly take it anymore; he wants her too badly. He's kissing her, touching her, running his fingers along every inch of skin he can find. He can't get enough of her. His hands on her shoulder blades, he pulls her into him, kissing her deeply, becoming more and more intoxicated by the taste of her tongue, the very smell of her skin. He's overcome with the urge to say her name; whisper it softly into her ear; scream it aloud. Instead, he simply moans, his body wordlessly expressing his total satisfaction.
'Forget her name,' he tells himself, but truthfully he knows he just doesn't remember it.
'Amber, maybe? No, that's not right.'
He kisses her harder, slides his hands along her hips, looping his thumbs in the sides of her panties. Pulling. Tugging.
'Megan? No, that's not it either. What is her name?'
Hands on her hips, sitting upright on his bed with her on his lap, he rolls, laying her gently beneath him, supporting himself with one hand and exploring her body with the other. He runs his hand along her tight, toned belly, down her thighs, between her legs.
He kisses her neck before moving his body into a more desirable position, feeling her writhe beneath him, moaning softly, practically begging him to take her. He obliges, of course, being the gentleman he is, and removes her panties, tossing them aside with little thought.
The smell of her body has him light-headed with want; she tastes like Heaven and he lets his tongue go wherever it pleases. She squirms and moans with evident pleasure, and he feels the intensity of his own arousal rising with every breath she takes.
As she climaxes, he feels himself harden even more, his sensitivity heightening. He laps up every drop of her as if her body has just produced the elixir of life and he's within an inch of death.
He takes in her screams of bliss as she's pushed over the edge, and removes his boxers as he moves into position. He's between her legs, panting and holding himself, preparing his body for entry, trying to control his mind, force himself not to come before he has time to fully enjoy himself..

It happens suddenly; so quickly his mind (all but drunk on euphoric sexual lust) has no time to process it. In seconds, she's out from underneath him, reaching for something on the floor, where her clothes lay virtually forgotten. He hardly has time to realize what's happening before she's back on top of him, completely naked, kissing his chest and biting his neck sensually. He feels her body tense up as he pushes inside her, a wave of pure ecstasy washing over his body.
When he opens his eyes, he sees her face close to his, her blond hair falling in a golden cascade around her ivory shoulders. Her blue eyes shine brightly, even in the dimly lit room.
"You're so beaut--" his compliment is cut short by a foreign sensation that renders him speechless. His eyes grow large and white as blood splatters across her gorgeous face. She puts her hands on either side of him, letting the razor blade rest silently atop the navy blue sheets. Thick, crimson liquid pours down his throat and pools beneath his head, slowly seeping through the sheets into the mattress; it trickles from the corner of his mouth down the side of his face.
His shallow breathing and soft, painful, sobbing moans suggest he's still in there somewhere. Still sitting astride him, still feeling him inside her (though significantly softer than before), she leans down, touches her lips softly to his and breathes: "My name is Rachael."