Overlooking the beautiful sight of the city, lies the home to one of the renowned people to shape the subculture of Miami, penthouse suite #227. Behind the doors of Suite #227 is the genius behind the greatness that is the musical arts, a paragon of the upper class and savvy business, the man who became wealthy coming up from humble beginnings with a passion! A dream thought to be dashed away by doubters, sycophants and politicians, was now coming into fruition and finally being realized at last. That man is you, Darius Musica. For years you had to take shitty jobs from people who did what they had to, to make a living. You? You had bigger dreams, dreams that could land you in bigger places than that shoebox you were living out of for a few months before landing a job working at McDonalds. God what a nightmare, thank the lord you finally got out when you did. It took a lot for you to get here, sitting on this granite stone balcony drinking Bacardi watching the beach in the late afternoon not having a fucking care in the world. It started when you were in school at the Art Institute of Chicago doing your best to get into the music industry, getting your foot in the door for a label that would take you in for the many talents you could contribute. It didn’t take much for you to realize that working for someone else was not the way to go, and that you could do better! Course, that didn’t work out too well when you ran out of money to finish school, had to go back to family for a bit then had to live for the streets to get away from the insanity. Drifting from city to city got tiring, after walking for so long with jobs not cutting it for you, you came to the last place you’d ever to think you’d make it big in. For years you’ve worshipped gods of music from Beethoven to Deadmau5, transitioning from one genre to another until you found what you’ve been looking for. Music was your life, your blood, it screams in you veins and pulses in your heart vibrantly like the erection you get listening to Headhunterz, Noise Controllers and Terrorfakt. Miami is great place to find yourself if you know where to look and what to do. Many people come to this place to find the American Dream only to wake up in the depression the state of our country is, someone lose faith in their dreams and do nothing about it or resort to the other side of the life they ran away from. But not you, you worked hard and starved yourself daily to fund YOUR dreams. It took a lot of shitty jobs and resourcefulness to come up with the plan to get the ball rolling but here you are now living the life you’ve always wanted. The greatest thing about success is that you have the option to bring along others to join you along for the ride, but with how your track record was, you didn’t have a single friend you could depend on nor keep in contact long enough to even regard them as such. You could have any man or woman to be with you, you weren’t that choosy about your options. The self-made men of America are what makes this country great and you happen to be one of those men that make it great. The Depression has made people cynical and hard, what do you do with these kinds of people if there isn’t a way to fix the way it is? Entertain them, give them a reason to enjoy themselves and give them a reason to give a damn about their lives. Through you success, you’ve written books on self-help and inspiration novels, gone to seminars and employee lectures to inspire people, hell, you’ve made an impression on the people so much they write your name in graffiti on walls and over billboards. Musica means something in this place, what you make is new age, post-ultra modernism art, music is what gets people in the mood for anything. You’ve spent most of your time making investment in solar energy, research and development projects and other smaller one into small businesses you worked for. Happy to say, these things were fruitful for you and the money you’ve made in royalties for an advertisements for fragrant for men got you a nice place in Coral Gables, the ritziest place in Miami. The first thing you did when you got your success rolling was making music that people could relax to, dance to harder tunes for the nightclubs and meeting the right people. But lately, you’ve hit a slump in your work on the next album and money well is drying up quick. The descent back to where you were was creeping around the corner, had to make quite a few for yourself in order to keep things at status quo. The label you were working for transferred you to another company asking for deadlines that are nearly impossible to do, but you get the best benefits in the international scene and you wouldn’t pass this opportunity for anything to make it big. It was so easy to bring out your talents when you had everything planned out before the shit hits the fan, what you lack is your muse, your serendipity that catches you. For the last three months you had to sit in your recording studio trying out the new sounds, beats and instruments to bring out the magic in your music with no avail. You write lyrics, composed so many sounds but none of them were sufficient to sell or meet your high expectations for the quality of work you are known for. Time is running out and you have to make a lot of decision until the deadline, to help with the deadlines you’ve employed a few freelancers to do the grunt work before you had to dismiss your entourage and employees. Christian Blain happens to be one of the few people you can truly depend on, lately the work you needed is editorial for the music videos and photography for the upcoming international tour. Great guy, met him in the Republic of Beer one night and chatted with him, even now you two are sharing drinks over the successful partnership. Christian is probably the only one that seems to get you, never mind the fact he’s worse for wear, could use some good sleep once in a while. You two sat there for a bit after a small meeting with executive producer from Monolith Studios and discussed the future you plan to have and where Christian and you fit in it. You rest in your white satin robe on a reclining lawn chair soaking the sun’s rays with a whiskey glass full of Bacardi with a lime, got your associate next to you with a scotch in hand sitting upright looking at the ocean from the top of the 127th floor of the Baltimore Towers. Content with yourself, you relax with the feeling of a slight buzz for your alcoholic beverage coursing through your veins and Kid Cudi’s “My World” paying in the background from your surround sound Dolby Plus system wired throughout the house. Dimmer switches are slowly coming on as the sun starts to set into the early evening. - You: “This is it” - Christian: “What is?” You waves your arms up in the air sipping a little bit of your drink in the process and a bright smile drawn across your face. - You: “THIS! ALL OF THIS! Everything that I have, everything that I own. This is the life I’ve always wanted!” Christian nods his head approvingly at your statement. He takes a sip of his Bombay and sets the drink off to the side. - Christian: “Tis something, I gotta say I never been inside a penthouse before. Or met with an executive producer quite like that one before neither.” - You: “Oh yeah? Well there’s a first for everything. I tell ya, Christian, life can get even BETTER if we pull this off. You think smart, plan out your success and you can go far in life. The American Dream is no longer a dream for me, it’s a way of life, and I … I am happy” - Christian: “Sure, all of this must be nice to have. Going out to parties, hanging out with celebrities, driving a nice, decent car. Nothing like living in shit to make you realize what you could have if you did the right things.” - You: “True, but its not always that simple. I did a lot of crappy jobs to get here and I’m not proud to say I did certain things, like writing for Kanye West or writing speeches for Sara Palin.” - Christian: “Yeah, writing’s not really your thing” - You: “What you talkin’ about? I writing great shit, man!” - Christian: “Come on, you just wrote a love song about anal penetration for a former rape victim as a tribute for her wedding present.” - You: “that I wasn’t proud of” - Christian: “Subtlety is not your strong suit neither” - You: “What?” Christian pulls out his Samsung Centura smartphone and pulls up a news article featured on Yahoo! On the front page of the home screen with the highlight “MusicAssault” with an article posting a picture of yourself punching out a cameraman with security guards pulling you off. - You: “Paparazzi assholes need to keep their distance” - Christian: “Price of Fame is that you get too famous, things like this happen.” - You: “I can be subtle when I want to be. I choose not to for the sake of my image” - Christian: “what, the fake photos of that birthmark on your neck and fake abs doesn’t cut it for you?” - You: “HEY! These babies aren’t fake, this is genuinely the real deal!” You open up you robe showing off the seven inch coil bundled up in your black briefs with the visible features of your above average physique with some tone on your hairy pecks and rounded chest. - You: “For real, I work out every day to get these the way they are to fit in my Gucci suit. I paid good money at Hugo’s for my wardrobe, I gotta stay in shape for this.” - Christian: “You’re too much” - You: “You think so? I was thinking I was being righteous in my attempt to blackout one of life’s many obstacles.” - Christian: “Says here you had to climb over security to beat this guy with your shoe” - You: “See? Anything is possible” - Christian: “*scoffs* Not what I meant” - You: “Who cares, I certainly don’t. This world is made for people like us to seize it by the balls and make diamonds appear out of the shit spewing assholes they got up their working their people to death for mere pocket change. It’s why every single person I hire is worth their time investing.” - Christian: “That was something else I was wondering too” - You: “Sure, shoot” - Christian: “With all this money and fame, why hire freelancers to do the work when a top notch studio can do it for you just as easily?” - You: “Sure I could pay a competent crew to work my studio, dish out the money to hire executives and producers to do the dirty work they would ask my bottom dollar for. But I won’t, I can’t do that, I need people I can trust to do the job the way I want them to without the add measures. I don’t ask for more money to fall into my lap, I show them what it means to get it to me and to show what I’m worth. And you’re not the only person to ask me this. I have employees working for me that I pay to handle jobs I can’t be bothered to work with. Everything needs to be handled with discretion. Finances, Security, Editing and the actual work are all cogs in the great machine, without it there wouldn’t be much point to any of it. To you can ask someone to edit something, you can tell them to do this and pay them money to say this but you can’t pay them to believe. That’s what I’m looking for in my employees.” - Christian: “Believe?” - You: “The American Dream, my man, the AMERICAN DREAM!! We can all make it our own world and I’m helping people wake up the dream and make it a reality by giving them the chance to believe they can do it. Everyone deserves a chance to make it big and have a shot at the big leagues, it takes lot to run an empire and sadly all the people who know how to run the world are too busy teaching others to do it for them. Me? I want to watch them, inspire them to do great thing, even if I have to get my own hands dirty to get them there.” - Christian: “I think those seminars are getting to your head” - You: “They are a great tool for people like us, it helps us remember why we even have dreams and wake up from those dreams. To have dreams and wake up with them in reality is bliss that everything you have, can be achieved. Sacrifice doesn’t have to be some big thing like your life or a part of yourself, it can be a good consequence if you look at it in a different light. You sacrifice hard work and years of your life slaving away at formal education and you get a high paying job as a CEO. That’s a sacrifice, giving your life on the battlefield in Nam or Iraq, that’s not sacrifice, that’s slaughter for a meaningless cause and blind optimism.” - Christian: “A lot of people are going to be pissed to hear you say something like that” - You: “And why shouldn’t it? They would be outrageous as well if they understood their purpose in life, not being slaves to a system that forces itself on you day and night is what we as the American people push for when we emigrated from the European world. You think we’re happy with the things happening now? Hell no, but we strive for our dreams to happen regardless of the world’s condition. People can dream, but it is the actions of those people that make it a reality. That’s why I have you freelancers do the work, so I can make mine a reality. Maybe in the process, you can too.” Christian’s phone starts ringing, he swipes the screen to bring up the answer screen. He holds the phone up to his ear to get a read of whose calling, you on the other hand are more tuned in to the city nightlife starting to hum to life to the streets below you. Hearing the cars rushing at rush hour, people just getting off work are running along the ground like ant from below. You scoff at them for being drones to the system, you pity them and see them as pawns, but what you said does resonate a meaning quite clearly to you when looking down on them. Seeing them go day to day like they are is remedial, it’s so remedial it’s almost sad that you can’t be part of that life again. To be back on the streets, being ignored by people as you are now is never a good feeling, to never be given the chance to be here is nothing that they will never get to experience. Just thinking about all the people you hired brings you some comfort though, like Christian for example, at first you didn’t know him but eventually heard back about the jobs he once had in studios. Not everything is cut out for an artist, someone lose faith in their work, the zest of their inspiration if siphoned off for someone else’s amusement, never to be taken seriously or given a choice in the matter. Most often than that, the limited resource he had to work with was barely enough to scrap together a living before you came along with some odd jobs. Sipping on your Bacardi, you want this reality to exist as long as you can without it fading from your grasp, you just made it through the door and made a name for yourself in a studio that got off the ground. Now that it’s gone a bit downhill, you need back up plans to keep this life together and in one piece. Christian maybe one of the few freelancers you hired for this studio stuff, but security was another problem you couldn’t handle. But apparently, people ended up dying left and right, people started pointing fingers at you for their occurrences. Murderer? Hardly, where would I find the time to do something like killing a person? That nice girl you hired as an advisor to your business was an excellent call when she appeared. Coincidentally, she happens to be friends with some people in my finance department that she gets along with if she were nice on certain days. Still, her advice on security measures surely buffered out my recent tabloid and law suit actions. Even the situation that arises, they eventually fall into place, and nothing is able to touch me. And if you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn that your taxes are being hidden with your bills getting smaller and smaller each few months. The finance department is either slacking off or they really knew some cut corner techniques to get it this way, but whatever the case may be, still leaves you with the actual work that you haven’t done in a while. - Christian: “I gotta go, another client called in a new deadline and I have to get back to the studio for an emergency session.” - You: “Sure, sure, just grab what you have and make sure to call me first thing in the morning.” - Christian: “Sure, I’m going to have to call you later though, delivery jobs and all” - You: “Call me!” Christian exits the balcony. You remain at the edge of the building looking over the world you admire, until a phone call interrupts you in your moment. Not a cell not that you’re listening clearly, the door’s intercom system is ringing you. Strolling to the intercom in your robe and drink resting on the coffee table of the living room, you press the space bar at the bottom to answer to hear a woman’s voice on the other end. - Voice: “You called for an escort?” - Musica: “Escort? Oh right, come on up to Suite #227” You release the bar and head back to the coffee table and sit on the sectional couch, you turn on the television to watch the weather channel to pick up on the news about the tropical storm brewing in the area. So far nothing but a big brew to brush up against the coast, nothing that warrants an evac. Feeling low on your beverage, you get up to walk over to the huge globe statue resting in the center of the penthouse and pressed in the United States of America as the switch to lip open the case inside the globe. Inside it is a minibar with a built-in cooler with chilled alcoholic liqueur bottles still capped and barely opened. Refilling your glass with Grey Goose vodka, you screw the tab back on and force the container back and close the case with the lock slowly popping back into place hearing three locks click into place behind it. The doorbell rings and you answer the door. Standing in the hallway is an Icelandic vixen in a black flashy dress with a white furry pellet, midnight hair, sexy lithe body, an ass to make you quench a thirst, and a pair of breasts that you just can’t wait to break in. You ask her in and have a seat in the living room and you’ll be back. Closing the door behind you, you lock it up three times before turning your attention to the upstairs bedroom overlooking the entire penthouse. The glass stairwell up to your bedroom is cold on your bear feet, you look around upstairs for your slippers to find, instead, your art sketchbook. You sit on your bed with the sketchbook, flipping through pages of lazy doodles, chicken scratches and colored pencil drawings of old album covers from various bands like Metallica’s Ride the Lightening or Rob Zombie’s Hellbilly Deluxe. You take the sketchbook downstairs with you, tossing it on the coffee table with your drink in hand while your “guest” sits quietly, admiring your home. - Woman: “You have a beautiful home” - You: “you think so?” - Woman: “I do, I would never take you as a Winter” - You: “You an interior decorator now?” - Woman: “Wanted to, but I had other … obligations” - You: “Tell me about yourself, Anya” - Anya: “What’s it to you? Aren’t I here for sex?” - You: “My money, my time. Right now I feel like talking and learning about you” - Anya: “I’d prefer to keep this professional” - You: “You’re right, I’m sure you can find other clients elsewhere who seem to think so.” - Anya: “No! No, I … I can’t do that” - You: “So?” The fair skinned beauty stares at you with her cerulean blues brushing her hair over her ear and shuffles her eyes. - Anya: “I wanted to be an artist, I’m real good with decorating homes. Did reality for a living, made good money in it but made the wrong investments and it didn’t work out for me. I’ve made a lot of wrong decisions that landed me in debt and I work for a company that handles people’s dirty laundry. So I felt into the wrong group in the process of the debt I couldn’t pay.” - You: “That’s sad” Seeing her this way has a very compelling lighting on her face. The way she tilts her head to the side, letting her locks mask in front of her right eye and look to the left of her with the pellet on her shoulders. You feel like taking a picture of this. - Anya: “Anyway, that’s enough about me” - You: “Any family?” She doesn’t look at you when she heard you speak. You see she doesn’t like answering these questions, so you have to think of a better way to get the most of your evening. Your sketchbook sits there for years in your things, perhaps you can sketch her this way to compensate for the photo. You drink more of your Bacardi and rest the glass on the table, you walk over towards the dining room table where papers are laying there in stacks, neatly categorized with sticky notes. You take a pencil from the table and return. You grab the sketchbook and flip through the book to a single blank page then begun drawing with the pencil. - Anya: “What are you doing?” - You: “Hold still” She looks dead at you when you tell her to not move. But then you lost the position she was in that got you thinking. You tell her instructions to return to what she was thinking about, adjusting her head to the pose she once had then found the right angle to draw from. She seems to like the modeling part about this. A few scratches for the outlining of her egg shaped head, cheeks are pounced, ears are faintly folded in orientation, lips are rosy pink with more plump roundness in the bottom lip, chin thin, a tilting of the nose tip with thin nostrils, light mascara for the blush, eyeliner on her upper eyelid, bold definition of her eyes and tapered brows. Now you worked on drawing the negative spacing for her clothing. Fluffy pellet draped over her shoulder, animal mouth clip attached to the end of its tail, her black hair layering over her pellet and then the casting shadows for the left side of the face. Lighting from the chandelier above us is shining in from the nine o’clock position, shadow casting just right on her left shoulder bringing out the grey in the pellet and … done! You turn the sketchbook around to show your guest her self-portrait. She looks up at the book then takes her finger and brush it against her lips then glides over her cheek. She looks up at you in amazement. - Anya: “You-you drew this.” - You: “It’s a hobby of mine I did when I was in school” - Anya: “This is very good! Wow, I never seen someone do this so well, well, not amongst my other clients anyways” - You: “You like it? Keep it, consider it a gift” - Anya: “You’re sure?” - You: “Absolutely, but now that you got me started on a 15 year old hobby of mine, I’m a bit rusty at it so it isn’t as good as some things.” - Anya: “Thank you. You are very kind” - You: “We all make mistake, Anya, some people just need a break” You walk over to the minibar and open the case once again to refill your glass. You turn to Anya. - You: Would you like a drink and partake in a small project?” She takes a moment to consider it. - Anya: “What kind of project?” - You: “It’s a drawing project. I haven’t picked up the sketchbook in years so, maybe you would like to model for me.” - Anya: “Me? I don’t think I could-“ - You: “Non-sense, you are beautiful. I wasn’t sure how this night was going to be and to be frank, I’m not even sure I want to have sex.” - Anya: “Then I suppose I should go” You refill you drink and reach into your pocket, you pull out a bundle of large bills. Twenties stack themselves under a money band with three inches in thickness. - You: “If you do this for me, you get twice what you would with some other malcontent” - Anya: “I shouldn’t, my manager would be furious if I’m not back” You leave your drink on the mini and walk to her as she’s standing up from the couch. You hand her the money. Her hand reaches for them money, you rest you hand on top of hers as she touches it. - You: “Please, I just want you for one hour …” She looks at the money, then drifts towards the sketchbook of herself. She let’s go of the money, dropping them off to her side and rubs her elbow looking away from you. - You: “… Then you can leave” - Anya: “I don’t want your money” She looks into your eyes and stare at them. - Anya: “What do you need me to do?” You extend you hand towards the stairs and she slowly starts walking up them with her things. You picked up the sketchbook and pencil then followed her upstairs to the bedroom where you tell her to remove her clothes except the pellet. Her breasts are DD-cup with a dark nipple areole on both, her carpet matches the color of the drapes with trimmed trial going vertical with her love button and a nice thigh gap between her legs. You grabbed a steel chair from your desk in the back of the room to bring it in front of the bed where you take a seat with your leg hopped over the other and sketch book resting in your lap. You tell her to lay on her side with her pellet draped over her breasts and her head resting in the palm of her hand looking up at you. You capture the moment in your mind then start drawing line vertically measuring the depth of her body measurements with your rule of thumb. Measuring her length and thickness before working on the outlining of her skin with a bold striking. Holding your pencil at an angle, you tilt your sketch book to the side and smudged the lines of her outline to cast shadows in the areas from the light shining into the bedroom’s shadows to contrast the dark. The lighting shine through the small hole between her legs from the TV which defines her folds and inner thighs. Her breasts sank downward towards the bed with the light being lighter above on her left breast than the right. Using the pellet to disguise her nipples, you used it to your advantage to scratch out the markings for the contours. Lastly, you worked on the face where the shadowing is much darker than the rest of the body since she’s leaning inward than out towards the light, her hair puffing up in the back casts a different shade of lighting thus emphasizing the halo of light around her head. When you finish, you showed you masterpiece to your model. She smiles when you show her the wonder mystique you portray her in. The long forty five minute drawing and modeling pays off when she takes the pencil from you hand and she sign her signature at the bottom of the sketch then hands it back to you. Drawing such a beauty, you were having second thoughts about telling her that you didn’t have plans to sleep with her. She sees you looking at her body and stares at herself in response. - Anya: “You know, I still have another fifteen minutes before my time is up” - You: “What would like me to do?” She draws a wide smile showing off her wonderful smile then thinks a short while before she sits up folding her legs together. - Anya: “Strip!” You do as you’re told with your robe coming down to your ankles. You reveal your masculinity. Visible muscle in your pecks, you’re rippling with muscle tension in your six pack abs, your biceps bolster with six inches of thickness, veins popping out of them, your ass fills out your boxers well in contrast with your physique you can see yourself as an Adonis statue, or your own. Your manhood sits flaccid in your boxers dangling away on your right leg sleeve exposing your cockhead to the woman. She sucks in her lips in response to your strip, she falls back, spreads her legs, exposing her pussy to you with a “come hither” expression of her face. With much gusto, you slide into bed on top of you companion with your lips touching her neck, her legs raise above you with your manhood extending its reach to slither between her legs with much anticipation as you come to expect from just a light warm-up. Watching you draw her was long and tiring to hold a position for long, you can sense that much in her as she worms beneath you to get your manhood free from their prison. Your cock plops freely onto her stomach with her hands working their magic to get it firmly resting between her fingers. You cockhead pops from the skin to greet her as does her clitoris which rubs against the bottom of your shaft, your balls clinging together with her entry that you feel her cringe to your embrace. She guides your hands to her breast wringing her fingers through your brown hair, bracing yourself for her wet snatch conveying her conviction. Your cock rose up to her curtains, you head presses against her entry awaiting the moment to dive into her with much awaited desire. Her body takes your head as she expels a moment of content when you finally do breach her. A good full plunge into her inner walls proves to be a fitting end for this evening, your buttocks folds inward with her hands suddenly shifting to grab it in the heat of the moment. Your heated cock, briskly digging away at her, moistens her insides. You exchange tongues while you buck your hips into her pelvis, shrieking in agonizing bliss, pre touching her cervix and mixing your sexual fluids inside her, your lips touching with her tongue meeting with yours. You break the kiss to force a hard thrust to expel another gasping breathe from her lip and listen her bewildering moan, you felt her walls clench to your base massaging you with each thrusting motion you push your length into her pussy. Her sweet mounds of flesh pressing against your manly chest touching nipple to nipple, breast to breast, your energies intertwine with your carnal lust building up. You shift your positions with you pressing up against her backside with you hand raise her right leg up and your dick thrusting into her and her head resting into the pillows, your wet lips touching her neck once more the convey your affection. Her ass bumps up into you with her pussy wrapping around your tightly packed meat pole riding her from behind. Your parallel motion churns her insides to butter, and she practical melts to your touch and loving embrace. Your hands cupping her breast, kneading the flesh between your fingers teasing her nipples with each knead. On all fours, you held her rump, reaching over her to grab her by the locks, holding in behind her. Your free hand reaches below her smooth underbelly to glide towards her love hole and caress the entrance that she endears, spreading her lips wide, your finger meets with your cock going in with the fold grasping her clit with your thumb stirring her from her moment of content bring her to the peak of orgasm. Withholding her groaning behind her moan, she endures the barrage of upward thrusting into her vag to the breaking point where she releases heavily built up cries. You felt your member throbbing inside your lover only to hold back the coming wave sweeping over you and her. You cum your hardest when you moment comes, spilling your hot sperm into the womb of the lover, her cavity spilled with the strong swimmers awaiting to fertilize the eggs she carries. The healthy child swim to meet inside the womb of the woman that could bear your essence inside her, the spunk flood her uterus swelling in size with the ounces of meat and splooge coating her internal walls. She continues coating you cock with your white spunk pushing rope into her pussy with much more coming out of her to grease your balls in her mixing sex. Your cream pie filling almost feels complete without the added measure of a second cumming. You keep thrusting harder and harder to muster the last blow to deliver the final payload into this loving bearer of a cum dump. You exhaust all strength in the final moment collapsing off to the side watching the spillage of your sperm flowing out onto your bedside. Feeling a bit stiff you mount her once again to continue fucking until you can no longer keep a stiff boner. But alas, you felt that moment passes when her vag seeps the remainder of the massive dump filling her womb. She holds you into her arms with her eyes clenching shut pressing her fingers inside her to keep the flow of sperm inside her. She pants in the final moments and breathes deeply as the two of you drift off into the later evening.