L.A. morning rain. February, two minutes before ten. Mina sits on a cold marble-tile counter, her red terry-cloth robe in a royal spread behind her. To the right, kitty-corner above the shower, wisteria crawls through the open window. Stan makes dedicate circle around Mina's well defined kneecaps. Goose bumps appear, slightly red in the pale of her albino flesh. Her corn-rowed hair is the color of rope, and her uncoils like garden snakes as she let her head drop back to expose the hollow of her throat. Stan rest his tongue there. He slowly licks her collarbone, making a diamond trail up to her neck to the four tiny hole in her left ear. Her colorless lashes flutter. The rain shifts gear from sprinkle to piss-down, spaying through the wisteria in the window, the white floor now glistening wet. Mina concentrates on the bathroom acoustics . Stan pulls her head to meet his face, bites her plush bottom lip, roughly pushes her thighs wider. The cold of the marble and the pad of his round thumb heat her pussy. The goose bumps rise up on her body, flame, then disappear as he caresses, enters, thrust. Mina almost cums to the sound alone, the sucking hiss of his cock as if inside a membraned microphone and the amplified surge of the rain. Quarter to eleven. To the the living room she follow him. Stan glides the belt through his Polo loops; she sakes her head. What are you shaking your head at? he asks. She smiles; without her glasses she can barely make out the details of him, but she knows she hates that belt. She also wonders what it would feel like if he whipped her with it. In the dark yellow kitchen, which is part of the living room, she throws a banana, yogurt, and protein mix into the blender. She turns it on high; Stan screws up his brow. Still on those, huh Mina? he ask looking for his shoes, whiched he'd kicked off somewhere the night before. She dips her finger in, lick it, realize she's forgotten the honey. The blender on, again. Stan still hasn't found his shoes; he look at her impatiently. Her hands are on her hips, the bottom half of her hourglass. The smoothie is half full on the counter in front of her. She wears a simple short yellow dress of faded grey flowers, a hint of eggplant color on her lips. Stan pouts appears to her an invitation for a kiss. Stay where you are , she tells him. he listen. Stan stands. Slowly she walks over to him, her steps measured, calm. She pushes him to sit on the black leather couch and turns on the bright reading; he looks up at it, irritated. She puts her finger over her mouth. Ssssh, he says in lip sync. She unbuckle his belt, whips it off in one take. She unzipped his jeans; he raises his narrow hips, so she can easily pulled down his long-legged pants. On the floor she sit for a moment, looking up to him. His dark brown cock is shy at first, then begin to fill itself out under the warmth of the hot light. When the tip touches the cold leather, it lifts a bit, and she smiles. She could barely make this out, the details a blur, but she rises to her knees, and take his cock in her mouth. Where they thinking of me when they made theses? she wonders. Taking him to the base of her throat, she thinks, Yes, they were thinking of my mouth. Stan's head goes back, his lips part enough to se the raw red inside. My god, Mina, he says out loud. My gaahd, he softly growls. To Be Continued