<strong>Pickler's House of Pleasure</strong><br/><br/><br/><br/>Dionys looked dreamily at the ceiling of his cell, trying to convince himself he was anywhere but where he actually was. They grey nothingness of the metal roof gave the perfect canvas to flick blotches of imagination over.<br/><br/><em>A clear sky...the blade of a knife...the lens of a cosmic goddess...</em><br/><br/>Scrunching his eyes tight, then opening them again, the satyr tried not to let depression overwhelm him as he wasn't transported away the second he lifted his eyelids. His last venture outside his metal home had left him with a little warmth, as did everytime he was put to work. No matter how bland, ugly, or unappealing the client or job was...there was always<em>that</em>oblivion to look forward to.<br/><br/><em>The mind-clearing, gut-hosing, knee-buckling, heart-stopping, chakra injected, soul-freezing climax.</em><br/><br/>His little warmths, his reminders of life, passion, excitement, the brooding satyr always tried to nuture and keep alive against the tide of mediocrity that swathed his normal days. Although dismissing them on the surface, Dionys was always thankful for his moments of escape.<br/><br/>He stretched out on his back as far as his prison would allow, his hair-matted knees sticking up in the air as his hooves shuffled for purchase. Putting his heavy hands across his hair-dappled chest, he unconsciously began to beat out a rhythym against the muscles clothing his ribcage. His shaggy head turned to and fro, glittering green eyes weaving this way and that as the satyr tried to dream up another mental landscape to escape to...<br/><br/>Dionys' head ceased its rocking movements as his gaze stopped on a cage further away from his. The svelte, feline form was one he recognised, vaguely, as much as he dreamily recollected any of his fellow inmates. In an odd display, the clearly ripe female was pressing herself against the bars of her cage, her spotted silky fur bristling, her warm eyes dilated and wide. Dionys didn't need his hormone-tuned scent to know what urge was prickling his feline inmate. He pushed himself up on a thickly muscled arm from his laying position, his sinews bulging as the hairy limb took Dionys' weight. Looking intently now over at her cage, Dionys couldn't help but react to the overtly sensual yet pleasingly savage display. A familiar hook implanted itself in his belly and began tugging as his groin began to swell in reaction to the visual stimulus. The satyr inhaled deeply, trying to catch wind of her scent. Even if he could be subtle, there was no need. Although with hazy recollections, Dionys knew somewhere back in his archetype-dominated, smut-drenched mind that he had been in physical contact with nearly every sentient he looked upon in these bars.<br/><br/>He tapped his drum-worn fingers on his bars, trying to get the female's attention, not caring about his obvious state of arousal. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered to him that if he and the others here could get Outside, there would be vast bonfires...ritual dancing and rejoicing...<em>tribal drumming in time with all our heartbeats joined as we cavort and run rampant with one another...passion and joy and carnal glee channelled out through our bodies in bursts and gushes and wet, panting delirium...I would weave blossom and thyme in all of our fur and tell the others stories about gods in gardens and whisper to them at night so their dreams will be sweet...</em><br/><br/>And not trapped inside cold, glaring metal walls.