<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/Venusmother3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Mary Jane Casey<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Please Ask<br/><strong>Looking For:</strong>Geekgasm<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Nikki, open<br/><strong>Wearing: </strong>Slave Leia cosplay (https://i.imgur.com/Jf7yFx4.jpg)<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Stepping into Venus' largest convention center today had been a plunge into the secret and wonderful geek world Mary Jane Casey never knew existed. Day two of the comic con was going strong with two thousand booths and tables plastered with characters Mary Jane had largely never heard of, crowded avenues and long lines, and the microphone voice of god a constant din from the nearby panel auditoriums. People around her yelled just to communicate over the crowd<em>She signed my boob </em>and<em>Oh cool, where'd you get that? </em>And although Mrs. Casey had every intention of enjoying herself, her playful chain leash twirled idly in her own hand, unclaimed. Where did that girl get off to?<br/><br/>She huddled in for pictures with fellow cosplayers wandering the avenues. Mrs. Casey had seen six other women in the gold-piped harem girl Slave Leia garb, but none with curves of such sloping, swerving, Eostre's bounty natural curves. She had hip checked several laden shoppers by accident simply walking by them shoulder to shoulder, and now was ever more careful with her personal bubble. It was a daring ensemble, hanging the heavy globe of either breast in a russet sling, showing off her waxed mound with a dangerously low loincloth weighted to her sex by plastic faux-bronze. The adornments of a slave wrapped her wrists, her arms, her ankles, her braided hair, her chained throat, and a gag which so far went unused. A stiff breeze could disrobe her.<br/><br/>Mrs. Casey huddled between Widowmaker and Poison Ivy for a photo. Widowmaker briefly claimed her chain, and Poison Ivy's painted fingers fanned beneath her navel as the poses grew increasingly sultry.<em>"Big Star Wars fan?" </em>Poison Ivy asked her. The other woman spoke only Korean.<br/>"Yeah, I like all that old sci-fi. Space 1999, Space Academy." Mary Jane curled up in a cozy reading smile and fingered her collar. "But I'm here with my daughter."<br/><em>"Aw, that's so cute! Is she in costume too?" </em><br/>Mrs. Casey wanted to show this stranger her pride and joy, but as they went walking there were distractions with every breath. One unprompted turn and they were together in the Small Press Pavilion, and Poison Ivy introduced her to all the fetish comics she had never heard of:<em>Catwoman Unleashed, Mara of the Celts, Fetish Magazine, No Swallow Girl, Anal Police! Come Out With Your C**k Up! </em><br/><br/>She flipped through pages with concern and amazement as Poison Ivy's fingertips continued trying to find even the hint of fuzz. It was not going to happen.<br/>"Where do they sell the, um, older stuff?"<br/><em>"What're you looking for?" </em><br/>"The classics, like UFO."<br/>Poison Ivy shook her head slowly as though there had never been such a thing.<br/>"Alright... then... we're not going to find her here. What do eighteen year olds like?"<br/>This inspired some ideas. Mary Jane began to follow her new friend through the alleys and signature lines of the convention, through handsy strangers and phantom panting and the smell of sex. It wasn't long before she became distracted again. Wow.<em>Wow, </em>the tits on that booth art. Mrs. Casey was not sure who the character was or what was being sold, but she would end up buying one of everything.