<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/6AKi1.jpg)<br/>original source (http://www.hentai-foundry.com/pictures/user/Moonstruck/147254/Your-turn)</div><br/>The leggings were tight against Brea's skin, and felt somehow extra sensual so soon after a solid fucking.  She laced the leather straps up tight and felt the material hug her still slightly swollen sex as she laced up the bodice afterwards.  Old man Marcheron would easily be able to tell how valuable this gem was.  Best of all, he'd be up too, he was always awake, or at the most, dozing in his chair, head resting in one hand.  Seems like he never slept more than in short bursts, and always woke up whenever anyone walked in.  He was a lech, that was certain, but he was so old his crank didn't work anymore.  He'd probably do it just for a simple flash and squeeze of her tits.  Of course, there was that one time he made Brea finger fuck herself in front of him, then demanded to taste her fingers afterwards.<br/><br/>Brea reached for the gem to tuck it safely away.  But as soon as her fingers made contact with the gemstone, her eyes were filled with a blinding light.  Then darkness right behind it.  Then out of that darkness an image swam forwards, a sound.  The sound of a woman moaning, in the throes of pleasure and ecstasy.  Another woman was whipping her, raising pink marks on her creamy white flesh.  The first woman's arms were bound behind her back, and there were piercings in her nipples, her belly button and even visible in her clit, despite the dark brown curls around it.  From these piercings two thin delicate chains which were held by the second woman.<br/><br/>The second woman turned then and faced Brea.  Her body was perfect, every line smooth and tight, and every angle amazing.  She had flaming red hair that seemed almost purple in the dark light, and pencil thin lines above her eyebrows, but not a single hair on her body other than that.  Her nipples were likewise peirced, and Brea noted that she wore nothing save s strange cowl that covered her shoulders and neck, the clasp of which bore the same markings as the gemstone.  She also wore a garterbelt and rich luxurious stockings that did nothing to hide her body.  Her smooth hairless pussy was swollen with sexual desire, and thick clear fluid leaked from it to slide down the woman's thighs slowly.  She held the whip in her right hand and offered it to Brea with a soft smile.<br/><br/>Brea balked for a moment, not knowing what to do, then the woman 'changed.'  Gone was the normal woman and in front of her was a demoness of some sort.  Her eyes glowed with a golden light and her face was marked with tattoos that were reminiscent of the markings on the gem and her collar.  From her head protruded two horns, jutting out and upwards.  From behind her a large pair of leathery wings unfurled as well as a long sinuious tail fleshy colored and alive.  The demoness laughed then and said, "You can be the whip wielder, or the whipped one, the choice is always yours."<br/><br/>Then the vision was over, as if it had never been.  Brea hadn't moved a fraction of an inch, and her fingers were just now closing on the gemstone.<br/><br/><br/><hr/><em>OOC - the items below this line are for if Brea decides to continue on to Old Man Marcheron's.  If she changes her mind and doesn't go, then ignore what's below and just write what you want in reaction to the gem's 'vision'.</em><br/><hr/><br/>With the gemstone stowed saftely inside the hidden pouch in her bodice, Brea had no trouble navigating the side of Kald's inn.  Down the side of it she slid with ease.  Down was always easy, going back up was much trickier, but possible thanks to the old mortar that was full of hundreds of handholds for someone nimble and light weight like she was.<br/><br/>Marcheron's house may have been a store at one point in the past, but likewly that was in his younger years.  Now the glass windows were half boarded up, and where they weren't, were covered in a layer of grime so thick that no light could ever pass through.  Brea found the door to his home unlocked as always, and found the elder sitting, as she'd suspected, at a table surrounded by books and moldy tomes.  He had a pair of oil lamps beside him, casting a fair amount of light onto the material he was reading, but when he looked up, she noticed he wasn't looking right at her.   His vision was probably shot beyond the ends of his fingers, it happened often with the old.<br/><br/>"Yes?"  he called out,  "Who's there?  It's late for visitors, what do you want?"