Omnia is wearing her sable fur coat, her South Sea pearl and silver pendant, and nothing else. I'm trying to write and it's not coming easily. I don't have time for her shenanigans. And I tell her so, in no uncertain terms. She screws up her face. "Do you have time for this then?" She says, pulling the fur open to expose her own genital fur beneath the coat. She pops the cork on the bottle of champagne she had gamesomely secreted behind her back and pours the aerated frothy liquid down her belly, cascading over her adorable (and bewitching) outie belly button, streaming effervescently through her luxuriant auburn pubic thatch. Her eyes are replete with neutron stars. The ringed irises descend from the air like a pair of lovely blue swallows and alight on my stiffening cock. The micro claws dig in, ungently, and find purchase in my smooth speckled foreskin. “Get down, drink,” Omnia exhorts. Her index finger turned upwards, sky-aiming, then down, earth-marshalling. “Be a good little doggy for me and drink deep from my vaginal wellhead, from my bubbling up and babbling over Fountain of Eternal Youth.” I can’t say I ever possessed any incipient urge to be humilated by a woman. That is, until I met her. Then I not only welcomed the humiliation but I vehemently craved it. I most especially enjoyed watching her suck off stranger’s cocks in the gloryhole while she jerks me off with a white opera-gloved hand. Or, on special occassions, we’d get someone over to fuck her on the bed in the guest room while I filmed the spectacle and masturbated along to it. I remember reading that Dali liked to see Gala get screwed by a coterie of youthful, handsome men and I never quite understood it, it seemed so wrongheaded then, but now, with Omnia, my libido had been turned upside down and inside out and back to front, and such sportive play now seems not only desirable, but ineluctable and imperative. I'm shamed to say it, but when I reflect on it, it makes my sex very hard, so hard the muscle strains against it's skin-sheath, and hurts me a little. After our séance à trois partner has left, Omnia's favorite pasttime is to spread herself out on the bed and gorge herself on grapes, as I lick his sperm out of her fuzzy crotch, out of her flavourful pelvic organ, out of her seed-sprayed vaginal space. Caressing the top of my head with a swirling motion, then getting ahold of the back of my head with her clawlike clutch and, pulling my kisser, into her sweltering crotch. “There is always one escape from the pain of being,” she cries, “straight on into wickedness!”