Lauren in the Dank Basement
The basement bedroom was a shadowed vault, its air thick with the musk of old stone and wax. A queen bed with black iron rails and satin sheets stood as the sole altar in the dim space, flanked by two sconces that spilled amber light in stuttering pulses. Lauren, her red hair a cascade of fire, owned the room, her body encased in black latex that screamed with every move, a glossy second skin that demanded worship.
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