High above, in one of the topmost floors, petals whispered forbidden confessions to one another, unfolding in a rhythm of soft, aching longing, yet thirsting for the tempest's fierce, ravaging rain.
No gentle touch of the lunar sisters could soothe the smoldering embers burning in the soil's hidden heart.
Only the warm embrace of flame, the primal pulse of desire, could set this garden ablaze in wild, untamed ecstasy.
And on the 95th floor, in the domain of Guardians, to some people it would look like paradise, some might be a bit disgusted.... but to the one man that now stood above them all watching women masturbate, orgasm repeatedly, touch the breast of those close to them and just relishing in their desires.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and blooming arousal, the soft gasps and moans echoing like a symphony of long-suppressed needs, each woman lost in her own rhythm while casting furtive glances toward the figure who commanded their deepest fantasies.
