Creampie
Imagine the scene unfolding before your eyes like a captivating dance, set on a sprawling estate adorned with lush gardens. A car pulls up abruptly, its tires crunching the gravel with a sudden urgency. From the perspective of Maxwell, our eyes on the scene, an older man hurriedly exits the car and dashes to the side door. His purpose? To gently assist a young woman, delicate and blind, as she emerges cautiously, her cane unfolding like a prop in a grand ballet. The man leads her through the garden, a secret pathway to a hidden back door. And there, standing amidst the greenery, is Maxwell, frozen in a trance, his gaze locked onto the mysterious young woman. Dressed in dirty work clothes and armed with gardening supplies, Maxwell is not just a spectator; he's a performer in this unfolding drama. The camera pans out, revealing the meticulous landscaping in progress, with other workers scattered about like supporting actors. One of them taps Maxwell on the shoulder, a cue to snap out of his reverie. "Get back to work before the boss sees you," he warns. But Maxwell's eyes are glued to the back door, his mind a whirlwind of curiosity. The coworker leans in, sharing a secret: "The homeowner's daughter is blind. She rarely leaves the house. It's sad, really. She just turned eighteen and is absolutely stunning, but her dad keeps her so sheltered." Maxwell nods, lost in thought, barely registering the words. "Yeah... it's really sad," he murmurs, his mind already scripting the next act. The camera lingers on the back door, a static shot filled with anticipation. Maxwell steps into the frame, his eyes never leaving the door as he tends to the garden. Shots intercut between his face and the door, building tension with each passing moment. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, the father reappears, marching back to his car. He spots Maxwell and shouts, "Get back to work before I tell the contractor!" Maxwell snaps out of it, feigning busyness. But as the father's car disappears down the driveway, Maxwell's gaze returns to the door, his resolve strengthening. He must get a closer look. Cut to Maxwell stepping up to the back door, his heart pounding like a drumbeat. He peers inside, the room empty and silent. Slowly, he turns the handle, the door creaking open as if inviting him in. The stage is set, and Maxwell steps inside, his movements careful and deliberate. He takes in the room, each detail a clue to the daughter's life. Clothes lay on the bed, her cane resting nearby. He picks them up, breathes in deeply, and closes his eyes. Her scent is intoxicating. Suddenly, the ensuite bathroom door swings open, and the daughter steps into the room, naked and vulnerable. She feels her way towards the bed, unaware of Maxwell's presence. He tip-toes out of her path, holding his breath as she begins to dress, her movements innocent and unguarded. Over the next few minutes, the daughter goes about her post-shower routine, completely oblivious to the fact that she's not alone. Maxwell is transfixed, his heart racing as he watches her, his hand unconsciously moving to stroke himself. The daughter pauses, her head tilting as if listening to the darkness. "Is somebody there?" she calls out, her voice a mix of alarm and curiosity. Maxwell freezes, unsure of his next move. He starts to back up, but a sudden noise gives him away. Something falls to the floor with a bang, and the daughter's face lights up with relief. "Doctor, is that you? I wasn't expecting you so soon!" she exclaims. Without missing a beat, Maxwell replies, "Yes." The daughter pauses, her brow furrowing. "I don't recognize your voice," she says, her hand reaching out into the darkness. Maxwell nervously introduces himself, his heart pounding in his chest. The daughter, Fawn, sticks out her hand, a peace offering in the darkness. "Can I feel your face? It's what I always do with new people," she says, her voice filled with innocence and curiosity. Maxwell hesitates, his hand still gripping himself, before nervously allowing her to touch his face. Her fingers trace his features, her touch sending electric shocks through his body. "You're younger than Dr. Freeman," she remarks, a smile playing on her lips. "I don't meet a lot of younger people!" Maxwell tries to control his excitement, but her touch sends him spiraling. He looks at her, still half-naked, her body a symphony of curves and softness. The room is filled with an electric tension, the air heavy with anticipation. Maxwell knows what he wants, what he needs. He must get inside of her, must feel her, must have her. The stage is set, the actors in place. The dance of desire is about to begin. What will happen next? Will Maxwell's performance be enough to win Fawn's heart, or will his deceit be his downfall? The curtain rises, the spotlight shines, and the show is about to start. Get ready, because this is a performance you won't want to miss!
