Helina’s make-up is for the stage, alluring and smoky, glittery shadow and thick mascara accentuates her eyes. Her foundation and contouring are flawless, and her nude lips form a plump pout of perfection. She wears spike heels and a plush, leopard print coat.
Beneath that coat Helina is naked, save for a long pendant which reaches almost to her navel. The coat’s silky lining strokes the curves of her bare skin, while the plush outer layer of fur tickles against her breasts and upper thighs. Her desire is naked too, raw and primal, tightening her throat and making it hard to swallow while thudding like the beat of club music between her thighs. As she strolls languidly down the backstage corridors to find her quiet place with its deep leather armchair, anticipation floods her body. She always arrives before everybody else, a habit she’s formed over years of performing. The expectancy of taking the stage never fails to turn her on, and desire slithers down her spine. She is giddy with need but quietly determined not to rush her pre-show ritual. Every moment must be savoured, an exhibition of lewd devotion to herself.
Helina Dream is a star, who loves her work. Her art is edgy and risqué, her performances designed to shock as much as they titillate. She seeks constant adoration from her audience—fuel, to make her feel validated and alive. Today she is the epitome of a femme fatale from a black-and-white movie as she sucks on her cigarillo, letting smoke curl past her nostrils. She opens the glossy magazine in her lap, the cover is cool against her smooth thighs. Flicking idly past perfume ads and fashion spreads, she loves searching for her own...
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Read all about the wonderful author: Posy Churchgate
