Lechery for the Devil
By Paris Dixon
Cassandra stood beside the stereo, listening to Mick Jagger sing the opening lines to “Sympathy for the Devil.” After setting aside the CD case of Beggar’s Banquet, she adjusted the volume control to heart-pumping levels, then hit the REPEAT button. She had always adored the tune, and on this steamy summer evening in Savannah with loneliness consuming her, it would be the perfect background music for what she planned to do. Fresh from the shower and swathed in the fragrance of rosewater, she stretched out her nude frame on the loveseat, spread her legs, and began touching, pacifying, her most private, most neglected parts.
With one hand covering her pubic mound, she slipped one finger, then another, into her aching heat. She slid her other hand over
