(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/Monaco/Characters/Avatars/SophieAvatar02.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Sophie Maryse Besset</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Ryuuji Adam's place - slave holding cells.<br/><strong>With:</strong>Callie Shaw, Tillie LeBon.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Sophie was laid out across the floor, covered by nothing more than a vacant breeze of recycled air. She was comfortable, nearly flat with one knee up, her thighs were loosely pasted together, and her outstretched arms laid out a lazy pillow. Her torso swept across the floor, and her small breasts stayed tightly pinned to her chest. She appeared to be exhausted, but she was only conserving energy. It had been a short journey from her previous place in France. Sophie had been fed recently enough, and there wasn't much of a word on her mind. She was full of energy; all of which, she had contained within a darkened beauty.<br/><br/>There was a fair friction between her legs, and her hips slowly pivoted. She was nearly motionless, undulating against the gravity of the situation.<br/><br/>Her training was life-long, and the slave educational programs in France had made her a temple of desire. Every fiber of her being was begging for an obscene fuck.<br/><br/>Finally, the silence was broken, and her fellow slave was willing to talk. She looked at Tillie with half-opened eyes. "I am Sophie." Her introduction was plain, as if her name was a number, or a short sequence of lower-cased letters. "I'm not sure of excitement about the right word." Her accent was thick, and her grammar was suffering with English syntax. She hadn't taken her language classes seriously at all. The words of desire were hidden in the body, anyway. She was well aware of that. "But I know what you describe. I think it is time for master. I feel lonely." Her shoulders wiggled with that thought. Too much time had passed since she had been spread open and used like a napkin. It pained her. "I prey for the sex, too." Her face wrinkled with lust burning in the pit of her gaze, almost like she had winked for Tillie.<br/><br/>the pixie-cut slave on the floor cocked her eyebrows as her comrade continued. The girl's comment about a cruel master was off-putting. Sophie had no desire for that. She had been well trained to please any one, man or woman, and part of that involved a tolerance for pain. But, orgasm had always come easily for her. She specialized in conventional methods. "You like to be whipped, beat on?" Sophie had asked an open ended question, but she spoke too quickly to leave it that way. "Where is a thresh-hold, I ask?" She lifted herself up a bit, bending her other knee slightly, holding herself up on one arm. "When does pleasure turn into horror?" Her breasts were only large enough to lean in one direction or the other. Sophie's body was unnaturally still, now, as if she were a mannequin in the window. Held in the shape of a barbie doll, every curve on her body was perfect in this position. Her thighs separated for balance.<br/><br/>"I'm curious, you say." That was hardly the truth, Sophie was only responding with what she knew: A fair bit of false interest, and concern in her voice that came from education.<br/><br/>She had complete disinterest in Tillie, but that was far from the expression on her face. The gleam in her eyes were nearly as vacant as the air inside of the cell, but they sparkled enough, her lips curled. Her false empathy had been part of her training, it was second nature now. She almost felt wrong for listening. But, she turned her shoulders and picked at her hair, as if she was nervous about Tillie's response.