Dystopia Now (Methos & Beauty)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Beauty on 11-11-2008, 06:42:34</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Dystopia Now (Methos &amp; Beauty)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Beauty</strong> on <strong>11-11-2008, 06:42:34</strong>
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				When society finally collapsed, Julie had been six years old. Only recently turned six actually, as she could remember that she hadn’t been given a child’s ticket when she and her father had gone to the movies to celebrate. Something she had swelled with pride over, as she had not paid the $1.50 extra for an adults ticket. The simple letters A-D-U-L-T, had made her gap toothed grin all the brighter throughout the entire film more so than the film itself. Fantastic Four hadn’t been all that Fantastic, perhaps too much for a six year old, but Julie would never admit it. She still enjoyed Barbie’s movies more, but would always boast that Fantastic Four was her favorite grown up movie. Her daddy’s favorite too, from the way he had grinned after the movie..A smile so big his pants fit funny! (That joke, her mother didn’t find quite as funny at supper that night).<br><br>The first bombs had struck in D.C., all the way across the country, at about 6:30 the day after her birthday. The President was said to be fine, but he was never heard from in the aftermath of the War. Comments were made allegedly from him, to keep faith and that everything would be fine, but soon he would vanish just as the rest of the American identity…into a vast, radiated wasteland with only shadows of what it once had been. Hysterics broke out across the country like a virus. Typical of War, the best and the worst of humanity was displayed in the hours before the massive explosions. Looting, shootings, mass murders of ones own people in the name of desperation and panic. While those who had little opened their arms to those who had nothing, those who had so much seemed to hoard what they had to themselves and set up barricades to keep everyone else out. Those deemed paranoid and insane for building bunkers in case of such an attack were praised as Saints as they ushered neighbors inside and beneath the ground…<br><br>At 7:00, Julie could remember being pulled out of bed by her mother and being forced to get dressed and get in the car with her two brothers who were wide awake. Their father had left for business right after supper on her birthday, and in order to calm the whining and frantic anxieties of her children, and partially herself, Julie’s mother had reassured them they were going to go visit their father in the next town. A trip that usually took twenty minutes out of Los Angeles, took about two hours….<br><br>Julie had slept in the car…<br><br>Her brothers had figured out what was going on long before the engine started; they had been watching the news…<br><br>Falling asleep in the car was her last vivid memory of her childhood. The rest seemed to only exist in fragments. No more room in the bunker they had driven too outside of Los Angeles. Only enough for her…She remembered screaming for her mother and brothers. She remembered the suffocating pressures of hundreds of frightened bodies several feet taller than her, pushing her back like the violent undertow of the ocean. Her mother had yelled she would find her soon, just wait till morning and she would come back with daddy…<br><br>That had been 18 years ago…<br><br>What happened after that was such a blur now…She could no longer separate the broken government’s post-war propaganda from fact.&nbsp; Only in a cold sweat after rising from a nightmare in the dead of the night, were her eyes truly open. A bottle of pre-war painkillers helped ease on the blindness that was drilled into the minds of the survivors’ of the War, and numb the bitter taste in her mouth that was truth. The government had brought on the War in ways it’s remaining citizens could not comprehend, and continued to suffer for such ignorance..<br><br>Naivety, more so in Julie’s case.<br><br>Though the decision to leave her daughter behind was a saving grace from horrid exposure those who did actually survive above&nbsp; ground experienced because of radiation, Julie emerged from the bunker essentially an orphan. As society attempted to build up the walls of progress again, a surreal relapse took place as far as values were concerned. The government, or what survived and declared itself as government when the fog had cleared, dictated a military like regime rule over the Wastelands. Every fit and available man was made into a soldier, and those neither fit nor available (by means of handicap or Tabs), were exempt to pursue other paths. The women and children were left to fend for themselves; so often the case as the crumbling pages of remaining history books would show…<br><br>Somehow…by some means of twisted fate, Julie became a servant. A domestic helper as young girls were referred to if they were orphans and below the “proper” age. She was no longer the adult she thrived to be. Stripped of that and so many other things, Julie worked without pay or affection in several kitchens of the newly established elite until she came of that age when a more prosperous advantage could be taken. An older woman by the name of Alice Jones had declared herself young Julie’s governess soon after she turned twelve. She had worked unnoticed in Ms. Jones’ home for three years, but her name finally settled on the old wretch’s tongue when the curves of womanhood began blossoming and gaining the attention of the lingering male servants. <br><br>Julie had always been a lovely child. Her smile was captivating, her dusty blonde hair a striking offset to her tanned skin. “Such a delight!” Her teachers would write on her report cards with a smiley face, and even her principal had chuckled upon telling her parents that she would be a real heartbreaker one day. Indeed, many hearts would break because of her..but truly it was her own heart breaking over and over again, and no one else’s….<br><br>After four years of pampering and educating Julie in the ways of the “better class,” under the false guise that she would take over Ms. Jones’ elaborate (as elaborate as a broken old bed and breakfast could be) estate, the old bitty decided one day that the girl was too much of a commodity and decided to sell her off to a local brothel. “Starlets,” the old theatre was now titled. Owned by a scruffy and brutish looking older woman known simply as Miss, whose neck was as thick as her head and the rest of her equally as thick and gelatinous, Miss made her living by purchasing young women who resembled celebrities of the pre-war era. In doing so, there was a debt established that the young woman would have to repay…Simple sounding? No. There was no corner of the country without corruption now…While the girls would study old magazines and surviving films in order to perfect their accuracy as whatever Starlet Miss assigned them, their debt would only dive deeper as food, board and clothing was calculated in…<br><br>Julie was purchased at 1200 Tabs, and her debt now after two years was 2500...<br>A deeper tanning spray had been used on her already sun kissed skin, her hair had been forcibly bleached by Miss’ extremely masculine bodyguards, and the name Julie was stripped from her identification card. Now, across the top of her bedroom door in bright gold was “Alba, Jessica.” <br>Many of the girls here were knock off look a likes of Starlets. The Marilyn Monroe girl only looked like her in the dark, Angelina Jolie had to pinch her lips to make them plump enough, and Britney Spears was only similar in mental capacity, not looks. Julie however, looked strikingly similar to her Starlet. The same bubbly smile, the same lean and flirtatious figure…Perhaps her near clone like appearance thanks to the scavenged supplies from the make up store, was the reason she was so popular amongst the clients..<br><br>She surely wasn’t popular with Miss, who believed her an idealist pain in the ass because of her constant ramblings to the other girls “out of character” about the world outside the brothel and the time before the War. She would constantly rave, according to the boorish brothel owner, about her father and how he was coming to take her away. “Just don’t let her talk, and she’ll be the best lay you’ll ever have” she would warn to some clients…but Julie never spoke in such a fashion to clients..In fact, many came to her in secret not for sex but just to have a kind ear and a smiling face to talk to. This went on unbeknownst to the brothel Mistress of course….<br><br>“I am here, for You.” <br><br>That was the way every session started, and the motto of sort was written write beneath the names above the door way of every girl. In character, completely. Whatever movie, whatever scenario, nothing was out of question. The girls were just dolls to be played with….Some things never change….
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				Title: <strong>Re: Dystopia Now (Methos &amp; Beauty)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Methos</strong> on <strong>12-11-2008, 09:07:02</strong>
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				A dozen years ago, perhaps it was a little more the world as he’d known it had ended. He’d taken a late night red eye flight and then all the tensions around the world had flared into disaster. Civilization as it had been had seemed to crumble within the course of a day. Every day he thought about it, and regretted not having been with his family every day. He had had no idea what was going to transpire, but it tormented him still that when his family had needed him most he’d been on the other side of the continent.<br><br>He’d done everything he could to return to California but the roads had crumbled and it hadn’t taken long before gasoline was hard to come by. Distribution had fallen apart and people had begun to rely on horses. Not to mention the fact than his savings had been in banks that no longer existed. Hell now people seemed to be using bottle caps as currency or simply bartering. He thought he’d done well after things collapsed, he’d managed to find a couple cars and he’d driven through Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana but after that he’d been unable to find either fuel or a vehicle that was operational. It was difficult to find anything that worked properly these days, the bombs had blown gas lines, and there had been so many explosions and electrical fires in the aftermath of the bombings that nearly everything functional had been destroyed. Refineries, power plants and pipelines had all been broken and disrupted in one manner or another.<br><br>People had regressed. Neighbors had been at each other’s throats, stealing whatever scraps of food or supplies they could get their hands on. The world which had seemed to have come so far, and reached a golden age in the West where life was long, and easy had spiraled downwards. It had been a fat country, gorged on easy living and luxury. America had gotten lean in recent years. It had taken a number of years but after the first five years even the gun nuts had started running out of ammunition. Now life was bizarre and it reminded him of a Mark Twain book he’d read as a child about an engineer appearing in the court of King Arthur. Although arguably the protagonist’s modern counter parts weren’t meeting with quite the success he had experienced. There were some days that he thought Mad Max had had it easy – he still had wheels. <br><br>Some people said the world had gone to hell, but he’d gone to southern Illinois which as far as he was concerned was close enough. He’d been bogged down there for more than a year. Never in his life had he thought he’d be so utterly grateful that he’d slogged through ROTC in high school and then through five years of college. The hassle of serving in the served in the National Guard to get a scholarship, now was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him. Survival training had been a god send and being a four time Southern US Kendo Federation champion had come in handy too for that matter. Travel unfortunately was slow. He’d managed to locate a map, after a couple years. However, travel by horse wasn’t sixty miles an hour on the highway and one did have to eat. His travel was never constant forays to hunt for food and to scavenge punctuated his travels. Winter tended to grind his travel down to halt. While latter stages of fall had consisted for the first half dozen years of gathering enough food and finding a place to hunker down for the winter.<br><br>He’d encountered bands of bandits, packs of wolves and mutated creatures he didn’t even have names for. Yet through it all he’d survived. Strangely he always seemed to manage to scrape through, be it through some attack by roaming creatures or some local quarrel where he was guaranteed a fistful of bottle caps and sufficient supplies for him to move on for another few weeks. Through this wandering existence he couldn’t help but hearken back to the samurai movies he’d watched as a child. Not to mention every spaghetti western movie Clint Eastwood had ever made. Roaming through the Midwest with a gun and a sword at his side, riding towards the horizon he’d felt like he needed a thin cigar and a poncho to make his existence complete. <br><br>It was an existence, although its quality was somewhat risible at times. Coyotes the size of a horse were not the product of his having hit the moonshine – they had become a sad reality. Nor were the misshapen creatures that well for lack of a better term he called zombies. They looked like a human being had been trapped in a microwave and nuked for far too long for anyone to have survived. He couldn’t really call what those creatures had become surviving. He’d killed his share of both at this point, not to mention other men and beasts. The farther he went and the more creatures he left behind him, he seemed to earn some sort of grudging admiration from those he came across. Although some thought him a liar, the lines that had furrowed in his brow and the cold look in his eyes had discouraged many from pushing that accusation very far.<br><br>He’d seen Vegas and it had become a ruin. Once it had been the City of Sin and a bustling hub of activity where fools and their money were soon parted – now it was no more than collapsed buildings and piles of sand. Tears had sprung to his eyes as memories of visiting that city of neon lights, lounge singers and card games with his wife had flooded to his mind. Years had past and he’d had no way of knowing if she’d survived, or if she okay? What had become of their children? What had become of any of them? The flood of guilt had been almost overwhelming. Yet some measure of hope had filled his heart when he’d reached the mountains. It had taken him five years but he’d made it across the breadth of the continental United States and he was going home.<br><br>He’d have traded years of his life for a plane to have gotten him back faster. Crossing the mountains had been grueling, but sheer determination had willed him all the way through. He had to kill his horse after it slipped and broke its leg along the way. Thus on foot he’d come out of the mountains and returned to the relatively balmy embrace of California.<br><br>Things were better here – slightly. That hadn’t been saying much. Evidently the Governator had held the state together for a while by sheer force of personality. Although illness had apparently struck him down. Strangely the people he met insisted that the man wasn’t dead. He’d merely been taken to another dimension but “he’d be back” apparently when they needed him mostly. A wry smile had crossed his lips as he’d inquired if that was when robots invaded the earth. The cold looks he received in response to that suggested these people were deadly serious.<br><br>If nothing else his life had gotten slightly easier. He’d found himself a better sword, armor had been easy to acquire. Never in his life had he ever thought he’d hug a SCA enthusiast but good god the man had actually set up a functioning black smithy and started fashioning workable weapons and armor. He’d spent the next two years like some sort of wandering hedge knight of old searching southern California for any trace of his family. He’d asked everyone he met if they’d heard of his wife, his daughter or his sons. Yet in every town he simply received and apologetic answer that they’d never heard of any of them. He’d assumed they’d have fled LA to see his wife’s relatives in the country, yet he’d visited their farm and there was nothing there.<br><br>Despair had briefly overwhelmed him, yet he’d pushed onwards to LA and began to search the city. The City of Angles was now a military republic run by the Brotherhood of the Sword. It was strange arrangement and it reminded him of Sparta but without the homosexuality. Those who fought ran the city, although the city was but a mere shadow of itself. Everyone else were second class citizens at best if not outright slaves. The dependents of the world had suffered the most. But one look at him, and he’d had members of the Brotherhood trying to convince him to stay, promising to help him look for his family. <br><br>He’d spent every hour when he wasn’t fighting, patrolling or training looking through the city. He asked questions, he offered a reward for information about the whereabouts of his family. He’d had a few people spin some fabrications to him but never anything solid. After a couple years, he’d given up hope and just assumed that they were all dead. Everything that had mattered to him was gone.<br><br>He didn’t care anymore…but he was a legend. The Brothers all called him the Ronin. The Ronin had crossed the vast waste to reach California. He’d fought with the Brothers against the Great Zombie Rising and killed three hundred zombies if he’d killed a one. The Ronin had led the Brothers who’d driven the Triad out of Chinatown. He succeeded because he fought with a reckless abandon and took chances, not to mention the fact he was simply good. Now life was as comfortable as it got for him. He had a house, he owned several ‘slaves’ that looked after it and he was declared a Hero of the Republic and a member of the Order of Arnold. But it all meant nothing to him. His real named ceased to matter, the moniker was how he was always addressed.<br><br>Why he found himself riding towards a brothel was something that he wondered himself. He hadn’t felt any particular urge, yet he’d run into another of the Brothers several days past. The young man had been in his unit during the Great Zombie Rising. Derek hadn’t remembered him, but the man said his name was Carl and he’d never forgotten how the Ronin saved his life. Derek had downplayed any heroics as he didn’t even remember the incident in question, which wasn’t unusual. He always seemed to lose himself in combat. It all became instinct, action and reaction, cut, thrust, parry in fluid motion. Yet Carl had seemed to remember it like it was yesterday, a zombie had been perched atop of him its maw descending towards his throat and then Derek had cleaved a path to him and struck the head off the zombie atop of him and dragged Carl back behind the lines. The man’s gratitude and praise were so effusive that it had been profoundly embarrassing for him. Carl had wanted to reward him, although naturally there really wasn’t anything the man could give him that he wanted. Yet Derek’s story was not entirely unknown, so the man had insisted that a girl might cheer him up a bit. Carl apparently had a cousin who ran some sort of brothel that kept girls resembling celebrities from before the end. He’d insisted that he pay for five girls for him, let him live a day like a king. Derek had pointed out that after the first three he wouldn’t know what to even do with the extras.<br><br>That rather practical objection had been met with the man’s cheerful reply that it could be five girls at once, three girls one time two girls another, or one girl five times if he liked – Carl insisted he would set it up. He’d rattled off the address and assured him that he’d see that there was credit there for him and he’d square things with his cousin.<br><br>Several days later, an urchin had arrived at his home with a menu from the brothel. A note indicated that his account had been credited for five girls for up to a day each and any incidentals that came along with that. Derek presumed that meant they would wait on him for the better part of a day and ply him with whatever passed for booze these days and some excuse for food. Carl evidently had insisted it was to be VIP treatment. He stared at the note and the menu and muttered “It would have been easier to let the man die.” <br><br>Derek looked at the menu and smiled faintly. It was a Hollywood A list from the late 90s and just past the turn of the century. Brittney Spears, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Garner, Lindsay Lohan, Jessica Simpson, Jessica Alba – the list looked like it was cribbed right out one of Maxim Magazine’s Hot 100 lists. He shook his head as he muttered “I suppose it is free.” He had checked an X beside the girl who was supposed to resemble Jessica Alba and specified the next day would suit him. He’d given the urchin a tab as a tip and sent him off on his way. <br><br>Now he spied the rather run down front of the movie theatre where the word Starlets had been crudely painted on what had once been the marquee. Derek shook his head as he reined in his horse as he reached the brothel. A boy emerged to take the reins of his horse and lead it to the stables at the side of the building which had evidently once been a hardware store. Derel ambled to the door and pushed it open before him.<br><br>He stepped inside and an elderly and overweight woman greeted him. Her rather nasal voice remarked “You must be the war hero that Carl wouldn’t shut up about. You look exactly as he described you” A wan smile crossed Derek’s lips as the woman continued “The Ronin or whatever they call you because of that funny Japanese sword of yours. Apparently Carl values his life on par with you getting five days worth of service from my girls. So you have Jessica Alba for the rest of the night, although you only have her reserved until 11 am tomorrow. You can arrange the rest of your visits with me afterwards for whenever you like.”<br><br>He wasn’t that hard to pick out in a crowd. He stood about six foot two in height, and weighed a lean and muscular 230 pounds. His shoulders were rather broadly set, and while his frame had always been athletic everything that had occurred over the last twelve years had made him nothing but hard and strong. His musculature was strong simply by virtue of the fact he had no other employ than that of a professional warrior, he fought and he trained – that was his life now. His hair was a sandy hue, and his eyes were a brilliant blue colour.&nbsp; His skin was tanned a dark bronze hue, and his features had always been considered ruggedly handsome. His appearance was slightly marred now by scar was prominently displayed across his left cheek where the edge of a sword had caught him. Age had lined his forehead and left flecks of grey hair around his temples, yet he didn’t feel terribly different now than he had years before physically. He only felt empty.<br><br>His mind had drifted as the old woman was saying something to him. The name of the starlet had taken him back to the day before it had all began to fall apart. He remembered seeing a movie with his daughter with Jessica Alba in it - it had been something out of a comic book. The kid had ratted him out to his wife on top of that. A smile fleetingly crossed his lips before the recollection was lost. It was hard to remember anything these days, it was all so long ago and seemingly a different lifetime. As he seemed to emerge from his day dream, the woman seemed to be pointing him down the hallway and indicating that the doors were marked and apparently he was expected. Hence he headed down the hallway and soon his knuckles rapped upon the relevant door.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Dystopia Now (Methos &amp; Beauty)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Beauty</strong> on <strong>17-11-2008, 00:49:52</strong>
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				The sex industry was absolutely thriving after the War, though in secret of course. Brothels were scoffed at, and those employed in the trade were treated like trash in the streets; that is until the sun set and a majority of those hypocrites who had turned up their noses were now scrounging through their bags for spare caps so they could afford to spend even an hour with those dolled up women. Women who were gathered up like stolen antiques, appraised for their worth and either locked up in the finest “museums” or caged in more seedy apartments and street corners for less than “glamorous“ display. At least at Starlets,&nbsp; some of the girls would defend, they were fed and kept in comfortable places..<br><em><br>Comfortable</em><br><br>Julie scoffed a bit as she looked at her surroundings. Her childhood room had been larger, and that had been a converted walk in closet since her brothers had decided they no longer wanted to share a room in their originally three bedroom home. Julie hadn’t thought much of it back then, that closet had been huge! Well..huge to a six year old. Now that she was eighteen, it was a bit more cramped than she considered…Each girl had a room of similar size, with one cot with one pillow and a nightstand. Everything else, they had to find buy or steal themselves. Julie had only stolen one thing ever in her life, and that had been before the War. Even in the times of desperation, when patron fat-cats would gorge on their meals and leave scraps for their fifteen servants, Julie would only take what was given. Her father had scolded her in great lengths when she had taken a bracelet from a store, and that lecture had stuck with her still..<br><br>She could hear his voice so often in her head…<br><br>Julie often felt guilty that she thought of her father more than her mother and her brothers..but she had seen them before the end..it was as if her father had vanished, knowing what would happen. For some time she had been bitter, thinking that he had known and decided to leave without them. Then, as time pressed on, she realized no one could have predicted what happened…Not even the man she thought was the smartest in the world; her father.<br><br>Sighing softly, Julie stretched out on her simple cot and sat up slowly. She glanced around the small living space, which had been designed by some grunts that converted every theatre room into twelve small rooms so that numerous girls could be lodged there with their own private “pleasure place” attached. The Starlets were given a tiny personal room, attached to a large room which had various toys and furnishings for all the different kinks one could imagine craving for out in the Wasteland. Chains, silks, candles, paddles…everything. Some girls even had managed to find working sex machines from the pre-war era, though they ran on some sort of battery which eventually would run out.&nbsp; For now however, they were commodities which made the Starlet brothel all the more expensive…<br><br>Julie’s pleasure room was nothing special .The crumbling walls were decorated and covered up with posters with her personal Starlet in various poses and costumes, chandeliers and mirrors for the more vain cliental. A crushed velvet casting couch was in decent condition for those who wanted to play producer, a desk for those desiring to be a boss of some sort, and of course a large king sized bed with silk sheets that she had purchased in Downtown, since the cotton ones it came with gave her a horrible rash which she feared to be some sort of radiation. <br><br>She purchased the same sheets for her personal bed, which was the lower part of a bunk bed to which Angelina Jolie had the top in a room down the hall from her. Starlets was a flourishing brothel, but Miss was too cheap to spend all the caps she hoarded from the girls. She counted them everyday, like some sort of gelatinous dragon. Her gapped&nbsp; teeth splitting her chapped lips as her body jiggled entirely placing caps one by one into her not so secret safe beneath the registers desk.&nbsp; It made Julie sick to think of her, but not as sick as it made her when she thought about that boorish woman choosing which man would come to her every day without so much as a consensual nod on her part. That morning when she had woken up, she had been informed that she was booked for the entire day until the next afternoon. Like a hotel, there was a check in time and a check out time for the girls…If you wanted an extra night, you had to pay ahead of time.<br><br>One man had tried to stay a week with Paris Hilton, until the little twiggy brat had had enough of him and somehow managed to break his nose with her 98 lbs frame….<br><br>…He still came back every so often. Desperation on any scale was not uncommon these days.<br><br>Disappointed to hear of a new client more so than usual, because she had been free of them for three days since a film reel had been discovered and cleaned to the point where it could be shown in the actual cinema rooms, Julie had spent the day preparing herself drudgingly for the man who Miss only called Ronin. “Ronin…” she repeated to herself as she stepped over to her brass vanity, sitting down as she began to brush her silken hair softly. “I guess he’s Asian…or some sort of sword freak…” She sighed, shrugging a bit as she sprayed herself with a bit of perfume she had traded for that smelled like lilacs. She wore a loose white peasant top, which was sewn so that it cut off right beneath her breasts, and a white pair of panties which perfectly accented the curves of her bottom. The lack of clothing alluded pleasantly to what was hidden beneath…but still maintained a level of decency which certainly lacked in some brothels where girls just showed up naked at the door. For a while, Julie looked into her sad hazel eyes in the mirror, lost in thought…<br><br>Thoughts of nothing in particular…Random memories which came to her in small flashes and words, nothing felt complete, just like her heart for the last dozen years..<br><br>A firm knock came to her door, and frantically she jumped out of her daze and began pushing old books beneath her personal bed and straightening up the cramped room as best as she could, though the man would only be in there for the amount of time it took for her to open the door to the pleasure room. Still..a clean room was something her parents had also drilled into her, and she became easily embarrassed when clients came and everything wasn’t straightened out. With a light blush on her sun kissed face, Julie opened the door with her eyes lowered and extended her hand out, palm up towards the man. “Good afternoon Sir, my name is Jessica..I am here, for You.” She said that mantra so sweetly, but with a touch of subtle bitterness that many of her clients were too anxious to notice. Slowly, she&nbsp; glanced up at the man from beneath her thick black eyelashes…<br><br>Julie gulped, perhaps more obviously than she realized.<br><br>He was not the typical sort of customer…Withdrawing her hand immediately, Julie stepped back and opened the door to the pleasure room while her eyes cast downward once again. “Please come in!” she said, a bit more shyly. Something had twinged in her, making her feel some sort of compelling mix between ease and fear…Her heart began pounding beneath her modest bust, and Julie kept herself against the wall, now completely open and vulnerable to the mans advances…<br><br>Just like every other client…<br><br>He would be no different.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Dystopia Now (Methos &amp; Beauty)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Methos</strong> on <strong>17-11-2008, 03:56:46</strong>
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				Derek was most definitely not the normal sort of customer for this establishment. He stood in the hallway with his form still clad in steel. The heavy form of a breastplate rested against his chest, while complimentary plates rested upon thick arms and downwards over his legs as well. As though to answer the question as to whether he as Asian or some sort of ‘sword freak’ his katana was strapped to his waist suggesting the later. Bright blue eyes fixed upon her as ‘Jessica’ opened the door and stood before him. His eyes lingered on the rather young woman before him. His gaze sweeping over her lean, tanned form that remained curvy is all the right places. The bleached blonde hair seemed to complete the look. He couldn’t help but let his eyes drink her in, for she truly presented a delectable image.<br><br>His appearance was often judged to be intimidating these days. He was clearly one of the Brotherhood and the attitude of its members ranged from benevolent to oppressive. Nor could he entirely discount that he was as always clad like he was ready to step onto a battlefield, not to mention the fact that the last dozen years had left a hard look in his eyes and a somber cast to his features. He heard the girl gulp and a laugh parted his lips as he smiled to the girl and remarked “No reason to be afraid girl, I’m not here to hurt you.”<br><br>He seemed in no particular hurry as he stepped into the first rather tiny and cramped room. He pushed the door shut behind him, and thereafter his eyes briefly scrutinized the room he was in. “Your living quarters I take it.” He commented and proceeded to wryly note “Not exactly the Hilton, although I hear they have one of her here too.” He paused a moment as he regarded the woman standing at the door to the adjoining room “You might be too young to even remember what that means..” There was a slightly weary tone to that remark as sometimes it was easy to forget how quickly everything had fallen apart. If nothing else the small room was clean, he stopped by the bed and his fingers brushed against the silk sheets “Nice sheets if nothing else.” <br><br>As ‘Jessica’ waited at the doorway to the larger room, he approached her. He stopped before her and a strong hand with calloused fingers rose and strayed across her cheek. His fingers traced over that soft, sun kissed skin as he noted “You do look a lot like her.” He smiled as he noted “I did enjoy seeing her in movies before the war.” He winked to her as he noted “She was always pleasant to oggle up there on that giant screen.” <br><br>He turned away from her as he stepped into the pleasure room. It seemed to be intended to facilitate whatever debauchery one could imagine as his eyes traced over the rather large bed, the couch and then the assortment of toys and implements of all types from candles, to paddles. His eyes fixed on a movie poster for ‘Sin City’, and he glanced over at the rather obviously nervous woman as he pointed over to the poster. “Did you ever see that one? It was great movie.”<br><br>Derek moved to the casting couch and there he sat himself down in a rather sprawling manner as his eyes rested on scantily clad woman. The manner in which those white panties clung to the shape of her ass, and her shirt came down just to the curve of her breast was not lost on him. He smiled as he took a moment to admire her figure appreciatively. Sprawled upon the couch he undid his sword belt and set the katana to the floor. Thereafter, he leaned forwards and undid the straps of the armor upon his shins. He slid the metal plates off his lower legs and then from about his thighs as he casually formed a stack of metal beside the casting couch.<br><br>The bitterness in her tone when she’d initially spoken hadn’t escaped him. He looked up at her with brilliant blue eyes as he smiled. “And you are here – but you don’t want to be. I can’t say I blame you for that either. Most of us could wish for a better fate than life has allotted us since the war. If I could make everything as it once was – I’d do so without a moment’s hesitation. Although I suppose that mine existence isn’t so bad, I have everything I need although none of the things I truly want. I’m constantly expected to kill whatever degenerates or mutated creatures make a nuisance of themself and hope they don’t kill me first.” He removed the vambraces from his arms and stacked them by the couch as well. Thereafter he unbuckled the breast plate at the side and hoisted it up over his head so that he was left wearing only a padded leather shirt and pants as well as armored boots. He set the last piece of armor down beside the couch and kicked off his boots.<br><br>Age had left its mark upon his brow and in the gray that stained his hair at the temples, but the rest of him had seemingly been spared any ill effect. In fact the constant exertion and exercise of his regime had left him feeling stronger and more fit than he ever had been. He really had little else to do much of the time. His bronze skinned form was muscular. Bereft of armor the bulging form of his biceps showed, and the corded mass of his forearms was visible as well. His figure was trim, and it moved in that classic V shape, tapering downwards from the shoulders to his waist. While the padded leather rested against the flat planes of his chest.<br><br>Gazing at ‘Jessica’ he crooked a finger towards her. “This need not be unpleasant for either of us. If I enjoy myself sufficiently I’ll make sure a few caps go directly to you.” He grinned to her as he remarked “But why don’t we start with you stripping and doing a lap dance for me?” It was a question but given that she was here to please him it was the rhetorical sort. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Dystopia Now (Methos &amp; Beauty)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Beauty</strong> on <strong>19-11-2008, 07:38:52</strong>
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				She had never reacted so strongly to the appearance of a customer before, and Julie felt incredibly embarrassed to say the least. Thankfully, aside from her eyes darting around the floor and the light blush upon her cheeks, it did not show much. Beneath dark lashes, she watched him inspect her room. Her heart pounded more than it had the first night she had spent with a customer…Was it his size that made her nervous? Or some sort of inner panic that was warning her against something wrong?&nbsp; <br><br>Standing up straight, she brushed a few curls away from her face as she placed her arms behind her back. It was a stance many girls posed in, as it accented their back and pushed their bust up a bit further than normal. She watched him inspecting her room, much like her father once had when she was young. Though, she didn’t have her mother to help her frantically clean up her toys and make her bed..She was quite shocked when he complimented her sheets, and had actually taken the time to acknowledge that she lived there instead of heading straight for the pleasure room…<br><br>He wasn’t a typical customer at all.<br><br>However, the subtly licentious comment along with that eager caress of her face, he managed to worm his way back into the category of client. Her thin brows narrowed a bit as he strolled into the pleasure room, and with a soft exhale, Julie followed him inside and shut the door behind her. Taking a small pack of matches from one of the dressers near the door, she began walking almost ritualistically around the room lighting the candles. Nodding in response to the inquiry of the film, Julie smiled “ I have all of her movies..though some are damaged and cut out in parts. I used to think she was very beautiful when I was a child. Fantastic Four is my favorite, though I think it had very bad reviews.” <br><br>She blew out the match and set it in a small red lips shaped ashtray. Turning back towards the man as a smell of lavender and vanilla gently swirled through the room. Lavender, to ease her thoughts and create a relaxing atmosphere, and vanilla as it had been discovered before the war that the oils in vanilla aroused many men..Starlets had stocked up on vanilla candles specifically.<br><br>Her eyes wandered over him curiously as he sprawled out on the casting couch, looking enormous in his armor. She recalled reading in surviving history books, that Henry VIII was not really as large as his paintings portray, but because it was better and more intimidating to look bigger at that point in history he wore many layers of clothing and larger armor to appear so. Julie watched as the man before her began shedding his armor, and swallowed hard when he commented on her apparently not so subtle sarcasm when he had first arrived. She shifted on her feet, once again embarrassed by her own actions. <br><br>His speech, almost lecture like in it’s tone, did not ease her concerns about her place in life. She was well aware of her position on the civilization totem pole, and depending on who was describing it she was either very high up or the piece shoved all the way into the ground. <em>I have everything I need although none of the things I truly want.</em> Julie smiled a bit sadly, “We all want things that we can never have again..Sometimes I think that’s the one common factor everyone who survived the War, shares..” <br><br>Miss certainly wasn’t wrong to warn customers not to talk to Julie. Comments like that could very well kill the mood entirely, and clients had every right to revoke their payment if they were unsatisfied..(Though the process of proving dissatisfaction was very rigorous and many just gave up) Albeit, it seemed that the man was not dissuaded at all. He finished shedding off that armor like it was second skin, leaning back onto the couch dressed in tight leather. Slowly, he crooked his finger in her direction and she remembered exactly what was to happen. For a moment, she had forgotten her profession and the very reason they were speaking in the first place. Not because of politics..because of sex. <br><br>Straightening up, she walked to him with a feline like grace that caused her breasts to bounce and her full backside to sway a bit as her white high heels tapped the floor very softly. “As you desire..” She answered, almost ethereally as she stood between his legs. A smile, reflected identically on so many posters around her, Julie began that rhythmic sway that lap dances often began with.&nbsp; She turned her back to him, slipping her blouse off her shoulders but not all the way just yet. Turning again, she straddled his knee and slipped the blouse off in one fluid movement, draping the thin piece of clothing around his neck so he could smell her perfume as her breasts perked in the chilled air. Sliding down his leg, so she curled around his calf she began nuzzling at the inside of his thighs, every so often glancing up at him with a most devilish smirk. Spreading her legs on the floor, she straightened once more so that the curve of her sex would brush against his knee and back onto his thigh. She brought his hands to her breasts as she stood again between his legs, swaying her body back and forth beneath his grasp as she stepped close into his near embrace. A twist of her fingers, and the laces on her panties were undone, revealing her clean shaven sex to him which seemed already to be glistening in anticipation of being close to this rugged new stranger…<br><br>Working in the sex industry for so long, Julie thought she had seen everything, and had lost all desire for sexual arousal on her own..But this man, despite his patriarchal assertion, was a breath of fresh air…Something new, which she couldn’t hide was intriguing in more than just the intellectual sense….
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