1001 Slavish Nights
<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: Dirigible on 22-10-2010, 00:03:57</h2>
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				Title: <strong>1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>22-10-2010, 00:03:57</strong>
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				<div align="center">(http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1176/5103503398_be09f87119.jpg)</div><br>Many clubs strived for the 'industrial' look, the combination of metal, concrete, hard edges and mechanical silhouettes that they thought would give them cachet amongst a certain segment of the bondage and discipline, sadistic and masochist subculture. As far as Ryan Scharre was concerned, the easiest way to achieve that was to actually <em>build</em> the club in an abandoned factory.<br><br>The Facility was housed in one of his company's former munitions manufacturing plants, donated to a trust that ran it on behalf of the community, providing masters and slaves, mistresses and pets a place to gather in an atmosphere of latex gloom and moodily-coloured lighting. Being designed to contain explosions, the walls were massive slabs, crawling with rust-coloured pipes, like the viscera of some decaying robot. Where a conveyor belt for bullets had once run there was a chrome and iron bar; in the bunker-like rooms where explosives had been measured out there were racks, frames, chains and other accoutrements. Pools of dim blue, green, amber and crimson light poured down from the metal bars that held the lights, illuminating alcoves and seats where bodies sat locked in conversation or embraces. On some of the tables, people writhed in various stages of agony or ecstasy.<br><br>In one of the elevated rooms overseeing it all sat Scharre, staring with grim mix of envy and contempt at the revellers. He filled the large, supple designer leather chair completely, slouched like a barbarian king on his throne. Massive fingers framed a glass of neat whiskey, the last few drops glittering at the bottom. Unlike many of the dominants he was clad not in leather and metal, but a business suit, tailored to the exacting demands of his powerful, sculpted frame, the very austerity of the cut screaming its price.<br><br>He wanted something. Another drink, a pet to take out his frustrations on. It had been a week since his last slave had torn off her collar and fled in tears, calling him impossibly cruel, unreasonably demanding. His dark emerald gaze flickered over the crowd below, noting here and there dominants he knew, a few he recognised as... more than 'acquaintances', but 'friends' was not the right word, either. “Damn imprecise language,” he muttered, lifting his glass and letting his tongue catch the last few reluctant drops. 'Colleagues' would have to do. He saw them with their lovers, their living toys in bondage and with humble eyes. He wondered how those masters and mistresses found it so easy to tolerate the imperfections in their submissives, their flaws and weakness and fear and reluctance. Hell, some of the girls he saw down there, happy in the collars of new doms he had tested himself, tried them, used them, discarded them as insufficient. All were lacking something.<br><br>And so he sat, alone; but he would never say he was lonely.
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				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>22-10-2010, 14:58:01</strong>
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				The doors of the club swung open as the mixture of cold air, human sweat and the decay of the old building assaulted her nose. Above the hypnotic beats of the pounding music, moans and cries came from every direction, joining together with the music to create a haunting symphony. Carolee tugged the bottom of her new leather corset-dress lower, trying to hide the curvy mounds of flesh peeking out from her bottom. It was not that she was shy of baring her body, she was a model and countless of people from all over the world had seen every inch and every angle of her body. It was the air-conditioning. <br><br>Carolee shivered, perhaps from the cold , or from the excitement of entering a forbidden land again. She had decided to check out the club, it's famed reputation had been passed on to her by her previous employer. And they had even agreed to present the very corset-dress she had modeled for as a gift. With diamonds running down in two rows down the sides, as the glittery criss-crossed laces accentuating her ample cleavage, the dress then ends just slightly below her bottom with a small slit on the back. It made her look feminine, but yet at the same time, bringing a Gothic appeal to her as she paired her accessories and make-up to match the outfit. Heck, even her killer black pumps were a gift from another assignment. <br><br>She had let her hair down tonight, pinning a silver rose at the side. She knew she looked good tonight, because all the heads were turning towards her as she approached the bar. <br><br>"One glass of coke please..." she ordered, raising her voice slightly over the pounding music, not wanting to get herself drunk. She had another modeling shoot tomorrow and shouldn't even be here today. But, she turned on the stool to face the crowds of writhing bodies, their skin glowing with a myriad of alien colors as the overhead lights shone down on them, she just wanted to know more about this lifestyle.<br><br>Her eyes traveled around the club, witnessing every display of ecstasy etched on the faces of the Masters and the submissives. She could not deny it, but she felt a sense of belonging. She could picture herself, kneeling before her Master or Mistress, begging to be whipped. She could imagine herself, crawling down on all fours like a little pet of their, begging to be patted and given treats. She could...<br><br>"Miss, your drink."<br><br>Carolee snapped out of her daydream and turned back to the counter, thanking the bartender and picking up the class of coke. She took a sip and lowered the cool glass, her eyes trailing over the glinting ice-cubes. Perhaps one day, she will find a Master...or even a Mistress...and join the rest of the submissives on the ground, as slaves to the BDSM scene. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>31-10-2010, 23:56:52</strong>
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				There was an advantage to the high and gloomy position of the balconied nook at which he sat: two, in fact. It allowed him to look down over the assembled revellers, watching the ebb and flow of different groups, gauging the direction of various gazes to see who was looking at who with longing or distaste, who was holding the attention of rapt lackeys with witty repartee and who was ostracised; and it rendered him half invisible, a silhouette looming over them like a king on a throne. To be truthful, even the politics of masters and slaves, of lovers present and former and rivals for the affections of others bored him now. The web of relationships was complex, the divisions bitter, precisely because so little beyond feelings and prestige were at stake; it was the school yard writ large and, in theory if not practise, grown up.<br><br>Scharre's cold, disinterested gaze fell upon the stranger who walked through the crowd to the bar like Red Riding Hood through the wolf-filled thickets. He studied her, distracted at last by some novelty. She was tall, and in those heels taller than more than a few of the men (and many of the women) who appraised her. Dark hair cascaded around sun-kissed shoulders, and her exquisitely formed body was on fine display in that corset. She was dressed the part, then... not some innocent wandered off the street, somehow having made it past the polite but firm bouncers. And yet she did not look like she belonged here... unsettled, wide-eyed. A fresh, tender morsel, then. He almost felt sorry for her.<br><br>Almost.<br><br>The man tilted his head and raised one finger, attracting the attention of one of the staff. A dapper, professionally invisible man appeared as Scharre jotted down a note, and indicated the new girl with a flick of his eyes. He folded the paper and handed it to the attendant, who darted down the stairs purposefully.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Survive and escape</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>01-11-2010, 09:01:41</strong>
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				Carolee placed the glass cup down, watching as the bartender swiped it away and then proceeding to wipe the spotless counter. She did however notice that the guy couldn't take his eyes off her either. Blushing furiously and blaming her mind for thinking it was a good idea to dress the part, she swiveled in her seat to face the crowd, squinting through her thick lashes from the flaying laser lights bouncing everywhere. <br><br>Maybe she should leave. What was she thinking? It's not like she would be part of this community. So what if she models clothes and equipments for them, she would never fit in. Slipping down from the stool, she rummaged in her bag for her purse. Fishing out a ten dollar bill, she dumped it on the counter without a backward glance. And as usual, she could feel eyes boring holes through her back...or maybe, to be precise, her butt. Rolling her eyes, she strutted off like she was on a runway, in quick precise steps choreographed to make the body sway sexily. If they wanted to see it, flaunt it. That was her motto. <br><br>"Hey Miss..." Carolee stopped with a huff. What now? Someone wanting to ask if she is indeed a model? Turning around, a man dressed smartly in a black blazer stepped up to her. <br><br>"A bouncer? I didn't break any rules did I?" She thought to herself, and unconsciously snuck her hand back to tug at the hem of her dress to pull it further down. <br><br>The man pressed a white piece of paper into her hand and when she looked up again, he was gone. Raising an eyebrow in surprise, she opened the letter and read the message within. <br><br><em>I drink Macallan Fine Oak, three fingers. Make yourself known on the stairs to the left of the entrance.</em><br><br>"Now I have to treat someone a drink?" She exclaimed to herself, bewildered by the strange message. "I'm not a waitress here!" She shouted, trying to make her voice heard above the music and animalistic cries, waving the white slip of paper in the air. Crushing the paper in her fist, she stormed out towards the entrance, or probably exit of the building. <br><br>Oh, she'll show this person, whoever he or she was....<br><br>Carolee leaned against the railings of the stairs with an annoyed expression on her features, crossing her arms over her chest...and began grinding that miserable scrap of paper in her fist. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>03-11-2010, 20:15:19</strong>
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				“You neglected something, it seems.”<br><br>The voice came from above, from the moodily-lit balcony at the top of the stairs, and even over the multifarious other noise of the club it was clear, deep and and clear. It was a voice she could hear in the soles of her feet and the pit of her stomach. The voice came from a huge, graven figure lounging in a wing-backed chair of the deepest wine-red leather in the VIP dais above. Even in the chiaroscuro fields of light and shadow, eyes glinted like chips of jade, watching her with a measure of cold amusement and disapproval. She was used to being objectified by a gaze, a camera's lens... but the way his eyes held, commanded and judged was something else entirely.<br><br>He shifted, gesturing to her closed fist and the paper within it with one large hand. “You're new here, but it is customary to bring a token when asked to present yourself.” Setting his empty tumbler down, Scharre glanced at his nails. “You may approach,” he added airily.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>04-11-2010, 16:16:56</strong>
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				Carolee blinked and stumbled back in shock at the sound of the baritone voice. <br><br><em>A gift, huh?</em><br><br>"Sorry. In my world, it's the men who get drinks for the girls." She retorted, leaning casually back to the railings. Who was he to order her about? The President? <br><br>She scoffed and crossed her arms across her chest, unconsciously accentuating her cleavage. But she didn't care, the infamous temper of hers was awakened. It was in no time that she would blow her top, and go berserk.<br><br>Taking a step towards him upon his command, she raised an eyebrow, a detached look upon her face.<br><br><em>Oh...This should be good.<br><br></em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>06-11-2010, 09:07:20</strong>
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				A sharp tongue, he noted, one eyebrow climbing a fraction. For him, it was an expression that told volumes. She didn't approach at first, playing it casual on the stairs. It didn't suit him to converse at such a range... he disliked raising his voice unless it was necessary. He almost repeated himself, but then she began to draw closer. She would find that the only seating options were leaning against the balcony, a leather footstool or the floor.<br><br>He ran his gaze up and down the girl's long, limber frame as she crested the stairs. She wore the dress of a submissive... but did not inhabit it. Concluding his leisurely, shameless appraisal of her face and figure, he settled back in his chair. “You will find that this is <em>not</em> your world, in several senses of the phrase,” he said with gravelly amusement.<br><br>“In <em>your</em> world, women who think themselves beautiful stand above and allow themselves to be swarmed and flattered by suitors, bolstering their pride and vanity. In <em>mine</em>, they come with humility, offering themselves in service and submission... knowing that true happiness is found in selfless devotion to a master or mistress. In <em>your</em> world, they may be sought... but they are never valued, treasured, possessed and protected as they are in <em>mine</em>.”<br><br>He met her gaze with green iron in his eyes, daring her to hold that stare, seeing her anger and meeting it was a kind of glacial invulnerability, a confidence that her emotions could not harm or influence him.
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				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>06-11-2010, 09:52:24</strong>
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				She kept her stare, Hazel eyes against cold Green ones, both locked in a silent challenge, both waiting for the other to stand down. Carolee felt her lips spreading into a smirk. She had never had so much fun, challenging another man. Usually, it was they who will give up first. In all her modeling career, the men in the industry stayed away from her and striving to get on her good side, for they were all frightened by her fiery temper. Even all her ex-boyfriends never stood a chance. They never lasted after the first day. <br><br>Carolee felt her heart clench painfully at that fact. Sure, she was blessed with a sharp mind, good looks and a killer body. She was everything a girl could ask for, except for her temper. She was never loved, only feared and admired within a distance.&nbsp; But she couldn't tame it. She tilted her head slightly to the side, wondering silently to herself. <br><em><br>Maybe he could? </em><br><br>With a sigh, she broke off from the staring match, sliding her eyes down to the ground. Not sure what to do, she slipped off her heels and stood barefoot before him,her heels had made her stand at almost the same height as he. She clasped her hands together and kept head lowered, as she mustered the most sincere and feminine voice she had. <br><br>"I'm sorry.Please teach me to be a woman...a real woman." 
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				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>06-11-2010, 10:24:31</strong>
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				What was this? Was there some spine, some spark here after all? She met his gaze with equal strength, causing him to reassess the girl... for a moment. She held out briefly, but suddenly, that confidence was shown to be a hollow shell. Men were usually intimidated by her beauty, her prestige and temper... when she met one that would not back down, it seemed she crumbled. His lip curled in a sneer as he watched her step out of her shoes, consciously diminishing herself. As expected, he was triumphant, for what little pleasure there was in denting such an unselfaware creature.<br><br>She addressed him with a semblance of humility, and a voice of honey that was certainly pleasing to the ear. He raised his jaw, looking down his nose at her. “On your knees,” he replied in his dark, rich tone. He lifted one hand and make a brusque beckoning gesture, instructing her to come closer.<br><br>When she came in reach, that same large, formidable member grasped her by the chin, tilting her face up, to either side, examining her with a critical eye, studying the fine bone structure, the burnished copper of her flawless skin. She was manhandled, in the most literal sense. “What's your name, girl?” he drawled.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>06-11-2010, 17:35:50</strong>
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				She knew this would be the biggest mistake she'll ever make in her life, but somehow, she knew that she would be safe. <br><em><br>Safe,</em> her mind scoffed at that word. Her head started replaying mental images of women screaming under the lashes by their Master's hand, writhing under tight bondage and begging for more. This had confused her greatly. Why beg for more pain? Why kiss the very hand that caused so much pain to the flesh? <br><br>“On your knees,” He had commanded, his tone brusque and firm. She took another step nearer towards him, and her body moved on it's own accord, sliding gracefully down to the carpeted ground as she folded her legs beneath her. It felt strange to be on the ground, everything looked so...big. Bigger than her. She felt strong fingers grasping her chin, tilting her head to the sides. She longed to raise her hand to smack those invasive fingers of his away from her face, but she held her head up high. She knew she's got the looks, and knew he appreciated them. There was nothing to be shy of. <br><br>“What's your name, girl?”<br><br>The fingers left her face, but she kept her head held high with pride. Should she go by another name? Would it affect her career? Will people think she is a freak if word gets out? She closed her eyes and sighed. It was now or never. Her lashes fluttered open as her hazel eyes sought his jade ones. <br><br>"It's Carolee, Sir."<br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>07-11-2010, 01:10:22</strong>
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				He knew that look, the one on the young woman's lovely face as she dropped sinuously to her knees. She was surprised at herself, at how easily obedience came... perhaps he had been wrong in his initial impression that she was haughty and brittle; like a natural submissive, she had that pleasing human design flaw that made her bend at the knees. And she instinctively used a deferential term, which drew a tiny smirk of approval from him. Not bad, for an amateur.<br><br>Left and right, he turned her face and examined her features, finding nothing displeasing. He ran his thumb over remarkably plump, pouting lips, idly speculating on the uses to which they could be put.&nbsp; Straightening, he leaned forward slightly to get a better grip, making his suit shift across his powerful frame. Those pretty hazel eyes lifted to meet his... and he slapped her.<br><br>It was not a hard blow, not nearly as hard as he could have inflicted if he was trying, but it was more than a casual pat on the cheek. Much of its force came from surprise, from the violation of the taboo against a man striking a woman. Scharre's knuckles grazed across her face with a flare of pain, and his eyes glinted like emerald fire.<br><br>“A woman knows that she does not look her betters in the eyes without permission. She keeps her gaze downcast,” he growled, viciously amused. It was a test, as much as a lesson... could she endure it? Would she accept it, or rebel, flee?
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>07-11-2010, 06:54:38</strong>
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				Carolee felt the impact of a sharp stinging slap across her face and then, her cheeks flared with pain. She stole a glance at the bouncers standing nearby. They were standing so still, so silently and looking ahead. She wasn't sure if they were looking, but the thought of a stranger humiliating her publicly made her face turn red. <br><br>Something stirred deep within her as the heat blossomed from the inside, boiling and raging up to her mind. Her temper was taking over again. No. Not this time. She pressed down the urge to get up on her feet, resisted the desire to return the slap and storm out of the building, and then calling up her lawyer to sue this man upside down. <br><br>Gritting her teeth, she was shocked to find tears welling up in her eyes. She had never cried before, not in public...and not before someone she had only just met. But she was ashamed, to be degraded like a street whore, subjected to any man's touch and probe. But this emotion...was strange. She was ashamed but yet, wanted to please him...she wanted to be praised...she wanted a smile....<br><br>"I'm sorry, Sir. That wasn't intentional..." She whispered, hanging her head down and casting her eyes on her lap instead. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>08-11-2010, 00:51:39</strong>
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				The tall, lissome brunette looked around... for escape, to see if anyone would come to her aid? Not here. Watching her closely, the powerful man lowered his hand, absently forming a fist and clenching it to crack his knuckles, while running his thumb against the scarred ridges that had struck her. She was full of indignation, of fire and rage... but she tamped it down. Impressive... there might be hope for this one yet. Gazing at her coldly, he noted the shine in her eyes, the trembling of her hands as she held them down, and he heard her apology without so much as a flicker of acknowledgement.<br><br>“Was it?” he asked sardonically, trailing his eyes slowly over her body, as if deciding what to do with it. “I think it more likely that you just don't know your place, girl. So, you said you were called is Carolee? A pretty enough name... but names are something you must earn. You will be called something more suitable.” He crossed his arms, considering her. “Yes, I have it. Cuntslut. You will be called Cuntslut. That seems fitting.”<br><br>This time he almost grinned. His tone, his words were deliberately abrasive, trying to erode her pride and confidence, prodding her, trying to get a rise... or encourage further submission. He wanted to demean her. “Do you appreciate your new name, Cuntslut? Repeat it. <em>Repeat it.</em> Tell me your name. Tell me how suitable you find it.”
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				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>08-11-2010, 10:20:04</strong>
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				Carolee cringed at that word. Now that was really offensive to her ears. Not even those street whores deserve that title. <br><br><em>Wow. If this is how he greets women, there's no wonder he isn't married. </em><br><br>Keeping her head low, she mentally rolled her eyes. If it's a game he wants, it's a game he shall get. Her mind whirled to life as she pressed down the urge to stand up, flip him the finger and storm away. She was indeed surprised at her earlier reaction. She had cried, for gods sake. Shrugging off as some hormonal influx, she let her temper reign. <br><br>"Y..yes...I like my new name, Sir."<br><em><br>More emotion</em>, her fury commented. <em>You need to start crying!</em><br><br>Carolee blinked again, urging forsaken tears back to her eyes as she lifted her head, her lips trembling slightly as she lowered her eyes, not meeting his gaze.<br><br>"Cuntslut..." She whispered softly. "This one is called Cuntslut..." Her voice cracked at the last vowel, and her anger cheered. Adding more emotion to her face, she unleashed her doe eyes. Men couldn't resist that. Now she looked like a pathetic little girl, cowering before her teacher in genuine fear. She certainly should get an Oscar for such a winning performance. <br><br><em>And I shall call you Sir Dumbshit.Now we are even! <br></em><br><br>And deep inside her, her anger grinned in pride. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>09-11-2010, 01:23:31</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				“Hmmm.” Ryan Scharre watched the girl as she bowed and trembled, making a great show of being debased. Too great a show, perhaps... Carolee was used to performing, creating impressions in viewers through the camera, but he had a keen sense of acumen both in the boardroom and bedroom. He could read people well, and his instincts were telling him he was being played. He didn't like being lied to, and a muscle twitched along his jaw in irritation.<br><br>On the other hand, if she was willing to pretend... he could test her, push her until that pretence became unbearable.<br><br>Her tears and shining eyes would have been delectable if he trusted them, but he brushed past that and held out the empty tumbler. “Better,” he smirked. “I trust you remember my requirement? Fetch me my drink, Cuntslut... and make sure you inform the bartender of your name and how much you adore it.”<br><br>If she complied and took the glass, he would wait, watching her lithe back and swaying hips depart, before grinning coldly in anticipation. He stood and went behind the chair to a small engraved wood table, on which sat a case with a few supplies he would prepare for her return. The girl thought she could come into <em>his</em> abode and disrespect him... she would become intimately aware of how inadvisable that course of action was.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>09-11-2010, 13:35:08</strong>
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				Carolee got up gratefully to her feet, wincing as the sudden rush of blood brought pins and needles to her legs. Accepting the empty tumbler with both hands, she snuck a small smile at him before turning back to the bar. Once her back is turned towards him, she bit down her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud and then strutting back to the bar, without her killer heels this time. She was barefoot, but she didn't care. The lush carpet felt heavenly between her toes, as she padded towards the bartender. <br><br>"Hi. Could you fill this tumbler with ugh..." Carolee paused and racked her brains, trying to remember the words written on the paper before. " Oh...Macallan Fine Oak..erm, three fingers." She finished and shot him a winning smile, presenting the empty bottle towards him. <br><br>"Oh and by the way, my name is Cuntslut. That dude over there..." Carolee pointed back to the stairway. "Told me to tell you that. Bill is on him as well." She said and hopped onto the seat, swiveling it side to side almost childishly. She felt strangely high. It was as if she was playing the biggest game yet..., she turned back towards him, squinting against the harsh flare of disco lights and waved back at him. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>10-11-2010, 09:18:31</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Ryan Scharre almost smiled as the woman swayed away from him. Oh, <em>defiance</em>. He'd almost forgotten its taste... forgotten the satisfying <em>crunch</em> it made when broken underfoot. Large, brutal fingers trailed over the leather-wrapped hafts and grips of crops, paddles and whips lovingly, feeling the indentations where his hands had worked into the implements like comfortable old gloves.<br><br>Down below, the bartender nodded professionally and pulled out the expensive bottle of whiskey when she recalled its name. As he poured, though, he glanced up as she gestured, and frowned. “You're new here, ain't ya?” the plain, dark-haired young man inquired carefully, his accent vague Australian. “Look, miss, ahhh, Cuntslut... you should know there are some games here that it's not... safe... to play if you don't know all the rules. Some people you don't wanna cross, right?” His gaze flickered nervously over the silhouette of the man on the balcony.<br><br>He slid the&nbsp; tumbler towards her on a fine crimson tissue napkin. “It's on the house. Good luck.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Luella</strong> on <strong>12-11-2010, 02:53:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Carolee raised an eyebrow in surprise at the bartender's apprehension towards that stranger. Why, she didn't even know his name...and yet, almost everyone knew who he was just by mentioning the word 'Cumslut'. <br><br>"Uh, thanks. I guess. " She said and picked the tumbler from his hand with a smile. Hopping off the stool, she made her way back to the stairwell, troubled thoughts plaguing her mind as she contemplated leaving the tumbler by the stairs and leaving. That man was hitting a 10 on her Creep Scale. But, she looked down at his tumbler, she should just return it first then tell him nicely she was leaving. <br><br>Sighing to herself, her feet padded up the stairs opening to a raised balcony, overseeing a eagle eyed view of the whole club. Someone was sitting behind a large chair. Taking a deep breath, Carolee made her way towards the chair and knelt on the left, raising the tumbler as an offering. It didn't hurt pleasing him just for once, and maybe he'll stop being mean as well. <br><br>"Sir? Cumslut presents your drink, Sir."<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: 1001 Slavish Nights</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>28-11-2010, 03:29:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she approached, climbing the stairs; statuesque, lovely, her spine elegantly poised and gait practised, graceful. Closing the case he had been preparing things in, Ryan Scharre stepped back around the chair, his enormous physical presence looming above her as he knelt. A massive hand reached out, palm up, to accept the drink. He barely glanced at it, enough to verify it was to his specifications before setting down on the small glass table next to the throne-like leather chair.<br><br>He brought his hand around again, this time a single thick finger curling under her shapely chin, lifting it so he could scrutinise her face. A splinter of a grin curled one corner of his mouth, and he flicked his finger up over the point of her chin towards her lower lip. “<em>Cunt</em>slut. Not <em>Cum</em>slut,” he correct coolly. “But it seems mere names do not phase you, so I think we can dispense with that. Stand up, girl.”<br><br>Scharre stepped back, gesturing to the ornately carved wooden railings that ran around the balcony, and strolling towards them himself. “Tell me what you see,” he drawled, waiting for her to join him. Hidden behind his back, the leather and steel cuffs and chains hung from his belt, concealed by the breadth of his frame and tails of his coat.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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