Plot vs Smut:
(I just got off the phone with Satan; I reserved a cooler section in hell. Yes, I have of a bit of a dark humor streak. That being said, my joke might have crossed a line, but what I think is that if you cannot take my daring joke then we probably will not get along anyway. (:
Hell reference is a joke. If I had done so, it was not an intention to offend those who are religious. ^^) Availability: I might be selectively open for 1 (short term?) role play of a lower word count than my usual requested. And 1 of grave description and details and dramatics, something to dump my mind- not necessarily 'clean writing' but certainly not fluff. I am busy so I'm going to be picky about stories I take on, if any. (:
Hello, Friend! Welcome to my thread! Enjoy your read around. Feel free to comment or message me. **Also I don't strictly do darker RPs, I welcome lighter ones too.** I'll do a variety of different types of rps as long as it does not conflict with my never section, listed below.
If you have any ideas or roles, let's hear it and collaborate. I love formulating new stories! (: Maybe I have ideas that would pair well for what you,'re look thing for. We can create a story to play, given some input from us both, so don't let that deter you from contacting me. Sometimes I suck at it though, or at least take a bit to warm up. Listed below I have some extremely raw ideas, ready to be molded to what we both fancy. I strive to be understanding and accepting. All I ask for if you message me is to inform me whether you're searching for the role play to be more story driven or smut based, lower or higher word count, average or high quality postings. Also very important you inform me your con/noncon preference, because I can so very easily take it too far, and not go far enough, if you catch my drift. If it is story-driven, I am up for playing skeleton and will be pleased with the surprising suspense of 'where will the story go' or 'what will happen next' thrill. That is something I do quite often, come to think of it. But well organized stories pertaining intro-climax-resolution outline where we have to answer is what do we want to tell in the story and what is the purpose of writing it is available, if you prefer it. Then there's the middle ground of the two.
Also, I promise I don't talk as much as is in this thread. So no worries there.
I cannot believe I even have to to put this in my thread, but I do: Regardless of the character role I am playing, in OOC chat I do not tolerate disrespect. You'd pick the wrong woman to speak to that way. There will be no issuing commands to me like I'm some compliant pet or disposal object or Christmas tree to decorate. I am a human being. Under no circumstance will I be treated like some fantasy character. Do not confuse porn with reality. You will treat me as a person. Do we have an understanding? If not, proceed to press and hold the keys Alt+F4 on your keyboard.
I'm welcoming of the innocent flirty smartmouth comments or cute references, and understanding of moments when highly intoxicated. But there's a definitive line where it's not a game anymore.
If you've messaged me before, or we chatted/started about a rp before, please feel free to message me again if things fell through for some reason.
I like to keep it around 35/40% smut and 65/60% plot. - 'bout opposite that for a one-shot sex-based RPs.
I find these elements are held at grave value to a number of role players, so I should get it out there: I am not that big a fan of high fantasy/magic role plays; Angels, demons, vampires? Yeah, sure. Elves, high volumes of magic, space ships? No. The Basics:-
Word Quality Posts: I like to know the emotions, thoughts, and what your character is feeling.. thinking, sees, the details. Imagery! It draws me in quick. DESCRIPTION AND DETAIL (it's more important than story telling. I'd read a book or watch a movie or write my own book if story telling was my prime interest). etc. [This also entails grammar and spelling be well enough to understand: I don't care much about your knowledge as long as I can read it clearly and understand it just as clear; no 'chatspeak' (ex: u, r, 2 c, ur, etc) in the RP. Actually a few of my best partners did not know the difference between there, they're, and their, and other similars: I don't care about that, no worries here.] We have more than five senses, it's easier than you think! Not to mention the power of perspectives, philosophy, psychology, theology(for dramatics and references, not religion focused), compare and contrast, imagery, symbolism, and foreshadowing. I don't care how good of a writer you are, how many plot twists the story has, if some of these elements are not included. Why? It's what I like. I'm excited by deeper meanings. Give me exciting levels of mental stimulation and you will be my absolute favorite. Usually everything I put in my posts will be there for a reason, but we all have our off posting days and periods. I do have preference towards a higher word count. I usually post between 400-1,600 word posts. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. I usually like to keep it between 350-1,000. Usually the small posts do nothing for me, need more to get into the story and characters, though there are strict exceptions: conversations, partner compatibility, one shot sex roleplays etc. The more you give me to work with, the better I write, and more I can give back. -
The above being said, I also play smaller posts, especially if mostly smut. One liners? God, no. NO! What do you mean by smaller posts, Lackinginheart, you weirdo? I mean 150-400 ish word posts. Sometimes I'm in the mood only for this type of role play. -
Some of my posts might suck and some of them might be amazing. Get over it. -
Third Person Perspective.-
Posting speed varies, always. I'm not someone that will badger you. Real life, lazy, busy, no inspiration- guilty, I get it, people need breaks/time. It's cool. I'd like the same. Though, sometimes I do
need a nudge. I will inform you if I have lost interest in the role play, it will pain me to do so, but I will not drag myself through a role play that lost my interest. Sometimes my current taste in rps or mood for a story or what is going on in my life shifts the ability to be able to respond properly to a story. Sometimes 1 month feels like 1 week.-
At least some level of Character Development. If it makes sense for the plot, sometimes I do research and give my character a personality disorder, fun to play with and fun to read.-
Reasonable text color, font, and size. I don't want my eyes to bleed trying to read your post.- Communication
. Want to see something? Got an idea? Don't like something? SAY something! I always try to keep my partners up to date. Though sometimes I just post any delays here
. In addition, I find that role plays have a tendency to elevate and bloom if there is some form of OOC-- certainly not required by any stretch of the imagination. I changed my mind. Unless we're doing a smutty one shot rp then OOC chatting IS required, especially and mostly before the RP to make sure we'd be a good fit and can communicate with one another- we don't need to get along, just have to eye if we'd be good partners; I learned this is communications class in school and the two people from the TV show Hunters, or something of that title sort on AMC, or w/e, I don't know, lol, well they do not even like one another at all, don't hangout outside the show, but on the show you would never ever guess it in a million years. I've seen this around and: No one is going to "fall in love" the other, stop, we're responsible adults; it's a mutual respecting RP partnership: the end. This should go without saying but no cyber or anything of the sort. On a side note, sometimes I can be utterly lazy and detached in OOC, do not take it personally; you just caught me at a zombified moment. -
If disinterest grows, talk to me. We can figure something out to freshen up the role play, or start a new one, or just end it. It's one thing to kinda break away, with at least some warning, but... Don't just poof on me
. I may very well go about life thinking you died.. or went to prison for those of you whom are my extreme partners. Har har! At least lie to me and say... you're going elephant hunting in Alaska. Something. If I don't respond, it's not because I lost interest. It is because I may not be in the mood for that type of rp at the moment in my life.-
At least some measure of Plot / Story progression.-
I am more partial to playing a switch character, if I had to put a word on it. Unless we're writing for the sheer darkness of fucked up (ex: screaming, crying, trauma, begging, or even death[then I'm excited by the violence aspect and am like, "Yeah, lets hurt her good" Did I just type that, oops, I did, well guess there's no taking that back. There is. But I won't.]) then I likely will not have any interest in playing a typical submissive role. To be simple, picturing the abuse of women and men arouse me, and sometimes it's enjoyable to push a character into trauma, enjoyable to write, read, and challenge our imaginations and mental stimulation. So, exploring the writing aspect perspective of roles, so long as the story sits with me, hit me with it. Most of my RPs on E my characters are labeled subs and victims, so do not let asking if your role is something I would do deter you; it all depends on the story! I'm very open, just gotta talk to me! (:-
I swear I'm not an asshole- asshole always says they're not an asshole, though, right? Hahah. Some people have messaged me expressing their reluctance to contact me because they feel intimidated; but honestly, I'm not despite my mixture of dark interests, humor, and seriousness. Plus, if I seem mean or rude, it's safe to say I'm jokingly flirting with you.
Detailed sexual/non-sexual elementsFavorites [Stuff I like, a bucket load.]
(Turn Ons and Offs/Open to doing:Think plot, not just sex. Characters denotes the character(s) in the story.)
Incest (Brother x Sister), Non-con/rape, Non-con turned con, Con turned non-con, Consensual, Violent rape, Victimization, Naive characters, Switch characters, Power Struggle/Exchange(Physical & Mental:Dare I call this switch?), Intelligent characters, Blood, Did I mention blood?, Manipulation, Killers, Description and detail, Teasing, Co-dominance, "Love"/Hate Relationships or Enemies, Conflict, Sexual Tension, Gothic Romance, Forced pleasure, No pleasure-just pain, Rough sex, Obsessive relationships, Physical Force, Twisted/dark loveLikes [General yes, willing to do; or unwilling, whatever your preference.]
-Breasts, Breast and Nipple Play, Ear & Neck Kissing/Sucking/Biting, Choking, Uppity, Being Bitten, Being Branded, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Knife Play, Shy characters, Gun Play, Enemies, Bruises, Bleeding, Consensual, Betrayal, Humiliating Another, Kidnapping Another, Nonconsensual, Roughhousing, Rape, Pseudo-rape, Non-Sexual Pain, Sexual Pain, Cruelty, Trauma, Verbal Abuse, Disobedient, Public Sex -Foreplay, Being Teased, Kissing, Forced Kissing, Scratching, Double Penetration, Multiple Penetration, MMF, -Oral, Being Licked, Breath Control, Controlled Breath, Gagging, Vomit, Bile, Giving Cunnilingus, Giving Fellatio, Licking Another, Oral Deflowering, Oral Virginity, Receiving Cunnilingus, Receiving Fellatio, Forced Down Swallowing Semen, Throat Penetration, Face Fucked (to puking, yes please), -Pain and Torture, Being Mutilated, Mutilating Another, Abuse, Screaming, Sadism, Masochism, -Perverting Nature, Risk Of Being/Getting Pregnant, Vaginal Deflowering, Vaginal Virginity, Gore/blood, Did I mention blood?, Medieval Era, Earth, Violence, War, Whips and Flogs,, Smart Mouths, Conflict, Disagreements, Being Humiliated, Being Kidnapped, Being Spanked, Spanking Another, Biting Another, Branding Another, Coercion and Blackmail, Competition with Others, Infidelity, Degradation, Pleasure Control, Dirty Talking, Face Slapping, Fear, Crying, Begging, Arrogant Women & Men, Pan-sexuality, Polygamy, Strong-willed characters, Shyness, Confidence, Mind Fuck, Mental Destruction, Physiological thriller, Mental Institutions, Mental Domination, Revenge, Spit, Romance, -Anal, Anal Virginity, Receiving Anal Sex, Receiving Rimming, Being Titfucked, -Light Bondage, Administering Gags, Being Chained, Being Tied, Chaining Another, Tying Another, Make Shift Gags, Consensual, MFF, MFMF, Cruelty, Breaking Bones, Fighting, Fire/Burns, Death, Snuff, War, Menses, Hard Vore Victim, Cervical Penetration, Needleplay, Suicide, Innocence, Substance Abuse, Cutting, Depression, Barbed Cock, Cannibalism, Necrophilia, Performing Hard Vore, Ballbusting[defense/offense action], Undergoing Cum Inflation, Pussy Worship, Breast Worship, Being Castrated, Castrating Another, Dry Sex, Excessive Semen, Female Fatale, Femdom, Fingers in Mouth, Fucking shit up by killing off main characters you've grown attached to, Beasts/Monsters, Pretty much anything not in the Never section-just ask.
"Dislikes"/Maybe/Not Sure [Not sure Maybe. Depends on plot, some need these.]
Consensual Submission, Receiving Consensual Cum Facials, Receiving Vaginal Fisting, Heavy Bondage, Being Collared, Watersports, Unrealistic/Disproportionate anatomy(creature/vamp/wolf exceptions, obv), Excessive Anal Scenes, Ass To Mouth, Instant Sex(depends on story/roles: sometimes the best parts are what leads to zee sex), Soft Vore, Never [No.]
Being Tickled, Breast Expansion, Feeding, Footplay, Small Penis, Gaining Weight, Giving Anal Fisting, Giving Enemas, Giving Rimming, Giving butt plug, Lactating, Outer Space, Navel Play, Oviposition, Receiving Anal Fisting, Receiving Enemas, Scat, Snowballing, Suckling, Underage, Tickling Another, MotherxSon, FatherxDaughter, Diapers, Hypno/mind control, High magic, High fantasy, One Liners, Skimpy Posts, Bimbo-anything
Anal?= Some people abuse the crap of this. Not every scene.
Femdom?= So little people truly understand the wide variety and categories of femdom. It is for men or women who are dominant, switch, submissive, and do not participate in dom and sub. It could be anything from the femdom woman flirting her way to get a job or to a dominatrix that whips you and makes you lick her boots. That being said, I am not into writing with the completely male that wishes to be completely submissive and live his life as a woman's slave- I can/do that in real life- however I would do this with a female or a male who is not completely submissive or comes from a place of power as a one shot. It can be complex to explain.
Mutilation= Knife wounds, cutting flesh? Yeah! Decapitation? I can't think of why not, really.
Hardcore Vore= What I intend for it to be is it is okay for... in fights one might bite another, teeth sink into flesh and rip out a chunk of flesh- swallowed or not, it's meant as a form of pain and torture, and defense, or offense, not so much for a cannibalistic nature. Read below.
Cannibalism?= Probably. Why not! More so for a horror theme, like, Sweeney Todd. This would require a healthy plot, though. I have a delightfully twisted plot that has a touch of it; but only with NPCs. Stuff like Wrong Turn or as a straight up fetish? I'm not sure, maybe you can coax me into it with a brilliant idea. Ah, I won't kid myself, 'course you can.
Necrophilia?= Hey, if the RP is seriously that dark and we need to go there... we go there.
Forum roleplays are accessible as well.
Lena felt the warmth of his fingers and his touch did not make her tense, she allowed him these gestures. Open minded? Lena tilted her head as he gazed intently into hers. She had often figured that was a way to reference such... people as them: killers. That killers really are just like the rest of them, them because to use the term normal person did not quite fit in this sentence. Normal, what was normal? Dependency on what one had been introduced to as normal. No one was truly normal, but that meant everyone was certainly not normal.. and that she, Steven, Ted Bundy, all the killers, were indeed normal. It did not surprise her that he used such a general word.
A person who had killed could be right under someone's nose. Or in this case, two of them were right under each others nose as Steven nose feather nuzzled hers. She smiled at it. Lena scrunched her smile into her cheeks and stop air from inhaling or exhaling her nostrils in that moment. Her face shrunk more, like she just ate a lemon, to his attempt at an endearing criticism. As much as she wanted to reflect something that he needs to work on onto him, she thought it would be more fun if she saved it for later, at a more effective time and place. Plus, she accepted it for what he intended. "You are right..." Lena admitted steadily, her face noticeably relaxed. She licked her parted lips and swallowed hard with anticipation at the thought of yo-yoing a victims lifeline, she had never done that, he knew,he was right. Lena had not the time, place, or resources to hold a person hostage.
The silence filled the room while he thought of a question and the once melted room slowly filled her peripheral vision. Reality crept wearily by a small degree and that was when the cuddling thing had got slightly annoying and uncomfortable even though just a moment before she wanted to and did cuddle up to Steven. It was a relief, an erotic story that had Lena sinking her teeth into her lower lip when he started on about his first-kill story. An impulse to stop him and grab a bottle of fine cabernet sauvignon wine came and passed, too concerned with listening to his words and the feel of his muscles cording, bulking, and shifting at the memory flashing before his eyes.
That's how it all happened with him. It made sense.Would you ever consider seducing a woman with me? Convincing her into a threesome? Making her think she was having a daring, titilating experience, only to kidnap her? Can you imagine the shift in her eyes from excitement to fear?
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Only Lena did not say anything right away. Her smooth muscles tensed. Her face intensified with excited animation. Her brain was brimming with half-thought-of ideas of the most far fetched scenarios but she kept them repressed and exclaimed in a determined gasp, "It's going to be a blonde." without accepting any objection from Steven, since he took her last little blonde toy, he owed her. "Hmm. We could go to a bar. Hmm. Or we could go to a strip club. And find her there." Lena shuffled her elbows back, one on his ribs and one at the unsteady mattress, and leaned up against them for support as her eyes searched into no place in particular in the room, through the dark walls and in a direction she knew a mass of some strip clubs and bars to be. Her limbs were engaged, ready to jump to her feet and go at the very moment. "Have you been to one? I love strip clubs. The Spearmint Rhino is one of the better ones. Nite Moves is okay, but some of the girls there are rude. I gave this girl a twenty on stage and she never even came up to be afterward once." A snarl settled followed by a scoff on her pretty face. She took her head in disapproval. "One of the shy ones. Or low self-esteem ones. Or straight ones." Then she found herself thinking that maybe it should be Nite Moves, the girl would deserve it.
Her eyes readjusted from the world they had been in together to the outside of it. She could now clearly see his bedroom and a clear view from his window, unobstructed, into the bleak of the night. Then turned her head toward him and she gently stared upon Steven with affection. Her limbs uncorded and relaxed against him in their gaze. She seemed to have realized that the venture would not be tonight, too late, too soon, too unorganized.
Lena mused over his words, though the majority of her thoughts were still calculating the slab of brimming half-formed ideas in her head; of strip club, bars, internet, and other locations to find a woman to rape, toy, and kill. Idly, she commented, "Karen" the blonde "was fun." and hummed over into the next sentence, "and I'm interested in harming more than just the victim's body." Her knees pressed together, getting wet at the thought. Or maybe that was just his semen slipping out of her. Probably both.
For a moment, the entirety of her weight shifted to the elbow she had at his ribs, then settled closer toward his upper form, which his head was half reclined against the wall and back at the plush of pillows. Her chest pressured against his for balance as her tiny hands flirted with his hair, running her running threw them to the back of his head as he spoke.
Her doe eyes scanned the hesitation in his eyes, shifting from his left eye to his right eye, left to the right, right to the left. His pupils reflected the conscious knowledge that he was walking on thin ice.
And the words on it's own throttled her in a serious mood. She appeared to be calm, collected, and in control, and she gave him no reaction other than a narrowing of her eyes that seemed to growl, perhaps with actual consideration, from the black pits. ...left eye... right eye...
Suddenly, like lightening, her tiny fist entangled in his hair and Lena brutally slammed Steven's head back against the wall with a resounding thundering, enough force to knock him out- like he did to her the night before. The sound echoed for a second afterwards. Her palm checked for blood at the back of his skull. There was none.
His prone form could not hear, but she asked anyway, "Does that answer your question?" In actuality, it did not, because it could mean polar opposites: 'hey, look what I can do' or 'how dare you ask that'.
Lena hastily shuffled to her feet, smiling at what she had done, and taunted the 'sleeping' serial killer Steven, as she walked out of the room, "Now don't you move."
When Lena returned a minute later she was holding the vials of blood attached to the string in necklace form, and two red zip ties. She crossed to the bed through the darkness of the room. "That's what I thought." Lena teasingly whispered binding each of his limp wrists, stretched out, to either side of the bed posts. Next she climbed on the bed, one leg at a time, and kneel at her knees and sat on her calves beside him, facing him, on the bed. Lena conscientiously tied the vial of blood
, her blood, around his bruised and bitten up neck, and the vial of his blood around her similarly fashioned slender neck. The glass vial hung above the dip of her cleavage and it felt chilly to her flesh.
He was still swimming in her, she could feel it. She could still feel the girth of his cock pumping in and out her and she impulsively shivered. But she liked it and impulsively wanted sex again in the heat of her thoughts. He was half-hard, though his current state made that difficult and complicated. She could kill him. Tie his cock up with rope to the ceiling so when his corpse stiffened it would be properly positioned for Lena to
rape. And he would get cold. Once she had purchased a water bottle with an ice freezing stick
solely for the purpose to try the frozen stick as a masturbation aid. It was so cold that it burned her tight inners when it finally entered Lena. She liked it and disliked it. It was not until that moment that Lena linked it in comparison to fucking a cold, stiff corpse, and felt wrong, and wrongly aroused, about the thought and the purchase.You don't want to kill him.
That's right. In truth, the killing-him-idea held no authentic weight to reality; a thought was all it were. Still, with a sigh and a shake of her head she had to think to herself, a twisted smile cringed her lips, What was wrong with her?
Lumbertion Correctional Institution
Inmate capacity: 768
Inmate gender: Male
Custody level: Medium
Staff size: 260
The first thing Jillian did was look through the chain man standing. The rattle of the chains had caught Josh's attention and Jillian distractedly cock her head to the left, no camera, she thought. There was a large rectangular mirror, one way, she did not need to guess, she knew it was one way mirror; during the tour of her first and last visit to the prison they had informed her that every mirror in this place was a one way mirror, to spy on the criminals. What she had to take an educated guess at was no one was behind it to watch her during her sessions. Her head rolled to the right, a feint a neck stretch if Josh happened to direct his attention back at her, the steadiness of her pupils investigated the area of the ceiling, like she was doing wrong and were to get in trouble if caught. Ah, there! A security camera. Only one. She thought one a bit strange, then again Lumbertion made up for it in areas with a higher inmate concentration. The camera wires were colors of the American flag: red, white and blue cords fed the thin mangle bunch through a hole in the ceiling, to some unknown place. It was positioned at the shackled man and only the back of her head would show up on the fed-screen.
Jillian poised her head back erect and hasted her eyes to look at Josh just a second before he imported his attention to her with the introduction of Maxillian Ingle.
She had not the time to get a good look at him, and her eyes widened at the morsel of knowledge she was about to. Jillian recalled how she pictured this moment to be on her hour-long drive out here. She drove a somewhat beat-up black Ponatic Grand-Am, that up until last week had a few red and green zip ties holding the bumper to the hunk of metal- she called it The Christmas Mobile. It was in need of a new bumper, and just in time for the drive, though there were other problems with the vehicle that made the drive eminently uncomfortable. It reeked of cigarette smoke. But this was all about to be worth it, in the next moment. Her chest half puffed with translucent nervous excitement. A slight hesitation of savory cast before her gaze flicked over to the plain man in the ugly orange jumpsuit. Admittedly, she was a bit astonished that this man was here. What she had pictured was a street thug with too many tattoos or some jacked meathead with 'roid rage, someone with an edge. Apart from those glazed over eyes he was not what she had expected. Jillian tilted her head slightly and inhaled through her relaxed lips, regarding him with curiosity.
At Josh's announcement of this Maxillian Ingle's crimes, or lack there of, she half stepped back to shift her weight closer to the door, her eyes cranked to the floor, focused on a chipped chunk of slate gray tile. Jillian Grant thought it was symbolic in the sense that she too was missing a piece of something that was supposed to be here: a real criminal. This little dork was not what she wanted. Everything about him screamed 'frat-boy mishap', even his snob rich-boy name was a total sell out. He kinda looked like one of those assholes from the news for some trivial hooligan nonsense, he had to be one of them, he fit the bill. 'Maxillian'. She pressed her lips together in a tight smile of disappointment that still an air of politeness, even though it looked as though it pained her to do so.
Josh whispered to her to not tell her first name, though his rasp tone was hardly one for a secret. A fleeting thought possessed Jillian to request she skip this man. She was so lost in her own thoughts and motives that Jillian had missed that window. Josh was on his way out. She found herself nodding to his departure and forcing herself to the chair. The door shut, it caught her eye and followed the swing.
Be positive. At least he's not dangerous. And you can be pretty damn sure this dork won't sling cum at you. No rain coat with this one. She smiled to herself and glanced over at him. Honoring the pad of paper and pen she placed her entire small palm on it, dragged it to her with a *swoosh*, and pinched the pen between her fingers in one fluent move. All she had to do was get through this one and proceed to next. She would think of him as practice. A warm up for the other men, real criminals, that were supposed to be shackled to that chair in place of him.
The man shattered the silence. Jillian did not see him as a threat, but for some reason when he mentioned her shoes, it made her tense up and cringe. Dragging each sole to hide under chair from view, only to suddenly draw them back to the bright light of the room. Jillian gave a shake of her head and half smirked at herself, she remembered that she should not care what remarks this man made. She looked down to her shoes and lifted one foot to dangle in the air, enough only to draw attention. The black shone an reflected from the light above. "Oh, you do like them? They don't really have a heel..." She smirked, gauging his reaction. Even stil... Grace was right, buy new shoes. ...ASAP. The shoe lowered and rested over its twin.
He did not just shatter the silence, now he bombed it, awkwardly so, even at that. It was amusing. She furrowed her eyebrows and her eyes zoned out, looking some place else, in search for the world that he was in. The ball was in her court, yet he still jabbered.
She participated and responded to the small cock comment, "At least they reminded me I need to buy baby carrots."
Her doe brown eyes finally returned and adjusted to the reality of the room. She showed blithe disregard for his unimportant utterance by holding up a single hand. Half of what he said did not even register. "Okay..." she shook her head slightly a blinked a few times. And retorted dripping sarcasm, "I would have never guessed you bad at flirting. What with your, what, 6 month jail sentence?" she tapped the pen on the paper and looked at him inquiringly with a tilted head, her tone fused to a condescending one, "You should write a book while you're in about it, at what a great flirt you are, that is."
"Anyway..." Jillian huffed toward the floor and half leaned back in the metal chair. Her eyes dropped to the yellow pad and scribbled something. It was actually nothing, she just wanted to express the illusion of being busy, unavailable to him. 'What uh--" she paused to search for.. a question to ask him, and nothing really came to find, she was too concerned with ending this already, eager to get to the next one. "W-what are you even in here for? Seriously, for real? I don't buy what Joshua said you weren't charged for" She lifted her free hand and her slender and pale middle and index finger curled to into a air quote "Just be honest so we can get this over with, okay? When are your parent's going to post your bail, or visit you with cookies, or whatever it is they do for you or they let you do in prison?" The pen tapped one, two, three, four times trailing impatient black dots on the yellow paper. Again.
Was it over yet? Jillian already constitute with herself that she wanted nothing to do with him before he even opened his mouth. She knew all she needed to know already. The girl was here for far much more than mere interviews, a far more personal and selfish reason, even if she did not want to admit to herself.
The waning moon hung high blanketed by dense off-white clouds in the black night sky, giving the earth a fogged quality to the air. Both the moon and the clouds would remind a woman, Jane, of one thing: pills. Little cloudy white pills.
Jane was the only occupant of a playground at the late hour of nine. The cheap plastic slide attached to a vibrant colored red and blue jungle gym cradled her reclined form. Smoke riveted in ribbons from a freshly lit cigarette and uravaled in sloppy smoke swirls before evaporating into the night; ribbons broke when she drew the filtered side to her lips and drew harshly the smoke into her lungs. “This is fucking bullshit.” A sigh filled of translucent smoke escaped her loose lips. She peered inquiringly at the gate entrance slightly ajar. Did she not close the gate? Maybe she should lay off the Vodka. Her turquoise colored eyes rolled to the vodka-filled water bottle in her hand. Ack! To hell with it, maybe it would jog her memory. She wet her lips, mouth, and throat with a swig of the vicious liquid.
Too distracted and vacant she was from the burn of Vodka in her throat to notice the motorcycle illuminated with superficial blue LED lights pull up to a park spot outside the iron fence. A man dressed in all brown and midnight black unmounted the bike, revealing his bearded face from the helmet, which he sat on the bike and ascended up the elevated pathway into the park.
“Park closed at six.” His tall form stopped a few feet before Jane.
Alerted, Jane straightened her position with a measure which granted her soak in the sight of the man and for her right hand to easily slide past the waist band of her dark grey sweatpants. She did. There was brief stirring at her crotch region, face adjusting, strange with searching, and a second later produced a vacuum sealed Ziplock bag rolled tight and rubber banded with hundred dollar bills. “7K.” She launched it toward his direction.
The man caught it alight with peculiar interest and robotically held it against his flared nostrils with a long, crude sniff. His nose was big and crooked, to match his character. “That’s a 7K pussy right there.” He breathed as he shuffled the bag of cash from his nose and in his flaky over worked hands.
“Yep, too expensive for you. Now fuck off.” Jane paused and hesitantly inquired, “Hey… wait… do you know anyone who can get their hands on Valium?”
“I might… for the right 7K price.”
“Now you can really just go fuck off.”
“Yeah, real nice if AJ finds out what you just done went and asked me, Sweetheart.”
She snickered and drew a deep drag from the cigarette, “What the fuck has that got to do with me? AJ can join you in fucking yourself. It's no one's business but my own, nor does he even care.”
“WHEW! With the shit you know girly! ’course The Vueen- the V-queen- ain’t observant o’ shit. ‘less she jus’ pretending. You’re on borrowed time unless you straighten yourself up, Sweetheart. Ain’t no damn fool keeping an addict stripper liability around with them pigs roasting about.”
She knew he had a subtle point. "I'll do whatever I want and take responsibility for the consequences... Sweetheart.."
He appraisingly sucked his teeth, "Ain't you quit anyway?" The man back-pocked the baggy and half turned on the rubber soles of his muddied brown boots to exit. The wood chips he stood on shifted with the motion.
The Gentleman's Club: "The Most Beautiful Women in the World" - 10:12PM
The Gentleman's Club had an initial exciting scent of vanilla that would fade the further one walked in, overpowered by cigarette smoke, beer and liquor. It was a large brick building, four stories high. The first floor was dedicated to the customers: the floor was completely open and walking in there would be a mini stage with a pole thirty-five feet high surrounded by empty chairs, always empty, that hardly ever got used. A small bar wrapped against the wall to the right of it. Stairs to the left of it. The real stage and bar was straight ahead, it was a bar-stage combination that had maze-like structure for the bar tenders to stalk their way around to get to the customers who would be seated at the perimeter of the bar-stage. This club did not have feature dancers, instead there were five to twenty dancers on the stage at a time assigned in split-shifts of the hour. Dancer would walk up to the customers, whose table was their stage, and dance for the customers seated around the stage-bar: the more the girls got tipped the longer they would dance. When not working the stage the girls were free to work the floor and offer private dances. The private dance room was in the back right corner and was a room lined with love-seat style couches against the wall, open to all receiving a private dance though reserved in a closed off fashion from the rest of the club.
Upstairs, the second floor was where the champagne room occupied a portion less than 1/4 of the space. The fashion was similar to the Private Dance room on the first floor, though had couches and tables sectioned off with sheer curtains or beads. No true private room to be alone with a dancer. There were two bars: one in the champagne room and the other in the open space atop the stairs, conveniently located with two random stripper poles in front of it. More than half the section floor was closed off to the public and used as the dancer's conveniently large dressing room.
The third floor was half-walled dorm rooms available for nightly rent for strippers to stay over night.
The fourth floor was rumored to be a music recording studio. It was always secured and locked up. No one was allowed up there.
Jane seldom followed rules. That stage shift was something she employed as she saw it fit and hardly spent any time on it. Her craft of words and mysterious confident seduction and classic beauty appearance were what benefited her income, and it served her quite finely. Unless the drunkard DJ played the techno/dance music too loudly where Jane would then find her voice later in the week. Having no tolerance for such behaviors she went into the DJ booth and turned the volume down herself so she could actually have conversation enough to make some cash. She refused to tip those DJs.
However, there was one rule Jane was quite fond of: Dancers must wear exotic evening gowns until midnight.
There was a man alone at a bar. Jane eyed him and zoned his stance before squeezing past the empty chair next to him. Her eyes were piercing with strong intensity and mesmerizing. “How are you doing tonight?” Good or Fine was what they always said. She would not let him even utter more than the start of whatever word he would of used. “No you’re not. You don’t have a girl in front of you, you aren’t getting a dance. You’re just sitting here, bored, staring at your drink. Now what kind of fun is that to have in a strip club? None at all when you and I should be back there having a dance so when you are sitting here you will have images of me dancing for you penetrating your mind. Doesn’t that sound like fun?" Her voice was pregnant with youthful enthusiasm and expectancy, her alluring smile infectious, "Come on, let’s go!”
The dusty grandfather clock in the corner reads midnight. The old man groans, turns over and pushes his head into his age-yellowed pillow, trying to block out the never ending sounds his own mind creates. He pulls his scraggly blanket over his head, willing them to stop. Suddenly, heart racing, he whips the blanket away and sits straight up. Paranoia is getting to him, surely, that wasn't someone coming up the stairs. His stairs.He lives alone in a lighthouse, he always has. He is as old as time, and he will continue to live there for infinity. Reality is thin there. Sometimes things appear, and disappear the next day, or hour. It doesn't really matter since time is just an illusion, smashed to pieces. He is time. He gets up, cautiously, being careful not to step on the creaky floorboards of his old home. He reaches over to his side table and strikes a match, lighting a candle, exposing grimy walls, dirty floors, boarded up windows and giant spider webs. The room is in flickering shadow. It smells of decay and of ocean air and age.
He creeps over to a sloppily covered window and peers out, rubbing his old nightgown against the filth. The ocean crashes against the giant cliff the old lighthouse rested on. Such a long way to fall, into the anger of the sea and sharp rocks. He sighs, knowing that it is not just tricks of his mind, and rests for a few eons in the sanctuary that is his mind before bending down carefully, for he is old, and weak. He pulls a loop of rope hidden in the cracks of the rough wooden floor and opens up a trap door. He has planned for this. He took one last look around, and suddenly remembers something. He quickly takes a locket from some hidden place and holds it tight before descending the damp stone stairs, candle in hand. He closes the trap door and continues down, not looking back. Slowly he goes, the fire making shadows and lighting the passage eerily. Four, five, six turns down the spiral staircase, then down below ground three more. The pounding waves, always cycling with the moon, became more apparent.
Finally, he steps outside onto an outcropping of rock, halfway down the cliff. He has been here before, decades ago. Time wavers, and collapses. It is 27 years in the past, and he watches his younger self, an unnoticed observer, horrified because of the scene about to replay. His self comes almost tumbling down the passage and runs perilously close to the edge of the precipice. He stops just in time and searches with his eyes down the rocks, leaning down and sticking his head over the side, staring into the hate, anger and malice that was the ocean. He doesn't see anything and slowly gets up and turns around, staring directly into the blue-grey eyes of his young daughter. She pushes by him and jumps.
It is the present again. The old man looks up at the sky and relives the moment over and over again. He could have saved her. He jumps.
The police looking for the deranged mental hospital escapee searched the lighthouse and found nothing.
He dare accept Ivan’s challenge? Ivan Ivankov? What a laugh.
The more Caillan dared spray the suicide of his own words, strangely the more Ivan’s smile grew, eerily by fractions of degrees. His smile invited him to speak more; dared him, urged him, encouraged him, warned him. It was as though Ivan was… pleased with the development. Each second that ticked off from his authentic gold wrist-watch dissolved the seething rage of boiling anger, replaced with an arrogant playfulness that mocked him. Though the hostility only seemed to increased. His face was inked with translucent focus.
Anyone this calm in this moment had to have seeded problems. This promised nothing good to come.
Ivan slowly rose to his feet, dress shoes sending cracks along the chrome steel floor, chest out in sheer authority. For the first minute, nothing could bypass the cocky aura of Ivan. The chilly cart was drenched in silence. And his prisoner was oblivious to the undying horrors within Ivan that could employ agonies of other worldly elements that one would never wish to experience.
With a combined force of that once dead seething raging and this eerily delightfulness, the fist of his free hand rose and unflinchingly rammed his left fist through a glass window at his side. Fragments sparkled and shattered noisily to some unknown space outside the window and uneven pieces at the steels floor. Blood riveted down his pulsating wrist, absorbing in his fine suit as he pulled his hand back to the room. Ivan did not even wince. He only shook his hand one, two, hard times to fling any large shards of glass that were sticking from his tanned flesh.
The cavity of the window poured an unbreathable mist of darkness to the volume of the cart. Emily, even the two idiots, jumped, unexpected of the brash tone that possessed Ivan.
“Oh, wow. Boss. That looks serious. Are you okay? Do you want my handkerchief?” One idiot offered.
Ivan breathed, as though deaf. The venomous beam in his stare restored as he glared at Caillan, all the more challengingly. He flashed his teeth in a smile, blinked, and then when his eyes opened again they were a show of a wolfish implication on Emily, whom was tense in defense, before darting back to meet his prisoner’s orbs.
A mere look from the vile beast made her skin crawl. Despite the comfort of having someone she knew next to her, some instincts died hard, sometimes never.
Ivan chuckled, and unleashed his voice, it boomed with fury, “You want to see what this sick fuck wants??!” genuinely amused. His face turned red, then to a maddening purple midway through, the vein on his forehead throbbed convulsively.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
One, two, three, eardrum deflating gun shots rattled the cart. The gun was that of a military strength, designed to cut through even the thickest of steel.. The bullets slipped through the steel floor and ceiling, like silk. Two in the floor, one in the ceiling.
The gun was directed directly between Emily and Caillan, splitting the length of the rope that bound them together no longer. Emily involuntary shrieked in a gasp at the hasty action. She longed to kick the gun directly to his face. All the shots seemed to happen with five seconds, though lasted a life time.
“Hold the hooligan.” Ivan barked aggressively in his order.
Emily was viciously yanked from the severed part of the hemp rope. She tried to flee from him, but he clawed after her, “No!,” raging at her annoying attempt and threw her face near the cavity of the window. She suppressed a yell as the ragged edges of glass cut into her jaw and scratched through her chest with a mix of her own blood and his. The murk of the outside air filled her nostrils.
In a sickening, vulgar motion, Ivan pressed his body to the alluring curves of Emily’s form and lifted her dress, half exposing the finely toned flesh of her nice ass before he pressed his crotch against that too. His nose dove into Emily’s hair, pinning her head where it was, and he audibly whiffed. “Prime rape bait, right here.” Ivan mocked bemused in a deep, scratchy voice. The gun pointed in her back.
“Don’t!” Emily protested in sheer hate and disgust, with an undertone of embarrassment that her high school boyfriend was seeing the way he touched her. Her legs kicked back to harm him, like a wild animal, like a donkey, defying the human in her. It hit and provoked him with a wild growl, and he killed that that instant with a nasty thrust against her backside and knees to the back of her thighs. His bloody hand sullied Emily’s dress as his hand explored her form, groping her breasts like he was a fourteen year old boy. ‘Stop!” Emily thrashed, but the gun pressed deeper at her back simmered it to a struggle.
“Well, what is it? Huh? No? Don’t? Stop? Or no, don’t stop? You gotta be a little more clear here, baby.” Ivan grew more animated the more he spoke. His eyes sprouted roots of crimson veins and painfully bulged from their sockets, seeming to have no eyelids. He paused to pull back and unbutton his black dress slacks, and took a moment to bathe in the reactions of Caillian with a grin and click of his tongue in offering, as though mocking his earlier dare. “Is it rape if she’s saying she wants it?” And laughed.
Their hell was Ivan’s heaven. He very much enjoyed long romantic walks to drop people off at the fiery pits of hell.
Suddenly, the scene seemed to die simultaneously with the horrible sound of the unzipped fly. Ivan paused to ponder with a inhale through his nose, the end of it going back to take in the scent of Emily. He grabbed a hold of the stub of rope, sat back down, and pulled Emily atop of him on his lap. The gun trailed along from Emily’s thighs, through her crotch and the furrow of her cleavage until it nuzzled under her defined jawline.
Her legs clamped together nervously, matching the tension of her controlled breathed. Emily had no reservations to remain attentive to the violations. She was fluent at a moment’s notice to detach herself from any situation. Especially she had learned to do so in fits of Ivan’s temper. She thought he liked it, sometimes, when she fought back, and only fueled his desires to be more rough with her, it sated him, and others it angered him.
“Cut fuck face loose. Hook, take out your extra gun. One at her, one at him.” He demanded. Ivan glowered devilishly at Caillan, “You’re going to be a good boy and do what I say. Or you’re going to watch the girl here get gaped from more than just all three of our cocks for your viewing pleasure; ‘cause we will make new, warm holes in her, and rape those ones when you watch her die. You may think you’re tough shit, don’t care ‘bout your miserable life, but that’s exactly it. You ARE shit. And you get treated the way you act. To make it even better, to make this situ’ion more appealing, if you disobey, baby here will get toted around and you get to watch the show all. Over. Again. Got it, bitch?”
“You are going to be calm, and not do anything stupid when you are untied. You are going to stand calmly. You are going to ripped Emily’s dress off, and use the tattered parts to clean the your n’sty spit off my damn shoe. Worth more than any fucking thing you ever had. Then you get to be creative here, the nice guy that I Is, you see, and you’re going to come right next to where she is by my face and spit in her face. Say something nasty. Then kiss her. And then slap her clear across the face.”
She did not move, her eyes cold at the smoke from the bullet holes in the floor. Greasy blood drizzled down her slender neck and flowed to the dip of her cleavage, running cold from the fresh wounds at her jaw. Then she flicked her hard gaze to Caillan, the intensity in the contact was elastic; ready to detach, ready to engage, and anything in between. Fear was there.
Misery loves company.
Jessica intuitively watched between the spaces in his footing, but said nothing. Her eyes would dart to check for signs of impending movement toward her. The razor shifted between the fingers of her clasped hand ready at an angle in case he were to trail, as she shrunk away from the way his enticing muscles bulked with each movement.
She could just simply feel his hungry eyes devouring her entire figure without having to see with her own eyes. He was raping her with his eyes and it took visible resistance to keep her arms from bracing her body. The squirming reflected her emotional and mental torment. But she would not submit, her stance remained strong.
A sick smile settled on her face when he obeyed her, as if she had done something easy and playful. It was meant to mock him. But she knew better than to think that he would cease his vile advances all together. This was just one meaningless battle in a war. What to call a war that will never accomplish peace? She wondered. There would never be peace, she would never allow it. He did not deserve to get to know the bountiful kindness she had to offer. Especially with him "giving her permission" to speak that made her hold air in her lungs with contempt.
She didn't think she'd get this far and had nothing in particular in mind to say. She wanted to start off spewing something nasty, or fixating on accusatory behavior; asking what the fuck is wrong with him. That needed to get suppressed because Jessica knew that would not get him to listen to her. No. To coax him into even penetrating her voice deep enough that he would truly muse over her words she has to appeal to his interests. That will catch his attention, which is something of importance to make this display of stalling the inevitable worth anything other than temporary peace of mind; though, probably just a demented game of cat and mouse to him. She had to humanize herself… or humanize him to himself.
In truth, Jessica really did not desire to speak with him either. What a horrible thing to propose. Treating him as if he were something other than what he truly is; a monster, displeased her soul. Though she supposed it was better than getting raped. But was it really? …Yes! It still needed to get questioned to distinct the toll of confliction to herself. There wasn’t a variety of options she had to work with here, so she had to take what she could get and squeeze the advantage dry.
A incredibility disguised monster he was: Strong and remarkably handsome, deceivingly so. She would never admit that, even to herself. And here he was residing in a upscale house and a safe neighborhood; well, somewhat safe, there was a vicious killer living there after all.
“Look…” She took a deep breath and went on baring a sympathetic tone, “I imagine you’ve killed a lot of people...” paused, as if her mind elicited images that portrayed the very words she spoke. “Damaged families beyond repair… caused a number of pounds with bloodshed. And I don’t understand what could possess someone to have a desire to do such things; to want to hurt people. I doubt that you’ll believe me, but I can kind of relate to that state of mind. The subtly of relish when someone is taken by surprise. A curious fascination of darkness by violence, weapons, injury, or torture. Treating someone harshly and getting away with it. The savored satisfaction from when someone obeys you.“ Kind of like that sick smile you just had? “It’s similar to how I feel about you. Everyone has bad thoughts that cross their mind.” Do they? “That doesn’t make me a bad person though.” Doesn’t it, though? “Because I only have these urges to harm you for what you did—are still doing to me. I can admit your pain and suffering amuses me.” Oh, that’s normal? Her eyes were smoldering with a charge as she flicked them to focus on his face to watch his reaction. “That leads me to believe that someone has hurt you, pretty badly if you’ve come to be… what you are. I know you probably dislike the thought of having nobody around. And there’s got to be someone out there for you, but I can tell you right now that is not me. Someone to make you feel- really feel. Or maybe I’m just foolishly pooling this from some other dimension in space and you’re completely and irrevocably mentally fucked.”
“Do you like placing people in a state of abject misery? They say you are what you surround yourself with. Perhaps you would have a far greater benefit if you just seek out happy things instead. If you start looking for the good in life more often, you will find more of it."
Studying his surroundings, she remembered his offensive stance need be reason to worry. In her hand was the razor. Her concentration strengthened, and she could feel the flesh of her knuckles stretched and they whitened. "Now it's your turn to properly speak." She reminded him, "Do not come near me." with a tinge of a threat in her voice..
|Cont. in the next post.|