F seeks M, D/s, NC, human, modern-day earth

[FeBurns]

(Scene set up is long; but good news! - roleplay posts can and should be much shorter – two or three paragraphs per post.  I’m searching for dominant male, detail-oriented writer, and a reluctant-to-NC storyline.  A link to my O/O’s can be found in my signature line.

Summary:  girl gets more than she bargained for.)

* * * * * * THE SET UP * * * * *

The setting is a hilly countryside in Switzerland, in a very private mansion sitting in extensive acreage. There is a fancy party taking place at this home of Jacques Martinique – business man, entrepreneur – gentleman. Clean-cut, friendly, and affluent, no one would guess if they didn’t already know that Jacques Martinique operates a club specializing in slave trade, the clientele of which are powerful, very wealthy, and fully vetted for membership. Jacques runs a tight ship and the club operates on many levels, from retail fetish stores, business dealings, casual parties, and private dungeon parties.

Carleigh had been working for two days at one of the fetish retail stores when she expressed a desire to work more hours. That’s when she was given an opportunity to work in the kitchen of the owner’s mansion during one of the Martinique dinner parties. She’d never worked anywhere this opulent before. She had been fascinated, distracted by all she saw and quite by accident she ruined an entire basket of imported, very expensive truffles. She’d been herded off to Jacques’ office to decide what is to be done with her.

Presented before the outwardly-congenial and inwardly-dangerous man, Carleigh was (despite her statuesque physique) wearing a do-rag which covered long, straight blonde hair. She has black-kohl make-up around her eyes (making her pale skin appear even paler), jeans, and sneakers.  Carleigh suffered Jacques’ shrewd scrutiny, endured his disappointed lecture about carelessness, and she’d wondered why he kept circling her. All in all, one might call her scruffy dressed this way. She speaks little of Mr. Martinique’s language (French) and was surprised when (in German, her native language) he informed her she would have to perform a different job to make-up for the ruined food.

Unknown to lovely Carleigh, all employees undergo an investigation before they’re hired, and Carleigh was no different - her background check had already been done, as is done on every young pretty girl hired by the Martinique organization. (A lot of human traffic moved through this network). Jacques Martinique already knew everything about her that there was to know. She’s new in town, her grandmother died some months ago, and until probate finishes, she needs the employment. She’s from Germany, is tall, leggy, beautifully shaped, and has large round blue eyes.

With no opportunity to protest, she had been pulled by the arm from the kitchen and led, bodily, down a dark and gloomy hallway. Carleigh had tried to get more information from Mr. Martinique, who briskly reminded her she’d signed an employment contract that stated she would work off any damages she made. She had not remembered reading that on the contract, but the gentleman had then ceased catering to her language disability and had resorted to speaking in French, a language she knows little of. Ushered down a flight of stairs, through a hallway, and into a room, she is informed that for each truffle she ruined, she will have to model one article of clothing.

When Jacques Martinique left Carleigh alone inside that room, which appeared to be a dressing room of some sort, she had a little chance to fret and look around.  She noticed quickly that the articles of clothing were so strange, many of which were leather and have so many belts and buckles on them, she couldn’t imagine how they would be comfortable. Soon thereafter a tall, dark-haired woman had appeared, and after Carleigh had been undressed and re-dressed again in a slinky little black gown, she’d found herself herded one more time into another area of the mansion, this time even darker than the last. She didn’t understand why here feet were left bare and she didn’t appreciate having her scarf removed from her head.  Her long, curly hair felt unruly and wild as it cascaded down her back and flowed over her bare shoulders.  She’d been pressed down to a seat, one with padding and cold, hard leather, and her wrists had been grasped by the tall, harsh woman. Her wrists had been lashed together and she’d protested, with sudden alarm, when she was informed, "this is one of the articles of clothing Mr. Martinique had spoken of, that you will need to model".

Carleigh didn’t see how leather bindings could be considered clothing but she waits there as instructed, seated with her back to the room. Her legs straddle a leather-covered bench, her wrists are bound by studded and ringed leather. Extending from her wrists is a long strip of leather attached somehow to a ring which is embedded in the wall. The dress she wears is scooped deep along her spine, exposing much of her back, and her skin is chilled from the reduced temperature in this place, what she can only describe as a dungeon. Two other women are later brought in, bound in similar ways, except the one in the middle is wearing a gag of some kind that prevents her from speech. The woman at the opposite end of Carleigh wouldn't look her way and clearly wasn’t interested in engaging in conversation.

It is as she begins to test the bindings that some lights are turned on and people (guests of the party, presumably) begin to arrive and the rooms in this wing of the house begin to fill up. Here, mingling continues and demonstrations on various pieces of equipment are given. Before any of these guests reach the far corner in which these three women are displayed, the tall dark-haired woman returns to Carleigh, stepping in from behind, murmuring in a cool voice, "Oh I forgot, girl, one more article of clothing for you and you’re half way to repaying your debt." Before Carleigh can respond, her mouth is filled with a ball and a leather strap is pulled tight around her head, then buckled into place.  She tries to protest, to evade and squeals out her surprise and anger.  Her tormenter rewards her with a pinch to her thigh and a whispered reminder in her ear that she signed a contract. She can’t believe the contract would be so vague as to allow such treatment of her.

It is in this condition that the woman is found when the guests arrive, the playroom at their disposal, with the ominous Jacques and his escorts milling about and chatting with the guests, talking about many and different things.

(( This scene could be picked up by any one of the party attendees or Jacques  ))

[FeBurns]

~closed~