Post by Lyra Ishigami on Nov 13, 2013 21:51:16 GMT -5
OOC: Yeah, I went there.
The crescent moon hung lazy in the quiet night sky in the warm summer night. Parts with stale air felt musky, but a small current would weave through the streets, bringing about a much needed freshness. The alley was on the outskirts of down town, nothing in terms of attractions anywhere nearby, rarely seeing traffic: only the few who were either lost or, even fewer, the ones who weren't. Tonight wasn't very busy — it was a Tuesday night after all. A single black sedan was parked in front of the plain looking building. There were no neon signs, no advertisements, no glass doors, just a plain house with heavily tinted and barred windows. Although to call it a "house" wouldn't quite do it justice, ten bedrooms, each equipped with its own attached bath, and a foyer big enough on its own to be considered a "house". Despite its immodesty, not very many people knew who resided in the place. It was in an awkward location, separated from the rest of the block — though, it was probably big enough to take up half of it anyway. The only thing modest about it was the rather intricate sign attached to one of the stone pillars of the front gate: "607" Was on the left; "The Doll House" on the right, written in a neat calligraphy, small enough to be hidden in plain sight, big enough to not go unnoticed by those who were looking.
The inside was dimly lit, a large desk was placed in the centre of the foyer, nothing else. The decor was classic contemporary. Everything was clean and efficient, not a easily yielding any spoilers, nor hints as to the purpose of the establishment. The reception was almost entirely for show and unmanned for most of the time, but it gave clients a sense of direction: an unchanging "origin" if you will before venturing into the chaos. The spiralling staircase almost an entire mile behind the desk lead upstairs, in which almost all the bedrooms were on either side of the long hallway, riddled with various pieces of art and furniture, up here it was mostly Victorian down the halls with colour beginning to finally appear in the red carpets and dark painted walls. Each individual room had its own style variation, from the bare minimal, to the extravagant, traditional to modern and eclectic. Those weren't on the menu for tonight, no, there was only one client tonight, and he desired the Doll Room.
The last door, at the very end of the hallway, dead centre. All the other doors had Arabic numerals to identify themselves; this one was the only one with a Roman numeral. "X". Perhaps a subtle warning for the newcomers. But he wasn't a new comer. No, this wasn't his first rodeo, not by a long shot, and tonight, it would be just him and his mistress: the wife's out on her girls night, and the grandparents have the kids for the week. It wasn't easy being on the board of directors for one of the most successful cellular companies, he actually hated his job. Sure, the pay was great, the benefits are better than most, and he had some authority, but was it was his boss and CEO of the company that drove him insane.
His boss was gorgeous, young, and talented. At the tender age of 29, she had already been a big name in the business world. One of the world's youngest multi-billionaire, she could be a bit overwhelming. There were rumours of her doing less than decent deeds to obtain the position, but he knew first hand it was because the woman was cold and ruthless. The ridiculous expectations she sets takes a huge toll on the board. And complaints? Well, they can be directed straight to the shredder. What this woman demands, she get, regardless if it was humanly possible or not. Despite his deep hatred for her, he couldn't deny the fact that she was absolutely stunning. The way she dressed, the way she conducted herself, the way her hair bounced with her body as she paced. He had never wanted anything so much in his life, yet he knew he couldn't have her.
This would have been his seventh visit within the last two months. Behind the door of the doll room was four walls, covered with dark crimson. The only lighting came from candle stands scattered across the wooden floorboards. Along the walls were riding crops, bull whips, gags, cuffs — a myriad of toys. The man was lying, sprawled out on a bed of paperwork, countless copies of the same report, with small changes made, as each one was deemed unsatisfactory by his superior for some infinitesimally small detail. Oh how small he felt, but not tonight. Tonight, he'd finally get to stick it to her, literally. Well, not her exactly, but a equally beguiling woman, whom he had paid to don a suit dress similar in style as his boss's. The woman was beautiful — she'd better be, he had spent more than half his pay cheque for this.
The woman climbed on top of him, strapping a red ball gag around his mouth, muffling the noises he was making. speak no evil. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt from bottom up, letting the fabric drop to either side of the man, exposing his chest and abdomen. A flick of her wrist brought the small piece of leather of the riding crop down upon his sternum. The man let out a muffled yelp. "I said I wanted this paperwork to be on my desk this morning!" The woman yelled, bringing the crop up once more for another swing. Her free hand moved up to his neck, putting enough pressure on it to present a slight hindrance to his breathing as the index finger of her other hand slipped underneath the knot of his tie and freed it from around his neck. She brought her lips close to the middle of the man's chest: the red marks clearly appearing amongst his pale skin. Her tongue protruded from behind its crimson gatekeepers and ran the length of the affected area.
Her saliva felt cold on his burning skin. God, he wanted her. He couldn't help but strain his neck up to gaze upon the woman.
As soon as he laid eyes on her, the woman brought the broad side of his tie up, and covered his head, pushing him rather firmly back onto the hardwood floor with a loud thump. She wrapped the piece of fabric around his head, making sure to cover his ears, then tied it behind his skull.
See no evil, hear no evil. God, he wanted to ravage the woman right now, but he knew she'd make him savour every moment of this, she would find a way to bring him to the brink, then fill him up further, and she would keep filling and filling until he'd explode with ecstasy — it was her job. He felt leather trace the length of his body, starting from his chin, down his neck, sending shivers all the way down into his core, he could feel the muscles contracting within him, the blood draining from his less important organs to fuel the only thing that mattered at this moment. He would feel the leather lift off his body. It didn't come back down.
That was a sound he'd never heard before: a sharp chirp, then, water? Gargling? Like somebody had thrown a canary into the river. What he felt next was even weirder: a warm splatter. Spit? He told her specifically not to spit. Licking, he was okay with, but not actual spitting, that was off-putting. Then there was the smell, metallic, musky, he had never noticed it. Perhaps being blindfolded heightened his sense of smell? Something definitely wasn't right. His hands quickly rose up from his sides, tugging off his makeshift tie blindfold. "Wasn't right" wasn't enough enough to scratch as what he saw in front of him: his mistress, throat sliced open, blooding pouring down her trachea, filling her alveoli. With each breath, she would strain harder for the next, as liquid replaced gas.
She made sure the cut wasn't too deep, she needed her to see how a real mistress acts; this was lesson one. There was no shortage of "tools" in this room to keep the mistress restrained, but Lyra was more, old fashioned. grabbing two riding crops, she swiftly snapped off the tongues, leaving a jagged shaft of broken fibreglass. With one hand, she griped the fabric of her suit dress, ushering her to the wall behind her. Using the shaft of the crops, she moved one of the woman's arms up to her side. Manoeuvring the broken shaft perpendicular to her wrist, she nonchalantly pushed it through her flesh, bone then the wall. She did the same to the other arm, firmly securing the woman so that she'd have the best view in the house. Of course, she tried to scream, but the crimson liquid would prevent that.
The lesson begins. He tried to pick himself up off he floor, but before he could, she'd have already straddled him, placing her weight on top of his chest. Of course, to him, she was nothing but a floating lacy leather corset: it was all she could find in such short notice. His hands quickly searched the back of his head to undo his ball gag, but before his digits could reach the buckle, he lost feeling to them. Hastily, he brought them back in front to inspect what had happened, and he instantly knew why he could no longer feel — they were no longer attached. His freshly severed wrists gushed blood all over his shocked face, staining his chest and shirt. He screamed, eyes wide enough to pop right out of their socket: how adorable, she could pluck them right out! And she just might.... For now, she needed him to move less. Handcuffs were certainly out of the question now, so she had to get a little more creative. She ran her blade up his arm in a spiral patten, filleting his flesh, separating every muscle from bone. Even behind the ball gag, she could hear his blood curdling scream, but his arm stopped moving. She did the same to the other. By this point, he was trying desperately to maintain his consciousness. Of course, it would be easier to succumb, but there'd be no way she'd let him off that easily.
"You still with us, sweet heart?" She tossed her katana, piercing her thigh — nothing serious, just to jolt her back to reality. Now that her hands were free, the woman clasped them together and with a forceful thrust, broke the skin above his pleural cavity, reaching directly into his heart. All the remaining muscles in his body clenched tightly as the foreign object entered, trying their hardest to expel her fingers. The woman ignored these rhythmic contractions, cupping both her hands around his still beating heart. The warm crimson fluid quickly engulfed her paws, warming her cold skin, how delightful. With a final firm pump, she squeezed the muscle, forcing all the blood away from the core of his body, the acceleration enough to cause bleeding through all his orifices, including those big, sexy eyes. She tugged hard, and separated the organ from its owner. Hands dripping, she placed a drenched finger in the corner of her lips, her tongue gladly met it, lapping all the sanguine liquid off her digit. She glances over at the barely awake mistress. "And that was just lesson number one."
The crescent moon hung lazy in the quiet night sky in the warm summer night. Parts with stale air felt musky, but a small current would weave through the streets, bringing about a much needed freshness. The alley was on the outskirts of down town, nothing in terms of attractions anywhere nearby, rarely seeing traffic: only the few who were either lost or, even fewer, the ones who weren't. Tonight wasn't very busy — it was a Tuesday night after all. A single black sedan was parked in front of the plain looking building. There were no neon signs, no advertisements, no glass doors, just a plain house with heavily tinted and barred windows. Although to call it a "house" wouldn't quite do it justice, ten bedrooms, each equipped with its own attached bath, and a foyer big enough on its own to be considered a "house". Despite its immodesty, not very many people knew who resided in the place. It was in an awkward location, separated from the rest of the block — though, it was probably big enough to take up half of it anyway. The only thing modest about it was the rather intricate sign attached to one of the stone pillars of the front gate: "607" Was on the left; "The Doll House" on the right, written in a neat calligraphy, small enough to be hidden in plain sight, big enough to not go unnoticed by those who were looking.
The inside was dimly lit, a large desk was placed in the centre of the foyer, nothing else. The decor was classic contemporary. Everything was clean and efficient, not a easily yielding any spoilers, nor hints as to the purpose of the establishment. The reception was almost entirely for show and unmanned for most of the time, but it gave clients a sense of direction: an unchanging "origin" if you will before venturing into the chaos. The spiralling staircase almost an entire mile behind the desk lead upstairs, in which almost all the bedrooms were on either side of the long hallway, riddled with various pieces of art and furniture, up here it was mostly Victorian down the halls with colour beginning to finally appear in the red carpets and dark painted walls. Each individual room had its own style variation, from the bare minimal, to the extravagant, traditional to modern and eclectic. Those weren't on the menu for tonight, no, there was only one client tonight, and he desired the Doll Room.
The last door, at the very end of the hallway, dead centre. All the other doors had Arabic numerals to identify themselves; this one was the only one with a Roman numeral. "X". Perhaps a subtle warning for the newcomers. But he wasn't a new comer. No, this wasn't his first rodeo, not by a long shot, and tonight, it would be just him and his mistress: the wife's out on her girls night, and the grandparents have the kids for the week. It wasn't easy being on the board of directors for one of the most successful cellular companies, he actually hated his job. Sure, the pay was great, the benefits are better than most, and he had some authority, but was it was his boss and CEO of the company that drove him insane.
His boss was gorgeous, young, and talented. At the tender age of 29, she had already been a big name in the business world. One of the world's youngest multi-billionaire, she could be a bit overwhelming. There were rumours of her doing less than decent deeds to obtain the position, but he knew first hand it was because the woman was cold and ruthless. The ridiculous expectations she sets takes a huge toll on the board. And complaints? Well, they can be directed straight to the shredder. What this woman demands, she get, regardless if it was humanly possible or not. Despite his deep hatred for her, he couldn't deny the fact that she was absolutely stunning. The way she dressed, the way she conducted herself, the way her hair bounced with her body as she paced. He had never wanted anything so much in his life, yet he knew he couldn't have her.
This would have been his seventh visit within the last two months. Behind the door of the doll room was four walls, covered with dark crimson. The only lighting came from candle stands scattered across the wooden floorboards. Along the walls were riding crops, bull whips, gags, cuffs — a myriad of toys. The man was lying, sprawled out on a bed of paperwork, countless copies of the same report, with small changes made, as each one was deemed unsatisfactory by his superior for some infinitesimally small detail. Oh how small he felt, but not tonight. Tonight, he'd finally get to stick it to her, literally. Well, not her exactly, but a equally beguiling woman, whom he had paid to don a suit dress similar in style as his boss's. The woman was beautiful — she'd better be, he had spent more than half his pay cheque for this.
The woman climbed on top of him, strapping a red ball gag around his mouth, muffling the noises he was making. speak no evil. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt from bottom up, letting the fabric drop to either side of the man, exposing his chest and abdomen. A flick of her wrist brought the small piece of leather of the riding crop down upon his sternum. The man let out a muffled yelp. "I said I wanted this paperwork to be on my desk this morning!" The woman yelled, bringing the crop up once more for another swing. Her free hand moved up to his neck, putting enough pressure on it to present a slight hindrance to his breathing as the index finger of her other hand slipped underneath the knot of his tie and freed it from around his neck. She brought her lips close to the middle of the man's chest: the red marks clearly appearing amongst his pale skin. Her tongue protruded from behind its crimson gatekeepers and ran the length of the affected area.
Her saliva felt cold on his burning skin. God, he wanted her. He couldn't help but strain his neck up to gaze upon the woman.
As soon as he laid eyes on her, the woman brought the broad side of his tie up, and covered his head, pushing him rather firmly back onto the hardwood floor with a loud thump. She wrapped the piece of fabric around his head, making sure to cover his ears, then tied it behind his skull.
See no evil, hear no evil. God, he wanted to ravage the woman right now, but he knew she'd make him savour every moment of this, she would find a way to bring him to the brink, then fill him up further, and she would keep filling and filling until he'd explode with ecstasy — it was her job. He felt leather trace the length of his body, starting from his chin, down his neck, sending shivers all the way down into his core, he could feel the muscles contracting within him, the blood draining from his less important organs to fuel the only thing that mattered at this moment. He would feel the leather lift off his body. It didn't come back down.
That was a sound he'd never heard before: a sharp chirp, then, water? Gargling? Like somebody had thrown a canary into the river. What he felt next was even weirder: a warm splatter. Spit? He told her specifically not to spit. Licking, he was okay with, but not actual spitting, that was off-putting. Then there was the smell, metallic, musky, he had never noticed it. Perhaps being blindfolded heightened his sense of smell? Something definitely wasn't right. His hands quickly rose up from his sides, tugging off his makeshift tie blindfold. "Wasn't right" wasn't enough enough to scratch as what he saw in front of him: his mistress, throat sliced open, blooding pouring down her trachea, filling her alveoli. With each breath, she would strain harder for the next, as liquid replaced gas.
She made sure the cut wasn't too deep, she needed her to see how a real mistress acts; this was lesson one. There was no shortage of "tools" in this room to keep the mistress restrained, but Lyra was more, old fashioned. grabbing two riding crops, she swiftly snapped off the tongues, leaving a jagged shaft of broken fibreglass. With one hand, she griped the fabric of her suit dress, ushering her to the wall behind her. Using the shaft of the crops, she moved one of the woman's arms up to her side. Manoeuvring the broken shaft perpendicular to her wrist, she nonchalantly pushed it through her flesh, bone then the wall. She did the same to the other arm, firmly securing the woman so that she'd have the best view in the house. Of course, she tried to scream, but the crimson liquid would prevent that.
The lesson begins. He tried to pick himself up off he floor, but before he could, she'd have already straddled him, placing her weight on top of his chest. Of course, to him, she was nothing but a floating lacy leather corset: it was all she could find in such short notice. His hands quickly searched the back of his head to undo his ball gag, but before his digits could reach the buckle, he lost feeling to them. Hastily, he brought them back in front to inspect what had happened, and he instantly knew why he could no longer feel — they were no longer attached. His freshly severed wrists gushed blood all over his shocked face, staining his chest and shirt. He screamed, eyes wide enough to pop right out of their socket: how adorable, she could pluck them right out! And she just might.... For now, she needed him to move less. Handcuffs were certainly out of the question now, so she had to get a little more creative. She ran her blade up his arm in a spiral patten, filleting his flesh, separating every muscle from bone. Even behind the ball gag, she could hear his blood curdling scream, but his arm stopped moving. She did the same to the other. By this point, he was trying desperately to maintain his consciousness. Of course, it would be easier to succumb, but there'd be no way she'd let him off that easily.
"You still with us, sweet heart?" She tossed her katana, piercing her thigh — nothing serious, just to jolt her back to reality. Now that her hands were free, the woman clasped them together and with a forceful thrust, broke the skin above his pleural cavity, reaching directly into his heart. All the remaining muscles in his body clenched tightly as the foreign object entered, trying their hardest to expel her fingers. The woman ignored these rhythmic contractions, cupping both her hands around his still beating heart. The warm crimson fluid quickly engulfed her paws, warming her cold skin, how delightful. With a final firm pump, she squeezed the muscle, forcing all the blood away from the core of his body, the acceleration enough to cause bleeding through all his orifices, including those big, sexy eyes. She tugged hard, and separated the organ from its owner. Hands dripping, she placed a drenched finger in the corner of her lips, her tongue gladly met it, lapping all the sanguine liquid off her digit. She glances over at the barely awake mistress. "And that was just lesson number one."
