JamesMartin
Sa souvraya niende misain ye
Staff member
Administrator
Inner Sanctum Nobility
♔ Champion ♔
Myself and @missivy are in need of a detailed female writer willing to play a kidnapped rich girl turned slave. The roleplay was started, but only got a few posts in before our other partner needed to quit. It will be posted below in full and if you're interested, message me to let us know.
What we need:
1. Any kind of submissive is fine—complaint or defiant, a natural slave, a pet, a domme forced into chains, it's largely up to you how to play this. We're still early on in the story, your character can essentially be defined by you
2. Detailed writing, grammatically correct (within reason), willing to give at least a couple significant paragraphs consistently and occasionally a few more.
3. One post a week at least, more is appreciated, but not required
4. Reasonably broad limits and a list of kinks we can work with. A few restrictions are fine, but this roleplay isn't ideal for the vanilla minded
Here's the story so far (Each spoiler is one post, the post we have for your character will be marked. That one can be edited to change the details if necessary):
What we need:
1. Any kind of submissive is fine—complaint or defiant, a natural slave, a pet, a domme forced into chains, it's largely up to you how to play this. We're still early on in the story, your character can essentially be defined by you
2. Detailed writing, grammatically correct (within reason), willing to give at least a couple significant paragraphs consistently and occasionally a few more.
3. One post a week at least, more is appreciated, but not required
4. Reasonably broad limits and a list of kinks we can work with. A few restrictions are fine, but this roleplay isn't ideal for the vanilla minded
Here's the story so far (Each spoiler is one post, the post we have for your character will be marked. That one can be edited to change the details if necessary):
It had been far too long since he had tasted the thrill of a hunt like this.
It wasn't as simple as selecting a possible target and grabbing them from the street—men did that all the time. They also wound up caught. He might have been able to get out of it—after all, he had influence, power, wealth, as well as a beautiful wife of five years who had all three in her own right. Still, they really didn't need a light to be shone in on them. Let alone on their darkest secret.
Behind that innocent veneer of culture and wealth, behind the incalculably wealthy heir to a major technology conglomerate and his wife, the stunning socialite from an old political family, there was no purity to be found. They had originally met in a place that neither of them should have been. A BDSM club had been the front, him an old hand at its inner workings, her a handful of years younger, inexperienced but deeply curious about its inner workings. What he had known—and what she had eventually been told, was that the girls so prominently displayed there were no willing submissives. That had been their first foray into the slave trade, her watching as he used and abused a beautiful slave well into the night. The club had become their guilty pleasure, a place where they went when they had a craving for flesh besides each others. That craving had been strong too. His raven haired beauty with his black silver collar around her neck, looking just enough like a necklace to hide its true purpose. Within a year of that meeting, though she had yet to finish school, they were married.
That had been 5 years ands one day before. Just yesterday, as their anniversary gift, he had shown his wife a series of pictures and let her pick their joint present. The same gift he had gotten her as a surprise for their first.
It was well past time they acquired a second slave.
But, just like the first time, it wouldn't have done to go to the market or to that club where they had first played together. Those girls were low class. Snatched from countries with names most couldn't pronounce, with thick accents, no education, no class, not to mention they were mostly used goods—in short, not worthy of his extremely high standards.
Instead, he had created a shortlist of targets still living free. All were beautiful, innocent, young, most working on or having completed higher education, all having been raised in relative privilege. Such marks were difficult, with families who would look for them, the concern of law enforcement and possibly even of the public as a whole. But the rewards were unimaginable and they had already gotten away with it once. No matter how hard anyone looked—they only ever looked at the bottom feeders. They never got so far as the sky high mansions and private islands where their kind congregated.
The car he was in was inconspicuous, purchased on untraceable credit from an owner who had never seen his face. Fortunately. Tall, muscled. with a handsome face, prominent jaw and dark hair cut close, his face was probably amongst the most recognizable in the world. He flew it in low, letting it guide him to where he knew his target would be. Her entire life had been mapped out for him, especially today, down to the minute.
She had probably walked through that alley a thousand times. It was near her home, a straight path through to the entertainment district, always empty, not even vagabonds dared stick around this far up town. That was a recipe for a police stun baton shoved in places best left to the imagination. She couldn't have known that this perfectly safe alley was one of the few in the city where neither entrance could be seen by a camera. She also couldn't have known that the car hovering inconspicuously as though waiting for its passenger was in fact empty. When she walked by it, a beautiful brunette in a black dress just a little too short, wearing heels that were just a little too tall, that was when he struck.
One hand covered her mouth, expertly silencing her cries while making biting impossible. It was enough time for the other hand to shove a needle into her neck. The paralytic worked fast and he threw her into the back of the car, climbing in as well. The windows went to full tint and the car started driving its route. It would be seen half a dozen times on camera, always heading for the poor districts. If it was found at all, it would be found with her clothes in the back, her blood on the seat and the DNA of a known rapist carefully hidden. He was always good at forming the narrative of his kidnappings. Make sure the police were looking the exact wrong spot.
Her communicator he threw out into the alley. Too dangerous to bring that along. As the car drove, he cut her clothes off methodically, leaving them in a useless bundle on the floor of the car. He smiled apologetically at her and sliced her thumb, dribbling a small bit of blood on the seat. She was awake for all this of course—an anesthesia would show in the blood. A paralyzing agent would only affect the nervous system. When at last the car made a brief stop, he carried her out and set her in his new vehicle—his own, which would only be seen approaching his house from the other direction. She still had her gold jewelry in her ears and on her arms. No poor man would abandon those. He waited quietly as the car made its long journey to the upper class areas beyond the outskirts of the city. The house it eventually approached was a massive hilltop mansion, built in a purely modern style on sveral thousand acres all their own. Sleek, with protruding disc shaped rooms, the house was the best technological achievement money could buy. And waiting near the landing pad on the top of the house was his wife, dark haired and as beautiful to him as ever.
Before he removed their new prize, he took one final step. He forced an ornate silver collar, rather like a necklace and intricately patterned, around her throat. It clickewd with ominous finality and beeped to affirm it was secure. A proper shock collar, of his own design. The best way to turn a woman to a slave.
He climbed out, throwing his prize on the ground "The hunt went well" He smiled at his wife, kissing her deeply. "You'll need to get her cleaned up a bit—shave that body hair as well. I'll come along to keep an eye out. She's paralyzed for now—but that's probably starting to wear off already. Hopefully she has the sense not to cause too much trouble before we have her named and can explain exactly what she's doing here."
It wasn't as simple as selecting a possible target and grabbing them from the street—men did that all the time. They also wound up caught. He might have been able to get out of it—after all, he had influence, power, wealth, as well as a beautiful wife of five years who had all three in her own right. Still, they really didn't need a light to be shone in on them. Let alone on their darkest secret.
Behind that innocent veneer of culture and wealth, behind the incalculably wealthy heir to a major technology conglomerate and his wife, the stunning socialite from an old political family, there was no purity to be found. They had originally met in a place that neither of them should have been. A BDSM club had been the front, him an old hand at its inner workings, her a handful of years younger, inexperienced but deeply curious about its inner workings. What he had known—and what she had eventually been told, was that the girls so prominently displayed there were no willing submissives. That had been their first foray into the slave trade, her watching as he used and abused a beautiful slave well into the night. The club had become their guilty pleasure, a place where they went when they had a craving for flesh besides each others. That craving had been strong too. His raven haired beauty with his black silver collar around her neck, looking just enough like a necklace to hide its true purpose. Within a year of that meeting, though she had yet to finish school, they were married.
That had been 5 years ands one day before. Just yesterday, as their anniversary gift, he had shown his wife a series of pictures and let her pick their joint present. The same gift he had gotten her as a surprise for their first.
It was well past time they acquired a second slave.
But, just like the first time, it wouldn't have done to go to the market or to that club where they had first played together. Those girls were low class. Snatched from countries with names most couldn't pronounce, with thick accents, no education, no class, not to mention they were mostly used goods—in short, not worthy of his extremely high standards.
Instead, he had created a shortlist of targets still living free. All were beautiful, innocent, young, most working on or having completed higher education, all having been raised in relative privilege. Such marks were difficult, with families who would look for them, the concern of law enforcement and possibly even of the public as a whole. But the rewards were unimaginable and they had already gotten away with it once. No matter how hard anyone looked—they only ever looked at the bottom feeders. They never got so far as the sky high mansions and private islands where their kind congregated.
The car he was in was inconspicuous, purchased on untraceable credit from an owner who had never seen his face. Fortunately. Tall, muscled. with a handsome face, prominent jaw and dark hair cut close, his face was probably amongst the most recognizable in the world. He flew it in low, letting it guide him to where he knew his target would be. Her entire life had been mapped out for him, especially today, down to the minute.
She had probably walked through that alley a thousand times. It was near her home, a straight path through to the entertainment district, always empty, not even vagabonds dared stick around this far up town. That was a recipe for a police stun baton shoved in places best left to the imagination. She couldn't have known that this perfectly safe alley was one of the few in the city where neither entrance could be seen by a camera. She also couldn't have known that the car hovering inconspicuously as though waiting for its passenger was in fact empty. When she walked by it, a beautiful brunette in a black dress just a little too short, wearing heels that were just a little too tall, that was when he struck.
One hand covered her mouth, expertly silencing her cries while making biting impossible. It was enough time for the other hand to shove a needle into her neck. The paralytic worked fast and he threw her into the back of the car, climbing in as well. The windows went to full tint and the car started driving its route. It would be seen half a dozen times on camera, always heading for the poor districts. If it was found at all, it would be found with her clothes in the back, her blood on the seat and the DNA of a known rapist carefully hidden. He was always good at forming the narrative of his kidnappings. Make sure the police were looking the exact wrong spot.
Her communicator he threw out into the alley. Too dangerous to bring that along. As the car drove, he cut her clothes off methodically, leaving them in a useless bundle on the floor of the car. He smiled apologetically at her and sliced her thumb, dribbling a small bit of blood on the seat. She was awake for all this of course—an anesthesia would show in the blood. A paralyzing agent would only affect the nervous system. When at last the car made a brief stop, he carried her out and set her in his new vehicle—his own, which would only be seen approaching his house from the other direction. She still had her gold jewelry in her ears and on her arms. No poor man would abandon those. He waited quietly as the car made its long journey to the upper class areas beyond the outskirts of the city. The house it eventually approached was a massive hilltop mansion, built in a purely modern style on sveral thousand acres all their own. Sleek, with protruding disc shaped rooms, the house was the best technological achievement money could buy. And waiting near the landing pad on the top of the house was his wife, dark haired and as beautiful to him as ever.
Before he removed their new prize, he took one final step. He forced an ornate silver collar, rather like a necklace and intricately patterned, around her throat. It clickewd with ominous finality and beeped to affirm it was secure. A proper shock collar, of his own design. The best way to turn a woman to a slave.
He climbed out, throwing his prize on the ground "The hunt went well" He smiled at his wife, kissing her deeply. "You'll need to get her cleaned up a bit—shave that body hair as well. I'll come along to keep an eye out. She's paralyzed for now—but that's probably starting to wear off already. Hopefully she has the sense not to cause too much trouble before we have her named and can explain exactly what she's doing here."
Evening was Alicia Kersney's favorite time of the day during her summer break. It meant the endless parties that she enjoyed so much. It meant meeting new people, dancing until her feet grew tired (though it was a wonder how she could dance all night in her high-heeled stilettos). It meant frequenting the clubs along Hampton Street, one of the more popular streets at the entertainment district, which was dotted with the VIP clubs that it was known for.
That evening, one of her acquaintances from the university was having a masquerade party at Club Mirage. The VIP club, one of her most frequented places, was closer to the condominium unit her parents bought for her on her 18th birthday, making it really convenient for her to come. She was really looking forward to the occasion after hearing that one of her old crushes would be coming.
Excited, the brunette took an hour dressing up, trying to figure out which clothing would accentuate the hourglass figure on that 5 foot 6 inch frame. She wasn't particularly skinny or slender like a model but her body was curvaceous and toned in the right places. Her chest, unfortunately, was not as generous as her backside but that could easily be remedied by a push-up bra. After tossing several of her designer outfits, she chose a simpler outfit which she deemed to be more sophisticated (or at least, she believed it gave her a more mature look): black body-hugging cocktail dress that reaches until her mid thighs. It was strapless, which exposed more of her flawless skin on the shoulders and arms. Her long and wavy chestnut hair, which was often restrained by hair tie or hair clip was allowed to flow freely on her back. The auburn highlights accentuated the curls that started to form on the tips. Meanwhile, her ears were adorned by gold fringe dangle earrings while her right arm had gold bangles that fitted well with the gold-strapped black stiletto sandals that she chose for that occasion. They were going to provide the masks at the entrance so she did not bother with that.
It was rather unfortunate that though she owned a sleek red Porsche, she couldn't use it for that night because it was currently at the service center for its annual maintenance check. And her usually dependable buddy, Fiona, was shopping in Europe. That night, she had no choice but to walk through the alley which she often used to escape whenever the party was getting boring or when she felt like hiding away with a new beau. It was usually empty, except for the rare ones living in Chelsea Hills who also opted to walk rather than parade in the latest car extravaganza. The short distance from her home was at least bearable for her high heels. Anyway, she could always charm a guy at the party to give her a ride home. That usually worked. She was aware of her beauty and flaunted it whenever she had the chance.
As the 22 year-old journalism student crossed the familiar alley, she was too distracted to notice the car that trailed her. Or the man that came out of the car.
Several rings and her call kept getting redirected to her friend's vidbox (video and voice mailbox). Exasperated, she finally decided to leave a message while casually walking along the alley. "Fiona! Where are you?! I've been trying to reach your phone but I keep getting directed to your voicemail! Call me when you get this message, okay? You're not going to believe who's coming to the party! Jake! THE Jake. That cute guy when we were freshmen! Oh my god! I almost hugged his hologram when I saw it! I'm so going to enjoy this night!"
Then she hanged up. Just in time for the hand to reach for her mouth, causing her to yelp. The sound of what could've been her cry of outrage was easily muffled by the stranger's hand. Her dark brown eyes widened as she saw what looked like a small green bottle with a needle poking out. She never had a chance to kick or flail as the needle soon pricked her skin, causing her body to feel numb. Her arms and legs felt like they were tied with heavy lead. She couldn't lift them even if she wanted to. She wanted to scream and shout but her lips and jaws couldn't even move. It was terrifying.
She found herself quickly shoved at the backseat like a rag doll. She must escape! She had to! Who knows what would happen to her? The six o'clock news did say something about organ-stealing syndicate on the loose again.
As she laid on the flush seat (which had the faint tangy scent of cheap car freshener), she wondered about her abductor, who sat on the backseat with her. He seemed to know what to do as he methodically cut her clothes until she was half naked, except for her lace panties and brassiere. But even those had to go and quickly discarded in a heap on the floor. 'Am I going to be raped?!' She would've covered her private parts had her body cooperated. But as she laid there, paralyzed and completely exposed, she could only watch him with those fear-stricken eyes.
The lights and shadows coming from outside played with his features but she could tell that had they met in more natural circumstances, she would've found him attractive. She wondered for the nth time that night about what he was planning to do with her. He did not seem like one of the low-class hoodlums who kidnapped people for money. On the contrary, he seemed like one of the high class persons.
Something shiny caught her eye as she was observing him. A small knife. And it quickly struck her thumb, which would've made her scream if her lips could even move or form sounds. She was paralyzed but that did not make her immune to the pain. She could only cry silently as the pain gripped her thumb for a short while. Then it was gone, replaced by the numbness that continued to plague her entire body.
Then the engine stopped. For a few minutes, she watched as he carried her to the other vehicle. Then for a while, she could only watch the lights from the tinted window as the car started to move again. Where was he taking her? Far away, where she could not be heard if she screamed? After what seemed like a long agonizing ride, the car finally stopped and she found herself wearing a silver collar (courtesy of her kidnapper) and then unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Damn him. That hurt!
She wanted to scream at him --- and her (she suddenly noticed the woman waiting for them) and demand justice. She was not like some animal that should be treated like that! She was a Kersney! She was the second daughter of a large automotive tycoon! They have no right to treat her like that! If she weren't paralyzed, she would've thrashed and kicked until all hell broke loose!
Maybe it was her determination. Maybe it was the medicine wearing off. Whatever it was, it was allowing her fingers to move. Her arms took longer to return to normal. Slowly and painfully, her limbs started to lose the numbness. And before long, she could already hoist herself to a sitting position. What she wanted the most was to speak. So she did.
"HOW DARE YOU TREAT ME LIKE THIS! YOU WILL HEAR FROM MY LAWYER! PREPARE TO GO TO JAIL, YOU SICK BASTARD!" She started to push herself to a standing position --- which was tough at first because her legs felt like they lacked bones and the ends of her toes felt like they were getting pricked by tiny needles. It didn't help that she was butt naked except for the collar on her neck. Goosebumps formed on her skin as she shivered from the coldness of the night. When she finally managed to stand up with dignity, she started to walk away. And tried to run.
That evening, one of her acquaintances from the university was having a masquerade party at Club Mirage. The VIP club, one of her most frequented places, was closer to the condominium unit her parents bought for her on her 18th birthday, making it really convenient for her to come. She was really looking forward to the occasion after hearing that one of her old crushes would be coming.
Excited, the brunette took an hour dressing up, trying to figure out which clothing would accentuate the hourglass figure on that 5 foot 6 inch frame. She wasn't particularly skinny or slender like a model but her body was curvaceous and toned in the right places. Her chest, unfortunately, was not as generous as her backside but that could easily be remedied by a push-up bra. After tossing several of her designer outfits, she chose a simpler outfit which she deemed to be more sophisticated (or at least, she believed it gave her a more mature look): black body-hugging cocktail dress that reaches until her mid thighs. It was strapless, which exposed more of her flawless skin on the shoulders and arms. Her long and wavy chestnut hair, which was often restrained by hair tie or hair clip was allowed to flow freely on her back. The auburn highlights accentuated the curls that started to form on the tips. Meanwhile, her ears were adorned by gold fringe dangle earrings while her right arm had gold bangles that fitted well with the gold-strapped black stiletto sandals that she chose for that occasion. They were going to provide the masks at the entrance so she did not bother with that.
It was rather unfortunate that though she owned a sleek red Porsche, she couldn't use it for that night because it was currently at the service center for its annual maintenance check. And her usually dependable buddy, Fiona, was shopping in Europe. That night, she had no choice but to walk through the alley which she often used to escape whenever the party was getting boring or when she felt like hiding away with a new beau. It was usually empty, except for the rare ones living in Chelsea Hills who also opted to walk rather than parade in the latest car extravaganza. The short distance from her home was at least bearable for her high heels. Anyway, she could always charm a guy at the party to give her a ride home. That usually worked. She was aware of her beauty and flaunted it whenever she had the chance.
As the 22 year-old journalism student crossed the familiar alley, she was too distracted to notice the car that trailed her. Or the man that came out of the car.
Several rings and her call kept getting redirected to her friend's vidbox (video and voice mailbox). Exasperated, she finally decided to leave a message while casually walking along the alley. "Fiona! Where are you?! I've been trying to reach your phone but I keep getting directed to your voicemail! Call me when you get this message, okay? You're not going to believe who's coming to the party! Jake! THE Jake. That cute guy when we were freshmen! Oh my god! I almost hugged his hologram when I saw it! I'm so going to enjoy this night!"
Then she hanged up. Just in time for the hand to reach for her mouth, causing her to yelp. The sound of what could've been her cry of outrage was easily muffled by the stranger's hand. Her dark brown eyes widened as she saw what looked like a small green bottle with a needle poking out. She never had a chance to kick or flail as the needle soon pricked her skin, causing her body to feel numb. Her arms and legs felt like they were tied with heavy lead. She couldn't lift them even if she wanted to. She wanted to scream and shout but her lips and jaws couldn't even move. It was terrifying.
She found herself quickly shoved at the backseat like a rag doll. She must escape! She had to! Who knows what would happen to her? The six o'clock news did say something about organ-stealing syndicate on the loose again.
As she laid on the flush seat (which had the faint tangy scent of cheap car freshener), she wondered about her abductor, who sat on the backseat with her. He seemed to know what to do as he methodically cut her clothes until she was half naked, except for her lace panties and brassiere. But even those had to go and quickly discarded in a heap on the floor. 'Am I going to be raped?!' She would've covered her private parts had her body cooperated. But as she laid there, paralyzed and completely exposed, she could only watch him with those fear-stricken eyes.
The lights and shadows coming from outside played with his features but she could tell that had they met in more natural circumstances, she would've found him attractive. She wondered for the nth time that night about what he was planning to do with her. He did not seem like one of the low-class hoodlums who kidnapped people for money. On the contrary, he seemed like one of the high class persons.
Something shiny caught her eye as she was observing him. A small knife. And it quickly struck her thumb, which would've made her scream if her lips could even move or form sounds. She was paralyzed but that did not make her immune to the pain. She could only cry silently as the pain gripped her thumb for a short while. Then it was gone, replaced by the numbness that continued to plague her entire body.
Then the engine stopped. For a few minutes, she watched as he carried her to the other vehicle. Then for a while, she could only watch the lights from the tinted window as the car started to move again. Where was he taking her? Far away, where she could not be heard if she screamed? After what seemed like a long agonizing ride, the car finally stopped and she found herself wearing a silver collar (courtesy of her kidnapper) and then unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Damn him. That hurt!
She wanted to scream at him --- and her (she suddenly noticed the woman waiting for them) and demand justice. She was not like some animal that should be treated like that! She was a Kersney! She was the second daughter of a large automotive tycoon! They have no right to treat her like that! If she weren't paralyzed, she would've thrashed and kicked until all hell broke loose!
Maybe it was her determination. Maybe it was the medicine wearing off. Whatever it was, it was allowing her fingers to move. Her arms took longer to return to normal. Slowly and painfully, her limbs started to lose the numbness. And before long, she could already hoist herself to a sitting position. What she wanted the most was to speak. So she did.
"HOW DARE YOU TREAT ME LIKE THIS! YOU WILL HEAR FROM MY LAWYER! PREPARE TO GO TO JAIL, YOU SICK BASTARD!" She started to push herself to a standing position --- which was tough at first because her legs felt like they lacked bones and the ends of her toes felt like they were getting pricked by tiny needles. It didn't help that she was butt naked except for the collar on her neck. Goosebumps formed on her skin as she shivered from the coldness of the night. When she finally managed to stand up with dignity, she started to walk away. And tried to run.
Kristellin stood barefoot in her overly large kitchen. She had been much too excited to just sit around today, and hoped that baking a few treats would settle her nerves a bit. She moved quickly over to the oven and set the temperature to about three hundred and seventy-five degrees, letting the black stainless steel machine warm up before she started mixing together her ingredients. She walked back over to where she had laid out everything she would need to make her favorite homemade apple cranberry peanut butter crisps. Kristellin loved to spend her free time in the kitchen, mixing up new concoctions to try and perfect. She began mixing in the first few ingredients, which consisted of three large gala apples that had been peeled, a handful of dried cranberries, and a fourth cup of brown sugar and cinnamon. She mixed everything around in the bowl with her hands, Kristellin was a very hands' on lady, until she was satisfied that every piece of apple and cranberry was evenly coated. Kristellin stepped over to her clean empty sink, she tapped the faucet and the warm water ran over her hands and rinsed away the bits of cinnamon and brown sugar. She tapped in once more to turn it off.
"Donna." She called out and almost immediately she heard the pitter patter of the woman's' small feet rushing toward her on the smooth tile that almost covered her entire house. "Mam," Donna's voice responded as she rounded the corner and pushed open the kitchen door to where she had heard her name being called. "Spoon out the contents of this bowl onto that baking sheet." She ordered, pointing to where the bowl, spoon, and pan was lying over on the dark granite counter. "Yes mam," She chimed. After washing her hands thoroughly Donna set to work doing exactly what her master had told her to do, being extra careful not to make a mess.
Kristellin turned back to the rest of the ingredients and began working on the topping that she would sprinkle on top of the apples that Donna was already spooning out. She glanced down at her phone that was in front of her and pressed the home button to reveal the time. A small smile slid across her face and she began to work quickly throwing in the flour, wheat germ, brown sugar, peanut butter, and the walnuts. She stirred and mixed the various ingredients until they were all but crumbles and then added a few extra walnuts just because they were her favorite. "You got everything cleaned up and ready for our new guest." She stated, reverting her eyes from the mix over to Donna, who was spooning the last bit of the apple mix onto the pan. "Yes mam," She said, quietly as she turned to the sink to rinse her hands off, and also trying to hide the frown that had graced her thick round lips.
Donna dried her hands off quickly and turned back to her master to see that she was already sprinkling the topping over the small mounds of apple lumps on the baking pan. She wanted to ask her lady various questions about their new member, but she knew her place and she wasn't going to speak unless she was given permission to speak freely or if she was spoken too. Kristellin could feel Donna's eyes raking over her as she scooped the mixture onto the apples, making quite a large mess in doing so. "Oh, don't be that way. You'll always be my favorite I'm sure." Kristellin picked up the pan and placed it in the preheated oven.
Donna had already moved over to the dirty dishes and messy counter and was cleaning up. Kristellin washed her hands of the remnants of the mixed ingredients and had a seat on one of the bar stools in front of Donna. "You better at least perk up when he gets home, you don't want him seeing you in this pouty mood." She commented as she watched her clean the counter and dishes and placed everything out to dry. Suddenly a small chime came from the alarm system screen that was mounted in the wall behind Kristellin, both woman turned to look at the small display screen and saw a car rolling into the driveway. Kristellin jumped up and headed toward the door, calling back over her shoulder, "Come along, and be on your best behavior. I shouldn't have to warn you of this." Kristellin would remember Donna's attitude and think of a suitable punishment later, right now she was too excited about her new present that was pulling up outside.
Kristellin opened the thick, tall oak wood door, and walked out onto the brick walkway to the very end where the car was already pulling up. The bricks were warm underneath her bare feet, her red toenail polish shined and the glittered top coat sparkled as she bounced up and down on the heels of her feet in anticipation. Her perky breast jiggled beneath the blue crop top that was just translucent enough to see her soft pink nipples that were standing erect, and she had chosen to wear a pair of her tight black yoga pants that flared slightly away from her ankles. Kristellin looked back to see Donna trailing slowly behind her. At least she had managed to wipe the grim look off her face as she made her way out to stand behind Kristellin. Donna had been wearing her 'cleaning clothes' still from this morning's chores. A white tank top hugged her small muffin top, and white pants stuck tightly to her thick thighs. The sun shone brightly down on her white clothes revealing small spots from her previous jobs of cleaning around the house. Donna's red hair was tied tightly back in to a small pony tail, strands hung in various places, refusing to be tamed. Donna stared down at the woman who laid on the ground at their feet, the same collar adorned her neck and she knew that the day was finally here and she would have to share her masters.
Kristellin meet her husband with a warm smile and returned a passion filled kiss. She looked down at her newly wrapped gift and couldn't control the adrenaline and happiness that emitted from her. Her body shook slightly from the excitement of all the things that were to come when acquiring a new slave. "Yes sir." She purred as he told her that she would need to be washed up and shaved. "Oh, she is even more lovely than the pictures." She told him excitedly running her eyes over the woman's bare body. She then turned her gaze back to her husband, who stood just a little taller than her. "Thank you!" she said, the appreciation oozing from her voice as she placed a small kiss directly on his cheek.
Kristellin reverted her attention back to the young lady as she started to scream. "Oh, don't be this way," She joked, a frown appearing over her lightly reddened lips. She watched as the girl tired her best to make a getaway, and she thought it would have been a decent try if not for the nifty little collar she was now wearing. Kristellin pulled her wrist closer to her face and pressed a few buttons, giving her a shock strong enough to bring a large man to his knees. She had never been a fan of these high tech devices, she liked the old school way of punishment, but they did seem to come in handy when someone was trying to escape. Kristellin headed toward the girl and signaled for Donna to come along as well. "Oh, dear I am sorry about that, but you didn't really give me much of an option." She told the girl. "Come now let's get you all cleaned up."
Kristellin and Donna picked the girl up and toted her back up the brick walkway and through the wood door. They carried her right into Donna's bathroom, which would now be known as the slave's bathroom. Donna dropped one side of the girl to go ahead and start running the water for them, she wanted to turn the cold on a little extra but she knew that would get her a severe shock. "Okay, you're dismissed Donna why don't you go check on my treats and make sure they don't burn." "Yes, mam," She replied and turned disappearing through the door.
"Okay now little girl," she said turning to face her. "This can go several ways for you. All I want to do is give you a nice bath and clean you up. This doesn't have to be painful, but depending on how you act will depend on the level of pain you receive, and it goes all the way from zero to ten." Kristellin's voice was harsh as she spoke to the woman, and the sweet looks she had been giving her husband had all but disappeared. She knew that the woman would make this difficult but she could at least wait until after her bath. "Please don't make me get rough with you, I most enjoy being gently." She whispered in her ear one last time before she released the woman's arm.
"Donna." She called out and almost immediately she heard the pitter patter of the woman's' small feet rushing toward her on the smooth tile that almost covered her entire house. "Mam," Donna's voice responded as she rounded the corner and pushed open the kitchen door to where she had heard her name being called. "Spoon out the contents of this bowl onto that baking sheet." She ordered, pointing to where the bowl, spoon, and pan was lying over on the dark granite counter. "Yes mam," She chimed. After washing her hands thoroughly Donna set to work doing exactly what her master had told her to do, being extra careful not to make a mess.
Kristellin turned back to the rest of the ingredients and began working on the topping that she would sprinkle on top of the apples that Donna was already spooning out. She glanced down at her phone that was in front of her and pressed the home button to reveal the time. A small smile slid across her face and she began to work quickly throwing in the flour, wheat germ, brown sugar, peanut butter, and the walnuts. She stirred and mixed the various ingredients until they were all but crumbles and then added a few extra walnuts just because they were her favorite. "You got everything cleaned up and ready for our new guest." She stated, reverting her eyes from the mix over to Donna, who was spooning the last bit of the apple mix onto the pan. "Yes mam," She said, quietly as she turned to the sink to rinse her hands off, and also trying to hide the frown that had graced her thick round lips.
Donna dried her hands off quickly and turned back to her master to see that she was already sprinkling the topping over the small mounds of apple lumps on the baking pan. She wanted to ask her lady various questions about their new member, but she knew her place and she wasn't going to speak unless she was given permission to speak freely or if she was spoken too. Kristellin could feel Donna's eyes raking over her as she scooped the mixture onto the apples, making quite a large mess in doing so. "Oh, don't be that way. You'll always be my favorite I'm sure." Kristellin picked up the pan and placed it in the preheated oven.
Donna had already moved over to the dirty dishes and messy counter and was cleaning up. Kristellin washed her hands of the remnants of the mixed ingredients and had a seat on one of the bar stools in front of Donna. "You better at least perk up when he gets home, you don't want him seeing you in this pouty mood." She commented as she watched her clean the counter and dishes and placed everything out to dry. Suddenly a small chime came from the alarm system screen that was mounted in the wall behind Kristellin, both woman turned to look at the small display screen and saw a car rolling into the driveway. Kristellin jumped up and headed toward the door, calling back over her shoulder, "Come along, and be on your best behavior. I shouldn't have to warn you of this." Kristellin would remember Donna's attitude and think of a suitable punishment later, right now she was too excited about her new present that was pulling up outside.
Kristellin opened the thick, tall oak wood door, and walked out onto the brick walkway to the very end where the car was already pulling up. The bricks were warm underneath her bare feet, her red toenail polish shined and the glittered top coat sparkled as she bounced up and down on the heels of her feet in anticipation. Her perky breast jiggled beneath the blue crop top that was just translucent enough to see her soft pink nipples that were standing erect, and she had chosen to wear a pair of her tight black yoga pants that flared slightly away from her ankles. Kristellin looked back to see Donna trailing slowly behind her. At least she had managed to wipe the grim look off her face as she made her way out to stand behind Kristellin. Donna had been wearing her 'cleaning clothes' still from this morning's chores. A white tank top hugged her small muffin top, and white pants stuck tightly to her thick thighs. The sun shone brightly down on her white clothes revealing small spots from her previous jobs of cleaning around the house. Donna's red hair was tied tightly back in to a small pony tail, strands hung in various places, refusing to be tamed. Donna stared down at the woman who laid on the ground at their feet, the same collar adorned her neck and she knew that the day was finally here and she would have to share her masters.
Kristellin meet her husband with a warm smile and returned a passion filled kiss. She looked down at her newly wrapped gift and couldn't control the adrenaline and happiness that emitted from her. Her body shook slightly from the excitement of all the things that were to come when acquiring a new slave. "Yes sir." She purred as he told her that she would need to be washed up and shaved. "Oh, she is even more lovely than the pictures." She told him excitedly running her eyes over the woman's bare body. She then turned her gaze back to her husband, who stood just a little taller than her. "Thank you!" she said, the appreciation oozing from her voice as she placed a small kiss directly on his cheek.
Kristellin reverted her attention back to the young lady as she started to scream. "Oh, don't be this way," She joked, a frown appearing over her lightly reddened lips. She watched as the girl tired her best to make a getaway, and she thought it would have been a decent try if not for the nifty little collar she was now wearing. Kristellin pulled her wrist closer to her face and pressed a few buttons, giving her a shock strong enough to bring a large man to his knees. She had never been a fan of these high tech devices, she liked the old school way of punishment, but they did seem to come in handy when someone was trying to escape. Kristellin headed toward the girl and signaled for Donna to come along as well. "Oh, dear I am sorry about that, but you didn't really give me much of an option." She told the girl. "Come now let's get you all cleaned up."
Kristellin and Donna picked the girl up and toted her back up the brick walkway and through the wood door. They carried her right into Donna's bathroom, which would now be known as the slave's bathroom. Donna dropped one side of the girl to go ahead and start running the water for them, she wanted to turn the cold on a little extra but she knew that would get her a severe shock. "Okay, you're dismissed Donna why don't you go check on my treats and make sure they don't burn." "Yes, mam," She replied and turned disappearing through the door.
"Okay now little girl," she said turning to face her. "This can go several ways for you. All I want to do is give you a nice bath and clean you up. This doesn't have to be painful, but depending on how you act will depend on the level of pain you receive, and it goes all the way from zero to ten." Kristellin's voice was harsh as she spoke to the woman, and the sweet looks she had been giving her husband had all but disappeared. She knew that the woman would make this difficult but she could at least wait until after her bath. "Please don't make me get rough with you, I most enjoy being gently." She whispered in her ear one last time before she released the woman's arm.
James had never really been one to react to stimuli normally. When a woman started screaming, most men would have turned protective. Some might have shown concern, some bravado, some a slightly overdone stoicism trying to prove how much they cared by demonstrating how little they cared. But when his recent captive started screaming, he laughed. Not a chuckle of amusement, not a silent smirk—a deep bellowing laugh from his gut. It certainly said something about her that here she was—naked, collared, utterly helpless—and yet her first instinct was to think that threatening him with her ability to call on Daddy's lawyer was going to improve her situation. If her we the kind of person to feel pity, he might have felt it for her. Instead, he felt satisfaction—looking forward to the time when he could shove cold hard reality down her throat—no doubt in a more literal sense than she would appreciate.
He watched as Krissy dealt with her pathetic attempt to run away. He was just annoyed that it had broken up his extended series of 'thank yous' from a wife who seemed delighted by her present. He would no doubt be extracting her thanks in full later, in the ways she knew to show her appreciation to a husband who doted on her. Not without good reason. Any man seeing that ass of hers in yoga pants would have done the same. She was quite a sweet thing, far more down to earth than most spoiled rich girls one was likely to meet. Her various hobbies, especially her baking, were delightfully quaint. A woman who had a slave—now two—to do everything she could possibly want, but still cooked and baked and even made her husband his dinner as often as not. He liked to think his own influence was responsible for that. She didn't seem to be wearing on of her collars at the moment—but she didn't need to be. He had established their dynamic a long time ago and she had never really shown any inclination to fight it. He worked, kept their wealth coming in, while she ran the household, hosted social events and gave just enough of that money away to win them both the occasional philanthropy reward. Not to mention spending it on the best money could buy. Their top of the line cars, their tailor made designer clothes, the house that she had helped plan out room for room, their summer and winter homes far from the city. Nothing but the best. The same philosophy he had followed in selecting their slave's.
He made his way down to the kitchen, smelling something good cooking while he left his wife to handle her business. Domestic affairs like keeping the slave's clean and clean shaven was her responsibility. He hadn't eaten since the night before and snatched one of her crisps straight out of the oven. Hot, but not so terribly hot that a little blowing and a high tolerance for pain didn't render it enjoyable to eat. He relaxed against the counter an was still enjoying the snack when Donna returned. That hadn't been her name when they had acquired her. Truth be told, he couldn't even remember what it had been—and he doubted he could either. She was a pretty thing and always had been. She was getting a little bit on the chubby side—he suspected his wife was over rewarding again, she had done the same thing when he had gotten her a puppy. He would have to tweak her exercise and eating schedule a bit—slightly smaller portions, a bit more exercise and a stern talking to with Krissy about coddling her pets. He kept the slave's on a very strict, simple diet. Basic nutrients, well made, but neither flavourful nor particularly appealing. A way to prevent overeating and it allowed his wife to use her various baked goods as rewards. Their exercise was also a daily ritual, making sure they had the strength and stamina to endure what was done to them most evenings.
He gave her a stern look as he finished eating "I don't want you snatching any of these crisps off the pan Donna" He warned her. His voice wasn't threatening or angry—it rarely was, unless a beating was imminent. If anything
his voice was paternal, just the right mix of 'you can do better and 'I expect nothing less'. "Mistress might spoil you, but this is my house and I won't have you forgetting that. If I find out you've been pilfering food again—well aside from my belt, you can forget you nice silk pillow at the foot of our bed and tailor fitted lingerie. You'll be right back in a cold concrete cell wearing nothing but a steel chain and a few bruises." He walked past her and looked back at her "And I want to see you smiling more. No one finds a pouty slave pretty. And you want your master to think you're pretty, don't you little Donna?"
He left the question unanswered, making his way up to the bathroom the slave's used. It was still an exceptionally nice bathroom, with a large tub like a small pool, set directly into the floor. Their room had something similar, though with warm water filling the tub, not just available through the showerhead. The room was best equipped for beatification though, with stations for makeup and hair dye and all that could be needed to make sure their bodies and faces were flawless even while they worked. He stood in the doorway and watched his wife reprimand the slave—she was beautiful when she was stern, as long as she wasn't trying to be stern with him. He stepped in when she was done, pulling her up and playfully smacking her ass as he looked down at the slave "My wife is being nice to you. I suggest you do as she says. She has a sweet disposition—I don't. Right now, your options are to cooperate with her or be persuaded be me. And as your new mistress can no doubt attest, by preferred method of persuasion involves a belt and you not sitting down for the next day or two." He gestured at a wash towel and a straight razor nearby "So I guess the question is—how much pain are you willing to cause yourself just to prove how unhappy you are?"
He watched as Krissy dealt with her pathetic attempt to run away. He was just annoyed that it had broken up his extended series of 'thank yous' from a wife who seemed delighted by her present. He would no doubt be extracting her thanks in full later, in the ways she knew to show her appreciation to a husband who doted on her. Not without good reason. Any man seeing that ass of hers in yoga pants would have done the same. She was quite a sweet thing, far more down to earth than most spoiled rich girls one was likely to meet. Her various hobbies, especially her baking, were delightfully quaint. A woman who had a slave—now two—to do everything she could possibly want, but still cooked and baked and even made her husband his dinner as often as not. He liked to think his own influence was responsible for that. She didn't seem to be wearing on of her collars at the moment—but she didn't need to be. He had established their dynamic a long time ago and she had never really shown any inclination to fight it. He worked, kept their wealth coming in, while she ran the household, hosted social events and gave just enough of that money away to win them both the occasional philanthropy reward. Not to mention spending it on the best money could buy. Their top of the line cars, their tailor made designer clothes, the house that she had helped plan out room for room, their summer and winter homes far from the city. Nothing but the best. The same philosophy he had followed in selecting their slave's.
He made his way down to the kitchen, smelling something good cooking while he left his wife to handle her business. Domestic affairs like keeping the slave's clean and clean shaven was her responsibility. He hadn't eaten since the night before and snatched one of her crisps straight out of the oven. Hot, but not so terribly hot that a little blowing and a high tolerance for pain didn't render it enjoyable to eat. He relaxed against the counter an was still enjoying the snack when Donna returned. That hadn't been her name when they had acquired her. Truth be told, he couldn't even remember what it had been—and he doubted he could either. She was a pretty thing and always had been. She was getting a little bit on the chubby side—he suspected his wife was over rewarding again, she had done the same thing when he had gotten her a puppy. He would have to tweak her exercise and eating schedule a bit—slightly smaller portions, a bit more exercise and a stern talking to with Krissy about coddling her pets. He kept the slave's on a very strict, simple diet. Basic nutrients, well made, but neither flavourful nor particularly appealing. A way to prevent overeating and it allowed his wife to use her various baked goods as rewards. Their exercise was also a daily ritual, making sure they had the strength and stamina to endure what was done to them most evenings.
He gave her a stern look as he finished eating "I don't want you snatching any of these crisps off the pan Donna" He warned her. His voice wasn't threatening or angry—it rarely was, unless a beating was imminent. If anything
his voice was paternal, just the right mix of 'you can do better and 'I expect nothing less'. "Mistress might spoil you, but this is my house and I won't have you forgetting that. If I find out you've been pilfering food again—well aside from my belt, you can forget you nice silk pillow at the foot of our bed and tailor fitted lingerie. You'll be right back in a cold concrete cell wearing nothing but a steel chain and a few bruises." He walked past her and looked back at her "And I want to see you smiling more. No one finds a pouty slave pretty. And you want your master to think you're pretty, don't you little Donna?"
He left the question unanswered, making his way up to the bathroom the slave's used. It was still an exceptionally nice bathroom, with a large tub like a small pool, set directly into the floor. Their room had something similar, though with warm water filling the tub, not just available through the showerhead. The room was best equipped for beatification though, with stations for makeup and hair dye and all that could be needed to make sure their bodies and faces were flawless even while they worked. He stood in the doorway and watched his wife reprimand the slave—she was beautiful when she was stern, as long as she wasn't trying to be stern with him. He stepped in when she was done, pulling her up and playfully smacking her ass as he looked down at the slave "My wife is being nice to you. I suggest you do as she says. She has a sweet disposition—I don't. Right now, your options are to cooperate with her or be persuaded be me. And as your new mistress can no doubt attest, by preferred method of persuasion involves a belt and you not sitting down for the next day or two." He gestured at a wash towel and a straight razor nearby "So I guess the question is—how much pain are you willing to cause yourself just to prove how unhappy you are?"