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Moon
- Joined
- Oct 25, 2011
- Location
- Sydney
Miket's Request Thread
Before I go further - or you do - I want to be clear on what I'm looking for. I can sum it up in three words: women becoming property. Not my attitude, but my characters will think this way, whether yours agree or not (in fact I'd rather they didn't, at least at first); either exquisite, prized possessions to be tended with exacting care, maintained with pride and used with frenetic passion, but used all the same or cheap toys to be broken in a fit of temper. I'm looking for things like exploitation, coercion, blackmail, slavery, brutality, bondage, kidnapping, rape, abuse, objectification, degradation, domestication and domination in the most absolute context. This does not mean I expect your character to bow down by the tenth post however, unless that's what you're into, as I find suspense, tension and a good challenge are all an integral part of such stories. As important as domination, sexuality and possession.
I'm Offering: an open invitation to participate in erotic role-plays with an experienced, dominant male. I bring a level of effort, quality and focus to my role-plays, even when played via IM or chat, endevouring to create interesting, steamy plots and to articulate them with finesse. If you're interested you'll find examples of my role-playing lower down - some of my plots and intros - and you can find my K-list here. Bear in mind the likes section represents kinks which I am prepared to write, but do not actively seek out or lace my games with. If you'd like to know more about me as an individual click here.
What You Need: someone with whom I share some proclivities and kinks, someone who finds the themes mentioned above interesting. Moreover I'm looking for an individual who will enjoy my writing, and while the ability to make every post a masterpiece is not required a little staying power, or failing that courtesy is a must. Furthermore, though I know they're quite popular, I have to ask that if you use an AVI or PB for your character try to avoid anime. It really doesn't work for me. And lastly regarding absences, or loss of interest I appreciate it happens. When it does happen however a quick PM - in the event of any prolonged absence - will greatly increase the chances of me not laughing at you should you ask to continue when you come back, while in those cases where you find yourself unable to continue at all the sooner you let me know the sooner I'll get on with things and the less time I'll have wasted. Furthermore should you wish to try playing with me again at some later juncture I'll be open to the idea.
Note that I will not play long-term, in-depth games via forum, email or PM with untried, or questionable partners. I'm sorry, but it is too great a gamble. If you're looking for something along those lines I need to see some indication that you're capable of sticking it out first.
Plots & Intros
Most of my plots are detailed with either a short description, or a written introduction. In the latter case it can serve as the first post for a forum game, but need not.
Stepford Syndrome: a young reporter, always on the lookout for odd news and gossip, hears about a town with a most unusual quality. It seems here life has gone back to the way it was in the 50's, albeit in some warped, and highly over-stated fashion. The women giggle and flirt like school girls, and if they're not pregnant or doing house work they're always made up and well dressed. Men seem to rule the roost, and nobody ever complains. Of course she can't believe it's really like this, but thinks it might be worth investigating when she talks to several people whose relatives or friends were either travelling through or nearby, and never came back, latter sending letters or calling to say they're now married, often with a child on the way. It seems to her something sinister; a cult perhaps, but either way she is certain it will make a good story. On arriving she finds out it is exactly as described, if not even more unusual, but the locals all seem welcoming and as reported nobody seems unhappy, and nobody complains. What she doesn't know is this town has a trick up it's sleeve, and the moment she arrived she was marked by someone who wants to make her a permanent resident.
Sibling Revelry: (click for intro, keep in mind that names can be changed, and feel free to PM if you require additional information)
In the three months since his father had-remarried, earning him a knew step-sister, Mark had discovered he was not particularly happy with this new company. Denise, the girl in question, was older than him by a fair margin after all, and they had nothing in common. With nothing, really, to talk about it was hardly like having a real sibling, and since they had not really grown up together she did not really feel like family either so he did not feel guilty in the slightest for disliking her. She was really just someone new who could boss him around, and he had been used to doing almost anything he pleased before that, while getting almost everything he wanted. For that he resented her presence, and thought it wasn’t a very nice way to think about things the truth was Mark wasn’t, very nice that is. In fact he could be a complete douche at times. It was almost perversely Freudian, really, in that most things came down to impulse and sex with him, and while that wasn’t unusual for someone his age he tended to carry it a little further. Troublingly so at times. The wealth of his famiy coupled with the way he looked, and not to mention his popularity at school, largely derived of his sporting skills, had accrued him a degree of success with girls his age which went some way toward explaining those negative traists he possessed that seemed derived of arrogance. Atop that a few very lucky trysts with one particular senior at his high-school coupled with his overall personality ensured another delightful trait on his part; a rather challenging, self-regarding confidence that could border on problematic inappropriateness when dealing with young women, who he did not seem to think much of beyond what they looked like and could be used for. He was used to getting what he wanted though, and that was - in truth - much more of an explanation why he disliked Denise than anything else. He wanted her, badly, that was plain enough, though he was hardly alone - calling it an almost universal masculine sentiment would have only bordered on flattery - and it was unlikely she had not guessed it. She was unilaterally disinterested in him however and therein lay the issue.
That he wanted her was clear enough. There were hints that were too plain to even be called hints. The issue of their pool, for example, stood out. It had been finished a few weeks after Denise moved in; a huge, landscaped thing set amid the luxurious, verdant landscaping of their backyard. Mark had more than a little trouble keeping himself from staring on those occasions when she used it if he happened to be around. Although barely dressed, glistening wet, incredibly attractive woman were something many grown men would have had trouble looking away from so for a young man of sixteen a little inappropriate staring was perhaps forgivable. The occasions on which she remarked and he responded.
'If it bothers you keep your clothes on,' were less so, and showed something of his essential nature. More indicative, and less so again were additional comments like, 'or maybe it doesn't bother you, maybe you like being a cock-tease, and that's why you can't keep your clothes on,' and that they were ostensibly added to himself hardly made it any better. Particularly when she could so easily overhear him.
Things had taken a step up from there. On another day, while they had been at a beach Denise had found a secluded spot, and taken off her top to tan her back. He had seen it as an irresistible opportunity, and on moving to sit up she discovered her top missing, while the only person around, apart from some kids playing among the dunes, had been him. After calling him over he claimed one of the kids had stolen it, although in truth he had put him up to it, but that he would get it back for her. Only, he had observed, her back seemed a little dry, and appeared to need some more oil which he offered to help with. She, naturally, refused.
'Well, if I'm not good enough to help with this I'm obviously not good enough to get your top back. So I'll just go, and you can walk back to the car park,' he had responded. With little choice in the end Denise had been forced to go along with him. There was nothing innocent about the way his hands had repeatedly slipped where she had not really wanted them in the ensuing moments. Perhaps worse, possibly just as bad, or maybe not so bad had been the incident following this. She had to jump out of the shower to get the phone in the upstairs hallway, towel-clad and rushing as she thought no-one else home. It had turned out Mark was downstairs however and he had rushed for it too, getting there first. Denise had turned to walk away, but the call was for her, or so he claimed and as she was adjusting the towel he said as much, but even as she turned Mark tossed her the cordless phone. Instinctively catching it, using both hands so as not to be struck in the face, the barely-dressed girl had unfortunately let go of the towel that she had been adjusting, and it promptly fell off. The memory of him laughing seemed to wrack her with embarrassment as she fled to her room although he always claimed later that it had been an accident, naturally.
All that said however there was nothing accidental about what Mark meant to do next. His father was no fan of hers, he knew that, and sadly enough for her - though he thought it funny, and oppertune - her mother, who would have done anything to stay married to her new and rather wealthy husband, was now of the same mind. So when Mark discovered she had stolen a cash-advances from one of his father’s credit cards to pay for books which her parents refused to help out with - saying she needed to pay her own way - after loosing a job he knew he had struck a gold mine. He had discovered the theft the day before when Denise had left her laptop in the family room, and he had decided to see if she had anything interesting in her hard-drive. Discovering a file where she had taken down credit card details Mark had promptly taken a screenshot before uploading it to an online image host so he would always have a copy, securing it in a private album. The thing was his father had been stolen from before, by Mark himself ironically yet he had believed his son however when he blamed Denise although he had done nothing as there had been no proof, but he had warned her that if it happened again, or if any proof ever came up, she would be thrown out. He had also said that they would press charges, and given her precarious financial position, and the problems a record could cause for her at college it was really no small matter.
Having discovered it three days before his parents were to leave town for a week, planning to reveal what he knew when they did, caused the ensuing days to pass in an agonized crawl however, and when the moment did finally arrive Mark felt quite excited. He could have been found - a sinewy, tan skinned, dark-haired figure - lying face up on his bed, and tossing a tennis ball against the roof loudly, catching it again each time it fell as the time idled away. Rolling over however and realizing it was a full hour now since he had heard his father’s car pulling out of the driveway his eyebrows short up over a pair of dark brown eyes, and after rolling languidly off the bed he adjusted the plain white t-shirt he wore, dusting his hands on his jeans and tossed the ball into a laundry hamper. Mark stretched his surprisingly powerful shoulders back sinously then until the finely contoured muscles shivered with pent up tension. Standing up with that, his posture louche, he headed for his computer. It took a moment for him to print the screenshots, and he frowned and tapped his fingers nervously against his jeans while waiting. Coughing loudly as it pumped out the sheet of paper at last however the athletic teen snatched it up from the machine with such haste the edge tore, and he swore while checking it although nothing important had been damaged. Standing near to six feet, he was able to slap the top of the doorframe as he paced through almost jauntily, energized by his own excitement.
Mark wasn’t sure where Denise was, or what she was doing, and he was not entirely sure what he would do either. Part of him wanted her gone. She was too attractive, and for a teenager gripped in the berserk throws of raging adolescence lusting after anything and everything even vaguely female in shape with unutterably obscene intensity being around her was like being forced to eat a bottomless bucket of sand while some sadist stood by telling you there was cool glass of water in it for you when you had finished. A part of him wanted something else which he did not yet dare to think about, but most of all, at that moment, Mark wanted to see the look on her face. Also since she was ostensibly in charge he knew it would be fun to flip the power dynamic, in fact it might be more than fun he began to realize, on a level he felt scarcely aware of it actually excited him in a way he did not think it should have. Still he knew it would be nice to not have to listen to her, or do whatever she said, that was what was important. It was with these thoughts in mind that he made for her bedroom.
'Hey Denise?' he called out in a loud voice, 'I've got something you should see,' his voice was smug, thick with a gloating sense of triumph.
The young man leaned heavily into her door, while one hand moved to the handle, and he slipped through then with a certain lazy grace before leaning against the doorframe, grinning as his gaze swept her bedroom. A deeper part of his mind was moved to wonder as his gaze crossed her bedroom, halting over certain articles of clothing, pondering on some dark level just what else he might be able to make her do. It was a thrilling thought and made his heart beat a little faster, while certain visions formed in his mind that caused a rush of guilty lust, a thing that was perhaps too intense yet to be comfortable.
That he wanted her was clear enough. There were hints that were too plain to even be called hints. The issue of their pool, for example, stood out. It had been finished a few weeks after Denise moved in; a huge, landscaped thing set amid the luxurious, verdant landscaping of their backyard. Mark had more than a little trouble keeping himself from staring on those occasions when she used it if he happened to be around. Although barely dressed, glistening wet, incredibly attractive woman were something many grown men would have had trouble looking away from so for a young man of sixteen a little inappropriate staring was perhaps forgivable. The occasions on which she remarked and he responded.
'If it bothers you keep your clothes on,' were less so, and showed something of his essential nature. More indicative, and less so again were additional comments like, 'or maybe it doesn't bother you, maybe you like being a cock-tease, and that's why you can't keep your clothes on,' and that they were ostensibly added to himself hardly made it any better. Particularly when she could so easily overhear him.
Things had taken a step up from there. On another day, while they had been at a beach Denise had found a secluded spot, and taken off her top to tan her back. He had seen it as an irresistible opportunity, and on moving to sit up she discovered her top missing, while the only person around, apart from some kids playing among the dunes, had been him. After calling him over he claimed one of the kids had stolen it, although in truth he had put him up to it, but that he would get it back for her. Only, he had observed, her back seemed a little dry, and appeared to need some more oil which he offered to help with. She, naturally, refused.
'Well, if I'm not good enough to help with this I'm obviously not good enough to get your top back. So I'll just go, and you can walk back to the car park,' he had responded. With little choice in the end Denise had been forced to go along with him. There was nothing innocent about the way his hands had repeatedly slipped where she had not really wanted them in the ensuing moments. Perhaps worse, possibly just as bad, or maybe not so bad had been the incident following this. She had to jump out of the shower to get the phone in the upstairs hallway, towel-clad and rushing as she thought no-one else home. It had turned out Mark was downstairs however and he had rushed for it too, getting there first. Denise had turned to walk away, but the call was for her, or so he claimed and as she was adjusting the towel he said as much, but even as she turned Mark tossed her the cordless phone. Instinctively catching it, using both hands so as not to be struck in the face, the barely-dressed girl had unfortunately let go of the towel that she had been adjusting, and it promptly fell off. The memory of him laughing seemed to wrack her with embarrassment as she fled to her room although he always claimed later that it had been an accident, naturally.
All that said however there was nothing accidental about what Mark meant to do next. His father was no fan of hers, he knew that, and sadly enough for her - though he thought it funny, and oppertune - her mother, who would have done anything to stay married to her new and rather wealthy husband, was now of the same mind. So when Mark discovered she had stolen a cash-advances from one of his father’s credit cards to pay for books which her parents refused to help out with - saying she needed to pay her own way - after loosing a job he knew he had struck a gold mine. He had discovered the theft the day before when Denise had left her laptop in the family room, and he had decided to see if she had anything interesting in her hard-drive. Discovering a file where she had taken down credit card details Mark had promptly taken a screenshot before uploading it to an online image host so he would always have a copy, securing it in a private album. The thing was his father had been stolen from before, by Mark himself ironically yet he had believed his son however when he blamed Denise although he had done nothing as there had been no proof, but he had warned her that if it happened again, or if any proof ever came up, she would be thrown out. He had also said that they would press charges, and given her precarious financial position, and the problems a record could cause for her at college it was really no small matter.
Having discovered it three days before his parents were to leave town for a week, planning to reveal what he knew when they did, caused the ensuing days to pass in an agonized crawl however, and when the moment did finally arrive Mark felt quite excited. He could have been found - a sinewy, tan skinned, dark-haired figure - lying face up on his bed, and tossing a tennis ball against the roof loudly, catching it again each time it fell as the time idled away. Rolling over however and realizing it was a full hour now since he had heard his father’s car pulling out of the driveway his eyebrows short up over a pair of dark brown eyes, and after rolling languidly off the bed he adjusted the plain white t-shirt he wore, dusting his hands on his jeans and tossed the ball into a laundry hamper. Mark stretched his surprisingly powerful shoulders back sinously then until the finely contoured muscles shivered with pent up tension. Standing up with that, his posture louche, he headed for his computer. It took a moment for him to print the screenshots, and he frowned and tapped his fingers nervously against his jeans while waiting. Coughing loudly as it pumped out the sheet of paper at last however the athletic teen snatched it up from the machine with such haste the edge tore, and he swore while checking it although nothing important had been damaged. Standing near to six feet, he was able to slap the top of the doorframe as he paced through almost jauntily, energized by his own excitement.
Mark wasn’t sure where Denise was, or what she was doing, and he was not entirely sure what he would do either. Part of him wanted her gone. She was too attractive, and for a teenager gripped in the berserk throws of raging adolescence lusting after anything and everything even vaguely female in shape with unutterably obscene intensity being around her was like being forced to eat a bottomless bucket of sand while some sadist stood by telling you there was cool glass of water in it for you when you had finished. A part of him wanted something else which he did not yet dare to think about, but most of all, at that moment, Mark wanted to see the look on her face. Also since she was ostensibly in charge he knew it would be fun to flip the power dynamic, in fact it might be more than fun he began to realize, on a level he felt scarcely aware of it actually excited him in a way he did not think it should have. Still he knew it would be nice to not have to listen to her, or do whatever she said, that was what was important. It was with these thoughts in mind that he made for her bedroom.
'Hey Denise?' he called out in a loud voice, 'I've got something you should see,' his voice was smug, thick with a gloating sense of triumph.
The young man leaned heavily into her door, while one hand moved to the handle, and he slipped through then with a certain lazy grace before leaning against the doorframe, grinning as his gaze swept her bedroom. A deeper part of his mind was moved to wonder as his gaze crossed her bedroom, halting over certain articles of clothing, pondering on some dark level just what else he might be able to make her do. It was a thrilling thought and made his heart beat a little faster, while certain visions formed in his mind that caused a rush of guilty lust, a thing that was perhaps too intense yet to be comfortable.
Bought & Sold: slavery. Hardly something that rates highly among the concerns of the average first-worlder, although they might hear about it on the news now and again. Diamond mines, human trafficking, there's an air of distance to it all. Its not something that happens here, not something that could happen to you. That is just how one young woman felt about the subject all her life, when she thought about it all, and that was rarely. To her profound shock though the 'flesh trade,' was made all too real one day when she found herself personally involved. It was all very unsettling and disturbing, being kidnapped one day and wondering, while languishing in alien bondage, what the motive could be. There was no inhumanity though, they treated her well enough. She had acess to decent facilities, and was largely left alone, and really the only thing she couldn't handle was the isolation and uncertainty. It did not last long though - maybe a week - before the day when they told her, to her indignant outrage, that she had been purchased. It was almost surreal. Why, or what for no-one told her. However things became dreadfully clear when she finally met her new 'owner,' only to discover, humiliatingly enough, it was a man she knew. Someone from her own normal, real life. A rival. A man who had wanted her, who she had rejected... Who now owned her.
Nowhere To Go: it's getting harder to find a job, especially if you're in college and need to attend classes during the day. One girl knows this all too well, and it certainly did not help matters when her parents claimed she wasn't pulling her weight and kicked her out. Thankfully she was able to crash with friends during the college term, but they're feeling the pinch too. After the break they plan to get a new tenant, and that means she needs to find somewhere before it's over. The only place that comes to mind is hardly a real solution, but it might do for a few months until she can get back on her feet. So she asks her step-brother if he can snag her a key to their beachside place the family owns, and often uses during the holidays - although they're not planning to this year - and he seems glad to help out. It's a forty-five minute commute from there to class, and a pain in the ass, but it's a roof and it's free, and she has nowhere else to go for now. The problem seems solved. Seems solved, that is, until her step-brother shows up a few days into the break. It seems he wasn't being entirely selfless in getting her the key, and wants something in return, and when all he needs to do is make a single phone call to have her thrown out she doesn't have much room to refuse.
Local Hero: it was a break she needed, a solid three weeks holiday after years without, but the first two weeks were anything but relaxing. She just wasn't the sort of young woman who could pass things up, and had to see the sights, visit the night spots, and meet the locals. However when she realized two-thirds of her holiday had passed and she still hadn't gotten a single good nights sleep she promised herself the last week would be spent relaxing. Unfortunately the beaches were all crowded and noisy, and that made it difficult to simply lay back, reading, working on ones tan however when one of the hotel staff recommended a less populated stretch not far from the hotel she found it to be almost perfect. The only problem was a group of local surfers who objected to the presence of a tourist, but despite the occasional catcall if they happened to be nearby they spent most of their days past the shore break and well out of her hair. Unfortunately for her one of them had plans, and when he turned up one morning, as early as usual, to find a sign posted warning swimmers about a dangerous riptide he removed it. He knew the tourist always took a short swim before leaving, after all. Just as he had guessed she got herself into some trouble, but he was right there. It seemed a strangely benevolent act for someone who had resented her presence up until then, but what the visitor did not know was that her saviour wanted a reward, and did not mean to let her get away without giving it up.
The Badge: in the near future advances in biological warfare make it the premierre military commodity for any nation able to afford it. The proliferation of designer viruses eventually allowing even various non-governmental, and some very unsavoury groups to get hold of designer viruses and other nasty biological agents. Perhaps as a result of this, or perhaps due to a simple accident - the cause remains unknown - a dangerous virus escapes into the general population. A virus which targets only the male sex (designed in the hopes of reducing military manpower in rival nations) and though initially fatal it quickly undergoes a mutation after causing relatively few casualties. The results are severe however as the mutated virus renders much of the male population sterile. Now in order to mantain population levels the relatively few remaining men capable of breeding (less than one percent of the population) are issued permits which obligate any fertile woman to allow them sexual acess. Or face a substantial prison sentence.
A Good Wife Always... (click for intro, keep in mind that names can be changed, and feel free to PM if you require additional information)
Kurt had only ever met his father four or five times. His step-father featured more heavily in his life, in truth, although out of a displaced sense of guilt his mother did not allow him much authority over her son. Those times he had met his real father had all been moments of intense fascination, rapt approval, and unbridled fun. This was due to Eric - Kurt’s biological father - being the owner of a vastly successful trading company. Such wealth and power, along with its inevitable accoutrements, were something Kurt had deeply idolized, and he had always dreamed of being equally successful himself, of being equally wealthy, but thought he was capable of a great deal of hard work and self-discipline, and so did quite well at school, and was an achiever when it came to sport as well, he lacked that essential spark. Kurt was in other words talented, but not gifted; intelligent, but not a genius; dedicated but not obsessed, and in all the things he did, though he did well, he always met those who did better. Moreover he lacked the creativity to strike-out on his own, and so his reach - in the shape of his longings - exceeded his grasp, in the shape of his abilities, however Kurt may well have found this less problematic if he had known more about the way his father felt.
In short Eric, who had not been especially good to Kurt’s mother even after she became pregnant with his child, felt very guilty after their separation, and though she had come away with very little she had also refrained from seeking any more equitable outcome primarily on the grounds that he had produced a will in which he left everything to his son. Likely as not he would have changed this one day were it not for what occurred when Kurt was sixteen in that his father had died in a place crash which killed six other people as well. He did not like to think about it over-much in that he hardly felt grief, but his family - those close to him - assured him he had no cause for guilt when he had barely known the man, however the sense of lost potential did at times sadden him. At that time Kurt had not known what this would mean for him as his father’s wealth meant there was quite a lot of red tape to be worked through by the executor of his estate - his friend and long-time attorney - before his will could be obeyed, and funds allocated. Everything went to him though, and yet in a way this did not leave Kurt any wealthier. Some liquid assets were transferred to his name of course, but this amounted to no more than a few thousand dollars, and he was now able to make use of his father’s untenanted properties, but the majority - including the company his father had built - was placed in trust. It would become his on his eighteenth birthday, and until then all decisions were in the hands of the executor of his fathers estate who was to manage all of these assets with Kurt’s interests in mind.
After long deliberation with accountants, the current deputy-head, and temporary head of his father’s company and an assortment of financial planners it was felt it might be in Kurt’s interests to go public and liquidate the company. The profits would then be reinvested into more stable ventures. Others felt a minor restructuring of the company itself might sufficiently stabilize it so that there was no chance of the business failing now it lacked a visionary leader at the helm. Unable to decide the executor had left the decision ostensibly to Kurt, but legally this meant it was in the hands of his legal guardian. Kurt himself took umbrage with this, and spoke to his executor. He was fond of his mother but hotly resented the thought of his step-father, to whom she had deferred the decision on the basis of her lack of knowledge, having any say about his future. James - his father’s former attorney, friend and now the executor of the estate-in-trust - then advised him that if he no longer had a legal guardian he would be able to make the decision himself, and that he could effect this by simply moving out. At sixteen it was legal for him to do so if he could prove that he had the means to support himself, and there was a proviso within the will which enabled him to access a stipend in just such an event. With that, and the ability to take up residence in one of his father’s, now essentially his, properties it was a simple matter. His father’s former residence was not too distant so no change in schools had been required although there had been one unfortunate catch. It was occupied, though not tenanted. Nevertheless he had moved, and chosen to have James make arrangements to liquidate.
The occupant was a former girlfriend of his fathers, a woman working in the same company. Unfortunately she too had been taken off-guard by his death, even if their affair had been somewhat casual. It had more to do with her financial situation in that he had recognized talents in her despite her lack of experience which had seen her promoted quite lucratively. Thinking to gain some much needed solvency she had leveraged a number of loans in an attempt to begin her own small business, but before getting off the ground Eric had passed on. With interest to pay, among other expenses, she had not been able to afford to find new accommodation although Kurt had not been legally permitted to eject her, as with no other accommodation available to her she was allowed three months in which to find some. She had planned to take advantage of three rent-free months regardless of whether she could find somewhere or not however and so they were essentially room-mates and had been for five weeks. The property was extensive however and so avoiding one another had been a simple matter, although in truth Kurt would not have chosen to avoid her himself. Things continued in that fashion until the day she learned from a fellow employee about the coming liquidation of the company. That had occurred on a Friday.
Today was Saturday. Twelve minutes past ten, AM, to be precise, and naturally Kurt was still in bed. This was due to a combination of factors: it was Saturday, as said, it was the off-season, and he was sixteen, as like most teenagers in other words he remained in bed until he absolutely had to get up or got bored of lying in one place although the latter could take a long time. He was awake, but that was largely because he was so used to being up and about at this hour, his body having adjusted its expectations accordingly, yet even if he was unable to sleep he relished the welcoming warmth and the happy feeling of repose. Furthermore it was wonderful to meditate on the happy knowledge that he had nowhere to be and nothing to do until much later in the evening when he would be going out with some friends. Ten minutes or so passed in idle thought like this before the young man floated back down into the soft, welcoming arms of shallow doze.
The room was messy, but my teenage male standards it was nothing outrageous. Considering that it’s owners was essentially living alone this would have tended to suggest a certain dutifulness as aside from three or four articles of clothing on the floor the room was tidy, and even clean. On the other hand it would have been hard to make it seem cluttered with mess because it was huge. That it was an apartment bedroom seemed incredulous, but the view - a rich cityscape from the uppermost floor - confirmed it. It was an apartment, a penthouse apartment in fact, one situation on the top floor of a rather exclusive, and quite new complex. The neighbourhood was an affluent one though perhaps more nouveau-riche than truly respectable, the on-site parking a must - perched amid a swathe similar high-rise complexes no amount of money could secure parking within a radius of several miles - it stood close to thirty stories, a striking edifice of reflective glass and shining steel, the only chinks in its smooth surface being the balconies each apartment possessed. The penthouse itself was a split-level, six bedroom residence which took up almost the whole top two floors of the building. There was only one other apartment - both taking up the entire space - on those same floors, and only these residences had roof access. Neither possessed a balcony - save off the master bedroom - for that reason as the roof formed an outdoor entertainment area partly shaded with steel-framed, tinted glass, and partly exposed. A verdant space, the extensive greenery was potted in some areas, but in others strips of earth were planted with more conventional gardens. They were all tended professionally, and made up of small palms, ferns and other green plants.
Inside, on both floors, a strip-window reaching almost floor-to-ceiling girdled the main open-plan living spaces, and the bedrooms were placed to share this view. The interior was expensively and tastefully furnished, while this and the décor tended to suggest the touch of a professional had been engaged. Necessities - kitchen, bathrooms, etc - aside the ground floor consisted largely of an open plan space split into three contiguous, yet stylistically and functionally distinct areas. One, an entertainment area, containing a massive, pricey looking corner couch and a wall-mounted entertainment centre. Close by was more dedicated lounge area with two sofas facing each other over a coffee table, while the final space consisted of a dining area. The upper floor contained a smaller open space where a staircase lead up to the roof along with a common area and bar, and a hallway which led to the bedrooms. Every one of which was fitted with a walk-in robe and on-suite bathroom. Kurt’s room - the master bedroom - was at the end of the hall. Aside from a walk-in robe and on-suite bathroom it had a large, private balcony fitted with a Jacuzzi, boasted private access to the roof, and a small sitting area atop everything else a bedroom needed.
This was Kurt’s new home. Not that he was thinking about it. In fact he was thinking about getting up, and to that end he languidly raised one leg, kicking almost spasmodically at the thick covers to push them down around his knees before shifting onto his side and stretching sinuously, a delicious feeling quiver caressing the svelte muscles in his back at the apex of its arc before he sagged, and yawned. Sitting up even as he finished yawning then the young man raised his hand, scratching the back of his head in a way that saw his glossy yet unkempt black hair left in greater disarray as he looked around, blinking a few times. His blue-eyed gaze took in the untidiness, and then widened when he caught a look at himself in a full-length mirror, stunned by his own pillow-hair. Rolling to the edge of the bed, and inadvertently pulling the sheets off which were now wrapped about his knees Kurt stood before pulling free of the linen, leaving it sprawled over the ground as he heated for the wardrobe, an athletic figure clad in no more than a pair of boxer-briefs. Rolling his athletically contoured shoulders lazily, and stretching his spine again he picked up a shirt with his toes, and flicked it up into the air where he snatched at it, tossing it into a nearby hamper. He disappeared into the wardrobe with that, and appeared a moment later wearing a white tee-shirt and a pair of jeans, his shoes in one hand as he made for the hamper, and hefted it holding it under one arm, tugged up against his hip. With that, he headed for the door, and out into the hallway.
In short Eric, who had not been especially good to Kurt’s mother even after she became pregnant with his child, felt very guilty after their separation, and though she had come away with very little she had also refrained from seeking any more equitable outcome primarily on the grounds that he had produced a will in which he left everything to his son. Likely as not he would have changed this one day were it not for what occurred when Kurt was sixteen in that his father had died in a place crash which killed six other people as well. He did not like to think about it over-much in that he hardly felt grief, but his family - those close to him - assured him he had no cause for guilt when he had barely known the man, however the sense of lost potential did at times sadden him. At that time Kurt had not known what this would mean for him as his father’s wealth meant there was quite a lot of red tape to be worked through by the executor of his estate - his friend and long-time attorney - before his will could be obeyed, and funds allocated. Everything went to him though, and yet in a way this did not leave Kurt any wealthier. Some liquid assets were transferred to his name of course, but this amounted to no more than a few thousand dollars, and he was now able to make use of his father’s untenanted properties, but the majority - including the company his father had built - was placed in trust. It would become his on his eighteenth birthday, and until then all decisions were in the hands of the executor of his fathers estate who was to manage all of these assets with Kurt’s interests in mind.
After long deliberation with accountants, the current deputy-head, and temporary head of his father’s company and an assortment of financial planners it was felt it might be in Kurt’s interests to go public and liquidate the company. The profits would then be reinvested into more stable ventures. Others felt a minor restructuring of the company itself might sufficiently stabilize it so that there was no chance of the business failing now it lacked a visionary leader at the helm. Unable to decide the executor had left the decision ostensibly to Kurt, but legally this meant it was in the hands of his legal guardian. Kurt himself took umbrage with this, and spoke to his executor. He was fond of his mother but hotly resented the thought of his step-father, to whom she had deferred the decision on the basis of her lack of knowledge, having any say about his future. James - his father’s former attorney, friend and now the executor of the estate-in-trust - then advised him that if he no longer had a legal guardian he would be able to make the decision himself, and that he could effect this by simply moving out. At sixteen it was legal for him to do so if he could prove that he had the means to support himself, and there was a proviso within the will which enabled him to access a stipend in just such an event. With that, and the ability to take up residence in one of his father’s, now essentially his, properties it was a simple matter. His father’s former residence was not too distant so no change in schools had been required although there had been one unfortunate catch. It was occupied, though not tenanted. Nevertheless he had moved, and chosen to have James make arrangements to liquidate.
The occupant was a former girlfriend of his fathers, a woman working in the same company. Unfortunately she too had been taken off-guard by his death, even if their affair had been somewhat casual. It had more to do with her financial situation in that he had recognized talents in her despite her lack of experience which had seen her promoted quite lucratively. Thinking to gain some much needed solvency she had leveraged a number of loans in an attempt to begin her own small business, but before getting off the ground Eric had passed on. With interest to pay, among other expenses, she had not been able to afford to find new accommodation although Kurt had not been legally permitted to eject her, as with no other accommodation available to her she was allowed three months in which to find some. She had planned to take advantage of three rent-free months regardless of whether she could find somewhere or not however and so they were essentially room-mates and had been for five weeks. The property was extensive however and so avoiding one another had been a simple matter, although in truth Kurt would not have chosen to avoid her himself. Things continued in that fashion until the day she learned from a fellow employee about the coming liquidation of the company. That had occurred on a Friday.
Today was Saturday. Twelve minutes past ten, AM, to be precise, and naturally Kurt was still in bed. This was due to a combination of factors: it was Saturday, as said, it was the off-season, and he was sixteen, as like most teenagers in other words he remained in bed until he absolutely had to get up or got bored of lying in one place although the latter could take a long time. He was awake, but that was largely because he was so used to being up and about at this hour, his body having adjusted its expectations accordingly, yet even if he was unable to sleep he relished the welcoming warmth and the happy feeling of repose. Furthermore it was wonderful to meditate on the happy knowledge that he had nowhere to be and nothing to do until much later in the evening when he would be going out with some friends. Ten minutes or so passed in idle thought like this before the young man floated back down into the soft, welcoming arms of shallow doze.
The room was messy, but my teenage male standards it was nothing outrageous. Considering that it’s owners was essentially living alone this would have tended to suggest a certain dutifulness as aside from three or four articles of clothing on the floor the room was tidy, and even clean. On the other hand it would have been hard to make it seem cluttered with mess because it was huge. That it was an apartment bedroom seemed incredulous, but the view - a rich cityscape from the uppermost floor - confirmed it. It was an apartment, a penthouse apartment in fact, one situation on the top floor of a rather exclusive, and quite new complex. The neighbourhood was an affluent one though perhaps more nouveau-riche than truly respectable, the on-site parking a must - perched amid a swathe similar high-rise complexes no amount of money could secure parking within a radius of several miles - it stood close to thirty stories, a striking edifice of reflective glass and shining steel, the only chinks in its smooth surface being the balconies each apartment possessed. The penthouse itself was a split-level, six bedroom residence which took up almost the whole top two floors of the building. There was only one other apartment - both taking up the entire space - on those same floors, and only these residences had roof access. Neither possessed a balcony - save off the master bedroom - for that reason as the roof formed an outdoor entertainment area partly shaded with steel-framed, tinted glass, and partly exposed. A verdant space, the extensive greenery was potted in some areas, but in others strips of earth were planted with more conventional gardens. They were all tended professionally, and made up of small palms, ferns and other green plants.
Inside, on both floors, a strip-window reaching almost floor-to-ceiling girdled the main open-plan living spaces, and the bedrooms were placed to share this view. The interior was expensively and tastefully furnished, while this and the décor tended to suggest the touch of a professional had been engaged. Necessities - kitchen, bathrooms, etc - aside the ground floor consisted largely of an open plan space split into three contiguous, yet stylistically and functionally distinct areas. One, an entertainment area, containing a massive, pricey looking corner couch and a wall-mounted entertainment centre. Close by was more dedicated lounge area with two sofas facing each other over a coffee table, while the final space consisted of a dining area. The upper floor contained a smaller open space where a staircase lead up to the roof along with a common area and bar, and a hallway which led to the bedrooms. Every one of which was fitted with a walk-in robe and on-suite bathroom. Kurt’s room - the master bedroom - was at the end of the hall. Aside from a walk-in robe and on-suite bathroom it had a large, private balcony fitted with a Jacuzzi, boasted private access to the roof, and a small sitting area atop everything else a bedroom needed.
This was Kurt’s new home. Not that he was thinking about it. In fact he was thinking about getting up, and to that end he languidly raised one leg, kicking almost spasmodically at the thick covers to push them down around his knees before shifting onto his side and stretching sinuously, a delicious feeling quiver caressing the svelte muscles in his back at the apex of its arc before he sagged, and yawned. Sitting up even as he finished yawning then the young man raised his hand, scratching the back of his head in a way that saw his glossy yet unkempt black hair left in greater disarray as he looked around, blinking a few times. His blue-eyed gaze took in the untidiness, and then widened when he caught a look at himself in a full-length mirror, stunned by his own pillow-hair. Rolling to the edge of the bed, and inadvertently pulling the sheets off which were now wrapped about his knees Kurt stood before pulling free of the linen, leaving it sprawled over the ground as he heated for the wardrobe, an athletic figure clad in no more than a pair of boxer-briefs. Rolling his athletically contoured shoulders lazily, and stretching his spine again he picked up a shirt with his toes, and flicked it up into the air where he snatched at it, tossing it into a nearby hamper. He disappeared into the wardrobe with that, and appeared a moment later wearing a white tee-shirt and a pair of jeans, his shoes in one hand as he made for the hamper, and hefted it holding it under one arm, tugged up against his hip. With that, he headed for the door, and out into the hallway.
See next post for more plots & generic pairings...
The In Crowd: In almost every high-school there is a popular, successful group, often jerks, who seem to get everything they want. A kind of school-yard aristocracy. Well this school is essentially no different. It differs slightly only in that when one of the group’s members finds himself introduced into the wonderful world of coercion, blackmail and extortion he gets to thinking that, really, he does not actually have everything he wants, but apropos of the former introduction all of that is about to change, and not just for him, but for his friends as well. In fact they all become quite determined to continue pushing the envelope until they do, literally, have everything they want. The problem with wants however is what seems enough one day quickly becomes passé, and then you end up wanting more. Things which, in the back of your mind, you always knew you wanted, but which you also knew were wrong to take.
Well for one young man and his two best friends right and wrong have never rated all that highly among their concerns. Explicitly so in fact, but then again they all have their excuses. One lives in an awful neighbourhood and his mother is a famous slacker who’s almost never home and so most people are willing to overlook the fact that he already has a record, despite his age, or at least they are until they meet him. Then they find out why he has a reputation as a bully and a preternaturally aggressive thug. The school’s music teacher just cannot seem to see that though and is constantly reaching out to him, worried about his home life. He finds this humiliating and has been looking for a way to turn the tables for some time. One of his friends facilitates him in this. Meanwhile another member of this charming trio was perhaps a little over-eager about getting in on the action himself. A miscalculation with one of the school’s cheerleaders saw him facing certain legal troubles. Even so his wealthy family supplied the best possible defense counsel (a female lawyer, naturally, to aid in swaying the juries sympathies) and given the victims reputation it should not have been a problem. Nobody even expected the case to go to trial. Had it there would have been a problem though in that the defenses own counsel found her arrogant client so appalling she attempted to sabotage his defence by leaking certain details to the accuser. This would probably have worked, but fortunately for him he found out before too much damage was done. Or unfortunately depending on whose view you take. Conspiring against ones own client is a serious crime after all. There is a lot some people would do rather than face such a charge.
Other Pairings
If you would rather collaborate on a game, create something from scratch or suggest your own here are some pairings I'm currently looking to play. Keep in mind however this list is not comprehensive so if you have an idea not listed feel free to PM me. Note that those listed in italics are the roles I'm interested in
Student / Teacher
Local / Tourist
First Owner / Slave
Criminal / Police Officer (or Attorney / ADA)
Foreigner (or Local) / Tourist
Kidnapper / Victim
Step-Brother / Step-Sister
Local / Tourist
First Owner / Slave
Criminal / Police Officer (or Attorney / ADA)
Foreigner (or Local) / Tourist
Kidnapper / Victim
Step-Brother / Step-Sister
Singular Roles: (for you) cheerleader, celebrity (pitch me a name or ten) model, lifeguard, co-ed, babysitter, super-heroine (again, pitch me a name or ten; OC's welcome), rivals, or anything else you can come up with based on the character page linked below.
