|| {C}hained . F a t e s ||

an S x M roleplay

Private One x One rp Starring Rainbow lime and extraordinary_rebel_13

~Cast~
Rainbow lime is; May Edwards, femme fatale, 23 and Human.

Rebel plays; Thomas Jordan. Male, age 22, human.

Thomas Jordan (Tom), male sub/slave, 22, human

((no picture is currently available; i'd like this to be a training/breaking in, if that's okay.))

The weather was overcast and dismal, a misty rain washing the streets and making the large city look even monotonous and deppressing than usual. A lone car bumped along one of the more deserted roads, it's headlights brightening the streets it shot past and splashing gutter water onto the boots of lone characters who still persevered the weather enough to walk with an umberella. The driver of said vehicle was a sensible man, a well payed man. His situation in life was not of the highest quality but he had nothing to complain about, unlike the dismal scum which so often haunted back alleys and community entry-ways begging for their shares of scraps.

This comfortable placement in life was not due to hard work though, it was dumb luck and he knew it. It didn't matter thought, as long as he just did as asked he was lead to believe himself a competent man in the game of life. It was of course the lady that he chauffered around the city so often that gave him this lifestyle, she was a well off lady and on the odd occassion she did comment on his work it was often to remind him that whatever he saaw in the car, whatever was said in this car was to be left in the car and that was it. So far he hadn't done anything or seen anything to make him re-think this oath but today...

She'd propper her chin on her fist, starring as if hypnotised out into the rain and mud splattered streets, muttering under her breath. It was these mutterings that had alerted the driver to the uniqueness of where they were heading. The address had been bad enough, a shady spot on the outskirt of the town, a change fro the usualupstart parties they usually attended. Ah well, to but the unusual one must usually go to unusual means. A well said phrase considering the bartering of a human life was not a sale you'd find everyday.

{hope this is okay and at least sorta what you wanted...}

Tom forced himself not to strain against the hands yanking him down the corridor. He closed his eyes briefly, his thoughts drifting back to happier days before he'd come to this, this horrid place. All he could do was pray that wherever he went next was better than this. When Tom opened his eyes again, he was in a tiny closet. The man that'd been pulling him down the corridor stood before him, holding out a pair of ripped jeans. Silently, Tom took them and pulled them on. They were too tight, rubbing uncomfortably against his bare crotch. And they had rips on the inside of his upper thigh. Great.

The man yanked Tom's shirt off, cast it to the floor, and pulled him out of the closet. Allowing himself to be pulled along, Tom and the man went down several flights of stairs and into a huge hall. A sign propped facing the door read Slaves for sale. Name your price. Tom bit his lip, feeling a slight swell in his stomach, and allowed himself to be pushed down to the floor. He glanced up at the man, who was glaring at him, and quickly shifted his position- kneeling on one leg, head bowed, eyes fixed on a floor tile in front of him. The man walked away, but Tom still did not dare to move an inch.

He heard the door open and couldn't help looking up. A woman, a very pretty and probably very wealthy woman had strolled inside. Tom licked his lips slightly, forcing himself to not get up and move over to her.

May Strode into the dingy room as if her very presence was a light itself, her head high while only her eyes bothered to lower themselves to the floor and sweep over what there was. Slim pickings one might say. Despite the shadowy exterior the room was well lit to illuminate the features of all it's products, other than this there was little luxury in the cell-like rooms and it might only be commented upon that May would be happy to get out as soon as her browsing time aloud it.

Her eyes raked over various specimen, each with a gloomy face and no favourable disposition. There seemed a ‘type’ for everyone and she pinpointed stereotypical types everywhere she looked. Rebellious but tameable fireballs of personality in one corner while timid mousy individuals sat, too fear stricken to do anything but obey. All of them had ended up near the bottom of life, too poor or unwanted to really have anything to do with their lives, so they ended up here where someone told them what they could do with their lives. May often saw the world such a brutish manner, slaves were there not by choice or hardship, they were sent here because it was the way life was always going to work for them. Even if they didn’t know it, these people wanted to be here, they needed masters far more than a master needed them.

“Such a lively bunch!” She laughed, the sound echoing against the wall and back at her like the very room denounced any sort of happiness.
“And so lavish the clothing, do you often dress do formal?”
She stopped in front of a young man, his age couldn’t be more than two years above or below hers. He was pretty in a hardened sort of way, but he seemed…distanced, or pleading, it was difficult to tell. The man who had apparently just brought him down edged away slightly, the recognised symbol that he hoped she’d look and take an interest.
The slaves eyes had met her for only a brief second, the connection had her feeling slightly queasy. A slave had dared to size her up, judge her like she was one of their own!?
“Find something nice to look at or id a habit of your to glare at others?”

Tom kept his head down as the woman walked around the large room. He glanced up slightly to watch her, a curious look on his face. He couldn't help laughing a little at her words. And, though he tried to stifle it, he immediately earned a smack to the head from the man that'd dragged him in. Still smirking slightly, he bent his head again and fixed his eyes on the floor. This woman didn't seem like the type to be browsing for a slave. She seemed more the kind of well-to-do woman, content to living out of her husband's pocket and going to balls and operas. She didn't seem like a dominant woman. No, not at all.

Do you often dress so formal? Her words echoed in Tom's ears. Truth was, the boys and men brought here usually weren't allowed clothes. Well, not clothes they'd want to be seen in. The people who ran the horrible place didn't think that slaves were worthy of real clothes. Ripped shirts, usually with nothing else, were common. So were the boys who walked about naked. Tom was one of the 'lucky' ones; since he was no longer considered a boy, he was allowed a shirt. The boys, some as young as 12 and 13, weren't allowed to wear any clothes. As long as they were in the slave house, they went naked...

Tom's eyes were still on the floor when he heard the woman's next words. He sensed his keeper move away, and looked up a little. He immediately wished he hadn't; he was drawn in by this woman. Her raven-colored hair, her full lips, and her... Tom forced himself not to look at her breasts, but at her eyes again. Making direct eye contact was something that they weren't supposed to do, but Tom didn't care. He wanted to look at her, had to look into her eyes. Find something nice to look at or is a habit of your to glare at others? Oh, right, she'd asked him something. She probably wasn't expecting an answer, but too bad.

"I found something nice to look at, actually," Tom answered with a cocky smile. "I hope I wasn't glaring at you; I'd never want to..."

It probably wasn't the best idea to answer with that voice, or with that smile, but... that was who Tom was. If this woman wanted him enough- and part of Tom hoped she did- she'd train him. She'd get rid of his attitude, make him obviously submissive. A part of Tom didn't want her to want him, but another part of him wanted her so badly. That part was bigger, and it was probably obvious to her...