With a near-silent rush of sound, a figure appears in the doorway.

Copper skin shimmers in the shifting light, a short white terrycloth robe only seeming to make the skin gleam more golden. The robe is belted loosely at the waist, and the lapels slowly ease into a flesh-filled gap as the figure falls to its' knees.

Rounded hips settle upon heels, knees parting to spread previously hidden creamy-golden thighs, now wide apart until the glowing robe swallows the tantalizing view of flesh. A full and rounded figure, only hinted at beneath the white folds, shifts subtly as back is arched, chest thrust forward proudly, even as shoulders draw back. A graceful neck arches as the figure raises its' chin high, flashing green eyes falling to the floor even as a tiny pink tongue darts out to moisten full, curved lips.

As a deep breath eases from the humbly proud figure, the full white sleeves move until tawny palms lay atop each parted thigh, palms upward and fingers curled in subtle invitation. A subtle shake of the head, and dark hair, leaping in the muted light, cascades in loose waves and curls to brush at the figure's waist, curling upwards to gently frame the heart-shaped face as a slight flush colors the slanted cheekbones. At first appearances, it is simply black, but a closer inspection reveals the dark ebony strands shot through with sun-brought highlights of brown, red, and blonde tips.

"might a girl please enter, kind One?" stirs a soft, husky whisper.

I would like to try something a little different here...

But maybe something that could be a little more enjoyable.

What I am seeking to do is get away from 'storytelling', and instead make each person an integral part of the story.

WhereI come from, its called text roleplaying - where you speak in third or first person, of your own actions, feelings, etc.

I was hoping that it might catch some of you's eyes, or interest, or something.

Basically, you write yourself into the story - ie join the party. And while 'roleplaying', you can be anyone, anything, doing whatever you'd like - because its us acting or pretending to be something or someone we're not.

Anywho, thanks for reading this - I appreciate at least that much.




And sorry I made it into a poll - I am new here, so utterly worthless at everything - LOL
^_^

Green eyes flash around the room, settling to rest on the form of the girl. A hand is raised to beckon her forward, gesturing that her movements remain low, intimating that she crawl into His prescence.

The black leather boots are the focus of her eyes as she moves forward, feline grace as her body sways beneath the robe. A deep, rich voice fills her ears "What do you seek in My world, little one?"

__________________
Strength in depth

I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul

Her full, shining lips part, a soft exhalation of pleasure and relief slipping through them. She shudders as His voice ripples over her, and a heated gasp is caught in her chest, thrusting her full globes in silent plea towards the heavens.

She catches the faint flicker of movement from beneath the screen of her lashes, and quickly bobs her golden head.

With the tantalizing sound of cloth rubbing on cloth, her upper body tilts forward, falling onto palms splayed upon the thick, cushioning carpet. The burly white pile seems to swallow the hushed sounds of her movement as her hips writhe, her legs extending and retracting, her tawny arms flashing in and out of the pools of light that dapple across the rippling sea of ivory carpet. Bobbing, dancing mounds of flesh appear between the robe's lapels, her gently curving heart shaped derriere disappearing and then reappearing beneath the rippling folds of the pristine cloth that harbors her inner self.

His voice pours into her being, and as her body glides to rest before Him, the subtle glow of His boots before her. She feels fulled to bursting as His words echo within her very soul, and thus her deeply indrawn breath is inundated with Him - His scent, His presence, the very air He breathes, mayhap...

Her coppery legs draw up beneath her hips once more, her torso bending down, down, arms twining about the malevolently glowing smoothness before her.

She bends her head, coral lips pursing, puckering gently, her pent up breath fogging against the glistening surface as first one, and then both of His dark shoes are kissed gently. She bows her head, dropping until her faintly flushed, slanted cheek falls between the towering presence of His boots and exhales.

The words tumble from her tongue - little more than a rush of air, less than a whisper.

"A girl seeks Your presence, and Your pleasure, sweet Master," he intones, then falls into perfect stillnes and silence.

He knows she is ready. He has sent her forth to Glyndwyr as her first command following her training. The hours of learning, the sometimes gentle, sometimes hard, always purposeful methods he employs assure results. This was the first of the great tests, like the tasks of Hercules, much was given, much was expected. As a homage to this first time, he had outfitted her in a white robe symbolizing purity and virginity.

She is his favorite, of this she is unaware. Her body, so full, so built to please was like no other. Always wet, always willing, he had dominated her with a fiery passion that grew with each passing week. She had painstakingly learned to please, to follow not just the explicit verbal directions, but to sense the physical cravings of the master and anticipate his desire oft before he was aware. Within the rigid framework of submitting, she had raised her own satisfaction to degrees she thought impossible.

Silently he watched them from the shadows .....

__________________
" Each day through my window, I watch her as she passes by, I say to myself, you're such a lucky guy. To have a girl like her, is truly a dream come true. Out of all the fellas in the world, she belongs to me. ..
...This couldn't be a dream, for too real it all seems...

But it was just my imagination, runnin away with me, it was just my imagination, runnin away with me. "

Smokey Robinson

Finally the cloak of emptiness is removed as again his words ring through the room.
"you have the presence you seek, but My pleasure is not so easily acquired, it has to be earned"
The still air is slashed by the sound of the riding crop, the leather tip whistling on it's speeding journey before contact is made across one of her buttocks, the terry robe absorbs most of the sting, but the message is clear.
"Lower"
There is no malice in His voice, no anger or chiding, however it is a voice that is used to obedience.
He rises effortlessly to His feet, the boots fogged by her breath move out of her view as He slowly circles her. Moving and all the while watching for any weakness in her position, He drinks in the exquisite charm of the golden beauty passively curled before Him. The riding crop against His boot taps out a slow tattoo in time with His pace. Having completed a circuit of her outline He stops at her shoulder, using the crop he flicks her dark curling mane forward over her head exposing the nape of her neck, the tip of the crop is placed gently on the pale skin, the flexible leather traces along her neck line, tickling the soft errant strands of hair which whorl like relaxed springs. All the while the green eyes bore into her, scrutinising her reactions. He repositions the crop between her shoulder blades, then applying slight pressure runs it down her spine, letting each vertebra feel the weight of the crop as it progresses. At the base of her spine the curve of her back rises to the full swell of her buttocks, without pause the implement continues between the terry covered cheeks to where the hem line is struggling to cover her modesty. The dark brown of the crop contrasts starkly with the light golden flesh of her inner thighs as He flickers it expertly like a snake's tongue against her skin.
From behind her she hears His voice,
"Are you willing to earn My pleasure? And if so, how much do you crave My acknowledgement of your service?"

__________________
Strength in depth

I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul

OOC:
Ah HA!
I found it!

*Does her happy little dance!*

Yay - I will attempt to hammer out a decent response to the wonderful posts here, but please forgive me if my earthbound soul is unable to do so...


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The flickering lights seem to burst into radiance at the sound of His voice, and she involuntarily gives a tiny shudder as the waves of sound caress the sensitive outer shells of her ears. His low words only cause her head to bob in understanding and agreement, the whistle of sound barely perceived.

Yet her body was tautened, her soul open to the blow, her eyes, though lowered, were wide and glistening with an inner fire, her round lips parting into a soundless O. She does not flinch.

Lower...

She does not know if He speaks it aloud, or if it is the manifestation of her own thoughts, as she attempts to follow His whim. Without pause her petite frame stretches itself out, her legs resting flat against the cool, thick textured carpet, her torso and arms extending and stretching as she pushes as much of herself against the whispery ticklish-caressing touch of the carpet's fiber - as much as possible, to please Him.

Through half-lidded eyes she sees Him move; she watches the candlelight dance upon the gleam of His boots as He moves around her - she hears the dance of the little leather bit as it smacks against the unblemished surface she had so ardently tried to adore... for Him.

Her long, thick mass of hair is flung over her head, and it's shade is like a netted blindfold. Beneath the tent of strands, she waits, her body strung like a well-tuned musical string, her eyes opened wide even as her breaths turn to soft, shallow pants. She mews softly, wanting Him to know He has her - all of her - in the palm of His oh, so gracious hand...

The looped piece of leather that comprises the bit of the crop falls against her neck, unbidden, goosebumps ripple along her limbs. The sole point of contact is suddenly laden with sensation - as if her whole body, all her nerves, her very being rise to meet the slender, almost non-existent caress of His tool.

It glides lower, caressing her neck in a manner that makes her body long to writhe and curl. She shudders, whimpering softly, expressing to Him her longing to do so, but demonstrating she would not do so against His wishes...

Even through the fabric of her single garment, His tool continues to caress her spine with unerring accuracy. Her hips twist sinuously, her rippling, goospimpled limbs merely flex and arch, but she does not move from Him.

Her breath rushes in on an audible note as the small piece of leather emerges from against the cloth to glide against her trembling globes. Its' whispered caress, deep in her crevasse, causes her breath to trickle out in audible pants.

His wrist flicks, His fingertips dance, and with unerring accuracy her body is suddenly strung out once more - the stinging blows against her inner, sensitive flesh cause her body to shiver, to shudder, to writhe and dance, spread upon the floor before Him... But never away, no, oh no, never away from Him...

Once again His voice reaches out of the pant, mew, and whimper-filled closet that has become her curtain of hair, draped over the top of her head, and her dry lips part. Unseen, her tongue darts out, laving them in glistening moisture before she whispers her reply.

"Please, Master - oh please, believe this worthless slut... she seeks only Your pleasure, and will do anything within her power to bring joy and contentment to Your life..." The words fade away on the last of her sigh-like breath, and she turns her head to rest her chin against the floor, her hands unclenching from its nap to lie beneath her cheek as she awaits His desire...

Stretched out before him, prostrate in humility, her squirming body flattens into the fibres of the carpet, from the soft waves of her mane he catches her barely breathed response as if born to him on a summer breeze. His answer is swift, the crop sings it's tune briefly in mid-air before the stinging contact with the bare flesh of her derriere is made. This time her flesh is without the luxury of the robe to dull the pain, instinctively her hips jerk into the soft compliant pile of the carpet as a thin deep pink line raises out of the milky white surface of her moons. He waits for the final echo of her tiny gasp to vanish to the four corners of the room before speaking again.
"you assume much : 'worthless' is without worth, you may have some, as yet unknown, worth to me but that is for me to decide : 'slut' implies a sexual role, that also is for me to decide. For now you are nothing"
All the while He has been speaking, he has circled her horizontal form, a predator circling it's prey, the black boots virtually silent on the carpet, the occasional rustle of denim breaking the tempo of her shallow breathing.
"Kneel" the command is short and low, yet flows across her with the totality of an avalanche, her knees draw up to her chest as the final vibration of sound hits her ear, her bronzed arms push away from the floor as she urges herself into the position He desires. Like a cobra striking she comes to the vertical, legs tucked under, feet crossed, her rump hovering a fraction above her feet, her back is straight thrusting the fullness of her breasts forward, straining the fabric of her robe. She holds her chin high, her long hair falling in dark rivulets over her shoulders, yet keeps her gaze downcast, finally her hands are brought up onto her slightly parted thighs resting palm up. The movements are fluid and slick, like a well oiled machine, her balance and poise practically flawless. Standing behind her He allows a small smile to play at the corners of His mouth, she is good but He needs to find out how good. Bringing the crop forward He presses it into the small of her back, making her adjust and straighten, drawing her shoulder blades together. Moving past her shoulder he appears once more in her range of sight, His green eyes gaze down at the statue like pose she has struck, the rise and fall of her chest almost imperceptible as she struggles to control her breathing. He lowers Himself into the large wooden chair in front oh her, leaning back into one corner He drapes a leg over an ornately carved arm and rests the crop across His knee.
"Stand up and remove your robe" the tone and timbre of His voice doesn't alter as the instruction crosses the distance between T/them. He watches the reaction that his words have on her, searching for the merest glimmer of hesitation……..

__________________
Strength in depth

I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul

He watches them, curiously. He says not a word. It isn't his place. He is here to guard those inside and to do as he's told. The black hood he wears shows his position within the group. The leather straps come over his broad shoulders and cross his broad clean shaven chest, run down his powerful abdomen and atttach to his small leather brief. Except the hood and his boots, the briefs are the only clothing he wears.

He watches as the beautiful young slave girl undresses in front of him. Her back to him, he can not see her shape, only her back and her round buttocks. The robe drops more and he can see her long legs. Beneath the leather briefs his erection grows and attempts to free itself. He fights to stop it, his employer will become angry if he is caught, but nothing can stop it. The bulge in his breifs grows ever bigger and bigger. A low moan escapes from beneath the mask as he shifts, attempting to make himself more comfortable. He stands there, waiting for an order. Waiting for his chance.