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| One Hit Is Never Enough; [Donald Pierce] | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 8 2014, 11:49 PM (386 Views) | |
| Stacy X | Apr 8 2014, 11:49 PM Post #1 |
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Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
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A little after 1am, Tuesday April 1st, 2014 Location: 640 Broadway, Manhattan, NYC When Stacy was first given the address, she’d laughed herself silly. The district was called “NoHo”. North of Houston Street. As opposed to SoHo. Full of fancy architecture and converted warehouses being rented out for extortionate figures, a mix of marble, brick and terra cotta facades that all screamed of city-living on means above all but society’s highest tier. She was sure she’d even spotted a goddamn opera company on the way in. No hoes indeed, except Stacy herself, once she was dropped off on the corner of Broadway and Bleeker by a grimy yellow cab. She’d been hired by Anton Aubuisson, some bigwig at Roxxon who’d been making use of her over the last year. Various Illuminati stunts threatened both Anton’s wellbeing and his livelihood, sent his anxiety levels into overdrive. Stacy got paid well for being his living stress toy in a number of unique ways. From what she could gather, he had a weird sense of humour too. Most times it just made her time ‘on the clock’ with him feel more pleasant than it might be otherwise. But she had yet to realise she’d been bought as an April Fool‘s joke that morning. After all, in her mind it was still the night of Monday 31st. House 640 was a grand centuries-old affair that once housed artists and aristocrats. She was buzzed in and the doors gave way to a somewhat daunting mix of old world grandeur and contemporary security. Cameras followed her every step to the lift and the concierge behind a solid marble desk looked to be some kind of robot. The elevator whisked her up to the highest floor where she found Aubuisson living on top of all that privilege, sitting in the middle of a duplex penthouse. There were huge sliding doors behind him that gave way to a thousand square foot roof deck, tastefully lit with electric lanterns . “Stacy.” he cooed, standing with arms wide. “Anton.” Rather than raise her own arms in response, she simply disrobed and let him wrap his arms around her shoulders, his hands briefly wandering south to grope areas only a whore would allow. It wasn’t hard given the little black dress she was wearing. Her coat, left to drop to the floor, was kicked to one side. The polished floor looked clean enough for her to assume the shaggy bundle of fur wouldn’t suffer. Eventually he pulled away and beckoned her to an immaculate white couch. She took the furthest end, nearest a roaring but undoubtedly fake fire place. Noticing an ashtray on the coffee table she decided to risk sparking up a cigarette while Anton gibbered at her. She didn’t understand why he seemed to be suppressing a fit of giggles, she could all but taste the mirth clearly lighting up his eyes and flushing his face. “Now you understand, you’re a present for a friend of mine tonight?” He poured her something resembling a Martini. She couldn’t smell any drugs in it so accepted the offering with a dark smile and a nod. “You’re sticking around to watch?” She asked, head tilted. “No, no, he’s definitely not into that sort of thing. I’ll be keeping a discrete distance.” “Not filming.” Stacy frowned. “You know I have rules about that. As in I don’t do it.” “Yes, yes, of course. No other eyes here. Electronic or otherwise.” If he was lying her reptilian senses would have smelt it on him, seen and tasted subtle changes. She shrugged her agreement. “Okay…” “I own the apartment below, I use it as an annex of sorts. I’ll be waiting there if you have any trouble you feel you can‘t handle. Otherwise, my friend Donald is coming and I’d ask you to simply see him in and play hostess for the next two hours. Treat him as well as you usually treat me.” “Fair enough. You do usually pay me first though.” She pointed out. He jumped at the realisation with a muttered “Oh, of course!”, fished his wallet out from his back pocket and pulled out an obscene wad of cash. It was more than treble what Stacy would ever dream of casually carrying in her back pocket where any little thief could pluck it. He’d probably barely even register that kind of money as a proper loss, even though it would pay the rent for someone like her friend Thebe for several months. She took the money, counted, rolled it tightly then stashed it in an empty cigarette carton she’d brought in her purse. “Open bar?” She asked herself as he headed downstairs. She took the wave he gave her to mean yes and once her first drink was finished she started browsing the bottles. She’d just started to pour out a vodka orange when the elevator pinged open for Aubuisson’s second guest. “You must be Donald.” She smiled, not bothering to turn around until she’d finished getting herself her fresh drink. She tossed her hair over her shoulder while her rattlesnake tail waved lazily from side to side. “Don’t worry, I’ll spare you any duck jokes. Well, except that one just now. Want me to pour you anything?” She finally looked over her shoulder to meet the man’s gaze with her slitted yellow eyes. |
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| Donald Pierce | Apr 9 2014, 04:30 PM Post #2 |
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Unregistered
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Nearly a week ago Donald had attended a high stakes poker game, the buy in alone trumped what most American families lived off of for a year. It had been a profitable endeavor for the man and while he had agreed to meet up with Anton’s mystery lady at his request, the man’s powers of persuasion knew no end. Throughout the game many jabs had been made at Donald’s expense in regards to his meager social life. After consuming more alcohol that night he confided in Anton his problems with sleep deprivation and stress. It was then that the other man let Donald in on his little secret. While he didn’t go into the more private of details, he did express that one woman had been the source of his relief and he was certain that this mystery woman could work her magic on Pierce as well. Like the nights before and the nights to come, Donald was dressed well, coordinated down to the last detail in a sharp, five piece suit. Sipping on a flask as he waited impatiently to arrive on the top floor, liquor had always been his go to. Certainly if he still had all of his original organs, his liver would surely be a mess of disease. But even with his artificial health, the warm embrace of scotch and brandy were starting to lose their charms. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all. It wasn’t the circumstance, he was a man with money to burn and paying for the right woman’s company was a fair and worthwhile transaction from where he was standing. Nor was this his first time meeting a call girl, it was the way Aubuisson had built it up, like he had found the golden goose. Donald found that repulsive. He didn’t believe in such fickle, fairy tales. He wasn’t in control, in fact he was out of his comfort zone and flying on the words of an oil executive. They could be slippery, just like the crude fuel that had built their fortunes. The man was unusual, while a valiant businessman, he was rumoured to meander into the shadows of society, a slave to vices that a world of money and power could only provide. While Donald was no choir boy, he believed himself to be man of standards, in control of his life and his decisions. But here he was, riding the elevator to the top floor like he had been instructed. The meeting would be private, which he was fine with, he took a moment to envision who would be waiting for him. As the elevator car slowed to a stop, he brought the flask to his lips for a quick drink of courage. Returning the metal container back to his inside jacket pocket as the doors opened to a large, nearly empty penthouse. He only took a couple steps before yielding to a halt. For a moment he didn’t believe his eyes, did this woman have a tail? He knew his associate dabbled in some unusual habits, but this one took the cake. “Hmph.” a simple sigh of disappointment and confusion escaped his lips, followed by another series of careful , cautious steps towards the strange woman in black. His optics took her all in, he was more focused on her unusual appearance than her feminine curves. “I was expecting a blonde. What exactly should I classify you as?” A coy smile on his lips, he approached her but not straight on, like how a predator would approach their prey. He meandered slightly to the left as he unbuttoned his jacket and then back to towards the bar and the lady of the hour He eyed her silently for a couple seconds more before deciding “Scotch. Two ice cubes.” He snapped his fingers a couple times, walking away from her as he did so, trying to recall the name Anton had given him. He ignored her jab at first and found himself a seat on the aforementioned, crisp, pearl coloured sofa. He made himself comfortable, empting his pockets of his car keys, a platinum cigar case, a mobile phone and a chrome lighter. Crossing a leg over his knee, he took a deep breath and gazed at the woman intently. “Stacy…right? I’ve heard them all, they keep me company when I’m all alone in my private jet. counting zero’s and sipping champagne. Now indulge me, what exactly is Mr. Aubuisson trying to pull?” “He didn’t… “ “I didn’t…” “Ahem. I wasn’t expecting a woman of your…stature.” |
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| Stacy X | Apr 18 2014, 05:19 AM Post #3 |
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Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
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“I was expecting a blonde. What exactly should I classify you as?” “Well for the next two hours you can classify me as yours.” Stacy said nonchalantly. He sounded a little like a zoologist who’d just discovered a new breed of animal. But you didn’t work a profession like Stacy’s without getting used to a little dehumanization and the tone made her think she might get to like the guy’s sense of humour if nothing else. Her heat sensors gave her a vague idea of his odd sideways approach. She finally turned, leaning with one hand on the bar and the other on her hip to properly appraise him. Okay, so he definitely wasn’t hard on the eyes. “Scotch. Two ice cubes.” He snapped his fingers a couple times, walking away from her as he did so. “Stacy…right?” Her eyebrow twitched up as she paused in her search for the scotch bottle. “Unless there’s somethin’ else you wanna call me.” The cocky, overconfident, finger-snapping corporate types weren’t normally the kind to remember names. It was interesting that he did. “Has Anton been telling tales about his fancy call girls?” Ice clinked musically into two empty crystal glasses. “I’ve heard them all, they keep me company when I’m all alone in my private jet. Counting zero’s and sipping champagne.” “Aww.” She pulled an over-the-top pout followed by a brief huff of laughter. “Poor over-worked little rich boy.” She filled one glass with a generous measure of scotch, the other with her second vodka of the night, this time forgoing any mixer. She’d learned to like it neat when she was sixteen, and it was even better when she had ice available. “Now indulge me, what exactly is Mr. Aubuisson trying to pull?” Her head tilted as she turned with the glasses in hand. “Ya got me.” Stacy shrugged, closing the distance to the couch in an oddly feline style. “He’s not recording anything; that’s about as much as I needed to know. ” She handed him his drink, letting her fingers brush his in the process. She used the contact to give his neurochemistry a little nudge. Nothing too intrusive, just a taster of dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin. The brief read she got of his system wasn’t what she’d expected. Like glimpsing something bizarre at the side of the road, but driving by so quickly you couldn’t be sure of what you’d really seen. “He didn’t…” The little jolt seemed to have short-circuited something in his thought process and he trailed off. Meanwhile Stacy was focusing her reptilian senses on him closely, heightened scent and taste working in unison as they always did to better gauge his emotion, his recent activities, his blood content. There was the tang of a few possible bad habits there, but an aftertaste rather than a full blown flavour. Her heat sense was focused on the way his pulse was pushing warmth through his body and it just seemed a little… off. “I didn’t…” It was Stacy’s tail curling around his knee that most likely distracted him a second time. She used the appendage to gently guide him, make him lift his leg up, uncross it from its partner below and move it to one side so that she could step into the space between his thighs. “Ahem. I wasn’t expecting a woman of your…stature.” “Stature? Oh it’s only the heels that make me taller.” Stacy smiled down at him before nonchalantly kicking her shoes off. She wouldn’t want to get Anton’s sofa too dirty, after all. She climbed onto Pierce’s lap, forcing him to keep his legs uncrossed as her knees settled either side of his hips. “Course there’s somethin’ t’be said for a little altitude.” Because his eyelevel was closer to her cleavage than her face at that point. Scaly fingers casually ran through his hair while she took a sip of vodka and lowered herself to sit. More sparks of her chemical meddling skittered over his scalp. “Did Anton tell you I was a mutie?” She asked; forming her own suspicions about what the energy baron had been planning. “Something tells me you’ve never gotten freaky with a freak before.” |
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| Donald Pierce | Apr 22 2014, 12:37 AM Post #4 |
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Unregistered
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He barely moved, he barely breathed, his eyes remained fixated on his ‘date’ while she made herself useful at the bar across the room. At this time he was perfectly fine with the distance between them, in fact he preferred it. Setting Stacy’s profession aside, in all honesty that was the least of his concerns, it was her genetics that he found truly upsetting. He could mingle with the best of them in the lion’s den that was the Hellfire Club. But this was different, this was far from business and this was not how he would define pleasure. It was just the two of them, he had no power here and the last thing he wanted was to relinquish any more control to this woman. “Well for the next two hours you can classify me as yours.” Pulling back his left sleeve to confirm the time, he was only slightly disappointed at what the timepiece revealed and his eyebrows furrowed in silent protest until he mustered up a more human reaction. A forced chuckle followed by a simple observation, “How fortunate for me.” Poised and polished he remained seated and nodded superficially in regards to her name, he loathed repeating himself. For now, he simply observed her, acknowledging her fumble in finding the proper bottle but he kept it to himself. She had reached for the vodka for her own refreshment, so chances were she was not a connoisseur of such things. He prayed that Anton hadn’t left any of the blended malt garbage out in the open, for a wealthy man, their host could be notoriously thrifty with his taste in alcohol. Pierce only hoped his taste in women surpassed that of his other vices. With a leg crossed defensively, the well-dressed man upheld his composure. He had never been the type to rub elbows with commoners, while he did enjoy feeling superior, he preferred the company of his peers: The elite, the wealthy and the powerful. “...Has Anton been telling tales about his fancy call girls?” His ears perked up to the sound of the ice and he watched her until she found the right bottle, confirming her selection with a nod. “The man has been known to tell some tales of his exploits but he spoke quite highly of you.” Pausing, Donald pondered his next series of words carefully “A year ago, I bailed him out of a Thai jail to avoid alerting his wife of his arrest. He owed me a favor.” Gesturing to Stacy with an open palm briefly, it didn’t take a genius to decipher what he was implying. There was more than that at work, but Pierce was not the type to open up to many, let alone a prostitute. “Aww.” “Poor over-worked little rich boy.” Sly, he actually smiled a little, it was a rare sight to see. “You have no idea… Well, maybe you do given our mutual acquaintance.” He eyed her relentlessly as she approached with a drink in each hand, it wasn’t just her figure, the defining characteristics of the fairer sex. It was the scales, those markings, that tail… Yes, her features had truly captured his attention and while he was almost too calm on the exterior, his heart was beating a mile a minute, thank goodness his bionic parts were self-regulating. “....He’s not recording anything; that’s about as much as I needed to know. ” “And I am forever grateful.”He added before accepting his drink cordially, their skin making contact during their exchange and after Pierce tilted his head back to aid in consuming a monstrous gulp of liquor for courage. He had been blessed with good news, the scotch was up to par and without him noticing, his organics were treated to a subtle rise in select neurotransmitters. The dopamine and serotonin acted almost immediately, putting his mind at ease, while the slow acting oxytocin had the opposite effects on his body. It was like the world had slowed down around him and all his current concerns were washing away. After a deep exhale, his eyelids closed in a moment of pure bliss. He recognized that this wasn’t his normal demeanor but he didn’t mind the change quite yet, he was appreciating the effects, His defensive posture began to fade just as quickly as his pupils began to dilate. His use of the English language was the next to suffer, but needless to say he was enjoying the ride. “Course there’s somethin’ t’be said for a little altitude.” Any sense of urgency to flee or discomfort had faded for the time being, his inhibitions were faltering but he still found himself resisting the urge to put his hands around Stacy’s waist as she settled down onto his lap. As a he tightened his grip around his glass of scotch( his hand loosely resting on the sofa beside him), another set of fingers moved over his scalp and he was once again bombarded with a rush of happy chemicals. Momentarily his eyes fixated on her chest, it was pleasantly positioned dead center for a proper view. “A lot could be said about a lot of things.” Donald gave his head a light shake, the rush of chemicals finally stabilizing in his systems and he brought his drink upwards, softly knocking it against Stacy’s vodka before taking a more subtle, refined sip. “Did Anton tell you I was a mutie?” “Something tells me you’ve never gotten freaky with a freak before.” “No, on both accounts. He failed to mention such a detail. He fancies himself a liberal and a comedian.” His facial features were becoming more natural, his words less premeditated and for the first time since meeting, he actually made eye contact with the reptilian beauty seated in his lap. “An interesting choice in words considering the snakeskin, Miss.” He brought his free hand around and finally initiated contact, sliding his fingertips over the scales of her arm and up along to her shoulder. It was at this time he made the assumption that this was the nature of her mutation, strictly physical in nature, the notion that she had drugged him up on his own body chemicals hadn’t even crossed his mind. It was unheard of really, even for a futuristic half man, half machine. Glancing down between the minimal space that separated them, afterwards his dilated optics found her own angular, slit pupils and he attempted pried into her soul. “Normally Stacy, I wouldn’t trust you people as far as I could throw one.” Which was hilariously ironic for Donald, unbeknownst to Stacy he could throw a human being quite far and he smiled to himself, obviously self-satisfied with his inside joke. He dropped his stare to his glass, it seemed to be perpetually half full but he hesitated drinking the rest and simply swirled the amber liquid counter clockwise. "But you do not seem entirely wretched." Why was he joking around? When had he started to feel so at ease? Had she drugged him? Perhaps it had been mixed right into the bottle of scotch, another well conceived joke thanks to their host. He was a rather predictable fool when it came to drink. He didn’t panic despite his tendencies towards paranoia, nor did he push the mutant escort off his lap in a fit of anger. Instead calmly and politely he inquired. “Stacy dear, what on earth did you put in my drink and may I have another?” |
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| Stacy X | Apr 28 2014, 11:51 PM Post #5 |
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Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
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“An interesting choice in words considering the snakeskin, Miss.” He brought his free hand around and finally initiated contact, sliding his fingertips over the scales of her arm and up along to her shoulder. She let herself lean into the stroke a little, like a pet. Most clients did something similar – although most clients ended up with Stacy on their lap because of what she was, not in spite of it. The first-timers usually liked to acclimate themselves to the feeling of her scales. There was sometimes an element of the old cliché about snakeskin: humans expecting her to be slimy in the same way they thought snakes were. But her skin was dry and smooth, the flesh leeching warmth from others wherever she was touched. Some knew what to expect from reptiles but struggled to comprehend that same sensation under their hands when the contours and reactions were that of a woman. Either way, adjustment periods were par for the course. He seemed to be processing more than just her scales though. It was like he needed time to process how she’d gotten to be where she was. Or rather how he’d ended up in this predicament maybe. She tried not to look too expectant. “Normally Stacy, I wouldn’t trust you people as far as I could throw one.” “I’m assumin’ you mean muties rather than sex workers.” She let out a slight laugh that was part nerves, part genuine amusement; blissfully ignorant of how far Pierce actually could throw a person. “With the latter I’d say you get what ya pay for. If they rip you off it’s ‘cause they weren’t earning enough otherwise. But FYI, I’m luxury goods. For what two hours with me costs, Anton must be reeeaaally grateful for that Thai jail bail out.” She watched his focus shift to his glass briefly, swirling it to spread the cool of the ice through his drink where the grip of his hand must have warmed it. He didn’t have sweaty palms though, that was another bonus for the night she was happy to concede. “Muties just get a hard time in life. An x-gene can turn you into a pretty miserable fucker if you let it.” “But you do not seem entirely wretched.” “Entirely?” She arched an eyebrow and laughed again, her tail lashing behind her in reaction too. “Well there’s some high praise!” The flatscan had a cool, unruffled air to him that was, so far, making him a genuine pleasure to work for. Technically she was still working for Anton but it was just by-proxy this time. The little snipe about ‘you people’ was nothing compared to what she put up with from some customers. If every one of them conducted themselves like Donald had so far, as a minimum standard, Stacy would never have developed such a dysfunctional love/hate relationship with her career choice. “Stacy dear, what on earth did you put in my drink and may I have another?” “Another ice cube? That’s all I put in there for you.” A wide grin spread across her mutated features. This was where she genuinely got to take pride in her abilities – the little moments that stopped her from feeling like a waste of oxygen. “If you’re feeling anything other than the scotch, that’d be me.” She picked up the hand that had been stoking her skin and brought it up to her face, grip curled delicately around his wrist. She took note of the expensive watch and silver cufflink that caught the light. If he did anything obnoxious, those would definitely be coming home with her as compensation. She craned her neck slightly to kiss the tip of his middle finger then brought her tongue into the equation. Her lips were actually layered in so much black gloss that it dampened the reach of her powers there. But that was easily compensated for. She tilted his hand and sucked the whole digit into her mouth, narrowed eyes never leaving his as she worked away at it. She had enough contact to tap into his neurochemistry in greater depth then, reading what was naturally present in his system. There was nothing she sensed that gave her cause for alarm – sometimes when clients were gearing up to be violent, the aggression in them was thick enough to taste. But once she’d had long enough to roll the flavour of him over her tongue she found a predominance of bitter stress hormones conducive to a terrible sleep pattern. That and the tang she recognised as the tell-tale for chronic pain. It was a strong combination too, one she didn’t often find at that level outside of dog-tired wait staff or struggling shop owners who worked hard just to get robbed every few months. It made her feel a teeny tiny bit bad for taking the ‘poor over-worked little rich boy’ crack at him earlier. She would normally give him kudos for how well he covered it all up but there was something present that felt like it might be helping him already. Nothing she could swear to but just a sense of outside influence, like spotting when someone had gotten professional help with their hair or make-up… Certain aspects of Donald’s internal workings felt like the equivalent to a perfectly-teased coiffure. At first all she did was address the negatives, tweaking at a spectrum of chemical counter-prompts until she had him balanced on something that would feel like a rare perfect baseline. That in and of itself usually prompted some enjoyment but after a minute or so she gave his pleasure centres a little extra nudge and let his finger slide out of her mouth with a slight but somehow still obscene pop. “See, I’m not just a freaky face,” she smiled. “I’m a living drug store. All you have to do is tell me what you want.” |
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| Donald Pierce | May 4 2014, 08:06 AM Post #6 |
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Unregistered
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His curiosity had definitely been sparked by the exotic beauty positioned in his lap, her chemical charms were unavoidable, his eyes scanning over figure while he attempted to understand exactly what his body was reacting to. For a man used to consuming enough alcohol on a daily basis to drop a bull elephant, Donald could recognize the usual effects and what he was experiencing was nothing close to swimming in a vat of hard alcohol. But she didn’t seem threatening and he was arrogant enough to believe he could get himself out of the worst of possible scenarios. He wasn’t entirely sold on the situation either, but Stacy’s initial chemical doping was working actively against that, as time passed it only seemed more and more reasonable to at least stay for a couple drinks. There was nothing to be gain for being be rude. “Your assumptions would be correct.” He shifted in his seat, Stacy’s weight didn’t stifle his own movements in the slightest. Swiftly he brought his free hand to his neck tie, secured elegantly in a triple Windsor knot for a couple seconds more before he fluidly loosened it in one quick motion. “Interesting business model, I imagine Anton pays you well?” He downed the remainder of his drink and wrapped the same arm around Stacy’s waist as he leaned forward. His attention momentarily divided as he planted the empty rocks glass on the nearby table. Sitting back into the plush sofa, his hold on Stacy never faltered. “We are all victims of circumstance Stacy, sadly beside a few petty differences, our genetics have little to do with it.” His arm remained loosely rested around her hip, that was until the true nature of his elevated state came to light and Donald sucked his teeth in protest and for a moment his loosened his hold despite her rather, large and convincing smile. “That is not possible.” He added quickly with a sideways glance as scaly fingers gripped lightly around his wrist. His optics followed hers as she kissed his fingertip, soon after she engulfed the entire digit and Donald Pierce was lost for words. While her initial contact had caught him off guard, this time he had anticipated her actions and rush of chemicals flooding his brain was recognized, skillfully being directed to the necessary receptors by Stacy’s whim. “If I could, I would bottle you up and take you everywhere I go.” He muttered through an exaggerated sigh, his once loose grip around Stacy’s waist tightened, not overly but enough to suggest that he wasn’t ready to let her go anytime soon. A muted look of disbelief followed, plastered all over his features and the man found himself on the edge, somewhere between repulsion and arousal. Luckily for Stacy, the initial surge of neurotransmitters had dulled his inhibitions better than even the finest Scotch could. He was like warm putty in her hands, lost in the bliss of her bio chemical doping. “Priceless.” He felt like he was melting beneath her, the link between his organic and inorganic systems seemed to blur together, the man felt whole, at ease and it was incredible. As a result, his eyes rolled back and his head was soon to follow, consumed by the truly idyllic moment, he pondered Stacy’s last words indefinitely. It became quite obvious that the reptilian call girl didn’t need Donald’s business advice with her most marketable skill set, in fact, right now she was perceived as the queen of her craft, indulging his senses in all things light and fuzzy. But the question remained, what did he want? It was rather puzzling for a man who was well versed in his own wants and desires to be so full of uncertainty. Outside of this room decision making was second nature but here, with her, everything was so foreign. “I do not hope for a better world for anybody, my pain is constant and sharp. I find it frightfully depressing and I wish to be numb, ever so comfortably.” His eyes partially closed, Donald was no longer acting as his usual stern, presumptuous self. His actions and words were sincere and unfiltered to the point that he felt a report with this near perfect stranger. Certain standards had to be upheld, he did regard himself as a man of principle after all. He ran a hand through his hair, guiding his head back to a customary, upright position to address Stacy. He had wide staring eyes, the corners of lips upturned into a coy grin. “From you Stacy, I want the luxury tour.” Seldom did he see past a person’s socio-economical background as a merit of their value, but this lovely lady had an obscure effect on him. He wanted more. “Do your best or worst, I no longer care.” |
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| Stacy X | May 8 2014, 04:37 AM Post #7 |
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Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
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“If I could, I would bottle you up and take you everywhere I go.” He muttered through an exaggerated sigh. Stacy said nothing at that and just smiled around Pierce’s finger, the perfect affectation of coyness even as she continued working away at him. “Priceless.” Maybe a little her own work satisfaction from the praise crept into the chemical changes she was making though, sending his head lolling back against the couch. When the snakewoman felt anything with particular vehemence it had a habit of seeping out through her skin. “I do not hope for a better world for anybody, my pain is constant and sharp. I find it frightfully depressing and I wish to be numb, ever so comfortably.” Her head tilted, a silent way of saying yes without nodding. Once she was coiled in and around a person’s neurochemical makeup, it was normal for Stacy to hear such nihilistic sentiments. Pleasure or relief had funny ways of taking the wind out of many a man’s sails and it was a sad fact that for many, it summoned an onset of brutal honesty. All the things people normally lied to themselves or lied to everyone else about came tumbling forth. Her powers could make them feel like they didn’t care – that was the point - but Stacy herself had no such buffer. Like a therapist she’d heard so many depressing or poignant confessions over the years. At least she was allowed to drink at work. The reason she’d fallen in love with Guido a decade ago was because when she first killed his chronic pain it never revealed anything uglier underneath. Just for once there was nothing but gratitude in its purest form awaiting her. And now that they were finally ‘a thing’ it made her feel worse for everyone else in many ways. Call it a matter of professional pride, but she felt the urge to convince Donald that there might be more to happiness than just ‘comfortable numbness’. “From you Stacy, I want the luxury tour. Do your best or worst, I no longer care.” “I don’t think you want my worst.” She smiled roguishly. “That’s more for the S&M crowd. Something tells me if I tried to give you chemical obedience training and drag you ‘round on a dog leash, you’d just find it distasteful. The best would be better suited to you.” She knocked back a generous gulp of vodka from the glass she still had in her hand, catching one of the ice cubes in her teeth as her head tilted back. With a vicious crunch she crushed the ice up and then leaned forward into Donald, licking vodka from her lips. Her reptile nature was always drawn to body warmth, taking away the chill edge she often felt, and with ease of practice she was plastered against him. She swallowed the ice at the last second and then put her mouth to his pulse, a space provided after he’d oh-so-thoughtfully loosed that triple Windsor knot in his tie. Her chilled tongue was designed to make him shiver even as it slowly warmed, a soft contrast to the slight hint of fangs moving against his skin. All the while she was using the silence to concentrate and better understand his system. When people said they wanted to be numb, giving them exactly what they asked for rarely earned her good word of mouth reviews. Working out what to give them instead was always the trick. But after a few minutes she began to perceive the alien presence of non-organics taking up space inside him – that sense of something being a little too perfect coming into sharper focus. Only she understood now that things had been far from perfect. She pulled back and stared at him. Her eyes searched his in confusion, but really she was paying more attention to the ‘view’ through her heat sensors. Her hand drifted over his chest and down his abdomen. How much inside there is the original you?” She asked, a mild frown creasing her features. Her hands moved to his face, thumbs smoothing over his brow like a blind woman reading his skin as Braille. “Is that what’s causing the pain?” |
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| Donald Pierce | May 12 2014, 10:58 AM Post #8 |
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Unregistered
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Lost in a glass case of emotion that was ushered onward by a combination of bio chemicals and single malt scotch, Donald found himself at home in this most unusual of circumstances. Staring one of his biggest fears in the eye while she sucked on his finger, it was quite erotic and the physical act was only half of it. Every time she made contact with his skin he became more engrossed by her feminine wilds and pheromone based powers. Already she had taken him on quite the uplifting ride, a mushy shell of his usual hard nosed self, Donald Pierce was on his way to cloud nine. He would have never imagined the joys he was experiencing to be bestowed upon him so easily and for a brief moment his mind wandered to concepts most foreign. Perhaps he had misjudged Stacy and people like her, unfairly lumped them all together into the same stereotypical box. Although it wasn’t compassion or understanding that drove his thoughts, in fact it was something quite sinister. He was an opportunist and no amount of substance abuse could change that. New York City had become quite the hive of mutant activity since his earlier years of age, so much so that the genetically endowed had been rewarded their own borough. Instead of viewing them as threat, he considered exactly what Stacy was doing for him at the moment. Providing a service and just like anything in this world, a price could be slapped on it, profit could be made easily off such an untapped resource. Maybe he needed to reach out to the people of Mutant Town for often, see what kind of treasures could be uncovered. Yes, perhaps he had been wrong about the whole scenario. His mind free of doubt and uncertainty, the rather pleasant state of being was refreshing to say the least. Sometimes when we were willing to step out of our comfort zone, truly great opportunities would come a knocking. And this engagement was a prime example. And what of his fading inhibitions? They were out of the picture entirely. Any sense he may have had to mind his words and regulate his actions had gone with them, this was raw and this was real. “You’re right, you are the professional after all.” He returned her mischievous grin as his hands became more comfortable and more familiar with her waist, hips, thighs. He was practically taking the grand tour as the lovely Stacy drank her vodka on the rocks, chomping on a single cube of ice rather suggestively and eliminated any remaining space between the two. The hair on the back of his neck rose as her lips found his neck and he tilted his head to allow her better access, in fact he was quite into it, into her and even the grazing of her fangs on his jugular. And then, abruptly, she stopped. He glanced at his wrist watch in a vain attempt to the process the time, the face of the clock itself was blurry and Donald was unable to make out the location of the minute or hour hand. Time was only relative, but his level of intoxication was not. Moving away from him with a confused stare, his expression was painted with his own brand of confusion. His head tilted back automatically and he raised his chin so he could literally look down his nose at the reptilian call girl. He was calm and cool despite the nature of her query and while he thought it rude to be so invasive, the surge of chemicals in his system kept him in an almost tranquilized state, his mood stabilized by the overflow of serotonin and dopamine flooding from his brain. He brought a hand to his chin, although his gaze never left Stacy’s, he actually felt himself drawn to those yellow eyes, looking into them intently. “Less than you would like to know. You are probably more human than I, dearest Stacy.” He snipped with the intention to get under her skin, the snake woman had opened this can of worms. In all actually Pierce’s body was sitting at a generalized ratio of 60:40 for inorganics, he was in fact more machine than man. Something he was in no hurry to confess to anyone, even as her hands trailed to his face, stroking his brow, the man was uncomfortable and unsure, but the words kept coming freely. “At times I feel unstoppable, and then others, I can barely function.” He paused, a frustrated sigh pushed through his lips. “I have cheated death, maybe what is left of my body is dying and my systems are not coexisting properly. ” The magnitude of the situation was rather grim, with Spiral gone and the advanced cybernetics markets particularly exclusive, even for a man like Donald. He brought his left hand away from his own face and stroked Stacy’s cheek affectionately. It was one of his completely bionic appendages, even the dermis was artificial but such details were unnoticeable by the naked eye. “Nothing stops it, nothing helps it…That is, except you. And I don’t think you are ready to get acquainted with what kind of abomination I am. I’ll have to pay you more.” Stroking her cheek still, he smiled at her, but it was an offsetting grin given the subject matter. His gaze shifted away, past Stacy’s line of sight and seemed to search the room inanely for something or someone. “You can sense it, can’t you? It must be a relieving to know that you are no longer the strangest creature in the room.” |
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| Stacy X | May 31 2014, 05:07 AM Post #9 |
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Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
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“Less than you would like to know. You are probably more human than I, dearest Stacy.” So a lot then... She didn't need to know the exact details. Didn't need to but maybe wanted to. In her mind she pictured someone who was more machine than man to be the flip-side of the state she'd teetered on herself thanks to Spiral's genesis bomb. For a few strange hours she had been more reptile than woman back then. The tail she grew as a souvenir was her reminder now. She could never forget how it felt to pin down a thrashing rival, sink claws and fangs into its skin, feel it's pulse peeter out as she wrapped around it and let her powers explode its heart inside its chest. She would have initiated some bizarre mating ritual with Anansi for an encore if he hadn't snapped her out of it. “At times I feel unstoppable, and then others, I can barely function.” “Pain'll do that to you after a while.” Stacy said, a considerable measure of understanding in her eyes. She did live with a chronic pain victim, after all. And had been dealing with others similarly afflicted for years. “What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Except for when it's makin' you miserable.” He paused, a frustrated sigh pushed through his lips. “I have cheated death, maybe what is left of my body is dying and my systems are not coexisting properly.” “You don't smell like a dying thing.” A shrug was all she could offer. “I'm not, like, a doctor or anything but... decay's got it's own taste that clings. You don't got it. Pain's the opposite of death half the time. Means your system's still fightin'.” He brought his left hand away from his own face and stroked Stacy’s cheek affectionately. Despite the expert artifice, Stacy could sense the bionic nature of Pierce's left arm. It didn't produce sweat or scent in the same way the right did. It didn't taste quite right. It probably helped that the memory of Bucky Barnes and his strange metal limb was still fresh in her mind from the week before. Here the covering was expert but once she concentrated she could sense that same lack; and even more radical body-mods beyond that it seemed. “Nothing stops it, nothing helps it… That is, except you. And I don’t think you are ready to get acquainted with what kind of abomination I am.” “Oh, you think you're Frankenstein's monster, huh?” The phrasing was rhetorical but her tone was actually quite empathetic, soft and breathy. Still 'reading' his face she brought it closer to her own, inspecting his expertly crafted eyes. “What a person is don't make them abominable. It's what they do. Is that it? You wanna do abominable things to me Pierce?” She purred, lips just a hair's breadth from his; but never touching. “I’ll have to pay you more.” “Tonight was Anton's treat, remember?” She laughed, pulling back. Stroking her cheek still, he smiled at her, but it was an offsetting grin given the subject matter. Stacy let her focus drift to that bionic arm, traced it to his shoulder then looked at his chest. She hadn't decided yet if the pulse she was reading came from a genuine heart or not. His gaze shifted away, past Stacy’s line of sight and seemed to search the room inanely for something or someone. Rather than force him to look at her, she simply let her hands ruffle his hair, an attempt at a vaguely reassuring gesture. “You can sense it, can’t you? It must be a relieving to know that you are no longer the strangest creature in the room.” “Oh I might be a freak to look at but I'm never the strangest one when I'm working.” That honour went to whoever was paying her. Honestly, you had to be pretty goddamn strange to invite a bipedal snake with a criminal record into your personal space and hand over a considerable chunk of money to get your brain messed with, didn't you? “Strange is subjective.” The tips of her fingers slid into the front hem of his shirt, buttons undone in sequence so deftly it looked more like she was using a claw to open a large envelope made of expensive cotton. She was still talking in a soft tone as she went. “You gotta learn to love the meatsuit you're in.” She smiled, head tilted. “It's the only thing that sticks with you your whole life. You can stick metal and chemicals in there, sure, grafts and implants and removals. But then you have to still be kind to it.” She pulled his tie away completely, throwing it around her own neck to leave it draping, a splash of pale against an otherwise dark look. Cufflinks were popped, layers pushed aside. The torso revealed underneath was covered in surgical scars. Some patches of skin seemed out of place, like his left hand, a waxwork almost. Other patches were more mangled, like the last deformed hamburger patty left out at a barbecue. It didn't phase her particularly. “You hear about mutants all the time who suddenly got their powers, right? Puberty kicks in, one day something sets them off and then... boom. I wasn't like that for me. My powers maybe, but not this.” She brushed a hand over her chest, the scales that shifted with her every breath, hands finding the top of the gold zipper running down the front of her dress. “This came first and it was slow for me. Everyday for half a year I watched my old skin peel off. Little by little, bit by bit.” That part of the speech was, of course, accompanied by the drawn-out pull of the zip. “The eyes, the fangs... it was all slow. By the time it was done and everything human about me had dropped away, I was just glad. To finally be what I was meant to be. Wasn't normal; but it was better.” Okay, so that wasn't exactly the full story but the rest didn't sound as good. Truth be told, she'd welcomed the scales because it stopped her asshole step-father from doing stuff she didn't like. The scales turned him off. They were like a wonderful armour, something that stopped her from being naked even without clothes. And so she'd loved her snakeskin ever since, through thick and thin. She loved it a lot more than the person she'd become underneath those scales. Stacy tossed her little black zip-up number to the far end of the couch lazily, the wider scute plate scales running from her diaphragm down on show for the first time (not to mention a whole lot else). Her hands then returned to Pierce, claws and finger tips tracing the carved pale lines from surgical incisions and faint dots left behind by suture stitches, a raised and darkened patch where flesh had surely been grated or gouged away and left to heal up without a skin graft, Another marking was more likely some kind of burn, a random brand of cruel fate. Undoing his belt and the top of his fly there was the hint of even more damage to his hips and legs. She took the moguls hand, the right one made of flesh and blood, and pressed it over his heart. She laid her own hand over the back of his in turn then and leaned in. “Your body cheated death for you. It's carried you through hell.” By the looks of it, anyway. “And it's carrying you still, cyber-parts or not. You should thank it. Hope for more than 'comfortable numbness' as a mark of respect.” Through the palm pressed to the back of his hand, Stacy's powers snaked through his nervous system. She willed a vast bouquet of chemicals to bloom, a hundred beautiful colours that to her were scent and flavour and enough to make any man, mutant or monster's toes curl. |
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| Donald Pierce | Jun 6 2014, 09:14 PM Post #10 |
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Unregistered
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Their predetermined exchange was unique enough, but it was the increasing levels of familiarity that Pierce should have been overwhelmed by, but frankly, he was a high as a kite and did not care otherwise. It was a rush comparable to the first time he had indulged in a bottle, shot a rifle, driven a super car at top speeds, his taste for the finer things in life had always been insatiable and this was no different. His eyes were set in a rather wide stare, an equally wide grin sat on his lips comfortably. No amount of scotch could have prepared him for this, but Stacy’s chemical tampering was treating him much more kindly than any malt liquor could. The more time that passed, the more at ease Pierce appeared to be, lost in a sea of oxytocin and serotonin, the dynamic duo of feel goods and fuzzys. He was experiencing a strange sense of closeness with the reptilian woman, his thoughts flowed freely and his words were quick to follow suit. “How cliché. Life is pain, is that it? I just can’t accept that.” He shrugged off her words in regard to pain, allowing himself to slip away from reality for a couple moments. He recalled how joyous he had been to awake with complete mobility, while his new body had persevered over time, his attitude and lust for life had faded away, it was like he had given one up for the other. A fair exchange? Well that notion was fleeting in his altered state. “I suppose I should be grateful, I mean, I am here with you”. Raising his eyebrows in response as Stacy pulled his face in closer, he allowed his senses to drink her in to the fullest. The way the light reflected off her ebony painted lips, the finer details and flecks of colour in her eyes, the structure of her scales. “Depends on your definition of abominable, I could split you in half, right down the middle and you would enjoy every moment.” As he spoke his eyes bounced from gazing into her slit pupils and her lips, they were so close, practically begging to be touched. Stacy’s fingers moving through his hair brought him back down to the here and now. Her fingertips cut into his dress shirt, unfastening buttons with skill that only practice could provide. “And beauty is in the eye of the beholder, at least some would say. I would say that we are the strange ones and that is a fact.” He looked away again as his imperfect upper body was exposed, no longer hidden under a guise of designer brands and expensive fabrics. It was a weak link for the man, an insecurity that he would never wish to admit, but Stacy didn’t seem overly appalled and that on its own had its appeal. His own head tilted as she indulged him in the matters of her powers and how she had became to be the woman she was today. It was the motions of her hands that truly gripped his attention, but still, he would have assumed she had been born with her unusual characteristics, not acquired them over time. His eyes narrowed as if he had just been hit by some grand revelation and he had. While their origins were different, he could understand and empathize with the nearly naked woman in front of him and that alone was remarkable. “The eyes, the fangs... it was all slow. By the time it was done and everything human about me had dropped away, I was just glad. To finally be what I was meant to be. Wasn't normal; but it was better.” He was the type who exhibited little concern for his fellow man and up until now, he held nothing but distain for homo superior but that last part really stuck with him, his expression looked confused but illuminated in a rather contradictory fashion. Donald reached for his empty glass instinctively before realizing it was still empty and he pulled his hand back, old habits tended to die hard. “So, what is your diagnosis, do I fit the part?” He smirked, allowed her to collect his right hand in hers after she inspected him further, her dress (not like it had left much to the imagination anyway) was already out of the picture, partially draped over the far arm of the sofa that Donald was melting into. His human heart beat rhythmically, if not a tad quickly as his optics did a complete vertical scan from Stacy’s toes all the way to the top of her head. “Your body cheated death for you. It's carried you through hell.” By the looks of it, anyway. “And it's carrying you still, cyber-parts or not. You should thank it. Hope for more than 'comfortable numbness' as a mark of respect.” Like a ton of bricks, it hit him all at once, he was sure that had been her intention. Instead of the smaller spurts and teases prior, this was the king of them all. A rush like no other, he instantly became weak in the knees and his mind spun on the spot in a moment of light, and life and lust. Numbness? No, this was quite the opposite, his body sparked to life in a way he had yet to experience, that was until now. He could see for miles, the scents of scotch and Stacy lingered in his nostrils and a glossy sheen enveloped the room in its entirety. Taste, he could only imagine what it would be to taste. He inhaled sharply, his pupils had dilated to point that his irises were nearly nonexistent. Overwhelmed by the flux of sensation, he reached out his bionic hand to touch and clamped it down on the first thing he found, his silk tie that was still laying loosely around Stacy’s rather elegant neck. Grabbing the flashy accessory by both ends, he pulled in her forcibly and bare skin met more bare skin. Not normal, but better. It still stuck with him, ringing in the back of his mind while he tried to string a thought or two together. Partially disrobed, usual immaculate hair was a frightful mess and his eyes, they were truly the window the soul. Googly and dilated, he was truly a sight to behold and as his grip began to loosen, he leaned in to plant rather modest peck on her cheek, then releasing his hold all together he muttered. “Thank you… thank you for that.” He muttered, disbelieving the words as they left his lips. Stacy was one helluva drug. |
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| Stacy X | Jun 25 2014, 04:36 AM Post #11 |
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Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
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Donald pulled her in and looked about ready to eat her alive. Normally not a problem, but something he had said earlier was still nagging away in the back of Stacy's mind - “Depends on your definition of abominable, I could split you in half, right down the middle and you would enjoy every moment.” – Casual threats weren't anything unusual, sexual or not. Flatscans said all kinds of crazy things in their attempts to feel more in charge around Stacy. She understood though. Her mutant looks could be intimidating. It was water off a duck's (snake's?) back to her, every threat rendered empty because the bottom line was she had power built in by mother nature that humans didn't. Pierce was a different kind of animal though. A week ago she'd seen the damage Bucky Barnes did with just one cybernetic arm. The man groping at her now had more than just a metal arm, it was a whole range of cybernetics grinding away inside him. If he really got it in his head to literally tear her in half, she wasn't going to write off the idea that he could do it. So as much as her mutation was threading its way through his neurochemistry to make him hers, Stacy's words were aimed to take hold of his thought too. It helped that she meant what she said, of course. People were always equating whores with liars, but the best whores were really only experts at lying to themselves. Pierce seemed not to know what to do with her once he had yanked her in close, pupils wide as car headlamps. He was like a young child instinctively reaching out for a parent's smartphone – no comprehension of what it was or how it worked, just a primal need to possess the alien object glowing in the hands of another. She reached one hand up to curl around his wrist, testing to see whether he'd bat it away. His grip began to loosen, he leaned in to plant rather modest peck on her cheek, then releasing his hold all together he muttered. “Thank you… thank you for that.” The test worked in as much as it put her more at ease. The hint of tension in her muscles loosened up and she let herself melt against Pierce's ravaged frame, this time of her own volition. Everywhere his real skin made contact with her scales, she was bleeding a pleasant mellow chaser of chemicals into his system. “Don't thank me, thank Anton. Remember?” She smiled as she breathed into his ear. It was a fully paid two hour session, so she wasn't going to let Donald wander off blabbing reviews about how she burned him out in the first thirty minutes then sat filing her nails while watching the clock or something... *** Of course once the two hours was up, Stacy had absolutely gone through 'the works' Anton paid for. Unsure of how quickly she was going to be kicked out, she opted for a couple of lengths in the host's swimming pool rather than a shower. She just wandered out onto the penthouse decking without any preamble. Chlorine could do the work of soap until she got home and it was only going to take her a minute to get dressed. The roof garden was definitely the best feature of the place. Wringing the water from her hair a little, she stared out at the view of Manhattan. Around 3am was what she considered the middle of the night but even then the city was abuzz with life. Inside, Anton's double glazing and insulated walls blocked the noise out, the only sounds had come from herself and Pierce. But she'd gotten so used to living in New York that she found the quiet a little disconcerting once they were done. In amongst the rest of the sounds she heard the sliding glass door roll back again to signal someone else coming outside. “Don't worry, I'll be outta here before y'know it.” She said, still staring out at the urban sprawl. |
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| Donald Pierce | Jul 2 2014, 06:16 PM Post #12 |
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Unregistered
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He was like a child with a brand new, shiny toy, he didn’t want to break it, such a thought was unthinkable. Instead their bodies melded together, it was only a matter of time until he fell victim to chemical charms and male instinct (he couldn’t resist them forever), Stacy on the other hand, executed herself as nothing but a professional, he found it superbly attractive. His associate had treated him to the luxury tour and he delivered more than Donald could have ever imagined. At a point he left his predetermined views and skeptical behavior with his discarded clothing, the chemical foreplay had broadened his horizons and for a brief while he was the man he wished he could be. It wasn’t until he woke from a sex and drug induced slumber did the magnitude of said actions really sink in. The king sized bed was comfortable enough, in fact his body felt brand new, truly brand new. It took a couple seconds more of drowsy observation to realize that the ceiling he was staring at was definitely not the one in his bedroom, and finally the empty space beside him pulled him back down planet earth. Instinctively he checked his bare wrist, unsure even if he had worn his watch into the bedroom. Hydraulic systems pushed his frame out of bed easily and just as quickly he began to gather his scattered clothing from the floor. The shower to follow was brief, but it was glorious. A purist to the extreme, he preened himself to levels of inspection that most women would find excessive. Seriously, 25 minutes passed until he exited the bathroom, partially dressed in the clothing he had found. Searching for his remaining possessions, he moved through the penthouse efficiently, happy to find the missing articles and at last, his timepiece. When he found himself where it had all started, he paused to reflect on the surreal moment, unsure how he was supposed to think, how was he to react…noticing Stacy’s own discarded clothing on the floor at last. He did a quick turn before helping himself to one of her cigarettes left out on a table. Up until then, Pierce figured she had already left, taken her leave the moment he was down for the count. He wouldn’t have blamed her either; she had followed through with her end of the bargain. He fastened the last couple buttons, cigarette dangling from his lips while he applied the last finishing touches to his finally unified, five piece suit. Pushing the door open, he stepped out on the balcony, breathing in the night air before igniting the still hanging tobacco stick. Shrouded in a cloud of smoke, he exhaled slowly through his nostrils, remaining smoked rolled off his lips when he spoke. “No need to hurry, things of beauty need to be appreciated.” Double meaning or not, he would leave it up to Stacy’s interpretation. He closed the distance between them entirely, more comfortable than he had been earlier, obviously. Keeping an arm’s length away, he took a moment of his own to take in the surroundings and while it was a familiar sight to the man, it was like he was experiencing it for the first time ever. His eyes followed her line of sight across the illuminated sea of steel and concrete, even at this hour it was bustling with the noise of traffic and the mark of humanity. The constant flow of life that sparked the sleepless city onward was powerful and awe inspiring. A new appreciation for life had been found tonight and he felt obligated to express his gratitude. An unusual sentiment, indeed. Smoke loomed from his nostrils, his eyes still glued on the city before them. “Not normal, but better. I do really quite like that.” He followed her line of sight, lightly dragging on the cigarette held loosely in his hand, exhaling deeply, he truly felt like a new man. “I quite like you and all your unique workings… ” His eyes scanned over her body, trying to be subtle about it, but he failed miserably but he wasn’t really ashamed of that fact. “I’ll call you a car service, if you like.” “I feel alive and I have you to thank, it’s the least I can do.” Instead he reached for his pocket and began counting bills from a folded stack concealed there. “Look. I suppose I’ll just be upfront and leave pleasantries for another time. Take this and please keep what you’ve seen and heard to yourself.” He extended a hand towards her, a cool thousand dollars just waiting to be snatched up. He almost dangled it in front her face, it was a meager sum to him but to a normal, working person, a thousand dollars could make a world of difference and he knew that. He thrived off such things. “I have a reputation I must uphold, I’m sure you understand Stacy.” |
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| Stacy X | Jul 9 2014, 12:38 AM Post #13 |
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Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
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Stacy turned, unable to suppress an entertained reaction at the compliment. She wouldn't be so good at pleasing people if she wasn't a sucker for praise. Pierce closed the distance between them entirely, more comfortable than he had been earlier, obviously. Without the pressure of an upcoming 'performance' she was much more relaxed too, languid in the way she moved even if she planned to still make the effort of speaking more eloquently than she did naturally. Her wet hair was rolled over one shoulder, water still running in droplets over her scales. She gave the lengths one last wring before tossing the dark waves behind her once more. She was actually hoping it didn't dry out completely before she'd left – the deflated Diana Ross afro wasn't a great look. Being naked in front of others who were completely dressed no longer phased Stacy. She stood as confidently as if she were wearing a finely tailored suit of her own. That's what her scales were as far as she was concerned. Taking in the scent and taste of Pierce her eyes narrowed, head tilting. “Now I know that's not the brand you were smoking before you came in.” The tone was mock accusation. She was more amused by his cheek than annoyed by it. And being a member of the Thieves Guild she couldn't really complain about others taking from her. The snakewoman reached out and plucked the cigarette from him to take her own drag. Smoke curled from her nostrils like some bipedal dragon. She then carefully slipped it back between his lips; it was a playful excuse to draw closer and take hold of his wrist, echoing the way she had at the start of the session. She led him over to the edge of Anton's little roof garden set up where they could lean over the safety rail to stare out at the city. His eyes followed her line of sight across the illuminated sea of steel and concrete, even at this hour it was bustling with the noise of traffic and the mark of humanity. Smoke loomed from his nostrils, his eyes still glued on the city before them. “Not normal, but better. I do really quite like that.” “A cigarette to smoke and a new credo to live by. I come with lots of bonus freebies tonight, huh?” Stacy smiled, leaning folded arms on the railing to protect more sensitive parts from touching the cold metal. Like Pierce she was staring out, watching the city lights all but dance around them with an infectious sense of wonder. “I quite like you and all your unique workings… ” “You've got some pretty 'unique workings' yourself.” She was conscious of not wanting to sound like an overly-keen saleswoman. “Anton can give you my details if you ever wanna call me up again.” She did finally turn to pay attention to Donald after that. His eyes scanned over her body, trying to be subtle about it, but he failed miserably but he wasn’t really ashamed of that fact. “I’ll call you a car service, if you like.” “That'd be nice.” There seemed nothing complicated about an offer like that and so there was no subtext to her gratitude. She'd not direct any driver straight back to the XFI hotel but even getting dropped off a block or two away would save her time and money, which was always a plus. “I feel alive and I have you to thank, it’s the least I can do.” Stacy reached up and ran her hand through the man's hair, nails gently raking over his scalp as her snake eyes met his gaze. She was naturally quite a tactile person but she was also well aware that with clients it could help encourage a sense of trust. 'Brand loyalty' if whores were allowed to command such a thing. “Well just... try not to go undoing all that good work and feelin' undead again after I'm gone.” With that she plucked the nearly-finished cigarette from Pierce. She took a final inhale that had the mentholated embers practically kissing the filter. And then she flicked it out over the railings – a glowing speck of orange disappearing into the abyss of the street so many floors below. He reached for his pocket and began counting bills from a folded stack concealed there. “Look. I suppose I’ll just be upfront and leave pleasantries for another time.” Stacy might have felt like he was telling her to shut up and get out, except for the fact that he'd said 'another time'. Instead a wide grin blossomed over her face, the kind usually worn by fishermen when they reeled in a fish they could boast about for years. “Take this and please keep what you’ve seen and heard to yourself.” He extended a hand towards her, a cool thousand dollars just waiting to be snatched up. “I have a reputation I must uphold, I’m sure you understand Stacy.” She plucked the wad of cash from his hand and had to resist pressing it against her face to smell it all the clearer. Pierce didn't need to see her getting all Hannibal Lecter over the unexpected bonus. She had to settle for a quick flick through to check the amount, a move so practised it was almost a slight of hand trick. “Oh, of course.” She smiled like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, made a gesture of zipping across her mouth, turning a key and then threw it over to follow the cigarette. “As do I.” Stacy was actually in no way above blackmailing clients if it a. suited her b. she didn't particularly like them and c. it seemed a safe bet they wouldn't retaliate. Donald Pierce could be assured of Stacy's discretion but not through any professional courtesy. She just knew who she liked, who she didn't, and when to pick her battles. “If you wanna call that car for me, I'll get dressed and see how much of a dent we can put in Anton's liquor cabinet before go-time.” She wiggled her eyebrows at the mogul before turning and strutting back into the apartment. What had started as a strange kind of joke on Anton Aubuisson's part had become an oddly fruitful evening for both his friend and his mistress. |
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| Donald Pierce | Jul 11 2014, 07:40 PM Post #14 |
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He raised his eyebrows as she turned, obviously amused by his words, every woman liked to be complimented, that was simply a fact. Enjoying that nicotine rush to the fullest extent, he hit the cigarette hard, almost in a constant cycle of inhale, exhale. Until Stacy commandeered the cigarette from his lips, snatching it away for her own delight. Tugging on his wrist, “You’re not wrong, I usually find cigarettes so… plebeian, but when in Rome…”. She returned the cancer stick (not that he was concerned by such a notion), car accidents, bullets and alien attacks had yet to kill him. Cancer would surely be a piece of cake if he ever fell victim to it. Donald followed her light tugs on his wrist to the edge of the balcony, but also avoided pressing his frame against the railing. It was probably filthy. He had too much pride in his appearance to allow it to be spoiled by dust and dirt. “I’m a lucky man.” He wasn’t one to express gratitude, in fact he saw most people as play things, an ends to a means, but Stacy and her fantastic abilities? They were something to truly be coveted. She looked cold, but she was a big girl, while he was tempted to offer Stacy his jacket, it was nearing his time to leave. He didn’t want to be rude, self-importance aside, he had been raised to be a gentleman, especially to a lady that was so worth his time. “I’m a work in progress and I think I have you to thank for that, I’ll be in touch, don’t you worry.” And as she turned, he felt himself sucked into those slit, amber eyes. Feelings and emotions were foreign to him, he usually tried to drown them out with drink, but right now, he was at piece with them, surely a residual effect of the blissful evening he had endured to much delight. She relieved him of the remainder of his cigarette that they were apparently now sharing and he fought the urge to swat at her hand. With a devilish smirk, he brought the phone to his ear. “No promises.” He muttered before the call was answered and then he laid out rather specific instructions. Once again, her fingers found his flesh and he felt a similar sensation from hours ago, she took the remainder of the cigarette yet again, smoking it down to the filter and flicking the fibreglass tip over the balcony and down into the streets below. Momentarily distracted, a slight hello could be heard emanating and repeating from the mobile device and finally he spoke into it. “640 Broadway, front door and if you could put that on the card you have on file, that would be splendid.” With a curt nod, he ended the call and pocketed the phone. Money and lots of it. He was definitely speaking her language by the looks of it and that wide, sparkling grin painted ear from ear only furthered his sense of satisfaction. He didn’t have to ask her twice, that was sure, she took the money quicker then she had the cigarette they had just shared. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” He eyed the shuffle of bills as she ran her fingers over the thick fold, a quick count but it was all there. If there was one thing Pierce was good for, it was his bank roll. “It shouldn’t be long, if it wasn’t so late I’d call my driver, but I use this company frequently, they understand that I am not the type to be left waiting.” He followed her back inside, while the offer for a drink was tempting, Donald recognized it was time to take his leave. It would be dawn soon and he couldn’t afford (well actually he could) to waste a day sleeping off the actioons of the night before. He moved past Stacy and the aforementioned fully stocked bar, it was practically begging to be ransacked. He ran his own fingers through his head of hair, trying to bring order to it before he would take his leave. “Stacy. I hate to be rude, but I imagine you can do a fair amount of damage on your own and I must retire for the evening, or what’s left of it.” One final adjustment of his clothing, constantly pursuing perfection, he reached into his pocket again, glancing down at the floor briefly and them up to Stacy with a manufactured smile. With a sly move of hand, he held one of hers in his, passing off a business card as one last final action of appreciation. “Don’t be a stranger, Stacy dear.” He pulled his hands back slowly, stroking the back of her scaled hand as he did so. “I can be a powerful friend, you’d be surprised with how helpful I can be.” He bowed his head briefly, one last notion of good will before turning away from the reptilian beauty and striding towards the exit. He turned the knob and opened the door a crack, but he couldn’t resist turning back for one last glance. “Good night, Stacy.” The door closed behind him and Pierce was gone. Much had changed, he had a lot to think about. |
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2:39 PM Jul 11