ariel_ooc | Test Drive Meme: The Overflow, Part Deux!

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[meme] test drive

Test Drive Meme: The Overflow, Part Deux!

CITY OF ARIEL: THE TEST DRIVE
THE OVERFLOW, PART DEUX!

Since the last post is again fast approaching 3k comments and getting laggy for some of our players, we have decided to go ahead and stick up the overflow post, even though there's just a little over a week to game start.

Please continue your threads or start new ones here if you'd like. To make this easier on those continuing threads from the last meme, here's a handy form:

Please remember to let your thread partners know you've bumped your threads over here as well! We started the meme early to give you plenty of room to do just that.

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With the City of Ariel grand opening only a month away, we are holding our first ever test drive meme. Tag in and see how your character would settle in the game. You're a fresh face in the city, newly processed, and arriving at a bustling time. The city is expanding and you are greeted first in the re-education center by your helpful counselors and then directed out of the building to a large festival.

Be puzzled, make friends, have sex, or whatever you want! There are no restrictions on thread types played out here.

Your first awareness that something has gone wrong comes during a groggy moment of semi-lucidity when you look around yourself and find that -- instead of wherever you remember being last -- you're in a chair, in a room with a man you don't recognize. He's sitting behind a desk whistling to himself and sorting paperwork. The whole atmosphere might remind you of a high school guidance counselor's office, only with far more comfortable chairs.

When your head clears enough to speak and you ask him where you are, he smiles brightly and says, "Welcome to the City of Ariel."

You were brought to Ariel during a very special time! There's a large festival going on celebrating the new expansions to the city and everything is decked out for it. Everything is bustling and vibrant in the city today because of the celebrations. There are decorations up, food vendors set up all along the streets, kissing booths, games, and just about anything else you can imagine an event like this would have!

The people of Ariel are out and about as well, some are in vibrant costumes and others are just checking out the sights. Some of the more exhibitionist types are even having a little more fun out in public than you may be used to seeing back home.

As soon as the grogginess from your arrival passes, you are allowed to leave the re-education center and see it all for yourself. Upon exiting, you are even handed beads of various colors, several of each so you don't worry about running out.

Each color has a special meaning listed below:

pink - toys
blue - oral
yellow - watersports
green - age play
lavender - crossdressing
orange - multiples
grey - bondage
white - hands (mutual masturbation, fingering, handjob)
red - blood
black - wildcard

These are to aid you in making a connection with others. Show your interest in others and tell them exactly what you would like to do with them by sharing the beads.

If you would rather take a different approach, feel free to walk around the festival and see what (or who) catches your eye. The point is to relax and get settled in your new home.

TAG IN
- Post your character's name, canon, and preferences.
- Set up an opener in your comment or leave it blank.
- Tag around and have fun!

USEFUL LINKS:
[Premise]
[Rules]
[F.A.Q.]
[Locations]
[Local Citizens (NPC)]
[Taken]
[Wanted]
[Reserves]
[Application]
[Main]
[Logs]
[OOC]

Please note that all CR in this meme can be carried over when the game starts between characters that are accepted into the game.

Threads can also count towards third and first person samples on the application, just provide links.

Take a look at our OOC Meet and Greet post! Meet. Greet. Make friends. Have fun!

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Natasha steps from the ground to his bent leg to his shoulder to the alcove, as effortless as climbing flat and even stairs. She takes care that he can feel the bite of her heels without them causing actual pain. When she's above him, her grip on the beads is just on the edge of uncomfortably tight. "Then you will call me ma'am."

She pulls up on the leash, guiding him back to his feet. "Up." Her commands are simple, but she conveys intent with her tone and body language. Her voice is sharp, and it carries, short words like gunshots. More heads turn. She's also not letting go of the beads, so if Dean can't lift himself smoothly, he's going to end up with marks on his neck.

Dean doesn't flinch when she steps over him. It doesn't hurt and it's kind of hot. There've been a few times he's agreed to let someone top him only to end up bored and disappointed by the lack of aggression. It doesn't look like that's going to be a problem, this time. "Yes, ma'am."

When she pulls, he lifts himself to his feet obediently. He's in the best shape of his life, at the moment, newly rebuilt body proportionately muscled and free of old hurts and wounds. At least he got that out of his stint in Hell.

Natasha has used the cover of a dominatrix more than once. Not terribly often, but wealthy and psychotic men have twisted desires, and someone needs to scratch that itch. It's an easy role to slip back into. When he stands, she stands fully - shoulders straight, back arched, legs slightly apart. And when he stops there, she gives another sharp tug on the beads. "Up," she repeats, tapping her foot meaningfully against the thin leather cushion she's standing on. If she has to ask again, it won't be so forgiving.

That tug surprises him and does leave a mark. He scrambles to obey, not giving a thought to refusing. That deep seated need to be controlled is climbing quickly to the surface and he wants to obey. Wants to please her.

He kneels on the cushion at her feet, looking up at her. From this angle and with the demeanor she's projecting, it feels natural to submit to her commands. They're definitely being watched now, but that concern's falling to the wayside. His focus is on only her.

His response earns him a smile, amusement and approval and an easy familiarity that says she's finding her stride again. "Good boy," she coos, shaking her head so that the blue wrap falls away from her hair, still draped across her shoulders and flowing around her body.

She walks around him slowly, rolling her shoulders back in a way that hikes her bra slightly higher. She twists the necklace again sharply, not to hurt him, but to lock it tight around his neck, the smooth round beads slipping over each other and the tension keeping them from pulling free. It leaves him collared even after she lets go in order to run her fingers through his hair, tilt his head from side to side, examining his neck and shoulders and the way the muscles shift under his skin.

"If you say red, everything stops. No other word, no other phrase, no other action will be viewed as a denial of consent. Do you understand?" Underneath the flowing wrap, her free hand is tugging down the zipper on her jumpsuit, even though no one can see it yet.

Dean can feel the beads tight against his skin each time he takes a breath or swallows. It's not uncomfortable. In all honesty, he kind of likes the feeling. His eyelids half close when she moves her fingers through his hair to turn his head. It's always been a turn on to have his hair touched, played with, pulled.

When she speaks again, his eyes open to focus on her and her words. He licks his lips and nods slowly. "Yes, ma'am. I understand."

A thrum of anticipation runs through him when he says it. It makes it feel real. He's committed to obeying her, now, as far as he can.

Natasha notes his reaction, files it away for later. There's an incredible responsibility in what she does, if it's done well. Hell, if it's done even halfway competently. It's her job to know his mind as well as he does, possibly better. He's giving up control, which means his safety on every front has become her burden. It's not one to be shouldered lightly.

"Then we begin," she says, with another little smile. She slips one shoulder of her wrap free and lets the flowing material pool around her feet, leaving her in her black jumpsuit and boots, the belts, the fingerless gloves, Widow's Bites on her wrists. It's a happy coincidence that she's already more or less dressed the part for what she has in mind. The zipper she lowered earlier is just below her breasts, the shadowed curves of her cleavage visible in the plunging V of pale skin.

A few people in the milling crowd have stopped, curious eyes turned toward the pair. Some people get off on doing, and some people get of on watching. She sizes each of them up, marking the way they're dressed, the way they hold themselves, where their eyes linger, how close they move, how prominently they put themselves in her line of vision. She focuses in on one young man. "Can I borrow your knife?" There's a flicker of surprise before a butterfly knife is removed from a pocket, a raised eyebrow that asks how she knew. But she just holds her hand out.

Once it's handed over, she flips it open with a practiced ease, twirling it through her fingers a few times. They're putting on a show, after all. It's a good blade, thin and sharp, well taken care of.

Man, he is not disappointed when she drops that wrap. Her body is amazing and made even more so by that suit she's wearing. He can't take his eyes off her, especially the way that zipper so low shows so much of her breasts.

A twinge of discomfort hits him when she requests a knife. He's unarmed for the first time in a long time and it's been drilled into his head since he was four that he should never be the one who's unarmed. Still, he pushes it down and remains where he is, kneeling there as he watches her twirl the knife.

Trust and power was the name of the game. He's given her the power, now he has to find the trust.

A measure of the power, true, but not all of it. Because if he says red, she will stop, no matter what she's doing, even if she hurts herself in the process.

One booted foot presses between his legs, up against the fly of his jeans, firm and unyielding pressure, and then she leans forward until her knee is planted in the center of his chest. "Hands behind your back." And still the knife twirls. If he doesn't obey, she'll knock him over. The foot braced behind her and one good swift push should do it, even though he's nearly a foot taller than her and almost twice her weight.

"Yes, ma'am," he answers as he moves to comply. He isn't sure if she merely wants his hands clasped or some weird contortionist move, but he'll give it a try. Hopefully his putting his hands behind him, one hand on the opposite wrist, will be sufficient. If not, well... it takes time to learn cues from a new dominant and he's willing to put the time in.

It's good enough. She just wants easy access to his chest. She gives him a small smile. "Good." And then her knee slides from his chest and her leg rests against his. She runs one hand down his shirt, twisting her fingers in the hem and pulling down. She stretches the fabric far enough that the back of her hand presses against the bulge forming in his jeans.

"Hold still." It's all the warning she gives before the knife blade presses against the neck of his shirt. The blade is sharp enough to part the material easily, but it's also sharp enough to draw blood if he so much as twitches. She's good enough to not hurt him if he's good enough to hold perfectly still. And the knife glides lower.

The tension he should have been feeling at the sight of a knife so close to his throat, exposed and vulnerable, isn't there. His natural inclination toward obedience is being ramped up to whole new levels by this place and compliance comes easy to him.

Dean breathes a soft sigh and keeps his head back, the faint pressure from the knife telling him where the blade is while it's out of his line of sight. As it moves lower, he's tempted to look, but it's safe to keep still.

The knife makes it all the way to her other hand, slipping between her fingers until his shirt has been sliced clean from collar to hem. And not a single drop of red on his skin. "Have you done this before?" If he hasn't, he's got the natural makings of a true submissive, which is difficult to find. Especially in someone with his casual and cocky demeanour.

She lets the flat of the blade trail back up his chest, enjoying the trust he's displaying. She didn't miss the flicker of discomfort at the sight of the knife, but she'd pushed on anyway. She wants to see just how obedient he actually is. So far she's not at all disappointed.

"Not like this. I've had shirts torn off... never cut." It's not something he'd generally be all that receptive to, but his survival instincts are taking the back seat to other, more pleasurable ones.

There's another very faint flinch, even so, when the knife moves over his skin again. A faint flash in the back of his mind reminds him of other blades on his skin... cutting, ripping, tearing, blood and screams... but it's gone as quickly as it was there, suppressed by the pleasure pulses the chip's delivering. There's no evidence on his unblemished skin now, but he remembers every wound like phantom pains when there's metal on his body.

"Ma'am," she prompts him, flicking his Adam's apple hard with her finger. She doesn't mind that he chose her title, but he'd damn well better remember it and use it. "I meant: have you ever acted as a submissive before?"

Not that it's a particularly harsh offense, but the fact that he assumed the question incorrectly and forgot his manners has her standing up gracefully, stepping away from him. Just as touch is a reward, distance is a punishment, both of them subtle but effective with enough time and exposure. And if he performs well for her today, Natasha sees no reason for their acquaintance to end.

She walks around behind him, toying with the knife as she goes, and when she's standing where he can't see her, she stops. Her hand comes down on his head, pushing forward, directing his eyes to the floor.

Dean jerks hard at the flick, surprised and confused for a moment. It's a good thing it was only the flat of the blade on him at the that moment. Another time the rebuke might have tripped his temper... he was trying, after all, and didn't know Natalie well enough to read between the lines of what she said... but this time, he's sort of relieved. It draws him back from uncomfortable mental territory and forces him to focus.

"Not in any serious way, ma'am." Not for lack of trying, but there's a shortage of good dominants in Dean's life. His head snaps forward without resistance when she pushes it. His hands stay clasped behind him until he's told to move them.

She's testing him, yes. There's no real consequence if he fails. But they do need to see if the two of them work. She needs to know if he can truly submit or if he's one of those with the issues letting go, who have to try and assert dominance in all situations. There's nothing wrong with that, but it doesn't interest Natasha.

When he calls her ma'am, when his head bends obediently and without hesitation, she smiles and runs her fingers through his short hair, scratching in the same places that got the most reaction from him the last time. "I'm glad. I don't want to have to retrain a lot of bad habits. You look good on your knees, Dean."

Dominance is something he can do, but it isn't his first instinct. He wants to submit. He craves the release of giving control over to someone else and just being free to obey. The few times he's tried to start something like this with someone else, though, it's always ended in some level of disaster.

He's learned over time that this isn't something he's supposed to want or to have. Happily, those learned hesitations aren't having a chance to speak up this time.

Her hand in his hair is soothing and the tension that started to twist up in his shoulders starts to melt. He sighs lightly and remains still, a little flutter of pleasure running through him at the compliment. "Thank you, ma'am."

Natasha has made a career and kept herself alive for a very long time by knowing how to read people. Not just the obvious, not even just the subtle cues, but the micro-expressions, the involuntary tremors, the truth in what people don't do as much as what they allow. Dean wants this. He want to give over to someone he can trust, and he wants to be able to trust her. It's written all over the way he sighs and the twitch of his body wanting to follow her hand in his hair as it pulls away.

Well, that deserves something more. She kneels behind him and leans forward to smell the back of his bent neck, her loose hair brushing his bare skin. Her fingers slip under what's left of his shirt, pulling the material down to his wrists, twisting and knotting it efficiently. "If you strain against these knots, they will come undone. If they come undone, this is finished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am, I understand." Dean doesn't pull at the knots to test them; he'll take her word for it. For now, his hands stay clasped, giving himself something to hold onto to make sure he doesn't pull by accident.

There's a thrill in being bound tightly enough that he could pull against them without breaking free, but for a first encounter this is better. Safer. After this encounter, who knows? Maybe he'll ask for those tighter knots.

This is being done as a comfort for Dean. A submissive who doesn't feel safe is a submissive being misused. But this is also for Natasha. She wants obedience when there is the option of rebellion. She wants Dean to choose to submit, not be forced into it.

His response to her earns him a dry kiss on the back of his neck, her teeth nipping at the beads still wrapped tightly around his skin. The knife gets closed with a flourish and tucked into her boot, and her hands snake around to his front and the fly of his jeans. She's not teasing him, there's hardly any contact. There is purpose to her movements. She wants him exposed for the crowd that's still growing.

The kiss elicits another faint sigh, the muscles in his back smoothing out further. He's settling in, his body reacting automatically to the contact. When he feels her hand on him, his knees slide apart to give her access to do whatever she likes.

On his knees, legs wide, hands tied, and head down in submission, he's already feeling exposed. It's not an entirely unwelcome feeling and he knows he can stop it if he wants. Right now, what he wants is to see where she's planning to take him.

His jeans are loose enough that getting the fly undone without touching him isn't an problem at all. And they're also loose enough that she can push them down his legs without having to cut through the material. Good news for him. Her thumbs slip along the defined jut of his hipbones, underneath his boxers and down to mid-thigh.

Looking over his shoulder, down the length of his body, she makes a pleased sound in the back of her throat. As close to a compliment as he's going to get right now. He has a nice cock. Not strictly a requirement for Natasha to enjoy someone, but it never hurts the situation. "You're drawing a crowd, Dean." She doesn't tell him to look up, doesn't give any indication of what he wants him to do with that information. It's another test, feeling him out, finding the balance of just how much control he wants to give up. "How does it feel, knowing people are seeing you like this?"

Dean doesn't move when she touches him or when she speaks. The idea of a crowd's not unexpected. He's been part of the crowd more than once already today. It's only fitting he become part of the show.

"Doesn't bother me, ma'am. I don't mind being watched." He hasn't had a great deal of experience with performing for a crowd like this, but he can definitely envision himself enjoying it.

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Test Drive Meme: The Overflow, Part Deux!

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