Lost Carnival Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ringleaders) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2017-02-26 02:17 pm
ringleaders) wrote in lostcarnival2017-02-26 02:17 pm
Entry tags:
- !event,
- @celebration,
- annabelle blishwick,
- foster van denend,
- ginko,
- greg universe,
- hinawa,
- jamie hemeros,
- john childermass,
- joker,
- jonathan strange,
- katsuki yuuri,
- koel babic,
- lambert,
- lauren,
- miko nakadai,
- mitsuki izumi,
- mutou yuugi,
- papyrus,
- renzo shima,
- sans,
- sherlock holmes,
- sophie welman,
- sora,
- steven universe,
- susan,
- the psiioniic,
- yotsuba tamaki
⇨ THE MASQUERADE
Who: Everyone! Attendance is mandatory.
When: Late Day 65
Where: The Celebration
What: The Masquerade arrives, and so does the carnival's enemies. For more info, check out the Draculas 101.
Warnings: Further party hell. Also, vampire violence, mind control, etc.
When: Late Day 65
Where: The Celebration
What: The Masquerade arrives, and so does the carnival's enemies. For more info, check out the Draculas 101.
Warnings: Further party hell. Also, vampire violence, mind control, etc.
THE HOST & THE HORDE↴ The time of the Masquerade arrives. You've been given free reign of the place up till now, but a few hours before the party commences the Host will inform you that your presence will be required, and will assist you (forcibly, if need be) to sort out any last minute costuming concerns you might have if you've left it until now. When masks and outfits are sorted, you'll be left to your own devices until you are summoned on the evening of Day 65. The Masquerade will start off normally - relative to everything else in this place, at least. Everyone in the Celebration will be called in for this event, centered in a grand hall with side rooms offered to those that need them for whatever reasons might come up. The food and drink is especially ambrosia-esque this evening, and the music will stir your soul, even if you're not usually a music person. Enjoy it if you can - the peace won't last. ► MASKS: Though the masks seemed only mundane before, once within the Masquerade atmosphere, they will magically begin obscuring people's identities beyond what a normal mask should be able to do. When a person is wearing one, it would be supernaturally difficult to figure out who they are - maybe you forget what their voice should sound like, or maybe the other details escape you. Of course, it's possible to figure out if you look for it, based on general shapes and personality traits, but unless you know someone well it could be a challenge. Of course, you can just take your mask off and remove the enchantment entirely - though the Host will hassle you if they notice you going without. Stop ruining the party! ► TEMPTATION: Though it's felt easy to be whisked away by the draw of pleasure and luxury during the rest of the week, that feeling will seem to come to a head at the actual party. If you are aware of what needs to be resisted then it's possible to fight back and ignore it, but more than ever it feels all too easy to just dance your life away. Nobody seems to be dying from it, at least, or 'burning out' any faster as a result - it's mostly just extremely distracting from other concerns. Like vampires, for instance. VAMPIRE: THE MASQUERADE↴ It's during the latter half of the party that things will start to go bad. Though it will go unseen by the carnival, the Masquerade has gained an additional set of guests - the vampire's of the demon lord that has been chasing them for the last several months. The Host doesn't discriminate, and anyone is welcome to attend the Celebration, provided they don't start a fight. Right. About that. ► THE KINDRED: The vampires don't like to play fair, which means that they are going to be attacking with stealth and trickery - taking advantage of the way that the party has dulled the alertness of many of the carnival's workers. They'll be using that lack of inhibition to lure individuals into places they can be attacked or turned in private - their primary goals are to capture the Supervisors and to turn as many of the Ringmaster's workers as possible before escaping back to their dimension. Some of their targets will be gone before anyone has a chance to notice. Remembering that they will be avoiding big public confrontations, so if anyone starts one of those it will probably by the carnival members striking back. This is going to wear on the Host's patience extremely quickly. ► COLD IRON: Oh, right, and they are definitely bringing iron weapons - as pure as they could get. They'll have things like iron collars or shackles to try to trap people with, as well as iron daggers and guns with iron bullets. They'll have to be on the down low with, but they are going to exploit that weakeness as much as possible. Those that have only been in the carnival a few months will mostly just feel discomfort at the touch of it - as if they are touching something that is slightly too hot or too cold. Veterans that have been around for years will find its touch to be burningly cold - the type of temperature that would threaten to destroy flesh after prolonged contact. Those that have been here for up to three years will take it the worst. See the Transformations page for more details! ► TURNING THE TABLES: Being turned is a mixture of pleasure and pain, and is often hard for mortals to mentally reconcile as it happens to them. Being drained by these vampires is simultaneously impossibly satisfying and extremely terrifying - once they've started in on your, the way it overwhelms your mind and body can make it nearly impossible to stop them without help. Once you are dead or dying, they will feed you their blood - at which point your body will go through a painful transformation as the demon spirit takes its place inside of you and your dead body is violently resurrected. As soon as you wake up, freshly changed, the bloodlust will set it - it will be extremely hard to control, and at first all you will think about is wanting to sate that hunger. Combined with your sire having direct control if your mind through your blood connection, new vampires will be mostly incapable of doing anything but following the whims of the rest of the vampire pack and seeking nourishment. This blood lust will begin to fade after they've fed. Killing isn't necessary to feed, but it can be hard to stop yourself, as a neonate vampire. ► CLOSING TIME: Before the party is officially over, the Host will have had enough. Before you can pursue all of the vampires or take back the people they've stolen, the lot of them will have escaped back to their dimension, and the Host will have kicked the entire carnival out for participating in so much violence. If you want to make any final moves before you go, this is the time. |
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For a few precious seconds, physical pain takes a backseat to incomprehension and anger; his disgust at her touch evaporates slightly once he recognises her voice, however... halfway through her drunken interrogation. He is totally silent for several long, slow-loading seconds, during which his blue eyes dart back and forth behind the mask.
The fleeting pass of emotion is gone already, the experience beyond his recall. Instead, he.... honestly, what the fuck?]
..... Sophie?
[What the fuck.]
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But the more she stares at Foster, a few things stick out that start filling in the blanks on their own. Those ears, his teeth...Those were fae changes. She'd only been back for like two weeks, not nearly enough time to have both of those set in, even if teeth and ears tended to be some of the first things to go. He couldn't have just followed her in, he's been here longer than she has, (at least on her current trip).
She too spends a few long seconds trying to let her mind catch up, and calming down a little. The pressure on Foster's hand eases up just a tad. Now it's back to being a functional gesture. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter and much more level, almost an empty sort of deadpan as a few more heavy thoughts settle into place.]
Yeah. Hi. What are you doing here? With the carnival I mean?
[The question this time is much less demanding. She's got to fill in a few more blanks before she lets herself give in to this horrible sinking feeling entirely.]
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I.. ah--
[The force needed to stem the dead flow of blood isn't insubstantial, but the gratuitous application of pain is--
He winces visibly. Behind the mask, it's impossible to tell what kind of facial expression accompanies that.
But it's Sophie, so if anyone knows him well enough to guess, she has a pretty good shot.
And the pain gives him a distraction--a consistency from a point neither Here nor There, and he manages at least an answer, thought it's vague and cryptic as he often is. His tone is hollow, distracted in that desperate, breathless way he has; he's miles away.]
...repaying a debt.
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No shit Sherlock, I mean like...What's your contract? How'd you get here?
[That nagging, sneaking suspicion won't leave her gut, and she doesn't like feelings that linger inside like that, so she bites the bullet and adds one more question.]
When'd you get here?
[That might be too vague. He might give her an answer that doesn't tell her what she's looking for and well. Maybe she's okay with that. At least for a few more moments.]
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...ah.]
I just told you.
[He sounds crabby, but it's the questions she's asking he dislikes, not who's asking them. He doesn't want to talk about this at all; his shock at the sight of Sophie is already over. His mind has moved on to other things. He squirms in her grasp, pulling her hand towards him--it's not to escape the pain, though; it's the exact opposite.
If he could melt into that pain, merge with it, drink it like liquor--]
I don't want to talk about that.
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He doesn't want to talk about it? Yeah well she honestly really doesn't want to be talking to him. And yet it doesn't occur to her to walk away. This is happening, and he is here, and she is going to have to deal with it. If she could abandon the carnival entirely, she'd be out in a second but that is...not even remotely an option. Ring Master wasn't likely to take 'jk nvm I'm having boy problems' as a valid reason to void a contract.
She grinds her teeth, pulls her hand off his, and turns fully towards the table. She starts ripping a long strip from the hem of the table cloth.]
Fine. At least tell me what was going on back in our world when you found this place though.
[Quit beating around the bush get the answer get it over with.]
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You'd just come back from that thing in Poland, with the bishop.
[It's only because it's so recent that he can recall this particular event so quickly. Bookended as it is by his own death and an involuntary transdimensional fae contract, you'd think it wouldn't be so hard, but your brain isn't riddled with rot and literal holes, like a sieve for disease. Memory is not Foster's friend; he loses large chunks of time, major events, and the order of things on a regular basis. So it's a rare courtesy, taking the effort to consider what would have been more pertinent to Sophie's memory than--from his perspective--the grander scheme of events as he remembers them.
With his hand released, he gestures freely, his gaze roaming off somewhere to the side.]
I don't know much of what happened after I achieved my revival--if there was anything important, I've probably missed it! I was still trying to figure out if I could leave the house.
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She ran away because she's not sure she could deal with Foster not being invested in her as much as she was in him, and well. Now it's going to be impossible to avoid finding out. It's not that they weren't close by then. They were remarkably compatible and it didn't take long to figure that out at all, but. There'd been a shift, a slow and terrible change between them in those months that she has but he's missing. They'd only basically JUST started living together from his point of view. They might not have agreed on it at all even...
So, decision time. What's she say about it? Tell him she's from ~the future~? Pretend she's not? Not bother bringing it up? A good thing about Foster is that he almost certainly wasn't going to ask about it himself, but she might just want it to be out there. Not dump everything on him duh, that was, it's why, like. UGH It wasn't fair to bring all this up to her current Foster, and even less to this one. But yeah. Be upfront. When has she ever done anything else?
She turns her head to the side while she thinks this over, scanning over the party scene. When she's at the end of her thoughts she grabs a martini from a passing waiter, flicks the olive out somewhere behind her, (it hits somebody in the back of the head but they obviously didn't see where it came from), and grabs Foster's wrist again, turning his mauled hand palm side up. She pours a generous portion onto the hole, then dabs at it with her makeshift bandage before turning it over and repeating the process on the other side.]
The answer is sorta. You don't get out much, but it's not like you're under house arrest. You pass for 'living but probably kind of ill' well enough that it's not a big issue.
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Even after the initial searing moments of pain, the effects linger: a faint tingling sensitivity, especially over his lower ribs; a hot sting inside his hand as the alcohol content of the intended beverage does its work; a state of basic arousal that Sophie of all people really should have expected.
He does hear her, but only belatedly; at that point, her answer is a lot less interesting to him, and he doesn't really bother to acknowledge it.]
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selfcare, and shutting down his protests of such. Her next move is to tie the cloth strip tightly around his hand. She'll double it up with a second layer in a second, and at some point they should probably get some gauze for it? He really ought to have stitches probably but whatever.The silence is also not out of place, and even if it was abnormal she probably wouldn't notice it. 'Motormouth' is insufficient to describe what happens when Sophie really gets talking. And right now talking is honestly much better than having to think about all this so here come The Words.]
I'm from a few months later. Well like, closer to a year I guess. You didn't seem suddenly any different, after that trip, so I guess for my world you? Never went to the carnival? I don't know anybody whose really dealt with something like that so I don't know what to tell you. Grant and Chip are doing good, and no undead enforcement squad officers have busted down my door yet so there's that.
[The fact that she just effective admitted that he's living at her place doesn't really occur to her. It was just a...summary of events on her end without getting into any real Situational Details.]
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He struggles to follow what she's saying now, though.
For several reasons. His eyes are still a little glazed, and his mind is definitely elsewhere. On the pain, and how much more he wants it. On the tight pressure of his crude bandaging. On cravings of physical nature. On a question she's inadvertently raised. And she's presenting him with a lot of information that isn't immediately relevant nor entirely asked for.
But it's mostly the concept of 'the future'--the actual existence of a future for him, one in which he is alive and even somehow both known and relevant--that he's a bit delayed to digest.
Being alive (or undead, anyway) still hasn't really sunk in yet. He'd only just begun to appreciate its reality--a reality in which he was neither dead nor in imminent decay--when he was involuntarily contracted to the carnival.]
--okay?
[His answer comes out somewhat blank.
But she's shot herself in the foot in more ways than one. It's only a few more seconds before he appends something else.]
I'd have been more concerned about vampires coming to break down my door, to be honest.
...but good to know.
and thus marks the first appearance of actual chatspeak in Sophie's internal monologue.
[Sophie is rigid and still for a long moment while she contemplates how much of an idiot she really is. She was just thinking about how he might not even know they're living together and then she goes off and just sorta SAYS it. Fuck, shit okay so. Jfc she's an idiot. Right okay, this wasn't as bad as she's worried it is though. This Foster is from a time where they're whole...domesticity thing would cause a freaking total implosion. But just living together, he's literally from the time where he'd said yes to that. Although they hadn't really ever had an invitation and acceptance thing, it had just sort of happened. The point is though that the idea could easily seem plausible and unremarkable to him if she just went with it like how it actually started out. Convenient and casual, like everything else they did. She can do that.
She may have ran away explicitly because she wasn't sure she could do that actually, but Living with it full time was different than just describing it. So she'll just uhh, have to avoid THIS Foster too until she gets her head on straight. God shitting fuck, she should have known that nothing at the carnival could be as easy breezy beautiful as it had seemed like at first. She is an Idiot, capitol i.]
Oh uh, you never really move out after Poland. [Shrug. Normal shrug definitely.] Just more convenient this way than you traipsing back and forth. Specially now that you have to sort of wear at least some clothes cause of the- [She draws her finger across her neck and makes an exaggerated schhhhck noise.]
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Her choice of words gives him pause as he turns that over in his head. Convenient.
His physical existence has only two benefits to Sophie: sustenance and sex. The onus of living with someone--something--like him would be alleviated at least in part, by the elimination of his own physical needs. Food. Sleep.
Without that, he's one step closer to his ideal.]
--so I'm your live-in sex toy.
[It's an idea that would appeal to him no matter what his current state of physical arousal. Being objectified and used is all he's ever wanted. If Foster could be said to have anything like ambition... well, maybe ambition is a poor term.
It's his dream.
Or perhaps, right now, 'fantasy' would be a better term.]
That sounds.... ideal.
[He doesn't clarify who it is ideal for.
In truth, he means both of them. But--]
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She hadn't known that's how he thought about it initially. She should have guessed, could have guessed to be honest, but as usual she wasn't the best at remembering to consider other people's thought processes. She did with Foster more often than with other people, partially because of how unusual he was, and partially because she knew she DID understand him better than most. But even when she wasn't actively trying to puzzle out how he arrived at some conclusion, the idea that he had his own motives, just like everyone else slipped into the background.
The worst part though is that she's not sure he doesn't still think about it that way with her. Her whole THING was respecting his person-hood. Advocating simultaneously that she'll treat him how he wants BECAUSE being defective and emotionally deficient doesn't make his desires not matter. Her thoughts almost start careening into the 17 car pileup that was common whenever she tried to think about foster lately, so she cuts off that thought as soon as possible. It was a feedback loop to getting paralyzed and she couldn't afford that right now.
But it hurts, and unlike him, she can't just not feel that hurt. Which was the problem-
AUGH!
Her teeth grind. She downs her drink, then searches for another and takes a hefty swign of that one too.]
Yeah it's been going good.
[And it's not a lie. Okay bullshit it is a lie it's not going good NOW, but it had been for a while so shut up. As the booze settles in her stomach she feels what she knows to be the oncoming haze and comforting escape of drunkenness. She does manage that smile after all.]
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He wants to know--wants to know what she does with him, what she does to him, what he does for her, what is it like--? What is it like to experience the ideal--to be used, fully and at every desired opportunity? A reality, and not a bitter fascimile of it, as his contract to the Carnival.
It does answer a question he hadn't really 'asked' yet--he knows now, to at least some degree, just how functional his body is. He hadn't really tested it. There's been no opportunity, no desire... well, maybe there was, in a sense. But Atlantis isn't really relevant; his entire lower body was 90% of a whale, that doesn't tell him anything except that whales have, apparently, extremely flexible genitalia.
Regardless, Foster's perspective-taking ability is significantly weaker than Sophie's. In this regard, she has to do a lot of heavy lifting between them--they failed spectacularly at anticipating each other for a while, and it was Sophie who laid out the problem in a way Foster too could see.
It doesn't occur to him to see her sudden heavy ingestion of alcohol as anything other than 'drinking: the verb.' It does occur to him to ask a question: a question he's asked her dozens of times before. Casually. Pointedly. By text. In person. By phone.
It goes like this:]
Are you hungry?
We gonna move this soon, or keep it here?
As preoccupied as she is, as slow as the week long bender has left her thoughts, and as dense as she ever is keeps her from automatically understanding their little shorthand. She answers quickly, truthfully, and with enough desire that even Foster could pick up on it.]
Oh man yeah. This place has just about everything, but seen all the solid food around and not getting to have any is. Uuuhhg.
[She thinks about that cheesecake she saw yesterday. Holy shit she misses cheesecake. Feeling full from blood to shove that craving aside is definitely an attractive thought. And then it's other meaning between them catches up with her. Oh right.
She....really really shouldn't. Like she knows she shouldn't. But her mind and her stomach are thinking about blood now. About how it's been a bit too long since her last real meal. About how drinking on an empty stomach was bad after all, (not that that had stopped her the rest of the week). About how she could always say she wasn't up for their normal post feeding routine later. And wait okay. Why exactly shouldn't she? Like, it's clear she shouldn't she KNOWS there's some reason. But it's just?? Not really coming to mind? Where'd it go.... Feeding and Fucking between them was....well it's what they DID. Its the part of their relationship that's easy and simple and good god man he's got a READY MADE HOLE in his hand perfect for leeching off of.
mmMMggmmhgmmm. Hell, she'd already said yes and whatever the reason for her initial hesitation it's not really coming back to her so fuck it.]
Fuck. Yeah, let's go.
[She grabs his hand, (yeah, duh, the injured one). He's already bleeding through the thoroughly insufficient cloth bandage a bit, and the spatter of red all around on the table cloth is just one more nudge to her cannibalistic hungry brain. She licks her lips and heads quickly for the nearest ball room exit.]
WARNING: this gets super nsfw from here on
[It's a breathless sound, one of pain; it hurts--in a good way, sharp and piercing, right through his hand and down his arm. She really didn't need to say anything--after her statement of hunger, this is the equivalent of grabbing him by the crotch.
He lets her drag him out of the room, superficially no different from any other pair of masked partygoers escaping the festivities in order to have a little party of their own.]
ya they nasty.
She doesn't grab Foster again, instead just moving forward into the room. She grabs the desk chair that is conveniently near the door, and drags it over to the side of the bed. Then she flops down onto the mattress and just lays on it with her arms spread out for a second. Sssssoft. Nice.
Then with a grunt she props herself up on her elbows and tells Foster to get his ass over here with pointed eye contact, and a jerk of her head towards the chair.]
This thread was YOUR idea, all shame is on you
Once the door opens, he waits impatiently. Sophie dictates this scene; he obeys her direction without a word, though his own eagerness is visible in more ways than one.
For example: the way he unwraps his hand for her with clumsy, hasty fingers, only taking the time to marvel at the sight of his opened palm once the makeshift bandage walls away, the bared muscle and ligament revealed behind by the splitting of brown skin.
And, of course, the smearing of blood.
It's not that there's anything inherently erotic about drinking blood, though he's had plenty of partners who licked blood from his wounds before--and he enjoyed it. But there's something about Sophie's hunger for his blood that drives him crazy. In a good way. It's so thorough; so sincere. It's being used in the most carnal sense.
Of course, there's also a certain association at this point; the two of them have plenty of sex outside the context of her appetite for blood, but one appetite often begets another. Not always--but often enough.]
shame on me is water on a duck's back you know that
She studies his hand for a moment, then adjusts her hold on him. Her fingers press tightly against the back. She doesn't want both sides bleeding, or half of it would wind up on the floor. When she's satisfied that she got all the pre-spilled blood and that none is going to be wasted, it's time to work at the wound itself. It starts with long flat laps of her tongue on the palm side, coaxing the blood to start flowing again. Then once she can feel the blood welling to the surface she starts digging in. There's no need for her to use her teeth, she just tilts her head, presses her lips down along the cut and sucks. It makes a super gross noise. The fact that the cut goes all the way through means there's some air coming through too, which is...pretty weird to say the least. But the flow of blood is more than enough now that she's got it going, and she alternates between filling her mouth by suction, and digging her tongue into the hole to really appreciate his flavor.]
I don't have icons for this kind of thing. Whoops.....?
It had closed, more or less; his dead body is reluctant to bleed like it did in life. Wounds clot and die, his necromantic order only able to maintain a sputtering fascimile of the real thing. But with encouragement, it flows fresh--providing them both with a kind of sustenance, in the end.
There isn't really a word or series of words to describe the feeling of it; the way it hurts, her tongue and its muscles and its rough texture and the raw opened flesh. The way it hurts, her suction of blood out through the slit, the pressure and the feeling of movement at the surface, the heat of her mouth against exposed wound--
The sound it makes it so crude, so wet and disgusting.
He watches her feed, eyes locked on the sight, mouth just slightly open--transfixed.
But his right hand, which had been sweeping back repeatedly in his hair lets go now and drops to his lap; he leans back against the chair for a second before giving up on that and pressing his palm against the base of his cock, massaging it. His hand stays outside his trousers, but there's no mistaking it for what it is: he is fondling himself while watching Sophie
give oral tosuck the blood out of his open hand.]when we get to the sex part I'm probably just gonna start using her default over and over.
Her senses are dulled, primarily by alcohol, and secondarily by how focused she was on her hunger and now her satisfaction. So she fails to notice Foster fondling himself until she's finished. By then he'd slipped his hand under his waistband and started jerking himself off properly. Her eyes flick towards his lap, and despite her earlier insistence that a) sex would be a bad idea and b) she could refuse to follow up after the feeding, she feels more than a slight twinge of arousal. Primarily she's an angry drunk, but for her aggravation, aggression, and arousal are pretty closely linked.
And man, she sure is aggravated by this whole damn situation.
And this, this was their ROUTINE. This part of their relationship was the easy shit. The GOOD shit. This wasn't her stupid and unreasonable need for Foster to be something he wasn't, do something he couldn't. This was her wanting exactly what he wanted. This was...well. This was why it had eventually built to the stupid one sided bullshit she was in now, but. But FUCK she didn't want to make it seem like anything was wrong, especially since it was 100% her fault. Okay well like 90% her fault and 10% a fucking cruel joke of fate itself. Besides, why the FUCK not okay? He's horny, she's on her way there, this is a bed and a room they don't have to clean.
Uuuuugh yeah okay that settles it, this is happening.
She slaps him, hard.]
Quit that. Get your hand re bandaged, strip, then get on the bed.
[She herself rolls over, (rather ungracefully), to get off of the bed on the other side. Her weird not quite a dress thing has some buckles that need fiddling with, as do her boots. She gets her mask off first though, chucking it unceremoniously to the side, then gets to work on her own clothes.]
no subject
Until her hand cracks across his face. The impact is so hard it literally stuns him, his masturbatory hand stilled by shock--just for a moment. Then the pain--and its thrill--kick in.
Rebandaging is difficult--more difficult, even, than its reverse. One-handed, shaky from arousal and impatience; he's been drooling, a thin strand of saliva runs from the corner of his mouth as he uses his teeth to hold the makeshift bandage in his place, saliva forcing him to bite down as he pulls it tight over his wound. The flesh of his hand is ashen from being drained, the inside of the laceration glistening with Sophie's saliva and a few stray drops of blood.
The bite of pain gives him another little rush as he knots it off--he strips quickly, his erection already painfully ready as he obeys Sophie's commands. He's almost shivering with excitement.]
no subject
She stands with her hands on her hips, scrutinizing him. Stress relief. She's not in a huge dom mood or anything. That kind of working him over, breaking him down, she certainly enjoyed it but it was a kind of work. Definitely had effort involved and took more...thinking and stuff than she's really super able to do right now. She's just horny. Horny and drunk. And he's had plenty of foreplay as it is during the feeding so like, whatever. Just tie him up and get to it.
Oh right uh...with what? This wasn't her house, there weren't just copious restraining mechanisms lying around in basically every room. This was a standard, if fancy, hotel room basically. Oh! Duh, right sheets, that's like. Go To improvised bondage. But wait, Foster's already on the bed, shit.]
No wait, get back up again.
[This is like some weird game of Simon Says. Like...Sexy Simon Says. Strip Simon Says would just encourage fucking up though, they'd have to modify the punishment/reward system somehow but LATER. Right now the agenda is bondage. Fairly gracelessly she yanks the comforter off the bed, then the sheet. She starts winding it up into a roughly rope like shape.]
Okay NOW, lie down. Hands up at the headboard.
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