BOGO?

Franklin was speechless as he watched the confident woman glide towards him, acting as if she was exactly where she was supposed to be. After the shock, confusion, and anger shown by the previous contestants, it was even more surreal to see the thief act as if she already knew the lay of the land.

“Good evening, Franklin. What do you have in store for me tonight?” She asked in the same lilting voice he remembered.

He stuttered out, “What do you mean? Aren’t you worried about how you got here?”

Claudia tilted her head, “Hmm? Why worry about that? Shouldn’t we just enjoy ourselves now that we have the chance, before sunrise comes to take away our opportunity?”

Terra held back a scoff. “I’m afraid you’re not dreaming, Miss Mancini. Welcome to Harem Hotel.”

To her credit, the seductress processed the Host’s claim quickly. Franklin saw her face shift subtly as she pinched herself, then her smile returned as she turned to question Terra.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Madame, and I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Who might you be?”

Terra was glad someone was finally willing to indulge the theme she had chosen for the lobby. “Terra, the Hostess here at Harem Hotel. A competition for the loveliest ladies in Master Porter’s life to compete for his affection in front of a universe of excited viewers.”

“I see,” Claudia said swiftly. “Might I assume that you were the one responsible for my… transportation here, and the gift of this lovely dress?”

“Indeed, I also saw fit to give you access to the wig you wore the last time you spent time with Master Porter, though I know you’ve changed your look a few times since then.” The host gave a saccharine smile as she revealed the first of the thief’s little secrets.

“Yes… thank you,” Claudia replied, subtly lifting a hand to check the fit of the hairpiece. “I don’t suppose I might be able to humbly decline this opportunity due to some previous engagements?”

“I’m afraid not,” the host apologized with the sincerity of a telemarketer who just interrupted your dinner.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse, I suppose.” Turning to Franklin, the former Tiffany Torrence gave a small curtsy and said, “For what it’s worth, it is good to see you still looking healthy and fit, Franklin. Our reunion was as much of a surprise to you as me, I assume?”

Franklin frowned, “It was, I can’t say I was expecting to ever see you again after the letter you left me.”

“Yes, the letter,” Claudia sighed. “I wanted you to be prepared for the… surprise that would come at your workplace, so that you could best prepare for how you wished to handle it.”

“Right, not at all to **** me into covering for you,” Franklin snapped back accusingly.

“Not at all,” replied the thief, “I would be gone, in another country, with nothing to tie me to the scene after the planning and steps my employers take to ensure my continued viability. The note was entirely to arm you with the power to decide your own course of action.”

Is she serious right now?!

Franklin closed his eyes, counting to ten and trying to will his anger down enough to deal with the situation. As he did, he felt a familiar sensation, as if he could hear whispers coming from the far corners of the room. The same voices that had spoken during the puzzle, that had somehow communicated an impossible answer to him across an unknowable distance. He tuned out Claudia and the Host and focused on what advice they could give.

Sneaky seductress thief!

I’m excited to see the mess within.

Absolutely don’t trust anything she says.

Claudia did nothing wrong!

Don’t judge her by her past, judge her by how she carries herself moving forward.

#DeeSupremacy, #DeezNuts

His eyes snapped back open. Extremely helpful, he thought. He remained on his guard, but decided to at least leave their conflict aside until they were through with these introductions, and he could start exploring his options for getting them out of here.

Terra smiled, “There now, cooler heads prevail. I’m sure you two will have time to play cat and mouse again soon. For now, if you could give us an official introduction, Ms. Manicini. Your name, age, occupation, how you know our dear Master, and the last sexual act in which you participated?” She then added, “True information only, if you please.”

Claudia smiled, “How gauche, but I suppose. My name is Claudia Mancini. Last summer, I celebrated my 25th birthday on the docks of beautiful Portofino. I am a specialist in the procurement of art and was lucky enough to spend a wonderful week with Franklin during a work trip a year ago. If I must kiss and tell, then three nights ago I was involved in a dalliance with a beautiful woman in Vienna.”

Franklin couldn’t keep the biting tone from his voice as he asked, “Did she have a keycard you needed, too?”

Claudia sighed and stared the taller man in the eyes, “I certainly don’t sleep with all of my contacts, Franklin. I didn’t read you as someone who was looking for a long-term commitment. Would you have wanted a relationship with Tiffany, or would it have been a fun bit of distraction before you returned to your hunting grounds?”

The implied accusation stung, particularly because Franklin couldn’t deny it outright with full confidence. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“Never say never, Master Porter,” Terra remarked. “Many seemingly impossible things can happen on Harem Hotel.” She then reached out an arm to direct Claudia to the seating area, “If you’ll please join our other contestants for the remainder of the introductions, I promise we’ll get into more detail once everyone has been assembled.”

Claudia smiled and took the opportunity to disengage. “Of Course.” The blonde strode confidently and took the other seat on the loveseat beside Lyra, who eyed her suspiciously after hearing her introduction. The thief gave her a charming smile before returning her attention to the Hostess, studying the one who clearly held the most power in the room.

Turning back to Franklin, Terra offered a compliment. “I’m glad you were able to keep your composure, Master Porter. For that, I believe a bit of reward is in order. Our next contestant is someone you’ve previously only engaged with in role-playing sessions. For her introductory vignette, we thought it might be a treat if you could experience it brought to life. Let’s take a look!”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The final stone door groaned open, revealing a chamber that had not known breath for a thousand years. Dust motes danced like captured stars in the single beam of light piercing the gloom from a crack in the ceiling high above. In the center of the room, on an onyx pedestal that seemed to drink the very light around it, rested a circlet of twisted, dark metal. The Crown of Shattered Wills.

Ir'amalyth's lips curved into a smile of pure, unadulterated triumph. "I told you, little surface-dweller," she purred, her voice a silken caress in the stagnant air. "I told you it was real. All that tedious climbing, all that wretched sun... worth every moment for this." She glided forward, her dark leather armor whispering against her skin. "Imagine it, Faulk. An entire city at my feet. Rival mages begging to be my apprentices. Kings and queens sending tribute, not from fear of my magic, but because they want to. Because I will it to be so."

Faulk leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a lazy grin on his face. "Sounds like a lot of paperwork. You sure you wouldn't rather just find a nice fat treasure chest and call it a day?"

"Oh, you simple, simple man," she sighed, her gloved fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the crown. It was cool to the touch, humming with a latent, waiting power. "This isn't about gold. This is about order. The world is a chaotic mess, and I am the only one fit to bring it to heel. And you..." She turned her head, her silver hair catching the light. "You'll be my first. My loyal, handsome, wonderfully obedient champion."

Faulk chuckled, pushing himself off the wall. "Is that so? And what if I don't feel like being championed?"

"That's the beauty of it, my dear," Ir'amalyth cooed, lifting the circlet. "You won't have a choice. Your will... will be mine." With a flourish, she placed it upon her brow.

The moment the metal settled against her skin, she felt it. A jolt, not of pain, but of pure potential. A rush that made her head swim with visions of cities bowing, of armies kneeling, of Faulk himself, looking at her with such adoring, blank-eyed devotion.

"Faulk," she said, her voice resonating with a newfound authority. "Kneel."

He stood there, unmoving, his grin unwavering.

Ir'amalyth's smile tightened. "I said, kneel, surface-dweller. Before your mistress."

Faulk tilted his head. "No, I don't think I will. You know, for a powerful sorceress, you're not very good at listening to old legends. You always get the details wrong."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you babbling about?"

"The crown doesn't let you control others, Ir'amalyth," he said, his voice dropping, losing its easy-going warmth and replaced by something hard, something cold and amused. "It makes you controllable. The wearer becomes a vessel for another's will. A puppet. The binding word is... Kneel."

(I: You can do better than that! Make it something cool and mystical.)

(F: Sure sure, awfully demanding for a puppet.)

"The binding word is... Servitus."

The word echoed in the chamber, and the crown on her head seared with a sudden, white-hot pain. She cried out, her hands flying to her temples to wrench the thing off, but it was fused to her, biting into her skin with invisible barbs. She staggered, her magic sputtering and dying at her fingertips, useless. Her legs buckled, and she crashed to her knees on the cold, dusty floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world swam, the beam of light from the ceiling blinding.

"Wh-what have you done?" she stammered, her proud composure shattering like glass. The power she had felt moments ago was gone, replaced by a horrifying emptiness, a hollow ache where her own will used to be.

"I did my research," Faulk said, walking to stand over her. He reached down, not to help her up, but to grip her chin, forcing her head back. He looked into her wide, panicked silver eyes. "You were so busy dreaming of your throne you never stopped to wonder why I, a simple surface-dweller, would agree to guide a Drow sorceress to a place like this. You're not the only one who wants something."

"You... you can't..." she whispered, the fight draining out of her, replaced by a creeping terror.

"I can," he said, his thumb stroking her cheek. "And I will. You wanted a champion, Ir'amalyth? You've got one. But I think the roles are going to be a little different than you imagined." He let go of her chin and stepped back. "Stand up."

Her body moved before her mind could protest. Muscles tensed and pulled, lifting her from the floor. Her legs straightened, her spine snapped erect. She was standing, but it wasn't her. It was like being a passenger in her own skin, watching through her own eyes as a marionette on invisible strings. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her jaw tight.

"Good," Faulk murmured, circling her slowly, his gaze appraising. He was no longer the lazy adventurer. There was a sharp, focused intensity in his eyes, a predatory gleam she had never seen before. "You were always so proud of your armor. All this dark leather, so form-fitting. Show me. Take it off. Slowly."

Humiliation washed over her, hot and sickening. Her hands, acting on their own, moved to the buckles at her shoulders. They fumbled, her traitorous fingers clumsy and slow, just as he'd commanded. Her mind screamed in protest, but her body obeyed. She wanted to shout, to cast a spell, to fight, but the command was absolute, overriding everything she was. The shoulder piece fell away with a soft thud onto the dusty stone.

(I: Oh, this is good. I love her internal struggle)

(F: Thank you. I'm going to have him really push it now.)

"That's it," Faulk encouraged, his voice a low rumble. "All that confidence, all that teasing. Was it all just a performance? Or did you really believe you were going to be my queen?" He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Her hands moved down, unfastening the complex series of straps that held her chest plate in place. Her magic was a distant memory, a faded dream. All that was left was the horrifying reality of her own fingers peeling away the layers of her defense.

She met his eyes, trying to project defiance, to find some spark of her old self in the depths of her own terror. What she saw reflected back was her own powerlessness. He smiled, a slow, cruel twist of his lips. "Don't look at me with such hate, my sorceress. Would you not have done the same, if the positions were reversed?"

The breastplate joined the shoulder piece on the floor. She stood before him in her linen undershirt and leather leggings, feeling more exposed, more **** than she had ever felt in the deepest, most dangerous tunnels of the Underdark. The dust of a thousand years seemed to cling to her skin, a mockery of her fallen state.

"Ah, much better," he mused. "But still... so much dark fabric. We're trying to see the Drow underneath, after all." He circled behind her. His breath was warm against the nape of her neck. She shivered, an involuntary reaction that her body betrayed her with. Her hands, those traitorous limbs, moved to the hem of her shirt.

No. Please, no, she screamed inside the prison of her mind.

The linen peeled upward, slowly, exposing the pale lavender skin of her stomach, her ribs. The cool air of the tomb raised goosebumps on her flesh. Her shirt was pulled over her head, her silver hair spilling back down around her bare shoulders. She stood, half-naked in the ancient dust, her trembling hands reaching towards her leggings until the man started speaking again.

"Beautiful," Faulk whispered, his fingers tracing a line down her spine. She flinched, but she didn't move away. She couldn't. "All that power, trapped inside this lovely skin. And now it's all mine. Tell me, Ir'amalyth, did you ever touch yourself and think of me? Did you ever lie awake at night, wondering what it would be like to have a good, simple man's hands on you?"

(I: Geeze, you know you're better at describing the sex stuff than me. Maybe he can skip to the action?)

(F: You don't give yourself enough credit, but let's see what I can do.)

The Drow felt the compulsion to spill her secrets, but she was able to resist the pull. The crown had rendered her body a doll at his command, but it seemed like, for now, her mind was still her own.

"Hmm, a resistant **** needs to be corrected," Faulk growled. "Remove your leggings and underthings and then bend over the pedestal. Stick out that haughty ass for me."

Her hands moved before her mind could process the command. She fumbled with the ties, her fingers clumsy as they pulled down the last of her armor and undergarments, leaving her completely bare before him. She turned and bent over the obsidian stone, the smooth surface cool against her stomach and breasts. She felt the air on her most intimate places, a breeze that whispered of her utter subjugation.

"You've spent the whole trip taunting me with this body," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Now it's mine."

She shivered, a dozen scenes running through her mind of how the brute might use her. She was ashamed to feel her body warming at the idea. Unexpectedly, it wasn't a firm grasp or the feel of his cock at her entrance, but a sharp sting that ran through her as he brought his hand down her round behind. She yelped, more from surprise than the pain. The sound echoed in the tomb. He spanked her again, this time harder than before. The sharp slap was followed by a spreading warmth that bloomed in its wake. Another followed, then another. He was marking her as his, each smack a punctuation mark in the story of her undoing.

(I: Mmmmmmmmm.)

(F: Now, tell me how she breaks.)

"You can fight it all you want," he said, his voice a low murmur as he continued his ****. "But I feel how you're warming up to your new life."

A sob escaped her lips, a sound of pure frustration. He was right, damn him. A deep, treacherous heat was building in her core, a traitorous response to the humiliation. Her pride, her will, her very identity as a powerful sorceress was being shattered, and in its place, a dark and shameful arousal was taking root.

"Tell me you want it," he commanded.

"I..." she choked out, the word catching in her throat.

"Tell me," he repeated, his hand pausing on her reddened flesh, "and we can move on to even more enjoyable things."

The word hung in the air between them. Her mind, her true self, recoiled in horror. But the compulsion from the crown was a crushing weight, a vise around her very soul. Her body, her traitorous, traitorous body, craved release. The heat was an inferno now, demanding an outlet.

"Please," she whispered, the word so quiet it was almost lost in the dust-choked silence. It wasn't the answer he'd demanded, but it was a concession. A crack in the dam.

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that vibrated through her. "Please what, my little sorceress?" His fingers traced the cleft of her ass, dipping lower, teasing the slick folds of her sex. She was wet. So wet. The evidence of her betrayal slick on his fingertips.

"Please... Master, I want it." The words tore from her lips, a ragged, broken sound. The admission was a **** knell for the woman she had been. In its place, something new and terrifying was being born. Something that belonged to him.

"Good girl," he purred, and the praise sent a jolt of pure pleasure through her. With a swift, sure movement, he freed himself from his own leather breaches.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Franklin wobbled on his feet as he came out of the vision. The fact that he’d seen it as a live action scene rather than simply remembering being at his computer added an extra layer of disorientation. He turned to Terra and started speaking, only to be interrupted as a second vision started.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The world contracted to the space between breaths, the quiet hum of the apartment, and the deep, resonant timbre of his voice. It was a current running through the phone line, straight into the core of her, turning her limbs to warm honey and her thoughts to soft, downy fluff. She lay on her bed, the phone pressed to her ear, the silk of her nightgown a cool whisper against her skin. His name was a thought she no longer needed to form. He was simply… Him. The architect of this gentle, floating emptiness.

"You're doing so well, my good girl," he murmured, and the praise was a physical thing, a warm blanket smoothing out the last knots of anxiety in her chest. "So beautiful, just lying there, listening. Letting go. Can you feel how light you're becoming? How all the heavy things are just… melting away?"

A soft sigh escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender. "Mmmhmm." The word was barely there, a puff of air. She did feel it. The weight of the week, the unsubtle looks that sometimes clung to her like a damp fog, the constant, low-level thrum of self-consciousness—it was all dissolving. In its place was a profound stillness, a deep, quiet pool of water, and at its center, a single point of light: his attention.

"I can feel you letting go," he continued, his voice a caress. "I can picture you. That beautiful red hair spread out on your pillow like a spill of fire. Those lovely green eyes, soft and hazy behind your closed lids. You're a work of art, you know that? A masterpiece. And I'm the only one who truly gets to see you like this. So open. So… mine."

The word mine sent a plume of heat through the mellow haze. It wasn't a claim of ownership, not a cage. It was a gift. It meant being seen. Being wanted for exactly what she was. Her lips curved into a smile, **** and blissful.

"That's my girl," he praised, reading her response in the silence. "Now, I want you to sink a little deeper for me. Just let my voice be the only thing that holds you. Everything else is just fading sound, fading light. There's only here. There's only us. And when I snap my fingers, you're going to feel a wave of the most profound relaxation you have ever known wash over you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. It will feel like coming home. Are you ready to come home for me?"

A small, eager sound. A nod she felt but didn't make.

"Good girl."

The sharp, clean snap of his fingers through the receiver was like a key turning in a lock within her mind. The breath she didn't realize she'd been holding escaped in a long, luxurious wave. The tension, what little was left, evaporated. She was boneless, formless, a consciousness adrift in a sea of tranquil dark, tethered only by the sound of his breathing on the other end of the line.

"Perfect," he breathed, and the word was absolute truth. "You're exactly where you belong. Now, listen very carefully. We're going to plant a few little seeds, beautiful things that will blossom for you this week."

His voice was the sun, warming the surface of her peaceful sea.

"This week, whenever you look in a mirror, you're not going to see your reflection. Not at first. For just a fleeting second, you're going to see me smiling back at you. A reminder of who you belong to. A reminder of how beautiful I find you. And it will make you smile, a real, genuine smile, and for the rest of the day, you'll carry that little secret warmth with you. Does that sound nice?"

"Mmmhmm," she hummed, the vibration starting deep in her chest. It sounded more than nice. It sounded like salvation. A shield against the world's harsh gaze.

"Good girl," he purred. "And one more thing. A little exercise. One night, before you sleep, I want you to practice for me. I want you to lie in your bed, right where you are now, and I want you to think about my cock."

The image bloomed in her mind, vivid and immediate. Not a crude thought, but a reverent one. A shape. A weight. The source of that commanding, beautiful voice.

"I want you to think about how it would feel to worship it with your mouth," he continued, his own voice dropping a register, thickening with a dark, honeyed heat. "Slowly. Reverently. To take your time. To trace every line with your tongue, to feel it grow heavy and hard against your lips. To take the head into your mouth and just… hold it there. Feeling the heat, tasting the salt. A slow, long, perfect blowjob meant only for my pleasure."

Her own breathing hitched, a shallow gasp in the quiet room. The placid sea of her mind now had a deep, powerful current running through it. The thought was magnetic, compelling. It wasn't a chore. It was a meditation. An act of devotion.

"You'll practice for me, won't you?" he urged, the question a velvet-wrapped command. "You'll imagine it all, every detail, until it feels real. Until your body remembers. You'll do that for me, my lovely girl?"

"Yes," she breathed, the word a vow. "Practice… for you."

"Perfect," he said, and the approval was an anchor, solid and real in the warm, drifting darkness. "You've been so, so good for me tonight. Now, it's time to let go completely. Just let my voice guide you back up, slowly. When you open your eyes, you'll feel refreshed and wonderful. You'll remember everything I told you, and you'll carry my words with you, a warm secret against your skin. I'm going to count to five. One… a little feeling of awareness is returning to your fingertips. Two… you can feel the softness of your sheets again. Three… take a deep, cleansing breath, and feel the strength returning to your body. Four… you're almost there, so beautiful, so awake. And five. Open your eyes for me."

Her lashes fluttered. The dim light of her bedroom was soft, forgiving. The world felt new. And just as he'd said, when she turned her head toward the mirror on her closet door, for a fraction of a second, she saw it. A flash of dark hair and piercing blue eyes, a smile that was all for her. Her own lips curved in answer. The warmth bloomed in her chest, a private, glowing ember.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Franklin almost stumbled while coming out of the second vision. Rounding on Terra, he questioned, “What was that?”

“Why, our next contestant, of course,” the Host replied, hiding her surprise as she furiously scanned the updated information on her clipboard. “It seems that our audience, after taking a look at some of your online playmates, was split on who they wanted to fill the 5th spot. So we will be joined by two lovely young ladies who captured their own half of the fanbase!”

Shaking his head, Franklin said, “Are you serious? I don’t even know who they actually are.”

“Very, Master Porter. It’s the age of communication, why would we not explore such of fertile ground for such unique connections?” At that, she directed Franklin’s attention to the top of the stairs, where not one, but two young women stood side by side, looking at each other in confusion.

“Please give a very warm welcome to our Drow sorceress Ir’amalyth, also known as Ira Meeks, as well as the sweet sleepygurl0202, known to her friends as Kennedy Hart!”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“What do you mean tied!” Dee yelled in disbelief, while his brother was doing a triumphant dance just above his chair.

“Exactly tied,” Vee replied. “Apparently, the audience only agreed on one thing. That MY picks were awesome!”

The blue Imp summoned a pencil so that he could angrily squeeze it until it broke in half as he thought of his perfectly selected candidate losing to both of his inferior brother’s choices. “So what? We cut a category? We said we weren’t going to go over 8 contestants, as the poll said.”

Vee scratched the back of his head, “Do you really want to deal with a runoff? Casting has taken a month already, and I’m itching to get this show started.”

“Only a 28-day month,” his brother spat back. Then he hesitated, “But you have a point, we have plans for if transformations tie, but would that really work with the contestants themselves?”

Vee stared forward, his expression turning from curious to confused, and ultimately to frustration. “We’ll hash it out during the next vote. C’mon, you get 2 picks this time.”

Dee sighed, then sat back at the desk, straightening his tie to get back in the right mindset. He hadn’t ‘lost serve’ on their picks yet, and he would not stand to see his brother take the lead now. “Very well. Then I assume we’re continuing with the order as planned.”

Vee smiled, “Yep! Time to take a trip to Obsidian.”

“Indeed,” Dee smiled. “Franklin, as our delightful audience made so clear in the Casting, is quite the pleasure seeker. Little surprise that vanilla nightclubs and even online play wouldn't be enough to satisfy him. Like Dara’s roommate correctly diagnosed, our Master needs to delve deep into his darkest impulses, and luckily, he found a place to indulge.”

“And we don’t just mean the BDSM Club at the University of Minnesota, though we do support academic pursuits,” Vee added. “Club Obsidian offers a mature, dark atmosphere for it’s patrons all week, but it’s the special Wednesday evening events that really bring out the best. By invitation only, Franklin managed to secure himself a place on the list and has obviously met some special ladies there.”

Dee snapped his fingers, and two blue folders appeared on the desk. “When exploring such a wonderland of sinful delights what better place to start than the top? Though there might be a bit more switch in this top.” The first folder was opened, and an elegant woman in a leather dress and white fur scarf appeared for the audience’s examination.

“The proprietress of impropriety. Owner and operator of Club Obsidian, Lavinia Mairesse. A wealthy, 36-year-old bombshell who took it upon herself to create a space for deviants of many stripes to come together and show off, sample, or learn about all types of degeneracy.” Dee’s smile widened as he continued, “While she loves to watch, and takes a certain thrill in guiding her guests towards whatever it is that they can lose themselves to, she has thus far been quick to rebuff any attempts to involve her more… physically in the events she hosts. Rest assured, it’s not that she runs cold. Perhaps she simply hasn’t met the one who can ‘flip her switch’ for her?”

“Still pushing Dom Loss Milfs, bro?” Vee asked teasingly. “Didn’t take enough punishment in the last vote?”

“It’s all about fine-tuning, simpleton, “the Blue Imp replied, “I can assure the audience that Ms. Mairesse is unmarried and childless. I’ll bet she’s still waiting for the perfect man to claim her at last.”

“If you say so,” Vee concluded before opening his folder for the round. The image that appeared next to Lavinia was of a tall, toned woman in leather pants, with caramel skin, a long braid of chocolate-brown hair, and a pair of piercings in one eyebrow.

“Paola Diaz, 24 years old, Club Obsidian’s most trusted bartender. Open-minded, discreet, and playful enough to earn the coveted spot at the private events, where tips flow like hot wax on a beautiful woman’s chest.”

Dee was unimpressed, “Really? We go fishing for perverts at a Bonafide BDSM club and you come back with the one person there to make an honest living?”

“Shut up, that’s not all!” Vee rebuffed. “Paola here is the very definition of curious. She puts on a good front, watching the regulars go about their play, but in reality, she’s never tried anything of this sort for herself. Even the racy clothes that she wears are a bit further than she would have ever thought she’d go while growing up in a strict household. Franklin has gotten to know her a bit just through chatting, and let’s just say his sixth sense for fun was definitely set off by the unexpectedly inexperienced barmaid.”

“My stars, brother. You? Pitching a corruption arc?” teased the cerulean imp.

“Do I have to remind you about Mary?” the scarlet scamp riposted.

“Please don’t.” Dee opened the final folder for the round of selections, and an image of a kneeling woman appeared next to the others. She had black hair dyed with white streaks and wore a headband sporting similarly shaded dog ears. She was in a lacey white dress and a heavy black collar, the leash of which tied her to the stripper pole behind her while she kneeled on a red cushion.

Dee introduced her. “This is Pet.”

…

“Pet? That’s it?” Vee asked, confused.

“Pet.” The blue Imp confirmed. “It’s the only name she’s allowed to go by during her special nights out at Club Obsidian. A pure submissive, with her leash unfortunately held by a brutish and callous oaf. She has caught Franklin’s attention many times, leaving him to wonder if the distress he sees in her crystal blue eyes is just a part of the game or something… real.”

“So…she might be into it?” Vee questioned, “And this would be stealing her from another guy?”

“Rescuing her, brother.” Dee insisted. “Hearing the silent cries for help from a poor, abused animal and giving her a fine, healthy home in a place where she can be properly pampered. If you can pitch corruption, I figured I would pitch romance for once.”

“I’m not sure that exactly qualifies, bro, but it’s your pitch.” Turning to the camera, Vee happily announced, “Vote at the link below for who you’d like to see join the cast!”

Vote Here for Contestant #6 (7? Damn Ties): The Girl from Obsidian

Voting is now closed.