The apartment Bridget lives in is shared by two other women that don't speak that much. They share the master room between the two of them, sharing the double bed, whereas Bridget had been moved into the smaller room of the two bedroom apartment, where she has a single bed. Her quilt is warm, her bed sheets clean and smelling of fabric softener. She has a dresser with a mirror, its tarnished but in good repair. The closet holds her clothes, of which she very few; the empty space a stark reminder of it.

They have a small living area, with a decent TV but no DVD player. There's a stereo and its more important for them to remember as they are expected to work on routines in their own time. If the workers become slack, there is worse things then loosing the privileges of luxury, of beatings in bed and days without food. Their kitchen is small too and they are expected to keep it clean with the sugar soap provided. Food is delivered weekly, fresh to maintain healthy bodies. If it goes spoiled or doesn't stretch the week, they starve.

Bridget's been in worse places. She's just learning the people around her, whats expected of her, but she knows the game well enough to get by and hasn't made too many mistakes yet. They are locked in here, there's no way out unless someone comes and lets them out. Escaping is not recommended; the walls have eyes.

Its hard to tell what time it is, as the windows are all blacked out. There's no clocks in here and the time can move quick or slow. They can only judge by television programs or by radio announcements. The two women, Lena and Genny, aren't here when there is the sound of key at the front door.

*At first it was quite a surprise to her to find that she got to roam around a whole apartment, and that she had her own room. She didn't do much to interact with the girls, having spent so much time alone growing up, she helped to keep things clean, but mostly hid inside her room, reading her books, unsure about the TV, she knows what it is, and can probably operate it, but she's never really had the privilege of sitting and watching, the same goes for the radio.

At the sound of the key unlocking the front door, Bridget will carefully put her book away in the closet and check herself in the mirror, breasts perked, hair neat (for now), her silk purple and black teddy hug her curves, she smooths her hands down her body and straightens her stockings, checks her breath. Good, she is ready to greet her customer, if it is indeed a customer, but who else can it be?

She slips out of her room and leans against the wall, dawning a sex kitten look with a hand raised above her head and resting on the wall, she does indeed look very sexy*

The door clicked shut behind him and he turns to be greeted by the sight of Bridget. He likes her red hair, the way it hangs in ringlets and she looks young enough still to have kept the elasticity of her skin. His eyes are blue with a touch of light gray, and they sweep over her from head to toe and back again.

He's a pretty boy. Some would say he's handsome. Others could call him beautiful, but most would classify him as a rich pretty-boy. Jacques is tall, at 6.2" and thin, with enough tone on him to indicate some time spent at a gym, some sport, or activity. He, too, keeps healthy. Faces like his make money, so does his body.

But there's a reason why he has the key to her apartment and she is locked within it. And even more reason why he's holding a bundle of bags in one of his hands that he now offers out to her, "Bridget, I presume?" He's not from here but from somewhere educated, probably somewhere towards New Orleans. It's not that she would know the tinge of his accent, and with it, the slight French pronunciation of particular words - and in, especially his name.

"Take them." They are new clothes, store bought and good quality. Pretty lingerie, dresses and even a set or two of ordinary clothes normal people wear out doors. "I'm not here to play with you." He waited, patiently, for her to liberate him from the weight of the bags held aloft in one hand. His expression was a mix of dry amusement that bordered on bored.  

--Last edited by Jacques-Marcel on 2009-02-08 07:19:39 --

*She smiles and lets her guard down. Without the need to perform, she looks more timid, approaching him with down cast eyes, she slowly takes in a breath and chuckles softly* Thank you *She takes the bags and bows her head deeper to him and backs away, her red hair falls over her shoulders and hides part of her face*

When she inhales she catches scent of some subtle cologne he's wearing. It smells better than the sweat of pigs that want to pork her against the walls, or the stale smell of cigarettes on a mans breath stuck in her face.

He watches her, and once his hand is free of the bag, he slips his hand into his trouser pocket. The white of his shirt is clean beneath the pin-stripe gray vest, which matches the darker charcoal of his pants. His shoes look comfortable; black leather loafers. "Go and try them on."

Turning from her and her coy looks, he glances across the living room of the apartment. "If they don't fit I'll take them back and exchange." Tossing a glance over his shoulder, some of his dark blond hair falls across his brow, "You do want more clothes, don't you?"

*Green eyes glance up at him* you mean, they're all mine? I don't have to share them? *Her head tilts a bit, confused* There's a lot more here than I think I've ever had *Even before he can answer her she's retreating her bed room, red locks still hide most of that money making face*

"Mmmhmm." He watched her flee the room and hide behind her bedroom walls. Once she was out of sight he flicked a hand through his hair and went over to inspect one of the sofa's, seeing if it was clean enough to sit on. Even if it was he decided against it and strolled around the living area of their small apartment with both hands tucked casually into his pockets.

*Minutes later she exits the room wearing a long night gown, the silk hugs and hangs from her curves, her breasts lift the front taunt, perhaps a touch too tight, but it looks good, wearing a pair of black high heels to match the gown. She twirls as she steps out of the room, letting the bottom flare out as it was designed to do* It feels so nice against my skin *She moves to him, hips sway with each quiet step* Would you like to feel? *Her hand slips down her side and over her curved hip*

From where he had been studying the neatly ironed crease in his slack pants, he looked up the door as it opens. Bridget steps out with curves that can be appreciated. She's indulged with a slight smile, perhaps its closer to a smirk if she was going to be honest with herself.  For a woman that is used to men ogling her, it must be disappointing to see that Jacques turns the offer down.

"I'm aware what it feels like Miss Bridget."

Bemused; "I did buy them for you."

Sliding a hand from his pocket he makes a gesture towards her bedroom, nodding that way while his gaze stays trained on hers. "Go on try on the others. I don't need to see them. I just need to know if they fit."

*She is disappointed, but thankfully after years of being let down she hides it. Her head tilts into another bow, she forces a smile onto her plump lips* Yes Sir. *She flicks a glance to him before turning back to the bedroom, hips swishing as she moves her body with careful steps. The door shuts softly, green eyes flick up to view him before it latches and hides her away.

New cloths, it is very exciting, she lovingly spreads each piece out onto her bed, inspecting the new material, the vibrant colors, so much of what she owned was older, some hand-me-downs, it's hard to make a tattered bra and pantie set look new and appealing, even when the material is wrapped about her supple body.

Minutes go by as she flaunts herself about her room, testing the new cloths. She finds the more covered up items a novelty, to think, she should cover up this much? She smirks as she hangs everything up, then slips into another piece, green with lace covering her breasts, tight and very short, it brings out her eyes and hair. She takes a bit longer to look at herself in the full length mirror, hands run over her curves, enjoying the silken touch to her skin*

Waiting, he stifles a yawn behind the back of a long fingered hand. She was taking her sweet time and he had better places to be. Turning his hand over as he lowered it from his face, he checked the face of his wrist watch. He'd give her five more minutes and then he was walking out or banging on her door. Women were hopeless when it came to clothes.

Hands in pockets he leaned his back into the wall and crossed a foot across his other ankle, the toe of his shoe pointing into the ground. Resting his head back against the wall he closed his eyes.

Tick-tock.

*Deciding on just keeping this lovely little number on she take a moment longer and exits the room, grinning brightly to him* Everything fits perfectly, thank you. *She lowers her head slightly as a sign of submission* May I ask your name?

Opening his eyes when he heard the swing of the door, he tilted his head as he glanced to Bridget, watching her as she came back into view. His gaze swept over the new outfit and the way that she stood before him. “That suits you much better then that awful outfit you were wearing before.” He says, but it doesn’t have a very flattering ring to it, more of a statement of fact then an encouragement to inflate an ego. The thing with Jacques was, he seemed perpetually bored; as though he didn’t quite have a desire for much of anything; indifferent and aloof as much as he could come across blasé.

Despite that he could, when he wanted to, sound like a perfect southern gentlemen. The accent really did him a lot of favors. He had charm but he simply didn’t use it. Not unless there was something that he wanted to use it on (and let’s face it, Jacques really didn’t find much worth the effort). But that wasn’t so important right now, the girl (who was probably similar in age if she cared to note) had just asked him his name while looking at his leather loafers.

He set his feet on the ground properly and pushed off the wall as he slipped a slender hand into the pockets of his well pressed slacks. “Jacques.” It had a definite French ring to it, and he said his name a little more softly then he had spoke to her before. She could feel the weight of his steady gaze.

*She takes in a breath as if to speak, her glittering eyes look up to him as she finally utters* And, is that what I should call you? *Her head tilts then, he is just so, breath taking, it wasn't fair, if she had a bit more self-esteem she might have the guts to come onto him a bit, she was beautiful enough to be seen on his arm, that is for sure. Slowly her long, slender fingers move about the hem of her new lingerie, a long leg shifts a bit to show the curve of her calf, the lovely arch in her foot, her breathing is designed to cause her chest to heave, and feeling that heavy gaze of his does indeed cause her to breath a touch deeper*

“That is my name so yes, it would be fitting, don‘t you think?” His mouth curves at one corner, giving the appearance of a wry smirk. Moving another step from the wall he brushes close enough that the air slides across her arm and disturbs her hair as he continues past her, moving towards the sofa in the living room. “Unless there was something else you had in mind? Some sort of name that you envisioned?” Perhaps calling out to the ceiling, moaning over and over, or spoken with begs of desired whims and wants. His tone implied it, mild and a little curious.

He looked over the sofa, determining if he actually wanted to sit on it and debating just what might have happened on this furniture. Sure the lower part of the apartment complex was the actual working rooms and this here was suppose to be the dormitory where the girls (or boys) slept and lived their relatively miserable lives, but one really wouldn’t know with Eddie. Jacques wouldn’t put much past that man. Little did Bridget know of the deviant man that had purchased her like a sack of under priced goods from a starving nation. Needless to say, he didn’t decide to sit, instead he turned on heel and watched Bridget from the few feet of distance that he had (coincidentally?) put between them.

*Her wrist flexes up as he passes to feel the rush of air between them on her finger tips, but doesn't dare touch him, not without permission. Her head cocks to the side towords him and she takes in a deep breath* Well, many have asked me to call them the normal (Normal to her at least) Master, Boss, Lord *She gives a small smile as if the very idea that a man like this would be silly enough to enjoy being called something that so many other lower life forms have demanded of her, is just plain wrong. She ventures a bit closer to him, the silk moves about her hips like liquid caressing her curves* Although, if Jacques *She lets the name roll off her tongue the way the silk moves over her skin* Is fine, I rather like the name.  

--Last edited by Bridget Sweets on 2009-02-21 04:30:13 --

“While this may be true, this isn’t the question I asked you. I asked what it was you may have in mind, not what you may call others by their whim.” He stood his ground, arms and shoulders relaxed and hands still in pockets as she came closer to him again. She was chasing him around an already small apartment, flaunting herself before him. Its not something he was unused to, especially not when he was coming to bring them gifts. The new ones always took him as a client and when it became clear he wasn’t, most of them pretended not to know anyway. Perhaps he was being too nice to them. Certainly he wasn’t the prick that Eddie was, or at least seemed to be.

The depths of his blue eyes, those that are touched with gray at the edge of the iris, continue to follow her as she moved through the room, creeping closer and closer yet, until she could smell the cologne he wore, ever so faintly. He didn’t watch her hips, nor the flesh exposed at her legs, nor breast, he wasn’t interested or he played particularly cool and collected. His gaze stayed on her face, her eyes in general.

*He's giving her a choice, this makes her hesitate and cock her head to the other side, her fingers intertwine in front of her as her brain tries to come with something* You remind me of Prince Charming. *She blushes and ducks her head down, forcing her hair to hide most of that lovely face* Prince...Charming...*She lets the nickname roll around her mouth for a moment before her aqua eyes catch his once more* If that is okay?

Lips purse together before they slide out in a bemused little smile. Inclining his head towards her, which can only be taken as consent, he replied to her quietly. “Prince Charming, it is. Whatever thy lady see fit.” His chuckle is but the barest sounds and would only reach her ear if it had been pressed to the front of his throat where such softness vibrates.

“And as Prince Charming, I should be bidding you a good evening. I have seen that you have received your gifts and that your spirits are lifted, even if just a little, and now I shall be on my way.” Pausing, his lips curled further upwards, “.. everyone knows that a Prince Charming wouldn’t take advantage of a woman and would find it especially forbidden to see her in lingerie.”

*It is a simple blow, whether he meant it to be one or not, she winces and nods softly* Of course. *For the first time she feels the need cover up her almost exposed breasts with her long arms, her hands cup her throat as she looks down once again* N...no one has ever not wanted to see me in lingerie, Prince Charming, I will wear more clothing if I know you will be around *Her eyes flick up, almost hopeful* You will be back around, won't you?