--i'm a freak bitch baby M (jason)

[Eden/Elinor Viktoria Casadav]

I CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF

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because I don't know how[/color][/font][/i]

AND THEY LOVE ME FOR IT[/color][/font]
honestly, i'll be here for awhile[/color][/font][/i]

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Elinor felt like her own person again. It hadn't taken her long to make herself up. It was like a costume, it was all about playing a role. It had layers, had galmour, had passion. The clothes set the tone for the sex to follow. People really don't realize how much your clothes define you. They give you a flavor. The way you walk, the way you act, the way you feel. Eden had dressed this body, and therefore it had been hers. It had assumed her personality. She'd looked small, lost, consumed by her clothes and by the world around her. That's what Eden was .Now, it was Elinor's turn. She was wrapped like a present, waiting to be opened. Dying to be opened. Outside a black trench coat, inside a net of lace that was just enough to restrain her. But not for long. The man she had met in the woods would be the lucky one tonight. She shoudlered her bag. It had been easy enought to get in. Apparently employee security wasn't one of thier main concerns. She supposed the figured thier staff woudl never do anything out of the ordinary. They forgot that they were poeple, just like the paitients they treated. Yes, that was it, wasn't it? Elinor wasn't a person here. Before she came here, she had been someone. Nobody would question her, nobody would tie her down. She had been a sex goddess. Now she was confined to rooms of white and tiled floors, where she should metal and velvet. It was all because of-
-Jeremy.
Elinor always asked herself if she felt guilty for the things she did. She dind't want to do them, she didn't think. But she coudln't be sure. There was this rapidity of her emotions that wouldn't alow reality. Her anger, it was something that could get the best of her. She didn't want it too, but it all stemmed from one thing; her desire for control. Her heels made a soft sound on the carpet. It didn't matter, she was starting new. Tonight was the first step to the new world, the breaking of the walls of the blue river asylum. And it was start with such sweetness. 1,2,3,4. She reached the door in the empty hall. Jason Sharpe. She smiled, thinking for a moment. She was standing on a threshold, a threshould that meant never going back. She didn't want to. Without a knock, she opened the door, striding into the apartment. She grinned, dropped her bag, and without a word, slipped off her coat and let it fall to the floor, revealing the lace shift underneath. Her next words were a growl, demanding but at the same time dripping with breathless persuasion.
"Come here."

[/ul][/color][/size]
POLICY: All work is property of Miss Balaclava. Steal and you die.
LYRICS:[/color]Blood by My Chemical Romance
NOTE:[/color] muhahaha...
OUTFIT:[/color][link=http://www.polyvore.com/elinor/set?id=23150631
]here[/link]
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[/center]

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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Obviously, the answer had been yes. A very unanimous one. But now, sitting on the edge of his mauve sofa, cigarette held trailing blueish smoke in his hand, dark hazel eyes glowering into the stream, he still wondered about the answer to his avoided question. Now that the far from subtle yet all the more effective distraction of Her hands rubbing the inside of his pant legs, he could think a sliver better. And he didn't like what he was thinking. Didn't like he even was thinking.

He'd changed out of the warden uniform, of course. Changed into a loose, white button-up collared shirt; the pants he'd left alone. Khaki and easy enough the occasion. Not that he'd had anything better to wear. This was too spur of the moment for him to be settled here yet. The sheets were too clean and didn't smell like him. The closet was only a fourth full and it was likely to stay that way. He had basic amenities, but nothing personable. It reminded him of a hotel room, looking about at a glance. The only place you could tell someone lived here alone was the by the state of the bathroom. Counter space filled messily, towels air drying, last nights clothes in a mound under the sink, shampoo and soap and deodorant all the brands he preferred.

Well, there was the ash tray. A gift from his sister, it was glass with a Union Jack painted on the bottom. Of course, it was hidden under the burned out smokes. Jason grimaced again, drew on his cigarette, tapping his fingers, glancing at the muted television in the corner, the movie playing one he'd never heard of. He only had it on for company. But after a moment, he shut it off with a disdainful press on the remote, tossing the device onto the counter next to the tube. Pointless endeavor anyway, trying to distract himself. He didn't want to be distracted anymore. He'd save the morality for later. She'd said yes, after all, nothing wring there. He found it far from incriminating that she knew exactly ow to make him want her, exactly where to place her hands. She'd done it before. He'd done it before. Easy. He slid back more comfortably into the couch, lounging.

Even if she had knocked, he wouldn't have heard it. He'd left it open for a reason as it was. The door was pushed open, it's reflection springing to life in the dull black of the powered down TV, the light from the door, white compared to the dim yellow lighting in his entry hall/parlor/living room. Her felt her footsteps spring to being in his planted feet. Jason glanced toward the door, the surprise at the forcefulness of her entrance, at the stunning effect, the pulling off of the trench coat to reveal mesh and netting, lacework that revealed and hide at once, ebony curves and dips and breasts accentuated, barely held together. The decadent additions of the high heels and they distinctly sexy rocking vibrations. The knowledge that it would all come off. But slowly. Because she liked to play with him.

which was fine. Though there was one last matter he had to settle. Reading her lips, the command to come, Jason forced himself nearly unwillingly to stay seated, watching her. "I'm going to need a name, darling." the he'd be ready. He just didn't like nameless entities. Not becuase he needed the personal connection, not becuase he needed a name to face, but so he could...dream later, and know who it was he had to thank. He pulled again on his cigarette, plumed smoke through his mouth.

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 617
Date: 9/19/10
Cabinet: Staff Housing, Sharpe's Apartment
Inquirer: Casadav, Eden/Elinor
Status: Private
Alarm: Doomed
Notes: Hmm...you might want to put an [m] in the thread title for mature content...it could happen...XD

[Eden/Elinor Viktoria Casadav]

I CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF

[/color][/font]
because I don't know how[/color][/font][/i]

AND THEY LOVE ME FOR IT[/color][/font]
honestly, i'll be here for awhile[/color][/font][/i]

[/center]

She regestered the changes in his apperance. The warden uniform was gone, replaced by a white collared shirt that sat loose, half unbottened. She was already formulating how the night would go in her mind, using the scenery to her advantage. It was hunting, everything about her was a predator. The room wasn't very well lived in; it was stark. The hotel of a one night stand. It was so temporary. She smiled a little. She woudl change that. By the time she was done, the sheets woud no lnoger be clean, and the room would be differerent. It would have memory attached to it; memory was a powerful thing. Now he'd look at the room and see her shadows, and there would be nothing that would take them away. This wasn't going to be just a one night stand; Elinor was here to stay.

He was smoking, and it sent shivers down her spine. Smoking would always be sexy, regardless of the health complications assosiated. Plus she always found men that smoked were always better in bed. Maybe one had little to do with the other, but she didn't care. Still, as he took slow drags there was a hesitace in his eyes. He didn't come.There was a flash of anger, but as soon as it came it was gone. No, it didn't matter. Thigns didn't always have to go her way
Don't lie to yourself.
This time it was her own voice that spoke back to her. No, that was teh beauty of it. She coudl deal with the constantly shifting world. She didn't always have to have home court advantage. She could change his mind. She always did.

"I'm going to need a name, darling." The irony of the question almost made her laugh, but at the same time it stunned her. Names were defining. She'd lived her life not being herself, being the one that nobody wanted. She was voicious, angry at the world. She was the real victim, not Eden. She'd been forced to live a lie, to be the one that no one would recognize. But Jason would remember her, she'd make certain he could never forget. She dropped her bag, sliding the handcuffs out discreetly as she walked towards him, setting them on the bed. She'd need them later. Slowly, she made her way closer, itching to be rid of her clothes. No, not yet, she'd have to wait. She came closer to his ear, and whispered gently-

"Elinor." She was done waiting. She began to undo the buttons on his shirt, finding the bare skin beneath, tossing it to the floor. All the while she was pulling him towards the bed, leading him closer. They stood at the foot of it, and she kissed him, gently. She was wet now, soaking wet, dying of the anticipation she'd been living in for so long. She pushed him down onto the matress and kicked off her heels. She was done with waiting. She crawled up on top of him, her hands sliding him his bare arms, and then...

she quickly handcuffed him to the bed. She stood. She had a captive audience. She slowly began to undress. the first layer of the dress fell, and she was left standing her her lace undergarments. She was practically naked, her nipples poking through the thin lace fabric. Still, it was the illusion. The fact there was somethign more underneath. She crawled back onto the bed, stradling his lower legs as her hands went to work.
"You're going to remeber my name aren't you?"She asked, slowly unbuttoning his pants, allowing her fingers to scrape against the tender skin between his legs. "You're going to scream it. You're going to plead it." she let her lips touch the skin just above where his underwear remained, pulling his khakis off as she went. She woudln't release him yet. not till he begged.

[/ul][/color][/size]
POLICY: All work is property of Miss Balaclava. Steal and you die.
LYRICS:[/color]Blood by My Chemical Romance
NOTE:[/color] back and better than ever XD
OUTFIT:[/color][link=http://www.polyvore.com/elinor/set?id=23150631
]here[/link]
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[/center]

[jason laurence sharpe]

JUST WAIT ON THE STREET WITH YOUR ENDLESS WORDS
LOST FOREVER IN THE OCEAN OF FORGETFUL NOISE
SOMETIMES, EVERYONE CARES, BUT CAN'T HEAR

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She seemed...taken aback? By a request for a name? IT didn't make him feel any better. IT rather depicted that she was used to throwing herself about on a no name basis. Hi there, you're a sexy gladiator; let me help you take that shirt off, huh darling? Like she knew his name, but he shouldn't know her's. Not her real one. No, professionals wouldn't dare that slip. So she was just crazy then. Just a girl who who tied up what they wanted, who slid into the position, who knew how to get what she wanted. But of course, she was more than a girl to him.

She was more than a girl to any other female he'd come across. Young. He liked them that way. Not in the sense that they were innocent, no, never that, he hated no experience, even if it was adorably awkward to help someone through, the idea of inception key the first time around. No, he liked them younger than him on general principle. And nearly every female doctor or nurse here was older. Much older. Of course, they hired all the time, but now, well...who was in need of hiring right now? Either way, even with that, he wasn't about to let her think this was easy. She'd have her work cut out for her. Though he doubted she would mind. And neither would he.

He nodded then. Elinor. Classy, classic, very...very sexy, for some reason. It was a name that reminded him of older action romance war movies. Of clear nights, fur coats, shiny black and chrome old cars, fancy dresses, phonographs playing in the background, champagne and the smell of leather. Nostalgia that wasn't his and definitely wasn't her's, in that body. So very well mixed.

He let her flip open the buttons of his shirt, let her leave her thin coverings on. It was always sexier, more stirring, more deeply arousing when the female ran her fingers over his shoulders, over his chest, tugging away the cumbersome articles that concealed what she wanted. He watched her practiced fingers glide through this motion, smoke still curling from his lips, leaning heavily on the sofa, eyes on her nearly revealed stomach, on her chest, on her eyes as she tugged him toward the bed in the adjoining room and pressed him onto the mattress.

The hand-cuffs were not quite what he had in mind. Maybe it was a fetish, maybe she wanted undivided attention, maybe she wanted him to plead to her for freedom, but hell, she could get all that and more with both his hands just as easy and and a lot more pleasing. Of course, the pleasure in the subtraction of clothing was also true for her own. It was possible for him to take it off for her, but if she did it...well, so much more the committed, the display that she wanted him. And of course, there was just something inherently masculine about enjoying enjoying watching a female peel back layers before you, hand-cuffed or not, one tended not to notice. Her breasts hung heavy in the tissue paper thin shift and he reached forward as if to tear the paper apart, as if to smother her nipples and her stomach in his hands, to feel the curves and end the mocking they hurled at him.

But she was moving by then, body straddling his on the bed, sinking them deeper into the rumpled covers. He wanted all of her and she was leading in slowly. He quirked a soft, moaned smile, eyes closed in intense pleasure as she finally removed the khakis, he pulled her farther onto him with one hand, pressing her down against his bare thighs despite the underwear, a prelude to what they both wanted.

But of course she would be one of those females. He hated begging. Being told what to do was one thing, an acceptable thing, but he'd never been a beggar. Not so blatantly, as the term went. Besides, she was lucky he was still lucid enough to even try comprehending the movements her mouth made when they weren't attached to him. That was the worst part about being deaf. That sexual banter while fucking was stiff. And he could never tell if she was serious or playing with him. "Not just for the hand-cuffs, either, darling..." he murmured, trailing of a second, unable to produce words. "Elinor." The whisper was faint, soft, caressing the syllables with his lips, shaping it with his heavy Londoner accent to be the made into something akin to a secret. Something he coveted. Something he could repeat over an over at low volume, but any louder and the sound would lose it's meaning, lose any semblance of pleading and yet still remain pure in it's appeals.

He didn't pull on the hand-cuffs, but it was clear that he was able and willing to do more when he had hands and movement. OF course, if she wanted on top, he liked that even better.

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Case: Sharpe, Jason
File #: 843
Date: 10/2/10
Cabinet: Staff Housing, Sharpe's Apartment
Inquirer: Casadav, Eden/Elinor
Status: Private
Alarm: is "evil sadistic smile" a feeling/mood?
Notes: Little ramble-y on my part...