igotsunshineee
Virgin
- Joined
- Sep 17, 2011
- Posts
- 6
Looking for a male who would like to fit into this part, playing a dominant, strict but gentle at times role, playing the circus ring owner. The 'big guns.' Message me or reply below?
______________________________________________________________
Name:Lea.
Age:19.
Height:5"5.
Gender:Female.
____________________________________________________________
The crowd and their voices echoe around my head as the curtain closes, the familiar knot in my stomach expanding in size. Your tight grasp leaves a white mark on my olive skin and my heart sinks as I hear the word:'punishments'. I don't bother to argue back, feeling weak and light headed as you drag me along. I look around at the different painted wagons, faintly remembering the time when I didn't have to toss and turn in these foul places. My earthy, warm coloured eyes were bright once, but now they seem to dimmen as they drop to the ground at the thought of my Mother.
My jet black hair is full of curls, they bounce around my body in the darkness. I catch sight of a curled peice of hair, thinking again of how my hair is naturally straight, that my Mother hated curls. I fight back tears, knowing that my punishments will become greater if I smudge my makeup. A smooth foundation enhances my cheekbones, and several coatings of mascara and eyeliner bring my eyes out wider, almost abnormal. My cheeks are full of rosy red blusher, it shining in the lanterns hung up in the trees. My frame is thin and slender, the curves I once had around my hips now gone. But the sparkly red costume I'm wearing makes my hips possible again, the tight material clinging to every nip and tuck on my body. The costume is a typical perfomer's outfit, but mine seems to be more noticable from the other entertainers. A mesh of sparkling diamonds cover the centre of my chest, all the way down to the sleeves of my arms. This is attatched to a tight red material, looking clingy and almost skimpy. The skirt of the costume is a tutu, it flicking out and also full of diamonds. The tutu is short, ending way before the top of my knee's. My cleavage is noticeable, my chest being suitable, the more sensitive parts of my breasts being covered by the diamonds. My long, olive legs shine through mositurisers I'm forced to wear, my feet being bare, the toenails also painted a fierce red.
I look like a fantastic, beautiful perfomer that makes men weak at the knee's, causing their wives to slap them in the audience and then carry on clapping with false smiles and waves. But once your a certain distance away from me, faint scars and rope marks thread around my ankles and the back of my thighs. Cigerette burns making small punctures on my wrists. A certain scar is covered by my long curls. It beginning at the base of my neck and all the way down the spine of my back. Memories shoot through my head of my Mother, a thud being heard in the back of my mind. Gritting my straight white teeth, I bite the inside of my cheek. I focus on just getting to the wagon and sleeping, but my stomach lurches once again as I remember what will happen after my perfomance and of course....the discussion.
______________________________________________________________
Name:Lea.
Age:19.
Height:5"5.
Gender:Female.
____________________________________________________________
The crowd and their voices echoe around my head as the curtain closes, the familiar knot in my stomach expanding in size. Your tight grasp leaves a white mark on my olive skin and my heart sinks as I hear the word:'punishments'. I don't bother to argue back, feeling weak and light headed as you drag me along. I look around at the different painted wagons, faintly remembering the time when I didn't have to toss and turn in these foul places. My earthy, warm coloured eyes were bright once, but now they seem to dimmen as they drop to the ground at the thought of my Mother.
My jet black hair is full of curls, they bounce around my body in the darkness. I catch sight of a curled peice of hair, thinking again of how my hair is naturally straight, that my Mother hated curls. I fight back tears, knowing that my punishments will become greater if I smudge my makeup. A smooth foundation enhances my cheekbones, and several coatings of mascara and eyeliner bring my eyes out wider, almost abnormal. My cheeks are full of rosy red blusher, it shining in the lanterns hung up in the trees. My frame is thin and slender, the curves I once had around my hips now gone. But the sparkly red costume I'm wearing makes my hips possible again, the tight material clinging to every nip and tuck on my body. The costume is a typical perfomer's outfit, but mine seems to be more noticable from the other entertainers. A mesh of sparkling diamonds cover the centre of my chest, all the way down to the sleeves of my arms. This is attatched to a tight red material, looking clingy and almost skimpy. The skirt of the costume is a tutu, it flicking out and also full of diamonds. The tutu is short, ending way before the top of my knee's. My cleavage is noticeable, my chest being suitable, the more sensitive parts of my breasts being covered by the diamonds. My long, olive legs shine through mositurisers I'm forced to wear, my feet being bare, the toenails also painted a fierce red.
I look like a fantastic, beautiful perfomer that makes men weak at the knee's, causing their wives to slap them in the audience and then carry on clapping with false smiles and waves. But once your a certain distance away from me, faint scars and rope marks thread around my ankles and the back of my thighs. Cigerette burns making small punctures on my wrists. A certain scar is covered by my long curls. It beginning at the base of my neck and all the way down the spine of my back. Memories shoot through my head of my Mother, a thud being heard in the back of my mind. Gritting my straight white teeth, I bite the inside of my cheek. I focus on just getting to the wagon and sleeping, but my stomach lurches once again as I remember what will happen after my perfomance and of course....the discussion.
