She blinked at him in mild surprise towards the concept of someone trying to do something without his permission. Not disbelief, just... surprise. She'd always sort of assumed that it was a power thing, and once you got enough strength, or money, or both, it stopped happening. It would possibly be depressing to consider the reality of that situation, if she had ever thought she'd have the ability to amass any kind of power at all. But no, she was the bottom of the heap and would be staying there until being the bottom of the heap killed her.
She followed him, anxiety taking a sudden jump automatically into a sort of primal discomfort when she reached the edge of where she could feel her rat friends' presence. Honestly... if he didn't want rats in his house, she had no idea why he was letting her in. They were practically the same thing. But she wasn't going to point that out, lest he take what he wanted and then throw her out on the street.
She tried to focus on her surroundings, instead, but they did nothing for her nerves. The only reason it looked even passingly like a bookstore was because of all the fucking books. It was very clearly a house, and very clearly the kind of house she'd never thought to see... well, see again. Although the last 'extremely well-off house' hadn't looked a thing like this; this was all classic wood and elegant curls. The only other one in her living memory had been all blacks and whites, hard corners and simple shapes.
She liked this one better, but it made her want to touch things, which she knew was a terrible idea. She moved as little as possible and tried not to shed glitter or bump anything.
She glanced into the room as he entered; it barely registered to her that it was so dark. She could see perfectly fine; after all, there was so much light coming in from the hallway that surely anyone would be able to see, even into the shady corners in the back. It was a nice looking room. All the windows were covered and there were white sheets on everything. It looked like a perfect place to stay until, say, a moving company showed up and either screamed at her, called the police, or had their way with her, depending on their mood (though in several situations she’d been easily able to avoid that due to a general large number of rats that just so happened to fill the empty house). Shame someone still lived here, really. How often did he come in the room? She'd have to ask her rat if he'd succeeded in finding any ways in.
He came back out again with an alarmingly massive trunk. She could have fit inside it. Very easily, without any difficulty. It would probably have actually been very comfortable. She sort of wanted to try, now that she'd thought about it.
She backed out of his way, rather than shifting to the side and risking getting come on him or his belongings, and he opened another door to... Well, technically, it was a bathroom. Seeing as how there was a bath. She'd never seen one like it before, however. It sat above the ground on golden feet, porcelain white and big enough to fit two of her, or three if they just sat all in a row.
There were two toilets. She was scared to ask why.
"Um... yes, sir," she said, because this seemed like the sort of situation one said yes sir in.
And then he was gone, leaving her alone in a ludicrously fancy bathroom with ludicrously fancy things, feeling very small and nervous and overwhelmed.
Okay. Step by step. She could do this. It wasn't as though she was feral; she'd been in bathrooms before. How different could this be? She shuffled closer to the tub, peering at the spout. Seemed very simple. Well, okay, no, it didn't, it seemed ridiculous, but the general principle was the same. Here was where the water came out, so somewhere there had to be a means of turning... ah!
Having successfully found the knobs with which to produce water, she fiddled with them until she found a satisfactory temperature, then turned it up a few more degrees.
Alright. Clothes. She wasn't really seeing an obvious designated spot for them, so she just stripped and folded them all up carefully and put them by the door. Then, with some difficulty, she climbed into the tub and figured out how the showerhead worked. It took a while, and she got a blast of very hot water directly to her face for her trouble. What she really wanted was a bath, because she had the vague sort of sense that taking a shower in this sort of tub would be criminal, but she wanted to rinse the worst of the glitter and grime off first. Particularly out of her hair.
She was dripping wet when she stepped back out of the tub, and nearly fell, not having had the foresight to put down a towel. She was probably making a mess. She could fix that. For now, she just made sure to rinse all the glitter and goopy clumps down the drain, then figured out how to stop it up so she could have a bath.
A shower and then a bath might have been cheating. If so, she'd have to apologize later. But he hadn't been super precise, and he’d said to take her time, and she wanted to do a good job of cleaning herself up. He'd seemed kind of offended by her... general existence, which was understandable. Most people were.
While the tub filled, she perused the shelves built into the wall. Oils and lotions and soaps and shampoos and conditioners and... a little glass vial, so thin, caught her eye. She leaned closer, squinting. Breathe, lilac and white lily, tranquil... ...bubbling bath?!
She glanced around nervously, as if the owner of the house might suddenly appear in protest, but snatched the bottle. No one had ever let her take a bubble bath before. This was her one chance. And he had said to take her time. That was why she was using such painfully hot water; she knew it would cool. She added the tiniest amount of bubble bath to the water, hoping it wouldn't be missed... then just the tiniest amount more, thrilled when the water started forming thick bubbles immediately. She re-corked the bottle and placed it carefully precisely where it had been.
She went ahead and located something that was almost certainly soap, and something that declared itself shampoo. Then she explored the bathroom very carefully as the water filled, sating her curiosity a bit. She didn't really understand the concept of a secondary, smaller toilet without a lid and with a sort of weird spouty thing, next to the actual toilet. She'd been told not to touch things until she was clean. So she turned back to the tub and decided to get in and get working on the actual task he'd given her.
She sank down into the water. It was deeper than any bath she'd been in prior. She could stretch her legs all the way out. The way the edge was sloped, she could lean back against it and recline and stretch. She paused for a bit, letting herself adjust to the pain of the too-hot water. Once she was used to it, she knew it would feel good. Maybe taking her time would help work some of the pain out of her ill-used muscles.
She still had some vague guilt about using the bubbles, but it were exactly as amazing as she’d always imagined, maybe moreso. It made the water smell like flowers. Or maybe that was just what rich-person water smelled like. That was a distinct possibility, but she hadn’t noticed it while showering.
She focused first on getting clean, but as she worked her hair over with shampoo that felt like silk, she considered the task at hand. It needed some consideration. The masturbation would probably be easier, and more arguably pleasant, but it would also be difficult. She couldn't remember the last time she masturbated on her own, and not for someone watching. And this was a stranger's bathtub. She wasn't sure she could get in the mood.
She thought, idly, back to the night before. Particularly, the few minutes in which the creature had held her by her neck and fucked her like a plaything. She gave a pleased little shiver, gave herself a few experimental touches as the shampoo rested in her hair. About a minute of this later, she decided she'd been correct. She'd be in here an hour if he actually wanted an orgasm out of her. Her mind was sharply on the “if you can do it to my satisfaction” part of their deal.
Alright, the other, creepy option then... what was it he'd said? Something that hurt her, something from her past? What, just, think about it and cry? She wasn't good at crying on command. She didn't like thinking about the past, either, because then she'd cry not-on-command.
Thinking about it, as she used a very spectacular sort of nozzle-on-a-hose to rinse out her hair, that was uh... that was probably the entire point. This was probably part of some weird magical ritual or something. Maybe she'd ask him about it, afterwards, to see if he'd answer. She should have maybe asked before, instead. She deserved to know if she was summoning Satan or something.
Painful memories, painful memories... well, that wasn't hard. Just over the last few days, she had half a dozen. She avoided anything to do with the creature--those were too muddled up. Ruka, too, might as well skip further back. The traffickers? Eh. That was nothing new. He wanted pain.
Clarke, then? Noah? Her case worker, what had his name even been? She couldn't quite remember. She ran through brief memories in her head, considering, as she lathered up a very clean, very white washcloth with a soap that smelled of citrus and honey.
She could still remember meeting Clarke in that diner, the first time. It had been three am, that awkward time between night owls and early birds, and she'd been sleeping in one of the booths, because the nice manager was here and wouldn't throw her out until people started coming in for breakfast. She'd awoken to the clink of a plate being set in front of her. A stack of pancakes, courtesy of the man at the nearby table. He'd waved, a polite smile that was barely an upturning of the corners of his mouth. Ice-blue eyes had glinted at her through thin frames.
There was a lot to cry about, where he was concerned, but she didn't particularly feel like it. She let her mind skip back further. Other first meetings... like Noah, overly-kempt blonde hair, almost meticulously maintained. Not a single strand out of place; she remembered thinking he looked like one of the dolls with the plastic hair. Light blue eyes through round frames, and a smile that was a bit broader but still so practiced.
That piece of shit.
She got briefly irritated at him for ruining her relaxation, and had to remind herself that was the point. She let herself think back to hopes dashed, the desire for a father and the utter lack of interest. She’d loved him. God, she’d loved him so purely, so stupidly, the way only a child could manage. He’d wanted so little to do with her. The phrase “when you’re older” had come up very often.
She hadn’t realized why he wanted her to be older until much later, when she’d learned more about the world and her place in it. She couldn’t be sure but... it was the only thing that made sense to her. She paused in her vigorous scrubbing to tuck her knees up closer to her chest despite the size of the tub. Her instinct was to force her mind away from the subject--anything but this, go do something else to distract yourself--and had to remind herself, once again, she was doing a job.
Her tutor, a bright man with hair like flaming feathers, had probably cared for her more than Noah ever had. She wished, in retrospect, she’d bothered to foster a better relationship with him. Maybe she wouldn’t have run away if she had. If she hadn’t been so fixated on Noah, so enthralled. If she hadn’t had her tendency to sneak into places she shouldn’t be, hear things she shouldn’t hear...
Well, god only knew what she would be now. She didn’t think that she would have liked it. She also didn’t think she would have the place in her mind to be aware she didn’t like it. She shivered, a little chill down her spine despite the burning heat of the water.
She normally tried very hard not to think about these things. Ruminating on them as she scrubbed was extremely unpleasant.
“She’s very insistent, sir. He clearly means--”
“He doesn’t mean a thing; she’s just fixating. Whims of a child.” She didn’t have to be able to see the careless wave of his hand to know it was there. “It’s out of the question, which is why I’m not sure why you’re questioning.”
“O-of course, sir. ...It’s just...” She’d never known her tutor’s voice to shake like that. “She doesn’t understand why, and I’m not certain how to explain it to her. You picked her up off the streets; she seems to think it the natural course of things.”
“I’m not going to have two of the things scurrying about,” Noah snapped. “It’s bad enough with just one. Tell her no, or move him along, or something. Tell her she’s important and he’s not; she has to figure it out sooner or later. It’s ridiculous she hasn’t by now.”
“Y-yes, sir, of course.”
She was already wet, so she hadn’t noticed when she’d started crying. A drop hitting the surface of the bubbles, leaving a little indent, was what made her realize. She bit her lip, then threw the washcloth angrily into the water. She rolled over onto her side, sinking into the bubbles as if she were laying in a bed, and had a good long cry, hating him and then and herself. She cried herself out, then stayed in the water longer, numbly going back to scrubbing. She couldn’t get the glitter off, it was like it had fused to her skin. But she at least didn’t seem to be shedding.
She used some of the conditioner, because she felt like she deserved it after that. She soaked until the water began to get tepid and she finally had to force herself out.
She felt a bit numb, all the pain hollowing her out on the inside. But she managed to towel off and rinse out the inside of the tub and mop up the spilled water. She glanced into the mirror as she walked by it to finally open up the huge case and see what she was supposed to wear. Her hair still glittered. Her skin, if anything, now glittered more evenly, less in clumps. She sort of sighed, wondering if this would be to his satisfaction. She had tried her best.
She struggled with the huge thing for a while, then finally got it open. She didn’t know why she was shocked with the contents; it matched everything else she’d seen so far. But shocked she was. Dresses, in dozens of beautiful colors. Drawers full of underthings and shoes and even limited accessories.
Um. Okay. Clearly she was... she was meant to dress up. She had a very limited grasp on aesthetics, but she tried her best, carefully shuffling through the clothing. She found underwear in her size, although it was white and she normally shied away from white things. She found a... bra, but without straps, and put that on. It wasn’t as if her breasts really needed much help, and it was necessary, because of the dress she’d selected, the only one in her size that she liked.
It was black, and simple, but had no shoulders of which to speak. Instead, it draped around her arms and over her chest, a little fringe over the rest of the dress embroidered with little white-silver sparkles she felt might make the fact she was still glittery look less offensive to someone who knew it was, in fact, gargoyle semen.
She hunted through the shoes for something that struck her as appropriately adult and fancy. It was slim pickings, because they were mostly flats and she wanted to wear heels, for a multitude of reasons. One was because she never got to. Another was because she thought the point of this was to look less like a piece of garbage, and pieces of garbage did not generally wear nice heels. Also, they were pretty. They were red but also black, and had a little hole where her toes went. And they were only a little tight.
She gave herself a once, twice, and then thrice over before slowly opening the bathroom door and glancing around, uncertain as to where he would be or what to expect.
She followed him, anxiety taking a sudden jump automatically into a sort of primal discomfort when she reached the edge of where she could feel her rat friends' presence. Honestly... if he didn't want rats in his house, she had no idea why he was letting her in. They were practically the same thing. But she wasn't going to point that out, lest he take what he wanted and then throw her out on the street.
She tried to focus on her surroundings, instead, but they did nothing for her nerves. The only reason it looked even passingly like a bookstore was because of all the fucking books. It was very clearly a house, and very clearly the kind of house she'd never thought to see... well, see again. Although the last 'extremely well-off house' hadn't looked a thing like this; this was all classic wood and elegant curls. The only other one in her living memory had been all blacks and whites, hard corners and simple shapes.
She liked this one better, but it made her want to touch things, which she knew was a terrible idea. She moved as little as possible and tried not to shed glitter or bump anything.
She glanced into the room as he entered; it barely registered to her that it was so dark. She could see perfectly fine; after all, there was so much light coming in from the hallway that surely anyone would be able to see, even into the shady corners in the back. It was a nice looking room. All the windows were covered and there were white sheets on everything. It looked like a perfect place to stay until, say, a moving company showed up and either screamed at her, called the police, or had their way with her, depending on their mood (though in several situations she’d been easily able to avoid that due to a general large number of rats that just so happened to fill the empty house). Shame someone still lived here, really. How often did he come in the room? She'd have to ask her rat if he'd succeeded in finding any ways in.
He came back out again with an alarmingly massive trunk. She could have fit inside it. Very easily, without any difficulty. It would probably have actually been very comfortable. She sort of wanted to try, now that she'd thought about it.
She backed out of his way, rather than shifting to the side and risking getting come on him or his belongings, and he opened another door to... Well, technically, it was a bathroom. Seeing as how there was a bath. She'd never seen one like it before, however. It sat above the ground on golden feet, porcelain white and big enough to fit two of her, or three if they just sat all in a row.
There were two toilets. She was scared to ask why.
"Um... yes, sir," she said, because this seemed like the sort of situation one said yes sir in.
And then he was gone, leaving her alone in a ludicrously fancy bathroom with ludicrously fancy things, feeling very small and nervous and overwhelmed.
Okay. Step by step. She could do this. It wasn't as though she was feral; she'd been in bathrooms before. How different could this be? She shuffled closer to the tub, peering at the spout. Seemed very simple. Well, okay, no, it didn't, it seemed ridiculous, but the general principle was the same. Here was where the water came out, so somewhere there had to be a means of turning... ah!
Having successfully found the knobs with which to produce water, she fiddled with them until she found a satisfactory temperature, then turned it up a few more degrees.
Alright. Clothes. She wasn't really seeing an obvious designated spot for them, so she just stripped and folded them all up carefully and put them by the door. Then, with some difficulty, she climbed into the tub and figured out how the showerhead worked. It took a while, and she got a blast of very hot water directly to her face for her trouble. What she really wanted was a bath, because she had the vague sort of sense that taking a shower in this sort of tub would be criminal, but she wanted to rinse the worst of the glitter and grime off first. Particularly out of her hair.
She was dripping wet when she stepped back out of the tub, and nearly fell, not having had the foresight to put down a towel. She was probably making a mess. She could fix that. For now, she just made sure to rinse all the glitter and goopy clumps down the drain, then figured out how to stop it up so she could have a bath.
A shower and then a bath might have been cheating. If so, she'd have to apologize later. But he hadn't been super precise, and he’d said to take her time, and she wanted to do a good job of cleaning herself up. He'd seemed kind of offended by her... general existence, which was understandable. Most people were.
While the tub filled, she perused the shelves built into the wall. Oils and lotions and soaps and shampoos and conditioners and... a little glass vial, so thin, caught her eye. She leaned closer, squinting. Breathe, lilac and white lily, tranquil... ...bubbling bath?!
She glanced around nervously, as if the owner of the house might suddenly appear in protest, but snatched the bottle. No one had ever let her take a bubble bath before. This was her one chance. And he had said to take her time. That was why she was using such painfully hot water; she knew it would cool. She added the tiniest amount of bubble bath to the water, hoping it wouldn't be missed... then just the tiniest amount more, thrilled when the water started forming thick bubbles immediately. She re-corked the bottle and placed it carefully precisely where it had been.
She went ahead and located something that was almost certainly soap, and something that declared itself shampoo. Then she explored the bathroom very carefully as the water filled, sating her curiosity a bit. She didn't really understand the concept of a secondary, smaller toilet without a lid and with a sort of weird spouty thing, next to the actual toilet. She'd been told not to touch things until she was clean. So she turned back to the tub and decided to get in and get working on the actual task he'd given her.
She sank down into the water. It was deeper than any bath she'd been in prior. She could stretch her legs all the way out. The way the edge was sloped, she could lean back against it and recline and stretch. She paused for a bit, letting herself adjust to the pain of the too-hot water. Once she was used to it, she knew it would feel good. Maybe taking her time would help work some of the pain out of her ill-used muscles.
She still had some vague guilt about using the bubbles, but it were exactly as amazing as she’d always imagined, maybe moreso. It made the water smell like flowers. Or maybe that was just what rich-person water smelled like. That was a distinct possibility, but she hadn’t noticed it while showering.
She focused first on getting clean, but as she worked her hair over with shampoo that felt like silk, she considered the task at hand. It needed some consideration. The masturbation would probably be easier, and more arguably pleasant, but it would also be difficult. She couldn't remember the last time she masturbated on her own, and not for someone watching. And this was a stranger's bathtub. She wasn't sure she could get in the mood.
She thought, idly, back to the night before. Particularly, the few minutes in which the creature had held her by her neck and fucked her like a plaything. She gave a pleased little shiver, gave herself a few experimental touches as the shampoo rested in her hair. About a minute of this later, she decided she'd been correct. She'd be in here an hour if he actually wanted an orgasm out of her. Her mind was sharply on the “if you can do it to my satisfaction” part of their deal.
Alright, the other, creepy option then... what was it he'd said? Something that hurt her, something from her past? What, just, think about it and cry? She wasn't good at crying on command. She didn't like thinking about the past, either, because then she'd cry not-on-command.
Thinking about it, as she used a very spectacular sort of nozzle-on-a-hose to rinse out her hair, that was uh... that was probably the entire point. This was probably part of some weird magical ritual or something. Maybe she'd ask him about it, afterwards, to see if he'd answer. She should have maybe asked before, instead. She deserved to know if she was summoning Satan or something.
Painful memories, painful memories... well, that wasn't hard. Just over the last few days, she had half a dozen. She avoided anything to do with the creature--those were too muddled up. Ruka, too, might as well skip further back. The traffickers? Eh. That was nothing new. He wanted pain.
Clarke, then? Noah? Her case worker, what had his name even been? She couldn't quite remember. She ran through brief memories in her head, considering, as she lathered up a very clean, very white washcloth with a soap that smelled of citrus and honey.
She could still remember meeting Clarke in that diner, the first time. It had been three am, that awkward time between night owls and early birds, and she'd been sleeping in one of the booths, because the nice manager was here and wouldn't throw her out until people started coming in for breakfast. She'd awoken to the clink of a plate being set in front of her. A stack of pancakes, courtesy of the man at the nearby table. He'd waved, a polite smile that was barely an upturning of the corners of his mouth. Ice-blue eyes had glinted at her through thin frames.
There was a lot to cry about, where he was concerned, but she didn't particularly feel like it. She let her mind skip back further. Other first meetings... like Noah, overly-kempt blonde hair, almost meticulously maintained. Not a single strand out of place; she remembered thinking he looked like one of the dolls with the plastic hair. Light blue eyes through round frames, and a smile that was a bit broader but still so practiced.
That piece of shit.
She got briefly irritated at him for ruining her relaxation, and had to remind herself that was the point. She let herself think back to hopes dashed, the desire for a father and the utter lack of interest. She’d loved him. God, she’d loved him so purely, so stupidly, the way only a child could manage. He’d wanted so little to do with her. The phrase “when you’re older” had come up very often.
She hadn’t realized why he wanted her to be older until much later, when she’d learned more about the world and her place in it. She couldn’t be sure but... it was the only thing that made sense to her. She paused in her vigorous scrubbing to tuck her knees up closer to her chest despite the size of the tub. Her instinct was to force her mind away from the subject--anything but this, go do something else to distract yourself--and had to remind herself, once again, she was doing a job.
Her tutor, a bright man with hair like flaming feathers, had probably cared for her more than Noah ever had. She wished, in retrospect, she’d bothered to foster a better relationship with him. Maybe she wouldn’t have run away if she had. If she hadn’t been so fixated on Noah, so enthralled. If she hadn’t had her tendency to sneak into places she shouldn’t be, hear things she shouldn’t hear...
Well, god only knew what she would be now. She didn’t think that she would have liked it. She also didn’t think she would have the place in her mind to be aware she didn’t like it. She shivered, a little chill down her spine despite the burning heat of the water.
She normally tried very hard not to think about these things. Ruminating on them as she scrubbed was extremely unpleasant.
“She’s very insistent, sir. He clearly means--”
“He doesn’t mean a thing; she’s just fixating. Whims of a child.” She didn’t have to be able to see the careless wave of his hand to know it was there. “It’s out of the question, which is why I’m not sure why you’re questioning.”
“O-of course, sir. ...It’s just...” She’d never known her tutor’s voice to shake like that. “She doesn’t understand why, and I’m not certain how to explain it to her. You picked her up off the streets; she seems to think it the natural course of things.”
“I’m not going to have two of the things scurrying about,” Noah snapped. “It’s bad enough with just one. Tell her no, or move him along, or something. Tell her she’s important and he’s not; she has to figure it out sooner or later. It’s ridiculous she hasn’t by now.”
“Y-yes, sir, of course.”
She was already wet, so she hadn’t noticed when she’d started crying. A drop hitting the surface of the bubbles, leaving a little indent, was what made her realize. She bit her lip, then threw the washcloth angrily into the water. She rolled over onto her side, sinking into the bubbles as if she were laying in a bed, and had a good long cry, hating him and then and herself. She cried herself out, then stayed in the water longer, numbly going back to scrubbing. She couldn’t get the glitter off, it was like it had fused to her skin. But she at least didn’t seem to be shedding.
She used some of the conditioner, because she felt like she deserved it after that. She soaked until the water began to get tepid and she finally had to force herself out.
She felt a bit numb, all the pain hollowing her out on the inside. But she managed to towel off and rinse out the inside of the tub and mop up the spilled water. She glanced into the mirror as she walked by it to finally open up the huge case and see what she was supposed to wear. Her hair still glittered. Her skin, if anything, now glittered more evenly, less in clumps. She sort of sighed, wondering if this would be to his satisfaction. She had tried her best.
She struggled with the huge thing for a while, then finally got it open. She didn’t know why she was shocked with the contents; it matched everything else she’d seen so far. But shocked she was. Dresses, in dozens of beautiful colors. Drawers full of underthings and shoes and even limited accessories.
Um. Okay. Clearly she was... she was meant to dress up. She had a very limited grasp on aesthetics, but she tried her best, carefully shuffling through the clothing. She found underwear in her size, although it was white and she normally shied away from white things. She found a... bra, but without straps, and put that on. It wasn’t as if her breasts really needed much help, and it was necessary, because of the dress she’d selected, the only one in her size that she liked.
It was black, and simple, but had no shoulders of which to speak. Instead, it draped around her arms and over her chest, a little fringe over the rest of the dress embroidered with little white-silver sparkles she felt might make the fact she was still glittery look less offensive to someone who knew it was, in fact, gargoyle semen.
She hunted through the shoes for something that struck her as appropriately adult and fancy. It was slim pickings, because they were mostly flats and she wanted to wear heels, for a multitude of reasons. One was because she never got to. Another was because she thought the point of this was to look less like a piece of garbage, and pieces of garbage did not generally wear nice heels. Also, they were pretty. They were red but also black, and had a little hole where her toes went. And they were only a little tight.
She gave herself a once, twice, and then thrice over before slowly opening the bathroom door and glancing around, uncertain as to where he would be or what to expect.
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Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 03:48 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 03:49 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-01-2017, 07:06 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 07:31 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-01-2017, 07:52 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 08:06 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-01-2017, 08:29 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 08:49 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-01-2017, 09:38 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 09:48 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-02-2017, 05:22 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-02-2017, 07:31 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-04-2017, 04:33 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-04-2017, 02:46 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-05-2017, 03:31 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-05-2017, 11:17 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-05-2017, 02:46 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-05-2017, 03:09 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-05-2017, 07:03 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-05-2017, 07:27 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-06-2017, 03:02 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-06-2017, 03:31 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-06-2017, 04:46 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-06-2017, 10:54 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-06-2017, 09:17 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-06-2017, 11:11 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-07-2017, 03:55 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-07-2017, 10:05 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-08-2017, 03:11 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-08-2017, 03:36 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-08-2017, 04:12 AM