The Love of My Chains

[sinfulwords]

Set in a post-apocalyptic world where sex slavery is entirely legal and anarchy is the law of the land, we glimpse a single night in the lives of drug lord Tyler Roberts and his sex slave, Sadie, as they entertain a couple of guests for a night of debauchery, humiliation, depravity, and ultimate revenge.

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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Chapter Index:

• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5
• Chapter 6
• Epilogue

Prologue

Master is a violent man. Lucky for me, however, the worst of his violence is usually reserved for other people. He typically treats me like a goddess despite the fact I bear the brand of a slave. He’s loyal. Not just to me but to anyone who comes to call him boss, partner, or friend.

Master has no family, he chooses the people closest to him and he chose me. That’s no matter of insignificance to him. He’s a spiritual man who appreciates the magnitude of a good oath. If you return his loyalty in full he would gladly go to the moon and back for you if you merely implied it was your heart’s desire. But if you violate that loyalty, or disrespect it in any way—well, I did say he was a violent man.

I came to Master at the age of nineteen. Before that I lived in a place called The Nesting Pits, a training emporium for sex-slaves. I’d lived there my entire life, learning all the skills it took to be a proper servant. The Pits were a cold unfeeling place. A place where men and women were beaten down and made soft so they could be remolded into perfect servants. Submission was beaten into the flesh, obedience twisted into the mind, resignation sewn into the very soul. They surgically removed any semblance of rebellion in a person and replaced it with capitulation which was eventually contorted into eager compliance. You’re taught to obey and please indiscriminately, to serve, suck, spread, and fuck as you’re told. They take any unique thought or feeling until there’s nothing’s left but endless devotion to the one you call Master. You’re taught that without that person you’re nothing…

…a couple centuries before my birth society as you know it collapsed. Government neglect and corporate greed had been allowed to run rampant for far too long. Wealth disparity became so flagrant that the populations became divided into two distinct groups: The-Haves and the Have-Nots, The-Haves being very few in numbers and The-Have-Nots being very high. Despite their smaller numbers, The-Haves pillaged the land for every last dollar, exploiting every natural resource and person until neither Earth nor Humanity had anything left to give.

Climate catastrophes intensified year after year, relief responses becoming later and more scarce until poverty and despair swept across nations unchecked, markets and infrastructure crumbling before the worlds very eyes. Desperation became totally solidified when the grid finally went down, resources growing thin, hysteria and survival quickly overtaking any concept of compassion or community—but when all the fresh water dried up, well, that’s when all hell really broke loose.

People died in mass. Eighty-percent of the population perished in a matter of months, every other land dwelling mammal or fresh-water-species taking a similar hit if they didn’t go extinct out right. It was the sixth mass extinction on planet Earth and it gave way to the world I call home.

It wasn’t long after all the worst had settled that the twenty percent of humanity that was left began to form new societies, transitioning life into a new normal. It’s human nature to form communities and hierarchies afterall, and, so, both naturally began to take form among the rubble of the old world.

People congregated along coast lines, where it was coolest, sticking to landmasses that were above the equator as everything else below had become uninhabitable some time ago. Humans branched off into groups of various sizes, some being as small as twenty or thirty people, some being as large as a couple hundred, but what every group had in common was they all had a Leader. There was a ‘king’ for every ‘kingdom’. And very much like an actual kingdom, resources were the most valuable assets.

Different groups boasted different skills/services: some were professional thieves, some dealt drugs, some were farmers; some were hunters; some desalinated salt water; some were slave trainers; some were cannibals; some could do metal work; some were deranged nomads; some traded weapons; some were fishermen; some were carpenters but for every need our depraved little society had, the new normal provided…

…My world began at a place called The Seeding Ground, a breeding ground for slaves. You might be wondering how such a depraved enterprise ever got started (maybe not) but back when our society was forming the market for slaves kept growing while the amount of weaker people who could be converted into slaves kept shrinking. So, as the ‘weaker’ populations became sparse a new need was born and it was a man called Hatch who identified that need and secured his status. He established The Seeding Ground and began ‘breeding humans for humans by humans’. That was his slogan as facetious as it may seem. He was one of the richest and most powerful Leaders due to the simple fact that slaves were disposable and many went through them as casually as tissue paper, e.g. there was always a high demand for his ‘products’.

And since I was born in Hatch’s fields, I have no notion of origin or family. I have no idea who my mother and father were, I don’t even know if they were captured or born in that place, I don’t even know if they're still alive. But what I do know is I was bred for one single purpose: to be sold to The Nesting Pits so I could become a sex-slave and serve a master until the end of my days.

So, you see, I was always meant to serve my Master. I have no other purpose in this world. I was quite literally made for him as he was made for me, our destinies intertwined long before either one of us had ever set eyes on each other…

[sinfulwords]

Chapter One

Master’s cock was hot inside my mouth, the thick veins that lined his shaft smoothing over my tongue as I sucked and licked with all the eager determination of an obedient fuck-slave. He moaned his approval, his graveled voice like honey inside my ears, the sweet nectar running through my veins and making my entire body hum with pride. His gaze was angled up at the ceiling, his eyes glossed over and teeth bared with pleasure, the stark need radiating from his expression like a lick of pure fire between my thighs.

I loved to look at him…

…The face I loved was forty-two years old, not an ugly face but far from what most people would consider conventionally attractive, although, personally, I thought Master was the sexiest man in the world. He had pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, a manifestation of his unfortunate drug habit to a popular amphetamine called Pulse Junk, of which he was a top manufacturer and dealer. Because of this habit, however, he was a twitchy sort of man, he had trouble sitting still. Heaps of restless energy would always crackle around him, his whole aura almost seeming to vibrate with either agitation or plain old excitement depending on his mood.

He was also marred by scars. He’d lived a dangerous life and it showed all over his body, every plane of skin hosting the vestiges of both triumph and failure by way of stab-wounds and bullet holes. His hair was brown, greasy, and beginning to thin with age, a dramatic widow’s peak now forming over a forehead lined with more than a couple wrinkles. He had thick bushy eyebrows that enhanced the menace of his dark eyes, eyes that were somehow so boyish despite all the unhinged mania lurking behind them like shimmering lights on black waters. He had an irradicable five-o’clock-shadow. Regardless of the harsh conditions we lived in, Master would always take the time to shave his face with a buck knife. Every single morning. But somehow that five-o’clock-shadow always seemed to reappear before noon no matter how close he managed to shave. It perpetually bordered his full lips that so often smiled down at me but decried outrage and death warrants at others.

He had tattoos. Quite a few of them. He had an ace of spades on his right forearm and the name of the gang he was the Leader of, The Nitro Saints, on the left. He also had his own name tattooed across the front of his throat, Tyler Roberts, in clean capital letters. Over his left pectoral he bore the sigil of The Nitro Saints, a flaming skull with no mandible in front of two criss-crossing double-open-ended-wrenches. The sigil was often visible too because it was Master’s style to wear an opened leather vest and no T-shirt. His upper arms were also peppered in tattoos, random hieroglyphics that told those around him what kind of a man he was: a Leader, a drug dealer, and a killer.

He was tall, six feet and one inch, his shoulders broad and his muscles well toned. He was dirty though. Like literally dirty all the time because water was scarce and far too precious to waste on idle bathing. Therefore his skin was stained and streaked with filth, his hands dried out, dirt permanently caked inside all the cracks of his calloused fingers that were currently threaded in my hair as he fucked my face, pounding the back of my throat with the blunt tip of his throbbing manhood…

“...Babydoll!” Master growled, low and salacious, his deep voice like rolling thunder beneath all the damp echoes of me choking on his massive cock. “Ah, fuck. Such a perfect little fucking mouth, Christ!” he sighed, his hips snapping even faster as his lustful gaze pandered down at me with all the possessive affection I’d come to expect from him as a Master.

And the image before him was a familiar sight…

…We were in our home, cast in an abundance of candle light. It was a simple one-roomed cabin with a fireplace, a fire crackling merrily inside the clay-hearth. The furniture was limited and modest. In the center of our plain wooden floor was a large rectangular dining table with six chairs around it, the table top itself cluttered with random items: drug paraphernalia, knives, anal plugs, firearms, hunting equipment, nipple clamps, news pamphlets, a couple dildos, dishes, maps, and other such random knick-knacks. The rest of our possessions boarded the walls. On one side of the fireplace there was a large stack of fire wood and on the other side was a small counter for meal preparation. A few feet along from that was a bookshelf with about forty volumes tucked inside, the rest of the shelves occupied by storage baskets for dishes and and random trinkets. Up against the left wall was a small table with a washing basin accompanied by a couple of hanging rags where’d we’d wash our hands and faces in the mornings and evenings. Next, was a bedside-table with a few drawers for clothes, and of course, beside that was a full-sized bed, the headboard placed against the wall with the end jutting out into the room. Master was sitting on the edge of that mattress, myself kneeling between his legs, my lips stretched wide over his thickness, cheeks hollowed out as I pleasured him with my mouth.

At this point it had been six years since I’d come to Master, making me twenty-five years old, my youth evident in skin that was milk-white, radiant, and still taught over my hourglass figure. I had sandy blonde hair, almost light brown, the thin strands hanging down so the ends tickled my nipples. I never wore shirts or bras. I was always bare chested, the skin around my shapely breasts lined with long thin scars where I’d been caned for being insubordinate with Master. I sported similar scars across my back and on the flesh of my ass.

I only ever wore two articles of clothing. The first was a loin cloth that sat low on my hips, constructed of two pieces of knee-length fabric, one length of fabric at the front and one at the back, both thin and flowing between my thighs. The other piece of clothing was a black leather collar secured around my neck. The strip of leather was about an inch thick and had a bull ring in the middle that was used for a leash whenever Master felt compelled to take me out and about.

I had green eyes and thin eyebrows; my nose a slim button; my full lips such a pale pink it was almost as if someone had drained them of any colour. I wasn’t a small girl but I wasn’t large either, my build was incredibly average but Master ensured I appeared unique nonetheless.

You see, Master could be whimsical at times. He’d often drink a bunch of moonshine, smoke some Junk, and then take to putting stick-and-poke-tattoos all over his favorite canvas: me. The first tattoo he put on me was the word Babydoll, his term of endearment for me. The word was stenciled on my lower back right above my slave-brands of which there were three. One brand was from The Seeding Ground (The letters SG), one was from The Nesting Pit (the letters NP), and the other was my master’s own sigil (the letter T). It was three runes in a line with the word Babydoll written above them in sloppy cursive.

The next tattoo he put on me was another moniker, large block letters that ran along my inner thigh that read: fuck-hole. Master loved dirty talk, especially when it involved degrading me. His insulting words never stung however, they were always contradicted by an abundance of appreciation that would end up warping the pejoratives into something lecherously appetizing.

Nobody ever had to guess who I belonged to, the branding aside, I had Master’s name written on me in three different places. One on my ankle in cursive, one on my lower abdomen, also in cursive, and one on my left buttock in basic-print.

If you thought my face would be spared Master’s whimsy, you would be wrong. He lacks impulse control a lot of the time, so, one day, when he got the idea it would be ‘badass’ to tattoo the word ‘Slave’ under my left eye and ‘Bitch’ under my right, he went right on ahead and did it without a moment’s hesitation. And while my face was the host of my least favorite tattoo, it was also the home of my most favored: the stars. Master drew two symmetrical clusters of stars that began just beside the high-point of my cheek bones then gracefully travelled up toward my ears. He’d been in a romantic mood that night and also ended up putting tiny hearts on every one of my knuckles.

My large breasts were a focal point of Master’s artistic eye and so he’d enhanced them with three concentric rings that boarded my rather-large rosey pink nipples like ripples spanning out over a calm lake. Above my shapely breasts there were more tattoos: the legal name Master had given me, Sadie, over my right, and the sigil of Master’s gang over my left (he said I was an honorary member). There was an arrow drawn on my spine too, that pointed down to my ass, the words ‘Enter Here’, scribbled across the top (another one of Master’s impulsive ideas).

And all over the rest of my body were other various slurs and pejoratives: owned, used, Tyler’s whore, rape-doll, fuck-puppet etc. Amongst the text were also images. I must have at lest twelve different cocks on me, five pussies, eight pairs of tits, marijuana leaves, lightening bolts, smiley faces, anything that struck Master’s fancy went right on ‘the canvas’...

“...The way you use that fucking tongue, my God!” Master boomed in compliment, his voice breathless and somewhat frantic as his body began to tense with his incoming orgasm.

I smiled inside myself, his praise like fuel to the fire between my thighs for his pleasure was the only source of my own. I then zoned in for ‘the kill’, a murder so divine it would deliver my king straight into the hands of an undying nirvana. I doubled down in my effort, sucking harder, my tongue swirling and swiping faster, caressing his heated flesh with the back of my throat. I swallowed him whole, like a good girl, my nose meeting his lap with every plunge of my obliging lips.

Wet. It was all so incredibly wet, loud viscous slurping sounds dampening the air with every thrust of Master’s proud dominant hips. My saliva was pooling around the corners of my mouth as I choked, seeping down in long strips of white that hung from my chin like strings of melted wax. The mess dripped down further of course, onto my chest and breasts, leaving little patches of frothy white to collect around my erect nipples. I encouraged this moist haven, relishing in my own indignity, moaning and sucking Master’s shaft that was throbbing harder and hotter with every passing second.

“Such a good fucking slut!” Master continued to sing, his grip in my hair tightening with urgency as he approached his zenith.

I could feel him throbbing inside my mouth, my tongue saturated with the taste of him, the briny tang so comforting to me it was akin to a warm embrace. The taste was home, the flavor that signified I was doing right by my Master. This cued my brain to flood my system with dopamine, filling me with such raw happiness and excitement that I was easily able to push through the final throws of any suck-job with all the vigour of when I’d first began despite my jaws aching and my throat being sore

“Oh, that’s it Baby! Thats! Fucking! It!” He cheered, each word spoken more desperate than the one before it, his entire face twisted by the ecstacy I’d so dutifully delivered him.

And then without warning, his grip on my hair tightened into a fist-ful which he used to yank me from his cock.

I gasped at the sharp sting on my scalp combined with the shock of my throat suddenly being made so empty, but I had no time to react as I was guided, panting and drooling to just below Master’s ballsack, so that my face doubled as a landing-ground for the edifice that was his powerful erection.

“Stick out your tongue,” Master commanded, taking himself in hand and running swift forceful strokes over his shaft. “That’s it, Babydoll, open wide—that’s my good girl. I’m gonna cum all over that pretty little face,” he announced, looking down at me with all the yearning and heat that must’ve been smoldering inside his loins.

With my mouth wide open, tongue sticking out as far as it could go, saliva still dripping from my chin, I allowed my doting eyes to become lost in Master’s wanton ones and I moaned my acknowledgement and my outright approval.

“Nyrghfuck!” Master growled through clenched teeth as he finally succumbed, his semen shooting out from his tip like a hot geyser and landing in a steaming line diagonally across my face.

Master’s seed warmed my skin as he emptied the aftershocks of his orgasm directly onto my splayed out tongue, his cum collecting in a hot puddle and flooding my senses with the pungent taste of him, the flavor like the rind of a lemon soaked in olive juice. The sound of his approval entered my ears as strangled groans, the deep vibrato encouraging my lust as I watched Master stroke himself to completion. But even after he’d finished I remained unmoving. I hadn’t been commanded to swallow or shift, so, I stayed perfectly still, his cum fermenting on my tongue and dripping down my cheek in an uneven line.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Master crooned as if admiring a piece of fine art, his hands busy as he tucked himself back into his worn-out denim jeans, appeased eyes admiring the ‘work’ he’d made of my face and tongue. “Fucking Picasso couldn’t have painted better, I swear!” He gloated in jest.

I giggled in the back of my throat to convey my amusement, eyes brimming with a smile that turned my lips up but never moved my tongue. Not even a centimeter. My tongue stayed perfectly in place, splayed out and heavy with Master’s seed.

“So fuckin’ cute when you giggle like that,” he smiled fondly, an absent-minded hand coming up to smear his cooling load into my soft skin. “Now, swallow that down, Babydoll, and clean yourself up,” he commanded, mesmerized eyes watching his fingers rub his own spunk into my cheek like a fine lotion. “We got guests comin’,” he elaborated before suddenly dropping his hand and standing up from the bed.

I eagerly obeyed, my togue sliding back into my mouth as I swallowed the large puddle of cum as casually as taking a gulp of water. “Guests?” I inquired as soon as I was able, somehow ignoring my pleasure in swallowing Master’s honorable discharge in favor of my piquing curiosity.

“That’s right, Babydoll, so, clean yourself up good,” he confirmed as he walked over to the table and sat at the head, simultaneously grabbing his wooden-box of pre-hand-rolled cigarettes and flicking it open.

“What kind of guests, Master?” I pried, rising to my feet to take small steps over to the large basin that served as our washing station. “Business or friends?”

“Both,” he answered before propping a cigarette between his lips and lighting it promptly.

“How many?” I asked as I took my designated rag off the hook and dipped it in the already-mildly-dirty-water of our washing basin.

“Three,” he affirmed through a plume of smoke, raising his arms above his head and stretching lazily. “Patsy, Darrius, and that little fuckin’ runt, Jax.”

“The street dealer, Jax?” I asked, failing to keep incredulity from warping my tone. He was not a typical attendee of Master’s get-togethers.

Master answered with a hard jaw and a stiff, “Yep.”

I could read Master’s body language better than some read books, so, I could plainly see he didn’t wish to elaborate on the subject—but it was obvious to me that there was something to consider of Jax’s unprecedented invitation. Unfortunately for my curiosities, however, I knew better than to pry.

“Are any of them bringing slaves?” I asked in place of my actual curiosities as I peered into the small dingy mirror above the bowl, delicately wiping away the strings of cum from my flushed cheeks and the crease of my nose.

“Patsy’s gonna. He got two new ones from The Pits this morning. Fresh graduates,” Master retold between puffs from his cigarette. “We’re gonna celebrate his new purchase among other things.”

“Any excuse for a party,” I teased over my shoulder.

“You better believe it, Babydoll,” Master agreed, returning my smouldering grin with a smirk of his own. “We work hard; we play harder.”

*knock knock knock*

And it appeared that the first of Master’s guests had already arrived…

[Shocker]

Quite promising start, but I would recommend shifting the age she has been joining her master. With that being 18, the affairs of the nesting ground suddenly read as underage. Make her 19 or 20 and that problem vanishes.

[Claire]

Congratulations on posting your first story! Everything looks perfect. Told you, you didn't need to worry so much.

I think the biggest strength of your writing so far is the vivid style. You definitely have a way with words and it shows. I hope @VictimEyes gives this one here a read because ot should be right up her alley.

I think the biggest weakness is the giant exposition dump you drop on the reader. You clearly care a lot about the world and put a lot of thought into it. That really shows and is a good thing. But you haven't given the reader a reason to care yet about the details of the world.

Also, for a woman who is solely raised to be a sex slave, Sadie feels weirdly educated about the history of her world. We don't need her to tell us all this. Having the master reference Picasso is enough to get across that this is our world that has taken a dark turn at some point.

My suggestion would be: Throw the reader into the middle of the action. Have the master take Sadie shopping in preparation for the guest about to arrive. Show us the slaves being sold and branded and have Sadie then remember how she was branded herself. Maybe have the master participate in an auction for a Picasso and during the auction they are told that the painting has been considered lost or destroyed since the great flood of 2087 that marked the end of the US government as we know it. Things like that would be a much more natural way to let the reader know: This is a dystopia, the real world is its past, and climate disasters played a role on the destruction of society as we know it.

Basically, tone down the info dumping and weave the information into natural plot progression. Right now, you are expecting the reader to swallow two full chapters of almost nothing but exposition that feels out of character for your narrator to go into at all or even know about. Unless her role is not just to be a sex toy but also to be a courtesan or something similar. Then her knowing all this might make sense.

If you want to, we can go deeper into details, but I don't want to come across as to negative. I think for a first story this is really great. You could just hook your readers more if you rearranged the pieces of your world building a little different.

[sinfulwords]

Quite promising start, but I would recommend shifting the age she has been joining her master. With that being 18, the affairs of the nesting ground suddenly read as underage. Make her 19 or 20 and that problem vanishes.

Thank you so much for reading it and taking the time to tell me some thoughts ^.^ And you're right, that is skirting the edge of underage a little too closely. I already amended it to fix that little snag

[sinfulwords]

Congratulations on posting your first story! Everything looks perfect. Told you, you didn't need to worry so much.

I think the biggest strength of your writing so far is the vivid style. You definitely have a way with words and it shows. I hope @VictimEyes gives this one here a read because ot should be right up her alley.

I think the biggest weakness is the giant exposition dump you drop on the reader. You clearly care a lot about the world and put a lot of thought into it. That really shows and is a good thing. But you haven't given the reader a reason to care yet about the details of the world.

Also, for a woman who is solely raised to be a sex slave, Sadie feels weirdly educated about the history of her world. We don't need her to tell us all this. Having the master reference Picasso is enough to get across that this is our world that has taken a dark turn at some point.

My suggestion would be: Throw the reader into the middle of the action. Have the master take Sadie shopping in preparation for the guest about to arrive. Show us the slaves being sold and branded and have Sadie then remember how she was branded herself. Maybe have the master participate in an auction for a Picasso and during the auction they are told that the painting has been considered lost or destroyed since the great flood of 2087 that marked the end of the US government as we know it. Things like that would be a much more natural way to let the reader know: This is a dystopia, the real world is its past, and climate disasters played a role on the destruction of society as we know it.

Basically, tone down the info dumping and weave the information into natural plot progression. Right now, you are expecting the reader to swallow two full chapters of almost nothing but exposition that feels out of character for your narrator to go into at all or even know about. Unless her role is not just to be a sex toy but also to be a courtesan or something similar. Then her knowing all this might make sense.

If you want to, we can go deeper into details, but I don't want to come across as to negative. I think for a first story this is really great. You could just hook your readers more if you rearranged the pieces of your world building a little different.

Thank you so much!! I'm so grateful for your reading it and taking the time to write me such detailed advise You're totally right about the exposition/info-dump. I wish I'd thought of all those stealthy ways to showcase the setting. I had thought 'well nobody knows what the world is like in my head, so, I have to paint a picture of the setting before diving into the story' cause you gotta understand, this isn't just my first story on this site, this is my first original piece EVER I've been a fan ficiton writer my whole life, so this was my first whack at world building! In FF you don't really have to describe the worlds or settings because people already know what they are! So this is just my inexperience in writing original work rearing its head. I'll definitely bare your advise in mind for any pieces in the future that require world-building. Thanks again for reading and telling me your thoughts, I really appreciate the feedback!

[Claire]

this isn't just my first story on this site, this is my first original piece EVER

I know what that's like. That's a big step! Being willing to put yourself out there like this is huge. I did a similar thing as you when I started writing. I also didn't tip my toes in with some nice little short story, but immediately started writing some very long multi-chapter epic.

well nobody knows what the world is like in my head, so, I have to paint a picture of the setting before diving into the story'

I understand the idea, but in general I would say: Make the reader care about a character, most of the time your protagonist, first, and then show the world building through how it affects the character.

You have a great hook for Sadie. The reader knows that she's in a horrible position and feels for her and at the same time she comes across as cheerful and grateful for her situation. That discrepancy between her objective situation and what the brainwashing did to her attitude is great to make the reader care and wonder how it came to that. So if you show us that first, then the reader will want to know what happened to her that made her like this. And as you answer that question, you reveal what the world is like bit by bit, not all at once.

But just to be clear, I'm not saying you can't start with such heavy exposition. It's just hard to make that interesting for a reader who is not already invested in what's going on. I assume you watched the Lord of the Rings movies? The first movie famously starts with a lot of exposition about the history of the world, the rings, and then with Bilbo describing Hobbits. Watch that scene again some time:



If you watch that scene, you can see how hard Peter Jackson tried to make this interesting. He did not just put a bunch of text on the screen to tell viewers about the backstory of middle earth and the ring. He went all in on music, Cate Blanchett's narration, showing you fight scenes, and wrapping that exposition into a short story by itself that feels tragic. And I'm pretty sure he took all that effort because he knew that he couldn't just give you all that as simple exposition, but he had to make it entertaining on its own. And making exposition this fun and interesting, that's really hard to do, especially for amateur authors like us. That's why I wouldn't recommend it.

[sinfulwords]

I know what that's like. That's a big step! Being willing to put yourself out there like this is huge. I did a similar thing as you when I started writing. I also didn't tip my toes in with some nice little short story, but immediately started writing some very long multi-chapter epic.

Yeah! it's a fun big step and I really enjoyed writing the piece. I guess we both have a go big or go home mentality

I understand the idea, but in general I would say: Make the reader care about a character, most of the time your protagonist, first, and then show the world building through how it affects the character.

I understand, and that makes total sense. I appreciate you taking the time to elaborate and being so direct because I really didn't realize the way I set the scene and introduced the main characters was so tedious to be honest, so, it does sting a little to learn that my opening presentation was overly dull, but, I'll just have to take it on the chin and keep your advise in mind to try and grow as a writer.

And not the LOTR clip I have that whole movie memorized. And yeah, I agree, the intro to LOTR is way more enthralling than my text on a screen. I appreciate all the feedback

[Claire]

@sinfulwords looking forward to chapter 2. I'm curious what the guests are all about.

[VictimEyes]

@Claire is absolutely right; As a submissive good girl who worships the penises of dominant bad boys, this story IS right up my alley!!!

Though I am a firm believer in 'Show don't tell" I did not object to the exposition in your prologue to the same extent my classmates did. It reminded me of the text rolling upward onto the screen before each of the 'Star Wars' movies. It had the same vibe.( This story, to me, reads like it wants to become a screenplay). Besides, if future chapters have word counts well into the tens of thousands, the prologue may end up being proportionally short and the information in it may prove to be necessary.

I will make it my agenda to read chapter two when it emerges.