• Name: Maxwell Weiss, goes by Max usually. Or Mr. Weiss.
• Age: 42
• Height: 6'3"
• Build: Average/athletic
• Hair: Blond, natural but dyed to cover that it's going gray. Light blond/gray chest hair. Shaved pubic hair.
• Family Life: Married in 1989, but has been estranged from his wife for some time. One daughter who has not spoken with him in five years.
• Penis: Uncircumcised. Average length, but thick.
• Orientation: Women mostly (the younger, the better preferably age 15-25) and occasionally very feminine boys (who he will treat as girls). The exception being by force... see plot ideas for more.
• D/s: Dominant top.
• Notable kinks: Older/younger, Daddy/girl, smoking, internal orgasms, multiple orgasms, sexual exhaustion, rough sex, non-con, public scenes, prostitutes, blackmail
• Alternate Forms: *May* be played as a vampire or werewolf on a scene by scene basis - not his usual form.

OOC Info:

• Always open to backtagging, if you want to pick up a thread I dropped let me know via PM or comment here.
• I can be rather slow at times, I apologize in advance - life always comes first.
• I do play other characters, rather obviously if you have seen them around, and I don't mind talking about them privately if you'd wish to scene with someone other than Max.
• Always open to new threads, either here or tagging into a post of yours - please PM or comment if you'd like to set something up.

Maxwell Weiss; convicted for two counts of Predatory Sexual Assault, one count of rape in the first degree, one count of possession of a controlled substance. Sentenced to sixty-five years in prison, eligible for parole after ten with successful completion of drug rehabilitation and counseling for sexual addiction. Due to special circumstances, he is only to share a cell with non-violent offenders. Work assignment: prison library. Notes: Registered sex offender. Victim of choice is young women aged fourteen to twenty-five. No female visitors permitted.

He knew he was due for a new cellmate soon, the previous had been transferred quickly after Mister Weiss informed his lawyer of the heroin he was smuggling into the prison, and they never let him rest alone for long. Of course, it sometimes took several days to find someone... suitable. As part of his deal for pleading guilty to the four offenses they had evidence on him for, and a generous donation from Weiss Inc. to the judge's pet charity, he was only to room with someone who was unlikely to inflict harm. His lawyer reasoned that most men in prison would have no problem gutting Max when they found out two of the girls he was convicted of raping were only fourteen and given his wealth and status among certain social circles it was only a matter of time before word of his offenses got out.

Max was just coming off work detail, still carrying himself with an air of dignified grace despite his Armani suit being replaced with the blue prison pants and a white t-shirt, when he saw the COs tossing his cell in preparation for a new inmate. They wouldn't find anything, of course, aside from his perfectly legal personal belongings. Even if he did have something against the rules, he sure as hell wouldn't keep it in his cell.

"Oh, a new roomie already?" He asked casually as he approached the unit supervisor, his soft baritone with a distinctive though faded European accent drawing the man's attention without need for further questions.

"High turnover for your room, Weiss. You know this isn't the Hilton - you don't get to pick and choose who you room with."

"Simple solution, sir;" he replied, the 'sir' almost dripping with condescension; "stop sending me fucking drug addicts."

Maxwell Weiss was a very busy man, and as such rarely had the time deal with affairs around his penthouse. And really, even if he did have the time he'd certainly find better ways to spend it than sweeping floors and ensuring he occasionally had a meal that was prepared at home specifically for him. Over the years, his secretaries had always kept his housekeeper - though he preferred the term 'domestic' - in the loop with his schedule, where he would be and when so that she always knew when he'd be home and if he'd be dining in and need his bar stocked with scotch and his favorite cigarettes. He wasn't aware of it, but when they could they also let him know if he was likely bringing home a girl and she should make herself scarce or if he'd be alone and Christine could be seen as she pleased.

In return for her service, she was welcome to a bedroom and free run of the home and her own very generous expense account for items needed or wanted. As much as he honestly expected out of them, he has always been quite kind when it came to taking care of his the girls that took care of him. It was a small price to pay to ensure he always had a clean home, a good meal, a massage and if he desired it, someone who wouldn't refuse him anything he needed. 

This girl, Christine, had been with him nearly a year - just long enough to get a good idea of his habits and peculiarities, and to be well aware of his expectations. And very well aware that when he breezed through the door and hung his coat in the hall he'd retire to his study and call for a scotch and a fresh pack of Sobranie black Russians. Particularly when he'd been out of town, a conference in Rio followed by three nights in London with his old school mates - one of which happened to be looking for money he wasn't going to get - and then a short day at the office. It was just after three when he walked into his study and stripped off his jacket, leaving it lie across a stray wingback near the door as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened his tie. 

"Christine!" He called out, slinging himself down in the high-backed leather chair behind his desk without bothering to take his laptop out of the case just yet. "Are you in, love?"

Maxwell hadn't asked for the details of the girl's trip when his driver texted to tell him she'd been safely taken home (though he assumed, likely not her home but somewhere less likely to get her in trouble) and he was signing off for the night. Though, he had requested that she end up with a more suitable coat for the bitter weather.

The next day he stayed at the hotel, taking in a session with the tennis trainer before a steam and a few laps around the pool. By the time he made it back to his room and laid out some comfortable clothes and the clothes he'd picked out for his guest, his driver phoned in to report that they were on the way.

Perfect.

He'd been called down to Indianapolis to ink a deal on a new clothing line he was backing financially - frankly, he couldn't care less about the designer or his 'urban squalor chic' studio, but with his lawyer working on the Tokyo contract it was either wait another week or fly out and take care of it himself. Unfortunately, Indiana in January wasn't even close to where he wanted to be - the Bahamas were looking quite nice this season. He could use a few weeks on the beach with his pretty young PA.

A little lost in his thoughts, he didn't see the girl on the bridge until they slowed to a near stop on the ice as they crossed. He caught sight of a turtle neck sweater over the collar of an olive drab jacket fitted around a young woman sitting on the edge with her back to them. Not prone to charity, it was something else entirely that begged him to ask the driver to stop at the end of the bridge and pull over. Wrapped in a heavy black duffel over a navy three-piece suit, he was a bit more suited to the weather and his black leather winter boots crunched through the snow as he quickly made his way back over the bridge on foot.

She had better be worth it.

"Miss?" He asked casually as he came within easy arms distance of her; "Might I ask why you're out on such a cold day?" His voice is a soft baritone, and holds a lingering but faded London accent that is indistinguishable to most Americans from every other vaguely European accent.

Overnight, some time after being returned to Van Nuys airfield, Alyssa's schedule updates with the details for her her first day under Mr. Weiss' employ. It may not seem like much, but he's well aware the jetlag alone will be difficult to bear.

Maxwell Weiss was well known in the right social circles for his parties and over the years they just seemed to get larger and more lavish - not that he minded it, it kept the clients more than happy and more than willing to throw money at him.

This particular do was no different, he'd rented ballroom for the occasion and had managed at least half of the 500 head capacity. Catering, a DJ and several curtained off private spaces in addition to ten models picked to his specifications by his secretary made for a very comfortable and well received gathering every time.

After the first hour or so, though, he always grew bored. The guests became a chore and drinks only took him so far - even a few lines wouldn't keep him entertained without good company. Tonight, however, he'd spotted his choice early - the girl he would have for the evening. One of the models, he hadn't bothered to get a name, was working the crowd with a bright smile - weathering the businessmen's leering looks and roaming hands in her lacy lingerie.

With an easy smile, the older man worked his way around the room until he purposefully ran into her - leaning in to whisper against her ear; "Come with me, please." If she'd been watching closely, his tailored tuxedo and the deference most everyone seemed to give him made it obvious he was the host.

Just after two on a Wednesday and Maxwell's first interview for the vacancy left by his former assistant the day before was due to arrive any time.

Her application had intrigued him, she was young and petite - a college girl from Florida. On a more business minded end, she had previous experience as an assistant and seemed familiar with expectations - of course by that time of day his mind could hardly stay focused on only business.

Ten minuets early, his intercom buzzed as he was going over a shipping invoice.

Mister Weiss, your two-thirty is here sir.

Punctuality, always a nice touch. "How're her tits?" He asked without reservation, knowing full and well it would make the pretty 18 year old blush.

I wouldn't know, sir. Shall I buzz her back?

"Not yet, Lacey - turn up the heat a little, I'll accept her at fifteen after."

Just long enough to let her squirm while she examines the subtly erotic artwork and expensive furnishings. When Lacey cut the intercom, he finished his invoice and filed it in the outbox before kicking back to wait.

Scenario 1: Daddy taking care of his princess, spoiling her rotten and playing all their favorite dirty games. (Pref age 13-16)

Scenario 2: His adult daughter knows just how to get daddy to give her anything he wants, push all the right buttons to get him off and he'll give her anything regardless of cost.

Scenario 3: His estranged daughter tracks him down, pregnant (showing, beyond that is negotiable) and in need of money/a place to stay/comfort - he gives it to her, at a price.

Scenario 1: Trying to get ahead. A lower level employee thinks she can get ahead by fucking the boss... who knows all too well what she's after. And just might give it to her if she's good enough.