[F4M] An unfortunate turn of events

Her perfectly smooth skin almost sparkles in the sparsely lit room. It’s late and the windows are covered, if anyone would se what was going in your office, the repercussions would be extensive.

You desk was cluttered with pappers, folders and other miscellaneous stuff. Most of them stamped with the seal of national defence and under them, a red stamp stating:

Secret, Level IV intelligence. Unlawful distribution will lead to severe punishment.

However, these were not the star of the show, she was. Her luscious hair covered part of the documents. It was thick and ginger in color. Your hands were on her back, pushing her against the paper-covered table. Her skirt pulled as high as it could.

It exposed your deepest regret, but there was no turning back now. This wasn’t the first time you were pushing your cock balls deep in her ass. But what choice did you have at this point? If you stopped, she and her accomplices would expose you. There was no way out of this except for being convicted for high treason. You might as well play along until you were caught.

But who are you? How did you end up filling this woman’s ass full of your seed in exchange for the secrets of your country? Well, there are many reasons. An obvious one would be your wife. She was your wife because it said so in a document, not because she loved you. The spark was long gone. When you moved to the capital, she stayed. So there is one reason, you were neglected.

However, there is also the fact that you regretted most of your career choices. You wanted to help the world, but ended up in the Army HQ. And when the opportunity arose to help the other side you thought it was to stop the wars. It turned out that wasn’t the case. Reason number two, false hope of being the hero.

Hopefully you’re alright with hiding top secret documents and passing them to strangers. They are never the same, but the woman who’s ass your just came in is. She’s your secretary, the most innocent looking spy you have ever seen. What more is there to your life at this point? You might as well lean into it.

It is a very simple scheme. You will be given a code for the documents that they want access to by your secretary. Then you’ll print them out and leave them at a specific location in the park. When the order has been received, your secretary will be at your service for approximately one hour. How hard can it be? Just watch out for your nosy co workers or a suspicious runner in the park. Everything will be just fine.

Why was this happening to you? You had to ask yourself this as you were about to enter a point of no return. Up until now, you had tried to go by your day to day life without getting yourself into too much trouble. If you could help it, you would avoid trouble like it was the plague. Unfortunately, your squeaky clean slate suffered a permanent stain the moment you followed a ritual to summon a demon. You thought they were myths, you didn’t think all this effort would actually reap some reward for you. As it turns out, it did. Hideous laughter echoed throughout the small room as the atmosphere weighed like heavy rocks on your shoulders. The tension in the air was thick, as if your tastebuds could feel it. The temperature of the room didn’t make things any better, but fortunately the entity you so foolishly summoned was kind enough to break the silence. He sounded like he was relishing in the sea of emotions that flooded your brain.
“Haaaaa! Freedom!” The demon exclaimed in pure bliss as he quickly turned to face you; blood-red hues piercing through your gaze and directly into your soul. “You’re the mortal who has broken the seal and freed me from my eternal prison. I’d normally take your life and leave here to continue my quest… but even I refuse to ignore the good deed you’ve done for me tonight. I am in your debt, mortal.” It felt like you just escaped sudden death. Curious, you decided to press the demon for more information on the quest he mentioned. Luckily, he seemed very cooperative.
“Haha! You wish to know what I’ve been doing for the past few years? What else could I want from a world filled to the brim with sin?” The demon chuckles as he proceeds with the topic. “I’ve been on a quest to conquer this realm and the mortals that stain the very ground you walk on. If I gather the energy and sin from this planet you call ‘Earth’… I will be unstoppable! A being that goes beyond the deities themselves!” This was a quest for power. You were able to come to that conclusion very easily. “Say, mortal… what date is it? How long have I been trapped in my eternal prison?”
Thinking that it’s been way longer than a few years for him, you tell him the current date and year. In return, you learn that the demon had been locked away in that prison for around five hundred years. His initial reaction was comical, but you didn’t want to accidentally anger him by bursting out in a fit of laughter. You were curious, not suicidal.
“Blast! Of course it’s been exactly five hundred years! I’ve narrowly escaped my own demise.” As if you hadn’t asked enough questions, you ask him what he means by that. What he told you made perfect sense. “My eternal prison down at the depths of hell was supposed to weaken me until I fizzled out of existence. Had ten more years went by, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You know… because I’d be dead.” He felt the need to clarify. “This is exactly why I’m in debt to you in the first place. Despite you breaking me out of my prison, I still need your help if I ever wish to regain all the power I’ve lost.”
A demon in need of assistance? This was the part where you wanted to turn back. Making deals with demons was a sure-fire way of ruining your quiet and somewhat peaceful life. However… if you wanted to be honest with yourself, you weren’t exactly living like a king. Your logic is pushed to the side as you wanted to learn more about the type of help this demon wanted.
“Your aid comes in the form of your body. You see, if I want to continue my conquest, I believe lending you my strength is the best way for us to start. The more evil you do and sin you feed off of, the stronger we become. You serve as my host, and I’ll make sure you grow until you’re able to take out the strongest beings who roam this sorry excuse of a realm.”
The deal was tempting. You already knew where all the strongest mages were hiding in this city. A little guild that remained at the top of the food chains for as long as you can remember. No matter your relationship with them, Fairy Tail was always a guild you wanted to dethrone.
“So, what say you, human? You have free reign over what we do and how we unleash hell itself onto the world. If we’re successful, you’ll be able to relish in that victory among other things. Power, happiness, lust… wouldn’t that be exciting~?”
You… had to think about this. Carefully.

——————————————————————————————————————
Wowie! You did the exact thing everyone told you not to do when you were just a child! Somehow, someway, your curiosity got the better of you as you performed an ancient ritual in some dusty old book you were going to throw in the trash. Now that you two are bound together, you have access to limited magic that surpasses your own! You weren’t really strong to begin with… eheh-
So, if it wasn’t clear enough, you’ll be in the setting of Fiore while playing as the MC who roped themselves into the dark dealings of a demon from the underworld. Your overall goal will be to take down the Fairy Tail guild, but who’s to say you can’t have a little fun while working towards this dream? No one can take down a strong guild in a week, after all. You could get some Jewel in your bank account by doing odd jobs, work with your new demon companion to build a new guild to take down Fairy Tail, or you can even join Fairy Tail to destroy it from the inside! This is an open world adventure after all!
With all that being said, the background of your character is up for you to decide. They could’ve been part of a dark guild that Fairy Tail wiped off the map long ago, which could’ve started a chain of bad things that lead to a poor lifestyle. Maybe they really are just a freelancer, trying to stay afloat by doing random jobs for easy Jewel. All I ask is that you put some thought into your character. Don’t make them some overpowered edge lord, okay? That comes AFTER he actually gets some tail.
Before going on with my ramblings, I need to make sure you all understand the general rules that I’ve put in place for this RP. If you can’t follow any of these, we won’t be a match:
-Every character present in this RP will be over 18, and I expect you and your character to follow the same rules. If you aren’t 18+, then please do not message me.
-Discord is mandatory for this RP. I want things to feel a little more dynamic as different elements are added in to enhance the quality of this RP. Dice rolls, character profiles, even a profession system akin to those you’d find in RPGs are only possible if we’re on that sacred platform.
-Since this is a Fairy Tail RP, I expect you to have a little knowledge on the overall setting. You don’t need to be some master at the lore, but I can’t promise much enjoyment if you don’t even know who the redhead knight is.
-This RP has the potential to get very, very dark. I’m not expecting everything to be edgy and disgusting, but there will be death along with a lot of heavy topics. Smut too. Loads and loads of smut.
-Be communicative! While I’m aware that I’m posting this ad up at a terrible time for myself (university will have me by the nuts soon), I’m still going to keep you all posted about my status and whether or not I can RP on that day! Please do the same and don’t leave me in the dark if something important in your life comes up. I may just leave and assume you ghosted if a month goes by without a single message.
-Literacy. I got nothing witty to say here. You don’t have to write a Bible for every post you make, but I do expect you to put some effort into your writing. Don’t one-line or be lazy!
Fuwaaa~! That’s that. I’ll take this time to mention a few things about the prompt itself and the tags. If you had an idea on a specific person for this demon, I’m all ears for it. The default choices will be the character you saw in the opening or the lovely demoness, Kyouka. She miraculously survived the throttling Erza gave her and slipped out of Fairy Tail’s radar for all this time. Now that she’s found your sorry ass , she can convince you to get back at the guild with her! That’s another route you can take.
As for the tags, I’m also looking for someone who’d be willing to share the GM experience with me. Someone who can help me with the mechanics and build a RP for both of us to enjoy. If you’re willing to throw your hat in and give me some pointers on how I (or we) should run this, then great! This isn’t mandatory though, and I’ll only be accepting one or two people for this RP. Either way, it isn’t a race against time. Put some effort into your first message to grab my attention!
Speaking of which, your first message should contain: General and important information about your character (Background, Magic Type, etc.), Kink/Limits, and any questions or comments you have about the prompt. If we hit it off, I’ll ask for your Discord ID. Can’t wait to see those orange envelopes y’all!

The banging on the door woke him from a deep sleep.

"Who it is!" he barked, trying to sound awake.

"Ferrin, it's Ren (M45), from Selmer Castle," came the reply.

"Ren? Good gods. Hold on." The man in his late twenties (M28) threw back the quilt and let the late Fall chill do the rest of the work waking him up. He unlocked the door and squinted through the bright light of Ren's lantern. "Come in," he bid to his old friend.

"I'm sorry to have woken you but she's been taken."

"Who and what do you mean taken?"

"The Lord's daughter (F22), and only a week before her wedding! They left a note demanding money."

Ferrin was now awake. The woman, now two years past her twentieth birthday, who had taken everything from him when she had said she would marry for duty instead of for love, had been kidnapped. The pain in his chest felt as fresh now as it did a year ago.

"Her father will pay you the ransom amount if you return her and ensure that her captors," Ren paused and swallowed, "never bother the family again."

Ferrin held his palm toward the hearth in the corner and watched it burst into yellow and orange flames. Next he opened the large chest against the wall and pulled out his dark gray leather armour and began to pull it on.

"Ren, are there any clues to go on?"

"Two different people saw riders leaving to the west, into the Black Canyons."

Ferrin stopped and looked at Ren. "At this time of night? They are either mad or stupid."

"But, you'll go?" Ren asked.

"I'd follow her in to the depths of Hell if there were a chance to save her."

~:~

This story is not so much about the rescue itself, but rather, what happens afterward. There were strong feelings in play and, for any reason you'd like to come up with, chose another man over Ferrin.

Will this reunion in the form of a rescue re-kindle their feelings? Will they have one more night together before we bring your character home? Or was all of this kidnapping business hiding the actual reason she left the castle?

Things I'd like to explore in this story: Forbidden passion, former lovers re-united, internal conflict of duty vs love.

~:~

Hi! I'm Pencil. I'm here to have a fun time writing a smutty story with you!

What I'm looking for: A detailed writing partner who enjoys crafting a story and exploring the characters together.

I'm usually good for a post every other day and my story posts are usually at least three paragraphs and will go up from there. I'm not in a rush and you shouldn't be either. I have examples of my writing in my posting history and you can also get a sense of my personality through my comment history.

I only write on Reddit in DMs or in Google Docs. No chat, and no Discord.

Some of the kinks I enjoy: Oral (giving/receiving), kissing, partially clothed sex, building up desire until you can't not tear of each other's clothes.

Things I don't enjoy: animals, gore, bathroom activities where you don't end up cleaner than when you started.

Hello there <3

I'll put a quick disclaimer here:

This post has a strong focus on dark themes in a horror-based story. These include horror, rape, drugging, torture, and necrophilia. The story will be intended to shock and disgust. With that said, strictly no ageplay.

All characters in this story are aged 18+.

So, to preface this post. I'm looking for somebody to write a delightfully dark, terrifying story with. The main focuses are to be horror, shock, and general gross out themes, mixed in with smut. The general storyline we'll be following is a group of girls who are forced to stay in some kind of rest stop whilst on a trip. (The names I've included in this prompt below are placeholders. Characters can be easily swapped out, changed, or removed!)

Unfortunately for our dear lost-lambs, the place they're staying in has been overrun by, well... That's for us to decide. As a quick suggestion, we could say that the rest-stop is now inhabited by the previous denizens of a nearby mental asylum. And who are these new, creepy residents? To answer that, I want you to picture creepy, old-school, campy horror. Lurching, mis-shapen bodies, growths, boils, rotting limbs/teeth, et cetera. For example, picture Tiny from House of 1000 Corpses (incidentally, one of my favorite horror films).

The rest stop is run-down, filthy, and creepy. Strange sounds can occasionally be heard from other rooms. The staff seem to be nearly non-existant, and those staff that do exist are highly unsettling. If we follow the excaped mental asylum patients route, they're probably not the actual staff, but instead mental patients who have taken over the place.

The girls, forced to stay there due to a storm, are tortured, raped, and gradually picked off in fittingly ironic ways for their characters. For example, a more rebellious "party-girl" type character might find herself overdosing on a surprise needle sticking out of her bed. Conversely, the character who is most obsessed with her looks and beauty ends up on the receiving end of a "face transplant", or something similarly grotesque.

Overall, I want this story to be super gross and altogether terrifying. I want us to both attempt to shock each other with the horrific experiences that our characters are put through.

Since I am hoping to write a story together (as opposed to a more direct roleplay), I am aiming to find partners who can write a significant amount.

I've included a little writing sample here. I have to apologise, it isn't particularly smutty (or snuffy), but it shows some of the general vibe that I'm aiming for.

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A purple neon sign beamed brightly atop a rusted metal stand. While the wind was picking up, it's faint buzz could still be heard. The V of the sign was broken, instead spelling out: A C A N C Y. Behind it stood the Rest Stop, strangely unnamed. It featured a couple of outdated gas pumps in front of a store with smashed and boarded up windows. The shuttered entrance had three planks of wood hastily nailed over it. The walls were dessicated with old age, with peeling paint revealing rusted metal or concrete beneath.

Beside the gas pumps stood the main structure. Stuck awkwardly on the side was a small, dimly lit office. Acrid yellow light spilled through the occasional missing blinds in filthy windows, casting smog-like rays out into the car park. A beaten wooden sign next to the door simply read a misspelled "Ofice". It was a small building made of old, tarnished red bricks and a flat roof. Several pots sat outside the door. two of which held long-dead plants, and the other two were filled with filthy water and junk. The main structure did not resemble the typical two-story cheap motel. Instead, it seemed to be formed from an old plantation-era farm house. A large rectangular base was raised a couple of feet off the ground with steps leading up to the main porch. Placed every few meters was a supporting column, and wooden railings skirted between the columns. Atop the base were two more floors, rounding and narrowing at the top. The building was composed of wood, rotten and broken across multiple spots. What was once white paint was now a heavily beaten grey, the paint chipped and cracked as well as the rest of the wood. The structure creaked and groaned in a heavily growing breeze. Off to the side was another building; a slightly more modern, but equally as dingy looking more traditional motel, with a flight of stairs leading up to a walkway to the second floor rooms. It was clearly visible that more than half of the rooms had broken windows. A tattered red curtain fluttered lazily through one of the windows, catching on jagged glass.

"Uh... Do we really want to stop here?" Amber meekly spoke as the group exited the car. She shivered a little, both from the growing wind and uneasy look of the place.

Riley was quick to assert her thoughts.

"No way, let's keep moving. There's no way I'm gonna spend any time in this du-" Before she could finish her sentence, lightning cracked the sky. Grey clouds seemed to spill over faster than was possible, and a torrential downpour quickly followed. Emma shrieked, pulling her plaid shirt up over her hair.

"Fuck it, I'm going inside." Emma hurriedly said, jogging awkwarldy towards the office. With no other ideas, and not wishing to remain alone in the car, the other girls quickly followed, doing their best to shield themselves from the steadily increasing downpour of rain.

The group reached the office And Riley pulled it open, having overtaken Emma. The door creaked loudly, and cigarette smoke seemed to billow out towards them. The girls steeled themselves, though, and slipped inside.

The office was as disgusting as one might expect from the outside. It reeked of stale tobacco and body odour. A lone lightbulb hung from the ceiling in the center of the small room, buzzing lightly, and occasionally flickering. A large wooden desk stood at the opposite end of the room to the door, covered in half empty glasses of god knows what, and strewn with paper. An ashtray was set on the desk, overflowing with cigarette stubs, many of which were now beginning to coat the floor in front of the desk. The carpet was dark red, and covered mostly with strewn tattered papers, folders, and notes. An open box of chinese takeout sat on the desk. Flies buzzed around, and the food inside had a clear lining of mould and slime. Behind the office was a doorway, but it was too dark to see what was beyond it. Dark stains covered the walls, carpets, and somehow even the popcorn ceiling.

"What the fuck." Riley whispered as the girls stared around at the small, dingy piece of hell. "This is so fucked." Molly replied, a hint of amusement in her voice as she slipped a cigarette out of her pocket and lit it, taking a long drag.

"Molly, what are you doing?" Amber hissed, nudging the girl firmly.

"What, it's not like whoever works here is gonna care." She replied indignantly, gesturing towards the overflowing ashtray. "Lighten up." She smirked at the sheltered girl, who huffed in reply and looked away.

The brief altercation seemed to have caught the attention of whoever worked here. Hurried footsteps could be heard from the doorway, alongside a faint wheezing. The girls recoiled a little, not sure who to expect given the disgusting locale.

A small, mostly bald, sweaty man emerged from the doorway, sunken eyes wide as he stared at the newcomers. He looked to be in his late 40s, with large heavily rimmed glasses. Sweat beaded his forehead and his sparse hair was clumped with grease. It was clear that a lot of the smell in this room was attributed to this man. He wore a white sleeveless top, plastered with dark sweat and food stains. He stared at the young, attractive girls, a wispy and poorly developed beard surrounding a quivering mouth.

"What you want?!" He barked, all too suddenly. The girls all recoiled, except for Emma, who held her cigarette between two fingers as she stepped towards the desk, a fake confidence and courtiousness in her demeanour.

"Hello sir." She began, smiling at him." His beady eyes set on her in bemusement. "We were hoping we could get a room for the night while we try to work out where we're going. How much would it cost?" She spoke slowly and carefully.

"There is no way I'm staying here." Muttered Riley. Aimee stepped towards the window, pulling a blind down to peer outside. The rain had only gotten worse. She turned back to the group who were watching her expectantly, but her silence spoke volumes.

The man peered at all of them. "20." He barked again.

"20 dollars each?" Emma enquired, maintaining a forced, friendly smile.

"20!" The man reiterated. His eyes widened a little, and he trembled slightly. More beads of sweat were forming on his brow as he hurriedly looked towards the girls.

"For... all of us?" Riley asked, clear nervousness in her voice. It was quite unlike her.

The man hurriedly nodded, seemingly manic. He stuck out a pudgy hand towards Emma. "20!" He insisted, almost sounding desperate. Riley looked to the others briefly, before shrugged and pulled $20 out of her purse. "Sure, $20..." She said a little uneasily.

The man giggled unnervingly as he took the money, seeming to inspect it with a strange joy. He grinned at the girls, eyes darting wildly between them. "20!" His teeth were crooked, uneven, and rotting. He sat down at the table and grabbed his box of rotten chow mein. The girls watched in horror as he brought a fork full of rotten food to his lips and stuffed it in. He chewed loudly, mouth open, as he laughed again. Finally, his eyes fell on Aimee.

"Y-You... Scared!" He chuckled to himself and pointed at her. His nails were caked with grey. Aimee shuddered at the disgusting site directed towards her, but Emma continued.

"So, can we have the keys?" She pressed gently. The man stared at her as if she'd slapped him.

"Keys?" He demanded.

"Yes, the keys. For the rooms." She continued. Riley huffed a little, although it was unclear which part of the situation she was more displeased with - The terrifyingly disgusting room she found herself in, or the fact that Emma was taking such clear control.

The man continued to stare at her for another moment or two. His eyes obviously dipped down to her breasts for a moment before he jerked his hand under the desk. Three pairs of keys were flung at the girls: Room 4, Room 32a, and room 28.

"O-Oh, thanks." Emma muttered. "Don't you have any rooms closer together?" She asked, looking at the numbers.

"Full!" The man barked at her again. She considered pressing it further, but really, she wanted to get out of there.

"Okay, thank you sir." She did her best to smile graciously at him, before the girls left the office.

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If you wish to talk further about writing this horrific story with me, please also feel free to check out my other post on my account, to get a better idea of what I'm looking for.

If you want to message me, please message me through the Reddit inbox: https://www.reddit.com/message/compose/?to=MyLostFirefly . Not reddit chat.

As a final note, this post was heavily inspired by a previous writing partner, however all written content is my own.

“I’m going to need you to write down your email address and password,” the man said sharply. His breathing was rapid, bereft of the control he usually exuded, and from the other side of the chartreuse plastered kitchen, Evie scoffed in response, eyes a blazing fire.

“No.”

———

“Why don’t you give us a spin?”

Evie held back a shudder, slowly twirling in the turquoise silhouetted dress Adam had bought for her. Her head was low, her face hard and sullen as a stone; but behind her eyes the fire was fading.

“Oh, this is the one,” Adam said dramatically. He glanced at Andrea, seated beside him, the picture of the demure housewife, looking profoundly uncomfortable. “Don’t you think so?”

“Oh yes!” she replied quickly, suddenly as bright and chipper as the morning sky. “Absolutely.”

Evie listened to their interplay with fading hopes, wondering how she could have been so stupid in landing in this nightmare.

“Now, what do you say?” Adam teased, his voice dripping with condescension.

“What do you want me to say?” she bit back tiredly.

“I want you to be honest. I always want you to be honest with me.”

“Fine,” she said back. “I want to go home.” On the last word her voice cracked, just slightly enough that Adam felt a surge of triumph.

“I’m afraid that’s no longer an option for you.”

———

“You need to forget him,” Andrea warned.

But Evie was overcome. On the closed circuit screen she could see James, as handsome as ever, his beautiful face distraught with pain as Adam poisoned his heart against her with lies.

“She really ended it with an email?” he exclaimed in mock disbelief. “Oh…James I am so sorry. Wow. You think you know someone.” His eyes shifted up to the camera, knowing that Eve could hear him in her prison down below.

“Liar! LIAR!!!” She screamed. “James! JAMES!!!! I’m DOWN HERE!!!”

“He can’t hear you,” said Andrea blandly. “You need to try and calm down or Adam will be angry.”

Up above, James had gone off camera. Adam carefully removed a pistol from his jacket pocket, looking straight at the camera. He kissed the barrel and pointed it in the direction James had moved.

Eve sank to her knees, her face a mask of fractured beauty as her cheeks streamed with tears. “No….No, please don’t….”

———

She listlessly toweled the dishes dry as Adam slithered up behind her, his presence unbearable, his breath hot and close.

“So here’s the deal. If you try to escape again I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to kill James.”

Instantly, her eyes grew sharp and her body tensed with worry. She remembered the flash of his pistol and the angry blow he’d given her the night before. The bruise across her chest ached with dull heat.

“You may not value your own life anymore, but I trust you still value his. Now, are you going to be a good girl from now on?”

The question hung malevolent without answer. With all of her being Eve tried not to break. She really tried.

“Mhm,” she finally breathed.

“Let me hear you say it,” whispered Adam. Another pause; long, but shorter than before.

“I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” And suddenly his suffocating presence disappeared, leaving Evie at the sink to contemplate what she’d just agreed to. Until….

“Now come and show me.”

———

They stood together in the master bedroom, Adam pressing behind her. The door was locked so that Andrea could not intrude. There would be time for both of them soon. But first, he wanted Eve alone.

He untied her hair, reveling in its texture and smell. His fingers trailed lightly over the bare tips of her arm, just beneath her shoulder. He unzipped the back of her dress, delicately peeling the bodice straps away one at a time, pressing a needful kiss to her neck from behind.

Evie stood rigid and silent as he undressed her, her eyes dull with mourning and sacrifice. She lifted her neck as he kissed at her more urgently, turning her neck as far to the side as possible the only means of rebellion left to her.

———

Weeks later, Adam relaxed comfortably in his chair, sipping a Rusty Nail as Sinatra’s voice rang out melodiously from the turntable. He gazed admiringly at Andrea’s naked backside as she trod dutifully back to the kitchen to continue preparing his meal.

After she disappeared from view, he glanced down at the floor, where Evie knelt in submission, nursing his manhood quietly. Her dress was still on, but she’d unzipped her bodice and discarded her bra, so that he could see and feel her small breasts when he wanted to.

This, he mused, was living.

———

Greetings!

I’m in the market for a literate/advanced lit story with the basic premise that a quirky, misogynistic man has abducted two women to serve as his domestic and sexual servants in a very twisted perversion of the idealized 1950’s aesthetic.

This story is very much inspired by the somewhat cheesy movie Kept Woman with the same premise. I’d like to play the overall tone as coming from a place of regret and doomed resignation more than screaming/crying Noncon.

If you’re interested, please send me a DM outlining your take on the male character (who I would like to be named Adam). Think carefully about his stats; his physical and mental attributes and weaknesses, his means of financing his lifestyle, etc. I’d like to fully understand your version of Adam as well as discuss important things like kinks and limits.

Priority will be given to opening messages that demonstrate they value my time as I value theirs. I worked hard to write up a prompt that would catch your eye, please put a similar effort into your communication with me.

Finally, I’ll be busy for a few hours so if you really poured your heart and soul into a message and I seem like I’m taking a while to respond, I may not have been able to read it yet.

Best Wishes!

(Before I start, those who have read my Vampire Cult rp this is very similar to that one with a few changes. And ahead of time I am very very sorry for the length of this, saying I got carried away with the amount of setting up would be an understatement)

Demons, some people are afraid of them, some people believe their only purpose is to spread evil and sin, and then there’s people like me and the rest of the women in my city worship them and see them as the epitome of beauty and perfection.

Long ago you traveled from hell to Earth, with the dream of creating a religion based around you, and being born to a lower level family caused you to be laughed at by the rest of your race (which was the fuel for you to leave and never come back).

After arriving on Earth you decide to hide your true form and take the form of a woman. At the time of your arrival Earth was full of what is now considered a wide variety of mythical creatures, one day you happened upon what would later be known as a vampire and after defeating it in battle you ate it with intent on feeding yourself, but unknown to you at the time its power and hunger would combine with yours, now making you only able survive off blood to survive.

During your journeys you would occasionally find yourself marrying a king bringing them and their kingdom greatness with all the knowledge you had gained from your travels. But over the years you had gained a bit of hatred towards men, between watching them destroy the world through wars and some of the treatment you got from your occasional husbands, because of this the idea of your self based religion began to include ideas of a female only civilization.

Finally, come the time of the Late Medieval period and you had travelled all across the world and seen everything there is to see, and other than your initial plan had done everything you wanted to do, and now it was finally time to put your plan into action, and you knew the perfect city to make yours.

The city you had chosen was the biggest you had ever came across while traveling, and you had decided to keep an eye on it over the years, and once you finished your travels you moved back. Using your powers of persuasion you made your way into the castle and made the king your husband, and slowly over time you gave him horrible advice and ideas which caused the people to begin despising him and calling for his death, luckily for the people you answered their prayers and soon the king was found “mysteriously” dead, which left you as the sole ruler.

As soon as you took power a lot of things changed, more and more men were disappearing until there were none left, you used your magic to conceal the city from outsiders, then used your mass hypnosis powers to make the women that were left in the city that there wasn’t an outside world and that they didn’t need men and that they were to worship you as their goddess, you continue using your powers freezing the city in time so that nothing would change over time, lastly you gave every woman just a tiny little piece of your dna which when mixed with human dna causes a mutation to allow women to reproduce without the need of a man (this was only a tiny piece of dna that didn’t pass on the needing blood to survive part).

After you sealed off the city and now had a large and very loyal following, you started having churches built around the city which in the inside were replicas of your newly renovated thrown room. After building the churches you started gathering the most loyal of your followers and turning them into priestesses. As priestesses women were turned into demons through acceptance of more of your dna. Through receiving more of your blood the dna in it would eat away at the human dna and would over time turn them into full demons, but since it was your dna they too would gain a taste of blood and like you they would take the forms of humans. After creating religious scriptures your priestesses things to preach you started spreading the practice of magic, normal civilians would learn basic things that made their lives easier, meanwhile the noble families would learn more advanced and unique magic, and would later go on to create their own family unique magic.

Fast forward to now, it’s been close to a thousand years since you took power and things have changed, around 500 years ago you stopped coming down from your castle to visit us and in that time had turned our government into a religion ran government, with church leaders (also called Head Priestesses, and there’s 5 of them (there’s 5 churches in the city) who formed a council that act as our city leaders) spreading your word as law, there is now a school that if you graduate you immediately become a candidate for sisterhood (but it’s extremely difficult to get in to (often only noble families can afford it, or if you’re from a lower class family you must be able to impress with magical abilities. And it’s extremely hard to graduate). You’ve also expanded the barrier of the border that surrounded the city, effectively erasing the existence of the country, and the economy is amazing.

Fast forward to me, I’m the daughter of one of the four original noble families (there was four already established noble families when you took power, and in the close to a thousand years since a few more have been added, but compared to the original families they’re seen as less powerful), my family had always specialized in elemental magic, but I was special, from the start I’ve had a near infinite mana pool and have always been able to perform magic that took other women in my family decades to learn. But magic isn’t the only thing I’m a master of, I have also always excelled in my studies both in the classroom and in my religious studies and I have a dream of one day being a head priestess in the church. Yesterday was my graduation from priestess school, and it would be an understatement to say that I passed, I not only passed but I set school records with how well I did, and later today I will be having an interview with the head priestess at my church to see if I’m worthy of joining the sisterhood.

Like I said at the beginning I’m sorry for how long this was, but I’ll try to keep this short. So the basic idea is the priestesses are apart of the queen’s harem, and my character would get accepted into it after going through an interview process. After being accepted I would meet the queen and accept her blood, which immediately starts the change that turns my character into a demon (with vampire tendencies). I’m thinking this’ll be a mix of a lot of world building, decent amount of at least very sexual energy, maybe romance?, maybe a little violent if we want to play out the “hunting for food” scenes. If you’re interested please feel free to reach out and include the following:

1. If you’ve made it this far then I shouldn’t have to tell you that I’m looking for someone who writes at least a paragraph per response (including your introduction)

2. Please include a detailed character description (not just a brief description that doesn’t describe much. And if you include a ref you get preference), also please be aware of I’m looking for someone who is ok with playing as multiple characters. Also please include your kinks and limits (if you haven’t already assumed I’m a sub)

3. Lastly please include the password “welcome sister” so I know you read this far

Sub4Dom

« The air in the teahouse cellar smelled strongly of herbs ground together too many times and a much more faint scent of recently polished wood. Lady Lara Croft knelt on a woven mat inside the cellar of the teahouse. She looked nothing like she normally would, which was because she was currently in disguise. She wore a short, creamy white silk kimono that came to just above mid-thigh with cherry blossom patterns woven into it. Her hair was elegantly piled upon her head, twisted into a series of French braids. With the clever use of makeup her face had been completely altered, the most skilled scanning systems couldn't penetrate her disguise. Beneath the kimono, she wore her usual outfit: black hot pants and a black sports bra. She was currently barefoot, her combat boots and her guns were hidden in an old-looking crate in the corner. She was waiting for a certain man to step through the door into the cellar. That man was in possession of the means to get to a Japanese Artifact Lara had been after for the past three months. Normally Lara wouldn't be getting the item in this way, but the other option was to go up against a small army of ace bodyguards. The person she was about to meet, Muto Kamahi. He didn't come to visit this place for the tea, but for the prostitution ring run and performed in the cellar… »

Several weeks later, her new master was holding a meeting with other figures of influence. While negotiations were difficult, the atmosphere shifted when Lara glided into the room. The delicate click of her red high heels echoed the rhythms of feminine grace, drawing all eyes to her.

Draped in a red corset qipao dress that embraced the period’s aesthetic, its luxurious fabric accentuating the curves of her body, Lara moved with a practiced elegance. The dress, intricately embroidered with golden threads, shimmered under the soft lighting, highlighting her every step. Her hair was meticulously styled into an elegant updo, adorned with delicate flowers and jeweled pins that glittered with every movement. Her face was a vision of traditional beauty, painted an immaculate white with striking red lips, and her eyes were subtly lined to enhance their shape, giving her a demure and submissive gaze.

As she carried a tray adorned with delicate porcelain tea sets, Lara's walk was the epitome of refined elegance. There was nothing in her demeanor that resembled the woman she had been a few weeks ago. She put the tray down with the utmost care, her movements precise and graceful.

Then, Lara knelt down beside her master, her posture perfect, exuding a blend of humility and poise. Her master gently lifted her chin, and she met his eyes with a submissive gaze, her expression calm despite the turmoil within.

"Introduce yourself to my guests," her master commanded softly.

Lara took a deep breath, and in a soft, feminine voice, she spoke, "My name is sunflower. It is my honor to serve my master and his esteemed guests."

Hi everyone! I've always loved Asian culture, especially concerning women and their place in society and the backward view of some men who consider them as fragile and delicate things that should be devoted to serve them. So I would like to do a scenario where Lara Croft ventures to Japan or even China to retrieve a precious artifact. However, as you can guess, the mission will not go as planned and she will be captured by your character who will decide to make this tomboy an elegant and feminine concubine by forcing her to undergo training to become a perfect and obedient one.

I would like to make a rp where Lara finds herself trapped in a brand new environment that is unknown to her where she will have to learn to adapt to it. The idea is to emphasize the Asian setting in the rp for example with the clothes she will wear as a concubine or the things she will have to do.

Indeed one of the things I expect from this rp is the training and the formation she will receive to make her the perfect concubine, obedient, graceful and feminine, in short everything she would have hated to become! Maybe her master will decide to give her a new name? Maybe she will be forced to stay still and silent for hours, tied up or in an unpleasant position to learn respect and discipline? Maybe she will be forced to learn to sing and dance to entertain her master? So many possibilities and don't hesitate to give me your ideas!

The idea of this rp is really to have the classic pattern of a beautiful woman falling into the hands of a (disgusting), perverted man. I want the rp to have a slow build up and break down so that there is eventually some sort of Stockholm syndrome, I also want Lara to be fully aware of what is happening to her but unable to do anything about it, making things even more interesting. In this rp the main themes will be feminization and corruption, the idea is really for me to turn her from a tomboyish, feisty Adventurer into a elegant, girly asian concubine belonging to the man she hated the most.

I would like a long term rp where Lara learns her duties from her master while discovering the life of a concubine. The aim of this RP is to provide an in-depth look at the life of a asian lord concubine, especially Lara, who will become his most prized possession. She will learn to accompany him to major events and to be displayed like the rare Western rose for all to see, making her master proud and even more powerful.

I'd like to start at the top, before my character ends up so broken and submissive. We could explore her trials and humiliations, following along as she gradually realizes being a good concubine is her best option.

and some of the kink for this rp I was thinking of: -detailed rp/long term -Petplay -Force Feminine Clothing (qipao kimono, sexy outfit, Etc.) -light Bondage -NonCon fantasies (kidnapping, blackmail, forced, unwillingly) -kinky play -Slavery/race play -Slow breaking -Orgams denial -, buttplugs and other sex toys -humiliation -corset -collar/leashes -geisha -Traditional Asian clothing -outfit control, makeup control, hair control -cum play -Clothed sex -Multiple orgasms/forced orgasms -Non-con/romance -Maids -Name calling -misoginy/feminization -re-education/brainwashing Limits: vore, incest, underage, feet, vomit, shrinking.

Please send a detailed message of what you expect from the rp, your kinks and limits as well as your character idea for the rp. Also include the words "My Precious New Little flower" so I know you read everything ^^ (I prefer to rp on discord.)

The more exciting, vivid, and creative you are, the better chance you have at getting a response.

I’m looking for a dedicated long term writing partner, with whom we hopefully share some pretty good (platonic) chemistry! My name’s Kodiak, I’m from the UK so please expect the GMT timezone, however I have quite the erratic sleep schedule due to disability, so I am up all hours. I’m not someone that persistently chases posts or would expect my partner to do the same, fully understanding that we both have lives and sometimes we just don’t feel like writing all of the time; so long as I hear from you now and then, we’re golden. I am looking for some laid back and stress-free smut with maybe a little story to go alongside it, depending on what we both happen to be looking for.

That isn’t to say I am looking for just a slouch, I actually prefer well-written multi-paragraph writing in third person, and I only write over Discord. If I was to put a ratio on what I am looking for, I’d say 30:70 story to smut, but that story element is still a valuable part of immersion and ensuring continued interest beyond just writing parts smacking together back and forth.

I prefer to openly discuss kinks (without yucking yums) first and foremost with my partners, so as to establish boundaries and expectations, especially since many of mine could be considered quite far from vanilla, as I prefer taboo, dark and extreme themes. I’m not a writer that is often comfortable with ‘winging it’, and would much rather go over what we want out of it, like communicating the general vibe we are looking for and to help build the scene. 

That goes the same way with the setting, dynamic, story, and so on. I like a fair few fandoms, and would love to work over what we both would be interested in. For example, I like all kinds of genres, from fantasy, sci-fi, real world and adjacent kinds of settings, with fandoms including: Dungeons & Dragons, FFXIV, Fallout, Cyberpunk, Last of Us, Bioshock, Warhammer 40k, Resident Evil, Mass Effect, as well as a bunch of anime, shows, movies and other games. The list goes on, and I would love to chat about it if you would be interested in a fandom plot.

To give an example of my kinks:

Faves: Dub / non-con into con, large age gaps (I like to play much older men opposite young women over the age of 18), size difference, power dynamics, exhibitionism / risky places, casual-use, breeding, BDSM, porn / hentai logic (including: excessive pre / cum, light to medium cumflation, multiple male orgasms, large cock and balls, ahegao / fucked silly, cervix penetration / belly bulging, etc.) cumplay, cock / ball / cum worship, stockholm syndrome / corruption / brainwashing / conditioning, dacryphilia, sexual exhaustion, D/S, master / slave, petplay, ddlg

Likes: Anal, painal, ass to mouth, feet and foot play, impact play and rough stuff (hair pulling, slapping, spanking, choking, etc.), netori / adultery, harem, alcohol / drugs, hypnotism, mind control, bimbofication, incest, scent / musk, cum marking, cum diet, foodplay, cum bath, unclean cocks / smegma, misogyny, stepfordisation, abuse, humiliation, filming, degradation, objectification, orientation play, ugly bastard, somnophilia, cuckqueaning, hard cum facials / cum in hair, shortstacks (halflings, gnomes, goblins, dwarfs, etc.)

Maybes: Pregnancy, watersports, monster girls / furries, brats, canon characters (I prefer OCs, but I am open to discussing playing with you as a CC), teratophilia (I really like to play horrifically scarred characters, but sometimes I like playing monster men / creatures / eldritch horrors, but I am picky, so ask me about it)

Limits: Scat, diapers, pegging, fisting, rimjobs (receiving), macro, sharing (with other men), raceplay, snuff, sexualised gore / extreme violence, face claims of real life people or AI generated images

There may be more that I am forgetting, with many of them (except from limits) being negotiable. If you’re unsure or would like to pitch something you don’t see, ask me about it.

I have a few plot ideas up my sleeve, but I am really looking for someone that I can collaborate with. Nonetheless, here are some ideas that might hopefully take your interest:

Mr Landlord

Modern / Cyberpunk Slice of Life

While typically a big and vibrant city, there would always be some dark underbelly where your typical street trash would blow into and settle. Those forgotten and beneath the heel of bad luck and systematic oppression, where the class war buries its victims. A network of alleyways and quiet streets, rundown clubs, dive bars, and dens that even the police don’t want to touch. It was violent at times, sure, but mostly just a quiet and miserable affair with many people just wanting to go about their lives and find their next meal. The sort of place you know that you really hit rock-bottom, with nowhere else to go. Hell, you’d even be lucky to not end up out on the street, were it not for kind and charitable people like Mr D Ryan.

At one point or another Mr Ryan might have been considered an attractive man, with a fit physique and abundance of charisma, however time and age had not been kind to this burly bastard. An overweight belly hung out from beneath his white vest, revealing only a hairy tease of his many bear-like qualities, with brown imperious eyes that stared down at all beneath his terrifying stature of six foot eight. A white man, of Irish descent, with a thick brown and unkempt beard that obfuscated a hardened resting face, or at times a lascivious grin when in the company of women. Though, he was by no means anything close to a gentleman, despite his otherwise friendly demeanour. With the appetites of a voracious grizzly, there was very little else on his mind; lust was his vice, followed closely behind by greed, gluttony, and chased only with rage when absolutely necessary.

A former crook, if there ever was one, and a well connected one at that. However, with more scars and stories that could fill a book, Mr Ryan retired from that life as of twenty years ago.

That wasn’t to say that he was a monster. Opportunistic, perhaps, like any other beast, but Daniel Ryan certainly did not act with cruelty or violence in his heart. He charged fairly for his apartments, was not overbearing on the rent, and even offered a corkboard in the lobby for people to come and hang flyers for whatever scraps of work people needed to get by. However, one such tenant was on the outs; three months late, now, and there was only so much patience in the kind Mr Ryan’s heart. Though, the tenant in question wasn’t all that bad to look at, and with nowhere else to go it would be a death-sentence to throw them out on the street (especially when they already owed him so much money in overdue rent). 

Mr Ryan had been itching for a new clean cock-sleeve, and what better than one that could hardly say no? Young, vulnerable, and with the right push could be hanging off the end of his fat-cock like a nice little indentured sex pet.

I would love to flesh this out a little, and discuss who your character as this tenant could possibly be; perhaps a dropout shut-in that lives with her parents, who he targets specifically as some part of a sacrificial lamb deal to earn her keep? An e-girl that is trying to be the next hottest streamer and failing, with no real life skills to fall back on? A newly-wed woman with a husband that can’t satisfy her? A college graduate struggling in the job market? A little bit of everything or none at all? For some extra taboo, perhaps his niece or daughter? This could also be a Cyberpunk set plot, to add in other possible means of control, body modification and a more dangerous setting.This could lead into themes of DDLG, petplay, and especially stockholm syndrome, depending on what we are both looking for.

Beatus

Low / High Medieval Fantasy

The kingdom of Falion was a rich and bustling utopia of mercantile interests, nestled within the alpine territories to the north; a land where trade was a common part of each civilian’s life, so much so that bargaining was even practised neighbourly, ensuring a service was received in exchange for chattel. However, so prosperous was the Jewel of the North that with the fall of the heroic King Lysander, the kingdom of Falion had been overthrown.

Claimed as the latest territory beneath the heel of the Severn Empire, as have many before it; a holy crusade conducted by Emperor Adrich, to liberate the land its old ways to make way for the rise of the New Gods. As such, with new leadership comes new government, laws, and above all, new faith. The time of the New Gods were truly upon them, as worshippers of the Old would struggle against the Empire’s censure and survive. Punishments were cruel within the Empire, with the invaded citizenship seen as no better than dogs to be domesticated and trained, with disobedience quickly punished with cruel and public punishment to serve as an example to the unruly.

While the temples were razed, their flocks had to seek shelter in neighbouring lands, far from the long reach of the Empire’s inquisitorial agents, sent to excise the heretical tumour. However, very few were lucky to succeed in escaping the border, let alone survive the wilds amidst the cold, bandits and beasts. One temple, however, had more at stake than most following the birth of the Divine Herald; a living saint, suffused with holy light, bearing the mark of the divine. A golden opportunity that could not be squandered, and must be delivered to safety above all else.

However, the Beatus was merely a whisper upon the lips of the devout, with their very existence a quiet rumour; only the High Priest and their parents knew of their existence, having raised them in a cloistered temple, it was them that sought to usher the holy one abroad in hopes of their survival. Whether they would return years later to liberate the kingdom from the dreaded Empire, or to carry forth the Word of Light and plant a new seed of worship, their fate would be kept in the hands of a valiant soul brave enough to defy the Empire.

Of course, prophecy meant little when it came to mercenaries, especially those from Falion, who were among the few that would dare to value wealth over faith. As dangerous as it was to entrust the Divine Herald to a stranger, there was no one better suited to sneak out something profanely marked by the Empire and their inquisition.

Though for Egan the Sundrinker, veteran trader and mercenary, he was hardly someone valiant or even trustworthy, with a reputation for taking ‘other’ services in exchange for his own. In the failing market of Falion, he was also eager to abscond to greener pastures, however understood the desperation of those that sought him out. Whether or not he believed that it was truly a Divine Herald, all he saw was something to be exploited. Not like the High Priest had enough to afford such a long trip, after their coffers had already been raided, while also expecting Egan to miss all of the trade routes along the way. It was bad for business, and in exchange he proposed another kind of deal that would help put the light of the Beatus to use and keep him warm on such a very long trip.

So basically this could be played a number of ways, depending on what we would want to do with this. My original intention was a young and naive woman, who has only known the walls of a cloister and has been taught nothing but lessons on faith and destiny, has been given to a man that does not intend to go directly to where had been instructed, and follow his own winding path of trade routes (as well as to extend the ‘warming’ he had bargained). Perhaps he only originally sees her as a sex object, but eventually falls in love with the way she is so eager to explore the world outside of the kingdom? Perhaps nurtured into a depraved but sweet DDLG kind of relationship? If you liked this prompt, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Wrongfully Betrothed

Low Medieval Fantasy

The rural and peaceful kingdom of Dewvale rested between surrounding hills and mountains, nestled in a resplendent and bountiful land of wild forests and rich soil. A kingdom known best for its strong agriculture and highly defensible landscape, meant that bordering lands were content to enter into trade agreements and non-aggression pacts. However, while other kingdoms grasped further towards progress and technology, Dewvale was content within its high walls to dedicate instead to the toil and hard work of nurturing the land, given to them by their Almighty Father. 

The Almighty Father, or All-Father, was a deity said to have descended from the mountains and offered up a cradle upon which mankind could flourish within the valley. Through His teachings did then Dewvale thrive, becoming a theocracy that believes firmly that He holds power over their lands. While King Jacob IV does rule, he merely fulfils the role of king of the people, while venerating the All-Father as his better and true ruler of the land. The Church of the Patriarch is therefore held with great esteem and honour, despite having been built so far away from civilisation; much like the people of Dewvale, the priests and nuns of the Church value the sweat on a man’s brow as a form of worship to help cultivate His generous land.

The Bishop, Father Alden, was currently the acting head-priest at the Church of the Patriarch high in the mountains, as his senior, Arch-Bishop Eugene, was often bed-ridden due to his elderly age. Father Alden was a kind and generous soul, rumoured to have once been a sinner that squandered the gift of the All-Father, but had since repented and rose after many decades through hard work and devotion. Whether these rumours were true or not, they were not held against him as a man of the Almighty Father.

That was, at least, until Father Alden happened upon a royal missive from the crown meant for the Arch-Bishop. Father Alden often had to handle his senior’s affairs, but for the first time in many years did he feel the bitter sting of envy and greed, upon seeing that the crown’s princess was to marry him. It was not uncommon in the history of Dewvale, for often the third or fourth princess be offered to the Arch-Bishop in honour of his station, but for someone so young and beautiful to be promised to a man so feeble and weak felt like a waste.

The young princess, in preparation for their marriage, was expected to first serve as a nun at the Church of the Patriarch for a year, or until they are deemed faithful and devoted. Father Alden would no doubt be responsible for her care, and it was there that he would take her instead.

Somewhat of a training plot, with a lot of heavy Catholic and religious fervour themes, that point quite obviously to patriarchal worship. I figure the princess would be young, naive, and wouldn’t know better than to doubt the teachings of a priest since they are held next to god, but if you have any other ideas I’d be happy to hear them.

Baking Bad

Low / High Medieval Fantasy

Since the burning of the Elven Glade moons ago, the rise in refugees has sky-rocketed throughout the land. The elder race, who were at one time revered for their wisdom and connection to the land, were cut down in the name of progress at the hands of the humans. Their neighbourhoods turned into lumber yards, with their homes burned to make their factories and pave the way for new territory to expand their lands. Royalty, tradesmen, holy people, it did not matter anymore without a home to return to, where now they must rove the land in search for what little succour the neighbouring lands would offer.

One caravan of refugees had found their way settling near the village of Babblebrook, far from the human’s pursuit of industry, in the countryside. A rural land surrounded by fields of wheat and barley, with a stream filled with fish for the few villagers to make their dinners. However, since the war, there was still animosity between the two races. Babblebrook was the only village that did not actively take up torches and pitchforks to drive them away, and were instead content to share the stream so long as they remained beyond the border.

However a stream was simply not enough to nourish them, as starvation had racked the refugees long enough from the long journey. It would take time and resources to set up real homes, as well as organise huntsmen and gatherers to feed the entire caravan. Until then, there were many hungry, with one young elf woman’s mother and sisters among them.

Whether it was youthful ignorance, desperation, or emboldened urgency, she sought to sneak into the village and go door to door petitioning the locals to offer what they could. The young lady was turned away at every turn, until she happened upon a scent that made her belly rumble with hunger and her mouth salivate. She followed the smell of fresh-baked bread, hoping to ask the baker for even just a morsel to feed her mother and sisters.

The baker, Jurgen, opened the door to greet the tiny and waifish thing at his door. Instead of the silence or hurtful yells she had received at every other door, instead she was met with a warmth that spilled out from the home’s interior. A roaring fire, the smell of baked goods, and a large smiling man that welcomed her inside. He explained that he would be happy to give her a loaf of bread for her family, but without any money, he would want to ‘play’ with her in exchange.

Whether we want elves, we could instead say these are refugees belonging to an enemy human nation, or if we wanted some other race we could figure that out together. Originally I intended this plot to be a harem plot, whereby the girl’s logic would be “If I alone can bring home one loaf of bread, if I bring one of my friends or sisters, then we go home with two!” but that isn’t an expectation, only if you would have fun writing multiple characters. The progression of the plot could well turn into this baker taking the young woman in, perhaps as some form of DDLG relationship, or perhaps a stepford kind of relationship, where she (and / or her family) helps him run his bakery. This could lead to good relations with the refugees, and could build the community, or if we want darker, could turn into something entirely different.

Rimworld

Sci-Fi / Based on the game

The rim was harsh for anyone that found their way to it, whether they crash landed or awoke from cryosleep not knowing exactly where they were. Even those that called the planet home, survival was a commodity and death almost a certainty. From the harsh environments, the insectoids that burrowed deep within the mountains, the wild tribal peoples, the mech hives that littered the planet, or even the almighty empire, there was often no greater threat than the colonies of man.

Though, very few had a choice. Sometimes to survive meant joining the cannibalistic ideology of one colony, or becoming an imperial slave to a Count in another. Beggars rarely could be choosers, unless you had the might and mettle to back it up, but so few did.

One such colony was Avalon, said to be a scientific utopia. A land of milk and honey, they said, where anyone was welcome to join. Surrounded by high walls and turrets, with the support of imperial knights and scientists, to help better further humanity. So long as you were not afraid of hard work, everyone was welcome. It sounded almost too good to be true, but then what if Avalon was a lie? 

Not like you had much of a choice, so desperate for safety amidst the surrounding jungles. You were welcomed in with open arms, before being processed and assigned to an officer to overview your new work station in Avalon. You did not realise that to survive and keep your place amidst this utopia, that you would have to prove yourself in other ways to your assigned officer.

Setting is loosely based on the game Rimworld, where world lore isn’t all terribly important, especially if we want to do anything else creatively with the world. The premise is that your character has finally found this fabled colony that will protect them from all the threats that the rim has thrown at them thus far, but has quickly found there is corruption within the system. Where your character has to learn to compromise themself, if it means that they are given clean water, three hot meals, and four secure walls. Ideally this would lead into some stockholm syndrome, where the officer is seen as a caregiver looking out for their best interest, so it’s only right to repay him, or some other twisted logic that makes it welcome. Or, similarly, perhaps Avalon was indeed a lie, and your character actually stumbles into a much harsher reality? This is similar in theme to Baking Bad, but this would hopefully feel thematically different in that your character would be trapped, with nowhere safe (from their chamber, the stables, kitchen, showers, etc. with full access to your character), relying on heavier themes of non / dubcon that can’t or won’t escape. If this caught your eye, I would love to discuss it with you.

Cyberpunk 2077: Fixed to Fail

Cyberpunk / Based on the game

“Would you rather live in peace as Mr. Nobody, die ripe, old and smelling slightly of urine? Or go down for all times in a blaze of glory, smelling near like posies, without seeing your thirtieth?” - Some nobody

No heroes are made in Night City, only gonks with something to prove. To live fast, die young, and leave a preem chrome corpse to mark your blaze of glory as the best merc in the biz. Yet, so often are mercs considered lucky to even leave a blood splatter beneath the boot of the MaxTac officer, sent to zero your cyberpsychotic ass before you’ve even really started. You don’t get to choose where you die in Night City, but even then you make what you can out of the bunk cards you’re dealt.

So where do you start? Why, with the greats, of course. It just so happens one of the best fixers has come out of hiding after their last gig pissed off Arasaka, and they’re on the look out for some new and upcoming edgerunners to make heaps of eddies. Supposedly the Iron Ghost they used to call him, back when he was a merc and worked with some of the legends, before he kicked up his boots to sit pretty on his throne of eddies. A veteran with a pile of contacts and gigs spilling out of his ears, if you know where to find him. With Arasaka still on his ass, he’s had to be real shady lately, so has become some kind of shadow-fixer.

All it takes is one call from an unknown caller, and you’ve been selected as the Iron Ghost’s next protege to reach the heights of those like Morgan Blackhand, Johnny Silverhand and David Martinez, and make your way into the Afterlife to drink with the best in the biz. 

Just don’t read the fine-print.

A Cyberpunk 2077 set type of plot (some knowledge would be appreciated), with the intention being that your character is a new and upcoming wannabe merc that’s still wet behind the ears, and is looking for their big break to get into the Afterlife with all the other greats. However, this fixer has a sleazy reputation that is only talked about if you’re in the know. A type of blackmail plot where your character takes on a job that was rigged to fail, and they end up indebted to this Iron Ghost, to become their personal indentured plaything with a gun / guard dog (bitch), or else have your reputation ruined and doomed to die a nobody. This plot has a lot of opportunity for body modification, reprogramming, possibly even DDLG or petplay themes depending on how well the bimbofication / pacification / stockholm syndrome goes, as he grooms her into something better. If you’re interested in this one, I would love to hear your thoughts.

I have a few other ideas rattling around (ask me about them if you’re interested, if we get along I wouldn’t be opposed to running multiple plots), but I more than anything would love to hear from you if you are interested, especially if you have any similar or better ideas.

If you’re interested please shoot me a private message (no chats), introduce yourself, tell me about what you would be interested in playing, your kinks, your limits, if there is anything that stands out within my kinks that is a possible limit, and your Discord ID. Please also provide me with a multi-paragraph writing sample or two, to help see if we’d be a good match; I am really looking for immersion and depth of character, rather than anything two dimensional. If everything looks good between us, I’ll make us a server to chat, share ideas, plan and get into it.

I’m quite anxious and I might not be able to respond to everybody, so I’m sorry if I don’t get back to you. I am really looking for someone that I feel is in it for the long haul, is enthusiastic, and I can really feel comfortable with as a smut writing partner.

"One hour! One whole rambling hour of random history and myths just to find out where the old Temple might be!"

"What did you expect from such a bumbling fool?"

Dr. Runo De-Vergen gave the two self-proclaimed 'adventurers' an absent minded wave as he went back to reading the hefty tome he was reading before in the dusty bookstore. Though known by many in Westruun, Dr De-Vergen was left alone by most people - only other scholars really had the interest to interact with the bumbling, spectacled academic. He seemingly looked the part: rough-spun linen shirt which was repaired with patches in places, dark-colour trousers, tall and hardy leather boots, an oiled-leather longcoat, and a set of crystal-lensed spectacles in front of emerald green eyes.

His face was hidden under a thick beard, moustache, and roughly-mussed dark hair - when it wasn't buried in a book or scroll. Dr. De-Vergen also had a rapier in a scabbard on his left side, the hilt of which protruded from the part in his coat; though, no-one could recall him ever drawing it - and even more joked that he was more likely to hit with (or hide behind) the oiled-leather satchel that was always slung over his shoulder (which seemed to hold at least one book at all times).

Just as Runo put back the book, he felt a tingle from a pouch on the back of his belt - it was a familiar sensation, and a feeling he couldn't ignore. He slid the book back into the bookshelf, nodded an appreciative nod to the store-owner, and then exited onto the busy streets of the Market Ward in Westruun. After walking through the crowd, surreptitiously making sure he wasn't being followed or watched, he ducked into a dark alley. Navigating the puddles and shadows, he slipped between two tall crates and reached into the pouch at his back, pulling out a stone graved with a crest consisting of the Sun, a leafless tree and five small stars.

'Doctor' Runo De-Vergen, absent-minded scholar, was actually 'Jager' Runo De-Vergen, clandestine Grey Hunt operative from the city of Whitestone, serving abroad as the surreptitious eyes and ears of the Whitestone-ruling De Rolo family.

Runo closed his fist around the stone - a Sending Stone - to receive the message in his mind. Rather than the rough, gravelly voice of Justicar Marsh, the voice was female: melodic, elegant, and more importantly - instantly recognisable to anyone from Whitestone.

Grand to Jersey. Important mission for you. Head east to Drynna. Reserve inn room under 'Dalgliesh'. Contact will find you. Grand, out.

Behind his spectacles, Runo's eyebrows furrowed. Every member of the Grey Hunt was given a single-word sobriquet for brevity during Sendings: Runo's was "Jersey", Justicar Marsh's (as the handler of Grey Hunt operatives abroad) was "Sandal".

"Grand" was assigned to the leader of the Grey Hunt: the Grand Mistress Lady Vex'ahlia - Baroness of the First House of Whitestone and Coinmistress of the Tal'dorei Council.

Runo lifted the stone to his lips and spoke quietly, "Jersey to Grand. Orders received and understood. Will depart by sundown - expect to be in Drynna within four days. Jersey, out."

Tucking the stone away, Runo then stepped back into the bustling main street - once again the bumbling academic - heading home to a ground-level flat he had in a building on the southern-side of the Residential Ward. Locking the door and drawing the curtains, he started packing a travelling bag for his journey east to the fishing town of Drynna on the coast of Tal'dorei. Once his bag and satchel were packed, he pulled aside the right side of his longcoat and unholstered his true weapon: a pistol. Four silver barrels with streaks of white, and a grip carved from Parchwood walnut. Inset in the grip was a silver seal of the Grey Hunt. Runo checked the chambers, the barrels, the action. Then he reholstered the pistol and covered it with his longcoat.

Slinging his bags over his shoulder and putting a wide-brimmed traveller's hat on his head, Runo locked the door to his flat and started walking east. He had a long way to go...

Hello!

So, I'm looking to do an RP adventure in the CRITICAL ROLE world of Exandria. My character will be a Grey Hunt operative from Whitestone, dispatched on a mission by Lady Vex'ahlia herself. What will the mission be? And whom will he meet: an OC of your own design? A canon character - perhaps even Vex'ahlia herself?

In either case, long-term, this will be an RP of adventure, sex, and romance. Other kinks are up for discussion; Limits are relatively standard: Blood, Scat, Vore, and hiding your dice.

So, if you're up for adventure and eroticism, send me a PM and let's start talking!

BlueTowelWithHoles

Bidet!

I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

Do you ever feel that life is going well for you except that nagging itch in the back of your mind that is saying something was missing? Like everything was great....but also a little stale? Well that's what had been plaguing Dakota for months. He had a good job, spent time with his friends and family regularly, had free time to enjoy life, but he couldn't fulfill this feeling of lacking.

So when he heard of a wild Halloween party happening downtown, he thought Sure, what the hell. He went out and got himself a trending costume, making sure it had a mask of some form to hide his identity. The loud bumping music, the mixture of light shows and black lights, all of the people drinking and having a good time without knowing who it was grinding against them, it was great. One woman in particular was making his night even better. He couldn't see her face under the costume she wore, but that sexy body was all he needed to see to be interested.

Hypnotized by the music, lights, and booze he ground his pelvis against her ass while his hands slid along her waist pulling her back against his chest. He leaned his lips down to her ear, and his voice was heavy and gruff with arousal. "How about we head for one of those dark little corners so we can get to know each other." With a pleased smirk as she agreed, they made their way off the throng of gyrations and pressed bodies over to a shadowed alcove out of sight.

"Fuck you taste so good." He groaned out as his lips pulled away from hers. His hands gripped her ass and he chuckled as she let out a squeal and giggle before kissing him more. Jolts of electric pleasure moved through him as her hands slid down his body to his pants, working his hard member free from it's confines. Knowing exactly what she was wanting, he obliged by pulling what bits of clothing blocked him from her already dripping pussy. Lifting her up and getting between her legs, he pinned her back to the wall as his throbbing tip began to spread her lower lips apart and plunge into her depths.

Moans of ecstasy filled their little space as his hips pounded into her, his rod grinding within her hot folds to hit her most sensitive spots and drive her mind and body wild. "Nnnggh.. fuck- hah.... damn you feel so fucking perfect...mmmnnmff" He felt her clamp tightly around him as she came onto his cock, which caused his balls to ache with the need to orgasm as well. His thrusts became harder and relentless as he pumped his cock into her until his cock swelled for a moment before dumping his load into her honeypot.

Breathing heavily into her chest, he chuckled as he didn't even notice that his mask had been pushed back. "Oh...shit...God I needed that so-" His words fell as he looked up to see that he didn't just recognize the woman....he knew her well. "Shit! What are you doing?!?" Well....now his life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Heyo! Thanks for reading up to this point, and I hope you enjoyed what you read. If you hadn't guessed, I'm wanting to do a story of two people that shouldn't be together end up having a scandalous night that turns into an ongoing sorrid affair that is fueled by the thrill of the immoral nature of the partnership. It can either be a purely sexual relationship or we can have romance develop over time. The more scandalous the relationship, the better.

My primary kinks for this are bdsm, bondage, exhibitionism/risky locations, outfits and costumes, toys, and socially immoral relations. Limits are no piss, no scat, no vore, no gore.

I write in third person and prefer my partner to as well. My responses usually range from 2-3 paragraphs though it could be more or less depending on what all details I have to go off of. Please no 1 to 2 sentence responses, those give me nothing to go off of and just makes the story boring.

Shoot me a message or DM with your thoughts, your image ideas for your character, and any preferences you might have for mine so I can work his looks to be something you enjoy as well. Hopefully we can work out something fun for the both of us.

There are a hundred and one different ways to describe her, very few of them polite. Bitch is a common one, usually fired by the girlfriends of pretty men who had a moment of weakness…or multiple inside her. Convenient is another. Easy pussy when you need it after all, as long as there is something to work with. But the best way to define her is and always has been to call her what she is. A whore. Not whore (sex worker), although perhaps she does that too, but whore (degrading). A woman with an inability to keep her legs closed. And why should she? A man who does it is a stud, a girl who does it is a slut? Societal double standards are a bitch. So honestly it's fighting the patriarchy every time she wakes up in a stranger's bed (or more commonly a beat up mattress), the cum of no less than three men dripping out of her. Every time she exerts her right to her own body by dropping on down by the planned parenthood center because one of her many partners knocked her up again. It's empowering to ply pussy as she desires, and more importantly it's fun.

And what do I want to do? Make her so much worse.

_

Hiya! My craving here is simple. I want to write decadent modern day smut with someone who has a similar appreciation for all things filthy. I want your character to be an utter whore by anyone's standards, and in exchange? I would love to write out her adventures with you. Not just the smut but what comes before and after. A tale of degeneracy that goes beyond just writing characters fucking again and again. I am more than happy to take a GM role for this, so I can play as many pretty men as you would like me to! I am more than happy to indulge you in whatever type of smut that you would like for YC as long as it goes by the following rules:

Your character has control: Not that they are always dominant, but they are having their fun because they want to. They can get fucked up and drunk and what not, but she is never going to be the victim of non-con. I don't mind other characters being the victim of non-con at her hands if that is the way you lean, but sex only happens when she consents!

Your character is confident: She knows what she has to offer. She knows what she is. I am not really interested in GMing for characters who are super nervous and such!

Your character is already corrupted: I am not interested in playing a plot where YC needs to be corrupted into being like this! I would want them to already be this way. We can figure out why through discussion, whether her hypersexuality is because of something that happened or if this is just how she is. Whatever the reason is though, she is like this at the start of the RP already! Note, she can always get worse (as mentioned up above)!

Also basic limits: No toiletplay, no surrealism, nothing banned by reddit rules! Anything else we can discuss on! 

As for the story itself? I am down to do long term or short term! I am also more than happy to include more story than smut as long as the feel of the RP is kept. However, I do have requests for my partners as well! Two of them to be exact!

Firstly, I require literacy! It isn't fun to write and get one lined. Nor do I ask for mega posts that have terrible flow. If you can write 2 solid paragraphs that flow well and have good dialogue? I am happy. If you write 8 with run on sentences, rambling and robotic dialogue? We won't click I am afraid!

Secondly? I require discord for OOC at the very least. I enjoy writing over there as well, but I don't mind doing a doc or something else based on your preference! 

Do this both and you will find in me a writing partner who is:

• eternally patient for as long as you need 
• who will not ghost you
• will provide everything I asked for and more. I love making friends with my RP partners and I can promise you enthusiasm. Moodboards, Memes about our characters, everything! So please, allow me to indulge you!

The password is Languorous, include it and I can promise a response no matter what!

P.S.

Here is a bit of story! Was not sure if it had to be connected to this prompt or not.

Context*: A male siren is speaking to a princess he has been trying to lure into the water for weeks, and an assassin pushes her in so he may dispose of her. The siren saves her instead. Historical Fantasy!*

!What did he desire? A question he had not considered. Perhaps a better one for her would have been did he desire? Did a beast such as he know desire in the way that a thinking person did? Or was his desire closer to that of a beast. To tear the flesh and feast on her soul, the second she trusted him enough to step into the water? He knew no more than she did, and had not expected it to be tested. But a glance of the culprit was all he received, as his body moved into a hunting pattern, activated by the touch of her sweet skin to the water. Any pretense of humanity was tossed aside as all that was left behind was the predator…and the unfortunate in the water his prey.!<

!Or atleast that’s how it should have been. She should have died that night, and the siren should have feasted. It was the way of things, yet the natural order was violated when he approached her, and did not bite down. Oh how she fought though. Each strike against him stoked his hunger, whether she knew it or not. And how he fought as well, against the same hunger, for reasons he knew not. He fought as she fought, both with the same want in mind, for her to survive this.!<

!He was not gentle with her. To not rend flesh from bone, to not leave her bleeding out in the water…that alone was asking much. Anything else would be too much to ask of him. His hand pierced the flesh of her adorned arm, red ribbons marking her as he dragged her off into the murky depths. Enough to taint the surface of the water the softest of crimsons, barely visible in the depth of the night, but indicative that something was going on underwater.!<

!_!<

! Jewels surrounded her. A soft bed of dry seaweed and stolen cloth upon which shiny trinkets had been left. Some encrusted with old dry blood, others rusted, most with some show of age. In a dark cave, lit only by the sun so far away at its entrance. It was a small lagoon, where she would have to swim her way out. Her wounds would have been undressed, sharp nail marks across her right leg and left arm that went deep. Not enough to truly harm her in a lasting manner, but enough that she would bear these scars for a lifetime.!<

!There was not another living thing in the cave lagoon. No scurrying mice, no buzzing insects. All were kept away, by an idol she had been lain in front of. A naked woman, carved in a strange green and blue stone. It was hard to look at, but the woman depicted had been wounded thrice over, and there were offerings made of bone and gold. The siren that had been sure to devour her when she fell into the water, the one who had been begging her entrance into the river so he may feed, was nowhere to be seen.!<

A great ripple echoed through the empty chasm of earth, as therein Helmgart fell.

So, too, did the ether ripple as the Skittergate screamed its last, severing its unholy spatial connection to Norsca.

Beyond this world and the expanse of eternity, past the sphere of mortal consequence, rippled a bitter sigh from the Rot Father as he witnessed the progress of his crusade, rebuffed yet again. His beloved Children hungered for the Reikland; with every passing year he could feel their pain growing, along with the frenetic desperation of their prayers. Their most crucial door to conquest had been closed, and in its place the pungent howl of longing remained. It was a decadent fume, which he drank gratefully, but it was not progress.

He deliberated for some time, stewing in the fetid broth of his own wisdom. The Grandfather was old; he had seen times like these before, and learned that they were ripe for a redoubled conviction. The Northlanders were a devout folk, but even fanatics would need a reposeful message in such dark, faithless times.

He sucked in a torrent of damp air to fill his pustulant chest, and a deep, throaty bellow spewed his holy commandments in a long-forgotten tongue. ”Mine sones, be ye stedefast…”. Quietly a thousand Leech Witches cried out in zealous ecstasy upon hearing his gurgled voice, a soothing balm to befoul their ears. ”Sholde ye trusten youre Skaven bretheren, þe Vermyntidæ shal yit comen.” Mere speaking was cataclysmic; with each word rattled by his ancient voice, new plagues bloomed and old mountains cracked.

“Holdeth feith in youre Greatefadir. Holdeth feith in Chaos.” The victory of the Dark Lords was inevitable, of course; in due time, the slate of Mallus would be wiped clean.

And yet.

Despite his rousing encouragement, a proven reminder that he guided his Children’s every steps, still… there was a discomfort. Perhaps in his age, he was growing impatient. He felt the bellies of the Northlanders roil with hatred. With longing. With desire.

As if on cue, Desire itself had laid its musing eyes upon Father Nurgle. “And how fares your Vermintide, dearest Bog Lord?” His voice was a sonorous one, strong and clean, echoing across vast dimensions of pleasure.

The Father’s putrid belly stirred, his tone narrowing to an agitated edge. “Slaanesh. Scholdest thou nat taken hede to thyne owene conquestes?”

And the Dark Prince merely grinned, a thousand greedy teeth on mirthful display. “Oh! Hah, Pestilence, I beg of you—shed such olde speech with me. Archaism is so very beneath us.”

“Is that right? Ich trowe thou art but leye.”

“Well, perhaps, but you know how fickle I can be, as well. Such stubbornness might drive me away.” Slaanesh’s words took a dramatic, pitiable veil, and with a sigh he murmured, “Would that you weren’t so difficult. Then, I could grant you my aid…”

A pregnant silence filled the cosmos, before Nurgle once again suffused it with his foul breath. “…The crow needs not the aid of the serpent,” he coughed, a foamy sputter dousing his lips in shimmering bile.

“Ah, so you are interested! You old bag of wind, I knew it!” Despite the Prince’s smug tenor, there was a lingering air of understanding between the two: it was an offer the Bog Lord couldn’t turn down. The gods were scarce to cooperate so directly, thus, even the wizened Nurgle’s curiosity was piqued.

“I take it you would seek something of me, first. What is it?” purled the Bog Lord. “My legions are trillions. In a single festering spume, entire nations rise from the earth. My effort suffers not from however many you wish to take.”

Slaanesh offered naught but a smile in response. “Grant me one.”

—————————

Hiya, thanks for reading! In case you couldn’t tell by the intro, I’m planning on setting up a story in the world of Warhammer! (Warhammer Fantasy, specifically; 40k fans, please stay away. Forever.). I’ve been playing Vermintide 2 for the past few weeks, and figured it might be fun to play around in a lewder, slightly more porn-logic-y version of the world. I’m not very well-versed on the 300+ novels of lore for Warhammer, and I don’t expect you to be either! A cursory knowledge of Vermintide itself would make you a much more appealing partner, but it’s certainly not a requirement. Just expect me to give you a crash-course on some of its characters.

What you just read wasn’t quite a setup, as much as it was a tone-setter. Some fun flavor text to get the mood going, if you can look past the poor excuse for Middle English that I attempted. I’ll be doing most of the explaining here, including my expectations for the story and an ideal writing partner to match! Keep in mind that I’m a highly flexible person, so if you have any gripes with my ideas, let me know and we can discuss alternatives! This is a fairly open-ended concept.

I will say, first and foremost: I’m big into femdom, and I’d like to play a malesub role here! This is one of the few things I’m pretty set on, so if that’s not your jam, this particular idea may not really be for you.

The premise is this: the Chaos Gods are currently in the midst of ending the world. This largely consists of one such god, Nurgle, sending forth endless legions of zombie vikings (Rotbloods), ratmen (Skaven), and other assorted nasties to overwhelm the world’s forces until only desolation remains.

Enter the Ubersreik Five, a group of steadfast heroes who would dare to stand against the tide, slaughtering baddies by the armful and defending the innocent, deigning to fight until their very last. Of course, since we’re on this subreddit, you know they’ve got to be hit with the ERP ray-gun.

Markus Kruber, bedraggled-yet-good-humored mercenary, cracking jokes despite being scarred by his traumatic military past? Who’s that? You must be thinking about Maria Kruber, the exact same character but a hot lady with rockin’ bazongas.

Bardin Goreksson, tough-as-nails Dwarf veteran with a perpetual song in his heart and a grandfatherly temperament? Nope. That’s Bardir Goreksdottir, the exact same character but a hot lady with rockin’ bazongas.

Victor Saltzpyre, icy witch hunter with a firm temperament and a zealous wit? Never heard of him, but surely you’ve met Victoria Saltzpyre, the exact same character but—yeah, you get it.

I wouldn’t dare genderbend Sienna Fuegonasus, the charming MILF-y battle wizard.

But actually, I’d totally be down for turning the wood elf Kerillian into a sassy Scottish femboy. Please do, in fact.

Character summaries aside, let’s tie this story back to the flavor text you just read a moment ago. Nurgle’s not quaking in his boots or anything, but even a god can grow frustrated by such a fearsome band of heroes thwarting his plots. So his humble sibling—the Dark Prince Slaanesh, god of earthly sensation—decides to extend a hand of aid. Here’s where the plot happens.

Slaanesh will snatch up but a single Skaven. Normally they’re a bunch of vicious, snarling little things, scrounging through sewers and cobbling together foul radioactive weaponry. But after this chosen ratman has been imbued with the raw energy of desire, he will find himself subject to a glorious transformation! He will be… cute. His features soften up, his mangy fur fills out and become illustrious—suddenly, he’s an adorable, huggable lil’ femme mouse who’s entirely unfit for warfare, and deceptively sexually proficient.

And because he’s been suffused with Slaanesh’s seductive magics… when said ratman shows up on the doorstep of the Ubersreik Five’s hidden lair…

What I’m saying is, this cute Skaven will be strangely irresistible to our feminine heroes. It’s Slaanesh’s most devious plot yet; keep the U5 distracted by all the awesome rat sex they’ll be having. It’s foolproof!

Now, in regard to how you want to play this? Like I said before, we have tons of options! Obviously there will be plenty of conflict; the Ubersreik Five know that the Skaven are evil, but this one seems pretty well-intentioned, and his mere presence is addictive. It’s only a matter of time before they lose control and fuck his brains out. We can choose to focus on a single hero’s developing relationship with the Skaven, or bounce between a number of them. This demonic plot could end successfully, with the Reikland falling apart; or, it could result in a surprise boon for the U5, perhaps changing this story’s ending to a happier one!

It’ll all be on the table for us to discuss. The important thing is, this poor ratman has no idea what he’s in for.

When it comes to you, personally, I don’t ask much. Just please read this post in its entirety, and bring at least a bit of writing skill to the table. I don’t expect you to be some genius novelist with every message, but 1-4 consistent paragraphs of decent writing would be so very appreciated. I promise to deliver the same (if not more!) in return. And again, please be into playing a femdom role!

My kinks vary far and wide; I can play just as well with soft, squishy stuff, as I can more experimental things. Kinks like facesitting, scentplay, nuru, breastfeeding, pegging, light pain, footplay, biting, etc. are some classic favorites, but I really want to know what you’re into so I can cater to your interests! That really takes top priority for me.

As for limits, just about anything can be… discussed. My only hard no-nos are gore, vomit, and elderly. Violent non-con is also pretty much completely off the table.

My preferred platform is Discord, but I’m just as happy writing on Reddit (or another platform if you have strong preferences, it doesn’t make much difference to me).

If any of this has sounded interesting to you, let me know! I’d be delighted to hear from ya~

I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

Juliette was a journalist with a fierce passion for uncovering the truth, especially when it involved the darkest corners of society. When reports of missing women flooded the city, Juliette couldn’t turn a blind eye. She delved deep into the investigation, determined to uncover the sinister truth behind the disappearances.

Her relentless pursuit led her to a shocking revelation: an underground organization specializing in human trafficking. But what chilled her to the bone was their particular focus—capturing women and selling them at secret auctions to the highest bidder in foreign lands.

With a mix of determination and trepidation, Juliette pursued every lead, risking life and limb to gather evidence against the traffickers. One fateful night, she received a tip about a clandestine operation taking place in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

Armed with her camera and fueled by a sense of justice, Juliette slipped into the shadows of the warehouse, her heart pounding with adrenaline. As she observed from the shadows, her worst fears were confirmed. Men, their faces shrouded in darkness, led terrified women onto a stage, where they were cruelly displayed like mere commodities, the bidding frenzied as wealthy buyers vied for possession.

With a steady hand, Juliette captured damning evidence on film, each snapshot a testament to the horrors unfolding before her eyes. But just as she prepared to make her escape, a sudden blow to the back of her head sent her tumbling into darkness.

When Juliette regained consciousness, she found herself stripped of her clothes and dignity, confined to a cage like the very women she had sought to save. The air was thick with the lecherous whispers of her captors, their greedy eyes devouring her exposed form. Panic surged through Juliette’s veins as she realized the full extent of her predicament. She was now in a foreign land, far from home, destined to be sold at auction as a harem girl to a powerful sheik…

Hello! I’d love to play a prompt where an incredibly wealthy and successful Arabian sheikh decides he needs a new western flower for his harem to share his life and wealth with! So he purchases an incredibly feisty and beautiful young up and coming journalist nammed juliette to become his pampered, spoiled harem girl. She’s so pretty after all. Best not to waste that aspect of her doing man work when she could be living a life of luxury. Once he's bought juliette at auction he’d perhaps use a mixture of his natural charisma combined with his vast wealth and his domination to submit this young tomboy into being his perfect and adorable flower. She is so tomboyish and fierce So with all this attention and pampering She’d be in line in no time. The condescending nature of this man is a must! He’s not overly cruel or malicious. She’s like a pet. A doll. So pretty, delicate and needing to be kept safe! Anybody that dares harm his flower ? They’d have him to answer to….

I've always loved Arabian culture, especially concerning women and their place in society and the backward view of some men who consider them as fragile and delicate things that should be devoted to serve them.

I would like to make a rp where a tomboy heroine finds herself trapped in a brand new environment that is unknown to her where she will have to learn to adapt to it. The idea is to emphasize her new life as the property of a powerful and intimidating man in the rp for example with the pet clothes she will wear as his harem slave or the things she will have to do.

The idea of this rp is really to have the classic pattern of a beautiful woman falling into the hands of a (disgusting), perverted man. I want the rp to have a slow build up and break down so that there is eventually some sort of Stockholm syndrome, I also want the tomboy heroine to be fully aware of what is happening to her but unable to do anything about it, making things even more interesting.

Indeed one of the things I expect from this rp is the pet training and the formation she will receive to make her the perfect harem slave, obedient, graceful and feminine, in short everything she would have hated to become! Maybe her master will decide to give her a new arabian name? Maybe she will be forced to stay still and silent for hours, tied up or in an unpleasant position to learn respect and discipline? Maybe she will be forced Forced to learn to dance or behave like a four-legged pet? So many possibilities and don't hesitate to give me your ideas!

The aim of this RP is to provide an in-depth look at the life of a arabian powerfull sheikh, especially juliette, who will become his most prized possession. She will learn to accompany him to major events and to be displayed like the rare little western flower for all to see, making her master proud and even more powerful.

For example, her new master could be having a business meeting with other members of his organization or other powerful figures, and Juliette could enter the room dressed in the attire of an oriental harem girl. She would be adorned in a flowing, sheer silk outfit in shades of pink, with intricate gold embroidery, delicate jewelry hanging from her wrists and ankles, and a translucent veil covering her face. Her hair would be styled in an elaborate updo, adorned with golden pins and jewels, while her face would be beautifully made up with kohl-lined eyes, red lips, and a subtle blush visible through the veil.

As she enters the room, all eyes would be drawn to her, captivated by her exotic beauty and the mysterious allure of the veil. Moving with grace and elegance, Juliette would approach her master, kneel beside him, and bow her head in submission. The other men in the room would watch with keen interest as her master acknowledges her presence, his hand resting on her head, then gently lifting her chin to look into her eyes.

I'd like to start at the top, before my character ends up so broken and submissive. We could explore her trials and humiliations, following along as she gradually realizes being a good slave is her best option.

In this rp the main themes will be feminization and corruption, the idea is really for me to turn her from a tomboyish, feisty heroine into a sexy, girly harem girl belonging to the man she hated the most.

So for the main k of this rp I was thinking of:

So for the main k of this rp I was thinking of: -Petplay -Force Feminine sexy Clothing -harem outfit-light Bondage -NonCon fantasies (, blackmail, forced, unwillingly) -kinky play -slave training -Misogyny -Gags -Slavery -Slow breaking -Orgams denial -Vibrators, buttplugs and other toys -humiliation/Ddlg -corset/high heel costume -collar/leashes: anal,cum play, breaking, corruption, makeover, , brainwashing, outfit/makeup/haircut control, Limits: vore, incest, feet, vomit, shrinking. I just like when proud tomboy heroines are forced to dress as girly, feminine ^^

Please start off with a detailed post describing your sheikh! His appearance description, his background if you want and a summary of his personality and nature as a whole. And include the words “My precious desert flower ” in your reply title so I know you read this all! I rp in posts of at least a paragraph or two, so please be a decent writer too! Hope to hear from you soon! Also send me a k list please!

The more exciting, vivid, and creative you are, the better chance you have at getting a response.

I mostly rp on Discord !

Inheriting a distant relative’s house hadn’t been in her bingo cards this year, but Amber would have been foolish not to take up the offer. She was in-between jobs coming out from the smoldering phase of burn-out, and the lease on her current apartment was just about expiring. The lawyer couldn’t have called at a more opportune time and before the day was over, she was rushing to sign the papers and move in.

At worse, if the house wasn’t what she expected it to be, Amber could just sell it off and use the proceeds to buy herself a new place. At best, she’d be a homeowner at twenty-six. If only her peers could be so lucky.

It was the better part of a three hour drive to get to the property that had been left in her name. Amber couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt rolling up to the unfamiliar sidewalk of Hazel Lane. She had no memories of the relative that had so generously included her in their will. Amber didn’t even know what they looked like, or if they had ever even met, even from a childhood half-remembred. And it wasn’t as if she could call her parents and ask them to clear up the confusion; Amber still had their numbers blocked after a disastrous falling just as she was about to go off to college.

Her inheritance was a two-storey home that had once been picturesque in its French design, but now had been left to fall into disrepair. It wasn’t a lost cause however; there was still some salvaging it, and having glimpsed the hidden potential, Amber was quick to carry her things inside, batting away the dust and cobwebs in her path as she cleared out a space for herself in one of the bedrooms upstairs.

Nothing could deter her from settling in for the night, not even the lingering sense that she wasn’t alone inside the house.

That was a month ago.

Amber had almost fully convinced herself that the strange feeling of her first night at Hazel Lane had been the product of an overactive imagination and too much caffeine, but the feeling never fully disappeared. As she went about her chores, she would always glimpse something—or someone—out of the corner of her eye. Standing in an empty doorway, or at the end of the hall, always looking at her.

And whatever this entity that shared her home was, it would visit her in bed.

It came in the dead of night, when Amber would be drifting in-between waking and dreaming. It happened often enough that her body had developed some crude Pavlovian response to its arrival. Her breath would catch in her throat, and her pulse would quicken, a gentle sweat flushing across her bare breasts beneath the oversized shirt she’d gone to bed with. Amber would blink, let her eyes adjust to the darkness of her new space—and there he was.

Standing at the foot of her bed, like he had always been there waiting to be seen had she known where to look. His smoky form undulating in the darkness, transparent enough for Amber to see the door of her closet through him, but only just opaque enough to make out the shape of his manhood jutting out from between his legs.

His voice hissing deep from the back of her skull, like the whirling buzz of angry wasps somehow able to form words.

"I'vvvve missssed yoooooouuu..."

Its that time of year again, in which we brave peoples look at our demons and say: “Is anyone gonna fuck that?”

But all jokes aside, thanks so much for reading through my prompt. I’ve been playing around with this idea in my head for a while now, so if the promise of erotic horror interests you, feel free to continue the scene in your reply! I left things purposefully vague in some spots to allow for some freedom as to what exactly our brave young heroine is getting herself into.

I'm a descriptive and detailed writing partner, looking for the same. My preferences lie in the 3rd Person POV, and Reddit private messages.

Limits: gore, snuff, piss, scat; extreme violence, blood, humiliation and degradation

There was no telling what one might discover within the Briargrove. When the sun rose over the land the very first time, the ancient wood had already been there, as if waiting for its warmth.

Sprawling across the valley, sturdy trees of the likes of hardwoods and impossibly-large willows made up a near-impenetrable canopy of leaves, and beneath their gnarled sprawling roots, all manner of shrubbery and plant life grew uncontested to the point of overgrowth. There was no knowing what manner of beast, monstrosity and otherwise might have made its home within the untouched depths of the Briargrove; and it is because of these inherent dangers that very few save for those foolish and brave, and foolishly brave, ventured off the beaten path.

Life was not so inhospitable around the woods thankfully. The land was lush and bountiful. Those with entrepreneurial desires made good coin from the lumber harvested from the trees, the medicinal herbs that grew throughout the wood, and the animals hunted for their pelts and horns and meat. In time, the population grew—healthily at that, and those that chose to make their homes at the edge of the Briargrove erected walls around their villages and towns to keep their families safe. Over time these little settlements grew and grew, living off the land and the Briargrove’s bounty.

Despite so many flocking to these new towns and villages, Eilin was happy to keep away from all the noise and hubbub.

She had come to the area as a much younger woman of twenty years, all her worldly possessions fitting into a single cart that she had hitched onto a lone horse. Eilin had spent a great portion of her life wandering, as her parents had been nomads following the beckoning of the breeze, but upon coming-of-age she had decided she wanted something different for herself. Someplace where she could put down her roots. So she went wandering as her parents had before her, searching for the perfect place to call home—and by the grace of the gods, she found it in the Briargrove. A small clearing that had a pool nearby that was fed by the babbling brook. Sunlight streamed in through the gaps in the leaves overhead. It was well suited for Eilin’s needs, of which there were not many.

As the towns and villages grew, so did Eilin’s little homestead. First the cottage, then two outer buildings, one for her chickens and the other for hanging and drying meats and furs. And since then, almost a half dozen other buildings had been erected, all with their own various purposes to make good use of the forest’s bounties.

Hers was a solitary existence, but Eilin never felt truly alone. As she went about her chores and caring for her flock, she nursed an awareness that there was always someone—or something—nearby. Watching her. Keeping her company.

She was familiar with magic to some degree. Eilin’s parents had fancied themselves practitioners of magic far older than themselves. They lived cheek by jowl with nature, protecting it and enjoying its bounty in turn, and they had passed their learnings onto her in turn. It was simple magic: to keep from getting lost in the woods, to be able to read the weather as to when to perfectly dry laundry.

As such, though she was no great practitioner, Eilin could tell when something seemed more than what met the eye.

The clearing that she now called home had suited her needs perfectly, as if it was meant for her. When she needed wood, it would conveniently be found near her borders. If she needed food, deer and rabbits were funneled through where she set her traps. The wolves and other beasts never bothered her chickens or goats or her for that matter, no matter how far out she wandered. Eilin found clusters flavorful mushrooms whenever she searched for them, and saw fields of wildflowers spring up around her home practically overnight.

Whatever it was that had seen fit to shower Eilin with nature’s gifts had witnessed her care for the woods, and had intentions on returning her affection.

As the sun set, bringing about another cold evening on the brink of winter, Eilin fixed herself a quick supper and reclined in her rocking chair by the fire to finish her mending. Outside her window the forest was swallowed up by the night, only a few slivers of moonlight illuminating the void otherwise.

A knock came at her door, disturbing the silence.

Eilin stopped her mending, and turned her head towards the sound. “Who is it?”

It was already quite late, but she was no stranger to visitors in the dead of night. Most times it would be a neighbor from any one of the towns or farms nearby in need of medicine for a loved one. Other times it would be a lost traveler or a woodsman or a logger, unfamiliar with the area and an easy victim for the Briargrove’s twisting paths. Eilin had made a reputation for herself living alone in the woods, and she was never one to turn down those in need when they came knocking at her door. But tonight—she could tell her visitor was not anyone that needed her help. The knocking was what gave it away, leisurely it was, as if a suitor coming to call. And Eilin recognized this presence, had felt its gaze on her back more times than she could count.

There came another knock, and another. Unhurried once more.

“Oh, just a moment!” Setting aside her old skirt and sewing needle, Eilin rose to her feet and wrapped a woolen shawl over her shoulders. She was ill-dressed for company, wearing only a simple linen shift that was beginning to thin. Beneath the fabric the womanly curves of her body pushed up against the fabric with full, heavy breasts and wide hips. Her hair tumbled down to her hips in thick waves unbound, as dark as a raven’s wing. Eilin’s eyes, golden like honey and amber and the embers in the hearth, darted to the gap between the door and her floor wondering what she might be able to glean from the shadows there. She slipped her feet back into her old, soft-as-butter leather boots and strode to the front door.

As she grabbed the latch, Eilin felt her heartbeat quicken.

A small part of her hoped that perhaps—perhaps—she might finally meet the mysterious presence that kept her company over the years as she established her homestead. Whoever they were, Eilin had longed to meet them.

She undid the latch, opened the door, and peered outside.

“Hello? What is it that you need?” She questioned, her soft voice echoing out into the night.

A young woman, and her mysterious not-quite-human lover; a tale as old as time! Perfect for this the spookiest of seasons too. Thanks so much for reading through my prompt. Feel free to continue the scene in your reply, if this premise interests you.

I'm a descriptive and detailed writing partner, looking for the same. My preferences lie in the 3rd Person POV, and Reddit private messages.

Limits: gore, snuff, piss, scat; extreme violence, blood, humiliation and degradation

Once upon a many thousand bygone moons, a presence was sealed - Deep within the earth it was chained, its maddening howls and malignant curses silenced by hearts of gold and wills of steel. A sarcophagus of light and blood wrapped around it like a cage, a tomb eternal for an unbreakable nightmare. The place was committed to memory and memory eventually passed into myth - Myth to Legend and all Legends are doomed to be forgotten.

What remains these days is overgrown crumbling walls, cobwebs and winding tunnels of weeping dust. With nobody left to maintain the seal, holding the darkness at bay, it would only take a single curious soul to breach that finite barrier. Forced Exile in perfect Isolation has drained the Elder, stripped it of much of its power. But as certain as the whisper of the wind and the glare of the sun, it endures - To rise again, sweeping the world off its feet and down into a new abyssal age of dread and depravity. It is made of patience, that great one from the distant past, but curiosity and anticipation are siblings to worry. What would the world be like? What remained of the old days, of the great darkness that had once reigned? True fear was alien to this being, yet to have all those bygone ages be for naught; If it could feel sorrow, this would have been cause for its sting.

The sarcophagus quakes. A soul most daring and foolish, perhaps both, approaches the distant and forgotten citadel. No guards remain to remember. All it takes is perseverance and a little tempting whisper echoing from every stone of these withered halls. As weakened as the ancient one is, their influence has seeped into every crack and crevice of the crumbled tomb. It can feel a soul of potential approaching. A living key to end the epochs of imprisonment.

Time has not been kind to its understanding of the world. Kingdoms have risen and fallen. Alliances made and shattered in the same breath. Cultures had shifted, birthed and unmade a countless many times. But as that fiendish thing will soon realise, the world is not as helpless as it once was; Vulnerable to corruption and temptation still, yes - But swordsteel is a thing of abundance now; Even a meagre peasant will know to defend themselves. This would not be a war of instantaneous devestation. Slowly the resolve of the thinking breathing beings of the world would have to be chipped away. And for that will to be carried out? A vessel was needed, a servant of choice or taken by force, one about to lay hands on the accursed encasement of the long forgotten sovereign.

---

And with that I welcome you to the Realm of Drakarr, from strife-ridden kingdoms lining the coast, to arcanists mad with power and inventors hungry for forbidden knowledge - It's a smorgasbord of fantasy tropes of all kinds, no doubt spiced up with a healthy dose of lustful indulgence.

This is where you will come in, dear reader that was tempted to peruse these tainted words. Your choice is a seemingly simple one, but one of great impact upon this poor unassuming world. An ancient immortal evil awakens once more, a dark and terrible Overlord of the finest caliber and the question is: Will you be the one to free him? Perhaps you're an acolyte of a hidden cult, their numbers diminished, finally succeeding where all others failed.

You could be an adventurer led astray, or a noble digging too deep, wasting their fortune on dreams of power and fame. Maybe somebody else has done such deeds already and you are simply caught in the aftermath. Disappearances in the border regions, occult activities at night. Rising dead and cackling demons in the shadows. Maybe you wish to escape the growing tide, or seek to join it - By the gods you might even end up as the one to drive it back like many heroes were called to do it so many lifetimes before yours.

To get to the point: What is certain is that this evil rises and its influence is felt in every corner of the continent, which brings us to the lustful side of things.

Kinks for this on my end would be the following favourites: Breeding/Monsters/Magic and Transformation/Mind Control and Corruption/Temptation and Depravity. To be more precise: Almost anything is on the table, as long as it does not infringe on any of the obvious hard limits. I tend to write in a manner that adapts to my partners and their wants, so we can find the perfect middleground for us both. This can be a story of questionably consensual ravagings and most darkest of fates, or it could become a tale of tragic romance in a world teetering on the brink of damnation. Those details come down to what we want to make of it.

Now those limits I mentioned are pretty self-explanatory: Scat, Watersports, Vomit (A poor soul retching up excess cum is always welcome, but once we get to digestive substances, I have to admit I am out - Simply not my cup of tea.), Gore (A vampire or werewolf drawing blood is one thing - Delightful - But once limbs and organs start flying, the show's over.), Underage (If I need to explain to you why this is a decisive limit, read the rules again and log off, for your own and other people's sake.)

Anything else, feel free to bring up and talk about; Which brings me to the most important part: I am looking for someone willing to communicate. My writing thrives on a healthy amount of give-and-take back-and-forth. This extends to the worldbuilding. While I already have a solid idea of the setting and its inhabitants, this does not mean I am not willing to explore different ideas or options. This prompt is both for those that wanna immerse themselves in a pre-built fantasy and those seeking to realise their own ideas.

Now, for all those that dredged through all of my words up there, first of all: Thank you for your time and attention. Secondly, if I have retained your interest up to this point and you think this might be a tale worth telling together, simply shoot me a message with your own kinks and limits, as comprehensive or concise as you want, your own ideas and expectations - Perhaps even a character to send into this world if you've got one swimming around in that beautiful head of yours.

So that I can keep track of it all, make sure to start your messages with [Arisen] or [TWH] - Messages lacking this quality are likely not to receive the attention they deserve.

I am looking forward to see you venture to Drakarr, to either be its ruin or salvation.

Paint the town red tonight! my friend's text lit up before I tucked my phone away, catching my reflection in the exterior of the SUV I'd rented for the night's errands. My long, shiny brown hair in a ponytail, outgrown bangs falling out in the front, leggings, a sweatshirt with the stretched neckline slipping off one shoulder, sneakers. Painting the town, not so much, but painting, on the other hand... But hey, what was that meme, about looking confused in Home Depot to meet men? Who knows, right? I smiled a little to myself as I grabbed a cart from the corral and headed inside.

I'd just bought a place – a small 2-bedroom in an older building in my favourite part of the city – where I'd lived before my last relationship started, then dissolved. It had good bones, but the cosmetics were a little rough – it needed a coat of paint, some replacement closet doors, switch plates... the list went on and on, but I figured it would distract me from the frustration of starting over again. I'd spent the 18 months since the breakup "digital nomading" – but not the kind you see the instas about. I spent a few months in each of the smaller cities and suburbs my friends had decamped to as we approached our mid-thirties, setting up shop in a short-term rental condo and trying to heal myself with their company, test-run what it might be like to live somewhere else.

The company was good, but the city called me back – and here I was, spending my Saturday evening in the quiet aisles of Home Depot, the tinny store playlist echoing through quiet aisles as I browsed paint chips, caulking, and inspected displays of closet doors, occasionally ducking past couples having low, but heated, debates about flooring, backsplashes, or whether or not they really needed a band saw. One of the employees walked past me, hauling something heavy I couldn't bother to identify, and the gentle bulge of his bicep drew my eye like a magnet and I felt a swoony tingle slide down my spine. I hadn't done much dating during my short-term stays in my friends' towns – the odd setup with one of their single colleagues, the spicy one night stand with Anna's brother's friend who'd tagged along to that New Year's party. At first I hadn't wanted it much – had enjoyed my independence – but lately I found myself craving it. Found myself hungry at the way men's hands held the posts in the subway, daydreaming about their stubble against the tender skin of my...

Get it together, I sighed a bit, looking at a long display of closet doors before picking a set. I gaze around for a staff member (maybe the one with the muscles) and, not seeing one, find my chosen doors on the second shelf up. I can do this, I tell myself – the same thing I told myself yesterday trying to wrestle my king size mattress-in-a-box mattress onto a bed frame while it rapidly expanded when I nicked the vacuum back a little too soon.

Standing on a pallet at the bottom of the display to gain a few inches for my 5'3 frame, I manage to wiggle one off the stack just far enough for it to tip down for me to grab... but I don't notice the second door stacked on top of it, and it shoots down and I just barely duck enough as it hits the ground with a noticeable, but not *alarming* clatter. "Shit," I sigh, heart racing, looking around like a kid about to get caught getting into mischief–

Oh. I hadn't noticed you come down the aisle – another customer, your own cart just a ways away, but there you are, your footsteps coming toward me. You take the door I'm holding out of my hands, lean it against my cart, and then pick up the second one, setting it aside. My eyes linger on your hand, gripping the fallen door, the way your knuckles...

"You OK?" you ask, your eyes coming directly to mine with an intensity. Oh. I feel that seductive tingle along my spine, a gentle flush warming my cheeks. "I... yeah, I'm so sorry, thank you for grabbing that, I... was a little ambitious, I guess,"

Thanks for reading! Leaving things a bit open-ended here in hopes that a writing partner sees something here that resonates with them – are we strangers, meeting for a first time when sparks fly? Do we know eachother? Have history? I'm open to your ideas so you can bring something to it that lights *you* ablaze, too. I'm looking for something fun and spicy, just two adults connecting by chance in an everyday environment.

A few things I’m NOT looking for in this prompt: 

• Jealousy or “cuckoldry” type play.
• Demoralizing/Objectifying behaviour – everyone’s an equal participant here. 
• Anything violent/gory/gross. Just not my jam! 

Kinks to explore or play with: 

• Slow burn/romance. I’m a frisky lil biscuit, but still a sweetheart underneath.
• Sneaking around (public or semi-public spaces, spaces where we might be watched or overheard)
• I enjoy some aspects of D/s play, but not as a focus
• Creampies
• Teasing, edging, and orgasm torture

I love to write with folks who enjoy building characters and a world together, a bit of slow burn, and who like to keep a sense of realism in the story. There will be obstacles, challenges, or scenes between the spicy romps, and I hope you’ll like building those parts of the story together, too.

In your reply, tell me about what aspect of the prompt caught your eye, and tell me about your character – what’s he like, what does he do, what does his life look like, and how will we proceed from here?

Matt was tapping his cane down the street searching for his friend Abby's house. She and their other friends Becca and Courtney all in their 30s said they had a surprise for him.

"Darkness crawls across the land, the midnight hour is close at hand"

Matt could hear the lyrics of the familiar Halloween anthem from nearly a block away. He tapped his cane and found his friend's address. He nimbly stepped onto the porch, but then heard the scream which was audio recorded on a mini recorder on the porch mat. Those had made him jump when he was just a blind youngster trick or treating. Now he would get tricks and treats of a different kind.

A week earlier Matt had been sitting around with his friends them reminiscing about wild parties they had gone to dressed up. "I never went to any of those, just never got invited. It's not like I could see anyone's costumes anyways." Matt laughed and then served his friends pumpkin pie. But ever since the three of them hatched a plan, one could almost call it a coven.

He knocked on the door, his costume was Daredevil, Marvel's blind super hero. His brother had helped him with it for a comic con one year. He was greeted by three familiar friends, or were they familiar?

"Goody, goody, he came and he brought the candy. Trick or treat" said Abby. Abby had been Matt's friend the longest they lived in the same city for decades. She had been valedictorian but also the type who liked pranks every now and then when the time was right and the moon was full. Today she was dressed as a sexy schoolgirl, with their old school colours and a short skirt and matching top with her hair in pigtails.

"Season's feedings my succulent darling" a bad Eastern European accent greeted him from Becca, or as she was called on their table top roleplaying days Lady Dracella. She had her face made up, blood red lips and matching plastic fangs, an alluring corset and long black dress. She was the goth princess of many a man's wet dream as Matt would later find out.

"I see him shiver with anticipation" this was from Courtney who today was playing the role of Magenta from Rocky Horror Picture Show. She wore the classic gothic maid outfit and filled it out well. She and Matt had been in a few plays together she loved local theatre, she was the one who introduced Matt to that cult classic, just the two of them, alone, at her house, cuddled up together. Was she trying to tell him something then?

"So why was I invited here, besides the fact that I found all the treats for this evening?" Matt joked, hoping that his intuition might somehow be correct.

"We're going to get you into the Halloween spirit like when we were kids" bubbly school girl Abby said.

"And have a fucking sexy time doing so" continued Becca Dracella.

"Let's do the time warp again" sang Courtney.

Matt was confused but liked where this was going so far.

"You can tell some by our attitudes what our costumes are, but that's just a little taste, we have a fun game" said Abby, slipping into her girl next door role.

"It's not a game, it's a contest of wills and of our feminine guile" corrected Becca.

"I just really wanted to play this part" confessed Courtney.

"So it's a costume contest, interesting," Matt said. "I guess I get to feel everyone's costumes?"

"Full free use, and there's a few more rounds we thought up" said Abby. "Maybe for old times sake we can do the thing high school parties are known for and do seven minutes in heaven"

"perhaps our esteemed judge wants a dance with each of us, of our choosing" mused Becca.

"And we could always take you to other parts of the house for a little private role play time" Courtney pondered out loud.

And there were even more surprises for Matt later, tricks and treats that would make this Halloween unforgettable.

*** Please Note: All characters in the story are in our mid 30s and was only writing about the "slutty school girl" because that's a costume and role play trope. That being said, feel free to pick whatever costumes for your characters the above was just a sample and a taste of the type of story I want us to write.

There are a hundred and one different ways to describe her, very few of them polite. Bitch is a common one, usually fired by the girlfriends of pretty men who had a moment of weakness…or multiple inside her. Convenient is another. Easy pussy when you need it after all, as long as there is something to work with. But the best way to define her is and always has been to call her what she is. A whore. Not whore (sex worker), although perhaps she does that too, but whore (degrading). A woman with an inability to keep her legs closed. And why should she? A man who does it is a stud, a girl who does it is a slut? Societal double standards are a bitch. So honestly it's fighting the patriarchy every time she wakes up in a stranger's bed (or more commonly a beat up mattress), the cum of no less than three men dripping out of her. Every time she exerts her right to her own body by dropping on down by the planned parenthood center because one of her many partners knocked her up again. It's empowering to ply pussy as she desires, and more importantly it's fun.

And what do I want to do? Make her so much worse.

_

Hiya! My craving here is simple. I want to write decadent modern day smut with someone who has a similar appreciation for all things filthy. I want your character to be an utter whore by anyone's standards, and in exchange? I would love to write out her adventures with you. Not just the smut but what comes before and after. A tale of degeneracy that goes beyond just writing characters fucking again and again. I am more than happy to take a GM role for this, so I can play as many pretty men as you would like me to! I am more than happy to indulge you in whatever type of smut that you would like for YC as long as it goes by the following rules:

Your character has control: Not that they are always dominant, but they are having their fun because they want to. They can get fucked up and drunk and what not, but she is never going to be the victim of non-con. I don't mind other characters being the victim of non-con at her hands if that is the way you lean, but sex only happens when she consents!

Your character is confident: She knows what she has to offer. She knows what she is. I am not really interested in GMing for characters who are super nervous and such!

Your character is already corrupted: I am not interested in playing a plot where YC needs to be corrupted into being like this! I would want them to already be this way. We can figure out why through discussion, whether her hypersexuality is because of something that happened or if this is just how she is. Whatever the reason is though, she is like this at the start of the RP already! Note, she can always get worse (as mentioned up above)!

Also basic limits: No toiletplay, no surrealism, nothing banned by reddit rules! Anything else we can discuss on! 

As for the story itself? I am down to do long term or short term! I am also more than happy to include more story than smut as long as the feel of the RP is kept. However, I do have requests for my partners as well! Two of them to be exact!

Firstly, I require literacy! It isn't fun to write and get one lined. Nor do I ask for mega posts that have terrible flow. If you can write 2 solid paragraphs that flow well and have good dialogue? I am happy. If you write 8 with run on sentences, rambling and robotic dialogue? We won't click I am afraid!

Secondly? I require discord for OOC at the very least. I enjoy writing over there as well, but I don't mind doing a doc or something else based on your preference! 

Do this both and you will find in me a writing partner who is:

• eternally patient for as long as you need 
• who will not ghost you
• will provide everything I asked for and more. I love making friends with my RP partners and I can promise you enthusiasm. Moodboards, Memes about our characters, everything! So please, allow me to indulge you!

The password is Languorous, include it and I can promise a response no matter what!

P.S.

Here is a bit of story! Was not sure if it had to be connected to this prompt or not.

Context*: A male siren is speaking to a princess he has been trying to lure into the water for weeks, and an assassin pushes her in so he may dispose of her. The siren saves her instead. Historical Fantasy!*

!What did he desire? A question he had not considered. Perhaps a better one for her would have been did he desire? Did a beast such as he know desire in the way that a thinking person did? Or was his desire closer to that of a beast. To tear the flesh and feast on her soul, the second she trusted him enough to step into the water? He knew no more than she did, and had not expected it to be tested. But a glance of the culprit was all he received, as his body moved into a hunting pattern, activated by the touch of her sweet skin to the water. Any pretense of humanity was tossed aside as all that was left behind was the predator…and the unfortunate in the water his prey.!<

!Or atleast that’s how it should have been. She should have died that night, and the siren should have feasted. It was the way of things, yet the natural order was violated when he approached her, and did not bite down. Oh how she fought though. Each strike against him stoked his hunger, whether she knew it or not. And how he fought as well, against the same hunger, for reasons he knew not. He fought as she fought, both with the same want in mind, for her to survive this.!<

!He was not gentle with her. To not rend flesh from bone, to not leave her bleeding out in the water…that alone was asking much. Anything else would be too much to ask of him. His hand pierced the flesh of her adorned arm, red ribbons marking her as he dragged her off into the murky depths. Enough to taint the surface of the water the softest of crimsons, barely visible in the depth of the night, but indicative that something was going on underwater.!<

!_!<

! Jewels surrounded her. A soft bed of dry seaweed and stolen cloth upon which shiny trinkets had been left. Some encrusted with old dry blood, others rusted, most with some show of age. In a dark cave, lit only by the sun so far away at its entrance. It was a small lagoon, where she would have to swim her way out. Her wounds would have been undressed, sharp nail marks across her right leg and left arm that went deep. Not enough to truly harm her in a lasting manner, but enough that she would bear these scars for a lifetime.!<

!There was not another living thing in the cave lagoon. No scurrying mice, no buzzing insects. All were kept away, by an idol she had been lain in front of. A naked woman, carved in a strange green and blue stone. It was hard to look at, but the woman depicted had been wounded thrice over, and there were offerings made of bone and gold. The siren that had been sure to devour her when she fell into the water, the one who had been begging her entrance into the river so he may feed, was nowhere to be seen.!<

There are a hundred and one different ways to describe her, very few of them polite. Bitch is a common one, usually fired by the girlfriends of pretty men who had a moment of weakness…or multiple inside her. Convenient is another. Easy pussy when you need it after all, as long as there is something to work with. But the best way to define her is and always has been to call her what she is. A whore. Not whore (sex worker), although perhaps she does that too, but whore (degrading). A woman with an inability to keep her legs closed. And why should she? A man who does it is a stud, a girl who does it is a slut? Societal double standards are a bitch. So honestly it's fighting the patriarchy every time she wakes up in a stranger's bed (or more commonly a beat up mattress), the cum of no less than three men dripping out of her. Every time she exerts her right to her own body by dropping on down by the planned parenthood center because one of her many partners knocked her up again. It's empowering to ply pussy as she desires, and more importantly it's fun.

And what do I want to do? Make her so much worse.

_

Hiya! My craving here is simple. I want to write decadent modern day smut with someone who has a similar appreciation for all things filthy. I want your character to be an utter whore by anyone's standards, and in exchange? I would love to write out her adventures with you. Not just the smut but what comes before and after. A tale of degeneracy that goes beyond just writing characters fucking again and again. I am more than happy to take a GM role for this, so I can play as many pretty men as you would like me to! I am more than happy to indulge you in whatever type of smut that you would like for YC as long as it goes by the following rules:

Your character has control: Not that they are always dominant, but they are having their fun because they want to. They can get fucked up and drunk and what not, but she is never going to be the victim of non-con. I don't mind other characters being the victim of non-con at her hands if that is the way you lean, but sex only happens when she consents!

Your character is confident: She knows what she has to offer. She knows what she is. I am not really interested in GMing for characters who are super nervous and such!

Your character is already corrupted: I am not interested in playing a plot where YC needs to be corrupted into being like this! I would want them to already be this way. We can figure out why through discussion, whether her hypersexuality is because of something that happened or if this is just how she is. Whatever the reason is though, she is like this at the start of the RP already! Note, she can always get worse (as mentioned up above)!

Also basic limits: No toiletplay, no surrealism, nothing banned by reddit rules! Anything else we can discuss on! 

As for the story itself? I am down to do long term or short term! I am also more than happy to include more story than smut as long as the feel of the RP is kept. However, I do have requests for my partners as well! Two of them to be exact!

Firstly, I require literacy! It isn't fun to write and get one lined. Nor do I ask for mega posts that have terrible flow. If you can write 2 solid paragraphs that flow well and have good dialogue? I am happy. If you write 8 with run on sentences, rambling and robotic dialogue? We won't click I am afraid!

Secondly? I require discord for OOC at the very least. I enjoy writing over there as well, but I don't mind doing a doc or something else based on your preference! 

Do this both and you will find in me a writing partner who is:

• eternally patient for as long as you need 
• who will not ghost you
• will provide everything I asked for and more. I love making friends with my RP partners and I can promise you enthusiasm. Moodboards, Memes about our characters, everything! So please, allow me to indulge you!

The password is Languorous, include it and I can promise a response no matter what!

P.S.

Here is a bit of story! Was not sure if it had to be connected to this prompt or not.

Context*: A male siren is speaking to a princess he has been trying to lure into the water for weeks, and an assassin pushes her in so he may dispose of her. The siren saves her instead. Historical Fantasy!*

!What did he desire? A question he had not considered. Perhaps a better one for her would have been did he desire? Did a beast such as he know desire in the way that a thinking person did? Or was his desire closer to that of a beast. To tear the flesh and feast on her soul, the second she trusted him enough to step into the water? He knew no more than she did, and had not expected it to be tested. But a glance of the culprit was all he received, as his body moved into a hunting pattern, activated by the touch of her sweet skin to the water. Any pretense of humanity was tossed aside as all that was left behind was the predator…and the unfortunate in the water his prey.!<

!Or atleast that’s how it should have been. She should have died that night, and the siren should have feasted. It was the way of things, yet the natural order was violated when he approached her, and did not bite down. Oh how she fought though. Each strike against him stoked his hunger, whether she knew it or not. And how he fought as well, against the same hunger, for reasons he knew not. He fought as she fought, both with the same want in mind, for her to survive this.!<

!He was not gentle with her. To not rend flesh from bone, to not leave her bleeding out in the water…that alone was asking much. Anything else would be too much to ask of him. His hand pierced the flesh of her adorned arm, red ribbons marking her as he dragged her off into the murky depths. Enough to taint the surface of the water the softest of crimsons, barely visible in the depth of the night, but indicative that something was going on underwater.!<

!_!<

! Jewels surrounded her. A soft bed of dry seaweed and stolen cloth upon which shiny trinkets had been left. Some encrusted with old dry blood, others rusted, most with some show of age. In a dark cave, lit only by the sun so far away at its entrance. It was a small lagoon, where she would have to swim her way out. Her wounds would have been undressed, sharp nail marks across her right leg and left arm that went deep. Not enough to truly harm her in a lasting manner, but enough that she would bear these scars for a lifetime.!<

!There was not another living thing in the cave lagoon. No scurrying mice, no buzzing insects. All were kept away, by an idol she had been lain in front of. A naked woman, carved in a strange green and blue stone. It was hard to look at, but the woman depicted had been wounded thrice over, and there were offerings made of bone and gold. The siren that had been sure to devour her when she fell into the water, the one who had been begging her entrance into the river so he may feed, was nowhere to be seen.!<

You awaken to the sound of birds squawking overhead. At least you think they’re birds, you can never be too sure in the jungles of Lustria. Opening your eyes groggily, you prop yourself up to the same sight you’ve woken up to for the last two months without fail.

Your immediate surroundings consist of a small but exquisitely furnished desk and chair, a mostly empty chest at the foot of your bedroll and a bucket of water next to the tent opening. The navy material of the tent does a decent job at keeping the worst of the sun out, but little to abate the warmth of the surrounding jungle. Covering the opening is a thin curtain which is all the privacy you get. Beyond it you know is a much larger, far grandiose space where your master rests.

And make no mistake, the Archmage is your master, no matter how sweetly your position is phrased. You may have his respect, but have yet to wholly convince the rest of his contingent of your worthiness. The intricately woven piece of silver around your neck is reminder of that. A beautiful work of elven craftmanship in its own right, you nevertheless know a collar when you see one.

For you are currently at the heart of the High Elf encampment currently straddling the border between occupied territory and the Culchan Plains that lie beyond. You have found yourself at the forefront of the elves’ campaign in these strange lands so far from home, for a purpose you are barely beginning to understand. They call themselves the ‘Asur’, but are known more commonly as ‘High Elves’ after their lofty disposition. For a race supposedly in its twilight years, age certainly hasn’t dampened their martial prowess. Nor indeed, their arrogance. Their capacity to simultaneously cast scorn and lust over the ‘lower races’ never ceases to amaze you.

Already you can hear the rest of the encampment stirring. Soon the sound of clipped orders and training drills will fill the air. Time to rise. You know your newfound liege will want to speak with you soon. Perhaps today is the day he finally elucidates you on the goal of this seemingly futile campaign. Standing, your eyes alight on the bucket of water. Best make yourself presentable, you know how the Asur despise uncleanliness.

Before you take a handful of water to splash against your face, you take a look at your reflection to examine yourself. What do you see? [This determines your race as well as how the High Elves initially regard you.]

Human, Empire Provinces

A not unpleasant face stares back. One of Sigmar’s very own, you hail from the resolute Empire of Man. Currently under the reign of the recently elected Emperor Karl Franz, the provinces are experiencing a grand new chapter in their history. Among the most cosmopolitan and strongest nations of the Old World, depending on your home province you’re no stranger to rubbing shoulders with other races on an equal footing. You are probably a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, able to put that human adaptability and grit to good use.

Like every race that is not the glorious Asur, humans are viewed as inferior. The fact that you may be of noble blood, a sterling warrior or a powerful mage in your own right is of little consequence to them; their customs are better, their soldiers are better, and - you guessed it - their magic is better. Consequently, you have a lot to prove if you want to be taken seriously. Expect to be patronised often, but respected in equal measure if you manage to rise to the occasion.

Human, Kingdom of Brettonnia

You have a touch of true nobility about you, don’t you? Something in the jawline I reckon. For you must be a noble scion of fair Brettonnia, the land of chivalry and wine. Lesser churls unfamiliar with your ways scoff at how you strive to conduct yourself with honour and virtue at all times, but you know better than them. Just thank The Lady you were not born a peasant.

You have most likely seen a High Elf before, given the trade routes between your people. That familiarity does not mean they think any higher of you, however. Your talent with a lance and anything horseback is grudgingly accepted, but don’t expect much more deference than that. They will laugh at your quaint ways and how you shout “For Ze Lady!” as you stride into battle, but you do not let it affect you. In fact, you might well be able to match the most arrogant of the Asur with your implacable confidence that your way, is the right way. Expect to be argued with. A lot.

Wood Elf

A pair of pointed ears frame your classically angular face. You’re a wood elf after all, or ‘Asrai’ as your people prefer to be known. For an infamously insular people, you’re a long way away from the Oak of Ages. As one who’s used to traversing across the lofty branches of the forest as well as being a natural tracker, you may well find yourself at relative ease in the jungles of Lustria. Your seemingly innate skill with a bow can put many a veteran archer to shame.

Unfortunately, your larger cousins from across the sea regard you as something of a country bumpkin. While they won’t underestimate you in quite the same way one would a human, they will nevertheless view you as their tree-hugging, uncivilised, cousin in need of refinement. Expect to be frequently referred to as ‘little Asrai’ in parochial tones followed by a headpat, regardless of your inclination, status or lethality. So far, all attempts at snapping back against such infuriating behaviour have been seen as merely adorable.

Vampire

You peer into the water but of course, only the bottom of the bucket stares back at you. Such is your curse. Or blessing, depending on if you wanted the Red Kiss all those years ago. You are no longer in contact with your sire, for reasons known only to yourself. Your will is entirely your own. To those around you, you are seen as an exceptionally pale, if attractive, human. Unbeknownst to them your deceptively mundane frame belies a terrible strength, a strength that could rip a lesser army to shreds if you so wished.

To the rank and file of the High Elf encampment, you are just another human. The highest echelons of the army, however, are fully aware of your true nature. Some give you a wide birth out of fear, others resist the urge to spit at your feet when they see you pass. Most revile you for what you are. You are lucky that the Archmage has a certain fondness for you, otherwise you would be truly dead. You even know of a few who would not hesitate to clap you in chains and dispatch you if they could get away with it. Be prepared for several ‘interrogations.’

Fresh-faced, you swing back the curtain to step into the Archmage’s chambers.

Throughout the camp the name Celanar is spoken with hushed admiration. Acclaimed manipulator of the skies and a sterling commander, he has earned the expedition’s respect time and time again. With his early mastery of the magical wind of Azyr, Celanar quickly attained the position of Archmage despite his youth. From what little you’ve known of him, you understand him to be a noble creature, if at times unearthly in his demeanour. Inclined to action, altruism (well, for an elf) and dignity in all things.

Which is why you are bemused not to walk in on the sight of old astrolabes, strewn potion flasks and a large map of the region spread over the central table, but to a barely dressed elf fussing over a mouth-watering arrangement of food where said map used to lie.

Celanar, Archmage of the Heavens and sometime prince of Saphery turns round to look at you, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that he’s clad in what would generously be described as a half tunic.

You do your best not to gawk. Who’d have thought that under the robes your liege was hiding such a fit bod, right? Mastering your best poker face you instead opt for a deep bow that hides the crimsoning of your cheeks for a moment. (I mean, by the gods, that arse. Even if you don’t swing that way one can’t help but admire a rear like that.)

“Ah there you are. Come, I’ve prepared a breakfast for us. You will forgive my state of attire; I simply cannot stand the heat today.” He greets you with a small smile, gesturing expansively to the table. If he notices your surprise he shows no sign of it. Despite these elves being such prudes around each other, it appeared they had no compunction about stripping off in front of lesser races.

“Please, sit. Now that supply lines have finally caught up we no longer have to scavenge these jungles for food. I thought we might eat together before we begin our day.” He says, all prim and proper as if he wasn’t standing before you one stiff breeze away from in the nude.

You manage to express your gratitude politely, not needing a second encouragement to eat. You couldn’t remember the last time you had eaten meat or the kind of fresh fruit on offer here. Questioning your liege’s near-nakedness could wait.

As you begin to tuck in you cast your mind back to the almost unbelievable circumstances that led you to where you are now. How was it that you fell into the service of the High Elves anyway? [This partially determines your backstory.]

A Debt Of Gratitude

You have since come to appreciate the High Elves’ vehement loathing towards their fallen brethren.

Nearly a year ago from this day a dread ship emerged from the fog, cutting your voyage across the southern straits of the Great Ocean short. What was meant to be a simple journey became a nightmare as your vessel was suddenly set upon by bloodthirsty killers and whooping maniacs. The Dark Elves captured you along with several others where you were taken onboard as slaves. You refused to kneel as the shipmaster inspected her new stock, and received a public lashing for your troubles.

The months that followed would have broken a lesser person. As a ‘reward’ for your charming display of spirit, Shipmaster Veldire took you as her personal punching bag. By day you would toil with the rest of the slaves and by night, you would be left to ‘rest’ in the Shipmaster’s cabin. You nevertheless remained defiant in light of the frequent beatings and abuse thrown your way. Even the Naggarothi brand still seared into your upper back did little more than sharpen your resolve.

Eventually, revenge took the form of a High Elf fleet. Taking advantage of the chaos you led the slave revolt yourself, and were above deck when the Druchii decided to scuttle their own ship rather than leave it in the hands of the Asur. You were later found clinging to a hunk of floating wreckage and taken onboard the High Elf flagship for healing. You declined the offer of safe passage back to dry land, instead pledging your service to your rescuers till their task in these waters was done. Touched by your story, the Archmage accepted your fealty.

They were never able to locate the body of the Dark Elf leader. Perhaps one day you might run into this Shipmaster Veldire again and thank her properly for making you the hardened individual you are today.

A Chance At Glory

You are sure this will be but a single verse in the ballad of your life.

Some might call you a wanderer. Others less flatteringly, a vagrant or worse, a troublemaker. A scoundrel. A rogue. All these titles and more aside, one might say that you are simply a person of renown. It is difficult to separate fact from fiction with you, with so much of your early life shrouded in mystery. You may have set down roots in some part of the world but a life of adventure is what you are truly known for.

There are rumours about you, you know; that you sailed with the Pirates of Saratosa, that you once served under the Dogs of War. Others speculate that you must be a lichemaster, or the unholy offspring of a beastman and human. There are even those in the encampment who whisper that you are merely two halflings stacked on top of each other. There may be some scrap of truth here and there, but that is for you alone to know for certain. Your reputation is a double edged sword, one you have nevertheless managed to wield to your advantage many a time.

Who knows why you were travelling in Lustria. Is it sheer wanderlust? Are you searching for someone, something? No one can say for sure, save your friends and loved ones wherever they may be. What is for certain is how you entered the Archmage’s service in spectacular fashion. Several weeks past when the Asur had just established a foothold on Great Turtle Island, you boldly made your way to the centre of the settlement and announced your presence. You had the audacity to request an audience with the commanders of these legions, and was confident enough to surrender your weapons before being led at spear point to him.

What information was passed between you at that private council remains a matter Celanar’s own spymaster has yet to be privy to, but when you two emerged it was as master and servant. Not even the Archmage is entirely sure why you have pledged yourself to him, but others are sure to speculate all the same. Such does your legend grow.

A Hidden Agenda

You can’t be called a traitor as that implies loyalty in the first place, right?

There are only two beings left in the world that know how you entered the service of the Witch King of Naggarond, ruler of the Dark Elves. One is Malekith himself, the other being you. Not even the Archmage suspects that you are a Dark Elf plant. Oh for sure, some inquisitive souls have suspected or investigated- but they’re dead, lost, or imprisoned. Strange coincidence that. It’s a good thing your fellow assassin attempted to kill you as well as Celanar too, otherwise things might have gotten awkward between you and your High Elf chums. Thank Sigmar for compartmentalisation, eh?

It was hard to gain the war council’s trust, Celanar’s doubly so. You did, after all, saunter your way up behind the Archmage - evading all the guards in the process - in the middle of the night and tap him on the forehead to get his attention. In hindsight, getting bodied by a dozen incensed Swordmasters all at once wasn’t the best way to introduce yourself. Nevertheless, you were able to spare yourself from a swift execution by claiming to have information regarding Druchii troop movements in the immediate vicinity. The information proved correct (if you had a gold coin for every Dark Elf who was willing to sacrifice others of its own kind to sell a lie...) and you were able to keep your head.

From there, you laboured to make yourself a valued member of the Archmage’s coterie. You demonstrated you had a talent for spying and secrecy, and were promptly sent behind enemy lines to procure more information. Your efforts have been a boon to the High Elven expedition, and have been promised your weight worth in gold once the campaign is concluded. Now all you have to do is keep Celanar alive and wait for the signal to strike.

The thing is... honour is a fickle thing. And as much as you hate to grow attached to a target, you really like this guy. You might not care for the rest of the race but you’d dare call the Archmage a right and proper friend. More pertinently, you know full well how fond Malekith is of discarding servants once their use has ended. Whether or not you intend to betray your dread master or grit your teeth and carry on with your task, prepare yourself. If you fail to pick a side and your secret is uncovered, you’re good to no one.

A Quest For Salvation

You now see them for what they truly are and seek to rid yourself of them accordingly.

Throughout your entire life you have never been alone. The four voices in your head have always insisted they had your best interests at heart, even if they argued with each other incessantly. As a child, it was like having four friends with you at all times. Sometimes they came and would speak to you in person, though never all together at once. You never brought it to your parents’ attention. You just knew they wouldn’t understand. Initially you felt indebted to them, especially given how helpful they’ve been to you:

The wolf made you strong. He took you hunting once, and was pleased when you were able to subdue a deer with your bare hands.

The eagle made you clever. It was they who instructed you how to cast spells without the need of a wand or staff.

The snake made you charming. She was delighted when you were able to persuade that blushing farmgirl to grant you refuge for a night while travelling with naught but your tongue.

The raven made you stoic. His comforting presence taught you how to hold your head high and push on no matter the hardship.

You are no longer so blissfully innocent. As you grew up you became more and more wary of the presences. So you dug. You dug deep, educating yourself on your constant companions. The horrified realisation almost drove you mad. Ever since then you have shunned the lure of dark promises from your mind, seeking out a way to truly rid yourself of them. Lustria called to you and you followed. Quite by chance (or just as planned?) you stumbled across the Archmage and his coterie in the crumbling ruins of a long abandoned shrine. Without informing him of the four gods living in your head, you were able to convince him to enlist you as an expert in matters of rituals and summoning.

Whether or not you plan to ask Celanar for help in your quest, you are resolved that as long as you have breath in your body your fate is your own. Just don’t expect your four ‘friends’ to let you forsake their friendship without a struggle. The more you resort to their boons, the more others will notice.

By the gods, how much could change in a year.

You sit and eat in silence for a while, stuffing your face eagerly. You know you’d need the energy for the long day ahead of you. The elf opposite you eats with considerably more delicacy, perfectly poised as he daintily picks around his plate with several centuries worth of practiced etiquette. Evidently he had hoped for a civilised, protracted conversation over a fine breakfast in proper Asurian manner. If you weren’t so focused on inhaling the food into your mouth you’d notice that in between mouthfuls of fruit he was staring at you with an expression of something between mild dismay and fascination.

“Ahem.”

You remember the company you’re keeping and snap out of your food coma induced musings.

“M’hlod?” You ask through a mouthful of food.

“First, swallow. Good. Now listen.” His expression changes and you lean forward accordingly.

“You have served me well during your time here. Of all I trust, amongst all my servants and dare I say, amongst this entire expedition, I have come to rely upon you like precious few others.” His words are sincere and softly spoken.

He continues, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I am pleased that you -” He corrects himself. “- we, have proved our detractors wrong. You should be proud.”

You murmur your thanks, wondering what all this was about. There is no doubt that you have cemented yourself as a staunch ally and invaluable asset to the elves. (You may or may not be flattered to know that the war council considered designating you the camp courtesan to maintain morale. Celanar vetoed the motion, sadly.) Even though you’re an outsider, you have earned a position some Asur would consider a lifelong achievement. What this means for your immediate future and why you’re being praised so now you cannot tell.

“Nonsense, you know I look down on false modesty. Not last night I heard a pair of guardsmen discussing you. Your title in particular. Tell me, and spare no detail, why is it you think that I bestowed upon you that honour?”

What was it that made you worthy in Celanar eyes to keep you at his side? [This determines your official Title as well as partially defining your backstory. Note: Aspects of the following three options are not mutually exclusive and can overlap with one another. Pick one Title to choose what your character will be commonly addressed as.]

The Advisor

You are not known for how you conduct yourself in the cut and thrust of battle, nor your command of the winds of magic. No, the Archmage has come to recognise your most valuable talent is that of an advisor in the purest sense. You seem to possess a rare insight that pays to take heed of. Battle strategy, supply logistics, diplomacy: you do not claim to hold mastery over any of these areas, yet your involvement certainly eases the process.

A glib tongue and quick wit certainly helped when negotiating a non-aggression pact with a local tribe of Lizardmen. The cold-blooded Saurus remained unimpressed by the usual flowery rhetoric underlined with vague threats spoken by the High Elf ambassador. An impasse seemed all but certain till you recognised a way to solve the discordance. It was a surprise to all when you boldly stepped out and began to plead your case, instead appealing to the Lizardmens’ hatred of the Skaven to secure your master’s interests. Once convinced of the practicality of an ally against a shared enemy, it was practically child’s play to arrange safe passage and a trade agreement between your peoples.

Maybe it is your foreignness that makes your input so decisive. You are free of the power plays, the bloodline feuds and the occasional tedious adherence to tradition that can waylay proceedings. Nowadays you are almost a permanent feature amongst the war council’s meetings, sitting at the right hand of Celanar himself. Just last week you were formally appointed an emissary, though you have a sneaking suspicion that’s more the Asur preference to put a non elf at risk of diplomatic repercussions.

While some are disdainful of the level of influence an outsider is amassing, that has hardly stopped you from becoming an increasingly important figure amongst the varying factions directing the war effort. One worth seducing even; it was a shock to wake up to the mildly intimidating Quartermaster coquettishly asking to share your bedroll.

The Neophyte

It is ultimately unclear if you were born with such power or gifted it, but you have a remarkable ability to bend the winds of magic to your will. After you accidentally cast chain lightning in the middle of the Archmage’s tent just from an idle misreading of a left out scroll, Celanar decided to take you under his wing. It was a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one for the young elf whom hadn’t experienced the delight of instructing a non elf in matters of sorcery.

Given enough time and training, he reckons you might even be able to approach a mage’s knowledge of the arcane arts. Your evenings are commonly filled with lectures, practical demonstrations and stargazing under the night sky. Indeed, the nature of your talents have led you to becoming closer to the Archmage than you might have done otherwise. You don’t dare mention it out loud, though you can’t help but feel that he is treating your tutelage as a reprieve from the stresses of campaign.

Bizarrely - though you should have seen it coming - you have earned the enmity of several mages who have been outraged to learn that senpai Celanar has chosen you of all beings to be his pupil. Worse, as your aptitude increases and your prominence in the campaign grows, said mages seem to be more and more aghast at the perceived injustice.

You might have been worried of jealousies getting out of hand if it wasn’t for the fact that the only reprisal so far has consisted of a vaguely worded letter promising something along the lines of ‘a proper hazing to treat your insolence.’ Trust an elf to threaten you with a good time.

The Equerry

You distinguished yourself as a fine bodyguard during the siege of the Chamber of Visions against the Skaven. With supplies dwindling, reinforcements weeks behind and with enemy forces just days away from bearing down on the Asur vanguard, the Archmage and his war council judged it a brutal necessary to take the nearby settlement as quickly as possible. As the High Elf forces advanced under a hellish volley of missile fire and warp lightning, Celenar shielded them from afar with a powerful spell that kept him rooted to a nearby hilltop in order to maintain it.

The Asur had not counted on the ratmen menace striking from below the earth, however. You alone stood by the Archmage’s side as you two found yourselves surrounded by chittering clanrats, his personal honour guard of Hoeth Swordmasters having been committed earlier in the hope they would take the settlement ramparts more quickly. Recognising the impossible task of defending himself against the swarm of ratmen while keeping up the magical barrier protecting his troops at the same time, you swiftly placed yourself between Celanar and the foe and stood your ground.

It is said you slew dozens that day. While Celanar cast spell after spell, you ensured not one Skaven stepped within ten paces of your liege. Eventually realising the folly of their ambush the Skaven fled the summit, wailing and with their tails between their legs.

Your heroics earned you a mark of respect among the Asur. Though the oversight was waived away as a test on your part, the Archmage made sure that your martial prowess was recognised in official capacity. Oh for sure, you may not be able to split a speeding cannonball in half like some Swordmasters boast, but you fight damn well near enough for it not to make a difference anyway. A couple have even offered you a sparring session, though you have yet to take up such an offer. Judging from the wording of their offer, you couldn’t quite tell if they were propositioning you or merely angling for a good fight. Knowing the Asur, probably both. Just don’t expect any elven maidens throwing themselves at you for your deeds. Yet.

You give the beaming elf opposite you your humble opinion. His grin is infectious and by the end of the telling, you’re smiling too. It is good to see him smile you note, as of late he’s been more given to grimacing. Sometimes you forget that in Asur years, he’s technically just a young man.

“Correct, my friend. I wanted to hear it from you first before I tell you of our true mission here. The reclamation of lost colonies is just one part of this campaign, as you have been aware of for some time now. You deserve to know. I can no longer risk your life and have you act as a mere pawn while in my service.” His countenance changes, a hint of tiredness washing over him. (You would be forgiven if your instinct was to hug the momentarily despondent elf. Now, you sense, is the not time.)

He sags in his chair for the briefest moment, eyes downcast for a second before straightening with a look of renewed resolve. The Archmage stands, and so do you. With a word his robes and staff fly to him and he garbs himself in a matter of seconds. There is the manipulator of the heavens that you know. His expression is stoic, a familiar prescience settling over his proud visage.

He makes his way to the entrance and turns around, settling his azure orbs on your collar with an indecipherable look.

“Ready yourself, then meet me in the clearing just a mile south of camp. You will know it when you see it. You wish to serve me truly? Then follow.”

Hello there! Congratulations on making it thus far. Rest assured, future responses won’t be quite the same length. dunks hands in ice bath

What I want to do:

In brief, an epic tale featuring smut and story in equal measure. Your character will have the centre stage as a High Elf expedition, lead by Celanar, make its way through the hot and steamy Jungles of Lustria and beyond for reasons as yet unknown. Expect to explore the ruins of ancient civilisations, fight for your life and be prepared to fuck anything that moves. Action, adventure, intrigue and plenty of lewdness await!

For those of you familiar with the Total Warhammer series you can probably guess the inspiration behind the overarching plot, albeit with some significant creative liberties in the telling. A passing familiarity with the Warhammer Fantasy setting is useful, but absolutely not necessary. Several aspects have been tweaked to facilitate some good ol’ interspecies lovin’, but for the most part the setting will behave as you might expect it to. If you’d like a handy map or visual reference of where our story takes place then I can happily provide.

This story will be awash with sexual content, but it will not be an endless bonk-a-thon of me serving up copious amounts of big tiddy elf gf’s for you to fuck. I mean, okay yes there will be plenty of that but it’s not going to be the sole focus. Ideally, I’m aiming to incorporate a story to smut ratio of about 70/30, maybe 80/20 as the occasion demands.

The format demands this roleplay to be long-term, it's not something that can be finished in one evening and nor I hope, would you want it to. While I will give you choices in a similar style to above, please reply with more than just your choice. One line replies of "I pick option B" aren't much fun for either of us. Although I’ll be writing as the ‘GM’, I’m keen to stress that we’re weaving this lavish tale of smut and adventure together. Cooperation and mutual enjoyment is key!

We’ll go from scene to scene, with us weaving a story around your character which you have sovereign control over. No godmodding here. I have a roadmap of narrative beats in mind but as I can cheerfully say from experience, no need to ruin an otherwise compelling story to arbitrarily make it match it up with what I initially had in mind. The closest thing I have to my own ‘main’ character will be Celanar the Archmage although he can be more of a distant leadership figure at times if preferred. Romance with an individual of your choice (more to be introduced once we begin the RP) can surely be involved, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

And of course, if you fancy us writing this as co-GMs and/or in a less traditional RPG style, that’d be equally welcome.

I'll write both male and female NPCs. If you're not comfortable with a male writing female characters this won't work for you as I don't plan on creating a world entirely populated by men. However, if your character is only interested in one gender, then they won't have to have any sexual contact with the other gender.

If you like elves then you’re in luck as for the initial scene they’ll be mostly all your character will be able to interact with. They are, however, not the only race currently exploring the Jungles of Lustria; you can expect rampaging orcs, cold-blooded lizardmen, villainous dark elves, demonic err dæmons and plenty more potential sexual partners beside. Ample opportunities will be given to explore the Jungle itself and beyond…

Please specify limits (sexual and non-sexual) for your character, such as a kinklist or just any important no-nos. While Lustria and it’s myriad of denizens make for hardly a pleasant place at the best of times, at no point is your character going to be forced into a scenario you’d prefer them not to be involved in. If we write ourselves into an undesired corner we simply rewind time! Snuff, underage elements, gore in a sexual context, vore and scat will always be hard limits for me.

What I want you to do:

1. Kindly take your time in conjuring up your character. Below is an RPG style character sheet to help you with the necessary details. You don’t need to compose your response to me in a specific format at all, but it would be ideal to include everything asked in some shape or form.

2. Style your character in the spirit of the setting. In other words, don’t take the backdrop of war and epic disorder too seriously. This is not the grimdark future of the 41st millennium. Warhammer fantasy can be pretty gritty at times but also fantastically campy. The best type of stories in this setting lie somewhere in-between! Similarly, your character can be considered powerful from the offset in their own right and gradually become more capable over the course of the RP, but please don’t make them too overpowered. Most importantly, have fun with it!

3. Send a reply by PM, plus any OOC questions you may have.

Character sheet:

Name:

Race: Human of the Empire Provinces/Human of the Kingdom of Brettonnia/Wood Elf/Vampire. You are welcome to choose a race not listed within the prompt if you are able to make reasonable sense for why they’d be willing to serve under a High Elf.

Given Title: Equerry/Neophyte/Advisor. This is purely for some RPG flavour, not an archetype your character need adhere to.

Age: Must be at least 18 years of age. Please no ‘she looks 12 but she’s actually a 1200 year-old vampire so it’s okay.’ It’s not okay.

Gender:

How you came to be taken in by the High Elves: A Debt Of Gratitude/A Chance At Glory/A Hidden Agenda/A Quest For Salvation. Again, feel free to compose your own story entirely from scratch or to blend elements of the given choices together.

Description: Include an indication of the overall physicality of your character. Don’t forget to include a brief account of your character’s personality! The more the better, though I always prefer a prosaic description to a boring list of statistics. Lists aren’t sexy.

Background: Any other background details you'd like to include, such as family, motivation, past accomplishments, character flaws and the like. Details can be added or mentioned over time, though please put some thought into your opening bio. The deeper the character, the deeper the story.

Sexuality/Orientation: Important! I need to know which genders you can interact with, and whether your character has a D/s identity.

Your preferred interaction with the Archmage: Sexual/Platonic. This will require a wee bit of discussion to fine tune as there are a few possible ways in which we might want me to play him.

Kinks/Limits:

Any other sexual details: Eg– ‘I adore obtusely long prompts!’

Are you willing to play multiple characters? Y/N (Although we will start with one, if you choose Y you can add a secondary character later on which we can take equal control of.)

Aaand that’s about it from me! Whew. I sincerely hope you’ve at least found some of this hyper-specific call to story and smut enjoyable even if you don’t fancy penning a response down. I’d like to reiterate that I’m fully aware quality writing takes time. I like to write a lot and so should you– if you’re not the type to enjoy crafting a character and musing over how they might act then this isn’t the RP for you.

To this end, please don’t feel a need to rush out a response within hours of reading to secure my interest. Some of the best responses I’ve had to a prompt have come days after the initial posting, so you’re much more likely to grab my attention with something that’s had some thought put into it over a couple of hastily scrawled paragraphs. Unless the flair says otherwise, I’m still looking for partners. Have a great day and hope to hear from you (not too) soon!

Obligatory disclaimer that all characters are of legal age.

Juliette was a journalist with a fierce passion for uncovering the truth, especially when it involved the darkest corners of society. When reports of missing women flooded the city, Juliette couldn’t turn a blind eye. She delved deep into the investigation, determined to uncover the sinister truth behind the disappearances.

Her relentless pursuit led her to a shocking revelation: an underground organization specializing in human trafficking. But what chilled her to the bone was their particular focus—capturing women and selling them at secret auctions to the highest bidder in foreign lands.

With a mix of determination and trepidation, Juliette pursued every lead, risking life and limb to gather evidence against the traffickers. One fateful night, she received a tip about a clandestine operation taking place in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

Armed with her camera and fueled by a sense of justice, Juliette slipped into the shadows of the warehouse, her heart pounding with adrenaline. As she observed from the shadows, her worst fears were confirmed. Men, their faces shrouded in darkness, led terrified women onto a stage, where they were cruelly displayed like mere commodities, the bidding frenzied as wealthy buyers vied for possession.

With a steady hand, Juliette captured damning evidence on film, each snapshot a testament to the horrors unfolding before her eyes. But just as she prepared to make her escape, a sudden blow to the back of her head sent her tumbling into darkness.

When Juliette regained consciousness, she found herself stripped of her clothes and dignity, confined to a cage like the very women she had sought to save. The air was thick with the lecherous whispers of her captors, their greedy eyes devouring her exposed form. Panic surged through Juliette’s veins as she realized the full extent of her predicament. She was now in a foreign land, far from home, destined to be sold at auction as a concubine for a powerful mandarin …

Hello! I’d love to play a prompt where an incredibly wealthy and successful asian crimelord decides he needs a new western flower for his harem to share his life and wealth with! So he purchases an incredibly feisty and beautiful young up and coming journalist nammed juliette to become his pampered, spoiled concubine. She’s so pretty after all. Best not to waste that aspect of her doing man work when she could be living a life of luxury. Once he's bought juliette at auction he’d perhaps use a mixture of his natural charisma combined with his vast wealth and his domination to submit this young tomboy into being his perfect and adorable flower. She is so tomboyish and fierce So with all this attention and pampering She’d be in line in no time. The condescending nature of this man is a must! He’s not overly cruel or malicious. She’s like a pet. A doll. So pretty, delicate and needing to be kept safe! Anybody that dares harm his flower ? They’d have him to answer to….

I've always loved asian culture, especially concerning women and their place in society and the backward view of some men who consider them as fragile and delicate things that should be devoted to serve them.

I would like to make a rp where a tomboy heroine finds herself trapped in a brand new environment that is unknown to her where she will have to learn to adapt to it. The idea is to emphasize her new life as the property of a powerful and intimidating man in the rp for example with the asian clothes she will wear as his concubine or the things she will have to do.

The idea of this rp is really to have the classic pattern of a beautiful woman falling into the hands of a (disgusting), perverted man. I want the rp to have a slow build up and break down so that there is eventually some sort of Stockholm syndrome, I also want the tomboy heroine to be fully aware of what is happening to her but unable to do anything about it, making things even more interesting.

Indeed one of the things I expect from this rp is the slave training and the formation she will receive to make her the perfect asian concubine, obedient, graceful and feminine, in short everything she would have hated to become! Maybe her master will decide to give her a new asian name? Maybe she will be forced to stay still and silent for hours, tied up or in an unpleasant position to learn respect and discipline? Maybe she will be forced Forced to learn to dance or behave like a four-legged pet? So many possibilities and don't hesitate to give me your ideas!

The aim of this RP is to provide an in-depth look at the life of a asian powerfull mandarin, especially juliette, who will become his most prized possession. She will learn to accompany him to major events and to be displayed like the rare little western flower for all to see, making her master proud and even more powerful.

For example, her new master could be having a business meeting with other members of his organization or other powerful figures, and Juliette could enter the room dressed in the attire of an elegant and feminine Asian concubine. She would be adorned in a flowing silk qipao in soft pastel shades, with intricate embroidery of delicate cherry blossoms and cranes. Her jewelry would consist of jade bracelets and delicate, dangling hairpins. Her hair would be styled in an elaborate and graceful bun, adorned with golden pins and pearls, while her face would be beautifully made up with porcelain-like skin, soft red lips, and elegantly painted eyebrows.

As she enters the room, all eyes would be drawn to her, captivated by her exotic beauty and the mysterious allure of the concubine. Moving with grace and elegance, Juliette would approach her master, kneel beside him, and bow her head in submission. The other men in the room would watch with keen interest as her master acknowledges her presence, his hand resting on her head, then gently lifting her chin to look into her eyes.

I'd like to start at the top, before my character ends up so broken and submissive. We could explore her trials and humiliations, following along as she gradually realizes being a good girl is her best option.

In this rp the main themes will be feminization and corruption, the idea is really for me to turn her from a tomboyish, feisty heroine into a sexy, girly asian concubine belonging to the man she hated the most. So for the main kinks of this rp I was thinking of:

So for the main kinks of this rp I was thinking of: -geisha -Force Feminine sexy Clothing -petplay-asian outfit-light Bondage -NonCon fantasies (, blackmail, forced, unwillingly) -race play -slave training -Misogyny -Gags -Slavery -Slow breaking -Orgams denial -Vibrators, buttplugs and other sex toys -humiliation/Ddlg -corset/high heel sexy costume -collar/leashes: anal,cum play, breaking, corruption, makeover, , brainwashing, outfit/makeup/haircut control, Limits: vore, incest, feet, vomit, shrinking. I just like when proud tomboy heroines are forced to dress as girly, feminine ^^

Please start off with a detailed post describing your Mandarin ! His appearance description, his background if you want and a summary of his personality and nature as a whole. And include the words “My precious western flower ” in your reply title so I know you read this all! I rp in posts of at least a paragraph or two, so please be a decent writer too! Hope to hear from you soon! Also send me a kink list please!

The more exciting, vivid, and creative you are, the better chance you have at getting a response.

I mostly rp on Discord !

Haven’t you ever wanted something? Really, truly wanted something?

Not the kind of passing, idle desire that you get when you see a cute pair of shoes in the window, or the immediate thought “Damn, I wish I could look like that” that disappears as soon as your head is turned.

I’m talking about the kind of hunger that sits in your belly, the sort of sensation that starts off as a small seed that’s nourished late at night when you’re lying in bed with the lights off, staring at your ceiling wide-awake as you build that dream, that fantasy inside your mind. The kind of burning desire that buries its claws into the corners of your heart, bright eyes peering up at you from the darkness, a deep, persistent ache that can’t be scratched no matter how hard you try.

Sometimes you can go minutes, days, months without thinking about it, but it always comes back like a weed sprouting in the dark, wrapping its branches around you to drag you back down.

That’s the kind of feeling I chase.

No, I crave.

“All these little people with their little dreams~” I hum to myself in the darkness of my not-quite-physical world. The pool in front of me shines with scenes of someone’s face, little waves rippling through when my finger drags along the surface. The water is warm, almost soothing, but I’m more interested in the person I see inside.

“And this one…” A shiver sparks down my spine, a hungry chuckle escaping my lips. “Oh, there’s just so much want all bundled up in that one little body, isn’t there? So busy thinking about more more more, without even a glance to the present.”

A light sigh drifts across the water, stray hairs blowing into my eyes. Of all the emotions I was created to feel, envy was the worst.

Because I missed that.

The feeling of being wanted. Fingers sliding against flesh, slipping under hems and along collarbones, ragged breathing and flashing eyes. I miss the press of a body on mine, hands cupping my cheeks as a hungry mouth devours me, electrifying heat dancing across my bare skin. The connection, the burning ache, the sensation of fingers lacing with mine…

I miss feeling human.

Jet black eyes turn back towards the surface, towards the figures milling about in the water, unknown emotions glittering in an onyx gaze. There’s only so many ways I can meddle in mortal lives, and none of them good.

“Well, what’s wrong with a little mess? After all, I’m just… making someone’s dream come true?” A soft giggle, the kind that makes your toes curl and your hair stand on end.

Smoke fills the air, a bitter, acrid taste as a sudden wind whips through the space. Long fingers grasp the edge of the basin, and the last thing I see before plunging in is my own wide smile and dark eyes, ominously reflecting up at me.

————

Look, all I’m saying is, if you never fantasized Eris from Sinbad, you’re missing out. That hair? That laugh? Fuck, I’d have doomed the world in a heartbeat.

So! I imagine this to be mostly focused on two characters spinning around, trying to figure out what to do. One of them is an extra-planar being comes down to wreck havoc for the sake of it, but might find out that's she's bitten off more than she can chew! I don't have anything particular in mind for your character, because the direction of this story depends quite a bit on what you'd like to play!

Is she going to have to pretend to be a hapless damsel in distress? Is she on the run from a bounty hunter bouncing from system to system, tracking down an elusive package? Medusa and the blind, washed up Perseus (the Stone Blind version, not the classic version)? A knight in shining armor off to slay the dragon? A dark knight in bloody armor to steal the princess away? Extremely normal people living extremely normal lives?

I just want to see some stir up some trouble, possibly catch feelings, and get bit in the ass when the Find Out phase comes around. Flirting? Biting banter? Fingers in my mouth?

What can I say? Today, I’m a sucker for the mushy stuff.

I like writing stories, I like world building, and I like smut in equal amounts. Role reversal, affection, light bondage, maybe a lil’ bit of breeding… it all depends on the story we write! I’m open to most things as long as it’s not too far on the spectrum of porn logic, being degraded, and non sexual bodily fluids.

So men, women, cum come one, come all! Send me some lovely envelopes because I absolutely loathe that frickin chat system, and let’s get writing~

Los Angeles. Great place to go for guilt-free dining. Con-artists. Embezzlers. Adulterers. Thieves. Those people who scam seniors over the phone. Addicts. Murders. Every block housed a tarnished soul ripe for plucking. Eleanor ‘Elle’ Cavendish was of the opinion the sprawling metropolis was a modern vampire’s variety box of chocolates. Not that she had known what chocolate even was in early sixteen-hundreds England. She drank whenever necessary and at her age, once every few months was sufficient. Sometimes she hunted when a particular human so offend her senses it felt more akin to community service then survival.

The city, like most behemoths of this era, was quick to clean the mess left behind. Overly tired coroners wrote off the death, not as exsanguination, but usually as heart failure. And the faceless machine of government could not be persuaded to investigate by questioning families mired in grief who lacked money or power. Another benefit to hunting the undesirables of society Elle found.

Aside from hunting she rarely involved herself in the affairs of mortals. After four centuries of immortality Elle could no longer endure the heartache of growing close to a human, only to watch them age and die. Forever frozen at the tender age of twenty-two, Elle watched the generations come and go. Separate from them. Watching, learning but never anything more. When self-imposed isolation grew lonely she turned to her own. Venturing out to places that catered to creatures like herself. To the monsters of the night.

Well, not always of the night Elle thought as she excused herself from the path of a heavily tattooed djinn. The morose looking genie clutching a bottle of beer. Shouldering his way through the crowd. Crestfallen after having been turned down by a werewolf bitch. Elle previously found herself doing a round of shots with the wolf in question and found her to be delightful if a bit rowdy. But then the pack were out celebrating a bachelorette. She had extricated herself to find a more quiet corner of the establishment. Ascending the stairs to the mezzanine. On the way she passes a pair of reapers slowly nursing their drinks while discussing work. Ignores the young vampire who attempted to wink at her. To show her disinterest Elle bares her fangs. The young blood-sucker slinks away quickly.

Alone up here Elle has freedom to watch the activity below. She props one elbow on the rail. Feels the thump of the bass vibrating the metal. Sometimes it is just enough to watch. To watch the monsters on the dance floor. Not a human in sight. They would not last long coming into a place like this, and are usually turned away at the door if they even discover the place at all. Elle sips from glass. Thick, iron-rich, young. She sighs as it slides down her throat. Savors the taste with almost erotic enjoyment. Wondering what the night will bring.

~ Hope you enjoyed the prompt above! While my character is a vampire, that does not mean this has to be a vampire role play. The setting is independent of any fandom but I don’t mind borrowing elements of some to include in this story. So werewolves, hunters, etc - let’s talk about what you’d like to see included.

Looking for someone who writes detailed 3rd person narrative responses. With usually two or three paragraphs minimum per reply, depending on what’s happening of course. Of course I return this same level of depth with my own responses.

Please PM only. Chat doesn’t work on app. RP would be through Reddit direct/private message system. When responding please share your favorite song to let me know you’ve read through it all. Also for adults 18&up, and it’s fantasy only. Biggest kinks would be breeding, rough sex, dirty talk, romance/angst, older man/younger woman, some light bondage play, lingerie, semi/clothed sex. In fact I explicitly want to explore breeding. Absolute no’s would be toilet, anal, animal and vore. Usually like to a mix 70/30 or 60/40 for story/smut.

Thanks so much for reading!

The wet, flatulent sounds of oily anal sex echoed through the palace apartments, coupled with the musical moans of the voluptuous elven princess, who was currently being mounted by a lowborn goblin merchant.

"You are beyond beautiful, my princess..." He grunted, beneath the shlurpy orchestra of their sex. "... You have no idea, none at all, what a fucking blessing you are."

In the heat of his lust, the princess hadn't even managed to get her dress off in time, which meant his achingly hard cock pushed on its now oil-soaked fabric, stuffing it into her her asshole with every eager thrust, and wrapping around his length like an accidental condom.

She moaned, whimpered, and squealed with adorable elegance. Even as her noisy butt betrayed her royal image, slurpily spurting oil all over her wholly unsuited suitor, she seemed cheerfully prim and proper.

"Oh fuck!" The goblin slurredly moaned, as his harsh pounding swiftly went from slow and rhythmical, to hasty and needy. His arms clasped around her waist like a seatbelt, he sank his feet deeper into the foothold of soft skin on the back of her thighs, and slumped his body over the arch of her back like he was hanging precariously off a cliff's edge.

The room filled with the sound of his primitive grunts as he writhed spasmodically on top of her. His heavy balls rapidly rose and fell. His grip tightened around her. His feet almost lost their footing as they kicked involuntarily. Before finally, his happy cock belched inside her, oozing out a load of sludgy goblin cum that'd been building for weeks.

It was thick and clumpy, with the grotesque consistency of chunky oatmeal, saved only by a sweet, nutty smell. And it poured out of the princess' ass, wetly echoing as it slapped itself all over the hard floor of her royal apartment.

After littering her back with appreciative little kisses for a while, he hopped down and began getting dressed. He was barely as tall as her knees.

"Will I see you at the unicorn races this week, princess? I heard your father's entered a pegasus."

Unusual scenes along these lines are the kind of wonderful things I love to write, with lots of story and teasing surrounding it for flavour. If you fuck with this kind of thing like I do, come say hey! I'd love to hear your ideas for a little plot.

Kinks: anal only, oily sex, rimming (giving & receiving), gaping, buttjobs (assjobs), ass worship, wet squelchy noisily flatulent anal, unflatteringly slick and sloshy sounds, cartoonishly voluptuous curvy women (I have references if you'd like to see them, realistic or drawn), size difference, huge heavy balls, excessive cum, outrageously messy blowjobs, multiple rounds, creative positions, hairpulling, manhandling, footjobs, titjobs, lactation, clothed sex, exotic outfits (elegant but incredibly revealing), using jewellery in sex, bracelets, anklets, rings, necklaces, bells, beautiful cock rings, switch, subtle little jiggles and bounces, soft smooth skin, flirting and teasing, fantasy settings, plot, and build up.

Limits: scat, gore, watersports (receiving), non-con.

(Example of how I'd like the dynamic and characters to be. Consider this as more of a presentation of the idea. Plus just the idea of the world and how I write.)

Julee lifted the lantern from her knee, casting light to fend off the blackness of the forest. Her horse moved slowly, exhausted from the day's ride. If she were completing a normal task, she'd force the beast to fly up the snowy mountain path like a drake. Today though, she allowed it to move as slow as it wanted. The blizzard was making it exceptionally hard to see, and more focus had to be put into seeing beyond the flowing curtains of snowflakes than keeping her passenger comfortable.

Under seven layers, her fingers and toes were only now becoming numb. The outer protective layer was surely falling apart, having been dampened, frozen, then cracked as the massive woman swung her lantern or drew her spear. As she approached the outpost, and the night grew darker, she seemed to have it in her cautious grip constantly. She knew the difference between the steps of a wolf and deer, and those of people, but any hunter with a clever mind could mask his steps in those of the wilds.

A sword jammed through a tree told her that she was perhaps a mile out from her destination, one of the only Kadian-controlled outposts in the highlands. Julee checked it for blood, a sign that it was unsafe. Hawks couldn't carry messages through the storm, it was up to anyone fleeing to give warning. The blade was clean, and so she proceeded.

The massive beacons on the wall appeared from behind the trees like the eyes of gods above. Julee's horse made a sound of relief. Through the whistling winds of the blizzard, her ears gathered the sounds of bowstrings being pulled tight, and the cracking of the bow's wood. These men were the toughest in the ranks stationed here at Farron's Gate, and so their bows were made more massive than any other. Julee did not flinch, raising her lantern above her head once again and waiving it left and right three times. When they did not duck their aim behind the wall, she raised her spear, and right away the gates opened. At a good time too as her passenger was shuffling quite a bit. Making the pressure in her chest and space between her thighs all the more noticeable.

Kavuro, her spear, was almost more known than she.

Julee dismounted her horse, letting the animal feel rest as she removed her incredible weight from its back. She looked like a giant to the blue-tabard wearing guardsmen waiting just inside the gate, standing far taller than their tallest, wider than their widest, and more beastly than what they hunted. Each step deserved a song of magnificence. The snow gave way like cream on milk left to separate.

"Julee!" One guard called out. "We weren't aware of your coming!" The woman did not reply right away. One gloved hand removed the protection on the other, and as the pseduo-giant came close enough to reach out, she placed her scarred fingers and palm on his face. Her head covering was next to come off, letting her large thick braid and cascade of long locks fall down her back to her waist. Like a mane of a lion almost. Even in the night, her blonde hair was shining like gold. The man was lifted from the ground, head held in her hand like an apple she was about to take a bite from.

"Not a word of this to the Queen Velin." Her whispered voice carried the footfalls of a dozen baloths, as well as the threat. "Take a roll of bedding to storage." She let go of the man, and made her way slowly to the dining hall, where she located a cauldron of soup sitting on hot coals. Without the heat, it would be a solid chunk come morning. She removed the lid and flipped it around, using its curved inside as a bowl as she scooped a day's worth of rations into it. She put the edge to her lips and tipped it, letting the savory meal slide down her throat. In a few minutes, the lid was empty and she was full. She grabbed a bowl from a stack on a nearby table and gathered another few servings, then left.

She moved within the shadows, massive but unheard. As she stepped into the storage room, and confirmed no one was there, she set the bowl down on a barrel and began to strip, layer by layer. As the clothes were shed, her exceptionally bulky frame became more disfigured. "We are alone, my cub." She whispered, and pulled the string holding together her last layer. In her eyes, all she saw out of the ordinary was the head of hair coming from between her breasts. Anyone of normal height would see the rest, a young prince wrapped around her abdomen, head held between both warm sweaty melons.

Julee pulled him from her and set him on a barrel next to his food. He looked exhausted, and was covered in sweat. No doubt it was hot in such a space. He was nearly nude, only in his underwear bleached to royal standards. His length throbbed and pulsed, pushing a stream of precum through the fabric.

To the crowned prince of Kadia, this whole journey had quite a different experience.

Even hidden beneath the layers of fur, padded cloth and smooth silk, the subtle movements of the Kadian prince's body were a thing hard to ignore. Like a living harness, he was left in a fairly comfortable position despite the clear lack of freedom. He couldn't even move his limbs, besides slightly dragging his forearms over her breasts. Pair that any vulgar man from outside of the capital city of Tharya would compare to udders. Heavy, soft, supple. with his hands resting on each for an extra sense of stability, each rougher turn or faster step had caused his fingers to sink into the soft flesh. These long pale fingers of his perfect for playing instruments or wielding a curved blade spent last few hours examining his sentinels body, all while the face nestled between the two melon-sized (if not larger.) orbs continued to offer soft, mass to rest his head on.

Farron's Gate. It was one of the last outposts which marked Kadia's reign over this territory, even in the fierce blizzard, the blue-white-gold banners stood proudly, the heraldry of a lion with a sword within its maw a reminder of Kadian virtues as the people.

Had he seen it with her, the principles they have followed would've flashed in his mind. All the things one opts to follow and believe in, whether they're a prince or knight or a peasant.

Respect your superiors.

Die with valor.

Fight with honor.

Defend the weak and innocent.

Act in the best interest of your king and countrymen.

Praise the gods for all they give us.

But alas, in reality, most of these are rarely followed already, when corruption and profit easily twists these principles, even in a faraway place like this. An enormous gate, with two stone watchtowers built on either side, the troops stationed at the Farron's Gate are men and women used to the harsh surroundings, their eyes, used to watching the entire herds of beastmen watching them back. Wild-folk, with desires and goals beyond the understanding of even the greatest of Kadian scholars. Where one village had been razed to the ground by these savages, another had the people dragged out into the great orgy with the beasts, only to be left alone and unharmed. An enigma, like many things and figures within the great kingdom, a giant built atop the ashes of dynasties and empires that once ruled before them.

Julee was an enigma like that too. His legs, try to stretch again, his heels bump against her thighs first, then, move back to the original curled up position, each pressed tightly against each of her hips, leaving his manhood, pushed out forward, giving involuntarily twitch with every rougher step her steed has made.

It's when she reached for her spear, when the muffled, voice of a guard reached him, that Vizyan's body curled up again, hands as if to make matters worse, clutched onto her tits for his dear life as he could feel himself slipping, that bare back of his sweaty and wet, was like a hot wet rag being dragged against her chest and abs while his drenched underwear, felt more like a flimsy cloth rag than the fine bleached white silk which was supposed to keep him comfortable.

He calmed down, his emerald green eyes trying to look up, still finding himself in complete darkness, trapped behind layers of protective clothes and sturdier replacement for her usual armor. He could hear subtle creaks of the hardened, padded leather she was wearing too, straining because of the second body she was smuggling beneath it. Dutifully following his order too. Where he had moments, expecting Julee to reveal him before the whole cohort of guards as if it was her and his mother's plan to humiliate him from trying to escape again, but she didn't. Even now as they were inside, he could only imagine how the rumored Farron's Gate looked on the inside. Was it similar in opulence and style to the capital? Could he find that each door and window frame, was decorated with gold and silver? While motifs of lions could be found on everything? Goblets, utensils, doorknobs, pillars, furniture. Of course, the reality was far more disappointing with such things, denying the prince the chance to see it, but maintaining a moment of closeness with his guardian a while longer.

He could smell it, the vague scent of a soup or stew, quite salty and lacking the same quality, provided by the Arguran chef, that was spoiling Vizyan in his youth especially. Still, the moment he had heard soft gulps and gentle splashes of the said liquid in Julee's belly, his heart began to race.

There was something about her enormous size, twice his height if not more, that made it all so strangely exciting, even these gulps he could hear so perfectly, the warmth that was landing in her belly, which had only turned his prison into even more unbearable sauna, all of it gave yet another perspective on the difference in scale for them, of how much she had to even eat to maintain her form and energy. He was almost saddened that he couldn't take a look at her belly, to see if the abs were now replaced with a soft layer of fat, impossible of course but, just hearing her swallow something so intensely, did, get his manhood to twitch again, dragging that wet, damp, precum drenched silky underwear of his against the layer of her clothes he was pressed again, his nose too, invited to take in the smell of her sweat mingled with his.

Occasionally, his erect manhood would accidentally push against the string of her last padded shirt, giving Julee a quiet, muffled grunt, as Vizyan was unintentionally edging himself while hidden beneath her clothes. Something he was keen on putting to an end, and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally heard her address him.

Even if, being called a cub, in a teasing or careful way was hardly appealing, as opposed to all the praises he heard before that compared him to a lion that would one day rule all of Kadia.

He was weak all things considered, putty in her arms, despite the healthy body, glistening in the light of the few candles left around. Dripping in sweat and with his legs spread out and stretched to finally let the sore body rest, all while flashing that hard, erect manhood of his, drenched in his precum, wafting that smell of his musk forward, just as his eyes got to look at her face and, her breasts...

"Wonderful." The woman moaned out. Her word choice was another example of the surprisingly delicate language a woman of her background could use. For certain most of the time she used simple, straightforward sentences without grace or fluff. But when she was around the Prince, especially during a time more intimate like this, or even more, she would sometimes only feel comfortable speaking in the small selection of precise words suitable for the golden gilded halls of the Queen, or those closest to her highness. His hair, black as ink which carried words freshly scratched into parchment, was wet and stuck to his forehead. His shirt, already nearly soddened with the sweat, that clung to his skin with the same feel as the night clothes of a sick young man as his chest is covered in ointment or balm, was becoming more tightened and bunched around his sides with each powerful gulp that tensed his cut jaws. The slick arms that both clung to her breast like insect mandibles, working with his whole body in order to pull nourishment, reminded her of the sheer amount of water he must have lost through the ride. Was he dehydrated? Would he last through the night without a pale or bucket of fresh water? She remembered how the prince's doctor had explained to her, when he was ill once before, that soup wasn't a remedy to replace water lost as the body fought off the evil spirits of disease. Going out right in that moment to gather water wasn't an option, as Vizyan was fully focused on the task he generously took on, so Julee was pressured to simply hope what he was taking so ravenously from her would make up for it.

"Let me," The warrior said, leaning down and forward, pushing the bulk of her pillowy chest up to envelope the fragile prince in maternal comfort, and scooped him into her arms. She kicked over a barrel which, by the sloshing sounds, was assumed to hold wine, and sat down upon in as she placed her escort upon a barrel that still stood, shortening but not removing the extreme difference between them. Here, in this half-cradled position, Vizyan could let his pillar-width legs hold the weight of each breast, leaving his jaw to coax the flow of creamy sugar out of her. Julee felt like a prize cattle, smelling of milk and musk, sitting with pleasure as a tiny pale man relieved them of this unique stress. On the underside of her tanks, she felt his royal stick pressing like a blacksmith's steel rod into her. She wasn't entirely surprised. Every man in her own village had wanted her, to fill her and mate with her. She drew the eyes of each man, as rare as they were, in the royal guard, even as they sat among dozens of women. The prince was having a normal, primal reaction, typical of everyone, but she could tell this excitement was special because of what they were doing.

The prince would have to come off of her bosom eventually, his mouth clouded partially white, like his teeth had melted over his tongue. Julee saw the milk that had run down his neck, soaking the collar of his taut shirt down to the level of his nipples. The woman's right side felt much lighter, much more agile, like air now that she had been nearly fully drained. But still, the left side had to be dealt with. "One more side, please." She asked, holding her apple-sized nipple to the boy's face, even as he let out a belch larger than life from what he had already downed, and his stomach looked beyond full.

And it was merely the first more discreet pit stop of their journey to Maccabia...

(Second example.)

Rugna came to a halt upon hearing the guttural scream. She’d been running for hours, a daily exercise, but it was rare to hear someone screaming unless she was doing the killing. She dashed toward the sound, then slowed and lowered her large frame down into the undergrowth. Forkorn Orcs were tall and easy to see, when they stood, but down in the bushes, no one ever saw them coming.

She came to a clearing in the rough, arid forest. A dry husk of a meadow housed a human caravan, a large one at that, each carriage adorned with bright blue flags and banners on each side with two men dancing around by the largest one, swinging their tiny little swords at one another. Humans and their dinky swords. She grinned.

Watching the battle proved entertaining. The combatants were terrible, but that made it fun to watch. They were evenly matched in their horridness. A swing into a stumble, followed by a cowardly retreat from the man in half-rotten leathers. The man in thicker chainmail armor snagged his cape on a gnarled branch, pulling him off balance. The loud shifting of the plate and his own curses quickly announcing the man's vulnerable state.

Mercifully, a man in dark leathers and a mask covering the bottom half of his face stepped out from behind the prancing horses to stab the man with the torn cape in the back. Once on the ground, the two men stabbed the downed man repeatedly. Cowards. Unable to defeat their opponent on their own.

“Fuck you, you Kadian shite,” the man who’d been fighting shouted at the dead man. “Blimmy, Sag, he nearly tore me ear off!”

“Calm down.” Sag wiped his blade on the dead man’s cape. “Fucker’s dead, you ain’t. That’s all you need to concern yourself with now.”

“And where were you? You could have come helped me at any time.”

“We was busy with the others,” Sag shouted. “They fucked Rodi and Pete.”

The other man paled slightly. “Gone? By the gods, whoever’s in there had better be worth the mess!”

“I’m sure he will be,” a new man said as he entered the clearing. A tall man, for a human, still not as tall as Ragna, though maybe he could reach her shoulder’s if she slouched. He slid his thin sword into a scabbard at his hip and knocked on the door to the caravan. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. It’s safe now. All the bad men are gone.”

That earned him some laughs from the other two men along with four more who came out of the woods and into the clearing.

“I don’t want to,” a small, timid voice replied from inside the well-crafted caravan. The banners around it, depicting that of a lion's cub, a particularly unique coat of arms, especially this deep in the orc-controlled territories.

Rugna had only seen two human caravans before, one of a much smaller size and poor quality that held four people in a cramped little space, and another larger one that wasn’t quite as large as the one in the meadow but no less ornate. That had held one of their so-called lords. Wealthy landowners, as Rugna understood them to be. Whoever was in this caravan, with all its pristine carvings and gold inlays must be of even higher importance.

“Oh, I know you don’t want to,” the tall man said. “But my dear Prince Vizyan, you must come out. Or else we’ll have to come in, and if we come in, you might die. And we wouldn’t want that, would we boys?”

The men laughed and agreed, one even saying, “That’s right, Reggie. Wouldn’t want to hurt the lad.”

Reggie… Rugna recognized the name, but from where?

“If you don’t come out by the count of three, we’re knocking this door in, and we’ll be stabbing you till you’re as cold-dead as your little knight out here.” Reggie backed away from the door. “One.” He pulled his sword free. “Two.”

Reggie and the Renegades! Human bandits that had taken their exploits far to the north. So far north, they were encroaching on the orcish tribes territory. But what was the prince doing all the way up here? That would have to be answered later, and the only person who could answer it was about to get killed.

Rugna leapt to her feet, her axe slicing through one of the men, shoulder to hip. His two halves fell to the ground before the others even had a chance to turn around. Shifting her weight and momentum, Rugna brought the weapon up, the blade of the axe slicing into a man from groin to throat. It didn’t cleave him in half, but he burst open like an over ripe sunmelon.

“Kazaks balls!” Reggie cursed, dodging behind one of his other men.

The dragonbone axe pulled down and the reverberation of shattering bone slammed into Rugna’s hands, a well-known feeling by this point in her life. Two more sweeps saw the other hapless men sundered to the ground, leaving only Reggie.

Rugna lunged at the man, causing him to fall to his rear. She didn’t attack, instead, savoring the fear rolling off the man. “The ground thirsts and drinks its fill this day.” She tossed her long, thick braid back over her shoulder. It reached all the way down to her butt, though she left the top of her head unbraided so that her hair gave her a wilder appearance. It did well with elves and humans. “Let’s give it some more.” She gave him a crazed smile and lifted her axe over her head.

Reggie threw his sword to the side and lifted his hands up in surrender. “Look, I’ll give you whatever you want. I have gol—”

Her axe crunched the man’s skull, shattered his spine, and sent fragments of his ribcage flying before the massive weapon impacted the blood-soaked ground.

“I have what I want,” she said in Orcish. If the prince knew her language it would be a shock to her, but even if he’d heard her, there was nothing he could do to change what was happening.

She walked to the caravan and pulled the door open, snapping the soft metal henges. A shriek and a whimper rang from inside. She stepped up onto the carpeted flooring, a strange sensation to her toes, though not unpleasant.

There, huddled in the corner, on a plush couch fashioned into the wall of the caravan, a young man gripped a pillow as he shook in the fetal position, burying his face behind the soft satin, as though that would erase the world he didn’t want.

“In orc customs, when one’s life is saved, that person owes their savior a life debt. You now belong to me.” Rugna’s green skin turned near black in the dark of the caravan. What little green her hair held hid in the dark, though nothing could hide the glow of her red eyes.

The young man shook even more, whimpering some kind of prayer into the pillow.

Humans. They scare as easy as fish in a pond. She sat next to the prince and reached a hand over onto his shoulder, a soft touch. “There, there, little prince. You are safe with Rugna. I am the Garak tribe’s most renowned warrior, and I will see you home.”

That brought the prince out of hiding. His emerald eyes filled with tears but also hope. “R-Really? You’ll… take me home?”

Rugna nodded and stroked his golden hair. “I will, as long as you show proper respect, fear, and adoration for your savior.” A grin spread across her face. “You belong to me, little prince. I claim ownership and cast my protection over you. As long as you are obedient to me, I shall defend your life and your honor.”

The prince nodded. “O-Of course. I swear on my family name. I shall obey your every command.”

Rugna’s grin turned wicked. “Good. Now get on your knees and lick my feet clean. I’m in need of a bath. I’ve been running this morning, and you took me off course from my usual dip in the spring. Don’t worry. I didn’t get any blood on me.” Rugna pulled the leather strap at her back, releasing the knot to allow her breasts free. What little gold she owned, she’d fashioned into rings that pierced her brow, ears, nose, belly and of course, her large, dark green nipples. “It’s just sweat and a little grime you’ll have to contend with.”

She leaned back on the couch, letting her arms rest on the smooth fabric, the hair of her armpits catching a small but blessed breeze through the wood-slatted window. Running her fingers through the top of her hair, she smiled down at Prince Vizyan who moved ever so slowly down to the floor on his weak little knees.

“Work your way up and I’ll even give you a kiss for a job well done.” She gave him a wink, and added, “but don’t skip my ass or pits, little prince. I expect you to take your time on my extra sweaty bits.”

The prince swallowed hard and nodded.

It's been many months since that fateful meeting and Rugna was still by his side. Different, in some ways, closer, gentler, through the months of interaction the sickly prince.

Even now. On the run, from the crown itself just to save his life.

Their arrival at the Brass Boar Inn wasn't uneventful. Even now, wrapped in so many furs he could still remember the cold touch of the steel dagger placed against his throat. It happened quickly, with Vizyan, secured firmly against her chest, shielded from the rain, as the heat of her body and wet, slaps of her naked feet moving across the grass reassured him they were completely alone.

Even that didn't last, as thudding of hooves, multiple riders, were chasing after them, interrupting Rugna's leisurely walk through the Agvald Woods at night. Normally no fool dared to venture into them without an escort, even more so, a band of riders wouldn't do that normally. So-

He could hear her harsh, deep rumbly voice mutter something in her alien tongue, his body pressed closer to her flesh, could feel the tension of her muscles preparing for the incoming attack.

To flee the capital initially they had used the services of one of the Barossian merchant caravans that frequently visited the Capital city of Tharya. It went without a trouble yes but now that the word has spread, back at home about the prince's disappearance, it wasn't too surprising to think the merchant that had offered Rugna a ride connected the dots.

Vizyan was unaware of that, but it was worse, rather than King Zaphiel's royal guard, what came after them were mercenaries. Mercenaries aiming to kill the massive orc through any means necessary. The familiar feeling of her body changing poses to draw her two handed axe only caused him to hold his breath, the stampede of rushing horses grew closer only to be interrupted by a loud THUNK as the very weight of the blade in itself was enough to connect with first of the few riders that attempted to as Vizyan could only assume, strike her.

What he did not expect to hear, was the sound of a breaking glass, and sudden feeling of heat against his back.

The rider was holding a bottle with a flammable substance inside. Causing some of the mud beneath it to bubble ominously as other mercs shouted orders preparing to circle and slowly close in on Rugna.

Before Vizyan knew it they were retreating into the woods. What was minuts of dangerous chase and Rugna's hunt on his pursuers, to the princeling lasted only seconds as he soon felt blood dripping from underneath his fingernails. His body slumped weakly against her, sagging against the rags that made up most of her clothes as the prince simply blacked out, suffering one of his episodes, his body growing cold, while Rugna was forced to ignore his critical state, in favor of defending herself.

Next time he had woken up he was no longer in the safe, dark confines of Rugna's clothes, but cold grass and the uncomfortable roughness of a scaled armor digging into his back. With muddy ground of some distant clearing scattered in massacred bodies of the dead mercs that had made the mistake of not only crossing Rugna, but even daring to try and use Vizyan as leverage to spare them.

The man had held his unconscious body moments prior, had his head crushed between the great Orcess's palms.

No words were exchanged, Vizyan simply threw himself into her arms as she tossed the body of the mercenary away, not before long, he helped brush her palms off blood, whlist failing to properly clean her claws.

Not that it mattered.

That's how it felt as they entered the Brass Boar, after both of them hastily looked over themselves, hurrying for their next pit stop.

They had to get to Montera, the port city, and from there, hopefully, find all manner of necessary herbs and goods for Rugna to work on a "cure". He believed her, after experiencing his improvements first hand. He nearly bled out the last time she stopped his episode, feverish and light headed, the promise of curing him just...won him over. He didn't want to perish trapped forever in his quarters, and thanks to her he already got to see more of the world outside of the castle walls, the wilds he had seen with her, small towns and villages scattered around the lush green lands of Kadian Kingdom.

All until now. He held onto her massive hand- No, just one of her palms, with no intention of letting go as they approached the doors to the Brass Boar. The sign depicting the animal, crudely painted with cheapest brass-like colored paint squeaked eerily while showing the sign of its age and chip, it swung uninvitingly as the faint glow of orange light was visible through the dirty stained windows of the inn also didn't inspire confidence. The inn for whatever reason, so far from civilization...was packedl. A bad sign, given what just transpired but they had no other choice, his hand was worryingly cold against her massive palm, there was no option to sleep outside tonight. Especially not so deep in the Agvald forest. Inn's by the main road had it rough as it is. Wandering into the wild was just asking for trouble.

Still, he waited, looking up at Runga before finally forcing himself to let go. Watching as she ducks to enter the tavern, slowly scanning the room. Dressed in thick unwashed pelts, she towers over the fur trappers who occupy this remote roadhouse. A pitch-black braid, draped down her backside all the way down to her rear and hips nearly as wide as the door. He watches as the feathered earrings on her sharp ears swish as she scans the various trappers and even potential poachers spending their night here whlist her nose flares as she takes in the reeking tavern's unwashed occupants. Piercing eyes of pure red, rake over the present men before she judges them no threat to her charge and steps aside to let the small and slender charge enter.

As she does, turning to allow him to step in unhindered, the jangle of the thick and thin gold chains beneath marks her to everyone here as a bonded mercenary/bodyguard - indentured to whatever lord or lady she accompanies. This, along with the massive two-handed axe across her back promises a quick end to anyone who dares commit violence or disrespect to her or her companion. But disrespect is perhaps warranted by her inhuman features, by the limbs the size of logs and massive feet that drag across the floor leaving behind trails of mud and helping to clean off her feet. They all pay attention to something else though, all manner of marauders and thugs sitting here, care not for her weapon or her bulk, their eyes glued to the titanic shelf of breasts pressed under her rank and sweaty cloth. Still as Vizyan follows, her scowls and growls, baring sharp tusks, discourage any of the patrons to even try and glance at him.

It was smart, to pretend at times she was but a shallow brute, few times already many were surprised of how fluent she was at Kadian tongue or how quickly she could turn the conversation around, now it was best to keep that information to themselves. The word of the prince's Protector kidnapping him already must've spread given the attack they suffered moments ago. They needed to play it safe.

Her feet moving across the room make the boards of the roadhouse groan as she shifts her weight from one pillar-like muscled thigh to the other, leaving Vizyan to follow with his eyes down, embarassingly marvelling at the glistening of her massive soles each time she lifted one of her feet to take another step, only to then entertain him with the shine of her toenails, reflecting the faint light and at times even spreading or flexing as if to tease him for his gawking. She points to a table tucked in the corner, and with a basso rumbling tone speaks out, "You are in my table." She has never been seen before, but her presence is an implied violence that clears the way even among these hardened men.

"And who the fuck are y-"

Vizyan flinches at the sound of her fist slamming against the table, the very hand massive and larger than man's hand, reassuring the trapper this monster could grab his head and pop it like wet cabbage if she wanted. He leaves the spot without another word, letting the two sit down for a moment of respite.

"I'll get us food, stay here my liege." Her bassy voice rumbles again, as Vizyan stays put, waiting for his protector's return.

I'm gonna keep the OOC side of things nice and quick.

• I'd like to write with someone interested in Long-term and Multi-paragraph approach to responses. So if you don't feel like that's your forte, I'm gonna have to say no. :(

• Before jumping to the RP I'd like to talk things through for few details regarding the world and characters. Their relationship, how long they knew one another, and even the mental state of each.

• For kinks and limits. I'd say the less limits you have the better, even if some extreme stuff won't make an appearance. I'm into a fair bit of stuff including rather nasty things, but I don't need them in RP. Only things that are a must are obviously the stuff already presented in the example, burly, massive motherly protector ;y Everything else is up to discussion.

Rough list of the kinks is here, those more extreme or just not up your alley aren't necessary so feel free to say if you'd like to have nothing to do with x or y. Same applies to me. As I have limits of my own even if it's only few things.

Kinks: Amazonian women, either them being dominated or them dominating their partner; breeding; anal, and feet, face sitting, switch relationships, romance, cuddling, flaccid play, inverted nipples, playful wrestling, sweat, pubic hair (armpit/crotch), monstrous characters, musk, giantess, frotting, facesitting, grinding, hotdogging, piercings, tattoos, bodypaint, worship, mutual service (blowjobs/handjobs etc.) scars, addictive cum (not hypnotizing kind, just more of a satisfying type usually just for futa characters.) , foreskin play, small dom big sub/big dom small sub, futanari, MILF's, very curvy/well-endowed characters, non-con/abuse of third party character's/npcs, Herbos (Himbo but for futa/female character.), mommy/big sis personality, gentle giant, doting character paired up with someone sickly, ugly duckling trope, chubby but strong/big women/futas, hyperspermic futas, fat grotesque futa cocks, big testicles, huge breasts, thick thighs, Venus body, dark skinned/tanned characters, Foodplay (Kinda related to chubby characters and more extreme fetishes) -> (More extreme kinks from vore and toilet play are fine too but have to be discussed, and also aren't a must/needed to those against them. I'm into some of them and I'm indifferent to others.)

Not really kinks but writing preferences: Third person, multi-paragraph responses from both sides. (4-6 paragraphs minimum or more.), mutual worldbuilding, grim bloody worlds/themes, adventure/story themed or slice-of-life RPs.

Limits: Abuse of main characters, Underage, Cheating, Cuckold, ntr.

• If you want to message me. I would appreciate some sample of your writing. Or even introduction of the character you'd like to play as Julee is a great character from an RP that died long long time ago. But if you feel like her character works feel free to roll with it as well. But still some sample of your writing would be appreciated. I'm happy to share a google doc link with plenty of my own in private if you reach out. Or feel free to take a look at my other prompts...even if first few pages will be dominated by one I'm constantly/desperately posting to find someone for ;y.

Finally if this idea isn't up your alley, or you're not too into playing muscly gals, here's a prompt looking for someone to play a yokai type of character and if you're fine with muscly gals then this prompt's also open.

“Oh Gods, yes.”

It was impossible to escape the sounds filling my bed chambers - moaning, whimpering, begging. I tried to seem unphased as I watched in the mirror as your hand wrapped around a tender throat of the red haired elf; her moans instantly becoming more muffled and yet even more desperate. Your very own grunts betrayed the pleasure you must have felt in that moment, and yet as I moved my gaze from the tin of lipstick on my vanity onto the mirror I met your eyes just for a second before I swiftly looked away. 

After you and your forces had overrun the palace walls and ultimately not only took control of the capitol but also won the war things had changed significantly. My father, the king, was either rotting somewhere in the cells or already dead - and I was confined into my own bed chambers. 

Even though your uprising had defeated the royal military you were apparently clever enough to know that you had to do more to truly solidify your reign. The elves were a traditional folk, and you had no interest in crushing a rebellion every couple of yours. No, to begin your reign as the king not only of your own kind but also mine you had to at least involve some of our customs: And marrying me was your ticket to becoming king; may it come from your uprising or not. 

But apparently, forcing me into this marriage wasn’t humiliation enough. No, while you may to be able to touch me before marriage without interfering with our customs, you could clearly turn my handmaidens against me by putting them under yourself. Which you had done, night after night, thoroughly right here in my very own bed. 

And finally, when the torture was over, poor Zara lay breathless and panting on my bed as you moved over towards myself, naked as the day you were born, with that damned smirk on your face as you stood behind me for a moment. I stayed sitting on the little stool in front of my vanity, trying to appear as unbothered as possible. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, princess.” And with that you finally left, and I felt like I could breathe again. 

Hello dearest degenerates, today I am looking for someone to play the leader of a rebellion who is on the brink of cementing his new standing as the king. So far I envision him as a human while my character would be an elf, but I’m very open to any changes.

While I am open to a multitude of different angles for your character, I would like for him to not simply be a cruel man for the sake of being cruel - I envision him to be someone who has led the rebellion out of necessity rather out of spite, and while there might be some questionable angles to his motivations I prefer a somewhat grey character. He’s not the kind-hearted prince out of a fairytale, but he isn’t simply a villain either. 

My character herself would be morally grey as well. She’s feisty, strong, arrogant, selfish - but with a high sense of duty and loyalty as well. Not quite a damsel in distress, but obviously also not a classical fighter. She’d probably try to kill your character on the wedding night; but she won’t have the tools or knowledge to be actually successful. 

So: Do you love to write about complex characters, complicated love, rivalry, obsession, the thirst for power and indulge in all the dark and gritty parts of humanity? Then send me a message and see if we match up. PM only, no chats. I'm looking for creative, literale writers. Unfortunately, I will have to ignore low-effort messages.

Kinks: literate writers, rapid-fire-responses, male-dom/female-sub, forced orgasms, age-gap (younger female, older male), size-difference, bbc, breeding, bondage, rough sex, anal, deep throat, doggy/prone, slight degradation, spanking, slut-training, big cocks

Limits: Bathroom stuff, death, gore, feet, underage, anything too extreme or disgusting

Arrest Report XC-241-B, 11/11/2237

Suspect was found loitering around an active crime scene, which at the time of the writing of this report is believed to be the site of a murder. Suspect was questioned at the site, and was ultimately arrested after repeated refusals to cooperate with investigating officers.

Having found no handcuffs large enough to suitably restrain the suspect, arresting officers were instead forced to use zipties to restrain the suspect's wrists. Suspect was then placed into holding cell 3, wherein she immediately broke out of her improvised handcuffs in an apparently effortless display of strength. As of the typing of this report at 23:32PM on 11/11/2237, facial scans of the suspect have provided no near match in the Federal Citizen Database. Suspect will be continually monitored until such a time comes that a positive identity match is confirmed, at which point the subject will be taken through a third round of interrogation. What follows is official documentation approximating the suspect's appearance and characteristics.

Name: Refused to answer.

Age: Refused to answer. Most likely in the range of mid 20s to early 30s

Race: Minotaur

Height: 8'1"

Weight: 256kg

Appearance: Suspect is heavier-set, possessing an extremely tall and wide frame. Hints of well-defined musculature are occasionally visible beneath layers of brown fur and a few inches of fat. Suspect has short, wild red hair, blue cybernetically-enhanced eyes, and a pair of sleek, black horns flanking the side of her head. Suspect is also exceptionally well-endowed, striking an imposing hourglass silhouette, though exact measurements are not possible at present due to the suspect's ongoing refual to cooperate. Upon arrest, suspect was found wearing a black tanktop and blue denim shorts.

The following is an excerpt of an audio transcript to be attached as supporting documentation to Arrest Report XC-241-B, dated 11/11/2237.

Detective Martinez: "Okay, uh, let's try this one more time. What's your name?"

???: [Inaudible]

Detective Martinez: "What was that?"

???: "No comment."

Detective Martinez: "You sure do love saying 'no comment', don't you?"

???: "No comment."

Detective Martinez: "Should - [chuckle] - should've seen that one coming. What were you doing, uh, [papers shuffling] sniffing around an active crime scene?"

???: "No comment."

Detective Martinez: "Y'know, not saying anything just makes you look even more guiltier[sic]. Believe it or not, I'm actually trying to help you out here - just give me something to work with, else I'll have to assume you've got something to hide. Sooner or later your name's gonna turn up in the database - you'd just be saving us all a headache if you told us now."

???: "No com-"

Detective Martinez: "No comment, yeah, I figured. Maybe your, uh, state-provided attorney will have better luck getting something out of you."

Detective Martinez rises from his seat to leave the room [22:46PM].

???: "Wait."

Detective Martinez: "Oh? Got something you want to say?"

???: "Do you guys have any larger chairs?"

Interview terminated.

Hi there! Hope you enjoyed the above - it was more flavour text than anything, setting the general vibe and tone of the world (and the character I intend to play) without setting too much in stone right off the bat. Essentially I'm going to be playing this extremely tall, strong, and mysterious minotaur lady who's found herself in a spot of bother with the local law enforcement after being caught loitering around an active crime scene. The idea is that this crime scene is actually the site of a murder of someone she knew, and naturally is taking it upon herself to solve this crime and bring the killer to justice. Details can be hashed out in DMs or over on Discord, of course - but for basic headlines, expect a gritty cyberpunk world full of danger and action and intrigue, where things may not always be as simple as they first appear!

A few things about our minotaur: her name is Val (full name Valerie; call her that at your peril), and as mentioned in the title she stands at a whopping 8 feet tall! She has a short messy tuft of bright red hair atop her head, flanked by two sharp, black horns, under which sit a pair of piercing blue eyes that have been cybernetically enhanced for improved vision and tech interfacing. She is covered in a layer of fluffy brown fur from head to toe, with a patch of lighter beige fluff extending from her neck, over her abdomen, down to her lower thighs. She is also extremely well-endowed, with huge breasts that are barely restrained by the tanktops she habitually wears, a set of suffocatingly thick thighs, and an overall slightly chubby frame that is only bolstered by the clear muscle she has underpinning those generous layers of womanly fat. She certainly cuts an imposing silhouette!

I've left your character entirely ambiguous as I'd love to hear your ideas! Are you a cop in the station that takes a shine to the mysterious minotaur and ultimately decides to lend a hand in a bit of vigilante-style investigation? Are you a fellow incarcerated suspect from the next cell over with a plan to bust out of the joint? Or hell, something else entirely? I can't wait to hear what you have in mind!

Important: Please don't send me any Reddit Chat requests or one-liner messages, they will be ignored. Thank you!

I've been playing a lot of Eldrich horror games lately. Cultist simulator, Book of Hours, Sunless Skies...

I'm looking for someone else who is not only interested in these games but the themes in general. I want to have a bit of fun in writing and roleplay together with these themes and explore the more sexual aspects of these dark and ageless cults. This could include some bad ends but only as long as we carefully talk about and outline them first. The detail is important. I'm looking for someone who loves to write and communicate, figure out scenes to create together, write them, and then nerd out and have fun for a while.

This wont be one long term story but more a collection of various shorter stories. Between them we will enjoy our time together planning the next one and having fun. So I'm more looking for a collaborative story-teller who is as interested in these themes as I am, and wanting to talk about them and make sure we have a lot of fun together!

Of course my interests go further than cults, this is only my current interest. But really other similar storytelling themes fit well. The fae, demonic influences, and other fantasy storytelling tropes are more than welcome, but only if you're willing to put in the effort with me to build out the lore- and then fuck in it.

I'll post this again as the rules allow, but as long as this post is up without an edit I am still looking for someone to chat with, so send me a message and lets see what happens!

A sample of my writing is below:

The city was always alive. Somewhere, at any time of day, someone was having a party, or working a shift, or hailing a cab. The towering apartment complexes glowed with a hundred tiny window lights from miles away, and radio towers blinked their slow red eyes up near the clouds. The stars were rarely seen anymore- the heavens were swallowed by the ever hungry light of metropolis.

The streets were choked with vehicles at every hour- more yellow cabs later at night paired with long lines of transport and delivery trucks getting venues ready for the next day. The sidewalks were stuffed in the morning and evening, with flocks of wage starved citizens wandering to their fate day in and day out, oblivious and blind to the true world around them.

And at night the pavement was dotted with the occasional straggler- some lost souls wandering in the darkness unsatisfied with the lot of their day and craving something more. Substance, sex, subtlety, or sometimes, sorcery.

Deep in an alley on the south side of 14th Avenue, deep in the entertainment core of the city, dull firelight flickered against sooty concrete walls and tarmac pavement. Past a chain link fence and a row of dusty, abandoned cars is a bay, hidden from traffic or the windows of the buildings nearby, glowing with candlelight and something more.

In its center is the source of the light, a ring of black and red candles that had been burning for hours, their wax a thick puddle beneath them. Inside the ring a symbol, a six pointed star, with sigils of might, power and control surrounding it. And standing in the center of the star, a man, his ancient looking robes casting a deep and ominous shadow on the monolithic building sides surrounding him. He was chanting in a low, almost lusty voice, desperate and tired.

The star he stood in pulsed with a deep and foreboding crimson glow, and the pavement inside of it cracked and peeled as though a fire burned beneath it. The man was sweating, the arms and chest of his robes dark with the sweat and strain of his ritual.

Wind gust through the alley, blowing through the thick brown hair of the innocent man who was witness to it all. Having been looking for a short cut to his destination, instead he stumbled across a scene out of a medieval tapestry, and all of the shade and shadow surrounding it. As the cloaked man's chanting grew more urgent, the pavement under him cracked violently, and the wind in the alley swirled and then stopped. Suddenly, it felt like something was coming. The air around the alley way and bay grew cool, cold enough to condense the breath coming from the man's chanting mouth. The ground rumbled and the pavement cracked again, small chunks jumping up and skittering across the ground. The chanting man suddenly grew silent. His arms stay raised in the air, but his shaded eyes grew wide with sudden fear.

The feeling of something approaching grew, and the ground throbbed beneath the bystander's feet. Suddenly the bay erupted into chaos.

A deep gash split along the middle of the circle of candles, splitting the star in half and spreading a half foot across. Steam and acrid, yellow smoke belched from the crack before the deep crimson glow coming from the sigils would expand to fill every corner, and crevasse, and extinguish every shadow. Wails and howling erupted in the air around them before it was all suddenly dampened and silenced.

A voice that appeared to come from everywhere at once filled the man's mind, echoing in his head like a voice of God. "YOU DARE!" He would hear the other who was chanting before begin to stammer and plea, before crying out in terror or maybe pain.

The temperature returned to normal just as the blinding glow subsided. It had only taken a couple of seconds, but within that time the robed man who had been standing a moment before was now laying back motionless several feet away. His hood was drawn back to expose his aged, tired face and now lifeless eyes wide with terror.

In his place, bathed in the dimming glow of candle light was a shadowy figure. Slender, but powerful, and floating a couple of inches off of the ground. Its body was human in shape, thin but muscular, with a hard toned stomach. Its legs were like that of a horse or stag, bent at the knee the wrong way, and cloven. A thin, whip like tail swung lazily across the ground, its end spiked with two, thin points. Its head was bowed, hidden in shadow, but two thick and curved horns could be seen reaching up and back from the thick, black hair that ran from its head down the back of its neck almost like a mane on a hyena. It matched the short black fur covering most of the creature’s dull red skin.

It floated there with its head bowed, staring with glowing yellow eyes at the man lying dead before its gaze shifted, and rested on the bystander. It held its stare, unblinking, and the voice filled the man's head once more.

"This one. This one suits me."

🍯🐝 -- ~ the notebook inspired

♡ Please be 18+!!!!

It's the summer of 1935 and the town carnival is on - which is where you meet the girl of your dreams. You don't know her name yet, but you just know you have to get her attention somehow. Something in your heart just yearns for it.

// little note, but this roleplay would be preferably held in third person and past tense. Also - I would really, really appreciate it if you had some general knowledge on what things were like at the time, including clothing. If you don't want clothing references for my character or my description isn't enough for you, Ally from the notebook is a good enough example.

Just two reckless young adults in love. My character is called Diana (aged 18). She's a city girl, having come down to a more rural town with her wealthy family for the summer, however they are set to leave during late august as she starts university. Her schedule is normally very full with tutors, as well as things her parents want to do. She's been a very obedient daughter for them, until you've come along, that is... She's 5,0 with a fairly petite body. Smaller than average breasts, but thicker thighs and a bubble butt. She has long, dirty blonde hair, blue eyes and freckles. I can send references for her clothing if you ask for them.

Your character is someone her parents would definitely not approve of. You can choose why this is, but our characters end up falling head over heels in love. He shows her the fun parts of life. The theatre, or maybe a drive in cinema. Sneaking into places. Going on boat rides along the river, picnics in the quiet, meeting his friends... as well as other things. I'm guessing he's likely someone who doesn't have much money, which is a good idea considering Diana's family is wealthy.

At first Diana tries to avoid him. She doesn't trust him - after all, he probably acts this way with many girls. But their friends set them up on a double date and they end up actually enjoying themselves. Or maybe, he just convinces her to go on a date at the carnival. The idea is that he's more laid-back than Diana and is able to give her something that none of the boys she's met in the city can. Her parents want her to find a boyfriend who's a doctor, lawyer - you know the type. But she wants him. Maybe he works at the carnival booth Diana and her friends approach, or maybe he's a friend of her friend. Whatever it is, he's keen to get her to agree on a date with him!

And what happens once the summer ends?

What if Diana ends up pregnant? Or does this end as most summer flings do? (check my kinklist at the bottom).

She has two friends by the names of Edith and Richard, though everyone calls him Richie. They're also residents of the town and bonded with Diana quickly, but have also come to terms with the fact that she'll be leaving them after the summer. After all, she has a home in the big city, no matter how much the countryside has enchanted her. Or maybe... just maybe, she's able to stay.

I'm willing to incorporate all kinds of drama with side characters and even heavy themes if you would like to. Please feel free to mention them to me!

♡

Some pointers to describe your character in your response:

• His full name
• His age
• His looks
• What's his personality like?

v Additional, optional things you may like to note down!

• How does he treat Diana?
• Does he have any of his own friends? If so, mention them!
• What's his living situation? Does he have family?
• Where does he work?

♡ 🍯🐝

Kinks: creampies, ddlg, dom/sub, breeding/impreg, pregnancy, (possibly lactation), balls deep, bondage (nothing extreme), coercion, blackmail, noncon/dubcon, jealousy/possessiveness, size differences, traditional gender roles, cum play, sweaty sex, dirty talk. I have others, however that's all I can think of at the moment. Feel free to suggest kinks that aren't on this list! Some of these will likely not fit into this scenario, which is entirely fine.

Limits: scat, vore, gore, anal, unrealistic cock/breast sizes.