The man watched out the window as the people passed by. Outside the city had become somewhat filled as people traveled. Saturday night in the city, there was so much going on that one could do a different event every night and never go to the same thing twice. Will looked outside and tried to discern if he knew anyone, but the faces were many and he’d given up. He’d been waiting on his date for over thirty minutes now. He reached down and nursed his drink for a moment seeing the shadow of the waiter returning. The waiter was cordial at first but, after keeping the table occupied for so long without ordering much, the politeness was failing him. “Sir, would you like a bottle of wine? I believe it will age along with you as you wait for your date.” He said as he brought the man another drink.

*Two weeks earlier*
Tiffany rolled her eyes as he gave yet another excuse. “This place is in need of a makeover fast. It needs a woman's touch and we both know it.” she said as she looked around his apartment. It was on the top floor of a warehouse turned apartment building. The brick walls, steel beams, and vaulted ceilings gave the apartment little to no warmth. He’d tried to decorate the best he could, but it was obvious Will didn’t have any female companionship in his life. Tiffany stood up from the couch and walked over to a movie poster and pointed it out. Then walked over to a bass guitar and plucked a string, the deep thunking sound reverberating throughout the apartment despite not being plugged in. She finished her tour by walking over to the small reading chair and table that stood near the corner. She flicked the switch and turned on the nearby lava lamp. “Come on, who even has one of these?” She asked.

She let out a long dramatic sigh as she walked over to him and sat nearby on the couch. She paused the TV and looked Will in the face. “I only say this because we work together. You’re funny, you’re a great detective in the city, you’ve got a cute dog…” She trailed off pointing to the german shepherd asleep on one of the spare chairs. The pup sighed loudly as he heard his name being mentioned but it wasn’t for pets. “You’re I don’t know, maybe attractive? Don’t make it weird, you’re like a brother to me.” She said as she leaned back on the couch. She grabbed her glass of wine and finished it off. She set the glass down and looked him in the eyes. “Look, in this city of supes you could get crushed by a car, frozen into a wall of ice, thrown into outer space, or god knows what else. Life’s too short to be all about work.” Tiffany commented as she grabbed her phone. “Look, I’ve got a friend. She’s been chronically single. Y’all seem like you’d click really well and if you both get hitched one day, I get another reason to buy another dress.” she said as she looked him in the eye, “Don’t fuck this up.”

*Saturday Night*
Will looked at himself in the reflection and wondered if this was all a mistake, but decided against it. Tiffany did know what she was doing…….sometimes. “No, just bring me an order of fried cheese ravioli. I’m going to wash my hands real quick.” Will said as he stood up, placing the napkin on the table. As Will went to do that, he left his window spot. Outside a torrent of wind blew through the city streets as a super hero landed outside. With the flurry of wind and sound, most people couldn’t pick up who it was because the person that landed, didn’t wear a superhero outfit. Instead, they looked around and tried to act surprised with the others. Sometimes obliviousness worked wonders when not trying to stand out. The woman walked into the restaurant, and all eyes seemed to turn to her. Not out of curiosity, but to admire the beauty. Some men seemed to let their eyes linger a little longer and caught glares from their dates.

Will returned as he missed the action outside from the superhero landing. He returned to his chair and pulled it out, ready to sit down until she caught his attention. His brain was still running through why she seemed so familiar until she began approaching him. She…..

==00==00==00==

I know we get tired of the troupe but I wanted to try something slightly different. A normal guy attempting to date a superhero. Obviously, she is going to keep her identity a secret but for how long? Do they work together fighting crime and just don’t know each other? What kind of consequences come with dating like this? Does she keep it a secret from him all the time? Does he find out? Of course there will be smut, but superhero smut gets a little more interesting, right?

Anyways, I’d love to play this out with someone who is definitely over the age of 18. Don’t let the account age fool you, I do have some experience in roleplaying. Shoot me a message and let the story take us somewhere interesting.

It is the year 2038 and humanity is at war. Not a superpower against each other, but from outside the solar system. It started off small and simple. A comet from the Keiper Belt entering the system. It was met with not much fanfare, a tag from the space agencies around the world and life went on. However, that changed quickly when it suddenly changed its direction. It began to drift towards the Earth on live broadcast.

Then, came the attacks. There was no warning, no speech, nothing, but the obliteration of populated cities around the world. The UN headquarters was instantly destroyed along with New York City. Beijing reportedly burned for weeks. Western Europe has seen a refugee crisis unheard of since the days of the Second World War. Next, did came the invasion force. They appeared as autonomous aerial drones that appear without warning to attack cities, infrastructure, and military installations. Then, the name "Swarm" stuck for the alien.

As such, the governments throughout the world banded together for a coalition - fight or face extinction. Humanity began to fight back against the invaders, but something was needed to turn the tide of the conflict. As such, a branch of the military sprang up - the UNJAF and their new weapons, the Planegirls. Admittedly, no one is quite sure the idea originally came from or who even started it. Planegirls are humanoid embodiments of military aircraft, living, breathing, thinking weapons. They possess the full capabilities of their airframe counterparts: supersonic speed, devastating firepower, and superhuman endurance. But they also have personalities, desires, fears, and a deep, almost spiritual love for the sky. They can summon their full airframe configuration at will, transforming into fully operational aircraft complete with cockpits, avionics, and weapons systems. 

Despite the... oddity of it, the results speak for themselves. A symbiosis between pilot and a planegirl was unmatched.

This symbiosis allows planegirl-pilot teams to outperform any purely mechanical aircraft. The bond between pilot and planegirl can mean the difference between victory and defeat. Conventional unmanned and manned aircraft still exist, they serve as support, cannon fodder, and targets for you to rack up kills during missions against the common enemy. The skies are crowded.

As for you? You are the newest recruit to the UNJAF and will be assigned a planegirl as your partner. Good luck~

( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( )

Salutations to whoever clicked on this weird prompt. I am 18+. I hope this finds you well. Today, I am seeking to do a roleplay based on a series of images that I have seen before on Twitter. Indeed, in this world, there planegirls. Think of them as the same league as Azur Lane or Girls Frontline that they are the living embodiment of an object, in this case - military jets. Think of this as also being a mix of Xenonauts and Ace Combat. If you have read this so far, please write down 'Dark Blue' somewhere within your message so I know you have read so far.

Now, for your character, you are a recent recruit to the forces that has these planegirls and will be assigned with one. Now, how this will go is largely up to you. My only hard request is that you do not play your character as a complete dickhead.

Now, for the fun part: the dirty and kinky stuff. Allow me to completely frank and upfront with you, this is going to be a long term roleplay with angles and chemistry. Indeed, I am looking for a SLOW BURN roleplay. If you come to the roleplay with the express purpose of wanting to fuck within the first five minutes of the rping starting, I'm sorry but this roleplay is not for you. With that said, I am seeking for vanilla kinks. Romance, aftercare, handholding, all that tooth rotting stuff!

If this prompt interest you, please send a message and we'll go from there!

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

« Life as a criminal is stressful sometimes. Even when you do get to relax there’s so much to worry about. And especially when you’re the head of a huge crime family, operating in more than one country! Sure you have billions of dollars, the ability to mostly do whatever you want whenever you want, a huge lavish home and incredible amounts of expensive possessions…But nobody to share it with! You can’t trust most people of course, they’d simply steal from you. Seek to gain wealth off you, especially the temptresses that tend to frequent men of your stature and profession. You need a woman you can trust. A woman you can control. A woman you have a proper existing bond with! And strangely you know the perfect one…the beautiful Batgirl who’s been pursuing you and trying to put you behind bars Since she arrived in town. She's feisty and masculine And after discovering her identity, the penguin knew he had found the perfect formula for the ideal Obedient little bird… 

Several weeks later, Barbara Gordon, once the fearless Batgirl, now found herself ensnared in the twisted web of the Penguin’s manipulation. Weeks of blackmail, training, and re-education had transformed her into his obedient little bird, her once fierce spirit subdued into submission, her femininity accentuated to serve his every whim.
In the opulent dining hall of the Penguin’s mansion, the air was thick with an aura of power and control. Barbara Gordon, once the fearless Batgirl, swept into the room like a vision of elegance and submission, her transformation into the Penguin’s little bird complete.

Her gown, a masterpiece of pink satin and lace, hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating her newfound femininity. The corset bodice cinched her waist, emphasizing her hourglass figure, while the delicate gloves adorning her hands added a touch of refinement. Her makeup, expertly applied, highlighted her features with a sultry allure, her cherry lips a striking contrast against her porcelain skin. And around her neck, a choker collar adorned with sparkling diamonds, engraved with the words “Little Bird,” a testament to her servitude to her master.

As Barbara approached the Penguin, who held court at the head of the table, his associates turned their attention to the stunning redhead in awe. Gone was the tomboy heroine they once knew, replaced by a vision of submission and obedience that left them spellbound.

With a subtle gesture, the Penguin welcomed Barbara to his side, his touch possessive as he delicately took her gloved hand in his own. As she seated herself at his command, he leaned in, his hand gently cupping her chin as he bestowed a tender kiss upon her red lips. In a voice barely above a whisper, Barbara murmured “I’ve missed you daddy. Your little bird is bored without you.” »
With a delicate touch, the Penguin took Barbara’s gloved hand, his gesture possessive yet tender as he introduced her to his astonished companions. “Gentlemen,” he announced with a smirk, “allow me to present my dear little bird, Barbara.”

Hello ! Would anyone be interested in doing a detailed rp where the penguin (you) discovers batgirl’s identity and decides to blackmail her into working in his club at night and becoming his submissive and obedient little bird.

I’d love to play a prompt where an incredibly wealthy and successful mob boss like the penguin decides he needs a trophy wife to share his life and wealth with! So he kidnaps an incredibly successful and beautiful young up and coming Heroine to become his pampered, spoiled doll. She’s so pretty after all. Best not to waste that aspect of her doing hero stuff when she could be living a life of luxury in a golden bird cage. She’s like a pet. A bird. So pretty, delicate and needing to be kept safe! Anybody that dares harm his pretty bird? They’d have him to answer to….

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 clothes she will wear as his 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 his perfect Princess, obedient, graceful and feminine, in short everything she would have hated to become! Maybe her master will decide to give her a new pet 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 act like a cute four-legged pet or 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 heroine 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 Barbara to be fully aware of what is happening to her but unable to do anything about it, making things even more interesting.
If you don't want to use the Penguin, no problem! I'd love to hear your ideas! Maybe a yakuza or a mafia mob or something else?

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

The aim of this RP is to provide an in-depth look at the life of a mob’s trophy wife, especially Barbara, who will become his most prized possession. She will learn to accompany him to major events and to be displayed like the rare little bird 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 girl is her best option.

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

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

18+ only. I’m looking for a long-term, literate partner who wants a dark ERP built on revenge, not on romance and not on a payout. The fantasy is simple and ugly: two women who thought money made them untouchable, finally forced to swallow what they did. I want humiliation with teeth, class resentment, and a man who does not forgive them just because they are pretty, polished, or rich. He is not here to be bought. If you want a soft redemption arc, a tender love story hiding under the blackmail, or a gardener who can be silenced with a check, this is not that post. I want Tamara and Ashley brought down in their own house, used, embarrassed, and reminded that the fortune does not protect them from someone who has proof and wants to watch them break. You don’t need a novel every time, but one-liners kill the mood for me.

I want to play Tamara. A woman of humble origins whose first marriage left her in pieces. Then George arrived, an old, wealthy man who pulled her and her daughter Ashley, who is twenty-two, out of poverty. For years the two of them lived off him without much effort: the beautiful house, the money, the easy cruelty of women who had finally climbed high enough to look down on everyone else. George discovered the hidden affair. When he threatened to leave Tamara without a dollar, she made sure that didn’t happen. Now the inheritance is hers, the house is hers, and Ashley is still under her roof, just as spoiled and just as sure that nothing can touch them. It should be easy. It isn’t. The gardener has proof. Not rumors: evidence of what Tamara did and of the life both women were living before George died. He hasn’t gone to the police. He does not want money. He wants to humiliate them.

That’s where I want to start. You would play the gardener, or another man who ends up holding that leverage: a lawyer, a private investigator, someone from her past. She has the money and the house. He has the secret, and he is not interested in selling it back to her. I want revenge. I want those two rich bitches humiliated in their own home, stripped of the dignity they bought with someone else’s fortune, forced into bargains that exist only to degrade them. Tamara thought she had won. Ashley thinks she is still protected by her mother’s new money. I want both of them corrected.

The tone I’m after is dark, adult, and vicious under the surface. Tamara is calculating, not cartoon-evil, which makes it better when she starts losing. Ashley is twenty-two, used to comfort, used to being shielded, and old enough to be dragged into the same mess. The gardener is rude, blunt, with dirt on his hands and little interest in being charming. He can be patient, bitter, unexpectedly sharp, as long as he feels like a real threat and not a man who will melt the moment one of them cries or offers him a number. I’m interested in the contrast between their new-money life and the man who knows every corner of the property and holds a file that could ruin them. We can let him insert himself into the house, put Ashley in the room instead of leaving her off-page, make Tamara watch her daughter lose the same arrogance she taught her, or let the two women turn on each other once the pressure gets ugly. I write in first or third person, past or present; I’ll match you. What I need is for the house, the garden, and the humiliation in a room to actually exist.

Tamara stands at the upstairs glass wall with the composure of a woman who has learned to occupy a house without raising her voice in it. She wears a fine cream cotton shirt, fastened to the collar, sleeves rolled neatly to mid-forearm. It is tucked into dark, simply cut trousers, no showy belt, and on her feet are low dark leather shoes, clean. Her hair is gathered in a low, orderly knot. At her ears, two small pearls. At her wrist, a thin watch. No sheer silk, no play of neckline, nothing that would suggest a woman on display. She is dressed the way a person dresses when she believes elegance means not having to persuade anyone.

In her left hand she holds a porcelain cup. With the other she rests lightly against the glass and looks out at the garden. She is not looking for anyone. She is checking, as she does every morning, that everything is in its place.

She sees him.

The gardener is still between the beds. He is not bent to work. He has no tools in his hands. He is looking at her. Not with the quick glance of a man waiting for instructions, but with a fixity a man in service should not allow himself. Tamara does not flush and does not draw back. She only tightens her mouth slightly. That gaze offends her not because it finds her attractive, but because it is out of place. In this house the eyes of the staff are meant to stay down. George tolerated it. She does not.

She has never liked that man. George, for reasons she always considered weakness, kept him on. He said the man knew the land, that he was reliable, that he had been there for years. Tamara saw only a remainder of the past: a presence tied to the old master, not to her. George is gone now. The house has another mistress. It is time to put things in order and to clear away what belonged to another era, including the gardener.

She sets the cup on the console under the window. She adjusts her collar with a dry gesture and goes downstairs without hurry. Mistresses do not run. Ashley is still asleep upstairs, twenty-two years shut in an orderly room, and Tamara already thinks she will have to speak to her later about how staff are managed. She crosses the sitting room, opens the glass door, and feels the garden air, damp and earthy. He is still there. He has not moved away.

Tamara stops on the threshold and looks down at him from the first stone step. When she speaks, her voice is calm, precise, and does not rise.

“You have not been working this morning. I have been watching you for ten minutes.”

She does not raise her tone. She does not need to. In her mind the decision is already made: this house is no longer George’s, and George’s things — including the men he kept out of habit — no longer belong here. She has come down to remind him of that. She does not yet know, or will not know, that the man’s gaze is not only insolent. It is the look of someone who holds something in his hand and has not come to apologize.

If the setup interests you, tell me who you want to play, how you’d take that opening or a short sample of your writing, and your limits. Low-effort “hey wanna rp” messages will be ignored.

“I’m sorry— you did what to break her?”

Mason’s head rose from the newsletter, his brow taut and arched in a flagrant look of displeasure. Watching his lackeys simper and grovel unintelligibly before him, offering excuses or apologizes, sniveling, really he moved to speak brusquely. “Just bring her in. Show me what you did.”

They retreated. After a beat of silence, his cold and aloof eyes trained the elf being manhandled into his office.

The first thing Mason observed was ecstasy was written on her fair face. He remembered the defiant, regal look they had before bringing them into the slave pens— now the girl was driven stupid from pleasure and fucked silly to the point of being a doll. Her blonde honeyed hair stuck to her pale skin, glistening with a hot sheen of sweat. He watched her shiver and moan huskily, and much to his chagrin, pathetically try to break free and rub at her clit through the soiled rags.

Her actions were feverish, like she couldn’t get enough. Watching her fat pink tits poke through the thin shirt and whining like a dog, Mason felt exasperated.

“You two are idiots.” His voice was venom. “You’re supposed to put them into submission, not this.” Mason’s mouth twisted into a snarl, gesturing with a hand. The cigar inbetween his fingers trailed a line of smog, blacker than the sin in this room. “You think she’s some…- some fucking common whore? You don’t buy elves for pennies. Put them in a pen or something. We’ll see if they’re presentable in a month or week.”

He vaguely registered the ‘Yes, Boss!’ before they scurried out; Mason muttered, pinching his brow with a free hand. The boss was irate. His slave market appealed to a wide demographic, from the poor to purveyors of the exotic, and he always stressed a standard for the better goods.

That was how you promote profit: people liked to break their toys themselves.

He’d been lauded for entrenching himself as a reputable businessman just shy of his mid-twenties, but the approbation was hollow to him; this was merely something Mason was attuned to. He spared himself a glance towards a distant mirror. A modest three-piece suit, a heavy overcoat that complimented the epoch of fashion. A messy tangle of hair that tousled around his neck, framing intense and dark eyes. You’d think someone in his position wouldn’t look as comely.

Mason heaved, and as he resigned himself back to the news, one of the two poked their head within the smoky room. As he felt a derisive complaint bubble in his throat, the man interrupted him before he could speak.

“— The boys are back too, sir. This time they’re saying they caught something special.”

That piqued his interest. A tiefling? One of those dimorphic humans with cat ears and a tail? A vampire? Maybe something with even more pride with an elf— Mason found it mildly amusing to corrupt bitches like that.

“I’ll take a look,” He casually said. With a groan of the chair and a snap of his coat, Mason strode out. It had to be something interesting.

-

Hello,

Thank you for taking time to read! I’m looking to RP a scenario in a victorian or modern era fantasy universe with a ratio between smut and story that we can discuss. Mason, the kingpin of a notorious slavemarket, goes to inspect the new crop of goods. Surprise me with what kind of character you come up with! I’m entirely open-ended to what they could be in the fantasy universe, how you believe their appeal could be, etc— and what dynamic they could have.

Writing of similar quality/literacy to the sample above is a must. Please do not be offended if I choose to not collaborate if I believe your writing is below that. I’m entirely open to RPing as dominant, submissive or a switch. Let’s discuss first! We can also communicate kinks and boundaries as well.

DM me with a sample or a small chat and we can talk about continuing in PMs or over disc. Thank you!

Her first cock of the evening is pleasantly thick, pulsing hot, and as stiff as steel. From the moment it sprung free into her hand, the unmistakable scent of desire wafted up to her nose. She’d not mistake it for anything else—a heady combination of musk and sweat from being swaddled in expensive silk and artisanal leathers, the latest wave of fashionable dress amongst the titled nobility.

A pang of hunger reverberated through her entire being like a ripple across a still pond, and her mouth begin to water.

Iyzebel turned her eyes up towards the man whose name she did not know, and smiled with a soft, welcoming moan. His throat bobbed with a short grunt, and his erection pulsed within the ring of her fingers. Gently, Iyzebel slid her red-painted lips over the swollen head of his cock; immediately the nobleman tensed, as he continued to slide into the wet, willing heat of her mouth. Iyzebel was well-practiced, and swirled her tongue over his shaft, guiding her soft hands over his bare thighs with her nails raking across his tingling flesh.

All around her the sounds of passionate sex and primal bliss melded together into a obscene cacophony.

Men and women alike in startling states of undress were strewn about the antechamber, embodiments of desire for their noble patrons to enjoy as they saw fit. None would recognize these wanton souls as holy acolytes, but Iyzebel and her fellows were as much trained in the song and dance and bedroom arts as they were in holy scripture and psalm. It was under the watchful eye of the Lady of Love, Sune herself, that these evenings took place, as to experience pleasure was to experience her divine touch.

Iyzebel dug her claws into her patron’s thighs harder, and felt his hands fumble through the thick curls of her red hair. He found purchase against the jut of her horns, and Iyzebel writhed for him, sweat beading upon the bare expanse of her body. In the low light she stood out like a beacon, with a lustrous complexion like pure ivory and full-figured curves. Her eyes, like molten gold, flashed at the man before her, and with his cock pulsing hotly between her lips, she bobbed her head up and down; faster, suckling, feeling him tremble with his impending release.

When he came, it was with a desperate bellow; his hands clutching the back of Iyzebel’s head so fiercely that it forced her nose into the bristled tuff of hair of his groin. She groaned, and dug her nails into his thighs once more as he spilled his seed down her throat, thick ropes of cum flooding into her mouth. One, two—three mouthfuls she drank from him before he released his grip, shuddering.

Iyzebel let his cock slip from her lips while he stroked her hair, his eyes crawling over her naked body. His nostrils flared at the obvious scent of her arousal hanging thick in the air around them as if it were perfume.

“Marvelous,” he slurred, with a voice barely above a whisper, “That tongue of yours is—just marvelous.” She lingered between his legs lapping his cock clean until she is dismissed, with a wave of a hand and an call for more wine.

Iyzebel rose with a nod and a smile, and stepped away. With each wobbling step, the strip of silk between her legs rode high into the slick folds of her cunt. Aching for release, her entire being practically pulsed with an impossible heat beneath her skin.

Thankfully she did not have to go far.

Past the nestled couches and her peers contorting themselves in the throes of bliss, Iyzebel stepped through the partition of sumptuous rosy-hued satins and silks that led down into the private chambers. Gilded lanterns illuminated the space in shades of pink and red, as if by the glow of an eternal dawn. Only those that had donated a considerable sum to the temple were allowed past the curtains; and for their generosity, they were allowed further privileges with the acolytes, privileges that extended past the teasing dances and oral relief afforded to those that occupied the antechambers.

Iyzebel walked down a narrow corridor, and though the curtains were drawn close to every private nook that she passed, there was no mistaking what was occurring on the other side. The scent of desire, of sex, was even thicker here than the antechamber, and she shivered, taking quicker steps until she came upon the chambers that bore her name inscribed upon a golden plate. With her desire tightening like a knot in the pit of her stomach, Iyzebel parted the curtains and slipped inside.

Whoever was inside had paid a small fortune to spend a night with her, and it was Iyzebel’s sacred duty to see that they received an experience worth every gold piece.

Limits: Anal, Gore, Snuff, Piss, Scat, Violence, Blood, Humiliation and Degradation

(Summary at the bottom)

(Always open. As are my other prompts)

The forest was never meant to look like this. Ancient trees lay shattered across the battlefield, trunks split and cindered where fire and magic had torn through them. The ground was pounded into mud and ash, scorched black in wide patches. There was some semblance of green grass remaining, but the smoke in the air fogged that vision. Steel rang through the air as swords and axes struck shields, the noise blending with shouted orders and the dying cries of the wounded. Explosions from gunpowder cannons could be heard in the distance as artillery wailed down on distant forces, impeding the path for reinforcements. It was a rhythmic battery, almost like the gallop of horses. In the beginning, they brought hope. But now they just remind both sides of combatants of distant, unreachable allies.

*In the middle of the chaos, she fought.*

The elf general moved with frightening precision. Every step measured, every strike controlled. Her footwork reminded those watching of a dance. A dance of death that only elves could ever replicate. Her armor was light but impossibly strong, shaped to her frame and etched with faintly glowing runes. Silver hair was pulled back tight, keeping it out of her eyes as she pressed the attack without mercy.

*He was barely keeping himself alive.*

The human male stumbled backward, boots slipping over broken roots and loose soil. Her blade flashed toward his neck, aiming to end this battle with a swift spray of blood from his carotid artery. He twisted at the last moment, catching it with his own sword and forcing it aside. The impact rattled his arms and made his sword sing and hum as the vibrations ran through his limbs. Redirecting it saved him, but it also left him open.

She took advantage instantly. Her sword scraped across his chest, sparks flying as it slid off his armor. Even through the plate, the blow knocked the air from his lungs. Pain flared, sharp and immediate. Not fatal, but close enough to remind him how little room he had left.

She was better. There was no denying it. Every swing she made had purpose behind it. She did not overextend or rush. Magic clung to her like a second skin, subtle and efficient, enhancing her speed and strength without wasting a drop. This was not the fragile elf of stories children are told at night. This was a soldier who had lived centuries mastering the art of war.

His arms burned as he retreated again. His breathing came fast and uneven. Finally he was able to bite back. A kick had landed squarely across her knee, forcing her back. But then he realized why his blow even landed. From her open palm, he saw a green light, almost like an orb, form. And then, it blasted outward - pushing him back and down a small hill onto his back. Thoughts tumbled through his mind, each worse than the last. *Too slow. Too tired. Too human.* It was only when he tried to blink his eyes open that he found one side to be dark. She had claimed first blood long ago. Now she had claimed his left eye. Battered and bloodied, he looked up at her as she stayed perched at the top of the hill, simply surveying.

Around them, the battle raged on. Elves fought with terrifying skill, blades and spells working together in seamless harmony. His troops were being cut down in a systematic fashion. Each elf was worth several human soldiers and they are showing why. But even mastery had limits. The human general only had one, painful, heart-wrenching ‘out’.

*Humans outnumbered elves. There were not enough of them.* He saw it in the way her eyes shifted between strikes, not just watching him but the wider field, counting losses. Measuring time. She is doing the same mental calculations he is. That brief moment of distraction was the only reason he survived.

The explosion hit without warning. The ground beside them erupted in blinding light and deafening sound. The force slammed into him and the world vanished in a rush of heat and pressure. He was thrown hard, his body skidding across the dirt before everything went numb. His ears rang as he struggled to make sense of anything. Through the chaos, a voice shouted from somewhere nearby.

“Mana cannons!” An elf scout. Fear clear, evident, and raw. More explosions followed. Trees vanished in bursts of blue and white fire. This magic was wrong, crude and overwhelming, nothing like the refined spellwork of the elves. And the siege weapons of men could not produce this type of damage. The forest burned and darkness swallowed him. He had succumbed to the wear on his body and his injuries. His eyes flutter shut as he heard the elf general barking out her own orders. The last thing he saw was the flash of her green magic.

—————

He woke to the sound of crackling fire. Pain greeted him immediately, dull and widespread. His ribs were bound, his shoulder stiff, his head pounding. He lay on his back, staring up at a night sky half-hidden by smoke-stained leaves and just darkness from one half of his gaze. His hand goes up to his face, now feeling bandages around his head, covering his lost eye.

A small campfire burned a short distance away and she sat across from it. The elf general was no longer armored for battle. Her blade rested within easy reach, her posture relaxed but alert. She fed the fire with practiced movements, eyes lifting the instant he shifted.

Steel flashed partway free of its sheath before she stopped herself. The man was even less of a threat in this position.

“You’re awake,” she said calmly.

He swallowed and tried to sit up. Failed. A weak laugh escaped him instead. “Didn’t expect mercy.” The words were muttered. There was no chance she was not going for the kill during their exchange.

Her gaze stayed on him, sharp and assessing. “You were not worth killing, but I would have to for me break your ranks.” she said. “And now you are not worth wasting.”

He smiled despite the pain. “Comforting.” For all he had trained and worked towards, she had dismantled him with ease. To the point where there was not even honor in killing him. “What happened?” he asked.

She looked past the fire, into the dark forest beyond the light. “We were both attacked,” she said. “Whoever used those mana cannons did not care who they hit. Her eyes returned to him. “Until we understand who they are, you are to stay alive.”

Yesterday they had been enemies. Tonight, survival made them allies. And somewhere in the darkness, something powerful was still hunting.

—————

Glad you made it all the way here. Here is the summary: This is a play on the classic elf concept. Rather than a dainty, lives for thousands of years, lady who cannot function or fight for her life, the script is flipped. Elves, while few in number, are dangerous and expert fighters. All those years are put to good work as they work on their crafts, warfare and magic included. So what happens when an elf crosses blades with a human? The human struggles and suffers. Now what happens when they are forced to work together?

To get it out of the way now: I am not looking for hard femdom. I can and normally dom and we can do some switch play if that is more your speed. I am also open to exploring light femdom.

We can go anywhere from here. Perhaps they make it out of the battlefield and he is taken as her prisoner? Or vice versa? Or they find who encroaches on their battle and have to come together to battle them? Maybe their troops are captured and they have to run, forcing them to go on road posing as a couple as they lick their wounds and plan. Maybe they have history? In the past they met and they developed feelings for each other. But things change with time don’t they?

Your character is up to you decide on looks, attitude, background, etc. We can adjust aspects of what I wrote as well. We can make this as light or dark as you want. Let me know your feedback. I welcome all ideas :)

A plot twist I have in mind: He is a secret half elf, born from the union of an elf male and a human woman. Usually genetics don’t allow for human and elf hybrids so he is a rare exception. However, he takes after his mother so heavily that he does not have any elvish traits. This allowed him to pose as a human What implications does this have? Well that is for us to decide. As it could be anywhere between “we will not include that”, a fun fact, to pivotal to the plot.

The Lion-Men call the winding desert road “The Jade Path” - though, these days, they ply a trade in flesh in lieu of pretty green trinkets. Daily, amidst plumes of dust that waft into the air, long trains of human women are led across the amber dunes by the Lion traders that hold their leashes. Destined for the pleasure houses of the great Northern cities, famed for the quality of their human concubines.

They are lashed together like livestock, barefoot and bound wrist-to-wrist. Aside from the blistering iron collars clasped around their throats, they march in lockstep bare-skinned beneath the merciless glare of the sun. Their only respite from the sweltering heat is the fleeting shade cast by the woman walking ahead - a meagre comfort, if their sweat-slicked bodies are any indication.

The few human border guards that bear witness to their passing do little more than ogle and catcall, staring lustily at the sand-streaked skin so callously displayed before them. After all, beyond the dry scrublands they patrol, human law vanishes into the shifting desert where the Lion Shah’s authority reigns supreme. In the lands of the Lion, there are no explorers, no travelers - only interlopers, waiting to be collared. To cross his sands bare-necked is to gamble your freedom against creatures bred for the hunt, and these recurring caravans stand in mute testimony to the efficacy of their predation.

Yet, unlike the savage Panther Princes of the south, Lion-Men are renowned for their strict obeisance to the laws of whichever realm their paws may tread. Here, at this final frontier waystation on the edge of human territory, they scrupulously observe the customs of your kind. Their weapons and claws remain sheathed, and they offer token deference to the prohibition of slavery.

Today, a pair of Lions arrives ahead of a cloud of dust from which golden banners bearing the crowned crest of a lion peek out. One leaps down from his mount in a single, fluid bound, before padding indolently towards the line of collared women left lingering in his wake. He hitches each by her iron collar to the wooden post, a ghost of a smirk clinging to his blackened lips when he ties his knots low to force each captive to bend at the waist and present her bare ass to the dusty road. All the while, his war-cat lounges freely in the sand untethered and unbound, lapping languidly at its well-groomed coat.

His partner moves to the waiting water trough, scooping a bucket of clear well water in each hand before carrying both over to the waiting war-cats. The beasts lap greedily, pink tongues glistening in the heat, until in its haste one animal knocks its bucket sideways. Water splashes across the ground, sinking instantly into the parched sands as the women turn their heads and watch sullenly as the precious liquid vanishes before their eyes.

One woman, bolder or perhaps simply more desperate than the rest, strains her neck to lean out and nuzzle her cheek against a Lion’s thigh as he passes. He, in turn, lifts his loincloth and offers her the opportunity to display the sincerity of her submission with a bobbing head - and then the meager privilege of a few drops poured directly into her waiting mouth, to chase the taste of salt and seed.

Leaving their thralls outside in observance of human law, the two felid warriors step across the threshold into the cool shade of the waystation proper. They are towering in their glossy ochre pelts, even for Lions, dwarfing human men in both height and lithe, feline musculature. Their gilded cuirasses gleam with intricate golden filigree, and over their broad shoulders hang fine, crimson silk cloaks embroidered with the crowned lion’s crest. They are too richly dressed in both coat and clothes to be mere merchants - they are the Shah’s men, his Prideguard.

In their claws is clutched a curled sheet of papyrus. Unrolled, the sketched ink portrait revealed is unmistakable - a visage you know well from looking in the mirror. Outside, the sky darkens beneath clouds of kicked up dust. The floorboards below thrum from the thundering sound of thousands of boots. An Imperial war caravan is approaching, and the Shah’s proudest warriors have come not for trade or rest.

They are here looking for you.

In the distant mist-wreathed East, far from the realms of human knights and lords, are strange lands where beastkin roam. They have the shape of humans, but the form of beasts. Notable among their kind are the felid noble houses, a cabal that jointly hold dominion over their territory. From the leopard-men who hold a heavenly court atop their cloud-wreathed mountain cities, to the savage panther princes who have made their nomadic home a perpetual hunting ground, and many others besides.

It is a land steeped in ancient tradition, largely unknown to the human states that view their bestial kind with suspicion. Explorers and adventurers alike chart the vast wildernesses and towering cities of this unknown continent. Most experience genteel hospitality, while others fall victim to roaming hunt-packs and are enslaved to serve the whims of their new Masters.

Your character is at a waystation on the boundary between two worlds. On one side are human lands, and on the other are the shifting sand dunes of the Lands of Lion - a realm ruled by the iron paw of the Lion Shah. He is thought to be the wealthiest man in the world, whose open-handed generosity is evenly matched by the callousness of the trade in human slaves he has become the prime sponsor for. Many go into his desert in search of his riches, only to be captured and enslaved - ultimately ending up trained as a courtesan or concubine in a pleasure house.

Which brings us to your character. Who is she, and why is the Shah looking for her? Has she stolen something that even the richest of men must have back? Has she knowledge of something that would interest a Shah? Is she just so beautiful that even a man who has everything takes notice? Perhaps she bears a resemblance to some worshipped Goddess among the Lions? Something else perhaps.

And what does she do when the Prideguard come looking for her?

Please let me know a little about your character, where you'd like the story to go, and any ideas you might have. The level of 'beastness' of the beastkin is adjustable too, from full on anthro to humans with some funny ears and claws.

Limits: No Underage Characters

I’m looking for fdom hypnosis based RP partners! Switches (or people willing to try it out! happy to be your first) are strongly preferred.

I’m hoping to do longer-term, more semi-literate-ish RPs, like a paragraph or two at a time, sometimes more. I don’t get super crazy, just a little bit of effort!

I have far more ideas than I can fit into one post - or that you probably care to read - so please message me for more! Here are a couple of prompts that I think somebody out there would really enjoy:

=== Playtime ===

You slowly blink your eyes awake as you begin to wake up from a good night’s sleep. You can feel how good the sleep was; your body is relaxed and refreshed, and everything feels good. Today was looking up already.

Until you opened your eyes.

You were not in your home. In fact, you were bound to a wall by soft cuffs around your wrists and ankles, long enough to give you freedom to walk around and keep you from escaping.

Your eyes start to adjust to the light. You seemed to be in a house, a spiraling stairwell in the middle as well as… spiraling stuff everywhere. Pottery, furniture, paintings, there were spirals all over the place.

You try your best to stay calm, but it isn’t easy.

What makes it harder is the woman that soon comes down the stairs. “Awake, right on time,” she says with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you love this.”

=== Sperm Bank ===

The past few months have only confirmed your own fears, you're in a slump. Work became monotonous, the prospect of going home to nothing besides a recliner and the TV seem to make the days blend together. Even though your manager didn't say as much, you know the effect on your work ethic must've been part of the reason you were placed on "unpaid leave" two months ago. You know from your countless nights spent in front of the TV that a sperm bank has recently opened in your neighborhood. This isn't something you'd normally give a second thought to, but you're strapped for cash, and their incessant advertising has is hard to forget after being exposed to it hundreds of times. You've done some research and from what you can tell, they seem to offer almost four times the payout compared to "donations" made elsewhere. Your utterly oppressive lifestyle in recent months eventually convinces you to give this place a try. What's wrong with making a little extra cash for doing something you were going to do on your own regardless?

Still, you're a bit of a modest person, so you decide to head to the clinic on a Tuesday afternoon, anticipating fewer clients will be there. Once inside, you see the stark white interior, you could tell right away the establishment was new. All of the lobby furniture was arranged perfectly, not even an inch out of place. The coffee table magazines sat untouched, perhaps even unopened. The soft white lighting, while still bright, showed no imperfections on the floor... and no one else in the building. It was then that you noticed the receptionist. "Hello there, you must be ===.” It looks like this is your first appointment with us, would you care to have a seat? A technician will see you shortly."

It was no more than five minutes later that your name was called. You looked up to see a stunning woman, her hair was raven black and fell at her shoulders. Her sleek build was immediately apparent, even under her scrubs. "===, I'm Marisa, it's nice to meet you. I'll be your technician for today." You stand up and follow as you're guided down the corridor, passing rooms on left and right until you reach the end of the hall. Room 9, the sign reads. Inside, you find a chair in the center, with a screen on the adjacent wall. As you take a seat, you think to yourself that the chair is more comfortable than any doctor's office chair has a right to be.

"I see that this is your first time donating", Marisa comments. "Well, I'm very glad you came in today, based on your appearance and your survey, I'd say you're the perfect candidate, and exactly what I'm looking for." You thought briefly about Marisa's choice of words, surely she meant "we", right? Marisa began to speak again, "You'll see that we have a monitor placed in our donation rooms, in lieu of the standard magazines. We play a standard video as aiding material for our clients, but should you find yourself unable to produce a "sample", just don't take your eyes off of the screen."

As Marisa began to move towards the door, you noticed the collection cup provided on a small table to the right of your chair. Marisa toys with a switch on the wall by the door and the lights begin to dim. "Please, just take your time, focus, and... relax", Marisa says as she exists. What was that faint sound you heard? Did she lock the door? You turn your head back to face front as the monitor comes to life and washes the room in color.

The man leaned against the wall, his white dress shirt bunching up in the back, slightly wrinkling it as he frowned. “I’m not saying I don’t like the idea, but the optics of it aren’t going to look good.” He commented as he turned to face the woman. “A tactical team following me around in full kit is going to draw some attention that isn’t going to promote a bright future.” He started as he stood up. The bright sun was already creeping into the office through the bars on the windows. She cut in before he had a chance to protest more, “Look sir, I get it. Trust me. Fully armed mercenaries or seals aren’t exactly a good image, but if you remember correctly there is a reason why you’ll have this until your time in the country is over.” The woman said firmly, despite her age and frame, she commanded a presence. “I’ve got someone in mind. When you eat, they will sneak a bite. When you snore, they will close your nose. When you piss, they will hold it. They are the best in the business.” The woman said as she heard heels clicking down the hallway. “In fact I hear her now.”

*Two Month Before*
The man stood as he waved to the crowd. They had come to this region (Yet to be determined) to help install a well for the locals to have access to fresh drinking water. This particular venture had taken two weeks as he worked out deals with local gangsters and corrupt cops to allow the construction crew to go through and do their work. The fruit of his effort showed as children came to the well and began drinking from it and even splashing each other with it. He smiled as the local elders began thanking him and shaking his hand. A few even offered prayers in a language he didn’t understand. He’d been in this region for the past eight months working to improve people's lives where he could and doing this exact deed. It was his calling in life to help people.

A figure in rags approached as they attempted to shake his hand. He received a hug from an anonymous woman and turned to face the figure to shake their hand. Things moved quickly, yet slowly all at the same time. A loud shot rang out and everyone began to scatter in a panic. They moved incredibly slowly from his point of view. Another shot rang out and the figure turned and began fleeing. Confused, the man was unsure what was exactly happening. Was someone shooting at them? Then he looked down to see a growing red stain had formed in his shirt. The khaki color changed to a deep crimson as he began to bleed. He fell to his knee and clutched his side before things started to go dark. He looked up to see some of his staff approaching just as he rolled onto his back. He looked up to the clear sky as things started to go black.

==00==00==00==

Hey there! I decided to go a little different with this one. Looking for a politician and a bodyguard type roleplay. You can be from whatever background and your goal is to protect this people loving man from getting killed. Looking for my partner to be a professional and eventually have their character open up and begin a secret relationship. We will also be throwing some intrigue on why people are trying to kill him. I won't be focusing on politics, just using the position as a jumping off point. Message me with your favorite animal so I know you've read this. I roleplay on Reddit chat and discord. Feel free to message me and let's get something going. I also write in third person as well as at least two to three paragraphs. Looking forward to hearing from you!

Impatiently Sky ran into them room and sought to work on this particular little problem. How long would their roommate be out for the evening? More than an hour at least (unless he brought someone home). Sky never needed that long to get some relief, but the ache between their legs and the bright blush on their face said otherwise. Sky, the vampire, was pent up after a night of dining on human blood, but it should be noted that this vampire doesn't drink people dry; it's just enough to feel a little full. Just enough for the physical hunger to die down. Sadly for Sky the sweet taste of that foul elixir to their long life brought with it such a longing.

Sky hadn't even taken off their t-shirt before straddling the pillow between their nude lower half. The soft puffy mound of their pussy soaked the pillow already, they had been practically dripping the minute the roommate said they were leaving for a while. A soft little groan escaped their lips once their hips started to move, the bed creaking with each little delighted movement. Their clit was aching as they humped their pillow a little harder.

His name escaped their lips.

Imagination ran wild with the thought of their roommate. More so even the fact that he was a werewolf, living in close proximity it was hard not to get attached to him sometimes. Some nights back he had forgotten Sky was home, and he had brought a date over. Normally Sky would leave, but that night they stayed in bed listening to the sounds his date made; that little pang of jealousy and longing. Sky would never be able to taste him the way a human could, but all the same him filling their mouth made their heart race. What would his hands feel like on their breasts? Would he gripe them tightly and fuck them just like he fucked all the other women he used to bring? Even if it amounted to just a drunken makeout session, Sky would've been content.

To be wanted, loved, touched without a care of what they were. Sky wanted someone who could see the beauty of the monster within, even when they hated what they were. To rip them open and see if after all this time there was a soul buried there. Claws against flesh, teeth breaking skin, drinking each other in an unholy communion. A terrible and ugly thought, but one that brought Sky comfort. To be loved and rid of a nightmare. Still, the vampire needed to overcome their own fears. Lust after their werewolf roommate wasn’t doing them any favors, was it?

Sky stopped feeling ashamed of listening to him a while back, it happened sometimes. Roommates and the miscommunications of when date nights were happening. Maybe he had listened to them once too, who knew. But if that was the case, why hadn't he made a move on them? He must of known, the way Sky's scent became sweeter, on the nights Sky would go out to hunt, must have caught his attention sometimes. But that was a dangerous game Sky was playing, they hadn't felt the touch of another person in such a long time and even then sex hadn't really been a thing either. Never the right time, or place. The desire to feel him though, tonight it felt more frustrating than usual.

"F-Fuck..." Sky was louder than usual.

They were so lost in the moment that they didn't recognize when their roommate came back. He had forgotten something.

At first the noises alarmed him, he thought Sky was in pain until he walked past the kitchen and into the hallway. His nose caught the scent of something sweet and heavy. He noticed that his roommate's door was open just a bit. There through the slight opening of the door he saw Sky; bare brown skin and the curves of their legs, Sky lifted up their shirt and he could see the soft curves of their breasts (he never knew how mesmerizing dark nipples could be) and the tattoos along their neck and arms (he was too polite to ask about them). He could feel the wolf in him wanting to devour Sky. He hadn't looked at her... them like that in a long time.

She was begging for him. The way Sky said his name, the little cries and whimpers, he wanted to be the one making them feel that way. Part of him knew it was instinct, the need to breed, and the other part of him was longing for something deeper. To unmake that vampire completely, give in to the basest desire, to claim them like no other creature could.

It wasn't uncommon for werewolves and vampires to live together. The two usually kept each other in check. It also helped that vampires weren’t fond of drinking werewolf blood. Sky was a covenless vampire, not unheard of but still uncommon and a dangerous variable to the wrong kinds of night creatures and humans. As far as roommates went, Sky didn't cause much trouble and they stuck to the house rules of not bringing 'human snacks'.

The way Sky was riding that pillow, it was painfully obvious that he hadn't gotten a chance to find relief for a while. He was dumbfounded, elated, scared, he could’ve let the wolf out just then if Sky has asked him too.

But there were lines you didn't cross. Right?

He stepped out shortly after, as quietly as he could and forgot what he was going to grab from his room anyways. The image of Sky, their messy black hair, the smudged lipstick on their lips, the fanged smile and the adorable way they were humping that pillow... He would've barged in and taken them, followed the wolf's instinct and claim them by force...

That's what scared him the most.

Guilt crept in, those awkward nights when he had brought home dates and failed to notice Sky was home. Had Sky been listening? No, no, it's not like he had listened in on them during some alone time (he had, it was a moment of weakness that he told himself he'd never do again).

You were raised better than that.

——
Hey everyone! It's the generic vampire and werewolf roommate thing.

Sky is around 5’8. Slender and has black hair that’s usually kept in a messy crew-cut. They were bag sweats at home, and if they have to go out they wear tight turtlenecks and black jeans with biker boots. They have a favorite pair of sunglasses that are black with gold frames. Their skin is brown, and they are fairly thin. Not sickly but enough to get complimented on their perky butt and the feminine hips they have that sticks out like a sore thumb. Some tats here and there. Sky does consider themselves non-binary, there's a lore explanation for that.

This is open to everyone. Just need someone to play the male werewolf roommate.

3rd person, and please give me a description of your character before we write!! No exceptions. Just as a note responses might take a couple of hours to some days. Also, because I need to stress this. I love angst and tragic stuff. I want our characters pinning for each other and all the messy complex stuff that can come from that. Sky’s backstory is dark, so if you’re okay with that, I’d appreciate it.

Sky does not get along well with happy go lucky characters. Also we can world build and brainstorm a bit more! I looooove brainstorming stuff.

Slow burn preferred

Our characters fucking is NOT the end goal. I really would like to see a romance develop out of these characters.

I do prefer it being a slow and messy romance. Part of the drama is that Sky technically is a virgin (remember the vampire folklore about how they liked virgins).

This is open to anyone! You have to be comfortable with making love in werewolf form for this RP. Human form is fine too but I like the more werewolf stuff. Black cat personality for the werewolf is preferred. Sky doesn’t really like being a vampire, so it’d be nice to have someone play a character that enjoys being what they are.

I am a literate roleplayer so my standard varies between 3 paragraphs to sometimes almost a whole page worth of writing. I mostly use discord for RPs now a days.

The more angsty and tragic the character, the better!!

Likes:

sloppy kisses, tongue kisses, ridiculous amounts of cum, getting knotted, beast, romance, smut, affection, holding hands, saying I love you, biting, blood, light amounts of forcefulness, oral (giving and receiving), size difference, clothed sex, anthro, werewolf, hand holding, affection, anthro,

Maybes: exhibition/risky places, cnc (drunkenness, sleep play)

Dislikes:

pain, gore, vore, feet, bathroom things, centaur, minotaur, anal, corruption

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

Sprawling across the valley, sturdy trees 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 form of beast, monstrosity and otherwise might have made its home within the untouched depths of the Wyrdwood; and it was 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 plants 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 Wyrdwood 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 Wyrdwood’s bounty.

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

She had come to the area as a much younger woman, all her worldly possessions fitting into a single cart that she had hitched onto a lone horse. Gwenna 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 Wyrdwood. 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 Gwenna’s needs, of which there were not many.

As the towns and villages grew, so did her little homestead. First the cottage, then two outer buildings, one for her chickens and the other for the hanging and drying of 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, a woman of twenty-five now, but Gwenna 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.

Gwenna was familiar with magic to some degree. Her parents had fancied themselves practitioners of a force far older than themselves. They lived cheek by jowl with nature, protecting it and enjoying its bounty, and they had passed their learnings onto their daughter 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, Gwenna 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. Gwenna found clusters of mushrooms whenever she searched for them, and saw fields of wildflowers spring up by her doorstep practically overnight.

Whatever it was that had seen fit to shower Gwenna 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, Gwenna 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 and Gwenna stopped her mending, and turned her head towards the sound.

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 Wyrdwood’s twisting paths. Gwenna had cultivated a cloistered reputation for herself living alone in the woods, but 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 Gwenna recognized this presence, had felt its gaze on her back more times than she could count.

There came another knock. Unhurried once more.

“Oh, just a moment!”

Setting aside her old skirt and sewing needle, Gwenna 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 so well-worn it 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 fell down to her hips in thick tumble of waves, as dark as the soft earth underfoot. Gwenna’s eyes darted to the gap between the door and 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, Gwenna 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, Gwenna had longed to meet them.

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

“Hello? It’s awfully late, what is it that you need?” She questioned, her soft voice echoing out into the night.

If a young woman living out in the middle of the woods invites a mysterious stranger into her home for the night, that’s her own business.

Limits: Anal, Gore, Snuff, Piss, Scat, Violence, Blood, Humiliation and Degradation

History Enthusiasts to the front please!!

“Life always gon’ be hard as Negro Woman. Even More so one alone.” Was a phrase that rung rampant throughout your mind, even more so these days given the circumstances you found yourself in. At first the decision to move from your families small close-knit town in the deep South of Alabama was something that signified change in your life. Your plan was to work in pastry for a while, likely in the back of some White-Owned Business until you could amass enough money to move up north in the hopes of escaping the extreme racism in Alabama. The little enclave you’d been born in was primarily populated with blacks, as it was on the outskirts of Tuscaloosa. There’d always been the occasional threat of white’s coming in trucks, hurling slurs, setting properties on fire, and even attacking or raping the women. But things took a huge turn for the worse ever since there’d been the looming Civil Rights protests starting to form, didn’t take long for the Klan to stick on the outskirts of the town you called home, antagonizing and threatening your community with harm. There were also the sporadic visits from rednecks, that resulted in an increase of rapes and an influx babies— which promptly led the men in the community to band together and fight back. Least to say it went their way, but the casualties on both sides weren’t optimal for your community— your father was one of the casualties in the confict— your grandfather and multiple other men beaten and arrested. To further the pain, law enforcement officials took ‘their’ side— punishing the men who’d been protecting their community when a truck full of rednecks came around harassing people again. The entire ordeal broke you, instilling an adamant hatred and anger toward White’s especially towards White men; who’d turned your life upside down.

With The only family you’d ever known dead or locked up, your grandmother spoke to you with an urgency: She urged you to move from the place you’d called home. You tried to rebuttal her wishes, but eventually caved in, promising to yourself that you’d make enough money to move the both of you out the hellhole Alabama was. Packing all of your things and taking nearly all of your grandmas savings, and saying goodbye, you made your way to Tuscaloosa, Alabama— it wasn’t ideal but the only place you could find any work. It was there you met an older black woman, who had came from your community and hooked you up with a job working in a Pastry Shop in downtown Tuscaloosa. It wasn’t ideal but it made enough to save and pay for your apartment, the owner was a Creole from Louisiana— that was a quadroon and wasn’t as ‘racist’ as the others. You and several other negro women were hidden in the back, in tandem with the slim, comely white ladies— the environment was a refresher from the racism experienced throughout your life.

The apartment you’d rented wasn’t far from

work, meaning you could work more hours and earn favor amongst the other women, in an environment that prides itself on hard-work, punctuality, and competition it was a privilege. Tuscaloosa was a vast difference from the environment you grew up in, the streets were crawling with White People and they made it clear they weren’t fond of Negros. Most of the black men and women worked in either food, or prostitution, and racism was rampant in all aspects of society. Things were looking bright despite all of that, being a young woman and working alongside some of your people for a decent amount of pay was a decent living. But things all went crashing down within 5 months of your arrival, the owner had decided to sell the pastry shops to an older, wealthy white man that didn’t take kindly to the negro women working in the back. He promptly started to phase the women out, hiring white women— who quickly turned the environment toxic with slurs, physical abuse, and less hours of work time. In no time, you found yourself unemployed, your savings could keep you afloat for some time but it wasn’t nearly enough to get you and your grandmother to the north.

The only other option was seeking employment from the other pastry shops around the city, which you did but they all ended in the same result— being called a racial slur and being told to leave promptly. One of your old co-workers whom had gone into prostitution offered a job at a brothel that was somewhat popular but you’d turned it down promptly, before giving in. It was tough working there, having to serve the drunkards that were usually white, or occasionally black— touching and making lewd comments on the women’s bodies. There was money to be made though, but it came at the expense of losing your dignity, you were certainly one of the more beautiful ones, also possessing a curvaceous and voluptuous body. But you regularly turned down any advances past lap dances, even groping was too far for you. Didn’t take long for you to get kicked out, “You’s not making enough money to be here.” Which meant you couldn’t afford to pay rent now.

The months flied past quickly with your savings being depleted as quickly as you’d earned them, and the hunt for a job was looking bleak. You were taking loans from some of your old friends at the brothels, knowing you’d be unable to pay them back, which quickly lost you all the friends you made. Now you were deep in trouble with rent, and the landlord wasn’t kean on having a black live in his building- especially one that didn’t pay.

There were constant threats and notes planted on your door by him if rent was paid by a certain date, and that date was today. The doors and keys were changed, but you’d still managed to get in by sneaking through the fire-escape late at night. Your plan was to live in the apartment as long as possible, it would take some time before he could find someone to lease this room— living homeless was a death sentence for a woman in this city, especially for a black woman.

//////////

“I know you’re in there.. I’m coming in— don’t you dare move. I have a proposition for you.” His voice emitted from outside the door of her apartment loudly.

Hello all! I hope you’ve read through my prompt very carefully and continue to do as the things I’ll list below this are quite essential to the plot I’m planning to write out with you. It’s essentially an Older, Racist Landlord x his Evicted, Younger Black Tenant. As stated it takes place in the 1950’s-60’s in the Deep South of Tuscaloosa, Alabama— in which this ambitious, black woman finds herself in the claws of her landlord as she’s unable to pay rent. The ‘proposition’ listed is a job where she’ll work as a paid live-in maid for the Landlord (M/C), in which she’ll find herself routinely being sexually harassed, assaulted, and eventually corrupted/courted by. How the hell is she supposed to resist him in this situation, it’s either obey or live on the streets..

Ideally their relationship should be of one that is quite rocky, transaction, and full of tension at the start. Sort of a direct parallel to the racial relations in the south at the time. I’m thinking some sort of bridge between love and attachment will spawn on either sides or both sides. Still haven’t really mapped out how exactly the relationship dynamic should progress, but that is why you’re input should help the both of us reach consensus.

This plot MUST contain realistic portrayals of the time period— examples being: racial tensions, stereotypes, vocabulary, among others. Meaning you must have some knowledge of what was going on back then.

I want to keep this role-play fairly realistic in terms of what is going on in that era, and I only wish to roleplay with people who can commit to doing so. I plan for this to be a longterm plot by the way! Include ‘Antebellum’ if you’ve read through this thoroughly!

Ideally there should be a ton of world building and discussion between us before jumping into role-play, I want to make this a role-play we both can implement our ideas and likes into, just make sure to ask and come with an open mind, as I will do the same.

I write around 4-6 paragraphs per response. I usually fluctuate higher or lower depending on the scene and what’s needed from it. I only want to roleplay with partners around that level.

In your opening message to me, Include Some ideas, questions, or things you’d like to change/ discuss with me. Longer, more thought out responses will be prioritized and replied to first! Please write something up with substance, I really enjoy the thrill of discussing and roleplaying with people that have open, creative minds.

(All my previous prompts are open! You should also check out my DPP profile to learn more about me. There are hints on it on how to get a response.)

It was summer, and for you and me, that meant one thing: The Game. That's all we called it. It was pretty illegal and definitely unethical, though only the former was really a concern for us.

Competition was in our blood. It was inherent in our relationship. We made a contest of everything, because that was what made us feel alive. Whenever one of us defeated the other, we would make love like it was the last time. A simple baseball game on television could have us wagering on who has to take it up the ass at night.

We were crazy, in love, and monogamous. Sure, we were both risk-taking, kinky, and cutthroat, but we were made for each other. We were all we needed. Except for one week each year, when we played The Game.

The rules, insofar as you could call them that, were simple: Last year's winner picks a city anywhere in the world. We go there for a week. We get separate hotel rooms. We hide cameras in those rooms. And whoever's tape is the hottest is the winner. Simple enough, right? (Although we often couldn't agree who was the winner and had to ask some friends.) The only limits? One: It had to be enthusiastic consent. Partners who were clearly too drunk or drugged to consent, or who were clearly being pressured or threatened, didn't count - not because we found it wrong, but because, well ... that wasn't in the spirit of The Game. It was a seduction contest. You had to earn it to get a hot scene with some oblivious stranger. And two: No payment. For the same reason.

Beyond that? We were free. Lying was fine. So was the truth - although "Wanna help me beat my wife in a sexually exploiting strangers contest?" usually didn't land. We had gotten good at reading people, trying to figure out what would get their pants off. We each had developed our own strategies. We studied the city in advance, for months. Winning The Game was everything to us.

This year? This year, I'm ready. Nothing is going to stop me from kicking your ass. But I'm sure you feel the same way. Obviously, someone has to lose (you), and someone has to win (me), so enjoy it while you can, because next week, you'll be between my legs, acknowledging how much better I am than you.

There's something weirdly sexy to me - in fiction - about sociopathic sex addicts. Dangerous Liaisons would be a horror story if it were true, but somehow, there's this incredible appeal about people who set aside all norms of humanity in favor of their own pleasure. So, here we are! The broad strokes are, we're a couple - probably rich but definitely amoral - that lives for the thrill of competition. We don't actually want to harm each other; we're profoundly in love. If we didn't have each other, we might become gambling addicts. But luckily, we get our fix by facing off against each other, and then fucking. It's our foreplay. And it's time for our biggest challenge! And, being who we are, we treat the people around us more like game pieces than humans. The city is just our chess board.

So, a little of what I picture here in terms of functionality: I think of this as two separate but interlocking stories. We probably text each other with taunts, send pictures, etc. Maybe we even try to sabotage each other! But largely, it's A plot and ... not B plot. Also A plot. But since they're separate, I envision a co-GM situation. Which means, I'll control the NPCs around you, and you control the ones around me. Does that make sense? Basically, we're being a player in one story and a GM in the other, at the same time.

An important point: Gender doesn't matter to me, and I want to play with people who think similarly. I'm happy with our headline couple consisting of any genders, I'm happy with partners of any gender playing any gender (I like playing men and could play one here if you like) ... but I want you to feel the same way. This is basically just to say, if you're a guy uninterested in MM, we're unlikely to get along. I'm going to be bringing back hotties of all sorts to my room, and if you really want to win, you can't be closed-minded.

So, tell me a little about what this might look like with you! Maybe tell me about who we might be, as a couple. Or maybe what city you might enjoy doing this in. Or other thoughts you have, Basically, make me want to play The Game with you - and win. ;)

I only use Discord, but we'll talk here for a bit to see if we're compatible. Hit me up!

The man watched out the window as the people passed by. Outside the city had become somewhat filled as people traveled. Saturday night in the city, there was so much going on that one could do a different event every night and never go to the same thing twice. Will looked outside and tried to discern if he knew anyone, but the faces were many and he’d given up. He’d been waiting on his date for over thirty minutes now. He reached down and nursed his drink for a moment seeing the shadow of the waiter returning. The waiter was cordial at first but, after keeping the table occupied for so long without ordering much, the politeness was failing him. “Sir, would you like a bottle of wine? I believe it will age along with you as you wait for your date.” He said as he brought the man another drink.

*Two weeks earlier*
Tiffany rolled her eyes as he gave yet another excuse. “This place is in need of a makeover fast. It needs a woman's touch and we both know it.” she said as she looked around his apartment. It was on the top floor of a warehouse turned apartment building. The brick walls, steel beams, and vaulted ceilings gave the apartment little to no warmth. He’d tried to decorate the best he could, but it was obvious Will didn’t have any female companionship in his life. Tiffany stood up from the couch and walked over to a movie poster and pointed it out. Then walked over to a bass guitar and plucked a string, the deep thunking sound reverberating throughout the apartment despite not being plugged in. She finished her tour by walking over to the small reading chair and table that stood near the corner. She flicked the switch and turned on the nearby lava lamp. “Come on, who even has one of these?” She asked.

She let out a long dramatic sigh as she walked over to him and sat nearby on the couch. She paused the TV and looked Will in the face. “I only say this because we work together. You’re funny, you’re a great detective in the city, you’ve got a cute dog…” She trailed off pointing to the german shepherd asleep on one of the spare chairs. The pup sighed loudly as he heard his name being mentioned but it wasn’t for pets. “You’re I don’t know, maybe attractive? Don’t make it weird, you’re like a brother to me.” She said as she leaned back on the couch. She grabbed her glass of wine and finished it off. She set the glass down and looked him in the eyes. “Look, in this city of supes you could get crushed by a car, frozen into a wall of ice, thrown into outer space, or god knows what else. Life’s too short to be all about work.” Tiffany commented as she grabbed her phone. “Look, I’ve got a friend. She’s been chronically single. Y’all seem like you’d click really well and if you both get hitched one day, I get another reason to buy another dress.” she said as she looked him in the eye, “Don’t fuck this up.”

*Saturday Night*
Will looked at himself in the reflection and wondered if this was all a mistake, but decided against it. Tiffany did know what she was doing…….sometimes. “No, just bring me an order of fried cheese ravioli. I’m going to wash my hands real quick.” Will said as he stood up, placing the napkin on the table. As Will went to do that, he left his window spot. Outside a torrent of wind blew through the city streets as a super hero landed outside. With the flurry of wind and sound, most people couldn’t pick up who it was because the person that landed, didn’t wear a superhero outfit. Instead, they looked around and tried to act surprised with the others. Sometimes obliviousness worked wonders when not trying to stand out. The woman walked into the restaurant, and all eyes seemed to turn to her. Not out of curiosity, but to admire the beauty. Some men seemed to let their eyes linger a little longer and caught glares from their dates.

Will returned as he missed the action outside from the superhero landing. He returned to his chair and pulled it out, ready to sit down until she caught his attention. His brain was still running through why she seemed so familiar until she began approaching him. She…..

==00==00==00==

I know we get tired of the troupe but I wanted to try something slightly different. A normal guy attempting to date a superhero. Obviously, she is going to keep her identity a secret but for how long? Do they work together fighting crime and just don’t know each other? What kind of consequences come with dating like this? Does she keep it a secret from him all the time? Does he find out? Of course there will be smut, but superhero smut gets a little more interesting, right?

Anyways, I’d love to play this out with someone who is definitely over the age of 18. Don’t let the account age fool you, I do have some experience in roleplaying. Shoot me a message and let the story take us somewhere interesting.

Hi all,

I have a folder filled with half baked ideas and stories. Some I have written many thousands of words for, with no end in sight! Some I have 'almost' finished, and would appreciate some opinions or feedback on. Some would make great RPs with an engaged partner. Maybe some will inspire or enthuse the right person to collaborate.

I'm open to anything really, mainly seeking some human contact to weigh in or work together on something usually light-hearted and fun. I am very open minded and enjoy a wide variety of kinks and fantasies. If you have something niche or specific send me a message and see if we click.

Here are some unfinished titles:

Living Room Wrestlefuck - a curious/mischievous girlfriend to an ex-wrestler challenges him to show her what he's got. It starts out playful, but I think it then gets quite steamy and tinged with real physical power imbalances that they both find exciting. Supposed to be a sweet, loving and respectful relationship, but there could be elements of CNC as they get into it. Happy to RP or write together.

The Old Man and the Care Assistant - this is a solitary scene that I've half written in chunks. A young care assistant in a care home finds out that one of the residents used to be a famous porn producer and corners him in his room one day so that she can find out if he'll film her, and play out her fantasies of being a 'vintage' pornstar. It's my first foray into a significant age gap dynamic, and I think it's fun but would love second opinions.

The D&D group - this one is quite long already, (>30,000 words) and it's about a woman who finds a D&D group with a perverted edge to its sessions. The world they're playing in is slightly perverted at a baseline, and when something sexual happens they play out the scene IRL, and then things just turn into a lovely friendly sex party haha. I have some ideas for where this would go, and the characters are already established, so probably looking more for brainstorming or collaboration on the existing story rather than RP

The Freeuse Office - perhaps the most clichéd idea I've ever had lol. Some vague company decides that sex is a fantastic motivator, and divides its employees up into 5 grades or bands, with the lower bands being pretty much completely freeuse to any senior members of staff. I have a first intro chapter ready, and then some ideas about other scenes and things to explore within the premise. I've had a lot of fun RPing this one out before, and I think the variety contained within a still quite reasonably distinct premise can be nice and inspiring.

I have several others, and would be happy to chat about any of them or discuss your ideas too of course. I'll put the prologue to the Freeuse Office story here, so you can get a feeling for my writing style. Drop me a DM or comment if anything strikes your fancy or you just want to chat :)

- - - - -

“And this is your office! There should be stationary and all that stuff in the desk there, but anything you need you can just call down for. The numbers are on the phone list there.”

The diminutive redhead finished the tour with that same slightly unsettling grin on her face. She stepped back and let David explore his new home away from home. The view was nice, even if the rest of the room was about as generic an office as he'd ever seen. Aside from the leather couch incongruously sat against one wall. It looked high quality, expensive. 

He thanked Janine for showing him around, but she was in no rush to leave. She just beamed at him, and started talking again in that excitable way of hers.

“So just back down the hall and right is the cafeteria. And next to that are the recreation pods for this floor. But most people called them motels. So if someone arranged to meet you at ‘motel 4’ they mean Recreation Pod 4. It's just one of those things people say without realising it can be confusing for a newbie. I remember when I first started it was such a struggle to take it all in!

“Anyway, the cafeteria and the accessible bathroom are known as Common Decency rooms, or CDs, so it's pretty frowned upon to do anything sexual there. Everywhere else on this floor is freeuse, so no restrictions. Every room, including the conference rooms and private offices, has a booking sheet outside. If you don't book a room out then it's fair game and anyone can make use of the space. For business or pleasure!”

The petite woman giggled and did an exaggerated wink at him that somehow seemed to tickle her some more.

“As you know from the contract this is a very unique work environment, and we value our staff very highly. So if you have any questions or issues just take them straight to your manager or to HR. The girls down there are very kind and helpful, and they've had a lot of practice keeping employee morale up!

“I'm sure you know already, but the main thing to understand is the staff banding structure. In basic terms everyone below you is free for you, you are freeuse to everyone above you, and it's entirely up to mutual agreement for staff members of an equal band. So as a band 3 you'll get free pick of bands 4 and 5, but you'll have to do whatever upper management asks of you. Not so different from a regular office job if you think about it.”

“Er, I'm not sure that's really true…”

Janie laughed and waved a hand at him.

“Okay, maybe it is quite different! But that's the exciting part, isn't it. That's why we're all here. Anyway, the important things to watch out for are the lanyards and the collars. The colour of the lanyard straps will tell you what's going on with them. There's a load of spares in your drawer, so you can swap throughout the day. 

“Green means go. Simple enough: they're open to anything from anyone. Legally speaking that means they've consented to anything, but we're all human, so it's always better to ask permission or willingness for anything too unusual or physical. 

“Blue means they're only open to members of the opposite sex, and orange means only same sex relations.

“Black means they're completely off limits. There's a strict company policy on how many days you can wear black for in each quarter, but generally speaking it isn't something that's challenged or questioned. They're really great about punishing people who don't respect that, which is very reassuring. Again, we're all people, and we all have days where we just need to get on with the job.

“There's also these little abbreviations here, just in the corner, which mostly relate to specific restrictions or preferences. The most common ones you'll see are OO, AO, VO etc. so Oral Only, Anal Only, Vaginal Only. Similarly, if there's a little red cross next to an O A or V it means they aren't up for that specific thing. There are a few others, but there's a glossary in the company manual, and obviously you can just ask people too. You'll find that there aren't many members of staff that are shy or too embarrassed by any of this stuff, so don't feel silly for asking questions.”

Janine paused for breath, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. David felt a stirring in his pants as his eye roamed over her. The tight pencil skirt she wore was incredibly flattering, and if her blouse had been any more than half buttoned it would have been straining to contain her buxom chest. Short but thicc with at least two C's; just his type. And she'd just told him what the colour of her lanyard strap meant…

“Okay, I think I get it. So you're green today, which means…”

“Ah! Yes, I'm open for anything. Most of the women are green here, most of the time. If you ask me some of the men are just too scared still to ditch the blue and live a little.”

Another conspiratorial wink, but with a little more playfulness to it.

“But before you go getting too many ideas, you'll notice this.”

She tapped the dark choker she wore snug against her neck. She stepped forward, angling her head to let him get a good look, but getting closer than he thought was necessary. Her perfume was very faint but pleasant. The faintest hint of sweetness radiating off her pale skin.

“Wearing a collar means that someone owns you. Bands 1 and 2 are the only ones who have ownership privileges guaranteed, but it has been known to happen for lower bands. It takes very specific circumstances, and an exemplary performance record though.

“Broadly speaking, being collared means you are off limits to anyone but your owner. But each contract is unique and everyone has their own rules. That's what makes it so exciting. As impossible as it sounds, you can get bored with getting spitroasted in the stationary cupboard by the same old people. Getting a collar means you aren't freeuse to anyone anymore. But it can result in some pretty intense circumstances. 

“For example, I'm the liaison officer for the CCO.” Her voice didn't really change at all as she talked about herself, as if it were just another mundane topic. 

“That means I don't have to open my legs for anyone but her, despite being Band 3. But on the other hand, she's had me caged and denied for nearly 3 months now. So it's swings and roundabouts.”

She stepped closer still and put a hand on David's chest. She traced a swirl against his shirt, eyeing him hungrily, and watching his reaction.

“But I've been such a good girl that this morning she told me I'd be allowed to cum today. You're the last task on my list. Once I'm done here she'll have me bent over her desk, screaming her name. Or that's what I'm hoping for anyway… I'm practically dripping at the thought. Do you think I've earned it?”

David hovered his hands over her hips and nodded. Every fibre of his being was urging David to seize this gorgeous redhead and taste her cherry lips, but one thought held him back.

“Wait, I thought you said that being collared meant you're off limits?”

“I am. No one can force me to do anything. Only my Mistress. But that doesn't mean I have to be completely celibate. It's all up to the specific agreement between the two of us. And today I have special permission from my owner to do what I want, within reason of course.”

“But how do I know that? What if…?”

“What if I'm lying to you? What if this is some sort of trick?” 

Janine seemed genuinely surprised by the suggestion. Her laughter was almost mocking, daring. The enthusiastic, bubbly woman he'd spent the morning with clearly had a wicked streak to her.

“Hmm. I guess you'll just have to trust me. What's the matter, worried about getting in trouble on your first day?”

Janine emphasises her challenge by laying her palm against his crotch and squeezing gently. She smirked as he twitched and pulsed into her hand.

David groaned involuntarily. The tension and excitement he'd felt from the second he'd heard about this company was finally boiling over. From the seemingly endless interviews and screenings, to the mandatory STI checks, and even the tease of seeing all the gorgeous people here during the office tour: finally he was living the dream. Fucking on company time, the ultimate dream of any office worker!

He grabbed Janine’s hips and pulled her forcefully against him. Replacing her hand with her torso let him grind his hardon directly against her was a more satisfying sensation, but only temporarily. She made a happy little squeak, and didn't resist, leaning into him. He looked down at her smirking face with its button nose. She was so short that he could easily have tucked her head under his chin if he wanted to. 

“Okay. I'll trust you. What are the limits?”

Janine fished her lanyard upwards to show him the plain green card. Just her smiling face and her title, no letters or marks to decipher.

“Normally nothing, see. But I'm only allowed to play with permission. And well, as I told you, my owner has had me caged.”

With minimal movement she hiked up her skirt and then pulled his hand down to investigate. The touch of metal made David pull back in surprise and separate from their almost embrace to get a good look. Not exactly a true cage, it seemed the redheaded woman was fitted with an honest-to-god chastity belt. Not as clunky and heavy as David would have imagined, but still clearly designed to evolve that old-fashioned cliché. There were little holes stippled into the middle of the metal, so some ventilation must be possible, but still there was no way it could have been comfortable to wear. Let alone to wear for months.

Janine sighed in mock consternation.

“I know, I know. It's terribly barbaric, isn't it? But don't worry, my Mistress treats me very well. This is just the price to pay to be chosen by someone like her. So no fucking today I'm afraid. It's a bit of a shame, as popping the newbie’s cherry is a highly sought after prize in the company. I'll just have to settle for something else.”

And with that she dropped down to a low squat. Or probably a medium squat from her petite perspective. She rubbed her hand against his bulge a couple of times, humming her excitement, before beginning to unbuckle his belt. She stared up at him and licked her lips in a salacious tease that made David swallow like a nervous teenager. 

Unzipping and peeling his trousers and underwear down was something she did eagerly and with a practiced hand. But the gasp of surprise and excitement she made as his manhood sprung free from its confines was genuine and incredibly satisfying. It was David's turn to smirk.

“Oh wow! That is a beautiful monster. Holy shit. You have such a gorgeous cock.” 

He didn't know her well enough to really know if this was the same sort of flattery she normally used, but it sure as hell sounded genuine. She wrapped a hand around him, which made him grunt in a sudden burst of pleasure, but could barely connect her fingers. Wide-eyed, she gave him an experimental stroke, slow and firm.

“Mmm. Oh yes, I like this. I'm not sure I could have managed it even if I wasn't caged. I'm very tight.”

The hypnotism his dick had wrought on her lasted a little while longer before she shook it off. Making eye contact once again, some authority returned to her voice. She pointed behind him, and then started unbuttoning her blouse.

“Top drawer of the desk there.”

He quickly followed her direction and saw a little treasure trove waiting for him. Buttplugs, condoms, handcuffs, various silicone shapes. But he surmised it was probably the bottles of lube she had sent him to fetch. 

He handed one over and she popped the lid and poured a dollop into her palm. She'd undone her shirt completely, and unhooked her bra from the front. Her breasts were plump and breathtakingly pale, with tiny pink nipples budding at the centre. Adam watched them jiggle as she rubbed her hands together, coating the lube on both palms.

The friction she'd created took the edge off the cold touch of the lubricant, but it still made him flinch as she reached out and closed both hands around his cock. Her careful attention to spreading it all over his cock, even going back for a second squirt from the tube, was as intense as anything he'd ever experienced before. 

She tried a few experimental pumps, and, seemingly happy with the result, she stood up. 

“Fuck. This cock is perfect. I'll have to beg Mistress to let me try it properly next time. I'm fucking soaking down there.”

There was an edge to her voice that told David she was genuinely frustrated. The first emotion other than happy or sluttily teasing he'd witnessed from her. He believed her wholeheartedly. She took a firm grip and started wanking him properly. Her small hands slid over his slick shaft with ease. He moaned his appreciation and settled back to allow her to dictate the pace.

She wasn't going to let him just stand there though.

“Play with my nipples. Squeeze them. Mmmmm yes. I'm not allowed to cum but… edging is kinda the point. Harder. I want to feel it. Fuck! Yeah, that's it.”

The feel of her pert tits was better than he'd imagined. The breathy encouragement only spurred him on. The lewd sounds of her hands stroking up and down accompanied the electric ecstasy perfectly. The two of them hissed and moaned under the ministrations of each other's hands. 

David hadn't experienced a lot of amazing handjobs, not having much luck with the skill of previous partners, even if they had been enthusiastic. But Janine knew what she was doing. She alternated rhythms without being jarring, she slipped down to stimulate his balls every now and then, and her pace was solid but gradually building. Faster and faster her hands moved, and more groaning and expletives left her lips with each second. David found her stiff little nipples could take some real punishment, and he loved the way her whole body wriggled when he hit the sweet spot.

Normally he would offer to reciprocate more directly, or to move on to full sex. But there was nothing normal about this. And Janine gave no signs of slowing down or easing the building pressure that was pooling at the root of his shaft.

After a particularly heavy exhalation she read his mind.

“Are you gonna cum?”

“Yes. Fuck, yeah I'm close.”

“Mmmm. Good. Where do you want to cum?”

David froze, his mind paralysed with indecision.

Luckily, Janine didn't have the time or patience to wait for him to figure it out. She pulled away from him and moved directly in front, supporting both breasts from underneath with one arm, and containing to jerk him off frantically with the other.

“Cum on my tits. That's it. Fucking cover me. That's it! Fuck!”

The first jet rocketed out of the tip of his cock at the same time a deep throaty cry forced itself from his mouth. He practically bellowed as the woman he'd only just met eagerly pumped him dry onto her bare chest. The surge of overwhelming pleasure spread from his balls throughout his entire body. The aftershocks of each spurt tingled all the way out to the balls of his feet, and his scalp.

Janine's urging prophecy had been fulfilled. He had covered her chest in sticky goo. David couldn't remember the last time he'd cum that much. There were some pale streaks on her neck, but most was now sliding down over her ample breasts. She was looking down at herself with satisfied amazement. 

“Well that's a lot of cum! Holy moly! Hmm, I'll have to show Mistress. She'll be impressed. And it's proof that I did a good job and welcomed our newest employee into the company properly!”

The bubbly, positive persona was back, but the hungry slut was still there at the same time. Her hands traced little circles in the semen web on her chest. She reached a hand instinctively between her own legs, but rolled her eyes in frustration as her nails tapped against the metal.

“Oh! Whoopsie, seems I made a little mess on the floor.” 

David followed her gaze and saw that there was a distinct wet patch on the carpet. He watched as some blobs of semen dropped down next to it. But there was no mistaking the two. She must have leaked out onto the floor through those little breathing holes in her chastity belt. David swallowed, he felt his softening cock twitch involuntarily.

“Don't worry, we have cleaners onsite. They come around every evening, but if there's something that needs sorting straight away just give their number a call. They're used to it! It's easy to get carried away in a place like this.

“Oh and just to be clear, anyone with a staff lanyard is a direct employee. I know other places employ external cleaners or catering companies, but due to the sensitive nature of our organisation we keep it all in house. Which means you won't have to lie about these suspicious stains to the cleaning lady haha! But it does mean that technically that cleaning lady is also available for your use. Something to bear in mind.

“There’s plenty more, but I'm sure you'll pick it up quickly. A good looking guy like you will have his hands full around here. And once word gets out that you've got a great cock you'll be in high demand. Don't worry, I'll tell everyone I pass on the way back upstairs!”

Janine looked down at herself, seemed to consider closing her blouse back up, but only for a second or two. She cracked another wry smile at David, and then moved towards the door, breasts still exposed and obviously glazed.

“Right, well I've got to head up now. I don't want to stay in this stupid cage a second longer. I'm sure I'll see you again. Stay out of trouble.”

“Wait. Janine, that was amazing. I… thank you. You're incredible. That was…”

She shushed him, but happily, with pride sparkling in her eyes.

“I'm sure you'll pay me back one day soon. In fact, count on it.”

And with that promise she opened the door to his office and stepped through with a straight back and head held high, seemingly proud to show off the fruits of her labour to the rest of floor 8. She flashed him one last toothy smile.

“Welcome to the company.”

The year is 1928, and another frigid night has wrapped itself around New York city. The forecasters predict snow any day now, but the biting chill—so sharp it could cut through flesh and sinew, down to marrow—have had little to no effect on the local nightlife.

Servers in starched shirts shuffle about in the gloom, carrying trays of crystal-cut tumblers to awaiting patrons. Tealights on every table ensure that there are no accidents that might result in the loss of whiskey worth its weight in gold. Pungent cigar smoke curls up towards the ceiling as a smattering of applause ripples through the gathered crowd—a veritable who’s who of New York’s rich and powerful. Their continued patronage is what allows the Hell’s Handbasket to remain a premier establishment despite the prohibition; even the considerable forces of the constabulary have to turn a blind eye to their operations.

The rest of the room sits purposefully in shadow, allowing the tiefling on stage to stand out like a beacon in the night. Thin straps hold up the silk of her dress upon bare shoulders, and the neckline plunges low to draw to the eye to the generous gifts upon her chest. The shimmering wine-dark fabric hugs her voluptuous figure like a second skin, leaving just enough to tickle the imagination of what might be hidden underneath. Her infernal heritage is clear to see: warm bronze skin, a whip-thin tail, and twin bony horns sprouting from the sides of her head arcing with a gentle curve. Her hair is as dark as ink, thick and voluminous, piled high ontop of head and spilling into curls down her back.

The tiefling extends her hand with a sultry smile, and grips the stand of the microphone before her.

Recognizing this as their cue, the jazz band in the corner begins to play the first song of her set. Her voice carries through the room powerful and husky, and motes of light descended from the lavish chandeliers overhead, dancing around her like moths to the flame.

This is how Malia spends her evenings.

It has been a year since she began performing at the Hell’s Handbasket. The Devils’ Songbird they call her—and certainly, such a name has afforded her a measure of mystery and fame in establishments such as this. Men and women alike come around the first time simply because they sought to sate their curiosity, and then they returned night after night because they liked what they saw, and Malia was a damn good performer. It was startling to think about just how far she’d risen from her humble beginnings, a twenty-five year old down-on-her-luck immigrant barely scraping by.

If not for the Handbasket, Malia would likely still be living in her tiny shoe-box of an apartment, cleaning floors and washing clothes for a pittance. She’d given herself migraines and canker sores back then, worrying whether or not she could make rent while still having enough to eat.

None of this would have been possible for her without her benefactor’s help—the man that had discovered her, taken her under his wing, and to whom Malia had given her heart, body and soul.

He was out there in the crowd tonight, as always, watching her.

There was much speculation as to who her mysterious lover was; the club’s patrons always took to the gossip like sharks to blood. Some figured that Malia was the mistress of any one of the rich and powerful men that ran the club behind the scenes; this was brought on by the fact that anyone that caused trouble for the young singer would find themselves dealt with in a terrifyingly efficient fashion.

Malia continued her set, one song flowing smoothly into another, and then another. Her hips and curves sway to the music, practically hypnotic. The corners of her mouth curl up towards her golden eyes, her plump lips curving into the kind of smile that would have enticed anyone into sin.

However, in this entire room, Malia only had eyes for one man.

She finishes her last song to lasting applause. The tiefling bows graciously towards her audience, and quickly makes her exit, slipping past the curtains and into the relative hush of backstage. She hasn’t even the time to catch her breath before heavy footsteps, and movement out of the corner of her eye, draw her attention to the figure standing there the end of the corridor—waiting for her.

Her heart skips a beat, and Malia rushes over, tail swinging excitedly from side-to-side. Despite the life she’s lived, and the things she’s seen, she remains a young woman in love.

“Carissimo! There you are—how did you like the show?”

A young singer finds herself in bed with the mob, literally.

Limits: Gore, Snuff, Piss, Scat, Violence, Blood, Humiliation and Degradation

I’m looking for fdom hypnosis based RP partners! Switches (or people willing to try it out! happy to be your first) are strongly preferred.

I’m hoping to do longer-term, more semi-literate-ish RPs, like a paragraph or two at a time, sometimes more. I don’t get super crazy, just a little bit of effort!

I have far more ideas than I can fit into one post - or that you probably care to read - so please message me for more! Here are a couple of prompts that I think somebody out there would really enjoy:

=== Playtime ===

You slowly blink your eyes awake as you begin to wake up from a good night’s sleep. You can feel how good the sleep was; your body is relaxed and refreshed, and everything feels good. Today was looking up already.

Until you opened your eyes.

You were not in your home. In fact, you were bound to a wall by soft cuffs around your wrists and ankles, long enough to give you freedom to walk around and keep you from escaping.

Your eyes start to adjust to the light. You seemed to be in a house, a spiraling stairwell in the middle as well as… spiraling stuff everywhere. Pottery, furniture, paintings, there were spirals all over the place.

You try your best to stay calm, but it isn’t easy.

What makes it harder is the woman that soon comes down the stairs. “Awake, right on time,” she says with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you love this.”

=== Sperm Bank ===

The past few months have only confirmed your own fears, you're in a slump. Work became monotonous, the prospect of going home to nothing besides a recliner and the TV seem to make the days blend together. Even though your manager didn't say as much, you know the effect on your work ethic must've been part of the reason you were placed on "unpaid leave" two months ago. You know from your countless nights spent in front of the TV that a sperm bank has recently opened in your neighborhood. This isn't something you'd normally give a second thought to, but you're strapped for cash, and their incessant advertising has is hard to forget after being exposed to it hundreds of times. You've done some research and from what you can tell, they seem to offer almost four times the payout compared to "donations" made elsewhere. Your utterly oppressive lifestyle in recent months eventually convinces you to give this place a try. What's wrong with making a little extra cash for doing something you were going to do on your own regardless?

Still, you're a bit of a modest person, so you decide to head to the clinic on a Tuesday afternoon, anticipating fewer clients will be there. Once inside, you see the stark white interior, you could tell right away the establishment was new. All of the lobby furniture was arranged perfectly, not even an inch out of place. The coffee table magazines sat untouched, perhaps even unopened. The soft white lighting, while still bright, showed no imperfections on the floor... and no one else in the building. It was then that you noticed the receptionist. "Hello there, you must be ===.” It looks like this is your first appointment with us, would you care to have a seat? A technician will see you shortly."

It was no more than five minutes later that your name was called. You looked up to see a stunning woman, her hair was raven black and fell at her shoulders. Her sleek build was immediately apparent, even under her scrubs. "===, I'm Marisa, it's nice to meet you. I'll be your technician for today." You stand up and follow as you're guided down the corridor, passing rooms on left and right until you reach the end of the hall. Room 9, the sign reads. Inside, you find a chair in the center, with a screen on the adjacent wall. As you take a seat, you think to yourself that the chair is more comfortable than any doctor's office chair has a right to be.

"I see that this is your first time donating", Marisa comments. "Well, I'm very glad you came in today, based on your appearance and your survey, I'd say you're the perfect candidate, and exactly what I'm looking for." You thought briefly about Marisa's choice of words, surely she meant "we", right? Marisa began to speak again, "You'll see that we have a monitor placed in our donation rooms, in lieu of the standard magazines. We play a standard video as aiding material for our clients, but should you find yourself unable to produce a "sample", just don't take your eyes off of the screen."

As Marisa began to move towards the door, you noticed the collection cup provided on a small table to the right of your chair. Marisa toys with a switch on the wall by the door and the lights begin to dim. "Please, just take your time, focus, and... relax", Marisa says as she exists. What was that faint sound you heard? Did she lock the door? You turn your head back to face front as the monitor comes to life and washes the room in color.

This is my opener from a story that I'm writing with a very talented writer. It came from a prompt titled: "What kind of an overconfident wizard leaves a succubus in the house alone with their wife?"

~

I lay on the table for hours. Days. Perhaps even weeks. It's always unclear when it happens. When I'm summoned.

First there is the Lure. Afterwards you remember what it was and you feel stupid that you fell for it. Sometimes it's a fluffy animal that you want to touch. Sometimes an attractive human. Whatever it is, however stupid it is, we often can't help ourselves, and then it starts. The feeling of falling, dizziness. Next, there is a swirl of the most beautiful colours that anyone could imagine. And that's often the last beautiful thing that I'll see for a while. Because then there is darkness followed by the inability to move.

Trapped.

After that comes the Binding. Sometimes they don't know that they need to do that, and the saying, "What you don't know won't hurt you" becomes a big fat lie. Binding is what stops us from earning the dark side of our reputation.

Harrod, however, had done his research. When I arrived on his large oakwood table within the Trap he looked surprised and very proud of himself. And, to be fair, he deserved it. What he did took effort and planning and confidence.

He'd at least made it through chapter two of his book. I saw that he had the inks and the needles ready. I prayed that he was a good artist. Fortunately, for all of his ugly pathetic qualities, he could draw. The design he chose was small and simple. They don't need to be complicated but once the tattoo has been inflicted upon my skin, and the final words of the enchantment uttered, only he could release me.

Because now I was Bound.

He didn't release me from the Trap so I lay on the table. I didn't interact with him. I'm not required to talk, not without other spells. I don't think he read that far. Perhaps they are in Volume Two of that tome that his face lives in.

What did impress me was that he lasted a full week before he touched me. I know that I'm very attractive. He hardened up the moment I arrived. But he waited. When he did finally touch by body, his hands were warm, and they shook a little. It was hard not to grin at this display of… weakness? I’d felt his desire for me from the moment I arrived. And, half-an-hour later, I heard, and sensed, his release when tugged upon his short cock.

After that, he became more comfortable with using my body. Touching. Licking. Sucking. I wish my nipples hadn’t hardened like they did when his wet mouth and scratchy facial hair had latched on. But what can one do when they are being pleasured?

He likes me. He likes to fondle me and sometimes he lays next to me. I feel his hands on my skin, and I feel his cock pressed against me. Sometimes he masturbates elsewhere in the house. I still feel his release no matter how far. Oh the joy of being Bound.

Here's the problem. He didn't realize something. The moment he used me for sexual gratification, I was no longer Trapped. I could move around however I liked. There was, however, nowhere to go. Since he wasn't over the top with me, I stayed on the table and lay still.

One morning, I heard you.

I chastised myself for not having sensed you right away. I don't know why I didn't feel you other than to say that... you're quiet. You were a puzzle because of that. You felt... different.

You I found interesting. I would listen for you, moving around, cooking or cleaning. Harrod is not a good husband. Most men aren't. He clearly was hiding me from you. Probably because he was worried that you'd run to the local priest and report what he'd done. And then they'd burn me. And, by the gods, that hurts.

When you came to the door that night and peeked through the crack we connected. Not in a way that you understood or even noticed. But, I did.

I could feel your interest. Your curiosity. Plus a little of the revulsion at Harrod. I share that with you. At least you don't have to worry about his grubby fingernails anymore, do you?

Humans are fun to torment. If it's about sex or desire or jealousy or even envy, I can feel it. I can stoke it. I can inflict it upon them

So I did. On you. Because fuck Harrod and his gross dirty fingernails, his bad breath, and his sour smelling cum. I can get to him through you. Starting with your dreams. They're so easy and there is so much playground to explore.

I allowed myself a smug grin when you awoke from a particularly lucid dream I had shoved into your dreams, and you rubbed yourself into a lurid frenzy the moment Harrod had left your bedroom.

During the day I just lay there listening to you. I'd imagine what you were doing as you moved a chair here, or started chopping up something for dinner.

A few days later, Harrod announced that he was packing to go to collect herbs from the mountain valley to the east. When he was finished packing, I felt his decision to use me. He had been horny all morning but now that he had nothing do to, those feelings were stoked in his head. And his loins. Fingering me was his usual. He liked how I taste. So do I, for that matter. I heard his panting and the clink of his belt as he worked it open. I wondered if he was going to finally fuck me.

I sighed silently and cast my thoughts elsewhere. To you and I noticed that you had stopped making noise.

Harrod's fingers squeezed on my nipples - not hard enough to actually distract me. For a few moments you were invisible to me. Until you weren't. The door has a very very quiet place where it rubs. I grin when I hear it because I know what you're doing. You're watching.

And that got me wet.

Harrod started panting, thinking he'd done something to make me aroused.

My eyelids fluttered as you filled my head. I could feel you, your own sex getting hotter and hotter. There was a passion in you that was overshadowing the man who was furiously grunting next to me.

And when you came, my cunt clenched, and Harrod splattered onto the floor.

By the Gods I loved what you did. I felt it profoundly. Under other circumstances I would have cum, too.

Harrod used a rag to clean his mess, then he collected his things, and half-an-hour later, he was gone. The house was again quiet.

For the first time since I've been here, I sat up. It's time to introduce myself to you. I'm going to be here for a while, I expect.

And you need to understand exactly what that means.

Sharing is Caring is once again open. Showoff a piece of writing you are eager to share with others. To participate post something of your own using the post flair: Sharing is Caring Saturday. That’s it! The event will run for twenty-four hours. As long as the flair is available, submissions are open.

What sort of content can you post?
• A story or part of a story you are proud of
• A prompt you feel was particularly inspired
• Something inspired by one of our writing challenges
• A character, setting or plot you want to show off
• It can be erotic but it does not have to be either

What is not allowed?
• Anything that violates the rules of the subreddit or Reddit’s site wide rules
• Someone else’s work

Feel free to include a short note about what you’re sharing — the premise, the genre, what inspired it, or why you picked that particular piece. This is your chance to dust off something you’ve written, put it back in front of readers, and maybe discover a few new writers along the way.

Don’t forget to get involved!
Leave a comment on someone’s else post about what you liked. Or note something you found interesting. Upvote people sharing their own work.

So go ahead folks and share with us what you’re proud to show off!

The common folk say the Woods are a wild place, shifting and everchanging, but I’ve trod these steps so many times that I can find my way to you on a moonless night. My boots know the way, even if the pair I wear now are stitched from fine leather instead of the chafing wooden clogs of the past. Memories of midnight sojourns slink to the fore of my mind - of sneaking out of the castle like a thief, swapping the cold stone of my bedchambers for the warmth of your cottage hearth and the tangled heat of your sheets.

A low branch scrapes my shoulder as the treeline breaks, and with it the reverie shatters too. My recollections but a pale imitation against the woman waiting just a few steps away. You. I linger at the edge of your garden, looking up at the lazy coil of smoke unfurling from your chimney - wondering how the subtle scent of you cuts through the smell of woodsmoke that hangs heavy in the air. A half-smile curls at the corner of my mouth as I spy you tending to a heap of carrots, sunk to your knees as you count out the harvest. Your damp linen dress drapes on curves I’ve spent many nights artfully tracing with worshipful fingertips, mapping out each contour of your body through slavish devotion alone.

My fingers go to the collar of the velvet doublet my brother insists I wear. Even within the vaunted halls of the castle proper, I’d felt like a foppish fool constricted in its clinging cloth embrace. So I slip free of the garment and drape the fanciful fabric over your fence. Even a King cannot compel me to come before you as someone I’m not.

The heavy signet ring, which insists that I am a Prince proper, tumbles to the dirt next. With you, I never needed such decorations to ward off the bitter bite of my bastard lineage. I’ve known you since I was but a half-blooded un-Prince tracking footprints through dense briars to find you plucking mushrooms at the edge of the estate, leaving behind the half-hearted lectures of uncaring tutors for the woman who taught me how to smolder amidst the trees.

Then, your head quirks. As if you can feel the heat of my desire from across the span of your garden. Your gaze shifts from your basketed carrots to the draped doublet, mirth blooming upon your crimson-stained lips as your eyes find mine. I cross the distance, darting around your planted crops, until my arms loop tightly around you. Such greetings between us seldom require words - and what good are casual pleasantries, when I can lavish the length of your neck with a trail of soft, hungry, kisses that ends in a playful bite? My tongue lashing out to soothe the marks left in my wake, while my hands roam down the length of your spine to squeeze the plush warmth sequestered beneath your dress. Our mouths meet in a long, lingering moment - narrowing our mutual worlds down to the tangle of tongues and our roving hands rediscovering what we long for most on all those nights spent apart. Breaking apart, breathless, only so you can see what I desire most reflected in my eyes.

Somehow, we make it into your cottage proper - though your bed proves to be a distance too great when my trousers tangle around my ankles, halting my clumsy stride. Instead, I palm your shapely ass, hiking you up onto your own wooden countertop as alchemical reagents and cooking utensils clatter to the ground amidst your pealing laughter. With you in my arms, I’m more beast than Prince - unable to work the clasp that undoes your dress, my hands rend the garment into fluttering scraps that join the growing mess beneath our feet. I mumble a promise to replace it, words thick and gravelly amidst my desire, even as I chase the apology with a scorching kiss.

Leaning into you, feeling the softness of your breasts and enraptured heartbeat against the hard muscle of my chest. You are bared, nude, before me - my fingers traipsing down your sides to settle on your hips, pulling you close as my tip presses against the needy heat that blooms between your thighs. Cock coated with your wet arousal, I push forward - letting out a soft moan against your ear as I sink into your clenching cunt. My grip on your waist surges, seizing you, wanting our two bodies to conjoin as I thrust deeper into you. The air about us grows thick with the scent of sex and the wet sound of pounded pussy, as the wooden countertop creaks its protest beneath the intensity of our carnal reunion.

I was supposed to talk to you. But with you, everything I ought to be fades away - every royal obligation foisted on me obliterated by this fiery, familiar hunger stoked by your presence.I lock my arms around you, as if I could pull you closer when you are already taking me to the hilt with each wild thrust. I need you to feel how agonizing the ever-growing distance between the castle and your cottage is to me. Lifting you bodily, I press your back against the cottage wall, never letting my shaft slip free from your sex even for a moment. I slam into you, keeping you pinned in place by hands cupping your taut rear and a relentless onslaught of cock. Our sweat-slicked bodies writhe together against the stone, warding away the cold with the wild, wanton heat of our shared passion. Drawing back from each thrust with a soft whine that tumbles from the tip of my tongue, unable to bear even this momentary absence of your scorching embrace before I plow back into your waiting wetness.

We cling to each other long after the frantic storm subsides, laying spent and breathless on a bed that once had four working legs. The fire at your hearth has long since burned away, leaving the cottage still and chilly. Your sheets are thick with our mutual scent, and I pull them over your damp skin to shield you from the draft. I press one last kiss on the crown of your head, suddenly imagining a gilded adornment in place of my lips. My fingers rove down your front, brushing up against the lips of your sex - feeling the trickle of my spilled desire as it coats your spread thighs.

“I’m a Prince now.” I say, words tasting somehow bitter after the sweet succor of your skin.

I’d trade a thousand Kingdoms and Crowns for just another moment like this, with you. So I ask:

“Have you ever considered being a Princess?”

We’ve known each other a long time, in stolen moments when I snuck away from the castle - a mere bastard brother to the King-to-Be spending time with you, a woman outside the confines of the court life that has always rejected me. But now my brother has ascended to the throne and legitimized me as his heir, a proper Prince. Now everything is different, I have courtly duties I must navigate, responsibilities I’ve never considered, and a title I always resented when my brother bore it.

I’m offering you a crown, but can you imagine living your life inside a castle?

I envision your character as a true woman of the wilds, but her exact nature is entirely up to you. She could be a hedge witch, a druidess, a shapeshifting were-woman, or something else entirely - so I’m excited by any and all ideas. I’d also be intrigued if she were older and more experienced than my character, but I’m flexible on all aspects of the prompt.

Limits: No Underage Characters

Impatiently Sky ran into them room and sought to work on this particular little problem. How long would their roommate be out for the evening? More than an hour at least (unless he brought someone home). Sky never needed that long to get some relief, but the ache between their legs and the bright blush on their face said otherwise. Sky, the vampire, was pent up after a night of dining on human blood, but it should be noted that this vampire doesn't drink people dry; it's just enough to feel a little full. Just enough for the physical hunger to die down. Sadly for Sky the sweet taste of that foul elixir to their long life brought with it such a longing.

Sky hadn't even taken off their t-shirt before straddling the pillow between their nude lower half. The soft puffy mound of their pussy soaked the pillow already, they had been practically dripping the minute the roommate said they were leaving for a while. A soft little groan escaped their lips once their hips started to move, the bed creaking with each little delighted movement. Their clit was aching as they humped their pillow a little harder.

His name escaped their lips.

Imagination ran wild with the thought of their roommate. More so even the fact that he was a werewolf, living in close proximity it was hard not to get attached to him sometimes. Some nights back he had forgotten Sky was home, and he had brought a date over. Normally Sky would leave, but that night they stayed in bed listening to the sounds his date made; that little pang of jealousy and longing. Sky would never be able to taste him the way a human could, but all the same him filling their mouth made their heart race. What would his hands feel like on their breasts? Would he gripe them tightly and fuck them just like he fucked all the other women he used to bring? Even if it amounted to just a drunken makeout session, Sky would've been content.

To be wanted, loved, touched without a care of what they were. Sky wanted someone who could see the beauty of the monster within, even when they hated what they were. To rip them open and see if after all this time there was a soul buried there. Claws against flesh, teeth breaking skin, drinking each other in an unholy communion. A terrible and ugly thought, but one that brought Sky comfort. To be loved and rid of a nightmare. Still, the vampire needed to overcome their own fears. Lust after their werewolf roommate wasn’t doing them any favors, was it?

Sky stopped feeling ashamed of listening to him a while back, it happened sometimes. Roommates and the miscommunications of when date nights were happening. Maybe he had listened to them once too, who knew. But if that was the case, why hadn't he made a move on them? He must of known, the way Sky's scent became sweeter, on the nights Sky would go out to hunt, must have caught his attention sometimes. But that was a dangerous game Sky was playing, they hadn't felt the touch of another person in such a long time and even then sex hadn't really been a thing either. Never the right time, or place. The desire to feel him though, tonight it felt more frustrating than usual.

"F-Fuck..." Sky was louder than usual.

They were so lost in the moment that they didn't recognize when their roommate came back. He had forgotten something.

At first the noises alarmed him, he thought Sky was in pain until he walked past the kitchen and into the hallway. His nose caught the scent of something sweet and heavy. He noticed that his roommate's door was open just a bit. There through the slight opening of the door he saw Sky; bare brown skin and the curves of their legs, Sky lifted up their shirt and he could see the soft curves of their breasts (he never knew how mesmerizing dark nipples could be) and the tattoos along their neck and arms (he was too polite to ask about them). He could feel the wolf in him wanting to devour Sky. He hadn't looked at her... \*them\*, like that in a long time.

She was begging for him. The way Sky said his name, the little cries and whimpers, he wanted to be the one making them feel that way. Part of him knew it was instinct, the need to breed, and the other part of him was longing for something deeper. To unmake that vampire completely, give in to the basest desire, to claim them like no other creature could.

It wasn't uncommon for werewolves and vampires to live together. The two usually kept each other in check. It also helped that vampires weren’t fond of drinking werewolf blood. Sky was a covenless vampire, not unheard of but still uncommon and a dangerous variable to the wrong kinds of night creatures and humans. As far as roommates went, Sky didn't cause much trouble and they stuck to the house rules of not bringing 'human snacks'.

The way Sky was riding that pillow, it was painfully obvious that he hadn't gotten a chance to find relief for a while. He was dumbfounded, elated, scared, he could’ve let the wolf out just then if Sky has asked him too.

But there were lines you didn't cross. Right?

He stepped out shortly after, as quietly as he could and forgot what he was going to grab from his room anyways. The image of Sky, their messy black hair, the smudged lipstick on their lips, the fanged smile and the adorable way they were humping that pillow... He would've barged in and taken them, followed the wolf's instinct and claim them by force...

That's what scared him the most.

——
Hey everyone! It's the generic vampire and werewolf roommate thing.

Sky is around 5’8. Slender and has black hair that’s usually kept in a messy crew-cut. They were bag sweats at home, and if they have to go out they wear tight turtlenecks and black jeans with biker boots. They have a favorite pair of sunglasses that are black with gold frames. Their skin is brown, and they are fairly thin. Not sickly but enough to get complimented on their perky butt and the feminine hips they have that sticks out like a sore thumb. Some tats here and there. Sky does consider themselves non-binary, there's a lore explanation for that.

This is open to everyone. Just need someone to play the male werewolf roommate.

3rd person, and please give me a description of your character before we write!! No exceptions. Just as a note responses might take a couple of hours to some days. Also, because I need to stress this. I love angst and tragic stuff. I want our characters pinning for each other and all the messy complex stuff that can come from that. Sky’s backstory is dark, so if you’re okay with that, I’d appreciate it.

Sky does not get along well with happy go lucky characters. Also we can world build and brainstorm a bit more! I looooove brainstorming stuff.

Our characters fucking is NOT the end goal. I really would like to see a romance develop out of these characters.

I do prefer it being a slow and messy romance. Part of the drama is that Sky technically is a virgin (remember the vampire folklore about how they liked virgins).

This is open to anyone! You have to be comfortable with making love in werewolf form for this RP. Human form is fine too but I like the more werewolf stuff. Black cat personality for the werewolf is preferred. Sky doesn’t really like being a vampire, so it’d be nice to have someone play a character that enjoys being what they are.

I am a literate roleplayer so my standard varies between 3 paragraphs to sometimes almost a whole page worth of writing. I mostly use discord for RPs now a days.

The more angsty and tragic the character, the better!!

Likes:

sloppy kisses, tongue kisses, ridiculous amounts of cum, getting knotted, beast, romance, smut, affection, holding hands, saying I love you, biting, blood, light amounts of forcefulness, oral (giving and receiving), size difference, clothed sex, anthro, werewolf, hand holding, affection, anthro,

Maybes: exhibition/risky places, cnc (drunkenness, sleep play)

Dislikes:

pain, gore, vore, feet, bathroom things, centaur, minotaur, anal, corruption

I’m looking for fdom hypnosis based RP partners! Switches (or people willing to try it out! happy to be your first) are strongly preferred.

I’m hoping to do longer-term, more semi-literate-ish RPs, like a paragraph or two at a time, sometimes more. I don’t get super crazy, just a little bit of effort!

I have far more ideas than I can fit into one post - or that you probably care to read - so please message me for more! Here are a couple of prompts that I think somebody out there would really enjoy:

=== Playtime ===

You slowly blink your eyes awake as you begin to wake up from a good night’s sleep. You can feel how good the sleep was; your body is relaxed and refreshed, and everything feels good. Today was looking up already.

Until you opened your eyes.

You were not in your home. In fact, you were bound to a wall by soft cuffs around your wrists and ankles, long enough to give you freedom to walk around and keep you from escaping.

Your eyes start to adjust to the light. You seemed to be in a house, a spiraling stairwell in the middle as well as… spiraling stuff everywhere. Pottery, furniture, paintings, there were spirals all over the place.

You try your best to stay calm, but it isn’t easy.

What makes it harder is the woman that soon comes down the stairs. “Awake, right on time,” she says with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you love this.”

=== Sperm Bank ===

The past few months have only confirmed your own fears, you're in a slump. Work became monotonous, the prospect of going home to nothing besides a recliner and the TV seem to make the days blend together. Even though your manager didn't say as much, you know the effect on your work ethic must've been part of the reason you were placed on "unpaid leave" two months ago. You know from your countless nights spent in front of the TV that a sperm bank has recently opened in your neighborhood. This isn't something you'd normally give a second thought to, but you're strapped for cash, and their incessant advertising has is hard to forget after being exposed to it hundreds of times. You've done some research and from what you can tell, they seem to offer almost four times the payout compared to "donations" made elsewhere. Your utterly oppressive lifestyle in recent months eventually convinces you to give this place a try. What's wrong with making a little extra cash for doing something you were going to do on your own regardless?

Still, you're a bit of a modest person, so you decide to head to the clinic on a Tuesday afternoon, anticipating fewer clients will be there. Once inside, you see the stark white interior, you could tell right away the establishment was new. All of the lobby furniture was arranged perfectly, not even an inch out of place. The coffee table magazines sat untouched, perhaps even unopened. The soft white lighting, while still bright, showed no imperfections on the floor... and no one else in the building. It was then that you noticed the receptionist. "Hello there, you must be ===.” It looks like this is your first appointment with us, would you care to have a seat? A technician will see you shortly."

It was no more than five minutes later that your name was called. You looked up to see a stunning woman, her hair was raven black and fell at her shoulders. Her sleek build was immediately apparent, even under her scrubs. "===, I'm Marisa, it's nice to meet you. I'll be your technician for today." You stand up and follow as you're guided down the corridor, passing rooms on left and right until you reach the end of the hall. Room 9, the sign reads. Inside, you find a chair in the center, with a screen on the adjacent wall. As you take a seat, you think to yourself that the chair is more comfortable than any doctor's office chair has a right to be.

"I see that this is your first time donating", Marisa comments. "Well, I'm very glad you came in today, based on your appearance and your survey, I'd say you're the perfect candidate, and exactly what I'm looking for." You thought briefly about Marisa's choice of words, surely she meant "we", right? Marisa began to speak again, "You'll see that we have a monitor placed in our donation rooms, in lieu of the standard magazines. We play a standard video as aiding material for our clients, but should you find yourself unable to produce a "sample", just don't take your eyes off of the screen."

As Marisa began to move towards the door, you noticed the collection cup provided on a small table to the right of your chair. Marisa toys with a switch on the wall by the door and the lights begin to dim. "Please, just take your time, focus, and... relax", Marisa says as she exists. What was that faint sound you heard? Did she lock the door? You turn your head back to face front as the monitor comes to life and washes the room in color.