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TemporarySanity
Dust
- Joined
- Oct 19, 2018
Who am I?
Just a gal from the east coast of the United States who enjoys extremely dark, degrading stories with unhappy (for the heroine) endings. Why? Simple: there are lots of things I fantasize about that I’d never want to experience in real life -- things that would effectively destroy my life, if they happened for real -- and roleplay is a great outlet for exploring them. I’m not just a teller of lewd tales, though! My roleplay experience goes back (longer than I want to admit, cough) to tabletop gaming and MUSHes.
(Dungeons and Dragons is most people’s gateway drug into tabletop, but my first RPG was actually Call of Cthulhu. It spawned a lifetime love of flapper dresses, speakeasies, and tentacl—books of arcane lore. I meant to say books of arcane lore.)
What Can I Offer You?
Literate (I like to think) RP. Responses in the 2-3 paragraph range, multiple times a day if my schedule permits (and it usually does). A partner who won’t ghost you and who will let you know if she’ll be offline for more than a day or two. Okay, that’s not a ton of things to offer you, but hopefully it’ll suffice. I exclusively play in third person, and in private messages as opposed to open forum threads.
Kinks?
Yes, I have some.
But Specifically?
I’m heavily submissive (I don’t play dominant characters, except as a setup for their downfall; there’s something yummy about a powerful, arrogant character being forced to her knees, even better if she realizes she belongs there), with a love for rough treatment on a physical and emotional level. Whips and collars are lovely, but real dominance begins in the mind and heart, and I enjoy bringing all of those elements into a scene.
Now if you’d like some specifics, I have an f-list over at F-list - Warning -- there’s a caveat, though. By no means was it meant to be exhaustive; I figured it’d be clearer to pick a few big examples that get my engine purring instead of categorizing 3000 different kinks. If you like something that’s not on my list, it doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just not on the list. Ask! I promise, no question about it, that I will never kink-shame you. (I mean, jeez, considering what I’m into, that’s the definition of throwing stones in a glass house…)
How About Plot Hooks?
I’ve got a few of those, too; just some nasty little nightmares I’ve been hungry for. If you like something you see but you have ideas to put a twist or a spin on it, I’d love to hear it. I consider it my job as a roleplay partner to make sure we’re both having a good time, after all. Advance warning, repeating what I opened with -- these are largely heavily dark and extreme plots. If that isn't your cup of tea, you won't find much to enjoy here. (And I hope you find a partner who fits you better!) If you like what you see, drop me a private message!
A Whore's Punishment (currently most-craved)
“How can you live there? The country is completely backwards, and women barely have any rights!”
It’s just for a few months, I told my friends. The company needed a skilled expert to oversee the new facility, and they’re paying me enough to make it more than worth my time. (I couldn’t tell them about that secret part of my heart, the part that thinks about a land where men rule and women obey and gets..warm inside.)
It’s worse than I thought, as I soon learn. The police are always on watch for women who stray from the path of virtue. Men can be fined or imprisoned, but women need…special correction, for their own good. Once a week, in the public square, women who have been tried and convicted of committing prostitution are punished for the moral enlightenment (and entertainment) of a cheering crowd. And that charge is very, very loose; breaking almost any law on female behavior, showing a fraction too much skin or trying to promote feminism are all – according to the wise and all-knowing authorities – proof of being a whore.
The women are stripped for the approval of the crowd. And then, they are tortured. Many are whipped or caned, then locked in a pillory in the town square for the night so that the virtuous townfolk can hurl rotten produce at them or worse – or, it is said, pay the guards a pittance to look the other way, and have more creative fun. Feminists and foreigners are singled out for more creative torments.
There was the foreign livestock expert who came to teach the ‘backwards’ farmers more modern practices. They led a bull onstage and forced her to ‘milk the pretty cow’ with her hands and mouth, and then drink the entire bucket of ‘nice fresh milk’ while apologizing for her ignorance. The culinary expert who insulted the local cuisine was seated at a table on the stage; the cook she’d insulted came out, squatted, and produced a ‘fine chocolate eclair’ upon a china plate, and she was forced to thank him after eating every bite. A feminist professor didn’t have to spend the night on display in the square like the other girls; she was bound at the bottom of a pit under an outhouse toilet, her face forced upward toward the seat, so a long line of men could help educate her.
There were sometimes medieval punishments. Ice baths, branding irons, piercings. Often dogs or donkeys were led onstage to join the show. Always, above and beyond anything else, there was humiliation. The next morning, the broken and traumatized women were given the chance to repent of their sins and acknowledge the natural inferiority of women and the rightness of their male superiors. They always did. After that, most were released. Some weren’t. Either returning to the stage the very next week for a fresh round of torture and repentance, or disappeared; with their passports and ID taken away, allegedly they were either sold to wealthy men as modern-day slaves, or to any number of secret brothels. Even if they weren’t truly guilty of being whores before, they would be one now.
I watch the public displays every week. The screams and weeping of the women haunts me in my apartment later, as I desperately finger myself, fantasizing about taking their place as the crowd cheers for my punishment. And though I know how reckless it would be, some part of me wonders how long it will be before I walk into the police station…and ask to make a confession. They’ve never had a woman beg to join their show before, to be branded a whore; would they be kinder to me, or all the more cruel when it was my turn to go up on stage?
My Secret Master
In public, I'm a devout feminist. I have all the right opinions, all the right stances. And by night, I'm logging onto the dark web to explore the seamiest corners of underground porn. I watch women being tortured, being (pseudo?) raped, their actual consent in dubious limbo. A parade of abuse and degradation. Then comes the morning I find a note under my apartment door: "You should close your blinds at night."
I live in the heart of a city. My building faces a dozen others, hundreds of windows, no telling who was watching me from afar. Sick curiosity leads me to leave my blinds open the next night. An invitation to the dance. That's when the instructions and the gifts start to arrive. For instance (just an example), perhaps a tiny black crop-top with lettering that reads "This is What a Feminist Looks Like," and a string bikini bottom. And the note: "Looking forward to seeing you in this. Stand in your window tonight and dance for me."
The night after that, there's another gift-box. This one has a dog collar, a food bowl, and a can of dog-food in it. "Dinner, bitch," the note reads.
That said, there are so many directions this plot could go. Maybe my distant admirer starts ordering me to commit more and more public acts of submission, including whoring myself for him. Maybe he sends me a set of local news-clippings, about local women being brutally raped in their homes, and tells me to leave my front door unlocked that night. Maybe I'm watching a torture video on the dark web and the weeping, abused girl is ordered to turn to the camera, speak my name and my address, and say "He says you're going to star in his next movie."
I've been playing games with a very, very dangerous man. And I'm about to pay for it.
Just a gal from the east coast of the United States who enjoys extremely dark, degrading stories with unhappy (for the heroine) endings. Why? Simple: there are lots of things I fantasize about that I’d never want to experience in real life -- things that would effectively destroy my life, if they happened for real -- and roleplay is a great outlet for exploring them. I’m not just a teller of lewd tales, though! My roleplay experience goes back (longer than I want to admit, cough) to tabletop gaming and MUSHes.
(Dungeons and Dragons is most people’s gateway drug into tabletop, but my first RPG was actually Call of Cthulhu. It spawned a lifetime love of flapper dresses, speakeasies, and tentacl—books of arcane lore. I meant to say books of arcane lore.)
What Can I Offer You?
Literate (I like to think) RP. Responses in the 2-3 paragraph range, multiple times a day if my schedule permits (and it usually does). A partner who won’t ghost you and who will let you know if she’ll be offline for more than a day or two. Okay, that’s not a ton of things to offer you, but hopefully it’ll suffice. I exclusively play in third person, and in private messages as opposed to open forum threads.
Kinks?
Yes, I have some.
But Specifically?
I’m heavily submissive (I don’t play dominant characters, except as a setup for their downfall; there’s something yummy about a powerful, arrogant character being forced to her knees, even better if she realizes she belongs there), with a love for rough treatment on a physical and emotional level. Whips and collars are lovely, but real dominance begins in the mind and heart, and I enjoy bringing all of those elements into a scene.
Now if you’d like some specifics, I have an f-list over at F-list - Warning -- there’s a caveat, though. By no means was it meant to be exhaustive; I figured it’d be clearer to pick a few big examples that get my engine purring instead of categorizing 3000 different kinks. If you like something that’s not on my list, it doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just not on the list. Ask! I promise, no question about it, that I will never kink-shame you. (I mean, jeez, considering what I’m into, that’s the definition of throwing stones in a glass house…)
How About Plot Hooks?
I’ve got a few of those, too; just some nasty little nightmares I’ve been hungry for. If you like something you see but you have ideas to put a twist or a spin on it, I’d love to hear it. I consider it my job as a roleplay partner to make sure we’re both having a good time, after all. Advance warning, repeating what I opened with -- these are largely heavily dark and extreme plots. If that isn't your cup of tea, you won't find much to enjoy here. (And I hope you find a partner who fits you better!) If you like what you see, drop me a private message!
A Whore's Punishment (currently most-craved)
“How can you live there? The country is completely backwards, and women barely have any rights!”
It’s just for a few months, I told my friends. The company needed a skilled expert to oversee the new facility, and they’re paying me enough to make it more than worth my time. (I couldn’t tell them about that secret part of my heart, the part that thinks about a land where men rule and women obey and gets..warm inside.)
It’s worse than I thought, as I soon learn. The police are always on watch for women who stray from the path of virtue. Men can be fined or imprisoned, but women need…special correction, for their own good. Once a week, in the public square, women who have been tried and convicted of committing prostitution are punished for the moral enlightenment (and entertainment) of a cheering crowd. And that charge is very, very loose; breaking almost any law on female behavior, showing a fraction too much skin or trying to promote feminism are all – according to the wise and all-knowing authorities – proof of being a whore.
The women are stripped for the approval of the crowd. And then, they are tortured. Many are whipped or caned, then locked in a pillory in the town square for the night so that the virtuous townfolk can hurl rotten produce at them or worse – or, it is said, pay the guards a pittance to look the other way, and have more creative fun. Feminists and foreigners are singled out for more creative torments.
There was the foreign livestock expert who came to teach the ‘backwards’ farmers more modern practices. They led a bull onstage and forced her to ‘milk the pretty cow’ with her hands and mouth, and then drink the entire bucket of ‘nice fresh milk’ while apologizing for her ignorance. The culinary expert who insulted the local cuisine was seated at a table on the stage; the cook she’d insulted came out, squatted, and produced a ‘fine chocolate eclair’ upon a china plate, and she was forced to thank him after eating every bite. A feminist professor didn’t have to spend the night on display in the square like the other girls; she was bound at the bottom of a pit under an outhouse toilet, her face forced upward toward the seat, so a long line of men could help educate her.
There were sometimes medieval punishments. Ice baths, branding irons, piercings. Often dogs or donkeys were led onstage to join the show. Always, above and beyond anything else, there was humiliation. The next morning, the broken and traumatized women were given the chance to repent of their sins and acknowledge the natural inferiority of women and the rightness of their male superiors. They always did. After that, most were released. Some weren’t. Either returning to the stage the very next week for a fresh round of torture and repentance, or disappeared; with their passports and ID taken away, allegedly they were either sold to wealthy men as modern-day slaves, or to any number of secret brothels. Even if they weren’t truly guilty of being whores before, they would be one now.
I watch the public displays every week. The screams and weeping of the women haunts me in my apartment later, as I desperately finger myself, fantasizing about taking their place as the crowd cheers for my punishment. And though I know how reckless it would be, some part of me wonders how long it will be before I walk into the police station…and ask to make a confession. They’ve never had a woman beg to join their show before, to be branded a whore; would they be kinder to me, or all the more cruel when it was my turn to go up on stage?
My Secret Master
In public, I'm a devout feminist. I have all the right opinions, all the right stances. And by night, I'm logging onto the dark web to explore the seamiest corners of underground porn. I watch women being tortured, being (pseudo?) raped, their actual consent in dubious limbo. A parade of abuse and degradation. Then comes the morning I find a note under my apartment door: "You should close your blinds at night."
I live in the heart of a city. My building faces a dozen others, hundreds of windows, no telling who was watching me from afar. Sick curiosity leads me to leave my blinds open the next night. An invitation to the dance. That's when the instructions and the gifts start to arrive. For instance (just an example), perhaps a tiny black crop-top with lettering that reads "This is What a Feminist Looks Like," and a string bikini bottom. And the note: "Looking forward to seeing you in this. Stand in your window tonight and dance for me."
The night after that, there's another gift-box. This one has a dog collar, a food bowl, and a can of dog-food in it. "Dinner, bitch," the note reads.
That said, there are so many directions this plot could go. Maybe my distant admirer starts ordering me to commit more and more public acts of submission, including whoring myself for him. Maybe he sends me a set of local news-clippings, about local women being brutally raped in their homes, and tells me to leave my front door unlocked that night. Maybe I'm watching a torture video on the dark web and the weeping, abused girl is ordered to turn to the camera, speak my name and my address, and say "He says you're going to star in his next movie."
I've been playing games with a very, very dangerous man. And I'm about to pay for it.