Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)Sovereign Tea
Planetoid
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2013
I’m your neighbor, or your professor, or that guy you share thirty seconds with in the work elevator every morning. It doesn’t matter. You’ve never worked up the nerve to spend two words on me; I’m that kind of good-looking. You don’t want to be just another girl giggling over her words like an idiot, zoning out while you look in my deep blue eyes, when you know that happens constantly. You try to play this off as being cool—you’re in your space, I’m in my space, everybody’s got their space.
But the truth is, you’re terrified of me. You tremble with an almost uncontrollable-lust just when I’m in the same room as you: tall, rock-hard, ruggedly handsome, my bulge thick as a coke bottle, and all of me brimming with virility and violence. I was born into glorious wealth, and I’ve got plenty of cash to burn. There’s not an advantage in the world I don’t have. You know that you’d let your life unravel in a second if it meant you were the one I chose to be with. You’ve seen the way I fuck up women’s lives. You’ve seen girls drop out of college, quit their jobs, and become fully-fledged sexpots just from having a few tastes of my cock. I take care of them, to an extent—I make sure they dress nice, and we roll in style. You’ve seen, too, the way I fuck up the men who love these “lucky” women. They get their hearts stomped on by their fresh ex-girlfriends at my decree, and sometimes I stomp the shit out of those cuckolded idiots myself, just for fun. It’s not like any of them are a physical match for me.
Your own boyfriend is always such a disappointment. He can’t even pick you up and toss you into bed, and you’re not even remotely heavy. And you look at me, and you know I could hold you upside down with one hand and fuck your mouth into the corner. Probably in the shower, just because. You can’t stop thinking, when around your pro-feminist, anti-elitist boyfriend, that he’s just *pretending.*
There’s a string of pregnant women a mile long from this town alone, and there’s no telling what happened before I got here. Sometimes, when we’ve crossed paths, you’ve seen them weeping on the floor in front of me, begging for just one more taste of my cum. Their pregnant bellies get so thick and round—could they *all* be having twins and triplets?—and after a while you notice I only seem to be breeding girls.
There’s something happening with me. I’m a living God, and up to this point, you’ve just been witnessing my glory and finger-fucking your ever-slickening cunt, hoping beyond hope that I don’t decide to crush your life in my unstoppable fist.
One day, for whatever reason, I finally notice you. I know that you’re dead-set on keeping me out of your life, and I don’t care, just like I haven’t cared for the hundreds of other women who told me no. They all changed their minds after a good few force-fucks; they became slobbering little messes, eager to slide their raped mouths over my cock again because they knew if they were sucking me off, then I wouldn’t slap them around to shut them up.
But something’s different about you. You’re not a fool. There’s a devious, desperately evil little brain working behind your beautiful exterior. After I’ve raped you, you already know you’ve got to take things to another level to make me want you above all the rest. I’m not against the idea—you’re a gorgeous gal, after all, but I’ve had gorgeous gals before. What sets you apart is all the crazy shit you start doing. When I tell you to break up with your boyfriend/husband, you show me the video you made of setting his car on fire—with him in it. You’re kidnapping the hottest girls around campus/the apartment complex/the work place. You’re beating discipline into them for me. Tying them down so I can abuse them at will. You’re offering to murder them if it’ll just make me *love* you.
Of course, I think I already do. But it would be too easy just to tell you that. I don’t want to get burned again. How do I know you won’t end up some other mindless cockslut like all the rest? I want to ride this out awhile, see where you take me…
* * * * *
Kinks: noncon/rape, dubcon, breeding/impregnation, violence/snuff (really just for secondary characters, not yours or mine), harsh treatment (slaps, choking, hitting), humiliation, homewrecking, abusive relationships, harems
Other kinks I dig that don’t have too much of a place here (maybe they do? Dunno): transformation (primarily for women), lactation, bimbofication, incest, mind control
Because I write well, I like partners who can also write well. It’s not unusual for me to put down anywhere from 4-500 words per post; often more for a starter. I’m also pretty picky; I tend to find a person and stick with one, rather than try to set up a lot of things at once. I’d love to hear if you liked this set-up—write me a paragraph or two about what struck you and where you’d like to go with the idea for the best response.
out what struck you and where you’d like to go with the idea for the best response. I play best by email.
But the truth is, you’re terrified of me. You tremble with an almost uncontrollable-lust just when I’m in the same room as you: tall, rock-hard, ruggedly handsome, my bulge thick as a coke bottle, and all of me brimming with virility and violence. I was born into glorious wealth, and I’ve got plenty of cash to burn. There’s not an advantage in the world I don’t have. You know that you’d let your life unravel in a second if it meant you were the one I chose to be with. You’ve seen the way I fuck up women’s lives. You’ve seen girls drop out of college, quit their jobs, and become fully-fledged sexpots just from having a few tastes of my cock. I take care of them, to an extent—I make sure they dress nice, and we roll in style. You’ve seen, too, the way I fuck up the men who love these “lucky” women. They get their hearts stomped on by their fresh ex-girlfriends at my decree, and sometimes I stomp the shit out of those cuckolded idiots myself, just for fun. It’s not like any of them are a physical match for me.
Your own boyfriend is always such a disappointment. He can’t even pick you up and toss you into bed, and you’re not even remotely heavy. And you look at me, and you know I could hold you upside down with one hand and fuck your mouth into the corner. Probably in the shower, just because. You can’t stop thinking, when around your pro-feminist, anti-elitist boyfriend, that he’s just *pretending.*
There’s a string of pregnant women a mile long from this town alone, and there’s no telling what happened before I got here. Sometimes, when we’ve crossed paths, you’ve seen them weeping on the floor in front of me, begging for just one more taste of my cum. Their pregnant bellies get so thick and round—could they *all* be having twins and triplets?—and after a while you notice I only seem to be breeding girls.
There’s something happening with me. I’m a living God, and up to this point, you’ve just been witnessing my glory and finger-fucking your ever-slickening cunt, hoping beyond hope that I don’t decide to crush your life in my unstoppable fist.
One day, for whatever reason, I finally notice you. I know that you’re dead-set on keeping me out of your life, and I don’t care, just like I haven’t cared for the hundreds of other women who told me no. They all changed their minds after a good few force-fucks; they became slobbering little messes, eager to slide their raped mouths over my cock again because they knew if they were sucking me off, then I wouldn’t slap them around to shut them up.
But something’s different about you. You’re not a fool. There’s a devious, desperately evil little brain working behind your beautiful exterior. After I’ve raped you, you already know you’ve got to take things to another level to make me want you above all the rest. I’m not against the idea—you’re a gorgeous gal, after all, but I’ve had gorgeous gals before. What sets you apart is all the crazy shit you start doing. When I tell you to break up with your boyfriend/husband, you show me the video you made of setting his car on fire—with him in it. You’re kidnapping the hottest girls around campus/the apartment complex/the work place. You’re beating discipline into them for me. Tying them down so I can abuse them at will. You’re offering to murder them if it’ll just make me *love* you.
Of course, I think I already do. But it would be too easy just to tell you that. I don’t want to get burned again. How do I know you won’t end up some other mindless cockslut like all the rest? I want to ride this out awhile, see where you take me…
* * * * *
Kinks: noncon/rape, dubcon, breeding/impregnation, violence/snuff (really just for secondary characters, not yours or mine), harsh treatment (slaps, choking, hitting), humiliation, homewrecking, abusive relationships, harems
Other kinks I dig that don’t have too much of a place here (maybe they do? Dunno): transformation (primarily for women), lactation, bimbofication, incest, mind control
Because I write well, I like partners who can also write well. It’s not unusual for me to put down anywhere from 4-500 words per post; often more for a starter. I’m also pretty picky; I tend to find a person and stick with one, rather than try to set up a lot of things at once. I’d love to hear if you liked this set-up—write me a paragraph or two about what struck you and where you’d like to go with the idea for the best response.
out what struck you and where you’d like to go with the idea for the best response. I play best by email.
