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AnotherJoker
Thief of Hearts
- Joined
- Apr 11, 2015
- Location
- Europe (CET)
Introduction
- I generally prefer a 50/50 smut-to-story ratio but this can vary
- I typically write 300-1000 words per reply
- I prefer to RP in third person past tense
- I can play a dom, sub, or switch character
- I don't require face claims but if my partner wants us to use them I am fine with both drawn/painted and real-life ones
- I am open to playing multiple characters
- I am open to short and long-term RPs
- I can reply a few times a day to once every couple of days
- Here's my F-list for a comprehensive list of my kinks
- Here's my Kinklist as well for another angle
The Plot: Number One Girl
Enter MC, a friend of hers who’s always seen her for who she is and loves her without any of the requirements she seems to place on herself. They’re childhood friends but ever since they’ve been getting close to finishing high school, he started genuinely liking her and it begins to pain him to see her giving her all in these toxic relationships and environments. This story would be one of her realizing her own worth and MC helping her do that.
Now, I would be completely fine with playing the other guys as well as MC. No doubt that you would need to play some extra characters to truly bring life to this world and story we’re trying to build. Suffice it to say, this would be no hollow smutfest, but an emotional rollercoaster filled with late-teenage self-discovery and the blooming of true love. Of course, there would still be sex scenes and we can incorporate a variety of kinks that suit both our tastes, but they need to be incorporated tastefully into the story.
Writing Samples
Oliver had chosen to wear a black turtleneck for that day, perhaps subconsciously hoping that it would help him fade into the background of the chapel and not be noticed. As he read, however, he had to admit to himself that here and there his attention would be caught by the new volunteer sweeping the aisles. There was something cute and innocent about her, but that was the case for most students that chose to volunteer at the chapel. He let his eyes wander over to her once or twice and he quelled the voice of curiosity that arose in him by remembering that she was probably quite the boring religious prude.
But glances were dangerous and he should've known better, all things considered, for all it took was one moment when he looked at her and she happened to be looking back at him (as they always do) for the girl to think of it as some kind of invitation. His hazel eyes quickly darted back to his book, but part of him knew that it was too late. The professor grinned to himself, knowing exactly what to expect in the next couple of moments.
Her hi was broken and quiet, which made him more confident in his analysis of her as a shy, conservative young woman. Then again, he applauded her boldness for just coming up to a stranger like that. He decided not to look at her as she delivered the rest of her little introduction, not out of any spite or malevolence but simply to see if she'd crumble under the pressure. If she stuck it out… he'd give her a chance. She would be worthy of a bit of his time.
Finally, he looked up at her, able to get a closer sample of her bright, pleasant face. Well, he figured, if a student (presumably) had to go approaching him, at least it was a cute one this time.
"Oliver, nice to meet you," he said in a clear, slightly gravelly voice, extending a firm, masculine hand and shaking her own, which was small and soft in comparison. He didn't let her go immediately, however, instead holding her hand for a moment longer and turning it over to look at her nails. "French tips," he commented. "I like it. Classy without wandering over into the domain of kitsch. Much like Wordsworth's poetry, to answer your question about what I'm reading."
His rock-solid gaze wandered over her with some level of intrigue but also a kind of condescension. What are you doing here, little girl? the slightly arrogant, academic side of his mind seemed to ask. Go and play with the other freshmen and pray to your God.
"So you consider the Bible to be literature, eh?" he said, looking away from her for a moment before returning his gaze. "That makes you already a step-up above the average fundamentalist. It suggests that you don't believe it literally, but as a metaphorical attempt to express a certain truth. Am I wrong about that?" A hint of a smile formed on the corner of his lips. He wondered how much she knew about him or his position. His reputation certainly preceded him, but such a new face might not have been around long enough to be exposed to all the gossip.
But glances were dangerous and he should've known better, all things considered, for all it took was one moment when he looked at her and she happened to be looking back at him (as they always do) for the girl to think of it as some kind of invitation. His hazel eyes quickly darted back to his book, but part of him knew that it was too late. The professor grinned to himself, knowing exactly what to expect in the next couple of moments.
Her hi was broken and quiet, which made him more confident in his analysis of her as a shy, conservative young woman. Then again, he applauded her boldness for just coming up to a stranger like that. He decided not to look at her as she delivered the rest of her little introduction, not out of any spite or malevolence but simply to see if she'd crumble under the pressure. If she stuck it out… he'd give her a chance. She would be worthy of a bit of his time.
Finally, he looked up at her, able to get a closer sample of her bright, pleasant face. Well, he figured, if a student (presumably) had to go approaching him, at least it was a cute one this time.
"Oliver, nice to meet you," he said in a clear, slightly gravelly voice, extending a firm, masculine hand and shaking her own, which was small and soft in comparison. He didn't let her go immediately, however, instead holding her hand for a moment longer and turning it over to look at her nails. "French tips," he commented. "I like it. Classy without wandering over into the domain of kitsch. Much like Wordsworth's poetry, to answer your question about what I'm reading."
His rock-solid gaze wandered over her with some level of intrigue but also a kind of condescension. What are you doing here, little girl? the slightly arrogant, academic side of his mind seemed to ask. Go and play with the other freshmen and pray to your God.
"So you consider the Bible to be literature, eh?" he said, looking away from her for a moment before returning his gaze. "That makes you already a step-up above the average fundamentalist. It suggests that you don't believe it literally, but as a metaphorical attempt to express a certain truth. Am I wrong about that?" A hint of a smile formed on the corner of his lips. He wondered how much she knew about him or his position. His reputation certainly preceded him, but such a new face might not have been around long enough to be exposed to all the gossip.
There was so much need in her breathy moans as Trevor continued with his erotic assault. If there was one thing that made men completely go mad, it was horny women who were desperate to take their fill of sex. An unbound, feminine hunger radiated from Vylleth as she was fully bared before him, utterly naked in perfectly whoresome glory. Sure, he'd found her attractive before, but was presently in a state of disbelief at how someone could be so utterly and perfectly sculpted. Trevor reckoned there wasn't a man alive who wouldn't find her attractive. Hell had done its job, and done it well.
The soft pleasure of her body combined with the slight and scratchy pain of her nails on his back in a dangerous cocktail, plunging him below the level of rational thought. Dream or reality, trick or authenticity, he knew that he would probably never get the world's most perfect female whispering to him to fuck her while her legs drag him in closer.
In an instant his hand was around her neck, squeezing with little calculation. At the very least, he was now sure that she wasn't human and also mighty hard to kill. A bit of choking would probably be more than safe. Almost simultaneously, he inserted his now throbbing, leaking cock into her moist cunt, thrusting deep inside as he groaned, the muscles on his body tensing and relaxing as the waves of pleasure washed over him. Fuck, her pussy felt good—perfectly warm, perfectly moist… he'd had to pace himself.
But Trevor simply couldn't. It had been too long of a time coming. Their little flirtations had done their magic, whether or not that was their original intention. His eyes wild with desire, he fucked her rough and quick, a wet smacking sound reverberating off the kitchen walls in the dead silence of the night and combining with his moans and groans. His breathing was rough and erratic as his other hand squeezed one of her thighs, unapologetically digging his fingers into the supple flesh.
She tried to kill you, he told himself. She usurped your life. And these were useful thoughts to further spur him on.
"I'll teach you to screw with the lives of mortals," he rasped into her face, his own barely inches away. "You fucking bitch." No sooner had he finished that sentence than he continued vigorously kissing her, his tongue hungrily trying to devour as much pleasure as it could from her sweet mouth as he felt the pressure continue to mount in his pelvis.
The soft pleasure of her body combined with the slight and scratchy pain of her nails on his back in a dangerous cocktail, plunging him below the level of rational thought. Dream or reality, trick or authenticity, he knew that he would probably never get the world's most perfect female whispering to him to fuck her while her legs drag him in closer.
In an instant his hand was around her neck, squeezing with little calculation. At the very least, he was now sure that she wasn't human and also mighty hard to kill. A bit of choking would probably be more than safe. Almost simultaneously, he inserted his now throbbing, leaking cock into her moist cunt, thrusting deep inside as he groaned, the muscles on his body tensing and relaxing as the waves of pleasure washed over him. Fuck, her pussy felt good—perfectly warm, perfectly moist… he'd had to pace himself.
But Trevor simply couldn't. It had been too long of a time coming. Their little flirtations had done their magic, whether or not that was their original intention. His eyes wild with desire, he fucked her rough and quick, a wet smacking sound reverberating off the kitchen walls in the dead silence of the night and combining with his moans and groans. His breathing was rough and erratic as his other hand squeezed one of her thighs, unapologetically digging his fingers into the supple flesh.
She tried to kill you, he told himself. She usurped your life. And these were useful thoughts to further spur him on.
"I'll teach you to screw with the lives of mortals," he rasped into her face, his own barely inches away. "You fucking bitch." No sooner had he finished that sentence than he continued vigorously kissing her, his tongue hungrily trying to devour as much pleasure as it could from her sweet mouth as he felt the pressure continue to mount in his pelvis.
In Conclusion
I look forward to hearing from you.
Stay weird!
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