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hellbunny
Meteorite
- Joined
- Aug 9, 2019
Hey there, new friends. Hellbunny here, whipping up a thread of requests. Before I get to the ideas, here's the basics about me (so I can save you a little time if I'm not what you're looking for). I generally play submissive women (though I'm happy to play multiple characters in an RP if the story calls for it), and I have a decided hankering for darkness, torment, and unhappy endings. That generally doesn't extend to death (unless there's some supernatural element and the story continues past that point): my only hard limits are snuff, extreme gore, diapers, scat, and illegally-underage characters. Everything else, I'll consider; if it's not my cup of tea, the worst I'll say is no. 
What do I like? Oh, a lot, but I'll list a few highlights. My favorite kinks include public humiliation, forced costumes/slutwear/lingerie, forced lesbianism, forced prostitution, slut-shaming, blackmail, objectification, bimbofication, gangbangs, hair-pulling and face-slapping, dirty talking, piercings/tattoos/brands, bestiality and monster sex, collars and leashes, watersports, dub-con and non-con. That's off the top of my head, I'm sure I'm missing a few things. I lean toward fantasy, science-fiction and horror themed plots, but I'm up for real-world stuff too if it's interesting!
I'm looking to play over private messages here. I don't generally use faceclaims, preferring to rely on description. I also only RP in third-person; first person just doesn't "click" for me. I'm fine with past or present tense, whichever you enjoy more. In either case, my style is brisk; I lean toward two to three paragraph responses to keep the flow moving back and forth. So, no walls of text if that's what you like, but on the other hand I won't keep you waiting too long for responses. I'm online most days of the week, though usually a little less on weekends; if I'm not going to be around for more than a day, I'll let you know, and I only ask that you do the same.
And that's me! (Oh, I'm on the east coast of the United States, if you're curious about time zones.) And here are the story ideas; if you like one, or have a variation to suggest or an idea you think I might like, drop me a private message! I've noted whether each is female/male or female/female as well.
What do I like? Oh, a lot, but I'll list a few highlights. My favorite kinks include public humiliation, forced costumes/slutwear/lingerie, forced lesbianism, forced prostitution, slut-shaming, blackmail, objectification, bimbofication, gangbangs, hair-pulling and face-slapping, dirty talking, piercings/tattoos/brands, bestiality and monster sex, collars and leashes, watersports, dub-con and non-con. That's off the top of my head, I'm sure I'm missing a few things. I lean toward fantasy, science-fiction and horror themed plots, but I'm up for real-world stuff too if it's interesting!
I'm looking to play over private messages here. I don't generally use faceclaims, preferring to rely on description. I also only RP in third-person; first person just doesn't "click" for me. I'm fine with past or present tense, whichever you enjoy more. In either case, my style is brisk; I lean toward two to three paragraph responses to keep the flow moving back and forth. So, no walls of text if that's what you like, but on the other hand I won't keep you waiting too long for responses. I'm online most days of the week, though usually a little less on weekends; if I'm not going to be around for more than a day, I'll let you know, and I only ask that you do the same.
And that's me! (Oh, I'm on the east coast of the United States, if you're curious about time zones.) And here are the story ideas; if you like one, or have a variation to suggest or an idea you think I might like, drop me a private message! I've noted whether each is female/male or female/female as well.
“I just don’t know about that guy. He makes me nervous.”
“Your new neighbor?”
“I think he’s a drug dealer. I mean, people are constantly coming and going from his house at all hours, some of them look like…well, prostitutes, and some of the men look practically homeless. Sometimes, the women are crying when they leave. I mean, I don’t know that he sells drugs, but what else could it be?”
Listening to her mother and her friends talk over Sunday mimosas in the living room, the teenager quietly shuts her bedroom door. She knows exactly what the new neighbor does for a living. He directs porn; the most sexist, degrading porn she’s ever seen, from humiliation videos to outright torture. She knows, because she’s a fan. And the second his new videos started appearing online, showing a very familiar street, she knew who the neighbor really was.
She knows he’s not safe to be around, that she should mind her own business and pretend she knows nothing, but she’s like a moth to a flame. Eventually she works up the nerve to make a move – to approach him, and thank him for his films, or try to spy at a basement window while he’s making a movie. Maybe he even invites her to visit his house, and see how the magic is made.
Of course, things have a way of going too far. And when he offers her a chance to be his next starlet, maybe she can’t resist. Or maybe she can, and he reveals he has blackmail on her; if she doesn’t want her parents to find out what she’s been up to, she knows what she has to do. Either way, she’ll be reporting to the set. And desperately trying to conceal her new life from everyone around her.
“Your new neighbor?”
“I think he’s a drug dealer. I mean, people are constantly coming and going from his house at all hours, some of them look like…well, prostitutes, and some of the men look practically homeless. Sometimes, the women are crying when they leave. I mean, I don’t know that he sells drugs, but what else could it be?”
Listening to her mother and her friends talk over Sunday mimosas in the living room, the teenager quietly shuts her bedroom door. She knows exactly what the new neighbor does for a living. He directs porn; the most sexist, degrading porn she’s ever seen, from humiliation videos to outright torture. She knows, because she’s a fan. And the second his new videos started appearing online, showing a very familiar street, she knew who the neighbor really was.
She knows he’s not safe to be around, that she should mind her own business and pretend she knows nothing, but she’s like a moth to a flame. Eventually she works up the nerve to make a move – to approach him, and thank him for his films, or try to spy at a basement window while he’s making a movie. Maybe he even invites her to visit his house, and see how the magic is made.
Of course, things have a way of going too far. And when he offers her a chance to be his next starlet, maybe she can’t resist. Or maybe she can, and he reveals he has blackmail on her; if she doesn’t want her parents to find out what she’s been up to, she knows what she has to do. Either way, she’ll be reporting to the set. And desperately trying to conceal her new life from everyone around her.
It isn’t unusual for a high school teacher to pick up a part-time job. Teaching pays peanuts, and especially given the long vacation gaps, it’s hard to make ends meet if you’re a young and single woman. Nothing unusual about a teacher getting a service job either. But for her…well, by day she’s a mousy, intellectual English teacher, with her nose in a book when she isn’t leading classroom discussions on Jane Austen and Charles Dickens.
By night, she drives all the way across town, to put on a skimpy outfit and wait tables at a knockoff of a Hooters restaurant. She’s always had urges toward the submissive and the exhibitionist – and being ogled by drunk businessmen all night as she serves them is kindling for her repressed fires. Some waitresses call security when a customer paws their ass; she endures it with a smile. Then she drives home at the end of a long shift, to her lonely apartment, and vibes herself until she can’t take any more.
It’s a good outlet. It works. That is, until one very bad night. One night when she looks to her next table – and sees a handful of her students. They’re just as shocked as she is, at first. Then they start to like the idea. Especially when one snaps her picture, realizing her outfit would probably be enough to get her fired from her teaching job. Oh, they’re reasonable at first; if she won’t tell their parents she saw them here, they won’t tell anyone about her. And if one wants to squeeze her breasts or slap her ass in passing, they’re sure she won’t say anything about that either.
Life at school is a bit different, after that. Especially if the ringleader picks up on her sexual drives. If she really wants to be humiliated and dominated, he and his buddies can arrange that. And when his parents go out of town and he plans a wild house party, he might even know the perfect waitress to call.
By night, she drives all the way across town, to put on a skimpy outfit and wait tables at a knockoff of a Hooters restaurant. She’s always had urges toward the submissive and the exhibitionist – and being ogled by drunk businessmen all night as she serves them is kindling for her repressed fires. Some waitresses call security when a customer paws their ass; she endures it with a smile. Then she drives home at the end of a long shift, to her lonely apartment, and vibes herself until she can’t take any more.
It’s a good outlet. It works. That is, until one very bad night. One night when she looks to her next table – and sees a handful of her students. They’re just as shocked as she is, at first. Then they start to like the idea. Especially when one snaps her picture, realizing her outfit would probably be enough to get her fired from her teaching job. Oh, they’re reasonable at first; if she won’t tell their parents she saw them here, they won’t tell anyone about her. And if one wants to squeeze her breasts or slap her ass in passing, they’re sure she won’t say anything about that either.
Life at school is a bit different, after that. Especially if the ringleader picks up on her sexual drives. If she really wants to be humiliated and dominated, he and his buddies can arrange that. And when his parents go out of town and he plans a wild house party, he might even know the perfect waitress to call.
I’m a high school outcast, a bookworm just trying to keep her head down and make it to graduation. I get bullied less if I go unnoticed, and I spend my lunches hiding out in the school library.
She is…everything I’m not. She’s a burning sun. Fierce, popular, the center of the social swirl and the captain of the cheerleading team. Her girlfriends are desperate sycophants, her boyfriends are disposable studs. She’s from a rich family, her life is paved with gold, and I have such a crush on her that it hurts. Not that she even knows my name, or that she’s ever noticed me except to casually bully me with her friends.
I thrive on that, more than I could ever admit. It’s one thing to confess I like girls. Another to admit that in my dreams, she’s a cruel queen on a throne, and I’m a collared slave kneeling at her feet. Most of the out-crowd are afraid of her casual meanness. I thrive on it. Then, one day, our relationship takes a new direction: straight into simmering darkness.
(Okay, so, I’m thinking either the rich girl in question picks up on our poor bookworm’s signals, or she gathers up the courage to approach her in private. However it happens, a devil’s bargain is struck: the rich girl’s family money can buy almost anything, after all…but she’s never owned a slave. “Oh, and you don’t get to change your mind. I want pictures. Blackmail material, something I can hold over your head if you try to back out. Make it juicy.”
What the bookworm didn’t bargain on is that her new owner isn’t just cruel: she’s a vicious little sadist who never had a real outlet for her pleasures, a victim she can freely abuse, humiliate, and toy with to her heart’s content. Now she gets to have some real fun, as the owner of her very own slave-girl.
As a variant: instead of a fellow student, this could also work if the slave-to-be is one of her teachers. Obviously with far much more to lose – her career, for starters – if she tries to back out of the deal, and the added humiliation of being the plaything of a spoiled teenager.)
She is…everything I’m not. She’s a burning sun. Fierce, popular, the center of the social swirl and the captain of the cheerleading team. Her girlfriends are desperate sycophants, her boyfriends are disposable studs. She’s from a rich family, her life is paved with gold, and I have such a crush on her that it hurts. Not that she even knows my name, or that she’s ever noticed me except to casually bully me with her friends.
I thrive on that, more than I could ever admit. It’s one thing to confess I like girls. Another to admit that in my dreams, she’s a cruel queen on a throne, and I’m a collared slave kneeling at her feet. Most of the out-crowd are afraid of her casual meanness. I thrive on it. Then, one day, our relationship takes a new direction: straight into simmering darkness.
(Okay, so, I’m thinking either the rich girl in question picks up on our poor bookworm’s signals, or she gathers up the courage to approach her in private. However it happens, a devil’s bargain is struck: the rich girl’s family money can buy almost anything, after all…but she’s never owned a slave. “Oh, and you don’t get to change your mind. I want pictures. Blackmail material, something I can hold over your head if you try to back out. Make it juicy.”
What the bookworm didn’t bargain on is that her new owner isn’t just cruel: she’s a vicious little sadist who never had a real outlet for her pleasures, a victim she can freely abuse, humiliate, and toy with to her heart’s content. Now she gets to have some real fun, as the owner of her very own slave-girl.
As a variant: instead of a fellow student, this could also work if the slave-to-be is one of her teachers. Obviously with far much more to lose – her career, for starters – if she tries to back out of the deal, and the added humiliation of being the plaything of a spoiled teenager.)
The Elven queen learned, early and well at her mother's knee, of the horrors of the tribal hordes. The coalition of humanoid monsters -- orcs, gnolls, beast-men, ratlings -- who roiled and clashed against the walls of civilization. She spoke of the horrors they inflicted on their captives, stories meant to scare her awake at night. Well, mostly they did. But for a ruler with a secret hunger for submission, they mostly fueled her awkward nighttime fumblings under the sheets, fingering herself as she imagined a crude tribal collar locked around her porcelain throat.
She grew up, took the throne as her parents grew feeble, and became a fair and respected leader, honored by the nobles and loved by the peasantry. Her secret desires remained just that: firmly secret and locked away. Then, the landscape changed. The bestial tribes found a new leader, who wrested the skeletal throne from the dead hands of twenty challengers before him, and slew the next twenty after. He wasn't just a warrior, but a thinker -- rare for their kind -- and he knew these endless wars would bring nothing but their own eventual destruction. And so he sued for peace, coming to the bargaining-table, and a new world was born. A decade later, humanoids even live freely in Elven and Human cities (albeit usually confined to squalid ghettoes) and the tribes of the outer marches even trade with villages for their needs. Progress at last.
Well, mostly. There are still incidents, here and there. Like the scout who was captured by a rogue tribe, and held for a month before being freed by a ranger patrol. The queen read the full report. About how the elf-maiden was stripped, humiliated, bound to a wooden frame and gang-raped. How they made her crawl on a leash and bark like a dog, how they made her dance for their amusement. How they kept her in a cage, and forced her to eat crickets and worms. How they used her as a spittoon and a piss-pot, and set her to hard labor under an overseer's whip when they weren't torturing her for fun.
The queen hates herself for how her face blushes, reading the report. She hates the heat on her cheeks, the spreading warmth in the pit of her belly, the fire between her thighs. She hates how much she wants this. Rumors among the maidstaff tell the queen of a place down in the slums, where tribesmen are waited on hand and foot by scantily-clad and submissive human and elven women. It's a mixture of a private club, a strip-lounge and a brothel; the girls will treat you like a god, licking the dirt from your boots, and if you like the flesh on display, you can pay a pittance to take one into a back room and put the spurs to her. Of course, she has to see it for herself. Has to. And once she does...she has to try it for herself. Either she disguises herself as a commoner to become one of the "house girls," or alternately, reveals her true identity to the owner, who realizes he has an unbelievable cash cow on his hands. No one would believe that the queen is a tribal whore who dresses in a slave-collar and harem-silks one night a week, spreading her legs on command. No one but the patrons, who eagerly pay for a chance to make the queen crawl for their amusement, or dance for the lash.
She grew up, took the throne as her parents grew feeble, and became a fair and respected leader, honored by the nobles and loved by the peasantry. Her secret desires remained just that: firmly secret and locked away. Then, the landscape changed. The bestial tribes found a new leader, who wrested the skeletal throne from the dead hands of twenty challengers before him, and slew the next twenty after. He wasn't just a warrior, but a thinker -- rare for their kind -- and he knew these endless wars would bring nothing but their own eventual destruction. And so he sued for peace, coming to the bargaining-table, and a new world was born. A decade later, humanoids even live freely in Elven and Human cities (albeit usually confined to squalid ghettoes) and the tribes of the outer marches even trade with villages for their needs. Progress at last.
Well, mostly. There are still incidents, here and there. Like the scout who was captured by a rogue tribe, and held for a month before being freed by a ranger patrol. The queen read the full report. About how the elf-maiden was stripped, humiliated, bound to a wooden frame and gang-raped. How they made her crawl on a leash and bark like a dog, how they made her dance for their amusement. How they kept her in a cage, and forced her to eat crickets and worms. How they used her as a spittoon and a piss-pot, and set her to hard labor under an overseer's whip when they weren't torturing her for fun.
The queen hates herself for how her face blushes, reading the report. She hates the heat on her cheeks, the spreading warmth in the pit of her belly, the fire between her thighs. She hates how much she wants this. Rumors among the maidstaff tell the queen of a place down in the slums, where tribesmen are waited on hand and foot by scantily-clad and submissive human and elven women. It's a mixture of a private club, a strip-lounge and a brothel; the girls will treat you like a god, licking the dirt from your boots, and if you like the flesh on display, you can pay a pittance to take one into a back room and put the spurs to her. Of course, she has to see it for herself. Has to. And once she does...she has to try it for herself. Either she disguises herself as a commoner to become one of the "house girls," or alternately, reveals her true identity to the owner, who realizes he has an unbelievable cash cow on his hands. No one would believe that the queen is a tribal whore who dresses in a slave-collar and harem-silks one night a week, spreading her legs on command. No one but the patrons, who eagerly pay for a chance to make the queen crawl for their amusement, or dance for the lash.
She worked her way to the top, relentless, landing a heartbeat from the corporate throne. So did he. She’s an ardent feminist who had a middle manager suspended for staring at her breasts. He’s a walking HR violation. They aren’t friends.
She doesn’t know how he gets away with it. He might be ruggedly handsome, or physically repulsive but exuding alpha dominance; either way, he can do anything he pleases. He’s even fucking one of the college interns; she spends an hour in his office every day and emerges blushing, disheveled and smelling of sex, everyone knows it, and no one says a word.
It’s driving her crazy. What’s driving her more crazy is how it’s turning her on. She hates that she’s drawn to him, but she can’t help it. The last straw was seeing him leave with the intern one night. She watched, from a distance, as they got into his sportscar. She opened her purse, handed him something…and he proceeded to buckle a dog collar around her throat. As he revved the engine she leaned down and out of sight, her head vanishing into his lap.
Eventually, these two execs will argue, and arguing will turn to…something more, as she reveals her true depths. And that’s his cue to begin her long-delayed education, teaching her how he likes his women to behave. From bringing him coffee in the morning, to spending her lunches kneeling under his desk, sucking his cock while he tells the CEO how incompetent she is. He’ll exert more and more control, taking over her wardrobe, how she treats the men around her, her speech and behavior, as she hands him her best clients, her best projects, spending more time doing his work than doing hers. After all, his success is all that matters.
In the end, one of two things is likely to happen. Either she’ll be fired for her inexplicable failures, leaving him free to re-hire her – as his administrative assistant. Or she’ll be persuaded to go to the CEO’s office, admit her gross incompetence and inability to handle the job she’s been given, and beg for a more suitable one. For instance, the office needs a new receptionist, and all the guys appreciate a nice piece of bimbo eye-candy to look at. She’s much more suited for serving men than bossing them around. He’ll make sure she learns that much.
She doesn’t know how he gets away with it. He might be ruggedly handsome, or physically repulsive but exuding alpha dominance; either way, he can do anything he pleases. He’s even fucking one of the college interns; she spends an hour in his office every day and emerges blushing, disheveled and smelling of sex, everyone knows it, and no one says a word.
It’s driving her crazy. What’s driving her more crazy is how it’s turning her on. She hates that she’s drawn to him, but she can’t help it. The last straw was seeing him leave with the intern one night. She watched, from a distance, as they got into his sportscar. She opened her purse, handed him something…and he proceeded to buckle a dog collar around her throat. As he revved the engine she leaned down and out of sight, her head vanishing into his lap.
Eventually, these two execs will argue, and arguing will turn to…something more, as she reveals her true depths. And that’s his cue to begin her long-delayed education, teaching her how he likes his women to behave. From bringing him coffee in the morning, to spending her lunches kneeling under his desk, sucking his cock while he tells the CEO how incompetent she is. He’ll exert more and more control, taking over her wardrobe, how she treats the men around her, her speech and behavior, as she hands him her best clients, her best projects, spending more time doing his work than doing hers. After all, his success is all that matters.
In the end, one of two things is likely to happen. Either she’ll be fired for her inexplicable failures, leaving him free to re-hire her – as his administrative assistant. Or she’ll be persuaded to go to the CEO’s office, admit her gross incompetence and inability to handle the job she’s been given, and beg for a more suitable one. For instance, the office needs a new receptionist, and all the guys appreciate a nice piece of bimbo eye-candy to look at. She’s much more suited for serving men than bossing them around. He’ll make sure she learns that much.
(This one’s themed as female/female, so for clarity, I’d be playing the general. I was picturing the nations involved as being humans or elves vs. dark elves/drow, but anything really works; we can be creative!)
The two lands had been at war for a very long time. Peace, not for very long at all, but their pacts are holding and no one in power wants to see fresh conflict arise. Those who want power would love to see the opportunities that come with bloodshed, a problem that demands constant vigilance.
The king’s general is his right hand and most trusted servant; she’s not only a knight but a tactician, a battlefield strategist and respected leader. Across the border lives the rival queen’s “special adviser” – which is a polite word for “assassin.” The two women have met at treaty-signings, trade agreements and the like, always accompanying their lieges and watching over the entourage.
They have a polite relationship. Neither one wants to see the peace broken, and each respects the other woman’s prowess. They’re cordial. Maybe…maybe just a tiny bit flirty. Just a little.
But games of dominance come naturally to the assassin’s people (hence why I was picturing them as dark elves), and when she sees something, or someone she wants, she takes it. “Takes,” in this case, through escalating seduction as the women grow closer together. Carefully away from the eyes of their lieges and any nosy courtiers, of course.
The general’s sense of honor and pride and loyalty is so much fun to test and play with, after all. Like giving her gifts of jewelry bearing the assassin’s seal. Or scanty underthings in the colors of her national flag, so that under her stoic and formal armor, in the presence of her king, the general will never forget who lays claim to her body. And temptation is a dance down into abject submission. (“These are the very silks worn by the slaves in my queen’s harem. Hide them well, you wouldn’t want to have to explain what they’re doing in your chambers. Of course, if you came to visit me in my capitol, I could walk you through the streets wearing them, with a lovely collar. Or I could present you before the queen herself, and you could model them for her. She’d be very amused by that, and she’d reward me. You want me to be rewarded, don’t you?”)
There are a number of ways this story could go. Possibly, the general is being set up to betray her people; that said, I think it would play better as a genuine dom/sub romance (the assassin’s motives are genuine), possibly with the looming specter of an outside threat the women have to deal with in order to keep the peace (and keep their relationship from being torn apart by a new eruption of war). I’m up for brainstorming about it!
The two lands had been at war for a very long time. Peace, not for very long at all, but their pacts are holding and no one in power wants to see fresh conflict arise. Those who want power would love to see the opportunities that come with bloodshed, a problem that demands constant vigilance.
The king’s general is his right hand and most trusted servant; she’s not only a knight but a tactician, a battlefield strategist and respected leader. Across the border lives the rival queen’s “special adviser” – which is a polite word for “assassin.” The two women have met at treaty-signings, trade agreements and the like, always accompanying their lieges and watching over the entourage.
They have a polite relationship. Neither one wants to see the peace broken, and each respects the other woman’s prowess. They’re cordial. Maybe…maybe just a tiny bit flirty. Just a little.
But games of dominance come naturally to the assassin’s people (hence why I was picturing them as dark elves), and when she sees something, or someone she wants, she takes it. “Takes,” in this case, through escalating seduction as the women grow closer together. Carefully away from the eyes of their lieges and any nosy courtiers, of course.
The general’s sense of honor and pride and loyalty is so much fun to test and play with, after all. Like giving her gifts of jewelry bearing the assassin’s seal. Or scanty underthings in the colors of her national flag, so that under her stoic and formal armor, in the presence of her king, the general will never forget who lays claim to her body. And temptation is a dance down into abject submission. (“These are the very silks worn by the slaves in my queen’s harem. Hide them well, you wouldn’t want to have to explain what they’re doing in your chambers. Of course, if you came to visit me in my capitol, I could walk you through the streets wearing them, with a lovely collar. Or I could present you before the queen herself, and you could model them for her. She’d be very amused by that, and she’d reward me. You want me to be rewarded, don’t you?”)
There are a number of ways this story could go. Possibly, the general is being set up to betray her people; that said, I think it would play better as a genuine dom/sub romance (the assassin’s motives are genuine), possibly with the looming specter of an outside threat the women have to deal with in order to keep the peace (and keep their relationship from being torn apart by a new eruption of war). I’m up for brainstorming about it!
This is a spot for partial ideas I haven't fleshed into anything meaty yet. Maybe you have a notion, or see something you'd like to spin into a bigger concept?
Gods of Egypt. I've always had a hankering to run a plot where Sekhmet, Goddess of War, is humbled and tamed by Anubis or Set. That's...really all I've got to go on there. Yes, it's anthro. Deal with it. That or a tomb-raiding "archaeologist" triggering a curse, drawing the attention of Anubis or Set, and being treated to a taste of an Egyptian hell as her soul is condemned to slavery.
That's it for now!
Gods of Egypt. I've always had a hankering to run a plot where Sekhmet, Goddess of War, is humbled and tamed by Anubis or Set. That's...really all I've got to go on there. Yes, it's anthro. Deal with it. That or a tomb-raiding "archaeologist" triggering a curse, drawing the attention of Anubis or Set, and being treated to a taste of an Egyptian hell as her soul is condemned to slavery.
That's it for now!
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