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Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 24, 2020
Most women I know like to say that they’re on the sunny side of forty, which I guess means they’re happily in their fourth decade. The earlier half.
I’m not.
I’ve reached that point in life where I’ll look at a line and understand what crossing it entails. At least I understand on an intellectual level. But the scholarly satisfaction which comes from placing a precept or dictum into practice is suddenly blown to smithereens as soon as it leaves the paper. Lines are boundaries. Crossing them poses a risk. And here my beige luna nude patent peep toe still aches to traverse that limit.
Forgive me father, for I have sinned.
~-~
Ebdolings is a grim reckoning for lovers. A place where relationships come to die on Sunday. The problem is that I’m not here with my husband.
Tom reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. “You look nervous, Mrs. S.”
“Why do you think that is?”
It’s gone just as quickly, taking with it none of the cloying sympathy. “Don’t be sad it’s over-”
“Right. Smile because it happened.”
“Good girl!”
I’ve never gotten over it. Two tawdry months of asking him to call me something else, and even now, at the bitter end of things… Girl.
“At least you won’t need to hide it from your son anymore,” he rakes his fingers through his short brown hair and looks out a window. “Especially now that I'm playing against him on the court.”
Every part of me from the ovaries down twitches. “Right.”
“Though honestly, I think you sorta liked it.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Like a fox,” he jokes. “Fucking your friend’s mom is not for the timid.”
“Look. If we’re breaking up then you may as well leave Joshua ou-”
“Order seventeen!” the barista calls from the front of the cafe. Tom doesn’t move.
“I guess I’m getting this then?”
He shrugs. “I wanted to watch that ass one more time before it walks away.”
My eyes are rolling. Hard. And if I’d have thought to wear a sweater or coat it would be around my hips.
“Order seventeen!” the girl cries again, less patiently.
In a few moments I’m at the pick-up counter. Everything between Tom and the coffee is a blur.
“That’s one flat white and one-- Mrs. S?”
“Teri! I didn’t realize you were working here.” Oh no. Dear God no.
“Josh didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Oh. Is that who you’re here with? I didn’t see him.” She pauses. “You’re not here with your husband, right? I hope everything’s OK.”
“Yes. Yes, everything is just fine.”
She’s looking at the coffees. Both of them. And then back at me.
“I’m meeting someone for a writing project.”
“Cool! What sort of writing?”
“Fiction. It’s fiction.”
“Joshy says I shouldn’t read your stories.”
“He’s probably right!” I laugh nervously.
Through it all the two little cups remain closer to her than me. She’s not handing them over. And then to make matters worse...
“Mrs. Smith! What’s taking so long with the coff-- Oh. Teri. Hey!”
“Hi Tom,” she eyes us suspiciously. “You’re here with Josh’s mom?”
“Well heck!” he doesn’t even blush. “This is awkward, now isn’t it?”
My head is down and I’m praying for my bangs to come lower - low enough that I can’t see those two white cups anymore.
“So wait a minute. Tom is the one you’re meeting? To write fiction?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” he cracks.
“Teri,” I plead. “I’d appreciate if this didn’t get blown out of proportion.”
But the implacable look on her face says it all: If I’m not cheating on your son, you shouldn’t be cheating on your husband. As quickly as it’s there however, the expression is gone. And she’s laughing. They’re laughing.
At me?
Teri slides one of the coffees across the counter and Tom rubs up against my back. I don’t know where to look until I see the portraiture. Joshua’s girlfriend has always been artistic. “You ordered the flat white, right Mrs. Smith?”
“I certainly didn’t,” Tom answers over my shoulder. His hands - a basketballer’s hands - have wrapped around my wrists. My face is burning. “Look at the nice picture Teri made on top of your coffee,” he coos. “What does it remind you of?”
One extended finger runs around the beverage art. It’s mine. My pearly gloss pointer tip, guided by Tom. Tracing an oblong almond shape anointed with that small feminine northern tittle.
“It’s a vagina, Mrs. Smith.” Teri speaks to me in the same way I taught Joshua about the birds and bees so long ago. Tom is pushing my fingertip through the foam. “Your vagina.”
The world stops. I’m sure everyone else who showed up at Ebdolings is looking right at me. Who knows? Maybe I’ve saved a few relationships. But I can’t look back. I can’t even take my finger out of the hot cup.
“Let’s not let this get blown out of proportion,” Teri echoes.
“Yeah Mrs. S. Let’s. Not.”
“I’m-- Are you? Are we not?”
“No. I’ve had a change of heart. Let’s try things out a bit longer. Maybe some new blood won't make it feel so stale.”
Then from underneath the brunette awning of my bob, eyes are peering. Brown ones staring into younger, keener wicked pools of flecked green.
“Let’s,” Teri says. And sticks her finger into the flat white alongside mine.
~-~
Hello! I'm part of the NRPIP (Novice Roleplay Internship Program) and always looking to improve myself. If you liked the above précis or believe that there are areas in which I can improve, then don't hesitate to reach out to my manager / mentor directly: HannibalBarca. All constructive criticism is appreciated. Below is a foreword by him, even though I screwed up already and put it at the end:
(This is a roleplay with themes of D/s, shame/humiliation, and borderline cuckolding. A young, fit, self-confident athlete has seduced his 'friend's' mother, and finds pleasure in peeling back her layers; discovering the woman's wonderful angst at raising such a bundle of whining mediocrities. What are we looking for?
We being the writer of Tom, and the writer of Mrs. Smith are seeking pedantic, precocious players to voice the roles of Joshua, Teri and perhaps others. A special muse might turn the whole thing on its head. But until that time, Joshua is necessarily submissive, even if he puts up a half-assed front, and Teri is your typical manipulative domme. Although she has been with Tom before, she still harbors a thing for him and his easy style. Sadism? Ruthlessness? Teasing? Just a bit of fun? The only things she can't be, as my partner has noted to me are: "...blunt, dull, prosaic."
This play will be a slow burn, and should appeal to those who enjoy delayed gratification. We're open to Teri being younger or older -- a contemporary of Tom and Joshua or a fellow matron of Mrs. Smith. We're also flexible on setting. A modern era, with basketball, or bustling medieval cities like Stormwind and Greyhawk.
Talent and creativity are the most important qualities. While we'd prefer a female to play Teri, this is not a must. Potential partners should enjoy dark, corrosive psychological mind-fucking. If this sounds like you then please feel free to say hello.)
I’m not.
I’ve reached that point in life where I’ll look at a line and understand what crossing it entails. At least I understand on an intellectual level. But the scholarly satisfaction which comes from placing a precept or dictum into practice is suddenly blown to smithereens as soon as it leaves the paper. Lines are boundaries. Crossing them poses a risk. And here my beige luna nude patent peep toe still aches to traverse that limit.
Forgive me father, for I have sinned.
~-~
Ebdolings is a grim reckoning for lovers. A place where relationships come to die on Sunday. The problem is that I’m not here with my husband.
Tom reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. “You look nervous, Mrs. S.”
“Why do you think that is?”
It’s gone just as quickly, taking with it none of the cloying sympathy. “Don’t be sad it’s over-”
“Right. Smile because it happened.”
“Good girl!”
I’ve never gotten over it. Two tawdry months of asking him to call me something else, and even now, at the bitter end of things… Girl.
“At least you won’t need to hide it from your son anymore,” he rakes his fingers through his short brown hair and looks out a window. “Especially now that I'm playing against him on the court.”
Every part of me from the ovaries down twitches. “Right.”
“Though honestly, I think you sorta liked it.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Like a fox,” he jokes. “Fucking your friend’s mom is not for the timid.”
“Look. If we’re breaking up then you may as well leave Joshua ou-”
“Order seventeen!” the barista calls from the front of the cafe. Tom doesn’t move.
“I guess I’m getting this then?”
He shrugs. “I wanted to watch that ass one more time before it walks away.”
My eyes are rolling. Hard. And if I’d have thought to wear a sweater or coat it would be around my hips.
“Order seventeen!” the girl cries again, less patiently.
In a few moments I’m at the pick-up counter. Everything between Tom and the coffee is a blur.
“That’s one flat white and one-- Mrs. S?”
“Teri! I didn’t realize you were working here.” Oh no. Dear God no.
“Josh didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Oh. Is that who you’re here with? I didn’t see him.” She pauses. “You’re not here with your husband, right? I hope everything’s OK.”
“Yes. Yes, everything is just fine.”
She’s looking at the coffees. Both of them. And then back at me.
“I’m meeting someone for a writing project.”
“Cool! What sort of writing?”
“Fiction. It’s fiction.”
“Joshy says I shouldn’t read your stories.”
“He’s probably right!” I laugh nervously.
Through it all the two little cups remain closer to her than me. She’s not handing them over. And then to make matters worse...
“Mrs. Smith! What’s taking so long with the coff-- Oh. Teri. Hey!”
“Hi Tom,” she eyes us suspiciously. “You’re here with Josh’s mom?”
“Well heck!” he doesn’t even blush. “This is awkward, now isn’t it?”
My head is down and I’m praying for my bangs to come lower - low enough that I can’t see those two white cups anymore.
“So wait a minute. Tom is the one you’re meeting? To write fiction?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” he cracks.
“Teri,” I plead. “I’d appreciate if this didn’t get blown out of proportion.”
But the implacable look on her face says it all: If I’m not cheating on your son, you shouldn’t be cheating on your husband. As quickly as it’s there however, the expression is gone. And she’s laughing. They’re laughing.
At me?
Teri slides one of the coffees across the counter and Tom rubs up against my back. I don’t know where to look until I see the portraiture. Joshua’s girlfriend has always been artistic. “You ordered the flat white, right Mrs. Smith?”
“I certainly didn’t,” Tom answers over my shoulder. His hands - a basketballer’s hands - have wrapped around my wrists. My face is burning. “Look at the nice picture Teri made on top of your coffee,” he coos. “What does it remind you of?”
One extended finger runs around the beverage art. It’s mine. My pearly gloss pointer tip, guided by Tom. Tracing an oblong almond shape anointed with that small feminine northern tittle.
“It’s a vagina, Mrs. Smith.” Teri speaks to me in the same way I taught Joshua about the birds and bees so long ago. Tom is pushing my fingertip through the foam. “Your vagina.”
The world stops. I’m sure everyone else who showed up at Ebdolings is looking right at me. Who knows? Maybe I’ve saved a few relationships. But I can’t look back. I can’t even take my finger out of the hot cup.
“Let’s not let this get blown out of proportion,” Teri echoes.
“Yeah Mrs. S. Let’s. Not.”
“I’m-- Are you? Are we not?”
“No. I’ve had a change of heart. Let’s try things out a bit longer. Maybe some new blood won't make it feel so stale.”
Then from underneath the brunette awning of my bob, eyes are peering. Brown ones staring into younger, keener wicked pools of flecked green.
“Let’s,” Teri says. And sticks her finger into the flat white alongside mine.
~-~
Hello! I'm part of the NRPIP (Novice Roleplay Internship Program) and always looking to improve myself. If you liked the above précis or believe that there are areas in which I can improve, then don't hesitate to reach out to my manager / mentor directly: HannibalBarca. All constructive criticism is appreciated. Below is a foreword by him, even though I screwed up already and put it at the end:
(This is a roleplay with themes of D/s, shame/humiliation, and borderline cuckolding. A young, fit, self-confident athlete has seduced his 'friend's' mother, and finds pleasure in peeling back her layers; discovering the woman's wonderful angst at raising such a bundle of whining mediocrities. What are we looking for?
We being the writer of Tom, and the writer of Mrs. Smith are seeking pedantic, precocious players to voice the roles of Joshua, Teri and perhaps others. A special muse might turn the whole thing on its head. But until that time, Joshua is necessarily submissive, even if he puts up a half-assed front, and Teri is your typical manipulative domme. Although she has been with Tom before, she still harbors a thing for him and his easy style. Sadism? Ruthlessness? Teasing? Just a bit of fun? The only things she can't be, as my partner has noted to me are: "...blunt, dull, prosaic."
This play will be a slow burn, and should appeal to those who enjoy delayed gratification. We're open to Teri being younger or older -- a contemporary of Tom and Joshua or a fellow matron of Mrs. Smith. We're also flexible on setting. A modern era, with basketball, or bustling medieval cities like Stormwind and Greyhawk.
Talent and creativity are the most important qualities. While we'd prefer a female to play Teri, this is not a must. Potential partners should enjoy dark, corrosive psychological mind-fucking. If this sounds like you then please feel free to say hello.)