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HasturTheKing
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jul 5, 2020
Who I Am And What I Want:
* I'm a twenty-something pansexual male whose been roleplaying since his mid-teens. I've been on a bit of a Slice Of Life kick recently though I do enjoy the occasional Fantasy or Historical setting from time to time.
* I prefer a story that's about sixty-percent plot and forty percent smut. I write four to six paragraphs a post and I consider myself fairly literate though not exceptionally so.
* When it comes to kinks, I'm a fan of the classics. Face-slapping, hair-pulling, choking. Bog standard BDSM really. Of course, just because I'm heavily interested in BDSM doesn't mean it's the only thing I'll write, I'm just as happy to write a traditional Rom Com as a heavy latex session if I have the right partner.
* I primarily write on forums (Either in PM or Threads) though I do have Discord as well.
* I try to respond about once a day though I have been known to post more frequently if I feel particularly inspired.
What I Look For In A Partner:
* Pathos and Emotions are the key to my pen as a writer. Also, as a Dom I really dislike weak-willed submissives. There's no fun in chasing a rabbit that doesn't run. It's the slow collapse of a character's morals and barriers that interest me as a writer.
*As noted above, I'd prefer a poster that could post once a day at minimum.
Benson Edwards never woke up this early. He was not a morning person in any conventional sense of the word but his current situation made it hard for him to get a full night’s rest. The diminutive twenty-something pried his slack carcass off of the old steel four post bed that sat in the master bedroom of his family’s old farm house. It had been in the Edwards family for generations and had been empty since his grandfather was sent to live in an assisted living facility. It was the sort of home that felt old just from the way it was decorated. The bed that Benson slept on had to have been at least forty or fifty years old and he knew it just from the stiffness of the mattress.
Benson slowly, sleepily stumbled to the bathroom and pulled the string that acted as the room’s lightswitch. His eyes were instantly bombarded with the artificial brightness of a incandescent bulb and he squinted as he undid the draw string to his plaid pajamas. The warm water that drifted over his naked body on the cold Illinois morning slowly rose him from his suspended slumber. Despite the peculiar nature of his residence in his old family home, he was relatively calm at the moment. The difficult part of his journey had already been completed, now came the nefarious benefits. With his shower completed, he got dressed. A Red plaid shirt and blue jeans. A pretty unimaginative outfit for someone who lived in a farmhouse but he wasn’t that concerned with fashion at the moment. Freshly washed and dressed, Edwards made his way to the kitchen on the first floor. He gave a quick nervous glance to the basement door as he entered before moving to the refrigerator. Two eggs, three slices of a baccon, a glass of orange juice and some oatmeal. A pretty typical breakfast in the prairies he figured. With the first meal of the day finished, he opened the fridge once more and began to make a bologna sandwich. His right hand shook a bit nervously as he slid the cheap processed meat onto two pieces of white bread and sliced them down the middle. He plated the meal on an antique wooden serving tray, the meal might have been as economical as possible but at least it looked nice.
Benson took a few deep breaths as he stood in his grandfather’s kitchen. Paranoia crept into the depths of his mind, his eyes darted nervously around the room.This was the part of his plan that he secretly feared the most. Despite his fear, he made his way over to one of the kitchen drawers and slid it open. An antique gold key sat alone as the only item contained within the draw. A few shaky steps later and he was face to face with the basement door.He tried to slide the key into the door’s lock as quietly as possible, he figured the less noise he made the less risk he’d expose himself to at the moment. Each step on the rickety old staircase felt unsafe and unstable beneath his feet. The basement was barely lit, only a few miniscule beams of light managed to penetrate the fogged glass windows that sat at the top of the old cement walls. Benson hopped the the darkness would shield him for a moment as he placed the tray on the floor and slid it towards the support beam in the middle of the space with his foot. Before him sat a nondescript figure with its hands and legs chained to the post that held the first floor up. He had wanted to use rope originally but thought that it was better start with heavy iron chains at first, rope had to be earned.
Benson slowly, sleepily stumbled to the bathroom and pulled the string that acted as the room’s lightswitch. His eyes were instantly bombarded with the artificial brightness of a incandescent bulb and he squinted as he undid the draw string to his plaid pajamas. The warm water that drifted over his naked body on the cold Illinois morning slowly rose him from his suspended slumber. Despite the peculiar nature of his residence in his old family home, he was relatively calm at the moment. The difficult part of his journey had already been completed, now came the nefarious benefits. With his shower completed, he got dressed. A Red plaid shirt and blue jeans. A pretty unimaginative outfit for someone who lived in a farmhouse but he wasn’t that concerned with fashion at the moment. Freshly washed and dressed, Edwards made his way to the kitchen on the first floor. He gave a quick nervous glance to the basement door as he entered before moving to the refrigerator. Two eggs, three slices of a baccon, a glass of orange juice and some oatmeal. A pretty typical breakfast in the prairies he figured. With the first meal of the day finished, he opened the fridge once more and began to make a bologna sandwich. His right hand shook a bit nervously as he slid the cheap processed meat onto two pieces of white bread and sliced them down the middle. He plated the meal on an antique wooden serving tray, the meal might have been as economical as possible but at least it looked nice.
Benson took a few deep breaths as he stood in his grandfather’s kitchen. Paranoia crept into the depths of his mind, his eyes darted nervously around the room.This was the part of his plan that he secretly feared the most. Despite his fear, he made his way over to one of the kitchen drawers and slid it open. An antique gold key sat alone as the only item contained within the draw. A few shaky steps later and he was face to face with the basement door.He tried to slide the key into the door’s lock as quietly as possible, he figured the less noise he made the less risk he’d expose himself to at the moment. Each step on the rickety old staircase felt unsafe and unstable beneath his feet. The basement was barely lit, only a few miniscule beams of light managed to penetrate the fogged glass windows that sat at the top of the old cement walls. Benson hopped the the darkness would shield him for a moment as he placed the tray on the floor and slid it towards the support beam in the middle of the space with his foot. Before him sat a nondescript figure with its hands and legs chained to the post that held the first floor up. He had wanted to use rope originally but thought that it was better start with heavy iron chains at first, rope had to be earned.
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