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elegant_deviant
Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2019
**All Characters/Roles Herein Are 18 or Older.**
More Formally:
Always on the prowl for intense, hot, well-written scenes of exuberant smut that leave before they outstay their welcome.
When You message me (and please do, no matter when you read this!), think of it this way: we're having a meal. I brought the turkey, so you should bring the wine and salad, or the dessert, or the sides, or something. Don't just look at my turkey and say you want some; that's gauche.
Writing Samples:
Once more just to reiterate:
Loves: harems, sadism, murder, paired fellatio and hand jobs, feeling favored, bullies, fetishizing white supremacy, acting and being sadistically cruel to those who aren't favored, being a bitch to others but truly kind to you, sexy clothes, making Cock hard, being shown through writing you're into the same extremes I am, hot conversations where we get to know each other
Hates: Anything involving more than one man, doormats, gore, toilet things, the words "curvy" or "dick" or "voluptuous" or "feisty," when people don't show me they're into the same extremes I am, liberal hand-wringing/pearl-clutching
Not a Taylor Swift fan, really, but "Are You Ready For It?" speaks to me and what makes me wet as fuck. Specifically:
Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him/Wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted
Ungh. Like, yeah. If You're talking with Me, I want You to have broken a whole lot of fucking hearts, and I want their sorrow to be part of what makes You Hard. And even though You fucked up their entire world and made them google all the slowest ways to kill themselves, they'd beg You to be allowed back into their lives for even a day. And then You'd let them only for the two of us to laugh in their fucking faces, ungh, fuck yes.
Some, some boys are tryin' too hard/He don't try at all, though
'Scuse me while I lovingly Stroke You as You casually decide what hot fresh young pussy You want to rape tonight. Ungh.
Me, I was a robber first time that he saw me/Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry
Pretty much how arrogant, vain, petty, and cruel I am should make You hard as fuck, and if it doesn't, we have nothing to talk about.
But if I'm a thief, then he can join the heist/And we'll move to an island-and/And he can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor
Partners in crime; accomplices; elegant as fuck. Only We Matter.
Every lover known in comparison is a failure/I forget their names now, I'm so very tame now
Self-explanatory, I think. Only Your Cock Matters. Only Your Cock is the Real Cock. Every other "male" is a fucking failure of a being. I'm a bitch to everyone who doesn't matter, but to You and Ours? Tame as fuck.
No one has to know/(No one has to know)
Know all that sick hot dark romantic shit You think? How You want to rape a girl's mind until she's in Love with You and then make her not even know whether she's mind-controlled or not and how she doesn't even fucking care because she's just so over-the-moon crushyloveydovey on You?
I'm into it. And No One Has To Know.
Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him/Wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted
Ungh. Like, yeah. If You're talking with Me, I want You to have broken a whole lot of fucking hearts, and I want their sorrow to be part of what makes You Hard. And even though You fucked up their entire world and made them google all the slowest ways to kill themselves, they'd beg You to be allowed back into their lives for even a day. And then You'd let them only for the two of us to laugh in their fucking faces, ungh, fuck yes.
Some, some boys are tryin' too hard/He don't try at all, though
'Scuse me while I lovingly Stroke You as You casually decide what hot fresh young pussy You want to rape tonight. Ungh.
Me, I was a robber first time that he saw me/Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry
Pretty much how arrogant, vain, petty, and cruel I am should make You hard as fuck, and if it doesn't, we have nothing to talk about.
But if I'm a thief, then he can join the heist/And we'll move to an island-and/And he can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor
Partners in crime; accomplices; elegant as fuck. Only We Matter.
Every lover known in comparison is a failure/I forget their names now, I'm so very tame now
Self-explanatory, I think. Only Your Cock Matters. Only Your Cock is the Real Cock. Every other "male" is a fucking failure of a being. I'm a bitch to everyone who doesn't matter, but to You and Ours? Tame as fuck.
No one has to know/(No one has to know)
Know all that sick hot dark romantic shit You think? How You want to rape a girl's mind until she's in Love with You and then make her not even know whether she's mind-controlled or not and how she doesn't even fucking care because she's just so over-the-moon crushyloveydovey on You?
I'm into it. And No One Has To Know.
More Formally:
Offs:
- If you're telling me your physical appearance or name or age or location or whatever in your first message, I've already stopped reading. Try again. I don't care.
- Same again with a list of kinks. Like--why? It's never made sense to me. It's like I'm offering to play poker, and you bring over your entire set of board games and dump them on my cards. If we're going to get to it, let us get to it.
- Same again with "here's what I like to write/ how I like to write" with reference to POV, paragraphs, and so on. If you think about writing in this way, we probably aren't going to write. Neither You nor I are school assignments.
- I fucking hate pretension. Like, when someone is in to "consensual non-consent", or whatever verbal acrobatics they have to do to say they're a romantic who loves rape. You love rape; it's cool. I also really dislike being referred to as "my dear" and so on. If you are someone who writes like that, don't. Don't fucking say "salutations" to me, for god's sake.
- I fucking hate the word dick. It's inelegant and small, which Your Cock should not be. I also hate slut, whore, cumrag, cumdumpster, etc. Erotica is about elegance and regality for Me. I'm sure you can deduce the in-betweens, here, and if you can't, I'm not interested.
- Anything that goes up butts. Nope nope nope. I don't like the word stretch as an erotic verb, yuck.
- Submissive dudes. Hate it; don't even like knowing You're a switch.
- Neediness. Believe it or not, the girl with the massively cunt-gushing crush on Godlike Alpha Males isn't interested in men who need a message every whatever time interval. Roleplay is like a video game for me; sometimes I'll put it down for months. When I load it up again, I don't want to be asked where I've been. Your time is yours; mine is mine.
- Any variation of "how should we begin?" or "are you available to play?" or whatever. NEVER DO THIS WITH ME OR ANYONE. Honestly. HONESTLY. My posts are fucking 1000 words long on average, and that's probably underestimating. Please don't talk to me like I'm not interested in being horny about words. I know my shit is good, but please also don't ask me to keep writing without knowing anything about you, what you like, what you want, etc. Show me what you like.
- Any variation of: "Hey, I know you said you like supermodels. But what about..." or "I think SHE'S pretty enough to be a model, don't you?" or "Does X count as a supermodel?" (if You have to ask...welp).
- Similarly, "I don't know about models..." - Honestly? Google. Fucking. Image. Search. JFC. Or just straight up ask (show vulnerability, which I sincerely always appreciate), "Hey. You're hot as fuck. Would you tell me three models to really start to obsess over with you so we can hit it off?" Or something similar. I've had this in my profile for over a year, and no one does this, so impress me. You can just take an hour or two and watch Victoria's Secret Fashion Shows from 2007-2017 or so as a baseline. Not a fan of their recent switch to be more inclusive, sorry-not-sorry.
- If you're telling me your physical appearance or name or age or location or whatever in your first message, I've already stopped reading. Try again. I don't care.
- Same again with a list of kinks. Like--why? It's never made sense to me. It's like I'm offering to play poker, and you bring over your entire set of board games and dump them on my cards. If we're going to get to it, let us get to it.
- Same again with "here's what I like to write/ how I like to write" with reference to POV, paragraphs, and so on. If you think about writing in this way, we probably aren't going to write. Neither You nor I are school assignments.
- I fucking hate pretension. Like, when someone is in to "consensual non-consent", or whatever verbal acrobatics they have to do to say they're a romantic who loves rape. You love rape; it's cool. I also really dislike being referred to as "my dear" and so on. If you are someone who writes like that, don't. Don't fucking say "salutations" to me, for god's sake.
- I fucking hate the word dick. It's inelegant and small, which Your Cock should not be. I also hate slut, whore, cumrag, cumdumpster, etc. Erotica is about elegance and regality for Me. I'm sure you can deduce the in-betweens, here, and if you can't, I'm not interested.
- Anything that goes up butts. Nope nope nope. I don't like the word stretch as an erotic verb, yuck.
- Submissive dudes. Hate it; don't even like knowing You're a switch.
- Neediness. Believe it or not, the girl with the massively cunt-gushing crush on Godlike Alpha Males isn't interested in men who need a message every whatever time interval. Roleplay is like a video game for me; sometimes I'll put it down for months. When I load it up again, I don't want to be asked where I've been. Your time is yours; mine is mine.
- Any variation of "how should we begin?" or "are you available to play?" or whatever. NEVER DO THIS WITH ME OR ANYONE. Honestly. HONESTLY. My posts are fucking 1000 words long on average, and that's probably underestimating. Please don't talk to me like I'm not interested in being horny about words. I know my shit is good, but please also don't ask me to keep writing without knowing anything about you, what you like, what you want, etc. Show me what you like.
- Any variation of: "Hey, I know you said you like supermodels. But what about..." or "I think SHE'S pretty enough to be a model, don't you?" or "Does X count as a supermodel?" (if You have to ask...welp).
- Similarly, "I don't know about models..." - Honestly? Google. Fucking. Image. Search. JFC. Or just straight up ask (show vulnerability, which I sincerely always appreciate), "Hey. You're hot as fuck. Would you tell me three models to really start to obsess over with you so we can hit it off?" Or something similar. I've had this in my profile for over a year, and no one does this, so impress me. You can just take an hour or two and watch Victoria's Secret Fashion Shows from 2007-2017 or so as a baseline. Not a fan of their recent switch to be more inclusive, sorry-not-sorry.
Ons:
- Me To You: "You Deserve This." Ungh. Especially if what's happening is really fucked up.
- Effort! Effort is hot as fuck. Effort is the hottest fucking thing.
- You: Heavily Muscled. Big Cock. Crazy Tall. **White.** Wealthy ("rich" is a fucking insult to you). Aesthetically inclined. Eternally Hard. Zero Refractory Period.
- Also You, Potentially: Super hot lady, really into all this shit. This is new for me. I still want the above Him. I'm also really fucking infatuated with finding a fellow servant.
- Betrayal. Power. Corruption.
- Bimbofication. Mind Control. Rape.
- Incest.
- Cruelty. Arrogance. Vanity.
- Murder. Executions. Evil Acts.
- Being Favored; Being Desired; Being Made Exceptions For.
- You displaying somehow that You've read other posts of mine. Effort is hot!
- Supermodels. And Supermodels. And Supermodels. No exceptions; no variations. Tight; Tall; Tiny; Thin; Smooth Women Only. Your Cock is so fucking Important to Me that I even want the girls we beat (which we will), murder (which we will), mock (which we will), and rape (which we Definitely Will) to be entirely supermodels. Trust me--there are ugly horse-faced supermodels that I would be delighted to choke out for You. There's also plenty who aren't even good enough for you to rape, only abuse. Ungh. If you think a girl on the cover of Maxim is a supermodel, incorrect. Girls who make me drool are Blanca Padilla, Romee Strijd, Elsa Hosk, Frida Aasen, Candice Swanepoel, Stella Maxwell, and Grace Elizabeth.
- You sharing an obsession about a supermodel with me. Number Fucking One Way For Me To MeltMeltMelt. Ungh. Tell Me something like how You haven't cum to anyone but Blanca Padilla in three years (though other models got You hard along the way) and we're gonna fucking talk, friend.
- White Supremacy Raceplay. And not wringing your fucking hands about it and telling me all about your noble IRL politics. Don't care! Honestly it's way hotter if you're some evil fascist who wants to fuck up my brain, and even if you're not, this is fantasy, so why tell me about something that's not for turning me on?
- You finding a girl or group of girls so fucking hot and aesthetically pleasing to Your Holy Cock that You would be happy fucking their cheekbones, clavicles, jawlines, the cheeks of their ass, etc. Hotter than penetration to Me in a lot of ways.
- Throne Position: One Girl in your lap; Two Docked at Your Side, Two Kneeling. Nnnf.
- Harems. Multiple Partners. Sisterhoods of Loving, Doting, Goddesses Who Adore Each Other Almost As Much as We Adore You. Except for when we're infighting; which is as frequent as turns us on.
- Pregnancy. Lactation. Fertility.
- Imagination. Obsession. Passion. Writing Me even if I haven't talked to You in a while with some hot idea of fantasy.
- Me To You: "You Deserve This." Ungh. Especially if what's happening is really fucked up.
- Effort! Effort is hot as fuck. Effort is the hottest fucking thing.
- You: Heavily Muscled. Big Cock. Crazy Tall. **White.** Wealthy ("rich" is a fucking insult to you). Aesthetically inclined. Eternally Hard. Zero Refractory Period.
- Also You, Potentially: Super hot lady, really into all this shit. This is new for me. I still want the above Him. I'm also really fucking infatuated with finding a fellow servant.
- Betrayal. Power. Corruption.
- Bimbofication. Mind Control. Rape.
- Incest.
- Cruelty. Arrogance. Vanity.
- Murder. Executions. Evil Acts.
- Being Favored; Being Desired; Being Made Exceptions For.
- You displaying somehow that You've read other posts of mine. Effort is hot!
- Supermodels. And Supermodels. And Supermodels. No exceptions; no variations. Tight; Tall; Tiny; Thin; Smooth Women Only. Your Cock is so fucking Important to Me that I even want the girls we beat (which we will), murder (which we will), mock (which we will), and rape (which we Definitely Will) to be entirely supermodels. Trust me--there are ugly horse-faced supermodels that I would be delighted to choke out for You. There's also plenty who aren't even good enough for you to rape, only abuse. Ungh. If you think a girl on the cover of Maxim is a supermodel, incorrect. Girls who make me drool are Blanca Padilla, Romee Strijd, Elsa Hosk, Frida Aasen, Candice Swanepoel, Stella Maxwell, and Grace Elizabeth.
- You sharing an obsession about a supermodel with me. Number Fucking One Way For Me To MeltMeltMelt. Ungh. Tell Me something like how You haven't cum to anyone but Blanca Padilla in three years (though other models got You hard along the way) and we're gonna fucking talk, friend.
- White Supremacy Raceplay. And not wringing your fucking hands about it and telling me all about your noble IRL politics. Don't care! Honestly it's way hotter if you're some evil fascist who wants to fuck up my brain, and even if you're not, this is fantasy, so why tell me about something that's not for turning me on?
- You finding a girl or group of girls so fucking hot and aesthetically pleasing to Your Holy Cock that You would be happy fucking their cheekbones, clavicles, jawlines, the cheeks of their ass, etc. Hotter than penetration to Me in a lot of ways.
- Throne Position: One Girl in your lap; Two Docked at Your Side, Two Kneeling. Nnnf.
- Harems. Multiple Partners. Sisterhoods of Loving, Doting, Goddesses Who Adore Each Other Almost As Much as We Adore You. Except for when we're infighting; which is as frequent as turns us on.
- Pregnancy. Lactation. Fertility.
- Imagination. Obsession. Passion. Writing Me even if I haven't talked to You in a while with some hot idea of fantasy.
TL; DR:
I love talking about wicked acts exclusively featuring idealized, fantasy versions of supermodels as the stars. Cruelty, intelligence, and beautiful things turn me on. Stupidity, ironically enough, turns me off. Talk to me about your ideal harem of mean, romantic, vain supermodels if You really want me to actually do my best to make myself Your kneeling drooling worshiping mindfucked cockslave. Like, seriously. The borderline between IRL and RP is intentionally fuzzy for me and I like to fuck it up with every kind of mindwarp audio file I can find.
If you don't think someone like Blanca Padilla, Grace Elizabeth, or Elsa Hosk are legitimately the hottest women on the planet--and if you think girls like Barbara Palvin, Cara Delevigne, jasmine tookes, or any of this parade of uninteresting bitches belong anywhere near you, then we're not going to have a conversation, sorry-not-sorry.
I like roleplay to be intimate. I like to Know my partners inside and out so I can make them staggeringly hard all the fucking time. I like to cultivate their obsessions; I want them to cultivate mine. I could talk for hours about the best kind of skirt for a girl to wear, the best hairstyle, the difference between a FuckSlave and a SlaveWife.
I love talking about wicked acts exclusively featuring idealized, fantasy versions of supermodels as the stars. Cruelty, intelligence, and beautiful things turn me on. Stupidity, ironically enough, turns me off. Talk to me about your ideal harem of mean, romantic, vain supermodels if You really want me to actually do my best to make myself Your kneeling drooling worshiping mindfucked cockslave. Like, seriously. The borderline between IRL and RP is intentionally fuzzy for me and I like to fuck it up with every kind of mindwarp audio file I can find.
If you don't think someone like Blanca Padilla, Grace Elizabeth, or Elsa Hosk are legitimately the hottest women on the planet--and if you think girls like Barbara Palvin, Cara Delevigne, jasmine tookes, or any of this parade of uninteresting bitches belong anywhere near you, then we're not going to have a conversation, sorry-not-sorry.
I like roleplay to be intimate. I like to Know my partners inside and out so I can make them staggeringly hard all the fucking time. I like to cultivate their obsessions; I want them to cultivate mine. I could talk for hours about the best kind of skirt for a girl to wear, the best hairstyle, the difference between a FuckSlave and a SlaveWife.
Always on the prowl for intense, hot, well-written scenes of exuberant smut that leave before they outstay their welcome.
When You message me (and please do, no matter when you read this!), think of it this way: we're having a meal. I brought the turkey, so you should bring the wine and salad, or the dessert, or the sides, or something. Don't just look at my turkey and say you want some; that's gauche.
Writing Samples:
You are an abusive husband. Sometimes overwhelmed with guilt at the way you treat your stupid fucking plain-as-a-cereal-bowl cunt wife who just can't get it right. She's overwhelmed, a fragile trembling walking-on-glass mess and desperate to make You happy, but she's biologically incapable.
You're a Superior Being. You suspect it, but You don't Know it. You're stronger, faster, smarter than everyone You know. But all the same You're stuck in this normal life with this aggressively normal wife...and You take out all Your Righteous Frustration at that fact out on her.
It makes us so fucking wet when You beat her silly. Ungh.
It's been a good night though. She made you your favorite dinner. She asked sweetly and politely, with her eyes down like You like, to pretty please suck You off while You eat. She promises she's been working on her swallowing and thinks she'll be able to take the whole load this time (she can't. Pathetic).
A knock at the door. Three gorgeous women there, aching to serve. Desperate to inform You that You are Our God. You Are Our Messiah. You are Our Everything.
You Have Nothing to Feel Guilty About. Nothing to be Ashamed of. Your abuse of the Cunt Is Correct. Necessary. Perfect. Hot. As. Fuck. We're dripping thinking about You hitting her again--or hitting her FOR You.
And We Want--We Need--to See You Rape a New Acquisition or two for Your Greatness...and to Snuff Out the Stupid Cunt Who thought she was Worthy of being Your Wife.
You're a Superior Being. You suspect it, but You don't Know it. You're stronger, faster, smarter than everyone You know. But all the same You're stuck in this normal life with this aggressively normal wife...and You take out all Your Righteous Frustration at that fact out on her.
It makes us so fucking wet when You beat her silly. Ungh.
It's been a good night though. She made you your favorite dinner. She asked sweetly and politely, with her eyes down like You like, to pretty please suck You off while You eat. She promises she's been working on her swallowing and thinks she'll be able to take the whole load this time (she can't. Pathetic).
A knock at the door. Three gorgeous women there, aching to serve. Desperate to inform You that You are Our God. You Are Our Messiah. You are Our Everything.
You Have Nothing to Feel Guilty About. Nothing to be Ashamed of. Your abuse of the Cunt Is Correct. Necessary. Perfect. Hot. As. Fuck. We're dripping thinking about You hitting her again--or hitting her FOR You.
And We Want--We Need--to See You Rape a New Acquisition or two for Your Greatness...and to Snuff Out the Stupid Cunt Who thought she was Worthy of being Your Wife.
It's the scent that hits me first, right outside the door to Your office. I've smelled it all over the school. The harsh-but-pleasant overwhelming musk of Your Cock, Your Pre-Cum, Your Cum, Your Musk as they co-mingle and coalesce and infiltrate every classroom and hallway and utility closet and bathroom of this all-girl's private school.
I open the door. Then it's the sounds that hit me. The slurping, schlucking, groaning, sch-lurk-nnng-fff-ahhh-mmmnnn-ing as two stunning young blondes adore Your Cock with their mouths. One heavy bag of grain probably outweighs both of them combined. Tight. Toned. Tall. Thin. I'm jealous of their position. It's evident on my beautiful, delicate face.
But I'm Tighter. Taller. Thinner. Sexier.
They're dressed to kill. We all are, even me. Tight leather skirt. Wolford stockings. Six-inch heeled Alaia Platform Ankle Boots. Cleavage-baring Tom Ford sweater. I strut to Your desk and slide up on Your lap.
You take this in expectantly. “Had to give in, huh?”
Your hands on my waist, my thighs immediately. I groan in delight. You're so fucking Strong.
So many of us are already Yours. Nearly everyone. If I hadn't been sick with the flu, stuck in my dorm room and out of sight, I would have fallen in the first wave. I'm clearly more gorgeous than any other girl at school. I know I'm the one You've wanted more than the others. You've posted girls outside my room moaning and fingering themselves and chanting Your name for the last two days. You've completely fucked their minds. You're trying to fuck mine.
It hasn't worked yet.
I've been cumming while they're outside, but not why You think. You used stereos and loudspeakers to round up the stragglers. These devices spouted out mind control anthems and soul-raping loops of Worship-His-Cock audios. It had different effects based on how sexy the recipients were. The hottest gathered knives and bats and went room to room. A purge of the ugly, the unclean, the unfit. There are piles of unworthy bodies burning in the quad outside—so fucking hot, ungh—but even so it's still Your Smell that fills me up.
The purgers came to my room, expecting to break the door down. I let them in. I wasn't afraid. Naked. In a post-cum haze, because I always am now; I haven't been fifteen minutes without an orgasm since You began Your Reign in this school. My thighs glistening wet as they looked me over, these new Valkyries of Your Magnificent Superior Order, and left me alone. Too Gorgeous to Touch. They looked scared of me—of what I'll be able to do to them once I'm Yours.
They should be scared.
But those muffled audio waves haven't been working on me. It's too subtle. I need a direct assault from Your Cock, Mindfucking Headphones, and Loads of Hot Cum Fucked into my Fertile Womb.
I'm on Your lap. Staring at You directly. You start to see it in my eyes—the lack of deference. The way my gaze isn't glassy and glazed over. My hand lands on the back of Elsa's throat and I shove her up until her lips are pressed hard against Your thick patch of pubes and I hold her there.
“I know You're going to fuck everything up. I know Your Power is only growing. I Know I'll have to submit eventually.”
Elsa is already out of breath. Next to her, Megan begins to whimper and cry, being denied Your Cock. She licks Your balls. Licks Elsa's bulging throat. You can feel her kisses through Elsa's thin skin.
“Go on.” You're intrigued.
“I know I can't stop You. I don't want to stop You. I want to help You. I want You to know I want to help You. I want You in charge. I want You to fuck everything up. I want more ugly, fat mongrels burning in a pile while superior flesh adores You.”
Your Cock gets even harder in Elsa's throat, somehow. Megan licks the bulge, tears streaming because she can't taste it. She doesn't see how purple Elsa is getting. I hold Elsa firm, despite her seizure. The way she's sucking now is more intense than any mouth or throat could be—she's fighting for her life.
She'll lose. I'm so fucking wet for You.
“I know You'll fuck, kill, and enslave anyone You want. I know You're Unstoppable. Invincible. Invulnerable. Immortal. Just...please...”
My voice gets very small. My eyes wide and low. I could make any man on earth mine in about ten seconds flat, and I'm quivering in front of You like a nervous schoolgirl. Which I am. You Deserve This--You Deserve My Submission, my Deference.
Despite that, Elsa's incumbent death rattles echo off the adamantine shaft of Your Eternal Cock. I shove her dying lips harder into You.
“Yes?” You'll indulge my request; I can tell.
“Please, Master...make me Your Queen?"
You answer me with a life-and-brain-altering Kiss; my Soul feels like it's lit on fire. You Cum instantly; Elsa, on Your Cock, dies nearly instantly from the sudden flood of oxygen-blocking seed. Her brain signals off, body sputtering wildly, as I keep her pressed firmly on You. Her entire strength, fighting for her life, wasn't enough to shake my grip. But Your Volcanic Eruption is so powerful I have to let go, bloody chunks of her hair in my hand, as You Spray her beautiful suddenly-a-corpse down.
We killed her. Together. I'm so fucking wet.
Megan quickly climbs on, obedient, slurping You down and becoming even more beautiful, fertile, and wicked as she does.
I open the door. Then it's the sounds that hit me. The slurping, schlucking, groaning, sch-lurk-nnng-fff-ahhh-mmmnnn-ing as two stunning young blondes adore Your Cock with their mouths. One heavy bag of grain probably outweighs both of them combined. Tight. Toned. Tall. Thin. I'm jealous of their position. It's evident on my beautiful, delicate face.
But I'm Tighter. Taller. Thinner. Sexier.
They're dressed to kill. We all are, even me. Tight leather skirt. Wolford stockings. Six-inch heeled Alaia Platform Ankle Boots. Cleavage-baring Tom Ford sweater. I strut to Your desk and slide up on Your lap.
You take this in expectantly. “Had to give in, huh?”
Your hands on my waist, my thighs immediately. I groan in delight. You're so fucking Strong.
So many of us are already Yours. Nearly everyone. If I hadn't been sick with the flu, stuck in my dorm room and out of sight, I would have fallen in the first wave. I'm clearly more gorgeous than any other girl at school. I know I'm the one You've wanted more than the others. You've posted girls outside my room moaning and fingering themselves and chanting Your name for the last two days. You've completely fucked their minds. You're trying to fuck mine.
It hasn't worked yet.
I've been cumming while they're outside, but not why You think. You used stereos and loudspeakers to round up the stragglers. These devices spouted out mind control anthems and soul-raping loops of Worship-His-Cock audios. It had different effects based on how sexy the recipients were. The hottest gathered knives and bats and went room to room. A purge of the ugly, the unclean, the unfit. There are piles of unworthy bodies burning in the quad outside—so fucking hot, ungh—but even so it's still Your Smell that fills me up.
The purgers came to my room, expecting to break the door down. I let them in. I wasn't afraid. Naked. In a post-cum haze, because I always am now; I haven't been fifteen minutes without an orgasm since You began Your Reign in this school. My thighs glistening wet as they looked me over, these new Valkyries of Your Magnificent Superior Order, and left me alone. Too Gorgeous to Touch. They looked scared of me—of what I'll be able to do to them once I'm Yours.
They should be scared.
But those muffled audio waves haven't been working on me. It's too subtle. I need a direct assault from Your Cock, Mindfucking Headphones, and Loads of Hot Cum Fucked into my Fertile Womb.
I'm on Your lap. Staring at You directly. You start to see it in my eyes—the lack of deference. The way my gaze isn't glassy and glazed over. My hand lands on the back of Elsa's throat and I shove her up until her lips are pressed hard against Your thick patch of pubes and I hold her there.
“I know You're going to fuck everything up. I know Your Power is only growing. I Know I'll have to submit eventually.”
Elsa is already out of breath. Next to her, Megan begins to whimper and cry, being denied Your Cock. She licks Your balls. Licks Elsa's bulging throat. You can feel her kisses through Elsa's thin skin.
“Go on.” You're intrigued.
“I know I can't stop You. I don't want to stop You. I want to help You. I want You to know I want to help You. I want You in charge. I want You to fuck everything up. I want more ugly, fat mongrels burning in a pile while superior flesh adores You.”
Your Cock gets even harder in Elsa's throat, somehow. Megan licks the bulge, tears streaming because she can't taste it. She doesn't see how purple Elsa is getting. I hold Elsa firm, despite her seizure. The way she's sucking now is more intense than any mouth or throat could be—she's fighting for her life.
She'll lose. I'm so fucking wet for You.
“I know You'll fuck, kill, and enslave anyone You want. I know You're Unstoppable. Invincible. Invulnerable. Immortal. Just...please...”
My voice gets very small. My eyes wide and low. I could make any man on earth mine in about ten seconds flat, and I'm quivering in front of You like a nervous schoolgirl. Which I am. You Deserve This--You Deserve My Submission, my Deference.
Despite that, Elsa's incumbent death rattles echo off the adamantine shaft of Your Eternal Cock. I shove her dying lips harder into You.
“Yes?” You'll indulge my request; I can tell.
“Please, Master...make me Your Queen?"
You answer me with a life-and-brain-altering Kiss; my Soul feels like it's lit on fire. You Cum instantly; Elsa, on Your Cock, dies nearly instantly from the sudden flood of oxygen-blocking seed. Her brain signals off, body sputtering wildly, as I keep her pressed firmly on You. Her entire strength, fighting for her life, wasn't enough to shake my grip. But Your Volcanic Eruption is so powerful I have to let go, bloody chunks of her hair in my hand, as You Spray her beautiful suddenly-a-corpse down.
We killed her. Together. I'm so fucking wet.
Megan quickly climbs on, obedient, slurping You down and becoming even more beautiful, fertile, and wicked as she does.
“Please...no...!”
Grace's voice chokes with sobs and misgivings. Soon it'll be choking on Your Cock—Your Pulsing, Heat-Radiating, LifeGiving Eternal Cock, slippery with precum and cum and my saliva and Grace's tears and Blanca's dripping sweet milk.
I think this all the time—but my cunt has never been wetter or hotter (and it's always true. I'm in a perpetual state of evergrowing evergreen wet fucking lust for You, Daddy). I'm gushing and moist, wet and hot, aching, slipping into myself, kneeling on a puddle while I hold Grace's head firm against Your Glorious Godhood.
Her hands are bound—not that they need to be, not that she could ever hurt You or Me or Blanca even if she wanted to (which she only kind of does)--because it's fucking sexy to see her shoulder blades all retracted and her heavy milk-leaking tits jutted up in that tiny dress of hers. Her “No”s are so frequent they're almost like kisses, pleading licks, as her mouth moves up and down Your Cock.
But she's not playing coy. She means it with all her heart and soul. You're going to rape her. You Always Rape. She's desperate for You not to even as she can't stop cumming from its nearness.
“It's too big." Your Holy Cock surges and she yelps, sliding her achingly soft lips further up Your flesh. "N-no! Please, n-no! I can't. I was wrong. P-p-please. I'm sorry. No...no. You're too...too big...!”
FUCK. I Just Love You So Much, what You and only You do to us.
Blanca, at Your side, her hot cunt sliding up and down Your hip, is an Unstoppable Force of Seduction and Temptation.
She's so fucking Tight and Thin and Smooth and Tall and Tiny. Every movement of her painfully gorgeous form is a longform dissertation on what a girly, aching, devastatingly worldbreaking femme fatale crush she has on You.
Her breath catches with every second as her Love for YouYouYou Only You compounds and exponentiates. Her beautifully long digits strokes up and down the length of Your Holy Shaft which Grace's gorgeous head doesn't slide against—which is substantial—as she whispers in Your ear in between moaning kisses.
“You're SO fucking Big. You're so Strong. You Deserve this. Please Rape her, Daddy? Rape her mouth. Rape her body. Rape her tight young wet virgin cunt. Rape her mind. Rape her soul. Please? I promise I'll help. I Love You. I Love ONLY You. Oh god, My God, Rape her, please...”
She moans so dark and urgent that I can't even hear her, but I Know what she's saying anyway. Because I said the same hot shit when Grace held her down the other night and I was whispering in your ear. Just like the night before that, Grace whispered in Your ear while Blanca held me down...
This is our endless adoration loop.
Today, we're Your Cheerleading Teen Queens. Or Supermodel Dreams? No, this time it's definitely Adventuring Princesses...unless we're Wicked Queens In Our Final Form of Truest Service? A Cabal of Empresses Devoted Only To The One Cock? A Trio of Mindfucked Sexcretaries Raped By Your Perfection? A Dark Witch Coven Aching For Your Holy Return For Eternity?
Something. Else?
God, it's all so hot, and so true at the same time.
It's so fucking hard to think when All We Care About Is Making You Hard and Happy. One thing is for sure, though...
You Deserve This.
Grace's voice chokes with sobs and misgivings. Soon it'll be choking on Your Cock—Your Pulsing, Heat-Radiating, LifeGiving Eternal Cock, slippery with precum and cum and my saliva and Grace's tears and Blanca's dripping sweet milk.
I think this all the time—but my cunt has never been wetter or hotter (and it's always true. I'm in a perpetual state of evergrowing evergreen wet fucking lust for You, Daddy). I'm gushing and moist, wet and hot, aching, slipping into myself, kneeling on a puddle while I hold Grace's head firm against Your Glorious Godhood.
Her hands are bound—not that they need to be, not that she could ever hurt You or Me or Blanca even if she wanted to (which she only kind of does)--because it's fucking sexy to see her shoulder blades all retracted and her heavy milk-leaking tits jutted up in that tiny dress of hers. Her “No”s are so frequent they're almost like kisses, pleading licks, as her mouth moves up and down Your Cock.
But she's not playing coy. She means it with all her heart and soul. You're going to rape her. You Always Rape. She's desperate for You not to even as she can't stop cumming from its nearness.
“It's too big." Your Holy Cock surges and she yelps, sliding her achingly soft lips further up Your flesh. "N-no! Please, n-no! I can't. I was wrong. P-p-please. I'm sorry. No...no. You're too...too big...!”
FUCK. I Just Love You So Much, what You and only You do to us.
Blanca, at Your side, her hot cunt sliding up and down Your hip, is an Unstoppable Force of Seduction and Temptation.
She's so fucking Tight and Thin and Smooth and Tall and Tiny. Every movement of her painfully gorgeous form is a longform dissertation on what a girly, aching, devastatingly worldbreaking femme fatale crush she has on You.
Her breath catches with every second as her Love for YouYouYou Only You compounds and exponentiates. Her beautifully long digits strokes up and down the length of Your Holy Shaft which Grace's gorgeous head doesn't slide against—which is substantial—as she whispers in Your ear in between moaning kisses.
“You're SO fucking Big. You're so Strong. You Deserve this. Please Rape her, Daddy? Rape her mouth. Rape her body. Rape her tight young wet virgin cunt. Rape her mind. Rape her soul. Please? I promise I'll help. I Love You. I Love ONLY You. Oh god, My God, Rape her, please...”
She moans so dark and urgent that I can't even hear her, but I Know what she's saying anyway. Because I said the same hot shit when Grace held her down the other night and I was whispering in your ear. Just like the night before that, Grace whispered in Your ear while Blanca held me down...
This is our endless adoration loop.
Today, we're Your Cheerleading Teen Queens. Or Supermodel Dreams? No, this time it's definitely Adventuring Princesses...unless we're Wicked Queens In Our Final Form of Truest Service? A Cabal of Empresses Devoted Only To The One Cock? A Trio of Mindfucked Sexcretaries Raped By Your Perfection? A Dark Witch Coven Aching For Your Holy Return For Eternity?
Something. Else?
God, it's all so hot, and so true at the same time.
It's so fucking hard to think when All We Care About Is Making You Hard and Happy. One thing is for sure, though...
You Deserve This.
When I walk into your office at the end of the day, you're raping yet another cute white girl who isn't me, and I try not to let the jealousy show on my face. I won't let you win. I cough and knock, but you don't start looking at me until you hear the tell-tale clicks of my tall, tall stiletto heels.
You're used to winning. God, are you ever. You're so fucking built, and hung, and handsome, and wealthy, god. God god god. I fucking hate how used to winning you are. But you're an all-star jock stud who raped and fucked his way through every local celebrity and beauty queen from your home town and you've had more than a thousand wealthy heiresses donate their entire fortunes to "The White Foundation" which is nothing more than a charity that entirely benefits you.
The libs took you to court for the obvious supremacist nomenclature, and they lost very publicly. I remember laughing at them because libs lose at fucking everything. You're charming and smart; you make people laugh. I fucking hated your politics but I'm a good leftist babe, and I hate libs more, so watching them lose turned me on a little.
Maybe that's why I started working for you. I didn't want to be in your office at all, but because of bastards like you, there was a "True Civilization" requirement at college—where I was barely allowed these days—and I thought, well, at least your office has a lot of women there. "True Civilization" is just a euphemism for "supremacist patriarchal indoctrination," which I and everyone else always knew…but now it makes me so fucking wet and I hate it.
When I started, I hated you, your "awful" "opinions" about how women were born to be trophies or maids, with only the beautiful ones allowed to be near men of your stature. Your campaign slogan: A Whiter Tomorrow. You're hardly alone in how open you are about "Racial Truth" these days, but you are the most obviously handsome one doing it—and the one with the hottest women around You. Your racist proclamations about sending inferiors out of your Pure White Country; your philosophical musings on the inferiority of the "other" and why *Your Fascistic Rule was the natural end result of all human ventures so far. *
Most of all, I hated the pristinely White, Polished, Perfect Women who oohed and ahhed at Your every giga-Chad word and movement. You have a whole harem of them here. Now they're my sisters, my best friends; they look up to me like a goddess. They should; if I bad mouth them in front of you, you'll kill them or worse, fire them.
"Please!" the girl on your desk cries. "Please, he's raping me! I don't want this! Please! No!"
I roll my eyes. They're bright and perfect and sexy, just like all of me. Why else did she think girls like her were around men like You except to be pretty pieces of rapemeat? At least she's white; you usually keep the white ones around and alive for a little while, and that means I won't have to take another body to the furnace tonight. The smell of inferior flesh down there is absolutely solid and it makes me too fucking wet to think straight for hours when I realize how many you must have raped, killed, and had burned to make that smell so thick even with your top-of-the-line ventiliation system.
She's squirming for a pair of scissors—I push them away from her and hold her down by her neck. It's too thick; she's probably nearly a hundred and twenty pounds. What a fatty. Real Girls are Thin Girls. I tsk.
"Sir, here's the final draft of 'Back to Basics."
I drop the folder down on the desk on top of your victim. The Back to Basics act is a sweeping piece of legislation that says only White Men with (at least) millions of dollars, like you, are actual citizens. Other white males are allowed nominal voting rights that won't mean anything. White women are stripped of all rights whatsoever, unless they're married; any inferiors are charged with insurmountable debts to pay back for the crime of staining our great White Nation, and will only be allowed to live as indentured servants for the remainder of their lives.
It's expected to pass with a stunning unanimous decision; you'll use this passage momentum to announce your bid for presidency. You've promised me that I'll be able to dress up with your bankroll and go on television to talk about the Purity and Power and Supremacy of Our People and Your Eternal Greatness and I hate you so fucking much for how wet that makes me.
You made me write the law for you. I didn't want to, but then you kept talking about how hard I made you, and you explained how badly I needed to fuck you, and my stupid little girl brain got all mixed up and I had to show you what I could do for the White Cause. I hate it. I hate you so much. I came every five minutes writing that awful fucking mess of laws; every hateful, racist word is marinated in my arousal at the glory it will add to Your Supreme White Cock.
She bangs the desk and tries once more to get away, and I slam her head down on the table for you without expression, giving her a grade three concussion. Jesus fucking christ, you're fucking her so well. I bite my thick lower lip. You look me up and down while you rape your innocent victim: I know I look fucking amazing.
I'm the sexiest girl you have here, and every girl here is a fucking 99 out of 10 at least. I'm in a tight black leather skirt, silk red blouse, clavicles exposed. Tits defying gravity like they always do, bunched up tight by the blouse, on display. My thick dark hair done up perfect. My heels add five inches to my height and still you dwarf me. You dwarf everyone; you're a fucking giant. You win. You always, always win. I hate it. It makes me so fucking wet. I love it so fucking much.
"God, you're hot," you say to me, not for the first time. "What's your name?"
You're such a bastard.
"Fuck you."
"I'm too busy for that, if you can't tell."
"Eat me."
"Don't tempt me. I'm going to promote you."
"Again?"
You promoted me after I worked there for a day to be your Head of Office; you said with how hot I was, it was only right to make things more unfair for all the other girls. You said you didn't want them to think they could ever measure up to me. You said a girl as beautiful as me deserved lifetimes of special, unfair treatment.
I don't know how it happened. Shortly after starting here, I still hated you, but I couldn't stop cumming to the thought of you—your propaganda, Your White Cock, the way you humiliated inferiors, Your White Cock, the laws you were proposing to put people in chains, Your Big Big Big White Cock that is raping the fuck out of this stupid fucking girl who is not nearly as fucking hot as mememe, god, fuck her. I squeeze her neck harder. There's blood now, and it just makes me wetter.
"I want to add another three zeroes to your paycheck."
I whimper, obviously cumming and struggling to hold myself up on your desk. My clamped hand on the rapetoy's neck digs in. She's turning purple. Your wealth makes me so fucking wet and stupid. I used to be so smart; because of Your Strong White Cock, I'm just aching to be your red-pilled trad wife.
You told me you were glad I believed in class warfare—you wanted to recruit me for the winning side, that was all.
And You. Always. Win.
"You're the hottest fucking woman I've ever seen, babe. I swear. You'll make such a good wife for me. Why won't you just submit already?"
"Because I hate you?"
I'm grinding my cunt against the desk. I need to be fucked so bad. I hate this. I hate you.
I hate how much I love Your Glorious White Cock and everything about You.
So obviously this takes place in a fantasy future that isn't real (and hopefully won't be!). But hopefully this glimpse into such a distorted future lets your imagination run wild with the potential of all kinds of horrific displays of Your Godly Male Power, ungh.
I suppose none of these things should turn me on—rape, snuff, betrayal of friends and family, giving up my political beliefs, the worship of white cock, dehumanization the "other", the trophification of beautiful white women…but they really do. If they turn you on too, DM me! We probably have lots to talk about.
The vibe we're looking for is violins and cellos, not heavy metal; it is dreamily stroking You in front of a roaring fireplace while whispering evil fascist thoughts in Your ear to make You as Hard as possible.
You're used to winning. God, are you ever. You're so fucking built, and hung, and handsome, and wealthy, god. God god god. I fucking hate how used to winning you are. But you're an all-star jock stud who raped and fucked his way through every local celebrity and beauty queen from your home town and you've had more than a thousand wealthy heiresses donate their entire fortunes to "The White Foundation" which is nothing more than a charity that entirely benefits you.
The libs took you to court for the obvious supremacist nomenclature, and they lost very publicly. I remember laughing at them because libs lose at fucking everything. You're charming and smart; you make people laugh. I fucking hated your politics but I'm a good leftist babe, and I hate libs more, so watching them lose turned me on a little.
Maybe that's why I started working for you. I didn't want to be in your office at all, but because of bastards like you, there was a "True Civilization" requirement at college—where I was barely allowed these days—and I thought, well, at least your office has a lot of women there. "True Civilization" is just a euphemism for "supremacist patriarchal indoctrination," which I and everyone else always knew…but now it makes me so fucking wet and I hate it.
When I started, I hated you, your "awful" "opinions" about how women were born to be trophies or maids, with only the beautiful ones allowed to be near men of your stature. Your campaign slogan: A Whiter Tomorrow. You're hardly alone in how open you are about "Racial Truth" these days, but you are the most obviously handsome one doing it—and the one with the hottest women around You. Your racist proclamations about sending inferiors out of your Pure White Country; your philosophical musings on the inferiority of the "other" and why *Your Fascistic Rule was the natural end result of all human ventures so far. *
Most of all, I hated the pristinely White, Polished, Perfect Women who oohed and ahhed at Your every giga-Chad word and movement. You have a whole harem of them here. Now they're my sisters, my best friends; they look up to me like a goddess. They should; if I bad mouth them in front of you, you'll kill them or worse, fire them.
"Please!" the girl on your desk cries. "Please, he's raping me! I don't want this! Please! No!"
I roll my eyes. They're bright and perfect and sexy, just like all of me. Why else did she think girls like her were around men like You except to be pretty pieces of rapemeat? At least she's white; you usually keep the white ones around and alive for a little while, and that means I won't have to take another body to the furnace tonight. The smell of inferior flesh down there is absolutely solid and it makes me too fucking wet to think straight for hours when I realize how many you must have raped, killed, and had burned to make that smell so thick even with your top-of-the-line ventiliation system.
She's squirming for a pair of scissors—I push them away from her and hold her down by her neck. It's too thick; she's probably nearly a hundred and twenty pounds. What a fatty. Real Girls are Thin Girls. I tsk.
"Sir, here's the final draft of 'Back to Basics."
I drop the folder down on the desk on top of your victim. The Back to Basics act is a sweeping piece of legislation that says only White Men with (at least) millions of dollars, like you, are actual citizens. Other white males are allowed nominal voting rights that won't mean anything. White women are stripped of all rights whatsoever, unless they're married; any inferiors are charged with insurmountable debts to pay back for the crime of staining our great White Nation, and will only be allowed to live as indentured servants for the remainder of their lives.
It's expected to pass with a stunning unanimous decision; you'll use this passage momentum to announce your bid for presidency. You've promised me that I'll be able to dress up with your bankroll and go on television to talk about the Purity and Power and Supremacy of Our People and Your Eternal Greatness and I hate you so fucking much for how wet that makes me.
You made me write the law for you. I didn't want to, but then you kept talking about how hard I made you, and you explained how badly I needed to fuck you, and my stupid little girl brain got all mixed up and I had to show you what I could do for the White Cause. I hate it. I hate you so much. I came every five minutes writing that awful fucking mess of laws; every hateful, racist word is marinated in my arousal at the glory it will add to Your Supreme White Cock.
She bangs the desk and tries once more to get away, and I slam her head down on the table for you without expression, giving her a grade three concussion. Jesus fucking christ, you're fucking her so well. I bite my thick lower lip. You look me up and down while you rape your innocent victim: I know I look fucking amazing.
I'm the sexiest girl you have here, and every girl here is a fucking 99 out of 10 at least. I'm in a tight black leather skirt, silk red blouse, clavicles exposed. Tits defying gravity like they always do, bunched up tight by the blouse, on display. My thick dark hair done up perfect. My heels add five inches to my height and still you dwarf me. You dwarf everyone; you're a fucking giant. You win. You always, always win. I hate it. It makes me so fucking wet. I love it so fucking much.
"God, you're hot," you say to me, not for the first time. "What's your name?"
You're such a bastard.
"Fuck you."
"I'm too busy for that, if you can't tell."
"Eat me."
"Don't tempt me. I'm going to promote you."
"Again?"
You promoted me after I worked there for a day to be your Head of Office; you said with how hot I was, it was only right to make things more unfair for all the other girls. You said you didn't want them to think they could ever measure up to me. You said a girl as beautiful as me deserved lifetimes of special, unfair treatment.
I don't know how it happened. Shortly after starting here, I still hated you, but I couldn't stop cumming to the thought of you—your propaganda, Your White Cock, the way you humiliated inferiors, Your White Cock, the laws you were proposing to put people in chains, Your Big Big Big White Cock that is raping the fuck out of this stupid fucking girl who is not nearly as fucking hot as mememe, god, fuck her. I squeeze her neck harder. There's blood now, and it just makes me wetter.
"I want to add another three zeroes to your paycheck."
I whimper, obviously cumming and struggling to hold myself up on your desk. My clamped hand on the rapetoy's neck digs in. She's turning purple. Your wealth makes me so fucking wet and stupid. I used to be so smart; because of Your Strong White Cock, I'm just aching to be your red-pilled trad wife.
You told me you were glad I believed in class warfare—you wanted to recruit me for the winning side, that was all.
And You. Always. Win.
"You're the hottest fucking woman I've ever seen, babe. I swear. You'll make such a good wife for me. Why won't you just submit already?"
"Because I hate you?"
I'm grinding my cunt against the desk. I need to be fucked so bad. I hate this. I hate you.
I hate how much I love Your Glorious White Cock and everything about You.
So obviously this takes place in a fantasy future that isn't real (and hopefully won't be!). But hopefully this glimpse into such a distorted future lets your imagination run wild with the potential of all kinds of horrific displays of Your Godly Male Power, ungh.
I suppose none of these things should turn me on—rape, snuff, betrayal of friends and family, giving up my political beliefs, the worship of white cock, dehumanization the "other", the trophification of beautiful white women…but they really do. If they turn you on too, DM me! We probably have lots to talk about.
The vibe we're looking for is violins and cellos, not heavy metal; it is dreamily stroking You in front of a roaring fireplace while whispering evil fascist thoughts in Your ear to make You as Hard as possible.
Not a writing sample, this. Just a quick note of interest.
I've had this regular fantasy of someone in the 40k universe deeply special for one reason or another--some kind of Emperor analogue, but not a dumb failson who can't communicate basic needs and plans to his most loyal people--being bestowed with infinite power and grace and fucking the absolute hell out of the galaxy. The common throughline for me is Him taking a Drukhari Succubus for a Queen/Empress/Goddess and a Sister of Battle Canonness as a top lieutenant, so the entire Elite top half of his command structure looks something like:
Him-->
A Succubus Cult-->
A Sister's Regiment-->
All the unfortunate worshipful cunts who aren't as hot as everyone above.
They use all their knowledge and love of torture, pain, burning, and battle to make their own lives a paradise and a terrible, tortured existence for everyone else they come across no matter what faction they're in. The Sisters worshiping Him as a God (the Drukhari too, of course), but the Sisters also worshiping the Succubi as Saints and Goddesses, etc. Really playing up one hierarchy after another.
So it's not lore accurate or whatever because obviously, and also because all the Drukhari and Sisters would be sparkling hot (and, if you read all the other stuff I've written, super fucking sparkling hot Aryan Mega-Babes). But anyway, that turns me on. I have more to say about it but I know my deep, insatiable, irredeemable need to fetishize White Supremacy isn't for everyone. TBQH fetishizing white culture makes me so hot that I'm the kind of whimpering super-babe who wants to stroke You while You're hobbying and painting up Your "problematic" Black Templar army and grind on Your thigh while You tell me all about the different analogues of real-world races they'd genocide. If that turns you on--and, oh god, please don't tell me you'll "compromise" on this kink that makes me hotter than anything, such a buzzkill--I'd love to write with you.
I've had this regular fantasy of someone in the 40k universe deeply special for one reason or another--some kind of Emperor analogue, but not a dumb failson who can't communicate basic needs and plans to his most loyal people--being bestowed with infinite power and grace and fucking the absolute hell out of the galaxy. The common throughline for me is Him taking a Drukhari Succubus for a Queen/Empress/Goddess and a Sister of Battle Canonness as a top lieutenant, so the entire Elite top half of his command structure looks something like:
Him-->
A Succubus Cult-->
A Sister's Regiment-->
All the unfortunate worshipful cunts who aren't as hot as everyone above.
They use all their knowledge and love of torture, pain, burning, and battle to make their own lives a paradise and a terrible, tortured existence for everyone else they come across no matter what faction they're in. The Sisters worshiping Him as a God (the Drukhari too, of course), but the Sisters also worshiping the Succubi as Saints and Goddesses, etc. Really playing up one hierarchy after another.
So it's not lore accurate or whatever because obviously, and also because all the Drukhari and Sisters would be sparkling hot (and, if you read all the other stuff I've written, super fucking sparkling hot Aryan Mega-Babes). But anyway, that turns me on. I have more to say about it but I know my deep, insatiable, irredeemable need to fetishize White Supremacy isn't for everyone. TBQH fetishizing white culture makes me so hot that I'm the kind of whimpering super-babe who wants to stroke You while You're hobbying and painting up Your "problematic" Black Templar army and grind on Your thigh while You tell me all about the different analogues of real-world races they'd genocide. If that turns you on--and, oh god, please don't tell me you'll "compromise" on this kink that makes me hotter than anything, such a buzzkill--I'd love to write with you.
Once more just to reiterate:
Loves: harems, sadism, murder, paired fellatio and hand jobs, feeling favored, bullies, fetishizing white supremacy, acting and being sadistically cruel to those who aren't favored, being a bitch to others but truly kind to you, sexy clothes, making Cock hard, being shown through writing you're into the same extremes I am, hot conversations where we get to know each other
Hates: Anything involving more than one man, doormats, gore, toilet things, the words "curvy" or "dick" or "voluptuous" or "feisty," when people don't show me they're into the same extremes I am, liberal hand-wringing/pearl-clutching
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