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Planetoid
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2013
I like it when beautiful, terrible, powerful people get off on each other's shared sadism and hybristophilia, hurt and rape and enslave others together, and share vulnerable, intimate moments with one another. Think like the Prince in Snow White running off with the Queen because she really is the fairest of them all, after he rapes Snow White brainless at the Queen's urgent, wet, aching assistance and insistence. Subsequently, they start holding auditions for the new Snow White to fuck with another virgin's head--that level of control, power, and sadistic joy.
Below are some writing samples/some prompts. If they're here, they're open and I'm interested! I would also love to know any spin-off thoughts you may have on the central theme of evil people falling into deep, dark love.
Kinks: sadism, evil, harems, transformations, mind control, master/slave dynamics, breeding, intimate/loving relationships between otherwise cruel people, corruption
Offs: scat, vore, animals
Anyway. If this resonated with you at all, send me a message; we've got lots to talk about.
Below are some writing samples/some prompts. If they're here, they're open and I'm interested! I would also love to know any spin-off thoughts you may have on the central theme of evil people falling into deep, dark love.
It's close to time, nearly midnight. We're in the expertly decorated office you've put together for me; polished floors, redwood desk, classic minimal shelving and lighting, and the convenient ritual circle etched into the concrete beneath the flooring so that we can sacrifice virgins without too much fuss.
One such virgin is in front of us now. She's starving, sleep-deprived, and close to tears. Just the way we like them. She's brunette. Been tugging her hair out. Complaining of visions of demons and fire. She's only been here for two weeks. Once upon a time, she was a gymnastics savant. Oh well.
You're at my side, calmly stroking me beneath the desk, out of view while we pretend to listen to the girl's concerns. Your fingers are long, each one a sexual entity, and I'm still enormous in your grip. You can barely wrap around the massive virgin-raping pole I'm sporting.
I turn from the girl to admire the cut of your jaw and chin. You're so goddamn hot. We've been on this island, running this cult, for close to three decades. When you came to me, you were pushing forty. Now, you don't look a day over twenty-one. Polished, sensual breasts in a tight cocktail dress. Tall heels. Jewelry we've paid for using the life savings of fools who believed us.
And despite your severe beauty, something about you is so overwhelmingly *trustworthy*--meaning people, weak cunts like this one, trust you when they truly shouldn't. You're the sister, mother, girlfriend they never had…and then you hold their thrashing bodies down while I skullfuck their brains out.
"I-i-it's j-just, I see them, I *see* them, all the time!" the whelp moans. She sounds like she's in the middle of a breakdown because she is.
"You see demons," I say, sounding skeptical.
"Y-yes!"
So eager to please. Every woman that spends more than about fifteen minutes in close contact with me forgets they ever liked another man. My handsome features, utterly built, huge body, and enormous cock do a lot for that—but mostly it's the supernatural magnetism I've killed thousands to obtain.
"Crowding all around you. Urging you to die. Urging you to give up your life."
"…y-yes…"
"They make so much sense, don't they? You've told me you don't want to live very much."
You start stroking me *very* fast and urgent at that; you love it when girls who visit here start getting suicidal. Either they're pretty enough for me and we make them prettier, like we did for you (though not as much, of course), or we make them want to kill themselves.
Their despair makes you wet, makes me hard.
She gulps. "I *thought* I did. But I came here. And all the girls are so…so *pretty* and none of the guys will even *talk* to me a-and…"
The guys don't talk to her because they're only here for show. Flesh robots. I harvested their souls long ago; they keep the island green.
"You don't measure up."
She shakes her head sadly. She's so fucking close. I want her to beg for it—beg to be raped to death by my infernal cock as the only way she can create any good in this world.
She will. You'll convince her, with me. You've convinced so many; it's what makes us the perfect team. You lure them in, and I share the power I cultivate from their souls.
One such virgin is in front of us now. She's starving, sleep-deprived, and close to tears. Just the way we like them. She's brunette. Been tugging her hair out. Complaining of visions of demons and fire. She's only been here for two weeks. Once upon a time, she was a gymnastics savant. Oh well.
You're at my side, calmly stroking me beneath the desk, out of view while we pretend to listen to the girl's concerns. Your fingers are long, each one a sexual entity, and I'm still enormous in your grip. You can barely wrap around the massive virgin-raping pole I'm sporting.
I turn from the girl to admire the cut of your jaw and chin. You're so goddamn hot. We've been on this island, running this cult, for close to three decades. When you came to me, you were pushing forty. Now, you don't look a day over twenty-one. Polished, sensual breasts in a tight cocktail dress. Tall heels. Jewelry we've paid for using the life savings of fools who believed us.
And despite your severe beauty, something about you is so overwhelmingly *trustworthy*--meaning people, weak cunts like this one, trust you when they truly shouldn't. You're the sister, mother, girlfriend they never had…and then you hold their thrashing bodies down while I skullfuck their brains out.
"I-i-it's j-just, I see them, I *see* them, all the time!" the whelp moans. She sounds like she's in the middle of a breakdown because she is.
"You see demons," I say, sounding skeptical.
"Y-yes!"
So eager to please. Every woman that spends more than about fifteen minutes in close contact with me forgets they ever liked another man. My handsome features, utterly built, huge body, and enormous cock do a lot for that—but mostly it's the supernatural magnetism I've killed thousands to obtain.
"Crowding all around you. Urging you to die. Urging you to give up your life."
"…y-yes…"
"They make so much sense, don't they? You've told me you don't want to live very much."
You start stroking me *very* fast and urgent at that; you love it when girls who visit here start getting suicidal. Either they're pretty enough for me and we make them prettier, like we did for you (though not as much, of course), or we make them want to kill themselves.
Their despair makes you wet, makes me hard.
She gulps. "I *thought* I did. But I came here. And all the girls are so…so *pretty* and none of the guys will even *talk* to me a-and…"
The guys don't talk to her because they're only here for show. Flesh robots. I harvested their souls long ago; they keep the island green.
"You don't measure up."
She shakes her head sadly. She's so fucking close. I want her to beg for it—beg to be raped to death by my infernal cock as the only way she can create any good in this world.
She will. You'll convince her, with me. You've convinced so many; it's what makes us the perfect team. You lure them in, and I share the power I cultivate from their souls.
When they told me excavating in my basement was a mistake, I thought it was because they were afraid I'd hit a gas main or dump sewage into the streets.
Instead, there's an unearthly beauty running her spectral tongue—tongues actually, she just makes as many of herself as she wants—all over my cock and simultaneously whispering in my ear. Her words are dark, cinnamon fire, like a holiday-glazed cunt sliding over the crevices of my brain. I'm holding the amulet that contains her essence in one hand, still covered in the muck from the unearthed ground. The basement light flickers; her spirit fucks with electronics somehow.
"All you have to do is bring them down here," she says. "Bring them to me. Rape them. Kill them. The hotter they are…the more power I'll gain. And when I have all my power again…I'll be so appreciative of you, my love. I promise. You'll be King."
She's got a body of a woman you don't trust. Curves everywhere it's not gorgeous, harsh angles. Like the magazine cover that all the girls on magazines wish they could be. I could fall into her hair for ten days straight and her eyes—holy fuck, her eyes. Her eyes make ten thousand urgent pinky swears all at once—she loves me, she needs me, she needs my cock, she's got the softest most doting heart-throb crush on me, she's seen ten million years and a hundred billion men and it's me who she wants, truly and really.
My cockhead, pulsing and dripping with precum, pushes against her many faces, but it presses through them like smoke.
"Please? Make me real. It will all be real. I'll be your Queen. Your Demon Queen. Just kill one, and see if I'm lying? Just take her. Here. As hot as you can make them. I'll take care of the rest."
So, I'm a bastard. I know that I am, because the first thing that comes to my mind is that my ex-wife--who took everything from me--is a knockout.
If you've seen Hellraiser, this is a similar idea, except no cenobites (I am sure that is a disappointment to…someone.) A man brings home unsuspecting women to feed a dark force in the basement. The hope is that you would play the succubus. I love harems, but I hate giving a partner a thousand things to do (unless I am also doing a thousand things)—so my thought is we would both write the victim roles.
I would love to explore this for a while—his neighbor, his daughter, the Instagram model at the gym, etc. I'd love it particularly if one way or the other the succubus isn't just blowing smoke up his ass, and really was waiting for him and wants him to be king, but there's no way for him to trust that even though he can't help but keep going because it feels so fucking good…but he's got to stop because this is insane…etc. That, or maybe he tricks her to serve, etc. In any case, I find it really erotic when ancient forces of evil become romantically obsessed with otherwise normal-seeming folk. Bonus points--as in, I'll just be hard forever, thanks--if the succubus is constantly shit-talking the victims.
Instead, there's an unearthly beauty running her spectral tongue—tongues actually, she just makes as many of herself as she wants—all over my cock and simultaneously whispering in my ear. Her words are dark, cinnamon fire, like a holiday-glazed cunt sliding over the crevices of my brain. I'm holding the amulet that contains her essence in one hand, still covered in the muck from the unearthed ground. The basement light flickers; her spirit fucks with electronics somehow.
"All you have to do is bring them down here," she says. "Bring them to me. Rape them. Kill them. The hotter they are…the more power I'll gain. And when I have all my power again…I'll be so appreciative of you, my love. I promise. You'll be King."
She's got a body of a woman you don't trust. Curves everywhere it's not gorgeous, harsh angles. Like the magazine cover that all the girls on magazines wish they could be. I could fall into her hair for ten days straight and her eyes—holy fuck, her eyes. Her eyes make ten thousand urgent pinky swears all at once—she loves me, she needs me, she needs my cock, she's got the softest most doting heart-throb crush on me, she's seen ten million years and a hundred billion men and it's me who she wants, truly and really.
My cockhead, pulsing and dripping with precum, pushes against her many faces, but it presses through them like smoke.
"Please? Make me real. It will all be real. I'll be your Queen. Your Demon Queen. Just kill one, and see if I'm lying? Just take her. Here. As hot as you can make them. I'll take care of the rest."
So, I'm a bastard. I know that I am, because the first thing that comes to my mind is that my ex-wife--who took everything from me--is a knockout.
If you've seen Hellraiser, this is a similar idea, except no cenobites (I am sure that is a disappointment to…someone.) A man brings home unsuspecting women to feed a dark force in the basement. The hope is that you would play the succubus. I love harems, but I hate giving a partner a thousand things to do (unless I am also doing a thousand things)—so my thought is we would both write the victim roles.
I would love to explore this for a while—his neighbor, his daughter, the Instagram model at the gym, etc. I'd love it particularly if one way or the other the succubus isn't just blowing smoke up his ass, and really was waiting for him and wants him to be king, but there's no way for him to trust that even though he can't help but keep going because it feels so fucking good…but he's got to stop because this is insane…etc. That, or maybe he tricks her to serve, etc. In any case, I find it really erotic when ancient forces of evil become romantically obsessed with otherwise normal-seeming folk. Bonus points--as in, I'll just be hard forever, thanks--if the succubus is constantly shit-talking the victims.
The redhead sucking me off really needs to cum. But she can't; not until I let her.
Her feet are sprawled all out to one side. It's her wedding day. She's wearing high pump heels and she's lying in a puddle of lace and silk. Her cunt juices make everything slick. The sounds of schlicking and slurping fill the bathroom I've cornered her in.
The dress is one of those abhorrent, fluffy things with great big pillows around her arms and such—of course I ripped all that off. She'll look a little trashy at the dinner, but I don't give a fuck.
I know her name; I know everything about her, in fact. I know her whole history and what a good girl she is. Top of her class. Works at an animal shelter. Tweets voraciously about the rights of all humans. You know the type. I also know she's been visited in her dreams for the past seven days by a demon who turns her on more than her pathetic drip of a fiancé—well, he's her **husband** now—and who wouldn't let her cum.
I know that, of course, because I **am** that demon.
She was on the altar swearing her love not even fifteen minutes ago, mindlessly repeating what the priest said about obedience. Really, though, on her mind was my big fucking demon cock and how badly she needed to cum. Her family thought she was nervous. Truth is, her pussy was so fucking wet and trembling and needy that she wouldn't even be able to tell you the difference between circles and squares.
I pop my gigantic demon cock out of her mouth and throat—it takes a few seconds, because it's enormous, and because I like seeing the bulge retract from her throat.
"N-no, p-please…" My precum makes her lips and chin shine.
"You have to give me your soul."
"W-what?"
"Give me your soul, and I'll give you my cum."
"I…I…"
"When I give you my cum, that's when you cum."
"O-ohhh."
She looks conflicted. I know she isn't. I'm an old pro.
But you know what? I'm pretty tired of good girls. They're all the same. Bright shiny outsides, drab beige insides.
The bathroom door opens. We made a mess inside, knocking over the stalls. One toilet is smashed from my foot. I don't care how it looks. Human authorities have nothing to threaten me with.
"Hey, stupid? They're looking for you. So…oh. Shit."
I see you for what you are right away. A soul so dark and twisted you'd be recruited into my profession if it wasn't so full already. A thief; a **killer**; a superior, snotty, vain being. And god, do you **deserve** that vanity—shaming every last woman at this wedding with your gorgeous fucking body and so-angelic-it's-demonic face.
An outfit designed to fuck with people's heads, so tight and revealing. Like the silky embodiment of luxury painted on to your hips, ass, and tits. Tall heels that make your form even more mouthwatering, the kind that would make some lesser girl--and aren't they all?--look stupid and sluttish.
*Eat shit,* the look says, *and don't even think about cumming to anyone but me for the rest of your dumb, stupid life. Also, fuck you!*
Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.
You look at me—my tall adonis-body, my demon-sized cock. The only thing hinting at my immortal nature is the red fire in my eyes. The pre-cum streaming and dripping all over your "friend's" face. She looks terrified; the rape here is just blatantly obvious.
I can smell the instant arousal flooding your pussy. You *like* seeing women treated like this...and worse. Much, much worse.
You raise a perfect eyebrow, jut out one delectable, fertile hip.
You don't say it, but I know what you're thinking:
*Why are you bothering with her when I'm around?*
Good. Fucking. Question.
* * * * *
A demonic being is smitten with the only kind of girl who can keep up with him—a (preferably filthy rich and) terribly vain, arrogant, gorgeous one. He fulfills all her darkest, sickest, cruelest desires and gives her the power and beauty she craves; she urges him on and embraces his wicked nature, maybe gives him some babies. They get bigger and badder all the time. Match made in hell.
Her feet are sprawled all out to one side. It's her wedding day. She's wearing high pump heels and she's lying in a puddle of lace and silk. Her cunt juices make everything slick. The sounds of schlicking and slurping fill the bathroom I've cornered her in.
The dress is one of those abhorrent, fluffy things with great big pillows around her arms and such—of course I ripped all that off. She'll look a little trashy at the dinner, but I don't give a fuck.
I know her name; I know everything about her, in fact. I know her whole history and what a good girl she is. Top of her class. Works at an animal shelter. Tweets voraciously about the rights of all humans. You know the type. I also know she's been visited in her dreams for the past seven days by a demon who turns her on more than her pathetic drip of a fiancé—well, he's her **husband** now—and who wouldn't let her cum.
I know that, of course, because I **am** that demon.
She was on the altar swearing her love not even fifteen minutes ago, mindlessly repeating what the priest said about obedience. Really, though, on her mind was my big fucking demon cock and how badly she needed to cum. Her family thought she was nervous. Truth is, her pussy was so fucking wet and trembling and needy that she wouldn't even be able to tell you the difference between circles and squares.
I pop my gigantic demon cock out of her mouth and throat—it takes a few seconds, because it's enormous, and because I like seeing the bulge retract from her throat.
"N-no, p-please…" My precum makes her lips and chin shine.
"You have to give me your soul."
"W-what?"
"Give me your soul, and I'll give you my cum."
"I…I…"
"When I give you my cum, that's when you cum."
"O-ohhh."
She looks conflicted. I know she isn't. I'm an old pro.
But you know what? I'm pretty tired of good girls. They're all the same. Bright shiny outsides, drab beige insides.
The bathroom door opens. We made a mess inside, knocking over the stalls. One toilet is smashed from my foot. I don't care how it looks. Human authorities have nothing to threaten me with.
"Hey, stupid? They're looking for you. So…oh. Shit."
I see you for what you are right away. A soul so dark and twisted you'd be recruited into my profession if it wasn't so full already. A thief; a **killer**; a superior, snotty, vain being. And god, do you **deserve** that vanity—shaming every last woman at this wedding with your gorgeous fucking body and so-angelic-it's-demonic face.
An outfit designed to fuck with people's heads, so tight and revealing. Like the silky embodiment of luxury painted on to your hips, ass, and tits. Tall heels that make your form even more mouthwatering, the kind that would make some lesser girl--and aren't they all?--look stupid and sluttish.
*Eat shit,* the look says, *and don't even think about cumming to anyone but me for the rest of your dumb, stupid life. Also, fuck you!*
Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.
You look at me—my tall adonis-body, my demon-sized cock. The only thing hinting at my immortal nature is the red fire in my eyes. The pre-cum streaming and dripping all over your "friend's" face. She looks terrified; the rape here is just blatantly obvious.
I can smell the instant arousal flooding your pussy. You *like* seeing women treated like this...and worse. Much, much worse.
You raise a perfect eyebrow, jut out one delectable, fertile hip.
You don't say it, but I know what you're thinking:
*Why are you bothering with her when I'm around?*
Good. Fucking. Question.
* * * * *
A demonic being is smitten with the only kind of girl who can keep up with him—a (preferably filthy rich and) terribly vain, arrogant, gorgeous one. He fulfills all her darkest, sickest, cruelest desires and gives her the power and beauty she craves; she urges him on and embraces his wicked nature, maybe gives him some babies. They get bigger and badder all the time. Match made in hell.
Kinks: sadism, evil, harems, transformations, mind control, master/slave dynamics, breeding, intimate/loving relationships between otherwise cruel people, corruption
Offs: scat, vore, animals
Anyway. If this resonated with you at all, send me a message; we've got lots to talk about.
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