WeirdWilly
Silly Lil' Guy
- Joined
- Apr 11, 2015
- Location
- Europe (CET)
Introduction
- I can RP on any platform
- I generally prefer a 50/50 smut-to-story ratio but this can vary
- I can play a dom, sub, or switch character
- I don’t require face claims but if my partner wants us to use them I am fine with both drawn/painted and real-life ones
- I am open to playing multiple characters
- I am open to short and long-term RPs
- I can reply a few times a day to once every couple of days
- I typically write 300-1000 words per reply
- I prefer to RP in third person past tense (though present tense is also fine)
- Here's my F-list for a comprehensive list of my kinks
- Here's my Kinklist as well for another angle
Plots
Asterisks (*) indicate a scenario I'm particularly craving at the moment.—An Ancient Emperor's Pet Slave—
*—Good Little Kitty—*
—Japanese Soapland Brothel—
—A Misdelivered Photograph—
—Applying Sunscreen—
—The Steamy Hot Springs—
Writing Samples
Oliver had chosen to wear a black turtleneck for that day, perhaps subconsciously hoping that it would help him fade into the background of the chapel and not be noticed. As he read, however, he had to admit to himself that here and there his attention would be caught by the new volunteer sweeping the aisles. There was something cute and innocent about her, but that was the case for most students that chose to volunteer at the chapel. He let his eyes wander over to her once or twice and he quelled the voice of curiosity that arose in him by remembering that she was probably quite the boring religious prude.
But glances were dangerous and he should've known better, all things considered, for all it took was one moment when he looked at her and she happened to be looking back at him (as they always do) for the girl to think of it as some kind of invitation. His hazel eyes quickly darted back to his book, but part of him knew that it was too late. The professor grinned to himself, knowing exactly what to expect in the next couple of moments.
Her hi was broken and quiet, which made him more confident in his analysis of her as a shy, conservative young woman. Then again, he applauded her boldness for just coming up to a stranger like that. He decided not to look at her as she delivered the rest of her little introduction, not out of any spite or malevolence but simply to see if she'd crumble under the pressure. If she stuck it out… he'd give her a chance. She would be worthy of a bit of his time.
Finally, he looked up at her, able to get a closer sample of her bright, pleasant face. Well, he figured, if a student (presumably) had to go approaching him, at least it was a cute one this time.
"Oliver, nice to meet you," he said in a clear, slightly gravelly voice, extending a firm, masculine hand and shaking her own, which was small and soft in comparison. He didn't let her go immediately, however, instead holding her hand for a moment longer and turning it over to look at her nails. "French tips," he commented. "I like it. Classy without wandering over into the domain of kitsch. Much like Wordsworth's poetry, to answer your question about what I'm reading."
His rock-solid gaze wandered over her with some level of intrigue but also a kind of condescension. What are you doing here, little girl? the slightly arrogant, academic side of his mind seemed to ask. Go and play with the other freshmen and pray to your God.
"So you consider the Bible to be literature, eh?" he said, looking away from her for a moment before returning his gaze. "That makes you already a step-up above the average fundamentalist. It suggests that you don't believe it literally, but as a metaphorical attempt to express a certain truth. Am I wrong about that?" A hint of a smile formed on the corner of his lips. He wondered how much she knew about him or his position. His reputation certainly preceded him, but such a new face might not have been around long enough to be exposed to all the gossip.
But glances were dangerous and he should've known better, all things considered, for all it took was one moment when he looked at her and she happened to be looking back at him (as they always do) for the girl to think of it as some kind of invitation. His hazel eyes quickly darted back to his book, but part of him knew that it was too late. The professor grinned to himself, knowing exactly what to expect in the next couple of moments.
Her hi was broken and quiet, which made him more confident in his analysis of her as a shy, conservative young woman. Then again, he applauded her boldness for just coming up to a stranger like that. He decided not to look at her as she delivered the rest of her little introduction, not out of any spite or malevolence but simply to see if she'd crumble under the pressure. If she stuck it out… he'd give her a chance. She would be worthy of a bit of his time.
Finally, he looked up at her, able to get a closer sample of her bright, pleasant face. Well, he figured, if a student (presumably) had to go approaching him, at least it was a cute one this time.
"Oliver, nice to meet you," he said in a clear, slightly gravelly voice, extending a firm, masculine hand and shaking her own, which was small and soft in comparison. He didn't let her go immediately, however, instead holding her hand for a moment longer and turning it over to look at her nails. "French tips," he commented. "I like it. Classy without wandering over into the domain of kitsch. Much like Wordsworth's poetry, to answer your question about what I'm reading."
His rock-solid gaze wandered over her with some level of intrigue but also a kind of condescension. What are you doing here, little girl? the slightly arrogant, academic side of his mind seemed to ask. Go and play with the other freshmen and pray to your God.
"So you consider the Bible to be literature, eh?" he said, looking away from her for a moment before returning his gaze. "That makes you already a step-up above the average fundamentalist. It suggests that you don't believe it literally, but as a metaphorical attempt to express a certain truth. Am I wrong about that?" A hint of a smile formed on the corner of his lips. He wondered how much she knew about him or his position. His reputation certainly preceded him, but such a new face might not have been around long enough to be exposed to all the gossip.
Raul struggled to catch his breath as he was confronted with Isa's forwardness. The young sailor was pinned down onto his bed before another thought could enter his mind. He blinked rapidly in sudden surprise and couldn't find any words to utter as he felt her bare ass, so soft an unlike everything he'd been touching for the past few months.
His penis was immediately hard and felt like her tracing a finger down his chest would make him go completely insane.
"K-know each other b-better," he repeated like a moron as she freed his pulsating length from his trousers, touching it with her face and then proceeding to suck on one of his balls. The poor soul was becoming completely overwhelmed. He'd already been finding it difficult to communicate with such a hottie, but the things that were now happened simply blew the top of his head clean open, metaphorically speaking.
It was all he could do to dumbly stare at her as she ran her tongue up and down his shaft, her eyes seeming to fuck his very soul. Any spare thought that managed to enter his mind was questioning whether or not this was all real of merely some kind of dream. For him to get so lucky seemed impossible. Either way, there was no use resisting her.
Raul, stimulated out of his mind, began shaking as she rubbed her pussy against his now almost painfully erect cock. It throbbed with anticipation but was not prepared for the warmth and slippery smoothness that awaited within her hole. Her folds took him in and everything he'd ever heard about sex turned out to be a pale shadow of the bliss he was now experiencing.
He was reduced to an almost babbling mess as she bounced on top of him, drooling and half-subconsciously thrusting up into her in reflex. Very different, he thought. Very different from my hand.
Every now and then the sailor would manage to wrestle his eyes from the lure of her bouncing breasts and look up at her own, which she dutifully kept fixed on him, her face the spitting image of pure eroticism. There was no way that the inexperienced youth could last long in this flurry of sensations consisting of her moist pussy, glassy eyes, as well as pillowy soft ass and thighs.
He accelerated his pumping and, taking a sharp in-breath, he realized that his entire pelvis was tensing up and felt the warmth of an oncoming orgasm.
"Fuck, fuck, I'm—" he tried to utter but merely gasped as pleasure engulfed his entire body and he ejaculated jet after jet of thick cum inside of her, his limbs practicallly convulsing in pleasure and his fingers sinking deep into the soft, supple flesh of her ass.
As his breathing calmed down, he turned to his side, which had the effect of taking his dick out of her and having her lie down next to him. He opened his eyes a sliver and saw his green-haired goddess lying next to him. "I-I'm sorry," he said, at the same time somehow both knowing and now knowing why he was apologizing.
The sailors below deck all smiled and giggled to each other as Lady Caroline took a seat amongst them. Although they might've been horny and hungry for female flesh, they understood both her position and general purity. This was a lady, not some common tavern wench that they could pass around each other. The captain has also made sure to point this out. Thus, the feeling they had for her was more protective than anything else, though each of them probably had some type of crush on her in the privacy of hisown mind.
"I've seen one," said one of the sailors, a bald chap with a heavy, wavy accent in his voice. "The kraken itself."
The crowd erupted in laughter. "Bullshit," said the oldest sailor. "Nobody has ever actually encountered the kraken and lived to tell the tale."
"Well, let me reiterate a point you made before, wise guy," the bald man replied. "If nobody lived to tell the tale, when where do the tales come from?"
Ooohs erupted from various sailors' mouths. It was getting interesting. While the two men continued their squabble about the differences between legends, fairy tales, and personal accounts, the young, mild-faced sailor sitting next to Lady Caroline leaned over and whispered: "This is how it usually goes, my lady. Everyone here wants to convince the rest that they're some sort of heroic seafarer who's stared at the very face of Death and defied Him."
Meanwhile, above deck, the sailor speaking with Thalia sighed as he looked out into the open sea and gave her the following response to her question: "The captain's gotten a bit on in years… but he's got a sound head on his shoulders. He knows the sea better than any other person on the ship, that's for sure. If he says that he feels something's off… then that's enough to get me to worry, if even just a little bit.
The sound of boots on wooden planks and the following spin of spurs would be the thing to tear Vanessa from her reverie of simply polishing her pistol. A man dressed in a dull grey with a wide-brimmed hat a serape around his neck and shoulders approached her. He was clean-shaven and had tidy, cropped hair.
"Great choice of oil," he said, grinning deviously. "If you're planning to get rid of that thing within the year, that is."
He did little to conceal the two guns in holsters hanging on his belt.
Little did any of them know that in little more than a couple of more minutes their entire world was about to capsize as the Sankaari forces gathered and lay in wait, hoping that this last ditch effort to preserve their species would work.
His penis was immediately hard and felt like her tracing a finger down his chest would make him go completely insane.
"K-know each other b-better," he repeated like a moron as she freed his pulsating length from his trousers, touching it with her face and then proceeding to suck on one of his balls. The poor soul was becoming completely overwhelmed. He'd already been finding it difficult to communicate with such a hottie, but the things that were now happened simply blew the top of his head clean open, metaphorically speaking.
It was all he could do to dumbly stare at her as she ran her tongue up and down his shaft, her eyes seeming to fuck his very soul. Any spare thought that managed to enter his mind was questioning whether or not this was all real of merely some kind of dream. For him to get so lucky seemed impossible. Either way, there was no use resisting her.
Raul, stimulated out of his mind, began shaking as she rubbed her pussy against his now almost painfully erect cock. It throbbed with anticipation but was not prepared for the warmth and slippery smoothness that awaited within her hole. Her folds took him in and everything he'd ever heard about sex turned out to be a pale shadow of the bliss he was now experiencing.
He was reduced to an almost babbling mess as she bounced on top of him, drooling and half-subconsciously thrusting up into her in reflex. Very different, he thought. Very different from my hand.
Every now and then the sailor would manage to wrestle his eyes from the lure of her bouncing breasts and look up at her own, which she dutifully kept fixed on him, her face the spitting image of pure eroticism. There was no way that the inexperienced youth could last long in this flurry of sensations consisting of her moist pussy, glassy eyes, as well as pillowy soft ass and thighs.
He accelerated his pumping and, taking a sharp in-breath, he realized that his entire pelvis was tensing up and felt the warmth of an oncoming orgasm.
"Fuck, fuck, I'm—" he tried to utter but merely gasped as pleasure engulfed his entire body and he ejaculated jet after jet of thick cum inside of her, his limbs practicallly convulsing in pleasure and his fingers sinking deep into the soft, supple flesh of her ass.
As his breathing calmed down, he turned to his side, which had the effect of taking his dick out of her and having her lie down next to him. He opened his eyes a sliver and saw his green-haired goddess lying next to him. "I-I'm sorry," he said, at the same time somehow both knowing and now knowing why he was apologizing.
***
The sailors below deck all smiled and giggled to each other as Lady Caroline took a seat amongst them. Although they might've been horny and hungry for female flesh, they understood both her position and general purity. This was a lady, not some common tavern wench that they could pass around each other. The captain has also made sure to point this out. Thus, the feeling they had for her was more protective than anything else, though each of them probably had some type of crush on her in the privacy of hisown mind.
"I've seen one," said one of the sailors, a bald chap with a heavy, wavy accent in his voice. "The kraken itself."
The crowd erupted in laughter. "Bullshit," said the oldest sailor. "Nobody has ever actually encountered the kraken and lived to tell the tale."
"Well, let me reiterate a point you made before, wise guy," the bald man replied. "If nobody lived to tell the tale, when where do the tales come from?"
Ooohs erupted from various sailors' mouths. It was getting interesting. While the two men continued their squabble about the differences between legends, fairy tales, and personal accounts, the young, mild-faced sailor sitting next to Lady Caroline leaned over and whispered: "This is how it usually goes, my lady. Everyone here wants to convince the rest that they're some sort of heroic seafarer who's stared at the very face of Death and defied Him."
Meanwhile, above deck, the sailor speaking with Thalia sighed as he looked out into the open sea and gave her the following response to her question: "The captain's gotten a bit on in years… but he's got a sound head on his shoulders. He knows the sea better than any other person on the ship, that's for sure. If he says that he feels something's off… then that's enough to get me to worry, if even just a little bit.
The sound of boots on wooden planks and the following spin of spurs would be the thing to tear Vanessa from her reverie of simply polishing her pistol. A man dressed in a dull grey with a wide-brimmed hat a serape around his neck and shoulders approached her. He was clean-shaven and had tidy, cropped hair.
"Great choice of oil," he said, grinning deviously. "If you're planning to get rid of that thing within the year, that is."
He did little to conceal the two guns in holsters hanging on his belt.
Little did any of them know that in little more than a couple of more minutes their entire world was about to capsize as the Sankaari forces gathered and lay in wait, hoping that this last ditch effort to preserve their species would work.
In Conclusion
I look forward to hearing from you.
Stay weird!
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