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MiltankMommyMilkers
Meteorite
- Joined
- Apr 8, 2023
ABOUT ME & WHAT I’M LOOKING FOR
Hey there, sailor! The name’s MiltankMommyMilkers, or MMM if you’re nasty. I’m just your average 31-year-old woman on the internet harboring an interest in social sciences. Even in my ERP, I look for any opportunity to add in the sociological, the cultural, the psychological, and the philosophical. Social studies aside, I'm also a huge music fanatic. I don't play instruments - unless you count voice as an instrument - but I'm an avid listener and always on the lookout for the weird and obscure. Among my favorite genres are steampunk, rap, ethereal dubstep dance-pop euphoria vibes, and whatever the fuck it is that Will Wood does. My writing style can generally be described as "sad Victorian lady modernizes herself with the occasional slang." Please note that due to a high volume in responses, it might take me longer than usual to get back to you. Don't let that discourage you from reaching out! I'm still looking, but things are going to be slow for a while. I will update the title to "NOT SEARCHING" when I am no longer searching. Thank you for your patience!
Currently looking for role plays with a heavy emphasis on any of the following:
Mindbreak | Manipulation | Psychology & Psychological domination |
Sex as a means, not an end | Groups (harems, reverse harems, gangbangs) | Breeding (not always resulting in pregnancy) |
Hypersexual women | World-building | Character development |
MY IDEAL ROLE PLAY ...
... is multi-paragraph.
... has a pacing of 1-3 replies/week.
... takes place over private messages or private thread.
... doesn't require visual aids or face claims.
RULES
- Do not sexualize our OOC encounters. This means that you must not try to fantasize with me about our characters, flirt with me, or hint at any arousal that you might be experiencing. There’s a line between ERP and cybering. Do not cross that line.
- I do not accept or create characters with a history of child abuse. I’ve been in the BDSM community long enough to know that even having a history of child abuse is enough to get some folks off. I absolutely refuse to provide even an inkling of an opportunity for that. Not in my escape from reality, thank you very much.
- Do not powerplay or otherwise assume control over my characters. This also includes describing how your character’s genitals make mine feel. You play your character, and I will play mine.
- Do not message me repeatedly to get my attention, even if I’m online and doing other things. You might think you've been waiting a while, but some folks have been waiting longer. Be patient.
- If you break my rules, I'll drop the role play without warning and will ignore any attempt at future correspondence.
- It should go without saying, given the site's rules, but I know the internet: No characters under the age of 15.
When you message me, please give me the following information:
- Which plot(s) caught your attention, as well as any of your own ideas that you’ve been wanting to try. (It's not guaranteed, but it's possible I'll go for it.)
- The type of characters you like to play.
- What kinks we have in common. Refer to my F-List HERE. Situational kinks - such as incest, non-con, breeding, etc. - may require you to explain how you want to incorporate them if they aren't already included in the plot.
- If you have an F-List or some equivalent, please send that to me. If you don’t, please send any other kinks/fetishes you have interest in. They may not be my thing, but I might be fine indulging them for you. (Unless they’re under NO on my F-List.)
ABOUT MY CHARACTERS
DISCLAIMER & TRIGGER WARNING: TRAUMA AND ABUSE
Usually, I play realistically hypersexual women - hence the disclaimer. Hypersexual characters typically develop that hypersexuality as a result of some form of abuse or trauma - and how that hypersexuality can manifest is just as varied as the situation, people, and methods surrounding that trauma. A character who had an otherwise normal and supportive life might experience some sexual deviancy as a result of feeling repressed by the church - and then feel conflicted in the aftermath of their "sin." A survivor of sexual assault might seek out situations where they can reenact the trauma - not always with self-awareness, and regardless of how safe it is. Someone who experienced a significant loss of control in her life might protect others from it - by owning every part of them. There are so many different ways to explore it, and like I said - I'm a huge fan of psychology. The main takeaway here is that I'm far more interested in exploring the psychology of surviving specific trauma than I in having a character that experienced trauma.
Most of my ERP experience comes with playing submissive women and dominant men. I've been burnt out on playing men, I will always love playing submissive women, and I have a strong urge to do some stories where I play a Dominant woman or a switch. As far as Dominant women go, I've only got two plots. If you've been wanting to play opposite of a deranged, obsessive, and gorgeous woman who absolutely will kill your character's girlfriend in front of him, then read the plot Rosemary's Basement. If you prefer playing opposite of a well-composed Domme who doesn't have to hide her secrets in her basement - and you don't mind playing a few male prostitutes in her employ - then check out the plot The Emporium.
Most of my ERP experience comes with playing submissive women and dominant men. I've been burnt out on playing men, I will always love playing submissive women, and I have a strong urge to do some stories where I play a Dominant woman or a switch. As far as Dominant women go, I've only got two plots. If you've been wanting to play opposite of a deranged, obsessive, and gorgeous woman who absolutely will kill your character's girlfriend in front of him, then read the plot Rosemary's Basement. If you prefer playing opposite of a well-composed Domme who doesn't have to hide her secrets in her basement - and you don't mind playing a few male prostitutes in her employ - then check out the plot The Emporium.
Something didn’t sit right about that blacksmith. Unfortunately, Claudia hadn’t gone far enough in her therapy to realize that intrigue didn’t necessitate investigation. Being tall, dark, and beautiful meant that she generally gathered attention wherever she went. Here, though? That blacksmith looked at her like he shouldn’t be, even though it was very clearly fine. Everyone else was fine gawking at her, sneering like her tattoos were a bad case of mange. As much as she wanted to find out what his deal was, the blacksmith slipped away just as the doctor began his examination. And frankly, thinking about a mysterious man while another man pinched and tugged at her nipples seemed like a fantastic way to condition herself into sexual servitude. So she decided to cast all thoughts of the blacksmith out of her mind and focus instead on getting through the moment.
She’d never admit it out loud, but the way people looked at her tattoos started to wear on her. It wasn’t so much the clear distaste they had for it. Sure, it sucked, but she was used to that. More than anything, it was the unnerving and vulnerable awareness that she shouldn’t have them here - and the not knowing what having them meant. Clearly it wasn’t enough of an issue that they were going to kill her or send her back home; they wouldn’t continue the examination if that were the case. But at the very least, it might mean that she didn’t have a very bright outlook moving forward. If Natalie was right and they were going to be carted off to another location at some point, Claudia figured she’d be going straight to their equivalent of the slums.
Oh well. Better than death.
The blonde trophy slave bounced back to the table when Claudia’s examination finished and modeled once more what they were expected to do. Despite their resentment for the situation, both girls were - in a way - appreciative for the blonde being there. Clearly her role was an important one. She could have been back there cooking, but there she was - helping train the new arrivals. When she stood to the side to make room at the table once more, Claudia and Natalie bent over the table and waited for the obvious invasion to follow. Neither enjoyed it, but they tolerated it nonetheless. And just when they assumed that it had come to an end, good ol’ Zeus put his lightning toy on Claudia and pressed Natalie down with his hand. Suddenly, they were panicking: Claudia, because she never expected to encounter her phobia here, and Natalie because she didn’t want her new friend to get electrocuted.
“Is that a fuckin’ needle?” Claudia asked, her voice raising an octave. Her leg kicked back in obvious distress before she remembered the demonstration back in the cages. She forced herself to remain still, but suddenly she was shaking and coated in a sickeningly chill sweat.
Natalie said the first thing she could think of to calm Claudia’s nerves in the short amount of time they had before getting injected: “No, it’s a puppy.” Of course it didn’t work, and in retrospect, Natalie realized it might have even sounded sarcastic. Torn suddenly between confronting a clearly visceral fear and enduring the very real pain of electrocution, Claudia squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand hard enough to draw blood. Natalie heard her mumble something under her breath, repeating it even after the needle pierced skin and it was over. Frankly, Natalie didn’t blame her. More than the needle itself, it was the fear of not knowing what had once been in the syringe and now was in them. The most Natalie could do was pray that it wasn’t some kind of microscopic tracking device and pretend like nothing happened.
Even though she’d been the mess just back at the caves, it was now her turn to pick Claudia up and help her off the table. She whispered comfortingly to the woman - nothing of value, since none of it helped. After a few moments of trying to steady herself on shaking legs, Claudia finally found reliable muscle control and numbly made her way to her clothes. Natalie, on the other hand, approached the blonde girl. She gestured toward herself, Claudia, and the blonde, repeating the same word each time: “Kajira. Kajira. Kajira.” She pointed to the blonde’s red clothes, then back to herself and Claudia once more. It wasn’t a demand, but a question: Since they were all kajira, when would Natalie and Claudia be dressing like one? She’d seen other collared women in red outside; there was clearly some kind of uniform. Unless Natalie had been wrong in assuming that the other women were also kajira. While she waited for an answer - if one would come, considering their affinity for ignoring her when she spoke - she gathered up her clothes just in case the time to don red wouldn’t be for a while yet. Claudia, who had already started putting her undergarments back on, stopped dressing once she saw Natalie waiting, worried suddenly that she'd missed something vital and shouldn't have been dressing after all.
She’d never admit it out loud, but the way people looked at her tattoos started to wear on her. It wasn’t so much the clear distaste they had for it. Sure, it sucked, but she was used to that. More than anything, it was the unnerving and vulnerable awareness that she shouldn’t have them here - and the not knowing what having them meant. Clearly it wasn’t enough of an issue that they were going to kill her or send her back home; they wouldn’t continue the examination if that were the case. But at the very least, it might mean that she didn’t have a very bright outlook moving forward. If Natalie was right and they were going to be carted off to another location at some point, Claudia figured she’d be going straight to their equivalent of the slums.
Oh well. Better than death.
The blonde trophy slave bounced back to the table when Claudia’s examination finished and modeled once more what they were expected to do. Despite their resentment for the situation, both girls were - in a way - appreciative for the blonde being there. Clearly her role was an important one. She could have been back there cooking, but there she was - helping train the new arrivals. When she stood to the side to make room at the table once more, Claudia and Natalie bent over the table and waited for the obvious invasion to follow. Neither enjoyed it, but they tolerated it nonetheless. And just when they assumed that it had come to an end, good ol’ Zeus put his lightning toy on Claudia and pressed Natalie down with his hand. Suddenly, they were panicking: Claudia, because she never expected to encounter her phobia here, and Natalie because she didn’t want her new friend to get electrocuted.
“Is that a fuckin’ needle?” Claudia asked, her voice raising an octave. Her leg kicked back in obvious distress before she remembered the demonstration back in the cages. She forced herself to remain still, but suddenly she was shaking and coated in a sickeningly chill sweat.
Natalie said the first thing she could think of to calm Claudia’s nerves in the short amount of time they had before getting injected: “No, it’s a puppy.” Of course it didn’t work, and in retrospect, Natalie realized it might have even sounded sarcastic. Torn suddenly between confronting a clearly visceral fear and enduring the very real pain of electrocution, Claudia squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand hard enough to draw blood. Natalie heard her mumble something under her breath, repeating it even after the needle pierced skin and it was over. Frankly, Natalie didn’t blame her. More than the needle itself, it was the fear of not knowing what had once been in the syringe and now was in them. The most Natalie could do was pray that it wasn’t some kind of microscopic tracking device and pretend like nothing happened.
Even though she’d been the mess just back at the caves, it was now her turn to pick Claudia up and help her off the table. She whispered comfortingly to the woman - nothing of value, since none of it helped. After a few moments of trying to steady herself on shaking legs, Claudia finally found reliable muscle control and numbly made her way to her clothes. Natalie, on the other hand, approached the blonde girl. She gestured toward herself, Claudia, and the blonde, repeating the same word each time: “Kajira. Kajira. Kajira.” She pointed to the blonde’s red clothes, then back to herself and Claudia once more. It wasn’t a demand, but a question: Since they were all kajira, when would Natalie and Claudia be dressing like one? She’d seen other collared women in red outside; there was clearly some kind of uniform. Unless Natalie had been wrong in assuming that the other women were also kajira. While she waited for an answer - if one would come, considering their affinity for ignoring her when she spoke - she gathered up her clothes just in case the time to don red wouldn’t be for a while yet. Claudia, who had already started putting her undergarments back on, stopped dressing once she saw Natalie waiting, worried suddenly that she'd missed something vital and shouldn't have been dressing after all.
Having never seen their new master before, the girls almost assumed that the person who came to greet them was him until they realized that the man was only a servant. As he guided them through the building, the girls respectfully kept their hands to themselves. Giselle focused primarily on how pretty the décor was, but Ophelia cared more for counting the hiding spaces she saw as they walked. Eventually, they were brought to a large room where they first laid eyes on the man they were tasked to serve. Their reactions to him were about as opposite as could be.
Ophelia seemed eager to shrink into herself whenever he looked at her. Her eyes darted about the room in an attempt to look at anything but Martherion himself. Each move he made resulted in her muscles tensing and her lips tightening in clear disapproval. Her thoughts were evident: She did not want to be here. When he reached out to touch her cheek, Ophelia visibly flinched away before going completely still - much like a live rabbit being poked at by a wild wolf. Ever since his people invaded their planet, her life became a living hell. She didn’t trust Martherion just because he wasn’t lifting his hand to beat her. People would lie and cheat and steal just to get whatever they wanted. It didn’t matter if they were human or not; everyone had an angle.
On the other hand, Giselle was far more fascinated by the man and watched with mild entertainment as he moved about them. She’d always loved men. Maybe a little too much, if her family’s word was any to go by. Human men had their own way of puffing up their feathers, so to speak, but it seemed that the men of Martherion’s world preferred to use domination. (Perhaps the women too, but Giselle hadn’t paid as much attention to them, to the point where she hadn’t even been sure if she’d seen any.) Giselle didn’t mind much; it was all about stroking ego in the end. Eventually, she would have them all eating out of the palm of her hand.
When he directed them to sit, Ophelia shook her head. “Prefer stand,” she said. Even though her understanding of the language’s syntax was incomplete, Ophelia had a better grasp on the accent than Giselle, who still sounded very much like an American. “Saw trees and sun outside.”
Giselle rolled her eyes. “They look different from higher up, Lia.” She turned her attention to Martherion. “I’m sorry about her, Sir. My sister might seem aloof, but she’s really a kind girl. Newness is just scary for her. You understand.” Giselle took a seat then, smoothing the pleats of her skirt over her thighs. “As for me, the pleasure of this meeting is all mine.” She left no nuance to her words, already stepping into her role and flirting shamelessly. “You have a lovely home. I’m eager to get to know you. And don’t let Lia’s distance fool you; I’m sure she’s eager too. But before we go too far into it - our trainer, Terugan, gave me this to deliver straight to you.” Giselle produced the letter she’d brought with her and passed it along to Martherion to read.
Ophelia seemed eager to shrink into herself whenever he looked at her. Her eyes darted about the room in an attempt to look at anything but Martherion himself. Each move he made resulted in her muscles tensing and her lips tightening in clear disapproval. Her thoughts were evident: She did not want to be here. When he reached out to touch her cheek, Ophelia visibly flinched away before going completely still - much like a live rabbit being poked at by a wild wolf. Ever since his people invaded their planet, her life became a living hell. She didn’t trust Martherion just because he wasn’t lifting his hand to beat her. People would lie and cheat and steal just to get whatever they wanted. It didn’t matter if they were human or not; everyone had an angle.
On the other hand, Giselle was far more fascinated by the man and watched with mild entertainment as he moved about them. She’d always loved men. Maybe a little too much, if her family’s word was any to go by. Human men had their own way of puffing up their feathers, so to speak, but it seemed that the men of Martherion’s world preferred to use domination. (Perhaps the women too, but Giselle hadn’t paid as much attention to them, to the point where she hadn’t even been sure if she’d seen any.) Giselle didn’t mind much; it was all about stroking ego in the end. Eventually, she would have them all eating out of the palm of her hand.
When he directed them to sit, Ophelia shook her head. “Prefer stand,” she said. Even though her understanding of the language’s syntax was incomplete, Ophelia had a better grasp on the accent than Giselle, who still sounded very much like an American. “Saw trees and sun outside.”
Giselle rolled her eyes. “They look different from higher up, Lia.” She turned her attention to Martherion. “I’m sorry about her, Sir. My sister might seem aloof, but she’s really a kind girl. Newness is just scary for her. You understand.” Giselle took a seat then, smoothing the pleats of her skirt over her thighs. “As for me, the pleasure of this meeting is all mine.” She left no nuance to her words, already stepping into her role and flirting shamelessly. “You have a lovely home. I’m eager to get to know you. And don’t let Lia’s distance fool you; I’m sure she’s eager too. But before we go too far into it - our trainer, Terugan, gave me this to deliver straight to you.” Giselle produced the letter she’d brought with her and passed it along to Martherion to read.
"Princess, wake up."
The princess did not wake up.
"Please, wake up. Your father has asked it of me to deliver this message. He said it was urgent, Aelia. Oh, please wake up!"
Moaning, Princess Aelia slowly pulled the quilt from her flushed face and coughed twice at her lady-in-waiting, Merianda. She waited, then arched her blonde eyebrows expectantly. "Well?"
Merianda smiled contritely. "Sorry, Princess. It's just that when you sleep like so, not stirring like that - it brings fright to a woman. And when you finally did stir, why ... You're so pale I thought you were surely dead and became a ghost!"
With a heavy sigh and another cough, Aelia huffed a tuft of straw-colored hair out of her face and looked sidelong at Merianda. "Call me pale again, and you'll find my foot somewhere it doesn't belong. Now tell me, dear Merianda - what did you wake me for?" As if suddenly remembering the purpose for her intrusion, Merianda squealed excitedly and sat at the foot of the princess's bed. It didn't matter that she hadn't been invited, or that she behaved so unprofessionally in this room. Merianda was not only Princess Aelia's lady-in-waiting, but also her dearest friend.
Leaning forward for the intrigue, with onyx-black hair loosening from her braids and spiraling in free ringlets about her shoulders, Merianda answered her question: "Your parents have received word of a holy man who can perform miracles!"
Previously captivated by her friend's antics, Aelia groaned in irritation and weakly tossed a pillow at her. "How many times have I told you to stop waking me up for this pathetic news? I'm dying, Merianda. No amount of coin or royal prestige will save a man from his fate. I may not be a man, but I -" She paused to cough again, this time sitting up. "- but I am made of the same flesh and bone as a man. And like one, I will die with dignity and honor. Now please, change the subject before I feel compelled to wallow in my misery, now that I've been reminded of my hopeless situation."
Most teenage girls find their lives full of despair, but Princess Aelia had a very good reason for it: She was, indeed, dying. Her heart had started giving out at a young age, according to the doctors. And now, at the tender age of eighteen, she had only a few days before she would leave her world and embark for the next. Aelia had no idea what she'd find there. Blackness and nothingness, more than likely. She wasn't afraid of what she would face. She was afraid of what her death would symbolize for the people.
Her parents had never been able to conceive before her. The entire kingdom loved Princess Aelia and saw her as a symbol of hope. Despite what the gloom of her current mood might indicate, the people came to know her as a docile and charming girl with no ill will in her weakly-beating heart. Her illness had caused worry, and the public announcement of her imminent death had caused grief. But Merianda - the only person who knew of the princess's secret sadness surrounding her inevitable demise - knew the other things that the people were saying: They were saying a monk in town might actually have what it takes to save the princess, and they were saying it loud enough to get the king's attention.
The princess didn't enjoy spending time on what she considered a lost cause, but Merianda saw more harm in rejecting an opportunity than grasping at it and failing. "Women can be brave too," she reminded Aelia. "And bravery isn't just found in the face of death. It's also in overcoming fear and choosing to live. Please, Princess - I beg it of you. Your father has already gone to find and speak with this monk. Won't you let him see you?"
Nearly immediately, Aelia's posture softened, and Merianda marveled at how angelic the princess would be in perfect health. Her skin was sallow now, and she was a fair bit thin. But her hair was long and flowing, blonde with a hint of red in the sunlight. Despite her paleness - or perhaps because of it - she had a noticeable smattering of freckles across the bridge of her button nose and a pair of cupid-bow lips beneath it. Her fever left her flushed, and the congestion in her chest from her heart failure left her panting and weak - but it was clear to anyone who saw her that she could have grown into a beautiful queen. For many, Merianda included, the princess's beauty made her looming death all the more tragic. "Fine," said Princess Aelia at last. "If this holy man truly does exist, then you may tell my father that he can meet me here and pray over me. Just please - don't be disappointed when God doesn't listen."
King Reginald was starting to fear that he was seeing bad omens everywhere. Even the day's pleasant weather seemed to taunt him: What a lovely day for your daughter to die, and every step you take is a step away from her bedside. He shook the thought from his mind and focused instead on the road ahead. On horse, it was a mere fifteen minutes into town. He wanted to gallop, launch himself off the saddle, and prostrate himself before anyone who might heal his beloved daughter - but the people required dignity. It wasn't just his daughter dying after all. She was their princess. It was a horrible burden to bear, dying in a glass box for everyone to see. But such was the burden of royalty.
He only wished it could have been different.
Before he realized it, his eyes were clouded with emotion and he was just about to reach town. Sir Marklen - the king's favorite knight - corrected his squire's flag-holding technique before asking the king, "Are you all right, my liege?"
"Quite so," the king lied, sniffling and straightening his shoulders. "Let's not dally, now. We've a young girl to save. Hup hup!" With his left hand on his hip, the king held the reins confidently in his right and gave them a flick. Sir Marklen lingered just long enough to contemplate their unlikely odds before giving King Reginald's gray stallion quick-paced chase on his black steed.
They arrived in town with minimal fanfare. It was just the king and knight on their horses, and the squire with the flag on foot. A crowd began to gather about them. "Oh, my king, how is she?" asked a milkmaid.
A baker grabbed at his royal armaments, desperate for answers. "Is the queen well? We've not seen her in ages!"
A farmer cried out: "M'wife bought one of 'em scrolls from th' Council, m'lord. One of them healin' spells. The princess - she still not feelin' right?"
"Indeed," said Reginald to his subjects, "the princess is alive but still quite ill. The queen has taken to bedrest in her grief. Tell me, my friends - these rumors of a holy man, of a monk that can lift the hand of death from those it's almost claimed. Do these rumors hold truth?"
A murmur among the crowd, and then unified nods. "Yes, m'lord," said the farmer. "He was by th' fountain, last I saw's 'im."
"The fountain!" The king beamed at his knight, renewed with hope. "Most excellent news. The fountain is but a few minutes away on horseback."
"You think he can cure the princess?" asked the milkmaid.
"When there's no way of knowing," King Reginald said, "there must be every attempt at trying." With that, the king threw dignity to the wind and directed his horse to run full speed through the town. He hollered for his subjects to get out of the way, slowing down for nothing. Those who remembered him for his remarkable horse racing in his youth stared slack-jawed and full of awe. The king might find ill omens everywhere, but the people of Navara saw inspiration in him.
In record time, he arrived at the kingdom's usual activity hub: The town square. It was as old as the kingdom's founding - older even than the castle itself - and boasted a fantastic fountain at its center. Standing proud at the fountain's core was a man carved of stone: King Ingelor, the Navara's founder and King Reginald's most ancient ancestor. He was reported to have named the kingdom after his first wife, who died in childbirth. Seven jets of water shot out of the statue's base and arched as high as its head before diving into the fountain's pool. Flower petals adorned the pool's surface, carrying with them the fresh scent of new spring.
Wooden stalls lined the town square's circumference. Vendors shouted out to draw attention to their wares. Busy passersby were far more interested in getting to their destinations than paying these vendors any heed, but some of Navara's wealthier subjects with nothing better to do stopped to window shop. And, just as he'd been told, King Reginald saw a new sight: A tall and thin man dressed humbly with a crowd gathered around him, each one calling for healing. The king dismounted his steed and approached. "Greetings, friends!" The knight arrived then, followed shortly by his squire - who was forced to wind himself chasing both of them on foot. "Might I have a word with our monk here?"
"Did you come for the princess?" asked one woman. "He can heal her, he can! He brought my sister from the brink of it. She was well enough to dance last night!"
Puzzled, the king asked her, "Do you mean the one with no legs?"
"No, my liege. That'd be my other sister. The sister I speak of is the one who caught fever from infection."
"Oh," said the king. "Good news, that. Congratulations. Yes, I am here to speak to this holy man on behalf of my daughter." He turned his attention to the monk, the inner corners of his massive salt-and-copper eyebrows drawn up. His ample beard and mustache danced and shimmied in time to his sniffling. To compose himself, he squared his shoulders and patted his rotund belly. "On account of your newness, let me explain. My daughter - the princess - has been plagued by a horrible and unknown affliction. She is on her last days."
Speaking from atop his horse, Sir Marklen interjected: "We should inform you that the royal family has hired countless mages, doctors, and monks over the years to cure her. None of the attempts have proved fruitful."
The king nodded. "It's true," he concurred. "She is regarded as a … as a lost cause. She's bedridden, you see. Simply rising in the morning could be enough stress on her heart to …" He sniffled again, squared his shoulders even higher, and added: "I do not mean to call you away from the needs of my people. Their health isn't any less important than my dear Aelia's. - But she's the princess, you understand?" That gigantic copper beard quivered harder. "My daughter."
"I believe he understands the dire circumstances, my liege," said Sir Marklen sympathetically, before turning his attention back to the monk. "There's no time to waste. You'll ride with me back to the castle. I can provide further detail on the way." As the king sniffled and wiped at his eyes, the knight extended an arm for the monk to take so as to help him mount the large steed. Sir Marklen's keen gray eyes had the uncanny ability to make someone feel as if he could see right through them, but despite his reputation for being unnaturally perceptive, there was not an ounce of hesitance in his willingness to not only request a stranger's help, but strongarm his way into them doing it. He looked at the monk like if he objected, the dungeons were always an alternative.
Dire circumstances, indeed.
The princess did not wake up.
"Please, wake up. Your father has asked it of me to deliver this message. He said it was urgent, Aelia. Oh, please wake up!"
Moaning, Princess Aelia slowly pulled the quilt from her flushed face and coughed twice at her lady-in-waiting, Merianda. She waited, then arched her blonde eyebrows expectantly. "Well?"
Merianda smiled contritely. "Sorry, Princess. It's just that when you sleep like so, not stirring like that - it brings fright to a woman. And when you finally did stir, why ... You're so pale I thought you were surely dead and became a ghost!"
With a heavy sigh and another cough, Aelia huffed a tuft of straw-colored hair out of her face and looked sidelong at Merianda. "Call me pale again, and you'll find my foot somewhere it doesn't belong. Now tell me, dear Merianda - what did you wake me for?" As if suddenly remembering the purpose for her intrusion, Merianda squealed excitedly and sat at the foot of the princess's bed. It didn't matter that she hadn't been invited, or that she behaved so unprofessionally in this room. Merianda was not only Princess Aelia's lady-in-waiting, but also her dearest friend.
Leaning forward for the intrigue, with onyx-black hair loosening from her braids and spiraling in free ringlets about her shoulders, Merianda answered her question: "Your parents have received word of a holy man who can perform miracles!"
Previously captivated by her friend's antics, Aelia groaned in irritation and weakly tossed a pillow at her. "How many times have I told you to stop waking me up for this pathetic news? I'm dying, Merianda. No amount of coin or royal prestige will save a man from his fate. I may not be a man, but I -" She paused to cough again, this time sitting up. "- but I am made of the same flesh and bone as a man. And like one, I will die with dignity and honor. Now please, change the subject before I feel compelled to wallow in my misery, now that I've been reminded of my hopeless situation."
Most teenage girls find their lives full of despair, but Princess Aelia had a very good reason for it: She was, indeed, dying. Her heart had started giving out at a young age, according to the doctors. And now, at the tender age of eighteen, she had only a few days before she would leave her world and embark for the next. Aelia had no idea what she'd find there. Blackness and nothingness, more than likely. She wasn't afraid of what she would face. She was afraid of what her death would symbolize for the people.
Her parents had never been able to conceive before her. The entire kingdom loved Princess Aelia and saw her as a symbol of hope. Despite what the gloom of her current mood might indicate, the people came to know her as a docile and charming girl with no ill will in her weakly-beating heart. Her illness had caused worry, and the public announcement of her imminent death had caused grief. But Merianda - the only person who knew of the princess's secret sadness surrounding her inevitable demise - knew the other things that the people were saying: They were saying a monk in town might actually have what it takes to save the princess, and they were saying it loud enough to get the king's attention.
The princess didn't enjoy spending time on what she considered a lost cause, but Merianda saw more harm in rejecting an opportunity than grasping at it and failing. "Women can be brave too," she reminded Aelia. "And bravery isn't just found in the face of death. It's also in overcoming fear and choosing to live. Please, Princess - I beg it of you. Your father has already gone to find and speak with this monk. Won't you let him see you?"
Nearly immediately, Aelia's posture softened, and Merianda marveled at how angelic the princess would be in perfect health. Her skin was sallow now, and she was a fair bit thin. But her hair was long and flowing, blonde with a hint of red in the sunlight. Despite her paleness - or perhaps because of it - she had a noticeable smattering of freckles across the bridge of her button nose and a pair of cupid-bow lips beneath it. Her fever left her flushed, and the congestion in her chest from her heart failure left her panting and weak - but it was clear to anyone who saw her that she could have grown into a beautiful queen. For many, Merianda included, the princess's beauty made her looming death all the more tragic. "Fine," said Princess Aelia at last. "If this holy man truly does exist, then you may tell my father that he can meet me here and pray over me. Just please - don't be disappointed when God doesn't listen."
King Reginald was starting to fear that he was seeing bad omens everywhere. Even the day's pleasant weather seemed to taunt him: What a lovely day for your daughter to die, and every step you take is a step away from her bedside. He shook the thought from his mind and focused instead on the road ahead. On horse, it was a mere fifteen minutes into town. He wanted to gallop, launch himself off the saddle, and prostrate himself before anyone who might heal his beloved daughter - but the people required dignity. It wasn't just his daughter dying after all. She was their princess. It was a horrible burden to bear, dying in a glass box for everyone to see. But such was the burden of royalty.
He only wished it could have been different.
Before he realized it, his eyes were clouded with emotion and he was just about to reach town. Sir Marklen - the king's favorite knight - corrected his squire's flag-holding technique before asking the king, "Are you all right, my liege?"
"Quite so," the king lied, sniffling and straightening his shoulders. "Let's not dally, now. We've a young girl to save. Hup hup!" With his left hand on his hip, the king held the reins confidently in his right and gave them a flick. Sir Marklen lingered just long enough to contemplate their unlikely odds before giving King Reginald's gray stallion quick-paced chase on his black steed.
They arrived in town with minimal fanfare. It was just the king and knight on their horses, and the squire with the flag on foot. A crowd began to gather about them. "Oh, my king, how is she?" asked a milkmaid.
A baker grabbed at his royal armaments, desperate for answers. "Is the queen well? We've not seen her in ages!"
A farmer cried out: "M'wife bought one of 'em scrolls from th' Council, m'lord. One of them healin' spells. The princess - she still not feelin' right?"
"Indeed," said Reginald to his subjects, "the princess is alive but still quite ill. The queen has taken to bedrest in her grief. Tell me, my friends - these rumors of a holy man, of a monk that can lift the hand of death from those it's almost claimed. Do these rumors hold truth?"
A murmur among the crowd, and then unified nods. "Yes, m'lord," said the farmer. "He was by th' fountain, last I saw's 'im."
"The fountain!" The king beamed at his knight, renewed with hope. "Most excellent news. The fountain is but a few minutes away on horseback."
"You think he can cure the princess?" asked the milkmaid.
"When there's no way of knowing," King Reginald said, "there must be every attempt at trying." With that, the king threw dignity to the wind and directed his horse to run full speed through the town. He hollered for his subjects to get out of the way, slowing down for nothing. Those who remembered him for his remarkable horse racing in his youth stared slack-jawed and full of awe. The king might find ill omens everywhere, but the people of Navara saw inspiration in him.
In record time, he arrived at the kingdom's usual activity hub: The town square. It was as old as the kingdom's founding - older even than the castle itself - and boasted a fantastic fountain at its center. Standing proud at the fountain's core was a man carved of stone: King Ingelor, the Navara's founder and King Reginald's most ancient ancestor. He was reported to have named the kingdom after his first wife, who died in childbirth. Seven jets of water shot out of the statue's base and arched as high as its head before diving into the fountain's pool. Flower petals adorned the pool's surface, carrying with them the fresh scent of new spring.
Wooden stalls lined the town square's circumference. Vendors shouted out to draw attention to their wares. Busy passersby were far more interested in getting to their destinations than paying these vendors any heed, but some of Navara's wealthier subjects with nothing better to do stopped to window shop. And, just as he'd been told, King Reginald saw a new sight: A tall and thin man dressed humbly with a crowd gathered around him, each one calling for healing. The king dismounted his steed and approached. "Greetings, friends!" The knight arrived then, followed shortly by his squire - who was forced to wind himself chasing both of them on foot. "Might I have a word with our monk here?"
"Did you come for the princess?" asked one woman. "He can heal her, he can! He brought my sister from the brink of it. She was well enough to dance last night!"
Puzzled, the king asked her, "Do you mean the one with no legs?"
"No, my liege. That'd be my other sister. The sister I speak of is the one who caught fever from infection."
"Oh," said the king. "Good news, that. Congratulations. Yes, I am here to speak to this holy man on behalf of my daughter." He turned his attention to the monk, the inner corners of his massive salt-and-copper eyebrows drawn up. His ample beard and mustache danced and shimmied in time to his sniffling. To compose himself, he squared his shoulders and patted his rotund belly. "On account of your newness, let me explain. My daughter - the princess - has been plagued by a horrible and unknown affliction. She is on her last days."
Speaking from atop his horse, Sir Marklen interjected: "We should inform you that the royal family has hired countless mages, doctors, and monks over the years to cure her. None of the attempts have proved fruitful."
The king nodded. "It's true," he concurred. "She is regarded as a … as a lost cause. She's bedridden, you see. Simply rising in the morning could be enough stress on her heart to …" He sniffled again, squared his shoulders even higher, and added: "I do not mean to call you away from the needs of my people. Their health isn't any less important than my dear Aelia's. - But she's the princess, you understand?" That gigantic copper beard quivered harder. "My daughter."
"I believe he understands the dire circumstances, my liege," said Sir Marklen sympathetically, before turning his attention back to the monk. "There's no time to waste. You'll ride with me back to the castle. I can provide further detail on the way." As the king sniffled and wiped at his eyes, the knight extended an arm for the monk to take so as to help him mount the large steed. Sir Marklen's keen gray eyes had the uncanny ability to make someone feel as if he could see right through them, but despite his reputation for being unnaturally perceptive, there was not an ounce of hesitance in his willingness to not only request a stranger's help, but strongarm his way into them doing it. He looked at the monk like if he objected, the dungeons were always an alternative.
Dire circumstances, indeed.
PLOTS & IDEAS
A NOTE ABOUT HAREMS
I fucking LOVE a good harem, reverse harem, gangbang, what have you. Bring on the multiple characters! That said, we need to have a word about equitable exchange. See, I’ve been around the block, and I’ve been doing harem role plays since I was 18 years old. Very few of them were rewarding for me, despite my love for them. I think the idea of owning or being a part of a harem is fascinating to many people in ERP, but very few actually know what to expect from it.
Harem and group-based scenes generally fulfill a fantasy: A collective group’s attention and desire for an individual. The person playing the group takes on the task of creating and playing the majority cast, each one being their own individual. It’s ultimately selfless, but even people who do it for the fun of playing multiple characters have needs beyond that. The player taking on the singular role - the harem owner, the person getting gangbanged, what have you - has to take on their own responsibilities: Essentially, they’ve got to provide enough in one character to inspire their partner into playing one or more of many characters whenever needed.
Harem and group-based scenes generally fulfill a fantasy: A collective group’s attention and desire for an individual. The person playing the group takes on the task of creating and playing the majority cast, each one being their own individual. It’s ultimately selfless, but even people who do it for the fun of playing multiple characters have needs beyond that. The player taking on the singular role - the harem owner, the person getting gangbanged, what have you - has to take on their own responsibilities: Essentially, they’ve got to provide enough in one character to inspire their partner into playing one or more of many characters whenever needed.
PACING TERMINOLOGY DEFINED
Please note that none of these indicate how long a role play itself will last. That also depends on reply speed and writing style.
One shot - A role play that consists of one or two scenes, then ends. Think: Short film.
Short term - A role play that consists of multiple scenes, then ends. Think: Feature film.
Long term - A role play consisting of an entire story. Think: Limited series.
Epic - A role play with either no planned ending, or an ending so distant that it might as well not exist at all. Think: The Star Wars franchise. (When will they STOP?!)
Episodic vs Streamlined - Episodic role plays are told through disjointed but usually chronological scenes - or “episodes.” Streamlined role plays are told through connected scenes, with strategically placed time skips used to pass time when necessary.
SETTING
Any setting, any time period.
CAST
You play a slave trainer, I play the slave(s) in training.
KINKS/FETISHES
Slavery, kidnapping, dub-con, potentially non-con
LENGTH
Long term or epic. Episodic or streamlined.
PREMISE
In some corners of the world, there exist slave trainers. They’re notorious and horrible people who make their money by training sex slaves with the intention of selling them off to the highest bidder. It’s a morally bankrupt business, but it makes for a fat wallet. It’s more than enough for them to keep the occasional slave for themselves.
Any setting, any time period.
CAST
You play a slave trainer, I play the slave(s) in training.
KINKS/FETISHES
Slavery, kidnapping, dub-con, potentially non-con
LENGTH
Long term or epic. Episodic or streamlined.
PREMISE
In some corners of the world, there exist slave trainers. They’re notorious and horrible people who make their money by training sex slaves with the intention of selling them off to the highest bidder. It’s a morally bankrupt business, but it makes for a fat wallet. It’s more than enough for them to keep the occasional slave for themselves.
Expanding thoughts:
- I can play a single character or do a harem. However, if we go harem, I request that I start with only one character and give her plenty of time to settle in before we introduce more.
SETTING
Slice-of-life, modern day.
CAST
You play a group of high school nerds, and I play the popular girl.
KINKS/FETISHES
Gangbang, cheating, forbidden romance, polyamory, tons of fluff, cosplay, role play within role play
LENGTH
Epic preferred. Episodic or streamlined.
PREMISE
When a group of boys decide to start having game nights over the weekends, one of them gets dared to invite the most popular girl in school. As expected, she says no - and quite snidely so. No matter. The dare was accomplished, and game night is on! But once the night arrives and the boys get settled in for their first ever game night, the popular girl actually shows up and even offers an apology. As it turns out, she’d always wanted to hang out with them, but she had strict rules she was supposed to live by. If they agreed to her terms, she’d join them for their game nights. First and foremost, they weren’t to tell anyone about the arrangement. Secondly, her boyfriend was a devout virgin until marriage, and she had needs that required attention.
Slice-of-life, modern day.
CAST
You play a group of high school nerds, and I play the popular girl.
KINKS/FETISHES
Gangbang, cheating, forbidden romance, polyamory, tons of fluff, cosplay, role play within role play
LENGTH
Epic preferred. Episodic or streamlined.
PREMISE
When a group of boys decide to start having game nights over the weekends, one of them gets dared to invite the most popular girl in school. As expected, she says no - and quite snidely so. No matter. The dare was accomplished, and game night is on! But once the night arrives and the boys get settled in for their first ever game night, the popular girl actually shows up and even offers an apology. As it turns out, she’d always wanted to hang out with them, but she had strict rules she was supposed to live by. If they agreed to her terms, she’d join them for their game nights. First and foremost, they weren’t to tell anyone about the arrangement. Secondly, her boyfriend was a devout virgin until marriage, and she had needs that required attention.
Expanding thoughts:
- I'm willing to play two girls that are best friends.
- I don’t want to play a bully. I want to play a character under immense stress trying to live up to a very particular image. She just wants a safe way to live the life she wants without her parents or boyfriend finding out. Beyond that, she’s actually serious about engaging in their hobbies. Bring on the video games, anime, and D&D! Just be prepared for tons of cute mistakes. Even if she doesn’t know the lore, she’ll be the Tali to your Garrus. And despite having never played D&D before, she intuitively knows to make her bard unbearingly lecherous around the Elder Lich and particularly phallic inanimate objects.
SETTING
Slice-of-life modern day, on an archaeology site somewhere in South America. The air is oppressive with something of horrific - and cosmic - origin.
CAST
You play a “possessed” archaeologist, and I play his assistant.
KINKS/FETISHES
Human/alien, breeding, non-con or dub-con, somnophilia
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
One shot preferred, but can do others. Streamline preferred.
PREMISE
When an archaeologist and his assistant uncover a mysterious egg, they discover the hard way that some mysteries are best left unsolved. Overnight, the egg hatches, and from it emerges an alien parasite belonging to a species of a nefarious evolutionary design: It invades a host body, controls its mind, and replaces the host sperm with his own. As it so happens, this particular parasite chooses the archaeologist as its host - and his sleeping assistant is the most immediately available fertile woman.
Slice-of-life modern day, on an archaeology site somewhere in South America. The air is oppressive with something of horrific - and cosmic - origin.
CAST
You play a “possessed” archaeologist, and I play his assistant.
KINKS/FETISHES
Human/alien, breeding, non-con or dub-con, somnophilia
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
One shot preferred, but can do others. Streamline preferred.
PREMISE
When an archaeologist and his assistant uncover a mysterious egg, they discover the hard way that some mysteries are best left unsolved. Overnight, the egg hatches, and from it emerges an alien parasite belonging to a species of a nefarious evolutionary design: It invades a host body, controls its mind, and replaces the host sperm with his own. As it so happens, this particular parasite chooses the archaeologist as its host - and his sleeping assistant is the most immediately available fertile woman.
Expanding thoughts:
- If you want anything other than a one-shot alien parasite breeding scene, I ask that you present additional idea that could lengthen the plot. I’m totally open to it, but I’ve got nothing beyond that one scene to work with.
- The archaeologist can keep his original appearance, or the parasite can horrifically change him. I’m not opposed to my characters getting bad-touched by ugly monsters and aliens.
SETTING
A psychologist’s office, modern slice-of-life.
CAST
You play an esteemed psychologist, and I play his newest client.
KINKS/FETISHES
Psychological domination, power imbalances, inappropriate relationships
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
Long term or epic. Episodic, taking place during sessions.
PREMISE
A woman who repeatedly endures failed and abusive relationships decides to have a psychologist analyze her patterns. Maybe he can find the problem.
Expanding thoughts:A psychologist’s office, modern slice-of-life.
CAST
You play an esteemed psychologist, and I play his newest client.
KINKS/FETISHES
Psychological domination, power imbalances, inappropriate relationships
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
Long term or epic. Episodic, taking place during sessions.
PREMISE
A woman who repeatedly endures failed and abusive relationships decides to have a psychologist analyze her patterns. Maybe he can find the problem.
- Craving one of two avenues: Slow mental domination (Hannibal Lecter style), or he actually does his best to help her.
- Willing to play multiple patients for a single psychologist, each with their own individual problems.
SETTING
A basement in nondescript American suburbia, 1950s-present.
CAST
You play a bartender, and I play a regular bar patron named Rosemary.
KINKS/FETISHES
Breeding, non-con, drugs as bondage, physical restraints, Femdom
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
Short-term or long-term. No one shots or epics. Episodic or streamlined.
PREMISE
Rosemary ain’t quite right in the head, but it’s not easy to tell just by meeting her. She’s remarkably gifted at hiding it. In fact, most people think that she’s quite charming. Your bartender felt the same way - until he woke up bound and drugged in her basement. (Warning: Criminal depravity worthy of a true crime documentary.)
A basement in nondescript American suburbia, 1950s-present.
CAST
You play a bartender, and I play a regular bar patron named Rosemary.
KINKS/FETISHES
Breeding, non-con, drugs as bondage, physical restraints, Femdom
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
Short-term or long-term. No one shots or epics. Episodic or streamlined.
PREMISE
Rosemary ain’t quite right in the head, but it’s not easy to tell just by meeting her. She’s remarkably gifted at hiding it. In fact, most people think that she’s quite charming. Your bartender felt the same way - until he woke up bound and drugged in her basement. (Warning: Criminal depravity worthy of a true crime documentary.)
Expanding thoughts:
- Rosemary is a serial killer who can’t physically overpower her victims without the use of drugs or physical bondage. Your character is her current victim. Rosemary’s a seemingly normal woman, if not a little eerie in how cheerful she can be. She’s obsessed with the idea of being a trophy wife to a trophy husband, but few men meet her standards. The ones who have the genetics she wants to pass on to her future children usually fight back once they wake up in her basement - and then they have the audacity to not even get her pregnant. Eventually, she just ends up disposing of them. Rosemary is infertile and doesn’t realize it, so she pulls a Henry VIII. Which, if you didn’t know, is highly illegal and a very bad thing to do. Please build a character that would respond accordingly, at least at first. I’m fine with them eventually being willing participants, but they woke up in an unfamiliar place with god-knows-what flowing through their veins. They’re physically bound and can’t move. Please play it realistically.
- Your character will have to rely on his wits to stay alive. If you pay attention, he’ll catch on to Rosemary’s weaknesses. (She has plenty.) We have options for how we want to end this thing:
- He successfully escapes.
- He never successfully escapes and eventually dies.
- We go longterm and Rosemary finds some reason to keep him alive. She could eventually discover her infertility and kidnap a woman to serve as her surrogate, as an example. I’m open to ideas.
SETTING
A popular brothel that serves female clients with male prostitutes. Fantasy, historical fiction, scifi, or steampunk.
CAST
You play 1-6 male prostitutes. I play the brothel owner and various side characters, such as brothel security and clients.
KINKS/FETISHES
Breeding, prostitution, potential Femdom
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
Long-term or epic. Streamlined preferred over episodic.
PREMISE
Whether she’s looking to fuck her frustrations into a nervous virgin or lose control to more capable hands, every woman knows that The Emporium is the place to go to blow off a little steam. The brothel offers an additional service: If she pays extra and passes a health exam, the man of her choice will donate his DNA to her family tree. (“Aw yeah, bad sex phrases you should never say!” - Basically this entire premise.)
A popular brothel that serves female clients with male prostitutes. Fantasy, historical fiction, scifi, or steampunk.
CAST
You play 1-6 male prostitutes. I play the brothel owner and various side characters, such as brothel security and clients.
KINKS/FETISHES
Breeding, prostitution, potential Femdom
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
Long-term or epic. Streamlined preferred over episodic.
PREMISE
Whether she’s looking to fuck her frustrations into a nervous virgin or lose control to more capable hands, every woman knows that The Emporium is the place to go to blow off a little steam. The brothel offers an additional service: If she pays extra and passes a health exam, the man of her choice will donate his DNA to her family tree. (“Aw yeah, bad sex phrases you should never say!” - Basically this entire premise.)
Expanding thoughts:
- Your character(s) can be submissive, dominant, or a mixture of both. My character will be socially dominant, but can be sexually submissive, dominant, or a switch depending on your preferences.
- The brothel is the excuse for smut, but we will have to come up with another plot together. The only idea I can think of is that there’s a rival brothel that regularly sends in spies to seduce the men and learn their trade secrets. I wouldn’t tell you who these characters are before your characters meet them, but you’d be in charge of snuffing them out.
- If you want to play one character, then I would take on the role of narrator for the role play. I’m highly intrigued by the idea of narrating the world and all of its various characters for my partner to interact with. Feel free to ask for this.
- If you want to play multiple characters, it would adopt a reverse-harem style. I’m also highly interested in this.
SETTING
Slice-of-life suburbia, present-day.
CAST
I play a university student. You play her teen brother and 2-4 of his friends.
KINKS/FETISHES
Gangbang, incest, age gaps
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
One-shot and streamlined only.
PREMISE
When a high school student invites his friends over one night, he realizes that they’re all attracted to his older sister. She realizes it too, and she decides to encourage it by suggesting a game of Truth or Dare.
Slice-of-life suburbia, present-day.
CAST
I play a university student. You play her teen brother and 2-4 of his friends.
KINKS/FETISHES
Gangbang, incest, age gaps
LENGTH OF ROLE PLAY
One-shot and streamlined only.
PREMISE
When a high school student invites his friends over one night, he realizes that they’re all attracted to his older sister. She realizes it too, and she decides to encourage it by suggesting a game of Truth or Dare.
- The older sister would be 22-24 years old. Her brother and his friends would be 15-18.
[*]It has been asked if I'm willing to do this with just the sister/brother pairing, absent of his friends - and yes, I am.
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