Perceval
๐ป๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ฏ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฅ
- Joined
- Apr 29, 2018
- Location
- แดษชแด แด สแด-แดแดสแดส
โฅ โ๐๐ฃ๐๐ช'๐ค โฟแตสท ๐ง๐๐ฆ๐๐ฅ ๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ฃ๐๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฃ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐ฆ๐ฅ โฅ
โ
โ๐ ๐๐ฅ๐๐๐ฅ๐ค- Introduction
- What can you expect from me?
- What do I expect from you?
- Plots
- Kinks and limits
โฅ ๐๐๐ฅ๐ฃ๐ ๐๐ฆ๐๐ฅ๐๐ ๐
๐ello friend (we are friends now, you signed a waiver when clicking on this prompt. Deal with it loser). First of all I would like to thank you for clicking on my request thread. I appreciate it greatly. I have written this prompt with great care, so I do hope you have nice read.
My name is Jessica-Katherine. However, you are more than welcome to use 'Jess(ie)', 'Kate/Katie' or any other nickname you may have for me. I do value creativity.
I am a young woman living in Europe (GMT+1), and I have been (erotic) roleplaying for quite some time. My early days being on Instagram and 'Guilty Pleasures Roleplay'. After the latter unfortunately shut down I made my pilgrimage towards Blue Moon. Here I have been happily residing since '18.
In this prompt you'll find a bunch of my plots. These plots are copied from my Reddit account, where I write and promote my stories as well. My Reddit-username is u/Jessicatie, if you would like to add me. While I am not opposed to write on-site, I would heavily prefer to roleplay on discord if that is possible for both parties. In that case you are more than welcome to add me on @jesskatherine.
Now throughout my roleplaying years I've learned to love a wide plethora of kinks. I'm openminded and usually down for a whole lot. I'll link my kinklist here so you can take a look for yourself. Hopefully we'll match nicely.
โ ๐๐๐๐ฅ ๐๐๐ ๐ช๐ ๐ฆ ๐๐ฉ๐ก๐๐๐ฅ ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ ๐๐?
๐ am an experienced writer, dedicated to detail and quality. English is not my first language, but I try to maintain my grammar to a certain level. Please excuse me when errors occur, or point it out. I appreciate constructive feedback.
I write around 2-3+ paragraphs, preferably in first person, past tense. This is however open for discussion. I value plotting beforehand, in contrary to jumping in. I find this process incredibly important as it allows us to create something that we both enjoy. My posting time is unfortunately inconsistent. I live a busy life, please respect that and I will of course do the same.
I would like to highlight that I heavily prefer to roleplay on Discord. I know that there is a thread especially for off-site roleplays, but I decided to post this here as I am not entirely opposed to roleplay on BM.
โฅ ๐จ๐๐๐ฅ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ฉ๐ก๐๐๐ฅ ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ ๐ช๐ ๐ฆ?
๐ expect you to somewhat match what I give you. That being of course detail, literacy, quality and a certain post-length. I value the creative process. I do not like when someone abruptly starts a roleplay, without discussing and plotting first. Unfortunately, I will most likely ignore you. That sounds harsh, but I am really sweet and just very excited to get some fun, quality roleplays going on. I have a bunch of plots in this prompt. Please address which plot you would like to play out when messaging me. Ps: I am aware of the contradictory gif. 
โ
โ๐๐ ๐ฅ๐ค
๐จay! Now for the fun part, my plots. I have a few on my own, but they are not set in stone. I am always happy to tweak and brainstorm to create to your liking. In rare occasions I am even willing to play out a completely different plot if presented. Most of my plots are written with male antagonists, but I am more than willing to change it to female if needed. 
There are a lot of plots still in the workshop. When I'm done writing them I'll update the thread and post them here as well. For now these are for sale:
Cruel princess forcefully turned into a hell-spawn as punishment
Sitting upon my ivory tower I enjoyed every aspect of my luxurious life. Why wouldn't I? โ I was a princess after all. Entitlement to riches and power is my birth right. I am a Goddess, heaven sent โ father says. No one dared to oppose me, for I would be judge and jury. Those who did met a tragic fate. I figuratively slept on a pile of bodies, but it didn't affect my sweet dreams in the slightest. I am cold, decorated with gold, yet bearing a heart of stone. The monarchy is built out of blood, however I get bored of politics. I can't be bothered.
Within the suffering of the common folks, a hatred for the royals grew. Like a bright candle, slowly turning into a bonfire. Many tried to protest, rebelling against the tax-trade. Father wanted them locked within the dungeons, but I happily reminded them that we mustn't show mercy. Needless to say, heads were rolling.
When democracy didn't work, the peasants rebelled in more unorthodox ways. Secretly hatching a plan to bring the monarchy down from within. It didn't take long before the maidens were involved, the castle conspiring against the royals they served. To prevent the kingdom from crumbling into pieces, the king was left untouched. He'd be manipulated by his advisors, creating the illusion of free will. But me, the princess, I was sure to suffer. Someone had to pay for the pain caused.
Folks shared many ideas for a fitting punishment. Some wanted me beheaded, but they claimed it to be far too merciful. Some suggested a kidnapping, making me spend the rest of my miserable life working as a filthy farm animal. However, within the devious ideas a plan hatched as evil as me.
They decided on keeping my abuse within the castle, making sure the psychological pain would be immense. They'd instructed the maids to kidnap me from my quarters, dragging me towards the stables where my inevitable punishment would commence. Being a highly religious kingdom, they decided to modify my tender body, until it resembled that of a demoness. Burning my skin with chemicals, bleaching my hair and decorating my scalp with two shapely horns they matched my outer-beauty with my inner-evil.
They'd present me to my father, claiming I was Hell-sent to bring destruction to the kingdom. The king was quick to make sure to put this Hell-spawn through suffering, leaving my fate up to the town folks, dragging me back to the dungeons. Who will punish this demon-turned princess?
Sitting upon my ivory tower I enjoyed every aspect of my luxurious life. Why wouldn't I? โ I was a princess after all. Entitlement to riches and power is my birth right. I am a Goddess, heaven sent โ father says. No one dared to oppose me, for I would be judge and jury. Those who did met a tragic fate. I figuratively slept on a pile of bodies, but it didn't affect my sweet dreams in the slightest. I am cold, decorated with gold, yet bearing a heart of stone. The monarchy is built out of blood, however I get bored of politics. I can't be bothered.
Within the suffering of the common folks, a hatred for the royals grew. Like a bright candle, slowly turning into a bonfire. Many tried to protest, rebelling against the tax-trade. Father wanted them locked within the dungeons, but I happily reminded them that we mustn't show mercy. Needless to say, heads were rolling.
When democracy didn't work, the peasants rebelled in more unorthodox ways. Secretly hatching a plan to bring the monarchy down from within. It didn't take long before the maidens were involved, the castle conspiring against the royals they served. To prevent the kingdom from crumbling into pieces, the king was left untouched. He'd be manipulated by his advisors, creating the illusion of free will. But me, the princess, I was sure to suffer. Someone had to pay for the pain caused.
Folks shared many ideas for a fitting punishment. Some wanted me beheaded, but they claimed it to be far too merciful. Some suggested a kidnapping, making me spend the rest of my miserable life working as a filthy farm animal. However, within the devious ideas a plan hatched as evil as me.
They decided on keeping my abuse within the castle, making sure the psychological pain would be immense. They'd instructed the maids to kidnap me from my quarters, dragging me towards the stables where my inevitable punishment would commence. Being a highly religious kingdom, they decided to modify my tender body, until it resembled that of a demoness. Burning my skin with chemicals, bleaching my hair and decorating my scalp with two shapely horns they matched my outer-beauty with my inner-evil.
They'd present me to my father, claiming I was Hell-sent to bring destruction to the kingdom. The king was quick to make sure to put this Hell-spawn through suffering, leaving my fate up to the town folks, dragging me back to the dungeons. Who will punish this demon-turned princess?
Turning the cute barista into your personal cosplay-doll
You had seen me a few times before, gently parading around the cafรฉ. It didn't take much to make you entirely obsessed with my cute smile, the gentle blush on my cheeks, decorated with those lovely freckles. My eyes sparkled, being highlighted by a beautiful, colourful liner, making a perfect set of wings. I'm a perfect, porcelain doll, waiting for someone to play with me, dress me up and brush my hair. Someone to mould my curvy body, like a true artist would.
Even though you've never really spoken to me you're already obsessed with that cute smile, the gentle blush on my cheeks, decorated with those lovely freckles. My eyes are sparkling, highlighted by the beautiful liner, making the perfect set of wings. I'm like a perfect, porcelain doll, waiting for someone to play with me, dress me up, brush my hair. Someone to mold my curvy body, like a true artist would.
You have an entire arsenal of fun costumes and wigs ready. You've been here countless times, never really ordering anything. Just watching from afar, carefully writing down my measures, sketching me in all sorts of lewd positions and costumes. Daydreaming about how sexy my "ahegao" face would look.
Last time you got even close enough to smell my hair, almond, with a touch of vanilla. It's all written in that little notebook of yours, from information like my favourite shampoo and my measurements, to my actual address and travel-route. You're sick, but in your mind this was the most perfect romance-manga.
The cute 20 year-old barista and a handsome guy, however you're not handsome. You're a nerd, a reject and a loser. A filthy slob with no real friends besides the 2D characters you admire so much. But it wouldn't matter in the end, right? Who need friends when you could have your very own Waifu?
You can't wait to dress me up as your favourite characters, forcing your cock down my throat while you play your silly videogames. The possibilities are endless. You'll have so much fun, never having to use that body pillow again. Sure, you think my tears are temporary. I'll get over it. You'll teach me my place, with whatever it takes.
Imagine your favourite characters put on a tight leash, forced to obey every single command, no matter how cruel or gross. You can use a hot iron to stamp your name on my back, decorate my curvy body in humiliating tattoos and pierce with some delicious piercings.
You had seen me a few times before, gently parading around the cafรฉ. It didn't take much to make you entirely obsessed with my cute smile, the gentle blush on my cheeks, decorated with those lovely freckles. My eyes sparkled, being highlighted by a beautiful, colourful liner, making a perfect set of wings. I'm a perfect, porcelain doll, waiting for someone to play with me, dress me up and brush my hair. Someone to mould my curvy body, like a true artist would.
Even though you've never really spoken to me you're already obsessed with that cute smile, the gentle blush on my cheeks, decorated with those lovely freckles. My eyes are sparkling, highlighted by the beautiful liner, making the perfect set of wings. I'm like a perfect, porcelain doll, waiting for someone to play with me, dress me up, brush my hair. Someone to mold my curvy body, like a true artist would.
You have an entire arsenal of fun costumes and wigs ready. You've been here countless times, never really ordering anything. Just watching from afar, carefully writing down my measures, sketching me in all sorts of lewd positions and costumes. Daydreaming about how sexy my "ahegao" face would look.
Last time you got even close enough to smell my hair, almond, with a touch of vanilla. It's all written in that little notebook of yours, from information like my favourite shampoo and my measurements, to my actual address and travel-route. You're sick, but in your mind this was the most perfect romance-manga.
The cute 20 year-old barista and a handsome guy, however you're not handsome. You're a nerd, a reject and a loser. A filthy slob with no real friends besides the 2D characters you admire so much. But it wouldn't matter in the end, right? Who need friends when you could have your very own Waifu?
You can't wait to dress me up as your favourite characters, forcing your cock down my throat while you play your silly videogames. The possibilities are endless. You'll have so much fun, never having to use that body pillow again. Sure, you think my tears are temporary. I'll get over it. You'll teach me my place, with whatever it takes.
Imagine your favourite characters put on a tight leash, forced to obey every single command, no matter how cruel or gross. You can use a hot iron to stamp your name on my back, decorate my curvy body in humiliating tattoos and pierce with some delicious piercings.
Naรฏve Christian girl doing charity work in the Ghettos
I've been a devout Christian for as long as I can remember, never skipping a Sunday in my life, which was natural as my father was the pastor of the local church. I've read the Bible too many times to count and own way too much crucifixes. I'm the perfect example of how a child of God, should be.
In this small town everyone knows each other. We're like family. We go to the same schools, shop at the same stores and pray at the same church. It's truly wonderful. The entire town looks up to my dad, asking for guidance in these troubled times.
As daughter of the pastor, as well as being a good Christian, I feel it's my duty to help people in times of need. I help the elderly, local charities and schools. Every time I help, I feel like I'm closer to God. The more I help the better I feel.
That's why I decided to scale up my services. Helping locals is great, but I feel, no, I know I can do so much more. There are people suffering, children in need of education. I can make a difference. I can help them find God.
With the blessing of my father I carried out my services, helping charities all across the country. Things started out small, handing out bibles at schools, but slowly I started getting bigger, more impactful tasks. God answered my prayers as I was assigned to help out a community church in a disadvantaged neighborhood, a ghetto. I was extremely exited, getting to help out and experience other cultures!
But I'd quickly find out that my willingness to help would be misused cruelly. My faith in god and urge to help made me naive, unable to say no.
So when the local gangs needed some pretty bitch to help them out with a Rap video, why not ask the cute Christian girl? Sure she wouldn't mind filming, besides, she's here to help us out anyway. But what started off as innocently filming these creative clips led to me being manipulated into playing in them. It starts off pretty mild, just moving a little, but I'd quickly be forced to wear lesser, more revealing clothes. Soon I'd be forced to twerk and grind like some of those low-life bitches.
Things completely spiral out of control from there. I'm forced to do more and more extreme things, always being told it is to benefit the community, it is what God wants. But I'm not sure God wanted me to end up as the community whore, covered in piercings, brands and tattoos. Getting slapped and walked around the neighbourhood like a dog. But I shouldn't worry as I'm helping out the community like the good Christian I am!
I've been a devout Christian for as long as I can remember, never skipping a Sunday in my life, which was natural as my father was the pastor of the local church. I've read the Bible too many times to count and own way too much crucifixes. I'm the perfect example of how a child of God, should be.
In this small town everyone knows each other. We're like family. We go to the same schools, shop at the same stores and pray at the same church. It's truly wonderful. The entire town looks up to my dad, asking for guidance in these troubled times.
As daughter of the pastor, as well as being a good Christian, I feel it's my duty to help people in times of need. I help the elderly, local charities and schools. Every time I help, I feel like I'm closer to God. The more I help the better I feel.
That's why I decided to scale up my services. Helping locals is great, but I feel, no, I know I can do so much more. There are people suffering, children in need of education. I can make a difference. I can help them find God.
With the blessing of my father I carried out my services, helping charities all across the country. Things started out small, handing out bibles at schools, but slowly I started getting bigger, more impactful tasks. God answered my prayers as I was assigned to help out a community church in a disadvantaged neighborhood, a ghetto. I was extremely exited, getting to help out and experience other cultures!
But I'd quickly find out that my willingness to help would be misused cruelly. My faith in god and urge to help made me naive, unable to say no.
So when the local gangs needed some pretty bitch to help them out with a Rap video, why not ask the cute Christian girl? Sure she wouldn't mind filming, besides, she's here to help us out anyway. But what started off as innocently filming these creative clips led to me being manipulated into playing in them. It starts off pretty mild, just moving a little, but I'd quickly be forced to wear lesser, more revealing clothes. Soon I'd be forced to twerk and grind like some of those low-life bitches.
Things completely spiral out of control from there. I'm forced to do more and more extreme things, always being told it is to benefit the community, it is what God wants. But I'm not sure God wanted me to end up as the community whore, covered in piercings, brands and tattoos. Getting slapped and walked around the neighbourhood like a dog. But I shouldn't worry as I'm helping out the community like the good Christian I am!
Housesitter turned pet
I have always known that college wasn't going to be cheap, but never this expensive. The literature alone was more than I expected, let alone the tuition. I can barely pay my rent. Clearly this waitress thing I had going was not working out for me. I desperately needed to find something more profitable. Something that was easily combinable with college.
This is where you came in. When you heard that your parents were going on a small holiday for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary, you were obviously very excited. You'd already made some wild plans in your head, fantasizing about throwing parties and inviting over friends. Unfortunately your parents accounted for such behaviour and told you about the new hire, me. They assured you I wasn't a babysitter, but rather a 'housesitter'. You were an adult after all. Unfortunately not a very responsible one. Now your plans were in shambles. Enraged and ashamed you called off the parties, diminishing your social status. So that's why, when I finally stepped into your house, you took matters into your own hands. You were going to have some fun either way, just not how you had envisioned it.
A housesitter, you said. They're required to wear a maid outfit. Forcing me into the skimpiest outfit you could get your hands on. 'We don't have a vacuum cleaner, you will use your tongue.' And how could you forget, 'walking is for residents, you are required to crawl'. The leash is included.
These are no humane circumstances, but they pay is good. Fine, I'll be your maid for these few days.
I have always known that college wasn't going to be cheap, but never this expensive. The literature alone was more than I expected, let alone the tuition. I can barely pay my rent. Clearly this waitress thing I had going was not working out for me. I desperately needed to find something more profitable. Something that was easily combinable with college.
This is where you came in. When you heard that your parents were going on a small holiday for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary, you were obviously very excited. You'd already made some wild plans in your head, fantasizing about throwing parties and inviting over friends. Unfortunately your parents accounted for such behaviour and told you about the new hire, me. They assured you I wasn't a babysitter, but rather a 'housesitter'. You were an adult after all. Unfortunately not a very responsible one. Now your plans were in shambles. Enraged and ashamed you called off the parties, diminishing your social status. So that's why, when I finally stepped into your house, you took matters into your own hands. You were going to have some fun either way, just not how you had envisioned it.
A housesitter, you said. They're required to wear a maid outfit. Forcing me into the skimpiest outfit you could get your hands on. 'We don't have a vacuum cleaner, you will use your tongue.' And how could you forget, 'walking is for residents, you are required to crawl'. The leash is included.
These are no humane circumstances, but they pay is good. Fine, I'll be your maid for these few days.
A good Mother protects her young, even if that means getting dicked down by her son's bullies
He would often come home crying, throwing his backpack on the floor, before sprinting upstairs while wiping away his tears. He would lock the door and sit on his bed for hours, spending the rest of the day and sometimes even the night sobbing. Communicating with him was difficult. He is, let's say, special. Poor thing. He got bullied, every single day. Physical and mental abuse.
Things have been hard. He was always troubled, but ever since the passing of his father he really became a sheltered individual. I tried a lot, but nothing seemed to work. I started wondering if it was all my fault. If I even could call myself a good mother. It had to stop.
The only natural thing to do was to confront the bullies in question. Surely they'd listen to me. Unfortunately it did not take long for me to realize just how ruthless these people can be. Just a few minutes in my 'intervention' and I was getting slapped around like a ragdoll, their handprints decorating my mature body. They said it was my punishment for being a bad mother. But they were interested in switching some things up, leaving my son alone in exchange for me. What mother would I be if I didn't accept?
He would often come home crying, throwing his backpack on the floor, before sprinting upstairs while wiping away his tears. He would lock the door and sit on his bed for hours, spending the rest of the day and sometimes even the night sobbing. Communicating with him was difficult. He is, let's say, special. Poor thing. He got bullied, every single day. Physical and mental abuse.
Things have been hard. He was always troubled, but ever since the passing of his father he really became a sheltered individual. I tried a lot, but nothing seemed to work. I started wondering if it was all my fault. If I even could call myself a good mother. It had to stop.
The only natural thing to do was to confront the bullies in question. Surely they'd listen to me. Unfortunately it did not take long for me to realize just how ruthless these people can be. Just a few minutes in my 'intervention' and I was getting slapped around like a ragdoll, their handprints decorating my mature body. They said it was my punishment for being a bad mother. But they were interested in switching some things up, leaving my son alone in exchange for me. What mother would I be if I didn't accept?
From spoiled city girl to oinking farm girl
My parents had the fantastic idea to make stay the summer at my eldest uncle's farm. They were adamant. Telling me it would help my self-development, that I took my luxurious life for granted and that I needed to learn how to live simple, before I could appreciate my wealth. Sure, but we all knew my parents were going on a trip and they simply did not trust me with the house. Not since last year, when I threw a party and we downed my mother's wine collection and totalled my father's car.
Now I had to spend my entire summer here. On a disgusting farm, in the middle of nowhere. Trapped between stinking animals and pools of mud. Accompanied by an uncle I barely knew. Only seeing that fat bastard once a year on Christmas, inhaling our caviar. The worst thing, there is not even wi-fi.
With a big sigh I drag my expensive suitcase behind me, making my way through the muddy road. My heels getting stuck every few steps. This is the worst.
You on the other hand could not wait to teach me a lesson. You had always known that I would end up on this farm. It was poetic really. You always thought I would make a pretty pig or cow. Exited to brand, chip and tattoo me. Replacing my diamond earrings with tags. You were already wondering how sweet my milk would taste.
My parents had the fantastic idea to make stay the summer at my eldest uncle's farm. They were adamant. Telling me it would help my self-development, that I took my luxurious life for granted and that I needed to learn how to live simple, before I could appreciate my wealth. Sure, but we all knew my parents were going on a trip and they simply did not trust me with the house. Not since last year, when I threw a party and we downed my mother's wine collection and totalled my father's car.
Now I had to spend my entire summer here. On a disgusting farm, in the middle of nowhere. Trapped between stinking animals and pools of mud. Accompanied by an uncle I barely knew. Only seeing that fat bastard once a year on Christmas, inhaling our caviar. The worst thing, there is not even wi-fi.
With a big sigh I drag my expensive suitcase behind me, making my way through the muddy road. My heels getting stuck every few steps. This is the worst.
You on the other hand could not wait to teach me a lesson. You had always known that I would end up on this farm. It was poetic really. You always thought I would make a pretty pig or cow. Exited to brand, chip and tattoo me. Replacing my diamond earrings with tags. You were already wondering how sweet my milk would taste.
Rude brat slapped into obedience one strike at a time
It's tough getting around as a 20 year-old, lately. Juggling college, finance, my social life, keeping my parents happy. It takes a toll. However, I simply can't afford to take a breather. I have to be strong, battling my way through life day by day. Waking up, following the exact same, God-forsaken routine I've done all my boring life. When I'm not sleeping in class, I'm working my stupid job.
It's not that I hate it. As a matter of fact, I don't hate anything. I truly am grateful for what I have. But it's just so incredibly boring. So excuse me when you are dissatisfied with my service, I unfortunately forgot to give a shit. So go ahead, complain to my manager. Tell 'em all about my lack of passion, my rude demeanor, my attitude. I couldn't care less. I've switched jobs more than I can count. I went from scooping ice-cream, to waitress to cashier within a month. I'll be fine. I will always find a new place in this boring life of mine.
That is until you came along. You weren't the type of person to bitch to my manager, right? That won't change a thing about my stubborn personality, you're confident. You're the type to take things into your own hands. Quite literally. I'm not sure how it happened, but here we are. My face red, tears rolling down my swollen cheeks as you slap it again. Adding to the countless strikes. Slap, after painful slap. It stings so bad. I can feel the saltiness of my tears on my tongue. Again and again, the sound of your hand hitting my cheek echoes through the room. I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but you didn't care. You just had to teach me how to be good, each slap at a time. For starters of course. One thing is for sure, between my sobbing and whimpering, for once in my life, I'm not bored.
It's tough getting around as a 20 year-old, lately. Juggling college, finance, my social life, keeping my parents happy. It takes a toll. However, I simply can't afford to take a breather. I have to be strong, battling my way through life day by day. Waking up, following the exact same, God-forsaken routine I've done all my boring life. When I'm not sleeping in class, I'm working my stupid job.
It's not that I hate it. As a matter of fact, I don't hate anything. I truly am grateful for what I have. But it's just so incredibly boring. So excuse me when you are dissatisfied with my service, I unfortunately forgot to give a shit. So go ahead, complain to my manager. Tell 'em all about my lack of passion, my rude demeanor, my attitude. I couldn't care less. I've switched jobs more than I can count. I went from scooping ice-cream, to waitress to cashier within a month. I'll be fine. I will always find a new place in this boring life of mine.
That is until you came along. You weren't the type of person to bitch to my manager, right? That won't change a thing about my stubborn personality, you're confident. You're the type to take things into your own hands. Quite literally. I'm not sure how it happened, but here we are. My face red, tears rolling down my swollen cheeks as you slap it again. Adding to the countless strikes. Slap, after painful slap. It stings so bad. I can feel the saltiness of my tears on my tongue. Again and again, the sound of your hand hitting my cheek echoes through the room. I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but you didn't care. You just had to teach me how to be good, each slap at a time. For starters of course. One thing is for sure, between my sobbing and whimpering, for once in my life, I'm not bored.
You're in a romantic relationship with my fat, luscious, jiggly cheeks
So this is definitely one of my more 'weird' prompts. It's not yet crystallized into a solid story, but it's rather more of an idea which I'd like to explore. It's all about ass worship. My fat, luscious, jiggly cheeks are in desperate need of worship. However that's it, nothing else.
You see, in this idea of mine you're utterly obsessed with my ass. It's so bad that you've convinced yourself that you're in an actual relationship with my cheeks. Treating my fat ass as her own person. Going as far as having actual conversations and intimate moments with my lower half. Me, I'm a nuisance. I'm a third wheel in this relationship, a poor 20 year-old student. An unlucky by-product, dragged along in this twisted romance.
I'm wondering how this all started? Did you hear my ass call you out, beg for your strong hands to squeeze it? Was it love on first sight? And how did you claim your new love? Is it forced, kidnapping me just for the sake of my fat ass? Or can I actually feel my ass being physically attracted to you? Craving your touch, aching for your presence. Being forced to along, just to make that itching stop. How will this affect my life, my work or university?
So this is definitely one of my more 'weird' prompts. It's not yet crystallized into a solid story, but it's rather more of an idea which I'd like to explore. It's all about ass worship. My fat, luscious, jiggly cheeks are in desperate need of worship. However that's it, nothing else.
You see, in this idea of mine you're utterly obsessed with my ass. It's so bad that you've convinced yourself that you're in an actual relationship with my cheeks. Treating my fat ass as her own person. Going as far as having actual conversations and intimate moments with my lower half. Me, I'm a nuisance. I'm a third wheel in this relationship, a poor 20 year-old student. An unlucky by-product, dragged along in this twisted romance.
I'm wondering how this all started? Did you hear my ass call you out, beg for your strong hands to squeeze it? Was it love on first sight? And how did you claim your new love? Is it forced, kidnapping me just for the sake of my fat ass? Or can I actually feel my ass being physically attracted to you? Craving your touch, aching for your presence. Being forced to along, just to make that itching stop. How will this affect my life, my work or university?
When a birthday-princess for hire gets invited to the wrong party
Struggling students often resort to creative ways to earn a quick buck. Some might use less societal accepted ways, others might go for something more conventional, and there are those who walk, according to some, an unconventional route. I'm not sure if dressing up as Disney princesses, and waving wands at birthday parties, was ever part of my plan. But I had to finance my study somehow, right? It wasn't ideal, a little embarrassing at times, but it paid the bills. And that's all that matters for a broke 20 year-old student. And besides, even though I appear to be cold and stoic, I suppose making those kids laugh is a reward in itself.
I've been doing it for a while now as a freelancer. Parents hire me, tell me the date and time, and what character, and I show up accordingly. Usually smoking a cigarette around the corner first, mentally preparing myself for social duties. But it's fun. I get to eat cake, share wine with the moms and get paid.
However, I wasn't aware about the many weirdos who might have seen my advert. So when I arrived at this very unkempt, unhygienic shed, I was a little surprised. The dumpsters were piled, the grass was overgrown and the windows were shut and stained. The decorations were sad, hanging unenthusiastically across the rotten, wooden fence. I'm not sure why I was so naive to step inside the house, walking over the rotten floorboards of the patio, before stepping through the door. Shouting: "Where's the birthday girl?" Only to be met with a pungent smell of alcohol and cigarettes. Amongst the empty cans, pizza-boxes, wrappers and various other trash, you stood steadily. Wearing nothing but a stained wife beater and a boxer. Holding a cake, with a single lit candle, before blowing it out. Leaving me in darkness. Happy birthday.
Alright, that's the dark-ish, more depraved route! I also have something more along the lines of cheating and homewrecking. Imagine me resting in the kitchen, texting, while the kids are outside playing, running around. Until I suddenly feel you, the father, squeeze my cheeks. Covering my mouth as you push me over the counter and lift up my dress, fucking my pretty brains out, while your wife is outside, frantically trying to keep your daughter from running into a tree.
Or another alternative route, in which I actually pulled up to the wrong party. Perhaps something along the lines of a bachelor's party, or something more (biker)gang related. Being mistaken for a stripper and prostitute, getting my pretty dress ripped off and my jiggly cheeks brutally spanked, until I'm sobbing.
Let me know which route you'd like to take!
Struggling students often resort to creative ways to earn a quick buck. Some might use less societal accepted ways, others might go for something more conventional, and there are those who walk, according to some, an unconventional route. I'm not sure if dressing up as Disney princesses, and waving wands at birthday parties, was ever part of my plan. But I had to finance my study somehow, right? It wasn't ideal, a little embarrassing at times, but it paid the bills. And that's all that matters for a broke 20 year-old student. And besides, even though I appear to be cold and stoic, I suppose making those kids laugh is a reward in itself.
I've been doing it for a while now as a freelancer. Parents hire me, tell me the date and time, and what character, and I show up accordingly. Usually smoking a cigarette around the corner first, mentally preparing myself for social duties. But it's fun. I get to eat cake, share wine with the moms and get paid.
However, I wasn't aware about the many weirdos who might have seen my advert. So when I arrived at this very unkempt, unhygienic shed, I was a little surprised. The dumpsters were piled, the grass was overgrown and the windows were shut and stained. The decorations were sad, hanging unenthusiastically across the rotten, wooden fence. I'm not sure why I was so naive to step inside the house, walking over the rotten floorboards of the patio, before stepping through the door. Shouting: "Where's the birthday girl?" Only to be met with a pungent smell of alcohol and cigarettes. Amongst the empty cans, pizza-boxes, wrappers and various other trash, you stood steadily. Wearing nothing but a stained wife beater and a boxer. Holding a cake, with a single lit candle, before blowing it out. Leaving me in darkness. Happy birthday.
Alright, that's the dark-ish, more depraved route! I also have something more along the lines of cheating and homewrecking. Imagine me resting in the kitchen, texting, while the kids are outside playing, running around. Until I suddenly feel you, the father, squeeze my cheeks. Covering my mouth as you push me over the counter and lift up my dress, fucking my pretty brains out, while your wife is outside, frantically trying to keep your daughter from running into a tree.
Or another alternative route, in which I actually pulled up to the wrong party. Perhaps something along the lines of a bachelor's party, or something more (biker)gang related. Being mistaken for a stripper and prostitute, getting my pretty dress ripped off and my jiggly cheeks brutally spanked, until I'm sobbing.
Let me know which route you'd like to take!
Bratty daughter of Dracula forced into becoming a cum-hungry kitten
I'd been around for centuries, slowly experiencing how our existence turned into myths and folklores. Reduced to frightening tales to keep children in bed at night. Buried in history, it allowed us to continue through the night. Unfortunately, there will always be those who can't accept our being. The Vatican had been prosecuting us ever since we first tasted blood, sinking our teeth in tender flesh. They call us blasphemous, a Devil's spawn. Sending their hunters after us, pathetically trying to take my family down. Even the Van Helsing's gave it a shot, but the house of Dracula reigns supreme, still.
The modern world is naรฏve. Father made sure to use it to his advantage, increasing his influence over the years. Being involved in the assassination of many key-figures in history, ranging from Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, plunging the world into its first world war, to President Kennedy. I truly didn't care, as long as I could live my luxurious life. Nowadays, I just spend my time in one of our many castles. Father is overseas, probably extending his power to yet another government, leaving me all alone. All was well, until I brutally got reminded by the fact that the Vatican didn't go gentle into the night. Before I could even sink my teeth into my captor, I was knocked out and thrown into a trunk.
Upon opening my eyes, I was greeted by a few firm slaps. The chain around my throat was rattling as I hissed in pain, pathetically pushing myself back into the concrete corner. This was my first introduction to the very unorthodox ways of the Vatican.
Within an hour I'd a whimpering mess. My red-spanked ass in incredible pain, trying to squeeze the massive tail-buttplug out. My head wearing cat-ears, instead of my usual diamond tiara and my body decorated in tattoos. Bible texts, burning my body. Nothing compared to the searing pain of the little crucifixes, piercing my nipples. My fangs were filed down, making my bites cute, rather than dangerous. A bowl was planted in front of my face, filled with white, sticky gooeyness. Before I knew my face was forced deep inside the substance, trying to replace my thirst for blood with cum. The Vatican was trying to turn me into a docile, little catgirl. Now who's going to be my trainer?
I'd been around for centuries, slowly experiencing how our existence turned into myths and folklores. Reduced to frightening tales to keep children in bed at night. Buried in history, it allowed us to continue through the night. Unfortunately, there will always be those who can't accept our being. The Vatican had been prosecuting us ever since we first tasted blood, sinking our teeth in tender flesh. They call us blasphemous, a Devil's spawn. Sending their hunters after us, pathetically trying to take my family down. Even the Van Helsing's gave it a shot, but the house of Dracula reigns supreme, still.
The modern world is naรฏve. Father made sure to use it to his advantage, increasing his influence over the years. Being involved in the assassination of many key-figures in history, ranging from Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, plunging the world into its first world war, to President Kennedy. I truly didn't care, as long as I could live my luxurious life. Nowadays, I just spend my time in one of our many castles. Father is overseas, probably extending his power to yet another government, leaving me all alone. All was well, until I brutally got reminded by the fact that the Vatican didn't go gentle into the night. Before I could even sink my teeth into my captor, I was knocked out and thrown into a trunk.
Upon opening my eyes, I was greeted by a few firm slaps. The chain around my throat was rattling as I hissed in pain, pathetically pushing myself back into the concrete corner. This was my first introduction to the very unorthodox ways of the Vatican.
Within an hour I'd a whimpering mess. My red-spanked ass in incredible pain, trying to squeeze the massive tail-buttplug out. My head wearing cat-ears, instead of my usual diamond tiara and my body decorated in tattoos. Bible texts, burning my body. Nothing compared to the searing pain of the little crucifixes, piercing my nipples. My fangs were filed down, making my bites cute, rather than dangerous. A bowl was planted in front of my face, filled with white, sticky gooeyness. Before I knew my face was forced deep inside the substance, trying to replace my thirst for blood with cum. The Vatican was trying to turn me into a docile, little catgirl. Now who's going to be my trainer?
Forced bimbofication
My story revolves around me, a 20 year-old student with high hopes for the future. Not necessarily a popular girl or anything, but a friend to all. Straight A's on my test, sweet and kind, perhaps a little naรฏve. (either this, or entirely opposite. With me being a spoiled, bratty bitch)
one day after university my (uncle or aunt) (your character is up for discussion) picks me up from uni, which is weird. Contact with him/her and my parents has been slim. However, he/she claims my dad asked him/her to pick me up for house-viewing, as I'm looking into moving. Something which isn't planned until next week, but I assume nothing. For all I know my uncle/aunt happened to be in the neighbourhood with his/her old pick-up truck and my dad asked him for a favour, since my old car recently broke down.
The moment where I step into the car, the plot gets dark. He's/she's obviously not going to take me to the house-viewing. I soon start to notice that we're passing the house and eventually leave town, which makes the situation suspicious. I slowly start to ask questions, more and more, starting to get on my uncle's/aunt's nerves, until he/she snaps.
One thing leads to another and I'm in the back of the trunk gagged, bruised and sobbing as I'm being moved to an isolated location somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I'm about the spend the rest of my miserable life as my uncle's/aunt's housewife and plaything.
Now, where does the bimbofication come in, you may ask? Obviously my pictures are most likely spread across the media, as my parents are desperately trying to find me. It's only logical that I can't keep looking like that. I need to be unrecognizable.
And what better way than a set of giant new breasts, some lip filler and ass enhancement. Rework my face a little, dye my hair and voila, your classic, streetcorner, fake, plastic, cheap Barbiedoll. Now how he'll/she'll make this happen if up for a debate. Does he/she hire a bunch of blackmarket surgeons, or does he/she tie me to his/her kitchen counter and use his/her own creativity?
After a new look, a new identity follows. Fake papers and documentation, so he can legally marry me, turning me into his/her slutwife. Who knows, perhaps he/she can even reach back to my parents and introduce me to them as his/her new wife. Surely they wouldn't like the fact that I look like a hooker, but they won't suspect a thing. And my uncle/aunt, or should I say husband/wife, will make sure I keep my mouth shut about everything and just enjoy the nice dinner with his/her family.
My story revolves around me, a 20 year-old student with high hopes for the future. Not necessarily a popular girl or anything, but a friend to all. Straight A's on my test, sweet and kind, perhaps a little naรฏve. (either this, or entirely opposite. With me being a spoiled, bratty bitch)
one day after university my (uncle or aunt) (your character is up for discussion) picks me up from uni, which is weird. Contact with him/her and my parents has been slim. However, he/she claims my dad asked him/her to pick me up for house-viewing, as I'm looking into moving. Something which isn't planned until next week, but I assume nothing. For all I know my uncle/aunt happened to be in the neighbourhood with his/her old pick-up truck and my dad asked him for a favour, since my old car recently broke down.
The moment where I step into the car, the plot gets dark. He's/she's obviously not going to take me to the house-viewing. I soon start to notice that we're passing the house and eventually leave town, which makes the situation suspicious. I slowly start to ask questions, more and more, starting to get on my uncle's/aunt's nerves, until he/she snaps.
One thing leads to another and I'm in the back of the trunk gagged, bruised and sobbing as I'm being moved to an isolated location somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I'm about the spend the rest of my miserable life as my uncle's/aunt's housewife and plaything.
Now, where does the bimbofication come in, you may ask? Obviously my pictures are most likely spread across the media, as my parents are desperately trying to find me. It's only logical that I can't keep looking like that. I need to be unrecognizable.
And what better way than a set of giant new breasts, some lip filler and ass enhancement. Rework my face a little, dye my hair and voila, your classic, streetcorner, fake, plastic, cheap Barbiedoll. Now how he'll/she'll make this happen if up for a debate. Does he/she hire a bunch of blackmarket surgeons, or does he/she tie me to his/her kitchen counter and use his/her own creativity?
After a new look, a new identity follows. Fake papers and documentation, so he can legally marry me, turning me into his/her slutwife. Who knows, perhaps he/she can even reach back to my parents and introduce me to them as his/her new wife. Surely they wouldn't like the fact that I look like a hooker, but they won't suspect a thing. And my uncle/aunt, or should I say husband/wife, will make sure I keep my mouth shut about everything and just enjoy the nice dinner with his/her family.
Satan's daughter abused by a new daddy
The winged beast, the fallen Angel, Lucifer, better known as Satan has ruled the fiery pits of Hell ever since he disobeyed God in his garden. Expending his army with every new sinner. However, his second in command, ascending both the horsemen and the princes in their rank, his daughter reigns supreme, an ancient being of pure fire. Me.
Princess of Hell, Satan's favourite. Cruel and chaotic, with an attitude hotter than the flames I bathe in. I'm a spoiled brat, desperately in need of being put in my place. Are you that mere mortal that's going to put me through real Hell? Slapping me around, until I'm a silly mess, sobbing for Daddy to come save me?
Surely that summoning spell on that wannabe-gothic site won't work right? Just imagine all the horrible things you could do to me; decorating my devilish curves in humiliating tattoos, piercing my nipples with bars or rings made from molten crucifixes, tightly strapping a leash around my throat and pimping me out on Only Fans to make money. Dressing me up in various cute outfits, making me do those silly Tiktok-dances, all for your pleasure.
The winged beast, the fallen Angel, Lucifer, better known as Satan has ruled the fiery pits of Hell ever since he disobeyed God in his garden. Expending his army with every new sinner. However, his second in command, ascending both the horsemen and the princes in their rank, his daughter reigns supreme, an ancient being of pure fire. Me.
Princess of Hell, Satan's favourite. Cruel and chaotic, with an attitude hotter than the flames I bathe in. I'm a spoiled brat, desperately in need of being put in my place. Are you that mere mortal that's going to put me through real Hell? Slapping me around, until I'm a silly mess, sobbing for Daddy to come save me?
Surely that summoning spell on that wannabe-gothic site won't work right? Just imagine all the horrible things you could do to me; decorating my devilish curves in humiliating tattoos, piercing my nipples with bars or rings made from molten crucifixes, tightly strapping a leash around my throat and pimping me out on Only Fans to make money. Dressing me up in various cute outfits, making me do those silly Tiktok-dances, all for your pleasure.
A day in the life of a topless food truck waitress: a greasy adventure
In the bustling streets of a vibrant city, there's an alley. Hidden behind the dumpsters, deeply buried within the maze of bricks, there's a foodtruck. Its location exposed, only for the initiated. The misogynistic blue-collars, the sewer scouring homeless and the filthy perverts, all gathered to watch my greasy tits on display. The thick smell of oil, sex and tears lingers between the brick walls, as I'm serving my loyal customers.
I'm a waitress, just not for your typical restaurant. Back when I did however, I was barely making ends meet. Culinary school is expensive, especially for a twenty year-old. So when you noticed my struggles, and my delicious curves, you were more than happy to help me with a new job, something far better paying. I'm still not sure why I agreed, but this alley is my job and responsibility now.
Sure, my work uniform is barely existent. My tits are on display. I'm covered in grease and oil. I'm getting groped and spanked from left to right. I reek of deep fry and sex, and I'm cleaning the truck with my tongue every few hours. But the pay is amazing, besides, I might actually like the attention. Perhaps crawling around, delivering pizza slices, dangling from my mouth, isn't that bad after all.
In the bustling streets of a vibrant city, there's an alley. Hidden behind the dumpsters, deeply buried within the maze of bricks, there's a foodtruck. Its location exposed, only for the initiated. The misogynistic blue-collars, the sewer scouring homeless and the filthy perverts, all gathered to watch my greasy tits on display. The thick smell of oil, sex and tears lingers between the brick walls, as I'm serving my loyal customers.
I'm a waitress, just not for your typical restaurant. Back when I did however, I was barely making ends meet. Culinary school is expensive, especially for a twenty year-old. So when you noticed my struggles, and my delicious curves, you were more than happy to help me with a new job, something far better paying. I'm still not sure why I agreed, but this alley is my job and responsibility now.
Sure, my work uniform is barely existent. My tits are on display. I'm covered in grease and oil. I'm getting groped and spanked from left to right. I reek of deep fry and sex, and I'm cleaning the truck with my tongue every few hours. But the pay is amazing, besides, I might actually like the attention. Perhaps crawling around, delivering pizza slices, dangling from my mouth, isn't that bad after all.
Innocent student oddly attracted to her perverted horrible janitor
There was something so strangely alluring about you. You were a horrible person. A total creep. A filthy pervert and a complete slob. You're disgusting and miserable. There was no chance you would ever find yourself settling down with a woman. Your entire life was a spiral of the same, repetitive activities.
Working as a janitor at my university, endlessly cleaning the bathroom stalls. Ordering takeout, day after day, at your shitty appartement. Going out 'clubbing', which meant standing in a dark corner and watching all these drunk females flaunting their bodies. Desperately hoping you could cop of feel. You were the lowest of society. A true lowlife.
That's why I hated myself for having these feelings. These cravings for you. Praying you would drag me into a bathroom stall at uni, showing me every corner, before sending me back to class. Rhythmically making my way towards the dark end of the club, away from my friends. Hoping I could slowly feel your greasy hands locking onto my hips, pulling me closer. Dreaming about the day I can finally deliver a pizza at your doorstep. Only to drop to my knees and crawl inside your shitty appartement. The door getting locked behind me, only to never be opened again.
Going to church, praying to God that you would turn this respectable, 20 year-old, uni student into your girl. I wanted you so fucking bad. Frying my brains as I press my nose into your balls.
There was something so strangely alluring about you. You were a horrible person. A total creep. A filthy pervert and a complete slob. You're disgusting and miserable. There was no chance you would ever find yourself settling down with a woman. Your entire life was a spiral of the same, repetitive activities.
Working as a janitor at my university, endlessly cleaning the bathroom stalls. Ordering takeout, day after day, at your shitty appartement. Going out 'clubbing', which meant standing in a dark corner and watching all these drunk females flaunting their bodies. Desperately hoping you could cop of feel. You were the lowest of society. A true lowlife.
That's why I hated myself for having these feelings. These cravings for you. Praying you would drag me into a bathroom stall at uni, showing me every corner, before sending me back to class. Rhythmically making my way towards the dark end of the club, away from my friends. Hoping I could slowly feel your greasy hands locking onto my hips, pulling me closer. Dreaming about the day I can finally deliver a pizza at your doorstep. Only to drop to my knees and crawl inside your shitty appartement. The door getting locked behind me, only to never be opened again.
Going to church, praying to God that you would turn this respectable, 20 year-old, uni student into your girl. I wanted you so fucking bad. Frying my brains as I press my nose into your balls.
Disgusting binman turns me into his personal trash doll
Grumbling as I took the bins to the curb. It was too early in the morning, long before work. Sun barely peeking over the horizon and I was still in short shirts and a crop top styled pyjama set. Oddly, the binman was just coming up the road. I wasn't a fan of him. He had been known to catcall me and make disgusting comments about my ass and breasts. I had only reached the edge when he jumped out. Before either of us had said anything, he grabbed me by my neck. Slamming my face first into the lid. Opening it over and over to hit my face with it. Finally swinging the bin open wide, lifting me up and stuffing me in among the trash before loading me into the trash compactor. Of course, he didn't turn it on. Instead, he drove off. All that remained behind was an empty bin.
When I came to, I was buried under heaps,of bin bags. The weight was bad enough but the stench caught in my throat. As I try to pull out, my well-manicured nails slice through the bags. Refuse comes pouring out onto my face. When I finally think I'm at the surface, a hand wraps around my wrist. Yanking me free, but dislocating my shoulder in the process, causing me to shriek in pain. It was that fat slob of a trashman, here to turn me into his personal trash doll.
Grumbling as I took the bins to the curb. It was too early in the morning, long before work. Sun barely peeking over the horizon and I was still in short shirts and a crop top styled pyjama set. Oddly, the binman was just coming up the road. I wasn't a fan of him. He had been known to catcall me and make disgusting comments about my ass and breasts. I had only reached the edge when he jumped out. Before either of us had said anything, he grabbed me by my neck. Slamming my face first into the lid. Opening it over and over to hit my face with it. Finally swinging the bin open wide, lifting me up and stuffing me in among the trash before loading me into the trash compactor. Of course, he didn't turn it on. Instead, he drove off. All that remained behind was an empty bin.
When I came to, I was buried under heaps,of bin bags. The weight was bad enough but the stench caught in my throat. As I try to pull out, my well-manicured nails slice through the bags. Refuse comes pouring out onto my face. When I finally think I'm at the surface, a hand wraps around my wrist. Yanking me free, but dislocating my shoulder in the process, causing me to shriek in pain. It was that fat slob of a trashman, here to turn me into his personal trash doll.
Gross pastry-chef stuffs art-student's sweet buns
Over the summer I started working at a bakery, to finance my college tuition. As a twenty year-old you aren't the most financially independent. The shop looked cute enough and they were the only place hiring. While I wasn't familiar with baking, I had an eye for details. Decorating pastries shouldn't be a problem. Especially since I was an art major. Design and aesthetics were a big part of my personality.
I had no idea that behind all those carefully-crafted delicacies, there was a slob of a man. Looking like you ate more pastries, than you made them. You were a total, obsessive creep and a filthy pervert. Yet, you were a master in your craft. As an art major I respected you. I couldn't blame an artist for being passionate about his work.
Respect however, turned into adoration. There was nothing hotter than watching a man be good at his work. Drooling at the sight of you kneading your dough. My nipples poking through my apron, imagining how it would feel to have those strong, greasy hands kneading my buns. The more I worked at your shop, the more I longed to be your next artpiece. I wanted to be your sweet pastry.
It didn't take long. It started with you occasionally squeezing my cheeks, while working. But it quickly escalated with me being dragged to the back, getting various pastries fucked down my throat. 'Since a true pastry-chef, should know the taste of her ingredients.' You said. Getting strapped down onto your workbench as you filled my buns to the brim with whipped cream, before plugging it with your cock, stroking my hair softly as you told me you'd turn me into a great pastry-chef, but an even better pastry-slut.
I was turning into your sweet, sticky pastry. Your little, creamy project and all I could do was thank you for sharing your passion with me. From one artist to another. 'Thank you, daddy.'
Over the summer I started working at a bakery, to finance my college tuition. As a twenty year-old you aren't the most financially independent. The shop looked cute enough and they were the only place hiring. While I wasn't familiar with baking, I had an eye for details. Decorating pastries shouldn't be a problem. Especially since I was an art major. Design and aesthetics were a big part of my personality.
I had no idea that behind all those carefully-crafted delicacies, there was a slob of a man. Looking like you ate more pastries, than you made them. You were a total, obsessive creep and a filthy pervert. Yet, you were a master in your craft. As an art major I respected you. I couldn't blame an artist for being passionate about his work.
Respect however, turned into adoration. There was nothing hotter than watching a man be good at his work. Drooling at the sight of you kneading your dough. My nipples poking through my apron, imagining how it would feel to have those strong, greasy hands kneading my buns. The more I worked at your shop, the more I longed to be your next artpiece. I wanted to be your sweet pastry.
It didn't take long. It started with you occasionally squeezing my cheeks, while working. But it quickly escalated with me being dragged to the back, getting various pastries fucked down my throat. 'Since a true pastry-chef, should know the taste of her ingredients.' You said. Getting strapped down onto your workbench as you filled my buns to the brim with whipped cream, before plugging it with your cock, stroking my hair softly as you told me you'd turn me into a great pastry-chef, but an even better pastry-slut.
I was turning into your sweet, sticky pastry. Your little, creamy project and all I could do was thank you for sharing your passion with me. From one artist to another. 'Thank you, daddy.'
Why is the creepy mall Santa staring at my tits
This time I'm working as a 20ish year-old barista in your local Starbucks, which is located in the main hall of the shopping center. I'm honestly quite perfect. From my adorable smile, to my luscious curves. I can be as basic as the very girls drinking at the coffeeshop, to as alternative and Gothic as you'd like.
You've been working as the mall-Santa for a while now. Nothing more than a filthy, fat slob reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. Your costume and is coated in greasy stains.
nobody even dares to come close, let alone pose for a picture. It's honestly a miracle that you're still allowed to work here, a Christmas miracle if you will. Especially when taking into account how many times I've complained about you starting at my tits.
You've been fantasizing about me, didn't you? Daydreaming about groping my very squeezable tits and spanking my jiggly, fat cheeks. If only you could wrap me up in wrapping paper and stuff me into your trunk, taking me home to your shitty apartment to turn me into your personal Christmas elf. Forcing me to wear various costumes, including those silly pointy ears to finish the look.
Surely I wouldn't fit in that present-sack, right?
This time I'm working as a 20ish year-old barista in your local Starbucks, which is located in the main hall of the shopping center. I'm honestly quite perfect. From my adorable smile, to my luscious curves. I can be as basic as the very girls drinking at the coffeeshop, to as alternative and Gothic as you'd like.
You've been working as the mall-Santa for a while now. Nothing more than a filthy, fat slob reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. Your costume and is coated in greasy stains.
nobody even dares to come close, let alone pose for a picture. It's honestly a miracle that you're still allowed to work here, a Christmas miracle if you will. Especially when taking into account how many times I've complained about you starting at my tits.
You've been fantasizing about me, didn't you? Daydreaming about groping my very squeezable tits and spanking my jiggly, fat cheeks. If only you could wrap me up in wrapping paper and stuff me into your trunk, taking me home to your shitty apartment to turn me into your personal Christmas elf. Forcing me to wear various costumes, including those silly pointy ears to finish the look.
Surely I wouldn't fit in that present-sack, right?
Turning the cute barista into your personal cosplay-doll
You had seen me a few times before, gently parading around the cafรฉ. It didn't take much to make you entirely obsessed with my cute smile, the gentle blush on my cheeks, decorated with those lovely freckles. My eyes sparkled, being highlighted by a beautiful, colourful liner, making a perfect set of wings. I'm a perfect, porcelain doll, waiting for someone to play with me, dress me up and brush my hair. Someone to mould my curvy body, like a true artist would.
Even though you've never really spoken to me you're already obsessed with that cute smile, the gentle blush on my cheeks, decorated with those lovely freckles. My eyes are sparkling, highlighted by the beautiful liner, making the perfect set of wings. I'm like a perfect, porcelain doll, waiting for someone to play with me, dress me up, brush my hair. Someone to mold my curvy body, like a true artist would.
You have an entire arsenal of fun costumes and wigs ready. You've been here countless times, never really ordering anything. Just watching from afar, carefully writing down my measures, sketching me in all sorts of lewd positions and costumes. Daydreaming about how sexy my "ahegao" face would look.
Last time you got even close enough to smell my hair, almond, with a touch of vanilla. It's all written in that little notebook of yours, from information like my favourite shampoo and my measurements, to my actual address and travel-route. You're sick, but in your mind this was the most perfect romance-manga.
The cute 20 year-old barista and a handsome guy, however you're not handsome. You're a nerd, a reject and a loser. A filthy slob with no real friends besides the 2D characters you admire so much. But it wouldn't matter in the end, right? Who need friends when you could have your very own Waifu?
You can't wait to dress me up as your favourite characters, forcing your cock down my throat while you play your silly videogames. The possibilities are endless. You'll have so much fun, never having to use that body pillow again. Sure, you think my tears are temporary. I'll get over it. You'll teach me my place, with whatever it takes.
Imagine your favourite characters put on a tight leash, forced to obey every single command, no matter how cruel or gross. You can use a hot iron to stamp your name on my back, decorate my curvy body in humiliating tattoos and pierce with some delicious piercings.
You had seen me a few times before, gently parading around the cafรฉ. It didn't take much to make you entirely obsessed with my cute smile, the gentle blush on my cheeks, decorated with those lovely freckles. My eyes sparkled, being highlighted by a beautiful, colourful liner, making a perfect set of wings. I'm a perfect, porcelain doll, waiting for someone to play with me, dress me up and brush my hair. Someone to mould my curvy body, like a true artist would.
Even though you've never really spoken to me you're already obsessed with that cute smile, the gentle blush on my cheeks, decorated with those lovely freckles. My eyes are sparkling, highlighted by the beautiful liner, making the perfect set of wings. I'm like a perfect, porcelain doll, waiting for someone to play with me, dress me up, brush my hair. Someone to mold my curvy body, like a true artist would.
You have an entire arsenal of fun costumes and wigs ready. You've been here countless times, never really ordering anything. Just watching from afar, carefully writing down my measures, sketching me in all sorts of lewd positions and costumes. Daydreaming about how sexy my "ahegao" face would look.
Last time you got even close enough to smell my hair, almond, with a touch of vanilla. It's all written in that little notebook of yours, from information like my favourite shampoo and my measurements, to my actual address and travel-route. You're sick, but in your mind this was the most perfect romance-manga.
The cute 20 year-old barista and a handsome guy, however you're not handsome. You're a nerd, a reject and a loser. A filthy slob with no real friends besides the 2D characters you admire so much. But it wouldn't matter in the end, right? Who need friends when you could have your very own Waifu?
You can't wait to dress me up as your favourite characters, forcing your cock down my throat while you play your silly videogames. The possibilities are endless. You'll have so much fun, never having to use that body pillow again. Sure, you think my tears are temporary. I'll get over it. You'll teach me my place, with whatever it takes.
Imagine your favourite characters put on a tight leash, forced to obey every single command, no matter how cruel or gross. You can use a hot iron to stamp your name on my back, decorate my curvy body in humiliating tattoos and pierce with some delicious piercings.
Bubbly party-girl forced to be a hooker
I absolutely love partying, festivals, concerts, raves. I'm all here for it. Obviously wearing my appropriate, skimpy clothes and having a makeup plastered face. I'm just a perfect looking doll, looking for a good time. Honestly, I love my parents, but they're just way too overprotective. Even in my twenties I still have to sneak out of the house, or come up with some elaborate ruse. This time, I'm at a "sleepover". Meanwhile I'm actually making my way downtown to some illegal rave. However, unfortunately for me the route is quite unfavourable, having to parade looking like this through the old district, which is heavily known for its rough nightlife, excessive tourism and most importantly; hookers. It's only natural that those gross, well-endowed tourist mistake me for a cheap skank.
It doesn't take too long before I'm being pushed up between the brick walls and their beer-belly's, having their gross tongue shoved down my throat as I squirm and struggle. A bunch of greasy hands creep up my top, groping my breast and twisting my nipples.
They smell and taste like alcohol, fast-food and cigarettes and their hands are getting impatient, pulling and tearing harder. I'm being humped from all kinds of directions, feeling their warmth against my body. It didn't take long to feel the first load drip down my soft, milky thighs. Between all the groping hands, I'm desperately trying to convince them that I'm not a hooker. But a few dollar-bills stuffed inside of my mouth quickly put an end to my pleading.
Things spiral out of control and before the height of the night is even reached, I'm crawling around, sobbing, on a leash. Being spit on -or even worse- as more and more people join in to make use of me. Even the homeless couldn't stay away. Before sunrise I have my nipples pierced and I'm wearing a trampstamp, forced to sell myself behind a window. Or even worse, left behind for the dogs, or dragged down into the sewers where the homeless reside.
I'm also willing to play this out in a festival setting. There's something very appealing to me getting raped in a portable toilet. Pick your poison.
I absolutely love partying, festivals, concerts, raves. I'm all here for it. Obviously wearing my appropriate, skimpy clothes and having a makeup plastered face. I'm just a perfect looking doll, looking for a good time. Honestly, I love my parents, but they're just way too overprotective. Even in my twenties I still have to sneak out of the house, or come up with some elaborate ruse. This time, I'm at a "sleepover". Meanwhile I'm actually making my way downtown to some illegal rave. However, unfortunately for me the route is quite unfavourable, having to parade looking like this through the old district, which is heavily known for its rough nightlife, excessive tourism and most importantly; hookers. It's only natural that those gross, well-endowed tourist mistake me for a cheap skank.
It doesn't take too long before I'm being pushed up between the brick walls and their beer-belly's, having their gross tongue shoved down my throat as I squirm and struggle. A bunch of greasy hands creep up my top, groping my breast and twisting my nipples.
They smell and taste like alcohol, fast-food and cigarettes and their hands are getting impatient, pulling and tearing harder. I'm being humped from all kinds of directions, feeling their warmth against my body. It didn't take long to feel the first load drip down my soft, milky thighs. Between all the groping hands, I'm desperately trying to convince them that I'm not a hooker. But a few dollar-bills stuffed inside of my mouth quickly put an end to my pleading.
Things spiral out of control and before the height of the night is even reached, I'm crawling around, sobbing, on a leash. Being spit on -or even worse- as more and more people join in to make use of me. Even the homeless couldn't stay away. Before sunrise I have my nipples pierced and I'm wearing a trampstamp, forced to sell myself behind a window. Or even worse, left behind for the dogs, or dragged down into the sewers where the homeless reside.
I'm also willing to play this out in a festival setting. There's something very appealing to me getting raped in a portable toilet. Pick your poison.
Bully bitch gets ruined by a bunch of filthy nerds
Look, university is ruthless, it's honestly survival of the fittest. You either eat or get eaten, there's nothing in between. Some rise to power, popularity, total domination while others stay low and pathetic, unable to resist against the endless torture of the higher ups. Most of the time it isn't even personal, but reputation is everything. It's a social construct that needs to be kept alive and if that means stealing your lunch money, humiliating you or worse, then so be it. But if I'm being truthful to myself, I have to admit that I enjoy every second of the torture I inflict upon others. Power is everything and I like to stay on top.
It wasn't hard for me to ascend the hierarchy of university. I had everything that I needed, a rich father, designer clothes, a disgusting attitude and I was smoking hot. Naturally I was the captain of the cheerleaders and the head of my sorority. People were begging to walk inside my shadow. I was feared more than I was loved, but to maintain that fear I had to show dominance and that's were my cruelty came to light.
Uni was filled with all sort of outcasts, but out of all the potential victims I targeted your pathetic friend group. It was just so disgustingly stupid how you all played this stupid board game, rolling these stupid dices, acting like total idiots. We're adults for Christ sake. Like you were not fucking disgusting already. Dungeons and whatever. God, even the name makes me sick. Naturally I was doing you idiots a favor by ripping those character sheets in half and throwing that board away. You filthy slobs should thank me. Though, it was not until later that I realized I perhaps overstepped. I never thought this little "accident" would lead to me cleaning your disgusting nerd-balls with my tongue, while getting my holes stuffed, dressed as a medieval princess, I even had to wear these ridiculous pointy ears. Rolling dices to see which hole you guys would abuse next, or which piercing or tattoo I'd get, while you were all dressed as your stupid characters.
Look, university is ruthless, it's honestly survival of the fittest. You either eat or get eaten, there's nothing in between. Some rise to power, popularity, total domination while others stay low and pathetic, unable to resist against the endless torture of the higher ups. Most of the time it isn't even personal, but reputation is everything. It's a social construct that needs to be kept alive and if that means stealing your lunch money, humiliating you or worse, then so be it. But if I'm being truthful to myself, I have to admit that I enjoy every second of the torture I inflict upon others. Power is everything and I like to stay on top.
It wasn't hard for me to ascend the hierarchy of university. I had everything that I needed, a rich father, designer clothes, a disgusting attitude and I was smoking hot. Naturally I was the captain of the cheerleaders and the head of my sorority. People were begging to walk inside my shadow. I was feared more than I was loved, but to maintain that fear I had to show dominance and that's were my cruelty came to light.
Uni was filled with all sort of outcasts, but out of all the potential victims I targeted your pathetic friend group. It was just so disgustingly stupid how you all played this stupid board game, rolling these stupid dices, acting like total idiots. We're adults for Christ sake. Like you were not fucking disgusting already. Dungeons and whatever. God, even the name makes me sick. Naturally I was doing you idiots a favor by ripping those character sheets in half and throwing that board away. You filthy slobs should thank me. Though, it was not until later that I realized I perhaps overstepped. I never thought this little "accident" would lead to me cleaning your disgusting nerd-balls with my tongue, while getting my holes stuffed, dressed as a medieval princess, I even had to wear these ridiculous pointy ears. Rolling dices to see which hole you guys would abuse next, or which piercing or tattoo I'd get, while you were all dressed as your stupid characters.
Stealing student turned into elderly home's fucktoy
I'm just a hard working student trying to earn some money, nothing wrong with that. Right? It's just that this nursing job hasn't been the most profitable way to do so. Sure nursing the elderly, taking care of them has social value, giving back to the community and all that, but I rather want some some cold cash to spend.
Though, lately I started realizing the perks of working in a nursing home. These people, old and fragile are not the fastest anymore, both physically and mentally. So let's say, I'm changing the bedsheets and I happen to stumble upon a wallet, it wouldn't hurt to take out a few papers, right? Don't get me wrong, I'm totally against stealing! But come on, it's not like they'll be buying a new phone anytime soon.
So you know, I did exactly that. Once or twice... a day. Well, don't hate me yet! College is expensive, besides I'm getting paid way too less for all the work I do here. These people adore me, like I'm their cute, giggly grandchild who never visits. It's honestly quite sad, but I can't be bothered. To be completely honest, I do not care one single bit. Call me whatever you want, I just call it business. I'm just a girl, trying to survive in this cruel world. You can't judge me for that. I'm like Robin Hood, but instead I just keep the money.
Things were going great, I got to buy myself some new things. Nobody suspected a thing, at least that's what I thought, until one of the residents pulled out some footage. That sneaky bastard had a hidden camera installed, even before I started pickpocketing. That pervert was spying on me for a while now. And now, he has everything he needs to blackmail me.
I bet he feels like Hugh Hefner, forcing me to wear this bunny suit under my work clothes. God, he makes me want to vomit. He's probably waiting on me as we speak. Better hope he likes the color and the ears. I should've just taken another job.
In this story I play as an 20 year-old, college student, short on money. To earn some extras I work in a nursing home, though it doesn't pay much at all, until I realized how easy it is to manipulate and steal from the elderly. Things are going smooth until I finally get caught. Things go from bad to worse as I'm being blackmailed, being forced to serve as a bunny girl, attending to his every desire. From little stripteases, to sloppy kisses, blowjobs and rough fuckings. I'm getting slapped around, being totally abused by someone almost four times my age.
It's getting out of hand. Now I have my nipples pierced, his name tattooed on my ass and I'm getting passed around among his friends in the nursing home. It doesn't take long before I'm being forced into being the public slut, crawling around the hallways in my bunny suit. Though, I have to admit, besides the constant abuse, getting those bills pushed between my tits isn't all that bad.
I'm just a hard working student trying to earn some money, nothing wrong with that. Right? It's just that this nursing job hasn't been the most profitable way to do so. Sure nursing the elderly, taking care of them has social value, giving back to the community and all that, but I rather want some some cold cash to spend.
Though, lately I started realizing the perks of working in a nursing home. These people, old and fragile are not the fastest anymore, both physically and mentally. So let's say, I'm changing the bedsheets and I happen to stumble upon a wallet, it wouldn't hurt to take out a few papers, right? Don't get me wrong, I'm totally against stealing! But come on, it's not like they'll be buying a new phone anytime soon.
So you know, I did exactly that. Once or twice... a day. Well, don't hate me yet! College is expensive, besides I'm getting paid way too less for all the work I do here. These people adore me, like I'm their cute, giggly grandchild who never visits. It's honestly quite sad, but I can't be bothered. To be completely honest, I do not care one single bit. Call me whatever you want, I just call it business. I'm just a girl, trying to survive in this cruel world. You can't judge me for that. I'm like Robin Hood, but instead I just keep the money.
Things were going great, I got to buy myself some new things. Nobody suspected a thing, at least that's what I thought, until one of the residents pulled out some footage. That sneaky bastard had a hidden camera installed, even before I started pickpocketing. That pervert was spying on me for a while now. And now, he has everything he needs to blackmail me.
I bet he feels like Hugh Hefner, forcing me to wear this bunny suit under my work clothes. God, he makes me want to vomit. He's probably waiting on me as we speak. Better hope he likes the color and the ears. I should've just taken another job.
In this story I play as an 20 year-old, college student, short on money. To earn some extras I work in a nursing home, though it doesn't pay much at all, until I realized how easy it is to manipulate and steal from the elderly. Things are going smooth until I finally get caught. Things go from bad to worse as I'm being blackmailed, being forced to serve as a bunny girl, attending to his every desire. From little stripteases, to sloppy kisses, blowjobs and rough fuckings. I'm getting slapped around, being totally abused by someone almost four times my age.
It's getting out of hand. Now I have my nipples pierced, his name tattooed on my ass and I'm getting passed around among his friends in the nursing home. It doesn't take long before I'm being forced into being the public slut, crawling around the hallways in my bunny suit. Though, I have to admit, besides the constant abuse, getting those bills pushed between my tits isn't all that bad.
Giving the cute cop purpose and getting rewarded by getting your balls licked
We really shouldn't meet like this. It's horrible and it brings great shame to what I stand for. As a police officer, I swore to protect the city from the likes of you. Taking an oath to serve. But not like this.
I'm not sure how our twisted relationship started, but I've been visiting you for months now in between my shifts. I don't want to, but you leave me no choice. You always find a way to make me come back crawling.
Usually you just drag another victim back into your gross alleyway, beating them. Until someone makes a report. Knowing this area falls under my patrol, you've been summoning me with crime.
I'm sickened each time I get the notification of your wrongdoings. Arriving at your alley, as I watch the beat-up victim emerge from the shadows, begging me to help. Each time I assure them I'll take care of this, sending them home covered in bruises. Before dropping down to my knees and crawling through the filth, deeper into your disgusting alley. Where you've been waiting for me. Your greasy balls out, ready to be licked clean by me.
Usually it was just you, but sometimes you brought your gross, homeless friends along too. Excitingly telling them about the cop that'll lick them all clean as a reward for hurting her citizens. Making sure she gets the satisfaction of being the hero.
We really shouldn't meet like this. It's horrible and it brings great shame to what I stand for. As a police officer, I swore to protect the city from the likes of you. Taking an oath to serve. But not like this.
I'm not sure how our twisted relationship started, but I've been visiting you for months now in between my shifts. I don't want to, but you leave me no choice. You always find a way to make me come back crawling.
Usually you just drag another victim back into your gross alleyway, beating them. Until someone makes a report. Knowing this area falls under my patrol, you've been summoning me with crime.
I'm sickened each time I get the notification of your wrongdoings. Arriving at your alley, as I watch the beat-up victim emerge from the shadows, begging me to help. Each time I assure them I'll take care of this, sending them home covered in bruises. Before dropping down to my knees and crawling through the filth, deeper into your disgusting alley. Where you've been waiting for me. Your greasy balls out, ready to be licked clean by me.
Usually it was just you, but sometimes you brought your gross, homeless friends along too. Excitingly telling them about the cop that'll lick them all clean as a reward for hurting her citizens. Making sure she gets the satisfaction of being the hero.
Halloween themed plot for thrill-seeking perverts
Halloween is a socially accepted and legitimate event where women can dress extraordinary slutty. This is definitely an element that I'd like to include. Other than being dressed like a total whore, I find the idea of trick or treating an interesting concept. Ringing the doors of strangers, asking for candy. What if there's malicious attempt, and that promised candy is hidden somewhere in the basement, of the creepy neighbor? Obviously, I'd be too old to go out and ring doorbells, but I can imagine walking along as a nanny? Again, we'd have to workshop.
An other fun idea would be something along the lines of a haunted house? Perhaps one of the actors, a creepy clown, is getting a little too physical, dragging me away. Ruining me backstage and leaving my broken body tied to a chair, abused and battered. Completely making me blend in with the haunted-house, receiving compliments and praising from thrill-seekers for my convincing 'acting'.
I'm also happy to go down a more supernatural route, e.g. spiders, hellhounds, ghouls and more.
Let me know if you'd like to brainstorm with me!
Halloween is a socially accepted and legitimate event where women can dress extraordinary slutty. This is definitely an element that I'd like to include. Other than being dressed like a total whore, I find the idea of trick or treating an interesting concept. Ringing the doors of strangers, asking for candy. What if there's malicious attempt, and that promised candy is hidden somewhere in the basement, of the creepy neighbor? Obviously, I'd be too old to go out and ring doorbells, but I can imagine walking along as a nanny? Again, we'd have to workshop.
An other fun idea would be something along the lines of a haunted house? Perhaps one of the actors, a creepy clown, is getting a little too physical, dragging me away. Ruining me backstage and leaving my broken body tied to a chair, abused and battered. Completely making me blend in with the haunted-house, receiving compliments and praising from thrill-seekers for my convincing 'acting'.
I'm also happy to go down a more supernatural route, e.g. spiders, hellhounds, ghouls and more.
Let me know if you'd like to brainstorm with me!
Better call Jessica: attorney at law and the cartel's professional ball-cleaner
I still remember very clearly how I anxiously observed the mailbox on a daily basis, waiting for that one letter I had been working my entire life towards. So when I finally noticed the mailman pull up, my heart pounded in my chest. Mom was already recording and dad went to bring out the cake, which was either going to be for a celebration or to console.
With shivering hands I worked the letter opener through the sturdy paper, before fishing out the documents. Skipping the formalities I focused on what mattered the most: "Congratulations, your Uniform Bar Examination (UBE) score meets the requirement for administration." Needless to say, we ate the cake in celebration.
My career as a defense lawyer skyrocketed, being hired by praised firms across the state. A young, powerful and independent woman, breaking gender-roles. Unfortunately, it only took one bad apple to throw me down a vicious spiral, destroying everything I've worked towards in a matter of months.
How could've I known that my representative was part of the cartel, it wasn't my fault. If I did I would've never agreed to being his attorney. All I did was help him get his sentence lowered, I never agreed to being the cartels legal advisor. So when I kindly tried to explain my resignation, I was hoping on a mutual understanding.
Little did I know that once you're a part of the cartel, you can never escape. I often wish I'd never received that letter, that I'd given up on my dream. Instead here I am, chained to some truckstop toilet in the middle of nowhere, cartel territory. Forced to clean sweaty, musty balls with my mouth. Slobbering all over those sacks, using my tongue to cover them in a thick layer of drool, before working on the rest of the body. After a thorough cleanup, I was forced to give legal council, continuing my job as the cartel's lawyer. However, this time each session ended with a beating and a hard fuck. Making sure I'd never forget my place as a ball-cleaner, property of the cartel.
I still remember very clearly how I anxiously observed the mailbox on a daily basis, waiting for that one letter I had been working my entire life towards. So when I finally noticed the mailman pull up, my heart pounded in my chest. Mom was already recording and dad went to bring out the cake, which was either going to be for a celebration or to console.
With shivering hands I worked the letter opener through the sturdy paper, before fishing out the documents. Skipping the formalities I focused on what mattered the most: "Congratulations, your Uniform Bar Examination (UBE) score meets the requirement for administration." Needless to say, we ate the cake in celebration.
My career as a defense lawyer skyrocketed, being hired by praised firms across the state. A young, powerful and independent woman, breaking gender-roles. Unfortunately, it only took one bad apple to throw me down a vicious spiral, destroying everything I've worked towards in a matter of months.
How could've I known that my representative was part of the cartel, it wasn't my fault. If I did I would've never agreed to being his attorney. All I did was help him get his sentence lowered, I never agreed to being the cartels legal advisor. So when I kindly tried to explain my resignation, I was hoping on a mutual understanding.
Little did I know that once you're a part of the cartel, you can never escape. I often wish I'd never received that letter, that I'd given up on my dream. Instead here I am, chained to some truckstop toilet in the middle of nowhere, cartel territory. Forced to clean sweaty, musty balls with my mouth. Slobbering all over those sacks, using my tongue to cover them in a thick layer of drool, before working on the rest of the body. After a thorough cleanup, I was forced to give legal council, continuing my job as the cartel's lawyer. However, this time each session ended with a beating and a hard fuck. Making sure I'd never forget my place as a ball-cleaner, property of the cartel.
โฅ ๐๐๐๐๐ค ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ฅ๐ค
๐กegarding to kinks I am open for a whole lot. I am pretty openminded and not judgemental. Feel free to bring up any kink, and I will gladly tell you if I am willing to incorporate it. I have a kinklist, so you can get a general idea of what I like and dislike. Again, feel free to ask!
โ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ช๐ ๐ฆ
๐ฃhank you for taking the time to read through my prompt, I appreciate it. I hope I was able to convince you into snapping a collar around my neck. So if you are looking for a roleplay, don't hesitate to send me a message.
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