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dOneHundred
Meteorite
- Joined
- May 29, 2024
Hello there,
Rather than provide a panoply of plot lines for my potential partners to select from, I'm going to pitch a single story, and outline a number of dynamics within that context that I'm interested in exploring.
I only have a single rule when I write with people, and that's to be kind. We're all here to blow off some steam, and I don't treat this as anything other than a fun hobby. I respond quickly, rarely taking longer than a day to reply, and I write between 300 and 600 words per message.
Elevator Pitch: Your husband, a highly paid engineer for a defense corporation, has been selling technological secrets to an unfriendly country. He's recently drowned in a boating accident, and you've been subpoenaed by an intelligence agency (CIA, MI5, what have you) to account for his movements in the days leading up to his death. The manner in which you are encouraged to share this information vary, as will be outlined below…
In all of these dynamics I would be playing an operative for the intelligence agency. Your character can either be a civilian who is trying to make sense of what's just happened, or an enemy agent who perhaps was the true guiding force behind your husband's actions. (n.b. the writing samples I provide below are in first person, but I'm entirely comfortable with third person.)
Dynamic 1, The Safehouse
You are escorted to a remote location, a house in the remote wilderness where you will be held until your life is no longer in danger. I will play your handler, whose responsibility it is to keep you safe, while also being tasked, unbeknownst to you, with discovering just how much you know about your ex-husband's actions. Possible dynamics could be the beginnings of a twisted, domestic life, exploring Stockholm Syndrome, or tender healing of trauma. If you would like to play an enemy Agent, then we could of course incorporate an escape sequence, which could develop into my third dynamic…
Dynamic 2, Enhanced Interrogation
You are escorted to an undisclosed location, where you are brought to an interrogation cell. This plot line is highly malleable according to the kinks you would like to explore. Enhanced interrogation techniques can consist of pleasure or pain. It could range from intense torture, to mind control/dub-con made possible by aerosolized pheromones introduced to the room through ventilation. We can arrange for how much your character knows/is willing to divulge beforehand, and go from there. I envision this as a smut-heavier option amongst my dynamics, but I'm open to adaptation and adjustment according to how you would like the story to progress.
Dynamic 3, Tête-à-Tête
I envisage this as a storyline involving two enemy agents, although if you would prefer a more free-wheeling, globe-trotting adventure, I don't see any reason why you could not play a civillian who is merely distrustful of the intelligence aparatus and fleeing to avoid being interrogated. When my character arrives to bring your character along for questioning, he discovers her gone. This sets off a chase around the globe, with our characters meeting in third countries, sometimes confronting each other, only to separate and begin the chase anew. One day you have the upper hand, the next day I do, and as we continue our dance we begin to feel something other than a professional admiration/animosity blossoming between us. Two spies on opposite sides, united in mutual attraction.
I roleplay here through private messages, but you can also contact me at donehundred on Discord. Please reach out if you're interested.
Rather than provide a panoply of plot lines for my potential partners to select from, I'm going to pitch a single story, and outline a number of dynamics within that context that I'm interested in exploring.
I only have a single rule when I write with people, and that's to be kind. We're all here to blow off some steam, and I don't treat this as anything other than a fun hobby. I respond quickly, rarely taking longer than a day to reply, and I write between 300 and 600 words per message.
Elevator Pitch: Your husband, a highly paid engineer for a defense corporation, has been selling technological secrets to an unfriendly country. He's recently drowned in a boating accident, and you've been subpoenaed by an intelligence agency (CIA, MI5, what have you) to account for his movements in the days leading up to his death. The manner in which you are encouraged to share this information vary, as will be outlined below…
In all of these dynamics I would be playing an operative for the intelligence agency. Your character can either be a civilian who is trying to make sense of what's just happened, or an enemy agent who perhaps was the true guiding force behind your husband's actions. (n.b. the writing samples I provide below are in first person, but I'm entirely comfortable with third person.)
Dynamic 1, The Safehouse
You are escorted to a remote location, a house in the remote wilderness where you will be held until your life is no longer in danger. I will play your handler, whose responsibility it is to keep you safe, while also being tasked, unbeknownst to you, with discovering just how much you know about your ex-husband's actions. Possible dynamics could be the beginnings of a twisted, domestic life, exploring Stockholm Syndrome, or tender healing of trauma. If you would like to play an enemy Agent, then we could of course incorporate an escape sequence, which could develop into my third dynamic…
It's only until we can be certain of your safety," I reassure you as I pull the black sedan into the driveway, the gravel crunching under the bulletproof tires, "a week at most." I know the promise is bullshit, but I'm following the script. I step out of the car and cross in front of the hood to open your door. The passenger side doesn't open from the inside.
The house is a single-floor, low slung and incorporated into the hillside it was built into. You may not notice it if you're not an agent, but it's essentially invisible from satellite, buried under a canopy of trees. However, it's open to sunlight from the east to the west, so that natural light fills the amply-windowed interior for most of the day.
I lead the way up to the front door, following a tidily maintained path, my ear careful to listen that your step does not depart from just behind me. I am in all senses performing a relaxedness that my training does not permit me to indulge in for one second.
Inside the place has the appearance of a fully used vacation home, as if the inhabitants had just stepped out for a dinner in the town. The cupboards are filled with food, dishes in the dish rack gleaming as if they have just been cleaned, which I know they have been. This is where we will get to know one another for the next few weeks, or months, or years. However long it takes.
And then, later…
There are of course guidelines against this sort of thing, but your words from last evening echo in my head. If that's what you want, I'm not sure I'd be able to say no. It wasn't an invitation exactly, but remembering the night you'd opened the door to my bedroom, asking me to check on a noise you'd heard outside… You had forgotten to put on any pants that time either, and I'd spent the night on the floor of your room, with a pillow and single blanket. You'd kept making sure that I was still there, protecting you. And before you'd fallen asleep, I was certain that you'd been touching yourself.
Lying on the ground with a stiff erection while I heard you rustle the sheets, and your breathing change in the stillness of the room, the moonlight through the naked branches shifting.
You'd started to do the dishes lately, claiming that you needed something to do around here. Something to make yourself feel useful. I thought that you might've liked the idea of playing at domesticity. But there was one thing lacking in the picture of our domesticity, something at the core of every household. Something that would be filled in tonight.
I could hear the running water coming from the kitchen, and the sound of your scrubbing the remnants of food off the plates before placing them in the dishwasher. The memory of last night wouldn't stop running through my mind, and I'd stiffened again.
Fuck the guidelines. You'd asked for a change in wardrobe, claiming the clothes that had been provided for you didn't fit your current mood. When I walk into the kitchen I'm greeted by the sight of your ass in a tight, form fitting skirt. A departure from the conservative dresses and jeans that had been laid in by the CIA for your stay here. I know that the skirt is for my benefit, and my erection throbs in appreciation. Throwing caution to the wind, I approach behind you and encircle your waist with my hands, pulling you lightly away from the countertop while I press my hardened cock, buried as it is in my slacks, against the giving roundness of your ass, whispering in your ear…
The house is a single-floor, low slung and incorporated into the hillside it was built into. You may not notice it if you're not an agent, but it's essentially invisible from satellite, buried under a canopy of trees. However, it's open to sunlight from the east to the west, so that natural light fills the amply-windowed interior for most of the day.
I lead the way up to the front door, following a tidily maintained path, my ear careful to listen that your step does not depart from just behind me. I am in all senses performing a relaxedness that my training does not permit me to indulge in for one second.
Inside the place has the appearance of a fully used vacation home, as if the inhabitants had just stepped out for a dinner in the town. The cupboards are filled with food, dishes in the dish rack gleaming as if they have just been cleaned, which I know they have been. This is where we will get to know one another for the next few weeks, or months, or years. However long it takes.
And then, later…
There are of course guidelines against this sort of thing, but your words from last evening echo in my head. If that's what you want, I'm not sure I'd be able to say no. It wasn't an invitation exactly, but remembering the night you'd opened the door to my bedroom, asking me to check on a noise you'd heard outside… You had forgotten to put on any pants that time either, and I'd spent the night on the floor of your room, with a pillow and single blanket. You'd kept making sure that I was still there, protecting you. And before you'd fallen asleep, I was certain that you'd been touching yourself.
Lying on the ground with a stiff erection while I heard you rustle the sheets, and your breathing change in the stillness of the room, the moonlight through the naked branches shifting.
You'd started to do the dishes lately, claiming that you needed something to do around here. Something to make yourself feel useful. I thought that you might've liked the idea of playing at domesticity. But there was one thing lacking in the picture of our domesticity, something at the core of every household. Something that would be filled in tonight.
I could hear the running water coming from the kitchen, and the sound of your scrubbing the remnants of food off the plates before placing them in the dishwasher. The memory of last night wouldn't stop running through my mind, and I'd stiffened again.
Fuck the guidelines. You'd asked for a change in wardrobe, claiming the clothes that had been provided for you didn't fit your current mood. When I walk into the kitchen I'm greeted by the sight of your ass in a tight, form fitting skirt. A departure from the conservative dresses and jeans that had been laid in by the CIA for your stay here. I know that the skirt is for my benefit, and my erection throbs in appreciation. Throwing caution to the wind, I approach behind you and encircle your waist with my hands, pulling you lightly away from the countertop while I press my hardened cock, buried as it is in my slacks, against the giving roundness of your ass, whispering in your ear…
Dynamic 2, Enhanced Interrogation
You are escorted to an undisclosed location, where you are brought to an interrogation cell. This plot line is highly malleable according to the kinks you would like to explore. Enhanced interrogation techniques can consist of pleasure or pain. It could range from intense torture, to mind control/dub-con made possible by aerosolized pheromones introduced to the room through ventilation. We can arrange for how much your character knows/is willing to divulge beforehand, and go from there. I envision this as a smut-heavier option amongst my dynamics, but I'm open to adaptation and adjustment according to how you would like the story to progress.
There is a facsimile of a window in the small gray room you are brought to, a plastic, opaque sheet that shines with illumination. It appears to be sunlight, but I know that it's only a powerful UV bulb. There's a table molded from a single piece of steel in the center of the room and two matching chairs. A metal eye loop extends from the surface of the table for running the links of handcuffs through, although you are as of yet still unchained, and free to take a seat without restriction. For how long that will remain the case is to be seen.
"I'm sorry to inconvenience you, Mrs. Smythe, but this will only take a short while. We just need to get some facts straight before we can continue with your investigation. I'd like to apologize again for pulling you in so soon after the fact."
I search your face for traces of remorse, sadness, anger… Any number of emotions that would be appropriate in the current situation, but all I can read is a blank slate. That alarms me more than anything else would have, but I keep my demeanor empty.
"If you wouldn't mind answering a few questions for us…"
And then, later…
There is no window in this room, not even a fake one. It's been a week since you've been brought here, and so far whatever conditioning you'd received at your previous agency has held strong. You'd not broken, and we'd had to resort to experimental measures. Your psychological profile indicated that you may be susceptible to this form of interrogation. A sustained erotic treatment, coupled with a male partner, and more forced pheromones introduced through the air. We'd started the dosage low, while you slept, the powerful drug in low dosages seeping into the room through the air filter, settling low to the ground where you slept. Your room was equipped with a multitude of sensors, and I could watch as your body heat steadily increased as you became aroused in your sleep. Your body had been a steady yellow and orange, uniform with expected heat distribution of a human being at rest. As your REM sleep lessened I twisted a gray plastic knob, and the concentration of the drug in the air increased twofold as you approached wakefulness. The heart rate monitor that you were forced to wear registered a sudden spike, and I watched on the monitor as the area around your genitals flushed red, indicating a rapidly increased blood flow. I activated the intercom and summoned two orderlies to move you to the interrogated chamber, and watched as they woke you.
I had my own physical reaction to watching you, my cock stiffening and trying to stand up inside of my pants. It was only natural, watching a woman deeply in heat. As the two women woke you, I could see your nipples taught against the fabric of your provided clothes. They bound your arms and legs and helped you to shuffle to the interrogation room.
When I arrived they glanced at my face and then exited the room, leaving you shackled to the table in front of me. The fabric of the prisoner's garb was thin, and you were not provided with undergarments. I could see from my vantage point a line of wetness had already formed in the crotch of your pants, and your breathing was only now beginning to settle.
"Good morning, did you have a good dream?" I couldn't help but allow hint of mockery into the tone of my voice, as you turned your lust-dulled gaze to me. There was a tint of disdain below it, and I knew that the effects of the drug were probably being counteracted by the jolt of adrenaline you'd receive from seeing my face again, after how I'd treated you last time.
To prevent you from rising to awareness again, I crossed to your head and slipped an oxygen mask over your mouth, affixing it carefully to ensure a seal, then I increased the dosage and began the flow again.
"Today we're going to have another conversation. But first, an exercise…"
"I'm sorry to inconvenience you, Mrs. Smythe, but this will only take a short while. We just need to get some facts straight before we can continue with your investigation. I'd like to apologize again for pulling you in so soon after the fact."
I search your face for traces of remorse, sadness, anger… Any number of emotions that would be appropriate in the current situation, but all I can read is a blank slate. That alarms me more than anything else would have, but I keep my demeanor empty.
"If you wouldn't mind answering a few questions for us…"
And then, later…
There is no window in this room, not even a fake one. It's been a week since you've been brought here, and so far whatever conditioning you'd received at your previous agency has held strong. You'd not broken, and we'd had to resort to experimental measures. Your psychological profile indicated that you may be susceptible to this form of interrogation. A sustained erotic treatment, coupled with a male partner, and more forced pheromones introduced through the air. We'd started the dosage low, while you slept, the powerful drug in low dosages seeping into the room through the air filter, settling low to the ground where you slept. Your room was equipped with a multitude of sensors, and I could watch as your body heat steadily increased as you became aroused in your sleep. Your body had been a steady yellow and orange, uniform with expected heat distribution of a human being at rest. As your REM sleep lessened I twisted a gray plastic knob, and the concentration of the drug in the air increased twofold as you approached wakefulness. The heart rate monitor that you were forced to wear registered a sudden spike, and I watched on the monitor as the area around your genitals flushed red, indicating a rapidly increased blood flow. I activated the intercom and summoned two orderlies to move you to the interrogated chamber, and watched as they woke you.
I had my own physical reaction to watching you, my cock stiffening and trying to stand up inside of my pants. It was only natural, watching a woman deeply in heat. As the two women woke you, I could see your nipples taught against the fabric of your provided clothes. They bound your arms and legs and helped you to shuffle to the interrogation room.
When I arrived they glanced at my face and then exited the room, leaving you shackled to the table in front of me. The fabric of the prisoner's garb was thin, and you were not provided with undergarments. I could see from my vantage point a line of wetness had already formed in the crotch of your pants, and your breathing was only now beginning to settle.
"Good morning, did you have a good dream?" I couldn't help but allow hint of mockery into the tone of my voice, as you turned your lust-dulled gaze to me. There was a tint of disdain below it, and I knew that the effects of the drug were probably being counteracted by the jolt of adrenaline you'd receive from seeing my face again, after how I'd treated you last time.
To prevent you from rising to awareness again, I crossed to your head and slipped an oxygen mask over your mouth, affixing it carefully to ensure a seal, then I increased the dosage and began the flow again.
"Today we're going to have another conversation. But first, an exercise…"
Dynamic 3, Tête-à-Tête
I envisage this as a storyline involving two enemy agents, although if you would prefer a more free-wheeling, globe-trotting adventure, I don't see any reason why you could not play a civillian who is merely distrustful of the intelligence aparatus and fleeing to avoid being interrogated. When my character arrives to bring your character along for questioning, he discovers her gone. This sets off a chase around the globe, with our characters meeting in third countries, sometimes confronting each other, only to separate and begin the chase anew. One day you have the upper hand, the next day I do, and as we continue our dance we begin to feel something other than a professional admiration/animosity blossoming between us. Two spies on opposite sides, united in mutual attraction.
Mallorca. I hadn't been here since I was in college. It was a surreal experience, visiting again on these terms, but I had to admit, you could do a lot worse in terms of locale for going to ground. We had footage of you in the airport deplaning here, and were certain none of your aliases had got off island via commercial airline. That left boat or private airfield, both of which were being heavily surveilled. Hell, we'd managed to requisition a spy satellite that'd been floating over Iran for the last fifteen years just to watch this little island, just for you. I had no idea how they'd managed to swing that with the DOD, but then again, perhaps I wasn't party to the entirety of your dossier.
Something about this mission was making me feel like you may have more to do than just with what happened to your husband.
I took another swig of Scotch, watching the tourists in their families walk down towards the beach. It sure would help if I could get a clearance boost to know exactly who it was I was trailing around the planet, but the Agency works in mysterious ways. I'd have to just eat my shit sandwich and keep my mouth closed. Not that it changed the objective any. Recover the asset. That's probably how Daniels saw it anyway. The more I knew the more a liability I was in the field. If any part of your backstory became relevant to my mission, they'd let me know. I had to have faith in that. The day was just beginning, the light clouds burning off, and I had to stop drinking. Jet lag had my body messed up in more ways than one. I cleared my throat, left Euros on the bar, and donning my hat, dropped into my rental car to make my way towards Donetsk Airfield.
And then, later…
Something was blown. I knew you had the fifteen round mag from my dead drop. At least I thought I knew. You were up to eleven shots, which meant it wasn't the ten round. How you'd found the P320 in the Spanish bunker that'd been placed for me… I had my suspicions, but they all involved you having access to my direct line to the handler, and I wasn't ready to allow that yet… Well, one way to find out…
I peeked over the crumbling wall of the WWII bunker, and just as I had a sight of you crouched down near the waterline, I ducked my head down again as the muffled shots of the silenced pistol cracked across the sand, fresh holes blown into the concrete wall behind me, showering me with old concrete dust and falling plaster.
That was four rounds, right? You must know I was out. I peeked my head over again, and there you were, striding confidently directly towards me. I looked down at my leg. The small hole where you'd caught me was leaking blood at an extraordinary rate, and I knew you'd nicked an artery. Well, worse visions to have at the end of one's life. I struggled over the top of the wall and raised my hands to show you I was unarmed. You still wore the one-piece from the yacht, like a girl out on a pleasant vacation, your hair plastered to the side of your face with salt water, the silenced pistol held in your hand, barrel pointed at the sand. I barely had time to appreciate your curves before you were standing almost on top of me.
"Out of bullets?" I asked, half-hopeful.
"We need to stop the bleeding." You said, casting the emptied gun into the sand and kneeling over my thigh. You looked around for something to use as a rope, then reached down and unbuckled my belt, ripping it through the belt loops with alacrity.
"Take off your pants."
I had visions of you torturing me. Why were you saving my life? You must need something from me. Nonetheless, I preferred it to dying, so I followed your orders, grimacing as I pulled them off entirely with my underwear, the hole in my leg gushing fresh red blood over my naked thigh. My penis was small and curled up as I raised my eyes to the sky and sucked in my breath as a fresh wave of pain washed over me and I fought the urge to throw up. I could feel you working methodically as you wrapped the belt around the top of my thigh and I gasped as you twisted it around a stick to restrict the bloodflow to the entire leg. It was incredibly painful, as if my entire leg was caught in a massive vice. It was even starting to go numb, but the river of blood had at least slowed to a trickle. I was feeling light headed already.
"A helicopter is on its way," you informed me.
I was certainly not looking forward to what was going to happen to me after that…
Something about this mission was making me feel like you may have more to do than just with what happened to your husband.
I took another swig of Scotch, watching the tourists in their families walk down towards the beach. It sure would help if I could get a clearance boost to know exactly who it was I was trailing around the planet, but the Agency works in mysterious ways. I'd have to just eat my shit sandwich and keep my mouth closed. Not that it changed the objective any. Recover the asset. That's probably how Daniels saw it anyway. The more I knew the more a liability I was in the field. If any part of your backstory became relevant to my mission, they'd let me know. I had to have faith in that. The day was just beginning, the light clouds burning off, and I had to stop drinking. Jet lag had my body messed up in more ways than one. I cleared my throat, left Euros on the bar, and donning my hat, dropped into my rental car to make my way towards Donetsk Airfield.
And then, later…
Something was blown. I knew you had the fifteen round mag from my dead drop. At least I thought I knew. You were up to eleven shots, which meant it wasn't the ten round. How you'd found the P320 in the Spanish bunker that'd been placed for me… I had my suspicions, but they all involved you having access to my direct line to the handler, and I wasn't ready to allow that yet… Well, one way to find out…
I peeked over the crumbling wall of the WWII bunker, and just as I had a sight of you crouched down near the waterline, I ducked my head down again as the muffled shots of the silenced pistol cracked across the sand, fresh holes blown into the concrete wall behind me, showering me with old concrete dust and falling plaster.
That was four rounds, right? You must know I was out. I peeked my head over again, and there you were, striding confidently directly towards me. I looked down at my leg. The small hole where you'd caught me was leaking blood at an extraordinary rate, and I knew you'd nicked an artery. Well, worse visions to have at the end of one's life. I struggled over the top of the wall and raised my hands to show you I was unarmed. You still wore the one-piece from the yacht, like a girl out on a pleasant vacation, your hair plastered to the side of your face with salt water, the silenced pistol held in your hand, barrel pointed at the sand. I barely had time to appreciate your curves before you were standing almost on top of me.
"Out of bullets?" I asked, half-hopeful.
"We need to stop the bleeding." You said, casting the emptied gun into the sand and kneeling over my thigh. You looked around for something to use as a rope, then reached down and unbuckled my belt, ripping it through the belt loops with alacrity.
"Take off your pants."
I had visions of you torturing me. Why were you saving my life? You must need something from me. Nonetheless, I preferred it to dying, so I followed your orders, grimacing as I pulled them off entirely with my underwear, the hole in my leg gushing fresh red blood over my naked thigh. My penis was small and curled up as I raised my eyes to the sky and sucked in my breath as a fresh wave of pain washed over me and I fought the urge to throw up. I could feel you working methodically as you wrapped the belt around the top of my thigh and I gasped as you twisted it around a stick to restrict the bloodflow to the entire leg. It was incredibly painful, as if my entire leg was caught in a massive vice. It was even starting to go numb, but the river of blood had at least slowed to a trickle. I was feeling light headed already.
"A helicopter is on its way," you informed me.
I was certainly not looking forward to what was going to happen to me after that…
I roleplay here through private messages, but you can also contact me at donehundred on Discord. Please reach out if you're interested.
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