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Thunker
Meteorite
- Joined
- Jul 18, 2024
I'm Jean, American, so pronounce it like denim, not Les Mis. In my early 30's and looking for a slow-paced one-on-one roleplay. As a cis man, I'm primarily interested in playing the male role against female characters. I tend to write straightforward, traditional characters. If you're aroused by male disciplinarians spanking misbehaving subordinates, then you should send me a message, because I guarantee we'll get along well.
I write in 3rd person, past-tense. A bit of OOC chat is fine, as far as plotting and discussing the story is concerned, but I'm not my characters, and my private life is private. I usually write between 300 and 600 words a post, and enjoy the back-and-forth that collaborative roleplay enables, so prefer to avoid giant exposition dumps. I only RP on Blue Moon, through private messages, and usually keep one chat for the story, and one chat for OOC organizing/discussion.
I'm genre agnostic, and open to Fantasy, Sci-Fi, or Modern stories. Below are a variety of dynamics that I'm interested in writing. At the very bottom of the post you'll find a NSFW writing sample. If any of this catches your interest, drop me a line. Or even if it doesn't, feel free to check my interest in an idea of yours that I haven't covered, I'm always open to new pitches. Hope to hear from you.
I write in 3rd person, past-tense. A bit of OOC chat is fine, as far as plotting and discussing the story is concerned, but I'm not my characters, and my private life is private. I usually write between 300 and 600 words a post, and enjoy the back-and-forth that collaborative roleplay enables, so prefer to avoid giant exposition dumps. I only RP on Blue Moon, through private messages, and usually keep one chat for the story, and one chat for OOC organizing/discussion.
I'm genre agnostic, and open to Fantasy, Sci-Fi, or Modern stories. Below are a variety of dynamics that I'm interested in writing. At the very bottom of the post you'll find a NSFW writing sample. If any of this catches your interest, drop me a line. Or even if it doesn't, feel free to check my interest in an idea of yours that I haven't covered, I'm always open to new pitches. Hope to hear from you.
Our female character is behind on her final projects, and practically living out of the library. As an undergrad, she doesn't have access to the privileges that grad students and professors enjoy, but she can't study in her apartment, due to roommates who are anything but studious. Our male character works at the library, perhaps as a part-time job while he finished his own studies. She has to beg him to make arrangements to allow her to stay at the library after hours, and to give her access to the quiet conference rooms where she can work. He agrees to help her out, for a price. It's not long before she's headed to the library whether she has work to do or not, just to see him, and spend some time in that room that only he has the key for…
Escaping from a bad home situation, our female character finds herself living on her own for the first time in her life. She discovers just how precarious that position is when she loses her job. Suddenly unable to make rent, she has to come to an alternative arrangement with her landlord.
This story can be as dark, or as light as we'd like to make it. Does he completely take advantage of her, or does he pity her and come to her aid when she needs his help? A lot of directions.
This story can be as dark, or as light as we'd like to make it. Does he completely take advantage of her, or does he pity her and come to her aid when she needs his help? A lot of directions.
Some light medical play. Our female character is having some trouble at home with her husband, and books an appointment with a new specialist to see if there's anything that can be done to save their damaged sex life. Lo and behold, her specialist is someone from her past. Maybe a school bully, perhaps the older brother of one of her friends from high school? Regardless of the relationship, he seems to have a good idea for how to heal her malady.
He straps her down and begins to instruct her in how she should feel when men treat her in certain ways. It feels medicinal and clinical, but deep down both of them know that it's not. And our female character can't help but feel humiliated and ashamed, and also increasingly turned on. All the buried feelings she had for this guy from her past, the dislike of him, is turning out to have been tinged with desire.
He straps her down and begins to instruct her in how she should feel when men treat her in certain ways. It feels medicinal and clinical, but deep down both of them know that it's not. And our female character can't help but feel humiliated and ashamed, and also increasingly turned on. All the buried feelings she had for this guy from her past, the dislike of him, is turning out to have been tinged with desire.
A classic arranged marriage plot, with the young princess promised to a foreign king. They will align their bloodlines, and emerge newly strengthened. The reasons for the arrangement could be anything, but I prefer one where the female character's family has just been deposed, and she is the only one to escape with her life. She offers herself up in marriage to a neighboring King so that he will return with her to conquer her family's land. Afterward their children will rule over both lands together. The RP would consist of the beginning of the relationship of these two as they travel around to collect allies for the battle to come.
Alistair bathed in the first pool, fed by one of the last unpolluted streams in the Uplond. Tradition held that the royal family alone was permitted to bathe there, with retainers and courtesans permitted in the second, and the vast body of the populace permitted only in the pond that collected lower down. Alistair swam languidly, feeling the grime and sweat that had collected after a day's travel and the afternoon sparring session with Fey, wash off his body. She had handled herself well, and the training of the house of Pennywhistle was apparent in her practiced movement. He almost began to admire them, and for the first time in a long time he wondered if Uplond could actually stand to learn a thing or two from their continental peers. Below, through the privacy shade, he could see his soldiers and the retinue of women they'd brought from the castle strip off their gear and wade out into the water, laughing. It was good to see his people enjoy themselves, it would buoy their spirits for the week of hard travel that was to come. He kicked powerfully and stretched out his body, cutting through the water toward the shore.
"Sir, Queen Dun has arrived."
It would take awhile to get used to hearing that name for Fey.
"Show her in, and then you may retire for the night. See to it that two men are posted at the mouth of my encampment."
"Sir."
The man saluted and spun on his heel, departing. And just as he left, Fey ascended the gentle slope of the hill upon which he had had his tent built for the night. She was still in the thick, Uplond garments that she'd been gifted at the castle. They were mud streaked and dusty from the day's accumulated labor. Her shorn, silver hair was mussed, and although the ladies of the castle had tidied it, it still gave her a petulant, tomboyish look. Alistair reached the edge of the pool, and ascended the marble steps that his ancestors had built into the side of the rocky pool.
He emerged entirely naked, and noticed with amusement the flushed cheeks and diverted eyes he inspired in Fey. Continental people must not have the same openness in regards to sex that the Uplonders had, but she would learn to appreciate their ways with time. She would have to, if she were to become their queen in spirit, as well as name.
Even with only a glance, the image of the naked Lord would have immediately inscribed itself on young Fey's eyes. It was her first time seeing him completely bare. His rough brown beard dripped water onto a wide chest, and the chiseled musculature provided routes for the rivulets of water to travel down. He was hairy in the groin, but a fat circumcised penis swung lightly amidst the mat of hair, as yet flaccid, but with a large pink bulb of a head at the end of an already impressive stalk. A pair of white towels had been hung on a metal bar beside the staircase, and he grasped one in his hand, and dried himself as he approached Fey. The blue dish of purified water regained its placid surface behind him.
"The water is quite clean. Have you bathed in a natural pond, before?"
He pitied her her answer, and gestured to the pond.
"Well, now is your chance. And I will hear no protests about the worthiness of your bathing here. You have become my blood. What's mine is yours, and that includes the water here. Fresh clothes await you at the pondside, beside your towel."
To save her from further embarrassment, he pulled on a light pair of cotton pants, leaving his chest bare, and slipped his feet into sandals, allowing her to undress and bathe in peace. He went to the entrance of his hill and checked that the guards had been assigned according to his instructions. The men pulled their backs straight when he exited the mouth, and he nodded slightly to each, and returned indoors. The sound of splashing came from the pool, but he pulled aside the thin material of his tent mouth, and went inside to wait.
Because of the Universal Interference generator the caterpillar transport carried in the heart of its machined guts, no electronics would work here. The interior was lit by thick wax candles hanging from the ceilings, and scattered across the desk. A low bed covered in thick blankets rested against one wall, and the floor of the large tent was covered in furs. Alistair bent his head, his hair finally starting to dry. The tent itself was soundproofed simply by dint of the thick material the stretched over its entirety, so the first sound he heard of Fey was her rustling at the mouth of the entrance.
"Come in." He commanded, and as she slipped, almost like a thief, into the abode, he crossed behind her and knotted the flap shut. She waited in her metallic slip, the silken material stretching down almost to her knees. He noticed her self-consciously playing with the edge of the fabric. He knew that she had not been left any undergarments, and the slip was the only thing between her and him.
"Today you addressed me twice by my given name, in full hearing of the soldiers, and the common folk."
He noticed her grimace, but ignored it. Discipline was paramount in times of war, and that was what she was leading him into. And the appearance of authority was often synonymous with the real thing.
"You will address me as Lord Dun, or my King. Is that clear?"
He waited for her muttered assent.
"This is important. And as a king, I have my own duties. One of them is to ensure that you remember what you've been told. Come here."
When she failed to move he repeated the command, lower, and held out his hand to her. With fear, she crossed the fur to where he sat on the bed. As she neared he snatched her hand and with one long movement pulled her down across his knees. She tensed instinctively and cried out, trying to climb to her feet, but his other hand was on the back of her legs already, and as strong as she was, she wasn't able to fight her way away from him, from the disadvantaged position in which she found herself.
"Don't move," he growled. He gripped the fabric of her slip in his hand and with a yank lifted it above her buttocks, and despite his command she squirmed beneath him. Seeing the pale behind of the princess twisting beneath him inspired a secondary, lustful feeling deep in his loins. One that he knew he would need to attend to by the end of the night. This would be an initiation in two ways for his young wife. As she struggled brief flashes of her vaginal lips appeared from between the curves of her cheeks.
"Twice, you address me incorrectly. Twice, you will be punished."
He lifted his hand and brought it down across her cheeks, producing a sharp crack. Fey shrieked involuntarily. Perhaps she thought he meant to kill her? He squeezed a cheek, almost subconsciously. That was not part of the punishment, but that secondary, lustful feeling had briefly taken hold of his actions. He cleared his head, and again, raised his hand, and again brought it sharply down across her behind. This time Fey limited herself to a sharp exhalation, but the surprised cry was not repeated. He left his hand on her cheek.
"While we sparred you tripped me. Illegally. I understand the attempt, the frustration you must have felt at being bested, but it's not the kind of behavior the men can see between their king and his queen. I warned you, and you ignored it."
Fey was quiet, listening.
"Ten times, you will be punished."
He waited for that acerbic tongue of hers to activate, but nothing came. He raised his hand.
The sharp slaps continued in succession, and Fey's body tensed, and the she sharply breathed out with each strike, a sensation of warmth spreading from her flogged ass. A breathy quality entered the sound of her exhalations as she was disciplined, and as the spanking continued, she could feel a hard point digging into her stomach from where she was bent over Alistair's lap.
"See that you behave yourself in the future."
Alistair said, with the final admonishing slap. He couldn't resist pulling her cheek to the side, revealing the puffy, irritated lips of her pussy, her light body partially turning beneath his ministrations. A telltale line of wetness had formed along the inside of her slit.
"Tonight, I will teach you two things. How to behave as a Queen in public, and how to behave as a Queen in private. Your instruction continues now with the second."
He allowed her up from his lap, and stood her before him. He lifted the slip off her body, her perky breasts falling free of the fabric and catching themselves immediately. Her nipples were hard, pointed at him. He stepped to the table and draped her slip across it, and then removed his own cotton pants. Where the sharp lines of his abdomen met his legs, the King's cock stood fully engorged, a weighty length of white muscle, abundantly veined, and counterbalanced by hefty testicles. All he could think of at the current moment was burying that length in the wettened slit he'd seen waiting between Fey's thighs, but he had to follow forms.
"Approach me and drop to your knees."
Fey trembled. He couldn't know what was going on in her head at the current moment, what demons she was fighting with. His thoughts were so thoroughly hijacked by lust he could barely manage to repeat the sentence.
"Approach me and drop to your knees."
She remained like a statue, naked before him, her bare feet unmoving on the fur.
"If you will not be taken in the Uplond fashion, I will take you like an animal."
With barely a moment to check if this latest threat had registered, it hadn't, Alistair crossed the small floorspace of the tent, his stiffened cock bobbing.
He took Fey by the shoulders and twisted her around so she faced away from him, then he wrapped her in his arms and dragged her to the ground. He manipulated her body mechanically, as if he were turning over a log in the forest that had fallen across his path. If she wouldn't follow the rites, that was fine, but she shouldn't expect him to talk to her any longer. A union without a child was worthless, and when it came war-time, the faster the bond was cemented the better. His people would accept her more quickly, and his ownership of the conjoined empires would be more secure, if they shared blood between them. He lowered his hands around her waist and pulled her to a kneeling position by her hips. The lips of her vagina glistened from below her buttocks, and, pressing the base of his cock down to angle his length toward her, he entered her. A cry came out of her, but not as sharp as the first spank had elicited. This one equally shocked, but colored by the breathiness that the beating had grown in her exhalations. She was on her knees beneath him, and he squatted over her, their only linking point being the sharply angled cock entering her for the first time, and his hands gripping her waist, holding her in position.
He buried himself halfway, and withdrew, but the young princess was filthily wet already, and his second plunge almost brought him to the hilt in the young Pennywhistle. He began to fuck her virginal pussy with a ruthless rhythm, her vagina stretching to accommodate the pitiless appetite of the long white rod. Her edges were still sharp against his length, a painful tearing that turned to pleasure as he continued to draw himself in and out of the girl. As the motion continued Fey's cries turned to breathy moans, the sharp resistance he had felt around the edges of her pussy disappeared into a universal slickness. She began to pant beneath him, and he could feel that she was beginning to brace herself against the floor and even push herself back into him. She wanted him, more of him, deeper into her, and he acquiesced. With his next thrust Alistair kept pushing forward, carrying her off of her knees on the length of his cock, until she lay prone beneath him. He wrapped his body around her, snaking a muscular arm beneath her stomach to brace against the base of her throat.
She was his. His penis was buried so deeply inside of her that his fucking drew the shaft out only an inch at a time, before burying itself deeper into her. She moaned beneath him, and he could feel a pressure building in his balls. Her small buttocks were bunched beneath his weight, her pussy drawn almost perpendicular to the ceiling of the tent by the strength of his hardened cock, when he buried it completely in her and erupted, coursing white ropes of cum into Fey's pussy. The quantity of seed slickened the entire inside of her vagina, but he held her down, pressing his cock as far as he could into the small woman's body, pinning her to the floor, the head of his penis twitching and pulsing against the walls of her womb, encouraging her to take his seed. He gripped her there for a minute, before finally releasing his iron arms from around her, and allowing her to fall to the furs. As he withdrew his penis from her, a dribble of cum followed, slipping down her thigh. Taken like an animal, he left her on the ground, and retreated alone to bed.
"Sir, Queen Dun has arrived."
It would take awhile to get used to hearing that name for Fey.
"Show her in, and then you may retire for the night. See to it that two men are posted at the mouth of my encampment."
"Sir."
The man saluted and spun on his heel, departing. And just as he left, Fey ascended the gentle slope of the hill upon which he had had his tent built for the night. She was still in the thick, Uplond garments that she'd been gifted at the castle. They were mud streaked and dusty from the day's accumulated labor. Her shorn, silver hair was mussed, and although the ladies of the castle had tidied it, it still gave her a petulant, tomboyish look. Alistair reached the edge of the pool, and ascended the marble steps that his ancestors had built into the side of the rocky pool.
He emerged entirely naked, and noticed with amusement the flushed cheeks and diverted eyes he inspired in Fey. Continental people must not have the same openness in regards to sex that the Uplonders had, but she would learn to appreciate their ways with time. She would have to, if she were to become their queen in spirit, as well as name.
Even with only a glance, the image of the naked Lord would have immediately inscribed itself on young Fey's eyes. It was her first time seeing him completely bare. His rough brown beard dripped water onto a wide chest, and the chiseled musculature provided routes for the rivulets of water to travel down. He was hairy in the groin, but a fat circumcised penis swung lightly amidst the mat of hair, as yet flaccid, but with a large pink bulb of a head at the end of an already impressive stalk. A pair of white towels had been hung on a metal bar beside the staircase, and he grasped one in his hand, and dried himself as he approached Fey. The blue dish of purified water regained its placid surface behind him.
"The water is quite clean. Have you bathed in a natural pond, before?"
He pitied her her answer, and gestured to the pond.
"Well, now is your chance. And I will hear no protests about the worthiness of your bathing here. You have become my blood. What's mine is yours, and that includes the water here. Fresh clothes await you at the pondside, beside your towel."
To save her from further embarrassment, he pulled on a light pair of cotton pants, leaving his chest bare, and slipped his feet into sandals, allowing her to undress and bathe in peace. He went to the entrance of his hill and checked that the guards had been assigned according to his instructions. The men pulled their backs straight when he exited the mouth, and he nodded slightly to each, and returned indoors. The sound of splashing came from the pool, but he pulled aside the thin material of his tent mouth, and went inside to wait.
Because of the Universal Interference generator the caterpillar transport carried in the heart of its machined guts, no electronics would work here. The interior was lit by thick wax candles hanging from the ceilings, and scattered across the desk. A low bed covered in thick blankets rested against one wall, and the floor of the large tent was covered in furs. Alistair bent his head, his hair finally starting to dry. The tent itself was soundproofed simply by dint of the thick material the stretched over its entirety, so the first sound he heard of Fey was her rustling at the mouth of the entrance.
"Come in." He commanded, and as she slipped, almost like a thief, into the abode, he crossed behind her and knotted the flap shut. She waited in her metallic slip, the silken material stretching down almost to her knees. He noticed her self-consciously playing with the edge of the fabric. He knew that she had not been left any undergarments, and the slip was the only thing between her and him.
"Today you addressed me twice by my given name, in full hearing of the soldiers, and the common folk."
He noticed her grimace, but ignored it. Discipline was paramount in times of war, and that was what she was leading him into. And the appearance of authority was often synonymous with the real thing.
"You will address me as Lord Dun, or my King. Is that clear?"
He waited for her muttered assent.
"This is important. And as a king, I have my own duties. One of them is to ensure that you remember what you've been told. Come here."
When she failed to move he repeated the command, lower, and held out his hand to her. With fear, she crossed the fur to where he sat on the bed. As she neared he snatched her hand and with one long movement pulled her down across his knees. She tensed instinctively and cried out, trying to climb to her feet, but his other hand was on the back of her legs already, and as strong as she was, she wasn't able to fight her way away from him, from the disadvantaged position in which she found herself.
"Don't move," he growled. He gripped the fabric of her slip in his hand and with a yank lifted it above her buttocks, and despite his command she squirmed beneath him. Seeing the pale behind of the princess twisting beneath him inspired a secondary, lustful feeling deep in his loins. One that he knew he would need to attend to by the end of the night. This would be an initiation in two ways for his young wife. As she struggled brief flashes of her vaginal lips appeared from between the curves of her cheeks.
"Twice, you address me incorrectly. Twice, you will be punished."
He lifted his hand and brought it down across her cheeks, producing a sharp crack. Fey shrieked involuntarily. Perhaps she thought he meant to kill her? He squeezed a cheek, almost subconsciously. That was not part of the punishment, but that secondary, lustful feeling had briefly taken hold of his actions. He cleared his head, and again, raised his hand, and again brought it sharply down across her behind. This time Fey limited herself to a sharp exhalation, but the surprised cry was not repeated. He left his hand on her cheek.
"While we sparred you tripped me. Illegally. I understand the attempt, the frustration you must have felt at being bested, but it's not the kind of behavior the men can see between their king and his queen. I warned you, and you ignored it."
Fey was quiet, listening.
"Ten times, you will be punished."
He waited for that acerbic tongue of hers to activate, but nothing came. He raised his hand.
The sharp slaps continued in succession, and Fey's body tensed, and the she sharply breathed out with each strike, a sensation of warmth spreading from her flogged ass. A breathy quality entered the sound of her exhalations as she was disciplined, and as the spanking continued, she could feel a hard point digging into her stomach from where she was bent over Alistair's lap.
"See that you behave yourself in the future."
Alistair said, with the final admonishing slap. He couldn't resist pulling her cheek to the side, revealing the puffy, irritated lips of her pussy, her light body partially turning beneath his ministrations. A telltale line of wetness had formed along the inside of her slit.
"Tonight, I will teach you two things. How to behave as a Queen in public, and how to behave as a Queen in private. Your instruction continues now with the second."
He allowed her up from his lap, and stood her before him. He lifted the slip off her body, her perky breasts falling free of the fabric and catching themselves immediately. Her nipples were hard, pointed at him. He stepped to the table and draped her slip across it, and then removed his own cotton pants. Where the sharp lines of his abdomen met his legs, the King's cock stood fully engorged, a weighty length of white muscle, abundantly veined, and counterbalanced by hefty testicles. All he could think of at the current moment was burying that length in the wettened slit he'd seen waiting between Fey's thighs, but he had to follow forms.
"Approach me and drop to your knees."
Fey trembled. He couldn't know what was going on in her head at the current moment, what demons she was fighting with. His thoughts were so thoroughly hijacked by lust he could barely manage to repeat the sentence.
"Approach me and drop to your knees."
She remained like a statue, naked before him, her bare feet unmoving on the fur.
"If you will not be taken in the Uplond fashion, I will take you like an animal."
With barely a moment to check if this latest threat had registered, it hadn't, Alistair crossed the small floorspace of the tent, his stiffened cock bobbing.
He took Fey by the shoulders and twisted her around so she faced away from him, then he wrapped her in his arms and dragged her to the ground. He manipulated her body mechanically, as if he were turning over a log in the forest that had fallen across his path. If she wouldn't follow the rites, that was fine, but she shouldn't expect him to talk to her any longer. A union without a child was worthless, and when it came war-time, the faster the bond was cemented the better. His people would accept her more quickly, and his ownership of the conjoined empires would be more secure, if they shared blood between them. He lowered his hands around her waist and pulled her to a kneeling position by her hips. The lips of her vagina glistened from below her buttocks, and, pressing the base of his cock down to angle his length toward her, he entered her. A cry came out of her, but not as sharp as the first spank had elicited. This one equally shocked, but colored by the breathiness that the beating had grown in her exhalations. She was on her knees beneath him, and he squatted over her, their only linking point being the sharply angled cock entering her for the first time, and his hands gripping her waist, holding her in position.
He buried himself halfway, and withdrew, but the young princess was filthily wet already, and his second plunge almost brought him to the hilt in the young Pennywhistle. He began to fuck her virginal pussy with a ruthless rhythm, her vagina stretching to accommodate the pitiless appetite of the long white rod. Her edges were still sharp against his length, a painful tearing that turned to pleasure as he continued to draw himself in and out of the girl. As the motion continued Fey's cries turned to breathy moans, the sharp resistance he had felt around the edges of her pussy disappeared into a universal slickness. She began to pant beneath him, and he could feel that she was beginning to brace herself against the floor and even push herself back into him. She wanted him, more of him, deeper into her, and he acquiesced. With his next thrust Alistair kept pushing forward, carrying her off of her knees on the length of his cock, until she lay prone beneath him. He wrapped his body around her, snaking a muscular arm beneath her stomach to brace against the base of her throat.
She was his. His penis was buried so deeply inside of her that his fucking drew the shaft out only an inch at a time, before burying itself deeper into her. She moaned beneath him, and he could feel a pressure building in his balls. Her small buttocks were bunched beneath his weight, her pussy drawn almost perpendicular to the ceiling of the tent by the strength of his hardened cock, when he buried it completely in her and erupted, coursing white ropes of cum into Fey's pussy. The quantity of seed slickened the entire inside of her vagina, but he held her down, pressing his cock as far as he could into the small woman's body, pinning her to the floor, the head of his penis twitching and pulsing against the walls of her womb, encouraging her to take his seed. He gripped her there for a minute, before finally releasing his iron arms from around her, and allowing her to fall to the furs. As he withdrew his penis from her, a dribble of cum followed, slipping down her thigh. Taken like an animal, he left her on the ground, and retreated alone to bed.
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