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Mynx
The Pert
- Joined
- May 16, 2020
Hey there!
Do any (or all) of these kinks send a thrill down your spine? If so, we might just be the perfect writing partners
Corruption, Cheating, Forced Arousal, Voyeuristic Submission, Status Degradation, Slut Training, Forced Bisexuality, Forced Incest, Cuckqueaning/Cuckolding, Sissification, Mind Control / Brainwashing, Religious Corruption, Race Play, and so much more…
I have a few dark, immersive plots in mind and am looking for partners who truly understand the characters and settings, can write consistently, and enjoy rich, detailed storytelling with multiple paragraphs (the more the better!).
Take a look at the ideas and hit me up with your favorite - along with your take on it!
We can always tweak things to match our preferences, but bring me something solid, tell me why you're drawn to it and how we can make it an unforgettable, deeply erotic experience.
Looking forward to crafting something intense and intoxicating together!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That said, even a deviant like me has some hard limits. Here's what's not on the table:
Here's a little about me:
Slide into my ahem, inbox, and let's (s)explore something deliciously naughty together.
And... don't be shy when you explain what you want - I can handle the heat
(If none of the ideas above catch your interest, feel free to check out my open request thread here!)
Jynx
Do any (or all) of these kinks send a thrill down your spine? If so, we might just be the perfect writing partners
Corruption, Cheating, Forced Arousal, Voyeuristic Submission, Status Degradation, Slut Training, Forced Bisexuality, Forced Incest, Cuckqueaning/Cuckolding, Sissification, Mind Control / Brainwashing, Religious Corruption, Race Play, and so much more…
I have a few dark, immersive plots in mind and am looking for partners who truly understand the characters and settings, can write consistently, and enjoy rich, detailed storytelling with multiple paragraphs (the more the better!).
Take a look at the ideas and hit me up with your favorite - along with your take on it!
We can always tweak things to match our preferences, but bring me something solid, tell me why you're drawn to it and how we can make it an unforgettable, deeply erotic experience.
Looking forward to crafting something intense and intoxicating together!
The Perfect Betrayal
(Note: All images are for representation purposes only and should be considered NSFW. Character names, appearances, personalities, and events are entirely flexible and open for discussion.)
From the moment she set foot in the grand country mansion, Valentina knew she didn't belong.
The sprawling estate, the towering chandeliers, the cold marble floors - it wasn't just wealth. It was old money. Aristocratic, untouchable, and cruel.
And Danny's family had never wanted her as Valentina was the poor girl from nowhere - the woman their delicate, soft-spoken son had fallen for.
They had only agreed to the marriage because they knew the truth - Danny wasn't the kind of man who could land a woman from their world. He was weak, effeminate, the kind of man real aristocratic families whispered about in hushed voices.
But Valentina was beautiful. And in their world, beauty had value.
Maybe, they thought, her stunning features would at least give them a good heir - whether Danny was truly capable of that was another question entirely.
So, they let him have her. But they never let her forget she was beneath them.
Brandi, the matriarch, treated her like an outsider, reminding her at every turn that she should be grateful they even allowed her through their doors.
Jynx, Danny's sister, was worse. Spoiled, arrogant, obsessed with her own status, she made it her mission to make Valentina feel small. Every glance was condescending, every word dripping with disdain.
Rocco, the aging patriarch, had his own way of making her feel uncomfortable - his lingering stares, his "accidental" touches, the way his eyes would rake over her when he thought no one was looking.
And Danny? The man who had sworn to love her, to protect her? He sat there through it all, silent, spineless. Maybe deep down, he knew he wasn't a real husband. Maybe he knew he could never be the man Valentina needed. And maybe that was why he let his family treat her like dirt - because a part of him agreed.
She endured it for long. But silence had an expiration date. That night, she picked up the phone.
She called Johnny.
Once, he had been her mistake. Her first love. A reckless, dangerous man who lived on the wrong side of the law. But now, he was exactly what she needed. A man without conscience, without limits. Someone who could break them the way they had broken her.
The plan was simple. A home invasion.
A night where the doors to their perfect world would be kicked down. Where their money, their power, their arrogance - none of it would matter. They would be stripped of everything they thought made them untouchable. And yes, literally stripped, with every inch of their bodies touched and claimed in ways they never imagined.
And they would believe it was real.
Danny would sit there, tied up, watching helplessly - just like he always had, too weak to do anything as his wife suffered.
Only this time, he wouldn't just be a bystander. He'd be forced to see her in a way he never had before. And as much as he wanted to deny it, as much as shame burned through him, he'd feel something stir inside - something dark, something he had never admitted to himself. Because for the first time, he was watching a real man take what he never could. And it turned him on beyond imagination!
Jynx, the woman who sneered at her, who flaunted her superiority at every chance, would learn the taste of humiliation. That sharp tongue of hers would tremble, her arrogance crumbling into desperate pleas. And that tongue? It would be forced to serve in ways she never imagined - humiliating, degrading things that would break her piece by piece, until she was nothing but a mess of her own desires and pervasions overpowering her.
Brandi, the queen of the household, the woman who dictated how things should be, would feel what it was like to lose control. To have her world collapse in a single night. And as much as she would fight it, as much as she would cling to her dignity, she would be forced to reveal the truth - every filthy secret she had buried beneath her polished exterior. How deep down, the humiliation didn't just break her - it excited her. How the powerlessness made her pulse race in ways she could never admit. How, beneath the carefully curated image of class and control, she was nothing more than a desperate, depraved woman, exposed for the cheap, horny slut she truly was.
And Rocco… the man who had spent years stealing glances, indulging in his own filthy fantasies? Tonight, he would get everything he ever dreamed of - and more. He'd be forced to watch as Johnny did all the things he'd secretly craved, seeing Valentina in ways he'd only imagined in his most forbidden thoughts. Yet, despite the pulse-pounding excitement thrumming through his veins, he wouldn't be allowed to touch, to act, to do anything but sit there - completely naked, exposed, with his shameful erection betraying every hidden desire. Forced to burn in his own lust, powerless and humiliated, stripped of every last pretense.
"You have to make it real," Valentina told Johnny, her voice steady, unshaken. "They have to believe you mean every word."
Johnny chuckled, running his tongue over his teeth. "And you? Are you ready to beg?"
Valentina's lips curled into a slow, cold smile. "I'll be perfect. And they will be even moee real"
This wasn't just revenge. This was justice.
By the time the night was over, they would never look at her the same way again.
And that? That was the part she was going to enjoy the most.
(Note: All images are for representation purposes only and should be considered NSFW. Character names, appearances, personalities, and events are entirely flexible and open for discussion.)
From the moment she set foot in the grand country mansion, Valentina knew she didn't belong.
The sprawling estate, the towering chandeliers, the cold marble floors - it wasn't just wealth. It was old money. Aristocratic, untouchable, and cruel.
And Danny's family had never wanted her as Valentina was the poor girl from nowhere - the woman their delicate, soft-spoken son had fallen for.
They had only agreed to the marriage because they knew the truth - Danny wasn't the kind of man who could land a woman from their world. He was weak, effeminate, the kind of man real aristocratic families whispered about in hushed voices.
But Valentina was beautiful. And in their world, beauty had value.
Maybe, they thought, her stunning features would at least give them a good heir - whether Danny was truly capable of that was another question entirely.
So, they let him have her. But they never let her forget she was beneath them.
Brandi, the matriarch, treated her like an outsider, reminding her at every turn that she should be grateful they even allowed her through their doors.
Jynx, Danny's sister, was worse. Spoiled, arrogant, obsessed with her own status, she made it her mission to make Valentina feel small. Every glance was condescending, every word dripping with disdain.
Rocco, the aging patriarch, had his own way of making her feel uncomfortable - his lingering stares, his "accidental" touches, the way his eyes would rake over her when he thought no one was looking.
And Danny? The man who had sworn to love her, to protect her? He sat there through it all, silent, spineless. Maybe deep down, he knew he wasn't a real husband. Maybe he knew he could never be the man Valentina needed. And maybe that was why he let his family treat her like dirt - because a part of him agreed.
She endured it for long. But silence had an expiration date. That night, she picked up the phone.
She called Johnny.
Once, he had been her mistake. Her first love. A reckless, dangerous man who lived on the wrong side of the law. But now, he was exactly what she needed. A man without conscience, without limits. Someone who could break them the way they had broken her.
The plan was simple. A home invasion.
A night where the doors to their perfect world would be kicked down. Where their money, their power, their arrogance - none of it would matter. They would be stripped of everything they thought made them untouchable. And yes, literally stripped, with every inch of their bodies touched and claimed in ways they never imagined.
And they would believe it was real.
Danny would sit there, tied up, watching helplessly - just like he always had, too weak to do anything as his wife suffered.
Only this time, he wouldn't just be a bystander. He'd be forced to see her in a way he never had before. And as much as he wanted to deny it, as much as shame burned through him, he'd feel something stir inside - something dark, something he had never admitted to himself. Because for the first time, he was watching a real man take what he never could. And it turned him on beyond imagination!
Jynx, the woman who sneered at her, who flaunted her superiority at every chance, would learn the taste of humiliation. That sharp tongue of hers would tremble, her arrogance crumbling into desperate pleas. And that tongue? It would be forced to serve in ways she never imagined - humiliating, degrading things that would break her piece by piece, until she was nothing but a mess of her own desires and pervasions overpowering her.
Brandi, the queen of the household, the woman who dictated how things should be, would feel what it was like to lose control. To have her world collapse in a single night. And as much as she would fight it, as much as she would cling to her dignity, she would be forced to reveal the truth - every filthy secret she had buried beneath her polished exterior. How deep down, the humiliation didn't just break her - it excited her. How the powerlessness made her pulse race in ways she could never admit. How, beneath the carefully curated image of class and control, she was nothing more than a desperate, depraved woman, exposed for the cheap, horny slut she truly was.
And Rocco… the man who had spent years stealing glances, indulging in his own filthy fantasies? Tonight, he would get everything he ever dreamed of - and more. He'd be forced to watch as Johnny did all the things he'd secretly craved, seeing Valentina in ways he'd only imagined in his most forbidden thoughts. Yet, despite the pulse-pounding excitement thrumming through his veins, he wouldn't be allowed to touch, to act, to do anything but sit there - completely naked, exposed, with his shameful erection betraying every hidden desire. Forced to burn in his own lust, powerless and humiliated, stripped of every last pretense.
"You have to make it real," Valentina told Johnny, her voice steady, unshaken. "They have to believe you mean every word."
Johnny chuckled, running his tongue over his teeth. "And you? Are you ready to beg?"
Valentina's lips curled into a slow, cold smile. "I'll be perfect. And they will be even moee real"
This wasn't just revenge. This was justice.
By the time the night was over, they would never look at her the same way again.
And that? That was the part she was going to enjoy the most.
When the Powerful Are Degraded
Camila Eleanor, in her mid-thirties, exuded grace and confidence. An esteemed lawyer, the wife of a sitting parliament member, and the mother of a teenage daughter, she commanded respect effortlessly. Her life was meticulously curated - every decision measured, every step calculated. Until now.
What seemed like an innocuous decision - purchasing a farmhouse in the rural outskirts of T Town - was about to unravel her world in ways she never could have foreseen.
Carlo, 43, ruled T Town with an iron grip. A ruthless thug with power, money and influence. With a legion of loyal men and an entourage of women who catered to his whims, his word was law.
Standing at six-foot-three, his presence was as commanding as his reputation. His estate, more fortress than home, was both a sanctuary for his most trusted allies and a prison for those unfortunate enough to cross him. When he learned that an outsider had dared to place an advance payment on land he had long coveted, he wasted no time staking his claim. The land was barricaded, marked as his. Now, all that remained was for the rightful owner to walk into his trap.
Camila, brimming with confidence and wealth, strode into Carlo's domain alone. Her arrogance was palpable as she tossed bundles of cash at one of his men, declaring that she had no intention of backing down. She wanted the land, and she was prepared to fight for it.
But that was precisely what Carlo had wanted. He had lured her into his den.
Before she knew it, Camila was overpowered, bound by his men. Sarah, a strikingly sexy and voluptuous woman with a dirty smile, took center stage.
With an air of practiced ease, she teased and taunted Camila, stripping away not just her clothes but her defenses as well.
Camila fought, her fury a blazing fire, but resistance was futile. Every threat she hurled, every attempt to resist, only seemed to amuse Sarah more. Worst of all, her own body betrayed her - reacting in ways she could neither control nor understand. The humiliation was unbearable, the sensation foreign and maddening. She reached a breaking point, where escape became secondary to release - any release from this sexual tension created by Sarah!
After a long, tormenting session of stimulation, Sarah finally presented her to the others. The cartel members took their turn asserting their dominance and perversions, pushing Camila past her limits, shattering the carefully cultivated poise she had maintained her entire life. She felt herself sinking deeper into helplessness, her dignity slipping away with each moment.
Finally, she was brought before Carlo. He observed her - this once proud woman, now stripped of her defenses, trembling with a mixture of humiliation and unwilling arousal. His lips curled into a knowing smirk as he laid out his offer.
"Perform for me," he said, his voice thick with amusement. "Do exactly as I say, and I'll let you walk away. You can even keep your precious land."
The choice wasn't hers to make. Stripped of power, of dignity, Camila found herself surrendering to the inevitable. Forced into acts she would never have imagined in her dirtiest fantasies, she endured - clinging to the last shreds of her sanity, knowing that escape was still her ultimate goal.
But Carlo wasn't finished.
The moment she returned home, a message arrived. A video. Proof of her disgrace. And a chilling ultimatum.
"Bring your daughter with you next weekend. Or the world sees everything."
Camila's nightmare was only just beginning.
Camila Eleanor, in her mid-thirties, exuded grace and confidence. An esteemed lawyer, the wife of a sitting parliament member, and the mother of a teenage daughter, she commanded respect effortlessly. Her life was meticulously curated - every decision measured, every step calculated. Until now.
What seemed like an innocuous decision - purchasing a farmhouse in the rural outskirts of T Town - was about to unravel her world in ways she never could have foreseen.
Carlo, 43, ruled T Town with an iron grip. A ruthless thug with power, money and influence. With a legion of loyal men and an entourage of women who catered to his whims, his word was law.
Standing at six-foot-three, his presence was as commanding as his reputation. His estate, more fortress than home, was both a sanctuary for his most trusted allies and a prison for those unfortunate enough to cross him. When he learned that an outsider had dared to place an advance payment on land he had long coveted, he wasted no time staking his claim. The land was barricaded, marked as his. Now, all that remained was for the rightful owner to walk into his trap.
Camila, brimming with confidence and wealth, strode into Carlo's domain alone. Her arrogance was palpable as she tossed bundles of cash at one of his men, declaring that she had no intention of backing down. She wanted the land, and she was prepared to fight for it.
But that was precisely what Carlo had wanted. He had lured her into his den.
Before she knew it, Camila was overpowered, bound by his men. Sarah, a strikingly sexy and voluptuous woman with a dirty smile, took center stage.
With an air of practiced ease, she teased and taunted Camila, stripping away not just her clothes but her defenses as well.
Camila fought, her fury a blazing fire, but resistance was futile. Every threat she hurled, every attempt to resist, only seemed to amuse Sarah more. Worst of all, her own body betrayed her - reacting in ways she could neither control nor understand. The humiliation was unbearable, the sensation foreign and maddening. She reached a breaking point, where escape became secondary to release - any release from this sexual tension created by Sarah!
After a long, tormenting session of stimulation, Sarah finally presented her to the others. The cartel members took their turn asserting their dominance and perversions, pushing Camila past her limits, shattering the carefully cultivated poise she had maintained her entire life. She felt herself sinking deeper into helplessness, her dignity slipping away with each moment.
Finally, she was brought before Carlo. He observed her - this once proud woman, now stripped of her defenses, trembling with a mixture of humiliation and unwilling arousal. His lips curled into a knowing smirk as he laid out his offer.
"Perform for me," he said, his voice thick with amusement. "Do exactly as I say, and I'll let you walk away. You can even keep your precious land."
The choice wasn't hers to make. Stripped of power, of dignity, Camila found herself surrendering to the inevitable. Forced into acts she would never have imagined in her dirtiest fantasies, she endured - clinging to the last shreds of her sanity, knowing that escape was still her ultimate goal.
But Carlo wasn't finished.
The moment she returned home, a message arrived. A video. Proof of her disgrace. And a chilling ultimatum.
"Bring your daughter with you next weekend. Or the world sees everything."
Camila's nightmare was only just beginning.
A dull throbbing echoed through Camila's skull, the weight of unconsciousness clinging to her like a heavy fog. Her senses drifted somewhere between oblivion and awareness, her body sluggish, unresponsive. Then - voices. Distant at first, blurred murmurs threading through the haze. The faint scent of expensive perfume mixed with something muskier, heavier. A shiver prickled along her bare skin as cool air licked across her exposed body.
Her fingers twitched. A slow inhale drew in the surrounding air, the sharp tang of leather and lingering cologne filling her lungs. Awareness crept back in, piece by piece. The dull ache in her wrists. The unyielding pressure of restraints. The undeniable absence of clothing. Her brows knitted together as if reacting instinctively to the discomfort. Then, a sharp gasp escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then widening as she took in her predicament.
She pulled at her wrists, trying to escape, her breathing quickening. The muted sound of heels - slow, deliberate - sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline through her.
A sultry voice, rich with amusement, drifted through the dimly lit space.
"Well, well… look who's finally awake."
The henchmen exchanged glances, their eyes hungrily roaming over Camila's voluptuous form and pebbled nipples, but their restraint was evident - they would only act upon orders.
A shudder coiled deep in Camila's stomach as she took in the sight before her - a striking woman, clad in nothing but delicate lingerie, her every movement slow and deliberate, dripping with unspoken promise. She circled Camila with the grace of a predator toying with its captured prey, her sultry gaze drinking in every inch of exposed flesh, savoring the power imbalance like a fine vintage. The air between them grew thick, charged with something both intoxicating and perilous, sending a ripple of unease down Camila's spine.
"Who… who are you?" Camila's voice trembled despite herself. "What do you want?"
Sarah ran the back of her palm along Camila's cheek, a slow, deliberate motion that traced the curve of her jawline and down the length of her neck. Her fingers hovered near the delicate dip of her collarbone before pausing just above her cleavage. A smirk played on Sarah's lips, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling amusement when she noticed the pebbled nipples.
Camila recoiled, her body tensing with anger and revulsion.
"Take your hands off me, bitch" she spat, her voice carrying a fury that only made Sarah chuckle.
Camila struggled, attempting to kick, but Sarah dodged with ease, her attention shifting to Camila's restrained wrists. Bound together and pulled above her head, they left her completely exposed, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The dim light caught the sheen of perspiration along her skin. Sarah tilted her head slightly and gestured to Tom, who stepped forward without hesitation. He forced Camila's legs apart, securing them to the posts on either side. The finality of the restraints sent a chill down Camila's spine.
Sarah took a step back, surveying her with evident satisfaction.
"Mmm… that's much better," she murmured. She leaned in closer, locking eyes with Camila, her tone deceptively gentle. "Trust me, dear, you'll enjoy this."
Stepping closer, Sarah's long fingers tracing the air near Camila's face before finally brushing her lips along her cheek. "I want you," she murmured, savoring the moment. A slow, deliberate flick of her tongue wet her lips as she tilted her head. "And I always get what I want."
A husky, breathy chuckle slipped from her lips as she leaned in, her warm breath ghosting over Camila's skin before she dipped her face into the hollow of her exposed armpit. She inhaled deeply, dragging the moment out, savoring every note of Camila's scent like a connoisseur indulging in the finest aroma. A slow, decadent shiver coursed through her, a sigh of pure satisfaction slipping past her lips.
"Mmm…" she exhaled, letting the sound linger in the charged silence. Her tongue flicked out, just barely grazing the heated skin before she finally pulled away. Turning her attention to the two men watching in tense silence, she smirked, her voice thick with amusement and desire.
"God, she smells absolutely intoxicating," she purred, dragging her tongue slowly over her bottom lip, as if savoring the lingering taste of Camila's scent. Her eyes darkened with wicked delight, her fingers trailing possessively down Camila's exposed skin.
With a predatory smile, Sarah examined Camila, who was now standing there, exposed and humiliated. There was something almost cruel in the way she slowly ran her fingers along Camila's breasts, a slow, teasing touch that seemed designed to make her feel more vulnerable. Camila could feel the heat of Sarah's touch, her skin prickling with unwanted awareness, making her shout "No.. no... Don't do it... I will kill you..."
Sarah leaned in closer, whispering in Camila's ear. You think you're strong, don't you? But your body says otherwise."
Sarah continued, her voice dripping with anticipation. "Let's see just how much you can take before you start begging for more, shall we?"
The words stung, and Camila's heart raced as she fought against the overwhelming flood of sensations. She wanted to scream, to fight, but she was trapped - both physically and emotionally. Sarah's touch was like fire against her skin, each stroke a reminder of how much she had lost control. Camila could see the men next to her, their gazes fixed on her body, their desire palpable. But Sarah's presence overshadowed everything, her authority undeniable. Camila had never felt so small, so powerless.
As Sarah's hand slid lower across her belly towards her mount, Camila's body reacted against her will. The touch was relentless, driving her to the brink of madness. She clenched her jaw, determined not to show any sign of weakness, but the heat in her core was undeniable. Sarah's fingers slowly slid between Camila's legs, finding the sensitive bud, teasing the moistened flesh, and Camila's mind screamed for release, for escape, but her body betrayed her. She felt the heat grow, the wetness between her legs impossible to ignore.
Sarah pulled her fingers out slowly, teasing her once more before showing Camila the evidence of her body's response. She then licked it with a wink.
Camila's eyes shut in shame, her face flushed with humiliation. She had never treated like this before, never so vulnerable, and yet her body couldn't deny the pleasure it was drawing from Sarah's assault.
Her fingers twitched. A slow inhale drew in the surrounding air, the sharp tang of leather and lingering cologne filling her lungs. Awareness crept back in, piece by piece. The dull ache in her wrists. The unyielding pressure of restraints. The undeniable absence of clothing. Her brows knitted together as if reacting instinctively to the discomfort. Then, a sharp gasp escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then widening as she took in her predicament.
She pulled at her wrists, trying to escape, her breathing quickening. The muted sound of heels - slow, deliberate - sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline through her.
A sultry voice, rich with amusement, drifted through the dimly lit space.
"Well, well… look who's finally awake."
The henchmen exchanged glances, their eyes hungrily roaming over Camila's voluptuous form and pebbled nipples, but their restraint was evident - they would only act upon orders.
A shudder coiled deep in Camila's stomach as she took in the sight before her - a striking woman, clad in nothing but delicate lingerie, her every movement slow and deliberate, dripping with unspoken promise. She circled Camila with the grace of a predator toying with its captured prey, her sultry gaze drinking in every inch of exposed flesh, savoring the power imbalance like a fine vintage. The air between them grew thick, charged with something both intoxicating and perilous, sending a ripple of unease down Camila's spine.
"Who… who are you?" Camila's voice trembled despite herself. "What do you want?"
Sarah ran the back of her palm along Camila's cheek, a slow, deliberate motion that traced the curve of her jawline and down the length of her neck. Her fingers hovered near the delicate dip of her collarbone before pausing just above her cleavage. A smirk played on Sarah's lips, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling amusement when she noticed the pebbled nipples.
Camila recoiled, her body tensing with anger and revulsion.
"Take your hands off me, bitch" she spat, her voice carrying a fury that only made Sarah chuckle.
Camila struggled, attempting to kick, but Sarah dodged with ease, her attention shifting to Camila's restrained wrists. Bound together and pulled above her head, they left her completely exposed, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The dim light caught the sheen of perspiration along her skin. Sarah tilted her head slightly and gestured to Tom, who stepped forward without hesitation. He forced Camila's legs apart, securing them to the posts on either side. The finality of the restraints sent a chill down Camila's spine.
Sarah took a step back, surveying her with evident satisfaction.
"Mmm… that's much better," she murmured. She leaned in closer, locking eyes with Camila, her tone deceptively gentle. "Trust me, dear, you'll enjoy this."
Stepping closer, Sarah's long fingers tracing the air near Camila's face before finally brushing her lips along her cheek. "I want you," she murmured, savoring the moment. A slow, deliberate flick of her tongue wet her lips as she tilted her head. "And I always get what I want."
A husky, breathy chuckle slipped from her lips as she leaned in, her warm breath ghosting over Camila's skin before she dipped her face into the hollow of her exposed armpit. She inhaled deeply, dragging the moment out, savoring every note of Camila's scent like a connoisseur indulging in the finest aroma. A slow, decadent shiver coursed through her, a sigh of pure satisfaction slipping past her lips.
"Mmm…" she exhaled, letting the sound linger in the charged silence. Her tongue flicked out, just barely grazing the heated skin before she finally pulled away. Turning her attention to the two men watching in tense silence, she smirked, her voice thick with amusement and desire.
"God, she smells absolutely intoxicating," she purred, dragging her tongue slowly over her bottom lip, as if savoring the lingering taste of Camila's scent. Her eyes darkened with wicked delight, her fingers trailing possessively down Camila's exposed skin.
With a predatory smile, Sarah examined Camila, who was now standing there, exposed and humiliated. There was something almost cruel in the way she slowly ran her fingers along Camila's breasts, a slow, teasing touch that seemed designed to make her feel more vulnerable. Camila could feel the heat of Sarah's touch, her skin prickling with unwanted awareness, making her shout "No.. no... Don't do it... I will kill you..."
Sarah leaned in closer, whispering in Camila's ear. You think you're strong, don't you? But your body says otherwise."
Sarah continued, her voice dripping with anticipation. "Let's see just how much you can take before you start begging for more, shall we?"
The words stung, and Camila's heart raced as she fought against the overwhelming flood of sensations. She wanted to scream, to fight, but she was trapped - both physically and emotionally. Sarah's touch was like fire against her skin, each stroke a reminder of how much she had lost control. Camila could see the men next to her, their gazes fixed on her body, their desire palpable. But Sarah's presence overshadowed everything, her authority undeniable. Camila had never felt so small, so powerless.
As Sarah's hand slid lower across her belly towards her mount, Camila's body reacted against her will. The touch was relentless, driving her to the brink of madness. She clenched her jaw, determined not to show any sign of weakness, but the heat in her core was undeniable. Sarah's fingers slowly slid between Camila's legs, finding the sensitive bud, teasing the moistened flesh, and Camila's mind screamed for release, for escape, but her body betrayed her. She felt the heat grow, the wetness between her legs impossible to ignore.
Sarah pulled her fingers out slowly, teasing her once more before showing Camila the evidence of her body's response. She then licked it with a wink.
Camila's eyes shut in shame, her face flushed with humiliation. She had never treated like this before, never so vulnerable, and yet her body couldn't deny the pleasure it was drawing from Sarah's assault.
Locked In
(Note: All images are for representation purposes only and should be considered NSFW. Character names, appearances, personalities, and events are entirely flexible and open for discussion.)
John never wanted to step foot in that godforsaken mansion. But here he was, trapped under the same roof as Salma's family - the people who had never let him forget he wasn't one of them.
Salma, his beautiful, trusting wife, was four months pregnant and practically bedridden from the relentless back pain. The lockdown had shut down everything, leaving them with no choice. He couldn't care for her alone, and she needed help. And so, despite every instinct telling him to stay far, far away, he agreed. Just until things settled.
Big mistake.
The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt the weight of their judgment, pressing down on him like humid air before a storm.
Ramlath, Salma's mother, barely spared him a glance. Just a quick scan, assessing, dismissing. A woman who had ruled this house alone for decades, after her husband died and left her the throne. She had no use for men who weren't powerful, wealthy, or at the very least, easily controlled.
Benazir, the eldest sister, was worse. Divorced, bitter, and still carrying the scars of a failed marriage, she treated men like tools - useful until broken, then discarded without a second thought. She carried herself with a sharp, practiced sensuality, as if daring someone to challenge her.
Her son, Basheer - or rather, Basheera, as he preferred to call 'herself' - was even more of an outsider. Eighteen, delicate, curvy, with a preference for soft fabrics, long hair and a voice that always lilted too gently for his mother's liking. He was invisible to them, an embarrassment to be ignored.
Shehnaz was different. The single mother was cheerful, bubbly, a little softer around the edges. But there was something resentful in her eyes too.
Her daughter, Annu, was just a younger version of her aunt Benazir - eighteen, spoiled, and reckless in the way only rich girls could be. She stared at him sometimes with amusement, like he was some stray animal that had wandered into the house.
John was the outsider. The low-class mistake. The intruder. And they made sure he knew it. They mocked his job, his clothes, his speech. They turned every meal into a battlefield, every conversation into a slow, calculated stripping of his dignity. But if they thought they could keep him beneath their heels, they were wrong.
Humiliation breeds anger. Anger festers into something darker.
John had spent his life swallowing his pride. Working, sweating, breaking his back for people who thought they were better than him. But there was a part of him - a part buried deep - that had never forgotten how to take back power when it was stripped from him.
Salma didn't know that part of him. She didn't know about the things he'd done before he met her, about the man he used to be. She didn't know that he had been in control before.
But her family? Oh, her family was giving him every reason to remind himself what control felt like.
And he was going to teach them.
Benazir, with her cold arrogance and the lingering scent of expensive perfume? She was going to learn how it felt to kneel.
Shehnaz, with her resentment, her unfulfilled hunger? She would break and enjoy.
Annu, with her cruel little smirks and mocking glances? She thought the world belonged to her because of her youth, her beauty. She would beg.
Ramlath, the queen of the house, untouchable for so long? She would fall the hardest, feeling the humiliation making her utterly horny.
Even 'Basheera' - there were ways to mold them, to bend them, to make them something they want eventually? - A horny girl.
John wasn't going to sit there and take it anymore.
They were going to learn exactly what kind of man he really was.
And the best part?Salma would never suspect a thing.
(Note: All images are for representation purposes only and should be considered NSFW. Character names, appearances, personalities, and events are entirely flexible and open for discussion.)
John never wanted to step foot in that godforsaken mansion. But here he was, trapped under the same roof as Salma's family - the people who had never let him forget he wasn't one of them.
Salma, his beautiful, trusting wife, was four months pregnant and practically bedridden from the relentless back pain. The lockdown had shut down everything, leaving them with no choice. He couldn't care for her alone, and she needed help. And so, despite every instinct telling him to stay far, far away, he agreed. Just until things settled.
Big mistake.
The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt the weight of their judgment, pressing down on him like humid air before a storm.
Ramlath, Salma's mother, barely spared him a glance. Just a quick scan, assessing, dismissing. A woman who had ruled this house alone for decades, after her husband died and left her the throne. She had no use for men who weren't powerful, wealthy, or at the very least, easily controlled.
Benazir, the eldest sister, was worse. Divorced, bitter, and still carrying the scars of a failed marriage, she treated men like tools - useful until broken, then discarded without a second thought. She carried herself with a sharp, practiced sensuality, as if daring someone to challenge her.
Her son, Basheer - or rather, Basheera, as he preferred to call 'herself' - was even more of an outsider. Eighteen, delicate, curvy, with a preference for soft fabrics, long hair and a voice that always lilted too gently for his mother's liking. He was invisible to them, an embarrassment to be ignored.
Shehnaz was different. The single mother was cheerful, bubbly, a little softer around the edges. But there was something resentful in her eyes too.
Her daughter, Annu, was just a younger version of her aunt Benazir - eighteen, spoiled, and reckless in the way only rich girls could be. She stared at him sometimes with amusement, like he was some stray animal that had wandered into the house.
John was the outsider. The low-class mistake. The intruder. And they made sure he knew it. They mocked his job, his clothes, his speech. They turned every meal into a battlefield, every conversation into a slow, calculated stripping of his dignity. But if they thought they could keep him beneath their heels, they were wrong.
Humiliation breeds anger. Anger festers into something darker.
John had spent his life swallowing his pride. Working, sweating, breaking his back for people who thought they were better than him. But there was a part of him - a part buried deep - that had never forgotten how to take back power when it was stripped from him.
Salma didn't know that part of him. She didn't know about the things he'd done before he met her, about the man he used to be. She didn't know that he had been in control before.
But her family? Oh, her family was giving him every reason to remind himself what control felt like.
And he was going to teach them.
Benazir, with her cold arrogance and the lingering scent of expensive perfume? She was going to learn how it felt to kneel.
Shehnaz, with her resentment, her unfulfilled hunger? She would break and enjoy.
Annu, with her cruel little smirks and mocking glances? She thought the world belonged to her because of her youth, her beauty. She would beg.
Ramlath, the queen of the house, untouchable for so long? She would fall the hardest, feeling the humiliation making her utterly horny.
Even 'Basheera' - there were ways to mold them, to bend them, to make them something they want eventually? - A horny girl.
John wasn't going to sit there and take it anymore.
They were going to learn exactly what kind of man he really was.
And the best part?Salma would never suspect a thing.
Beneath Him
Daniel Mercer was a man who thrived on control. As CEO of one of the most powerful firms in the city, he had spent years mastering the art of dominance - over markets, over negotiations, and, when necessary, over people.
And now, he had her.
Elizabeth Carter was just another name on the payroll. A quiet, diligent accountant, barely noticeable among the sea of employees who scurried through his halls. The kind of woman who kept her head down, always professional, always proper. The kind who thought she was untouchable.
But then she made a mistake. A small miscalculation buried in the numbers, one that would have gone unnoticed - except Daniel noticed everything.
Now, she was in his office, wide-eyed and breathless as he laid it out for her in stark, undeniable detail. The kind of error that could cost her job. Her reputation. Maybe even worse.
Unless… She agreed to his terms.
************
It started with little things. A late-night report delivered in person. A dress code that seemed to apply only to her - skirts a little tighter, heels a little higher. A lingering pause when he stood too close behind her, his breath warm against her neck.
He was in no rush. He liked to watch her unravel, inch by inch, resisting even as her body betrayed her. But Daniel could see it - soon enough, she would admit it. Because there was one thing she hadn't realized yet - she wasn't here to do her job anymore. She was here to please him. And he had all the time in the world to make sure she learned exactly how.
Elizabeth told herself she hated it - the way his presence made the air feel thicker, like something unseen pressing against her skin. She wasn't like the others. She was respected, elegant and she had a boyfriend - a safe, predictable man who always asked permission, always played by the rules. A man who never took what he wanted but waited for her to give it. A man who, no matter how hard he tried, never quite left her shaking, breathless, weak.
Not like Daniel did. She hated the way her body betrayed her. The way her breath hitched when he leaned too close. The way warmth curled low in her stomach at the simplest commands, commands that weren't even indecent - at least, not yet.
"Suck your fingers," he murmured one evening as she stood at his desk, trying to maintain her composure. "Slowly."
It wasn't outrightly sexual. Not in words. But the way he watched her? That was.
Her fingers trembled when she did it, her own touch suddenly foreign, hypersensitive.
Another day came another order, casual, effortless, spoken in the stillness of the conference room, where the scent of coffee and lingering power plays clung to the air. "Let me see the lace today."
She swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he meant. She could refuse. She should refuse. But she lifted the hem of her skirt just an inch, then another, just enough for him to see the soft, delicate trim hugging her hips. And when his lips curved into that knowing smirk, heat surged through her so fiercely it made her hate him even more.
Elizabeth barely had time to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions clawing at her these days.
One day, she was sitting there when the sharp trill of his phone sliced through the thick silence. He didn't break eye contact as he reached for it, his fingers slow, deliberate, as if daring her to flinch, to betray even the smallest reaction.
He didn't break eye contact as he answered, his voice smooth, almost lazy. "Mm. You miss me already?"
Elizabeth stiffened. The unmistakable purr of a woman's voice drifted through the receiver, low, sultry, eager. She watched as Daniel leaned back in his chair, amusement flickering in his gaze.
"Mmm," he mused, voice dipping lower. "And you're still wet for me, aren't you?"
Something in Elizabeth snapped. Fury. Shame. Something darker, something she refused to name. Her nails dug into her palms as she glared at him, willing herself not to squirm, not to react, not to...
His gaze locked onto hers, sharp, knowing, naughty. Then, with deliberate slowness, he murmured into the phone, "Next time, you'll do it while I'm watching."
************
He never rushed. Never pushed too far too soon. And that was the worst part - he made her wait. Some nights, she lay in bed, furious, frustrated, aching, thinking of all the ways he could have ruined her already. And worse - how he had ruined others.
She could still hear that conversation playing in her mind, clear as if he were whispering it in her ear. The smooth, commanding tone of his voice, the breathy, desperate sounds of the woman on the other end of the line. The things he made the other woman do - explicit, depraved, so far beyond what Elizabeth had even let herself imagine.
"You slipped it in already?" His voice had been low, amused, indulgent.
A needy murmur, words she couldn't make out, but the meaning was obvious.
"Mm. Tell me. Did you do what I told you, before putting it in?"
A pause, a whimper, a soft affirmation.
"Good girl," he had purred. "And? Did you touch yourself the way I told you to? Did you make a mess thinking about me?"
The response had been eager, obedient, dripping with arousal.
Elizabeth had sat there, paralyzed, stomach twisting with disgust, amusement, fury - and something else, something darker, something that had left her trembling with shame.
He had known she was listening. And he had done it anyway. Now, alone in her bed, her thighs pressed together, her body still burned with the memory of it. She hated him. Hated him for making her feel like this. Hated herself more for the way she couldn't stop replaying it in her head.
************
He was breaking her. Nothing ever went too far. And yet, night after night, she lay awake, body aching, mind screaming.
She wasn't herself anymore. She wasn't that respected, elegant, proper woman she had spent years building.
She was this. A shivering mess. A desperate, needy wreck. And every morning, she still walked into his office, heart pounding, wondering what today's game would be. Because no matter how much she fought it - She wanted him to break her. And she was terrified to find out just how much further he'd take her before she finally begged for it.
Because deep down, she knew she wouldn't resist. She would obey.
But Daniel had all the time in the world. And the longer she fought, the sweeter it would be when she finally broke.
Daniel Mercer was a man who thrived on control. As CEO of one of the most powerful firms in the city, he had spent years mastering the art of dominance - over markets, over negotiations, and, when necessary, over people.
And now, he had her.
Elizabeth Carter was just another name on the payroll. A quiet, diligent accountant, barely noticeable among the sea of employees who scurried through his halls. The kind of woman who kept her head down, always professional, always proper. The kind who thought she was untouchable.
But then she made a mistake. A small miscalculation buried in the numbers, one that would have gone unnoticed - except Daniel noticed everything.
Now, she was in his office, wide-eyed and breathless as he laid it out for her in stark, undeniable detail. The kind of error that could cost her job. Her reputation. Maybe even worse.
Unless… She agreed to his terms.
************
It started with little things. A late-night report delivered in person. A dress code that seemed to apply only to her - skirts a little tighter, heels a little higher. A lingering pause when he stood too close behind her, his breath warm against her neck.
He was in no rush. He liked to watch her unravel, inch by inch, resisting even as her body betrayed her. But Daniel could see it - soon enough, she would admit it. Because there was one thing she hadn't realized yet - she wasn't here to do her job anymore. She was here to please him. And he had all the time in the world to make sure she learned exactly how.
Elizabeth told herself she hated it - the way his presence made the air feel thicker, like something unseen pressing against her skin. She wasn't like the others. She was respected, elegant and she had a boyfriend - a safe, predictable man who always asked permission, always played by the rules. A man who never took what he wanted but waited for her to give it. A man who, no matter how hard he tried, never quite left her shaking, breathless, weak.
Not like Daniel did. She hated the way her body betrayed her. The way her breath hitched when he leaned too close. The way warmth curled low in her stomach at the simplest commands, commands that weren't even indecent - at least, not yet.
"Suck your fingers," he murmured one evening as she stood at his desk, trying to maintain her composure. "Slowly."
It wasn't outrightly sexual. Not in words. But the way he watched her? That was.
Her fingers trembled when she did it, her own touch suddenly foreign, hypersensitive.
Another day came another order, casual, effortless, spoken in the stillness of the conference room, where the scent of coffee and lingering power plays clung to the air. "Let me see the lace today."
She swallowed hard, knowing exactly what he meant. She could refuse. She should refuse. But she lifted the hem of her skirt just an inch, then another, just enough for him to see the soft, delicate trim hugging her hips. And when his lips curved into that knowing smirk, heat surged through her so fiercely it made her hate him even more.
Elizabeth barely had time to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions clawing at her these days.
One day, she was sitting there when the sharp trill of his phone sliced through the thick silence. He didn't break eye contact as he reached for it, his fingers slow, deliberate, as if daring her to flinch, to betray even the smallest reaction.
He didn't break eye contact as he answered, his voice smooth, almost lazy. "Mm. You miss me already?"
Elizabeth stiffened. The unmistakable purr of a woman's voice drifted through the receiver, low, sultry, eager. She watched as Daniel leaned back in his chair, amusement flickering in his gaze.
"Mmm," he mused, voice dipping lower. "And you're still wet for me, aren't you?"
Something in Elizabeth snapped. Fury. Shame. Something darker, something she refused to name. Her nails dug into her palms as she glared at him, willing herself not to squirm, not to react, not to...
His gaze locked onto hers, sharp, knowing, naughty. Then, with deliberate slowness, he murmured into the phone, "Next time, you'll do it while I'm watching."
************
He never rushed. Never pushed too far too soon. And that was the worst part - he made her wait. Some nights, she lay in bed, furious, frustrated, aching, thinking of all the ways he could have ruined her already. And worse - how he had ruined others.
She could still hear that conversation playing in her mind, clear as if he were whispering it in her ear. The smooth, commanding tone of his voice, the breathy, desperate sounds of the woman on the other end of the line. The things he made the other woman do - explicit, depraved, so far beyond what Elizabeth had even let herself imagine.
"You slipped it in already?" His voice had been low, amused, indulgent.
A needy murmur, words she couldn't make out, but the meaning was obvious.
"Mm. Tell me. Did you do what I told you, before putting it in?"
A pause, a whimper, a soft affirmation.
"Good girl," he had purred. "And? Did you touch yourself the way I told you to? Did you make a mess thinking about me?"
The response had been eager, obedient, dripping with arousal.
Elizabeth had sat there, paralyzed, stomach twisting with disgust, amusement, fury - and something else, something darker, something that had left her trembling with shame.
He had known she was listening. And he had done it anyway. Now, alone in her bed, her thighs pressed together, her body still burned with the memory of it. She hated him. Hated him for making her feel like this. Hated herself more for the way she couldn't stop replaying it in her head.
************
"Sniff yourself."
She blinked up at him from across the desk, confused, horrified. "What?"
Daniel leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. "You heard me. Lift your arm. Take in your own scent." His gaze flickered, sharp, knowing. "I want to see if you're fresh after a long day at work."
Heat rushed to her face. "That's... that's disgusting," she hissed, but her voice lacked conviction.
He just smiled. "Is it? Then don't do it."
But the way he looked at her, like he was waiting for her to break, made something inside her coil tight. She should walk away. She should. Instead, she lifted her arm exposing the delicate curve of her underarm, the warmth of her own body rising to meet her.
"More," he murmured. Her breath came shallow as she hesitated - then, slowly, obediently, she brought her face close and inhaled.
It was actually so arousing. A mix of perfume, sweat, something raw. Something primal.
And the way he watched her - that was the worst part.
Her thighs clenched together, nipples hardened. She hated him. She hated him. She...
"Good girl," he said, voice like silk. "Now sit back down."
Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just exposed herself in the most humiliating way possible.
************
It never stopped.
Some days, it was the simplest things—small orders whispered under his breath, degrading in their innocence.
"Sit here. Don't say a word."
"Wear red lipstick tomorrow. Deep red. The kind that stains."
"Suck your fingers. Five minutes."
"Keep one button open today. Just one."
"Shorter skirt. Higher heels. Tomorrow."
"Open your hair. Look at me. Lick your lips. Two minutes."
"Leave your panties on my desk." Later that day "Take them. Wear them."
"Spread your legs a little when you sit."
"Undo your ponytail. I want to see how messy you can get."
"Send me proof. Every night. Whatever I ask."
Other days, it was unbearable.
Like when he held out a pen with a command, watching as she hesitated before wrapping her lips around the end of it, her tongue barely grazing the tip before she handed it back, cheeks burning.
Or when he murmured, "I bet you taste sweet today," as he passed her by, his breath warm against her ear, leaving her standing there, heart hammering, hands trembling, knowing he wouldn't push it further. Not yet.
Or when he stroked himself - "Sit there. Keep your eyes up. Don't look down." She heard it before she saw it - The quiet movements under his desk. She couldn't see. But she knew. And she clenched her thighs tight. The quiet, rhythmic sounds - the controlled breaths, the faint hitch of pleasure. And when the warm, sticky mess finally splattered onto her thigh, she shuddered.
She blinked up at him from across the desk, confused, horrified. "What?"
Daniel leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. "You heard me. Lift your arm. Take in your own scent." His gaze flickered, sharp, knowing. "I want to see if you're fresh after a long day at work."
Heat rushed to her face. "That's... that's disgusting," she hissed, but her voice lacked conviction.
He just smiled. "Is it? Then don't do it."
But the way he looked at her, like he was waiting for her to break, made something inside her coil tight. She should walk away. She should. Instead, she lifted her arm exposing the delicate curve of her underarm, the warmth of her own body rising to meet her.
"More," he murmured. Her breath came shallow as she hesitated - then, slowly, obediently, she brought her face close and inhaled.
It was actually so arousing. A mix of perfume, sweat, something raw. Something primal.
And the way he watched her - that was the worst part.
Her thighs clenched together, nipples hardened. She hated him. She hated him. She...
"Good girl," he said, voice like silk. "Now sit back down."
Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just exposed herself in the most humiliating way possible.
************
It never stopped.
Some days, it was the simplest things—small orders whispered under his breath, degrading in their innocence.
"Sit here. Don't say a word."
"Wear red lipstick tomorrow. Deep red. The kind that stains."
"Suck your fingers. Five minutes."
"Keep one button open today. Just one."
"Shorter skirt. Higher heels. Tomorrow."
"Open your hair. Look at me. Lick your lips. Two minutes."
"Leave your panties on my desk." Later that day "Take them. Wear them."
"Spread your legs a little when you sit."
"Undo your ponytail. I want to see how messy you can get."
"Send me proof. Every night. Whatever I ask."
Other days, it was unbearable.
Like when he held out a pen with a command, watching as she hesitated before wrapping her lips around the end of it, her tongue barely grazing the tip before she handed it back, cheeks burning.
Or when he murmured, "I bet you taste sweet today," as he passed her by, his breath warm against her ear, leaving her standing there, heart hammering, hands trembling, knowing he wouldn't push it further. Not yet.
Or when he stroked himself - "Sit there. Keep your eyes up. Don't look down." She heard it before she saw it - The quiet movements under his desk. She couldn't see. But she knew. And she clenched her thighs tight. The quiet, rhythmic sounds - the controlled breaths, the faint hitch of pleasure. And when the warm, sticky mess finally splattered onto her thigh, she shuddered.
He was breaking her. Nothing ever went too far. And yet, night after night, she lay awake, body aching, mind screaming.
She wasn't herself anymore. She wasn't that respected, elegant, proper woman she had spent years building.
She was this. A shivering mess. A desperate, needy wreck. And every morning, she still walked into his office, heart pounding, wondering what today's game would be. Because no matter how much she fought it - She wanted him to break her. And she was terrified to find out just how much further he'd take her before she finally begged for it.
Because deep down, she knew she wouldn't resist. She would obey.
But Daniel had all the time in the world. And the longer she fought, the sweeter it would be when she finally broke.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That said, even a deviant like me has some hard limits. Here's what's not on the table:
- Funky smells and filthy conditions
- Vomit, toilet stuff, and rimming
- Pregnancy
- Mutilation, death, vore, or body horror
- Non-human characters or anything sci-fi, fantasy, or medieval
Here's a little about me:
- I play exclusively in private here on BMR.
- My vibe is all about modern, human, realistic scenarios.
- Weekdays are my time to shine - super active then.
- I love long, detailed posts (bring on those juicy paragraphs!).
- Got multiple characters? I can juggle them like a pro.
- If the RP is chef's kiss amazing, I'll reply like a woman possessed.
- Basically, my life is 90% RP, 10% snacks.
Slide into my ahem, inbox, and let's (s)explore something deliciously naughty together.
And... don't be shy when you explain what you want - I can handle the heat
(If none of the ideas above catch your interest, feel free to check out my open request thread here!)
Jynx
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