Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)Hello everyone
Let's just get the basics out of the way.
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Currently, I am mostly interested in writing 1st person points of view. I will still do 3rd person however. If you got a 2nd person manual on breeding I'm all ears.
My posts can be anywhere from 500-3000k words.
I am not the quick back-and-forth type. Expect a post maybe just once or twice a week.
I am in GMT+1 time zone. If you're wondering why I'm not responding, I'm probably asleep. Just leave messages and I'll get back to you when I can.
I write actions and dialogue for all characters in a scene. DISCLAIMER: THAT MEANS I WILL GOD-MOD YOUR MOST BELOVED CHARACTERS!
Toss and ghost
So, know how a roleplay doesn't really take off after endless planning? Fear not. I like sparring plot points. Someone to bounce ideas off on. General feedback. Brainstorming just for the sake of brainstorming. Write me some interesting story elements, lewd fantasies, and character traits. Let me hear them. Then ghost me.
----
Assume links are NSFW
I play all sorts of different settings. Historical. Fantasy. Modern. Sci-Fi. Or a mixing them a bit. Alternate history, Modern with a fantasy or sci-fi twist.
As the title says I like the more fringe body types. Here are some examples.
A woman who has gone too far with plastic surgery. She looks like those clickbait pictures of "You won't believe what x person looks like today." Several rounds of breast implants. Butt implants. Botox lips about to burst. Multiple facelifts. This person once close to you has become a Frankenstein monster beyond recognition. Exploit and abuse her. Saviate your lust and fantasies for what it's like to be someone with butt implants and titfuck a pair of veiny skin-covered basketballs.
Big bustles are the fashion of the day. Everybody knows it's just shapewear to make your butt look bigger. Unlike that one woman who actually has buns like that when stripped.
A younger character(Gentlemen, nothing below 16.) coming to terms with the fact that all her friends are getting nice breasts. While she is still flat as a board and will remain so for the rest of her life. Could make her 6'4+ just so she sticks out from a crown as this tall lanky flat walking stick.
A woman embarrassed that her once beautiful huge breasts are now old. Deflated skin bags and sagging down past her navel.
Ask me about what extremes I will go to for fringe body types.
Preggo babes are my top priority. Pregnancy is a big kink of mine. Not just impregnation. But being rough fucked while heavily pregnant. I like settings where women are for breeding. And tits are for heavy lactation.
The androgynous tomboy. Hanging out like one of the guys. But she must be shown that she is just another woman and must be bred like all the other women. By force if necessary. This can also work as a lesbian forced trad housewife.
Fits well in a setting of alternate history.
Fearing her abnormal breast growth will lead to cancer or worse. A young woman visits several doctors. Her pictures soon begin to be traded in the inner circles of powerful men. No way will any of them let her amputate her gigantic hangers. Instead, they are all fighting to be the one who gets hold of that enormous pile of titmeat.
The stalker. It's a run-of-the-mill straight-up non-con story. You spot a pair of giga-knockers randomly out in the wild. At the subway. Grocery store. Your best friend's mom. Your own mom? Whatever. Kidnap her. Breed her. Watch her belly grow while you keep her in your doomsday prepper secret basement.
A humanoid alien race who can get knocked up by humans. Very vague I know. If Ahsoka is kicked out of the Jedi order she can have your babies instead.
Some Cyberpunk sci-fi. Fixing the birthing crisis. Androids can now carry human eggs and incubate them like surrogate bodies.
About men I like playing opposite. The real bosses and leaders of the world aren't muscled handsome super-chads in their 20s-30s. They are grizzled and cunning men in their 50s-60s who have stood the test of time.
Here's a writing sample. 1st person. Fringe body type. Muscular chick. There's both god-modding and time skips. Should give a well-rounded idea of what to expect.
Check my F-list for more kinks and ref pics.
Let's just get the basics out of the way.
----
Currently, I am mostly interested in writing 1st person points of view. I will still do 3rd person however. If you got a 2nd person manual on breeding I'm all ears.
My posts can be anywhere from 500-3000k words.
I am not the quick back-and-forth type. Expect a post maybe just once or twice a week.
I am in GMT+1 time zone. If you're wondering why I'm not responding, I'm probably asleep. Just leave messages and I'll get back to you when I can.
I write actions and dialogue for all characters in a scene. DISCLAIMER: THAT MEANS I WILL GOD-MOD YOUR MOST BELOVED CHARACTERS!
Toss and ghost
So, know how a roleplay doesn't really take off after endless planning? Fear not. I like sparring plot points. Someone to bounce ideas off on. General feedback. Brainstorming just for the sake of brainstorming. Write me some interesting story elements, lewd fantasies, and character traits. Let me hear them. Then ghost me.
----
Assume links are NSFW
I play all sorts of different settings. Historical. Fantasy. Modern. Sci-Fi. Or a mixing them a bit. Alternate history, Modern with a fantasy or sci-fi twist.
As the title says I like the more fringe body types. Here are some examples.
A woman who has gone too far with plastic surgery. She looks like those clickbait pictures of "You won't believe what x person looks like today." Several rounds of breast implants. Butt implants. Botox lips about to burst. Multiple facelifts. This person once close to you has become a Frankenstein monster beyond recognition. Exploit and abuse her. Saviate your lust and fantasies for what it's like to be someone with butt implants and titfuck a pair of veiny skin-covered basketballs.
Big bustles are the fashion of the day. Everybody knows it's just shapewear to make your butt look bigger. Unlike that one woman who actually has buns like that when stripped.
A younger character(Gentlemen, nothing below 16.) coming to terms with the fact that all her friends are getting nice breasts. While she is still flat as a board and will remain so for the rest of her life. Could make her 6'4+ just so she sticks out from a crown as this tall lanky flat walking stick.
A woman embarrassed that her once beautiful huge breasts are now old. Deflated skin bags and sagging down past her navel.
Ask me about what extremes I will go to for fringe body types.
Preggo babes are my top priority. Pregnancy is a big kink of mine. Not just impregnation. But being rough fucked while heavily pregnant. I like settings where women are for breeding. And tits are for heavy lactation.
The androgynous tomboy. Hanging out like one of the guys. But she must be shown that she is just another woman and must be bred like all the other women. By force if necessary. This can also work as a lesbian forced trad housewife.
Fits well in a setting of alternate history.
Fearing her abnormal breast growth will lead to cancer or worse. A young woman visits several doctors. Her pictures soon begin to be traded in the inner circles of powerful men. No way will any of them let her amputate her gigantic hangers. Instead, they are all fighting to be the one who gets hold of that enormous pile of titmeat.
The stalker. It's a run-of-the-mill straight-up non-con story. You spot a pair of giga-knockers randomly out in the wild. At the subway. Grocery store. Your best friend's mom. Your own mom? Whatever. Kidnap her. Breed her. Watch her belly grow while you keep her in your doomsday prepper secret basement.
A humanoid alien race who can get knocked up by humans. Very vague I know. If Ahsoka is kicked out of the Jedi order she can have your babies instead.
Some Cyberpunk sci-fi. Fixing the birthing crisis. Androids can now carry human eggs and incubate them like surrogate bodies.
About men I like playing opposite. The real bosses and leaders of the world aren't muscled handsome super-chads in their 20s-30s. They are grizzled and cunning men in their 50s-60s who have stood the test of time.
Here's a writing sample. 1st person. Fringe body type. Muscular chick. There's both god-modding and time skips. Should give a well-rounded idea of what to expect.
I work at this café. Every day, this guy comes in and sits in the same corner, typing away on his keyboard. This has been going on for a few weeks now. Every forty-five minutes or so, he orders a cup of coffee. He has to be a caffeine-holic, or whatever you would call it. The coffee here is about five to ten bucks a piece. It's a crazy waste if you ask me. He could sit at some diner and get free refills or buy that gas station coffee by the bucket load.
He might be well off, but if so he's probably the only one in town. He usually wears a white or blue shirt with a pullover, often red or green. He doesn't wear jeans like everyone else in town. They look like something my grandpa would wear. He got a wristwatch too, but I can't tell the difference between a two-hundred-dollar watch and a twenty-thousand-dollar watch. So I'll leave us all guessing. He's a bit grizzled too despite being clean-shaven, so the thing about Grandpa pants might be right. He could be fifty I don't know.
Te-te-ti-tu-ta-ta-ta-ti-te. That's my best written example of a laptop keyboard going at it. Why do the keys have different vocal sounds you ask? Don't know. Then he sips coffee. Sip-sip-sip-sip-sip. He does it silently without the sipping sound. Checks his watch. I bet there's a digital clock in the bottom right corner of the screen he's already staring at. Flicks the wrist anyway, stares at it, orders coffee. Before the wristflick, he does this thing where he lifts the cup to his lips while staring at the screen. I'm guessing he's rereading what he just typed. Then realizes the cup he's holding to his lips is empty. That's my cue to ask if he wants some more.
I should probably tell you that we are often the only people in the café. I think the owner is gonna close shop soon, no way this is profitable. Even with the quantities laptop-guy is drinking, I don't think it's enough to keep the boat from sinking. Often the only other customers are a small rush midday at lunch hour. People usually order to go, rarely do people sit here. It doesn't add up to much.
The pay is dogshit, so it wouldn't be a huge loss if I was let go. Though laptop-guy tips generously and I'll probably earn twice as much this month, so big thanks to him. On the other hand, the jobs for unskilled labor are hard to come by in town and I don't have a car to commute to something else, so I'm just stuck here I guess. With my mom, she doesn't have a car either, so we are stuck together. I'm saving up for the deposit to rent an apartment. Though I'm having second thoughts about renting something in an area with no jobs, but I just can't stand living with my mom anymore.
Here's a secret. When I get a stable income and my own place I'll start saving up for implants. But that dream feels a bit far fetched at the moment. There's nothing wrong with my breasts. They are sizeable enough or what you would call it. And in their early twenties, they are still young and firm. I'm not even sure how I got the idea into my head. I think it's when I see another chick with bigger rounder knockers than me, I get that unbearable stab of boob envy. My browser history is probably as full of tit-pics as any guy's. Full of before and after pictures of women getting those big round Barbie knockers I want. And YouTube videos of wannabe YouTubers giving long winded accounts of their breast implant journey. But anyway that's me going out on a tangent.
So now that you've heard my secret fantasy of getting Barbie-Boobs someday, you might think that you know me pretty well. Though I'd say, if you'd really like to know me, you'd have to check me out in the gym. Because that's where I feel the most at home. It's like a second home to me actually. And I'm not just saying that because my first home is a real stinker, literally. No no, I really do like being here at the gym.
I get here straight after work. Do a quick all-round body routine before all the blue-collar Chads get here and wait in line for the equipment. Unlike the café, this place actually sees business. Then I either sit on a stationary bike or do curls. Both well planted in front of the TV. Some Chads joke that I'm actually just here watching telly. But I can sit on that bike for hours in a row and think of nothing else, it's like people describing a runner's high, a euphoric experience. Same when doing curls, even more so. Arms go up, arms go down. Do it enough times and all the good brain chemicals, dopamine, neurons whatever it is, but anyway, they flare up at full capacity. No sets, no counting reps, just arms go up, arms go down, happy happy brain.
So I got gorgeous thick thighs and biceps that are, let's say, disproportionately large. One day I put on this truckload of weight on a bar and this new guy at the gym said "You know that's a curlbar right?" I just flexed a bicep so big it jumped up like a Popeye cartoon. That's how I imagined it in his eyes at least and judging by his expression, that's how he saw it. "Just leave her alone." A regular at the gym says. He can be a bit of a white Knight. Maybe he likes me. I'm often the only chick at the gym. So they have to fight over what little there is.
The new guy kept staring. After doing this for a few years I've worked my way up to doing hundreds of reps with what most of the fit guys can only do a few of at their max. "Aren't you gonna do anything else?" New guy asks and is again shut down by a white Knight. I shake my head. "Nah, did a bit before you guys showed up." I think about getting a boyfriend at the gym. Inviting some fit guy home. "And this is the trailer I live in with my mom. I call it the stink wagon. Come have a sniff." I imagine myself saying. "We got all sorts of smells. Clogged sink. My mom's bedsheets she hasn't changed for months. Nicotine, any scent that goes with a chain-smoker really." I really need my own place.
My mom isn't a bad mom. She just doesn't do much. She works part-time at a grocery store. If you doubled her pay she would work half as much. No better aspirations for a better living. She's skinny and coughs as if she's about to die. She rarely cooks and I feed myself. Half deaf I think. All she says is "What?!" Without the T. "Whaa..!" Like the quack of a duck. A typical conversation goes like this. She has that croaky middle-aged chain-smoker voice.
Me "I'm off to work. I'm going to the gym afterward, so I'll be home late."
"Wha..?"
"I said I'll be home late!"
"Get yourself dinner then."
Didn't expect her to cook anyway. So imagine me rolling my eyes while putting on my jacket.
"Josephine!" She calls when I open the door.
"Ye?"
"Get your mom some pallies if you're going out." Pallies is what she calls her cigarettes if you're confused.
"No!"
"Why not?"
"You still owe me for last time."
"Whaa!" She quacks. TV is quite loud too. Standing in the door I can hear the laugh track of a gameshow and the click of a lighter.
"I said you still owe me for last time!"
No response. I imagine she's the one rolling her eyes now.
She often complains that my protein shakes aren't good for me. I guess in excess there is some truth to it. I just feel like she is throwing rocks in a glasshouse with all those cigarettes she is smoking.
So I started this story about laptop-guy and better get back to it. I would mention that he often stares at me. But everyone does, so nothing special about that. There's no one else here to look at anyway. Everyone stares at my preposterous arms. When at work and there is nothing to do I often just sit behind the counter and do weightless curls. Just moving them and doing some stretches feels good too. Especially if they are a bit sore from the day before. It also feels like some kind of warm-up before hitting the gym after work. The owner gets mad if he sees me sitting down. What am I expected to do with no customers, mop the floor over and over and over to seem as if I'm working? I expect we are going out of business within the year anyway, so the threat of being fired is nothing.
As I said, everyone stares at my arms, but laptop-guy is different. When I'm stretching and doing the weightless curls he really gawks. He does the wristflick and pretends to be reading while sipping coffee, but I can see his eyes going sideways. This one time I yawned and stretched while standing next to him. He looked all flustered as if I was an unruly young lady lifting my shirt up to flash my tits.
The café is closing at the end of the month. That's not unexpected as I've explained, but it comes a lot sooner and a lot more sudden than I thought. "What are gonna do afterwards?" Laptop-guy asks, he has gotten the news too somehow. He's looking flustered again, like a teenager asking out a pretty girl for a prom date. I just shrug. He hesitates then asks again. "You could come make coffee for me." I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. "At your place?"
"Yes."
"Like a maid or something?"
"Kind of. I guess... Just bring me coffee. Fold some laundry. Iron a shirt. The occasional round with a vacuum cleaner. That sort of stuff."
I don't know how to iron a shirt but I don't tell him that. He seems nice enough, but I'm contemplating whether or not I'm walking into the lion's den. He could be a creep. He's probably twice my age and I sense the unspoken sexual proposition to his request. Though maybe I'm just paranoid and he really is just a nice guy wanting to offer a job. On the other hand, there's an easy way to find out if he's a perv. I lean in. "You just wanna lick my arms don't you?" I flex them and he looks like he's about to faint. Biceps so big they reach my hand. "I'll let you grope them if the job pays exceptionally." Pretty sure I got him by the cock and balls. Indeed he stammers. "S-sure." Almost inaudible. "Better get a sleeveless maid outfit then." I say and wink.
He might be well off, but if so he's probably the only one in town. He usually wears a white or blue shirt with a pullover, often red or green. He doesn't wear jeans like everyone else in town. They look like something my grandpa would wear. He got a wristwatch too, but I can't tell the difference between a two-hundred-dollar watch and a twenty-thousand-dollar watch. So I'll leave us all guessing. He's a bit grizzled too despite being clean-shaven, so the thing about Grandpa pants might be right. He could be fifty I don't know.
Te-te-ti-tu-ta-ta-ta-ti-te. That's my best written example of a laptop keyboard going at it. Why do the keys have different vocal sounds you ask? Don't know. Then he sips coffee. Sip-sip-sip-sip-sip. He does it silently without the sipping sound. Checks his watch. I bet there's a digital clock in the bottom right corner of the screen he's already staring at. Flicks the wrist anyway, stares at it, orders coffee. Before the wristflick, he does this thing where he lifts the cup to his lips while staring at the screen. I'm guessing he's rereading what he just typed. Then realizes the cup he's holding to his lips is empty. That's my cue to ask if he wants some more.
I should probably tell you that we are often the only people in the café. I think the owner is gonna close shop soon, no way this is profitable. Even with the quantities laptop-guy is drinking, I don't think it's enough to keep the boat from sinking. Often the only other customers are a small rush midday at lunch hour. People usually order to go, rarely do people sit here. It doesn't add up to much.
The pay is dogshit, so it wouldn't be a huge loss if I was let go. Though laptop-guy tips generously and I'll probably earn twice as much this month, so big thanks to him. On the other hand, the jobs for unskilled labor are hard to come by in town and I don't have a car to commute to something else, so I'm just stuck here I guess. With my mom, she doesn't have a car either, so we are stuck together. I'm saving up for the deposit to rent an apartment. Though I'm having second thoughts about renting something in an area with no jobs, but I just can't stand living with my mom anymore.
Here's a secret. When I get a stable income and my own place I'll start saving up for implants. But that dream feels a bit far fetched at the moment. There's nothing wrong with my breasts. They are sizeable enough or what you would call it. And in their early twenties, they are still young and firm. I'm not even sure how I got the idea into my head. I think it's when I see another chick with bigger rounder knockers than me, I get that unbearable stab of boob envy. My browser history is probably as full of tit-pics as any guy's. Full of before and after pictures of women getting those big round Barbie knockers I want. And YouTube videos of wannabe YouTubers giving long winded accounts of their breast implant journey. But anyway that's me going out on a tangent.
So now that you've heard my secret fantasy of getting Barbie-Boobs someday, you might think that you know me pretty well. Though I'd say, if you'd really like to know me, you'd have to check me out in the gym. Because that's where I feel the most at home. It's like a second home to me actually. And I'm not just saying that because my first home is a real stinker, literally. No no, I really do like being here at the gym.
I get here straight after work. Do a quick all-round body routine before all the blue-collar Chads get here and wait in line for the equipment. Unlike the café, this place actually sees business. Then I either sit on a stationary bike or do curls. Both well planted in front of the TV. Some Chads joke that I'm actually just here watching telly. But I can sit on that bike for hours in a row and think of nothing else, it's like people describing a runner's high, a euphoric experience. Same when doing curls, even more so. Arms go up, arms go down. Do it enough times and all the good brain chemicals, dopamine, neurons whatever it is, but anyway, they flare up at full capacity. No sets, no counting reps, just arms go up, arms go down, happy happy brain.
So I got gorgeous thick thighs and biceps that are, let's say, disproportionately large. One day I put on this truckload of weight on a bar and this new guy at the gym said "You know that's a curlbar right?" I just flexed a bicep so big it jumped up like a Popeye cartoon. That's how I imagined it in his eyes at least and judging by his expression, that's how he saw it. "Just leave her alone." A regular at the gym says. He can be a bit of a white Knight. Maybe he likes me. I'm often the only chick at the gym. So they have to fight over what little there is.
The new guy kept staring. After doing this for a few years I've worked my way up to doing hundreds of reps with what most of the fit guys can only do a few of at their max. "Aren't you gonna do anything else?" New guy asks and is again shut down by a white Knight. I shake my head. "Nah, did a bit before you guys showed up." I think about getting a boyfriend at the gym. Inviting some fit guy home. "And this is the trailer I live in with my mom. I call it the stink wagon. Come have a sniff." I imagine myself saying. "We got all sorts of smells. Clogged sink. My mom's bedsheets she hasn't changed for months. Nicotine, any scent that goes with a chain-smoker really." I really need my own place.
My mom isn't a bad mom. She just doesn't do much. She works part-time at a grocery store. If you doubled her pay she would work half as much. No better aspirations for a better living. She's skinny and coughs as if she's about to die. She rarely cooks and I feed myself. Half deaf I think. All she says is "What?!" Without the T. "Whaa..!" Like the quack of a duck. A typical conversation goes like this. She has that croaky middle-aged chain-smoker voice.
Me "I'm off to work. I'm going to the gym afterward, so I'll be home late."
"Wha..?"
"I said I'll be home late!"
"Get yourself dinner then."
Didn't expect her to cook anyway. So imagine me rolling my eyes while putting on my jacket.
"Josephine!" She calls when I open the door.
"Ye?"
"Get your mom some pallies if you're going out." Pallies is what she calls her cigarettes if you're confused.
"No!"
"Why not?"
"You still owe me for last time."
"Whaa!" She quacks. TV is quite loud too. Standing in the door I can hear the laugh track of a gameshow and the click of a lighter.
"I said you still owe me for last time!"
No response. I imagine she's the one rolling her eyes now.
She often complains that my protein shakes aren't good for me. I guess in excess there is some truth to it. I just feel like she is throwing rocks in a glasshouse with all those cigarettes she is smoking.
So I started this story about laptop-guy and better get back to it. I would mention that he often stares at me. But everyone does, so nothing special about that. There's no one else here to look at anyway. Everyone stares at my preposterous arms. When at work and there is nothing to do I often just sit behind the counter and do weightless curls. Just moving them and doing some stretches feels good too. Especially if they are a bit sore from the day before. It also feels like some kind of warm-up before hitting the gym after work. The owner gets mad if he sees me sitting down. What am I expected to do with no customers, mop the floor over and over and over to seem as if I'm working? I expect we are going out of business within the year anyway, so the threat of being fired is nothing.
As I said, everyone stares at my arms, but laptop-guy is different. When I'm stretching and doing the weightless curls he really gawks. He does the wristflick and pretends to be reading while sipping coffee, but I can see his eyes going sideways. This one time I yawned and stretched while standing next to him. He looked all flustered as if I was an unruly young lady lifting my shirt up to flash my tits.
The café is closing at the end of the month. That's not unexpected as I've explained, but it comes a lot sooner and a lot more sudden than I thought. "What are gonna do afterwards?" Laptop-guy asks, he has gotten the news too somehow. He's looking flustered again, like a teenager asking out a pretty girl for a prom date. I just shrug. He hesitates then asks again. "You could come make coffee for me." I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. "At your place?"
"Yes."
"Like a maid or something?"
"Kind of. I guess... Just bring me coffee. Fold some laundry. Iron a shirt. The occasional round with a vacuum cleaner. That sort of stuff."
I don't know how to iron a shirt but I don't tell him that. He seems nice enough, but I'm contemplating whether or not I'm walking into the lion's den. He could be a creep. He's probably twice my age and I sense the unspoken sexual proposition to his request. Though maybe I'm just paranoid and he really is just a nice guy wanting to offer a job. On the other hand, there's an easy way to find out if he's a perv. I lean in. "You just wanna lick my arms don't you?" I flex them and he looks like he's about to faint. Biceps so big they reach my hand. "I'll let you grope them if the job pays exceptionally." Pretty sure I got him by the cock and balls. Indeed he stammers. "S-sure." Almost inaudible. "Better get a sleeveless maid outfit then." I say and wink.
Check my F-list for more kinks and ref pics.
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