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Bishop
Moon
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2015
- Location
- Eastern U.S.
Well, too bad! Damn judgmental heading. Anyway, if you clicked on this thread, it's either because you're curious, drawn in by the Gladiator reference in the Subject line, or you misclicked. If it's the latter, I won't be offended if you back out and don't read on. Go on, I can wait. I'm a patient man. The easiest way's to just click that Back button on your browser. Or you could completely close out, and open a new window. A bit unorthodox, and certainly not the most efficient way of going about it. But, you know what they say. To each their worm. The early bird gets the cheese. The second mouse gets their own? As you can tell, I'm not the best at quoting such idioms.
Can you just get on with it, please?
Dammit, go away! Who asked you to be here, anyway? For those of you who meant to click here, or felt compelled to read on, hello! I'm Bishop, as you probably have already noticed. A few things to know about me:
- I'm a 22 year old male, hailing from the U.S.
- I'm experienced in the art of roleplaying, as I'm sure most of us are.
- Most of my experience in roleplay is in the erotica department.
- I'm looking to broaden my horizons in this field, preferring to write stories with plots rather than instant intercourse.
- If it's the intercourse you crave, I'm still more than willing to oblige, and am well versed in such written arts.
- My hope is to have long-term roleplays that expand past a single foray. I'd like there to be room for backstories, plots, intrigue, and the like.
- My roleplay style has always been third person. While I'm willing to venture out of this toward first, if given the choice I will always revert back to what I'm comfortable with.
- I tend to be on fairly often, and as such will likely be able to post two to three times a week, depending on how many roleplays I have going on.
- I'm very malleable, and I tend to adapt to my partner's preferences, especially when the subject matter is smut.
- When it comes to where, I would prefer roleplays to occur here, whether via thread or PM. Either works.
- If given a choice, I'd rather follow an unconventional plot with unknown outcomes rather than a generic one with a predetermined outcome.
I suppose that's all that needs to be said, although there's certainly more that can be. I'm an interesting person, dammit! Don't just take my word for it, ask my pet fish! I don't actually have a pet fish. And if I did, would I really be the crazy person if you decided it was logical to ask it questions? I thought not.
Actually, I'm not really mad about this one. I actually want to thank you for reminding me. Anyway, I have been roleplaying for quite a long period of time, the better part of three years. I've been writing in general for nearly twice that. In that time, I have written with and learned from some fantastic people, remarkable talents with golden hearts. Through them, I have developed and honed my writing style to what it is now, yet fully acknowledge that there are still many, many things to learn. It's one of the reasons I'm here, and I'm sure that this community has much to teach me. As I'm sure all of us aspiring writers know, one is never done improving. I am telling you all this in order to not only inform you of my mindset, but to provide reasoning for the following point: Through my experiences, I have developed a sort of standard, a set of expectations from a writing partner. Literacy is a must, as is dedication to the work. If the posts are difficult to read through, I may politely decline continuing. In addition, if my partner comes to the decision that they have no desire to continue the work, I request a simple notice and the reasoning behind the decision. I feel that such courtesies are a necessity in this, and in all things.
As such, I've compiled the following list of, for lack of a better term, requirements for a roleplay partner:
1: A female is preferred, although I am more than willing to write with a male in a non-sexual nature.
2: Literacy is a must. Unfortunately, this is non-negotiable.
3: All characters involved must be over the age of 18. Another non-negotiable.
4: The posts must be a length of at least 200 words. By no means a novella, it's certainly a sufficient, and easily obtainable, length. On the opposite side of the coin, I don't impose a maximum length. I've been in roleplays with posts of a length upward of 2000 words, and am willing to reach further with the right partner.
5: I ask for the courtesy of a warning if a roleplay is to come to a close. I'm putting my time in effort into each post, and I expect the same. If a roleplay is not to your liking and you express this, I will respect that and leave you be. Yet if you suddenly abandon it without a word, I might die inside a little.
Please keep in mind, this is not an attempt by me to sound pompous; I assure you, that's as far from the truth as one can get. I merely wish to maximize the enjoyment of my time spent here, and not to waste the time of those who would disagree with these expectations.
You've done it. You've bored me. Can you get to the good stuff?
Yeah, I suppose I should do that. What should I talk about first?
Is it my job to direct you? This isn't my post, yanno.
Well, in case you haven't noticed, you've practically been serving as the headings throughout this post. Why not make yourself useful for a change?
...fine. Tell them what you're into.
Ah, yes. Kinks. Where to begin? Well, I suppose the easiest way to do this would be to make a bullet list. Which is why I'm going to do the exact opposite, and write it in prose.
I'm a very oral-oriented person. Now, keep in mind, this doesn't mean that oral sex is a go-to per se. Sure, it is one of my turn-ons, yet this expands further than simply genital-in-mouth interactions. I love to kiss and caress, to nibble and suckle. I prefer explore the entirety of the female form with my tongue and lips. Along with that, I also enjoy when the same is done to me. When it comes to the actual oral stimulation, I love to be on both the giving and the receiving end.
Along with that, I enjoy more sensual encounters, although I'm certainly not adverse to a more hardcore scene from time to time. While I'm quite alright working with a submissive partner, I prefer that submissive is not synonymous with passive. If it seems I'm the only one putting in the effort, I may lose interest.
I tend to utilize my hands almost as much as my lips. That includes fingering (lots of fingerplay), spanking, caressing, scratching, etc.
The rest of my kinks, in no particular order, are as follows:
- anal play
- light bondage
- whispering
- slight pain
- cum play
- lingerie
- public forays
There may very well be more, but this shall be the temporary list.
As for limits, as long as there is no extreme pain and no bodily fluids (other than ejaculates such as semen), I'm generally alright with it. Also, no spitting on my face, please.
In fact, to make things easier, here's my f-list.
Why the hell didn't you put that in the beginning? It would have saved us a hell of a lot of reading.
Because I like to be difficult, and I like the sound of my own voice. I mean, look at how much has been typed so far! I haven't even gotten to the roleplays!
Ah, this will be time consuming, I'm sure. This section will be under development for a while, as I devise knew scenarios and contemplate alternate outcomes to pre-existing ones. Keep in mind, all of these are malleable. As such, here is what has been conjured up so far:
Deserted
(OPEN)
A pair are stranded upon an island, the cause of their displacement unknown. They are complete strangers, but are forced to rely upon one another in order to survive. This roleplay would delve into the mindset of each as their bodies and minds are pressed to their limits by the dangers of the island, and by one another. Potential conflicts could arise with escape attempts, possible inhabitants of the island, invasive wildlife, and the elements.
The Bounty
(OPEN)
Based in the frontier, a late 19th century Western setting. A bounty hunter is hired to track and capture an individual by a wealthy patron. The reason for this is unknown to the hunter, but the amount of money they'd be making is not. It's his/her only incentive. Upon being captured, the bounty has the opportunity to inform the hunter of the reasoning, creating a moral dilemma for the hunter. He/she can either follow through with their job, release the bounty, assist the bounty in their escape/revenge, etc.
The End is Nigh
(OPEN)
There are precious few days left on this planet. In less than a week, an asteroid the size of Australia will crash into the Pacific ocean, decimating life as we know it.
How will you spend your last days? The two would meet up on the coast, watching as the world's end plummeted before their eyes. There would be no need to learn about one another, only to share each other's company in their final moments.
The Ripper
(CLOSED)
A Victorian themed, steam-punk city by the ocean. There have been disturbing reports of young maidens brutally slain in the night, abducted and used in a sexual manner. Despite these reports, nightlife is still vibrant in the city. And the killer is constantly on the prowl, taking those he deems worthy and transforming them into something grotesquely beautiful. In his eyes, at least. That is, until one day he captures a girl that changes his perspective. Over the course of the next few weeks, he adopts her into the fold, teaching her his ways and the reasons behind his actions.
Leaving Las Vegas
(OPEN)
The plot would be fairly similar to the movie sharing the same name. In it, a man who has lost everything would travel to Las Vegas (Or some other city) with the sole intention of drinking himself to death. He would meet a young prostitute, whom he would form a bond with. She would fight to convince him he had something to live for, while he would struggle through the internal conflict his scenario presents.
Homecoming
(OPEN)
Post WWI England. The men are finally coming home, spent after their victories in the Front. Yet, many find it difficult to adapt to civilized life, which is the case with MC. Many also, much like himself, turn to lives of crime. He falls in with the wrong crowd, and during a heist, is recognized by a former companion of his. When she confronts him, instead of turning him in, she blackmails her way into the organization, partnering up with the male.
Flirting with Danger
(OPEN)
Rivalries can bring out the best, and the worst, in a person. Such is the case when a pair of contract killers are hired for the same prize. Competition could lead to cooperation or chaos. Wrought with double-crosses and power plays, the potential for progression is limitless. The setting can vary, from modern times to the frontier to a fantasy setting.
Misfit
(OPEN)
Via some personal tragedy, and individual finds him/herself immersed in a culture that they are unfamiliar with. Unable to communicate with the locals due to language barriers, he/she is forced to assimilate or face alienation. Throughout the ordeal, another character of the opposite gender provides assistance. My thoughts for the tragedy include, but are not limited to: the capture of an enemy who would then become an ally (ala The Last Samurai); a plane crash in a remote area, where the character could attempt to find a way back home; a space ship crashing into an unknown planet meeting its inhabitants. I feel that this would be a sort of historical piece, as modern times kind of limits the potential for the character to be stranded.
Why don't you give them a sample?
That's a good idea. Here's the starter I typed up for one of the closed roleplays above, "The Ripper":
That was sloppy, Virgil. The work of a novice. No one will appreciate that display, no one will admire that amateurism. Dispose of it and don’t make the same mistake with the next one.
He stared at his reflection in the water basin, its clarity corrupted by the crimson taint of blood. Ophelia’s blood. Its ripples had calmed, giving him clear view of his likeness, its red hue demonic. The symbolism was not lost on him. He returned to his cleansing, dipping calloused hands within the water. Try as he might, no amount of scrubbing would remove the residue from beneath his fingernails. It was no matter, it wouldn’t be much later in the night that he would once again be wiping fresh blood from his flesh.
Thus far, the night's foray into the recesses of his darkest ambitions had been a resounding failure, if the mangled specimen behind him was any indication. He turned to face it, his brow furrowing and lips curling downward in disdain. Where there was once a beautiful woman, there now lied a grotesque abomination, a hideous corpse. There was no precision, no majesty in the outcome. He took something beautiful, and instead of guiding its ascension to grandeur, he decimated any remnant of grace. A resounding failure. His failure. And yet another corpse destined to sink to the bottom of Havard Bay.
The human anatomy is a fickle thing, wrought with many a vulnerability. With surgical precision, one could extinguish life nearly instantaneously without so much as a twitch from the victim. To say that Ophelia twitched would be an understatement. She had thrashed, and his measures had grown drastic.
When a shepherd is forced to slay one of his lambs, he will hide the blade from their line of sight, as to prevent fear from tainting the meat. Fear had tainted his masterpiece tonight. When she saw the blade, an evening of risqué ventures was seen as precisely what it was: the end of her life. What generally ends with a swift dagger to the heart collapsed into multiple gashes to her chest and throat. Sloppy.
Fortunately, despite his misgivings, the night still held some hope. The evening had been far more successful than his late-night endeavors, stemming from his arrival at the masquerade.
His overcoat wasn’t enough to combat the crispness of that late September evening chill. The sun was just starting to set over the horizon, and throngs of the city’s wealthiest strolled onto the patio, masks in hand. Naturally, Virgil Dunstance received an invite. With such a last name, it was an obligation. Wealth had its benefits, such as a classical education and invitations to the most prestigious of events. And it is here that he would prowl.
He had already chosen his next target. In fact, she had been the subject of his attention for a couple of weeks now. He was very particular about how he selected his playthings. Ophelia’s beauty was matched by her grace, and her emerald eyes shimmered in the moonlight, even through her mask. They had danced as strangers, elbows locked with one another as they spun elegantly to tunes of flute and violin. And without a trace, she vanished.
She had run to the arms of a dear friend. He was entirely unfamiliar with the woman, but he could not deny her charms. She far surpassed Ophelia in every manner, and he found himself staring in admiration of this stranger. He approached without caution, eager to enact his plans with the potential of a second suiter. To his surprise, not only did he manage to convince Ophelia to return to his manse, but her companion would accompany them as well. Juliet was her name, he had learned. Juliet Rosendahl. A last name unfamiliar to him. A rare, precious jewel, unsoiled by the taint of prestige. He absolutely must have her.
The carriage ride was far more enjoyable than most. It was plain to see that Ophelia was quite accustomed to the courtesies of her stature. It was all very boring, and reeked of familiarity. It seemed as if all of these young aristocrats had been raised with the same personality. Juliet was different, Virgil could sense. Her laugh was genuine, her bright blue eyes containing a light of innocence. It was this innocence he wished to preserve, and as they slowly drifted into unconsciousness from the sedated wine he had provided them, there was a pang of regret in Virgil’s heart.
For over a year he had been collecting his playthings, but it wasn’t their deaths that brought him pleasure. No, he would draw pleasure from their bodies in the moments before he would take their lives. The methods would vary: some would be bound and gagged, taken like the beast they desired to be; some would be caressed passionately, eased into their pleasure; some would require a combination of each. The one overarching similarity with all encounters would be their climax. No matter how much they struggled, in the end their orgasm would overtake their reservations. And that’s when he’d do it.
He didn’t do this for that pleasure, but for their redemption. They had sold their souls to society, taking their mantle with their true self abandoned, and to Virgil this was no life at all. In their moments of bliss, all else was naught. Their only focus was the heat growing in their bellies, the moisture coating their thighs, and the man who would provide them with such a sensation. In that moment, their souls would return to them. In that moment they would die, jubilant and beautiful. All people die, yet not all meet such a graceful end. Ophelia had not been blessed with such an end.
When she regained her consciousness, she was bound and gagged upon the duvet in his basement, as some are wont to awaken to. There was panic in her eyes as she set her sight upon Virgil. Her eyes widened and her feminine frame began to tremble. He took her without a word, and she fought against him. At first. Before long, she had resigned to her fate, and had even begun to become an active participant. It was in these moments that Virgil knew he had succeeded.
Yet something wasn’t right about the scenario he found himself in. It was very familiar, yet far different than any he had experienced prior. In the back of his mind, he knew what it was, was aware of what kept him distracted. He found himself unable to take Ophelia any longer, deigning to the use of fingers and other apparatuses to finish the deed. She seemed unfazed, bucking her hips upon the faux phallus that he used to replace his own. She reached her peak, then saw the blade.
With a rough prod of his cane, Ophelia vanished beneath the frigid surface of the bay, never to be seen again. The benefits of a bayside manse. In successful endeavors, the body would be left to be found by passerbys, his work of art meant to be admired by the masses. Ophelia was not a successful endeavor, and had to be disposed of harshly.
He returned to his home, settling his cane next to the front door. He had mopped the mess from the basement prior to disposal, so he led himself toward his study. It was here that Juliet was resting, nestled upon a couch along the eastern wall. Even in slumber, her elegance could not be mistaken. He simply stood at the foot of the couch, staring for what felt like an hour. Did she deserve this? Would he be capable of remorse if he followed through? These thoughts did nothing to calm the raging storm in his heart as he approached, arms slipping beneath the female’s body as he lifted her to his chest. He dragged her down to his dungeon, the fresh sheets of his bed enveloping her in their warmth.
In pained him to bind her, yet it’s what must be done. It was far too late for hesitation, as she would no doubt catch on to what happened to her dearest Ophelia if she was released. No, she would never be released. The least he could do was give her a proper end, lest all be a waste.
But why end such innocence? Such purity? Let her live, Virgil, and see her reach ascension in another form.
The thought was not lost upon him, as the concept bounces about inside his mind. Yet this was not the time of ponderance, but the time of action. Her hands were bound behind her back, palms pressed to opposite elbows. He pulled her from the cushioned surface, dropping her to the floor at the foot of the bed. Her dress would be soiled by the action, the filth of the ground tainting its vibrancy. It mattered not, as it was only a matter of time before it was torn from her frame.
There was one final touch, fitting of such a plaything. He approached the wardrobe nestled in the corner, the home of his tools of the trade. What he procured had belonged to his first, the one who he thought would be with him forever. She had the same innocence, the same youthful glow. A leash and collar.
The collar was strapped about Juliet’s throat, its accompanying leash bound to the bedpost. As he stepped back from his work, he admired how wonderfully the collar suited her. It was time for the show to begin. He knelt before the sleeping femme, procuring a small packet of smelling salts and wafting it toward her nostrils. She shuttered into consciousness, bright blues meeting his dark brown gaze once again.
“Good evening, Juliet.”
He stared at his reflection in the water basin, its clarity corrupted by the crimson taint of blood. Ophelia’s blood. Its ripples had calmed, giving him clear view of his likeness, its red hue demonic. The symbolism was not lost on him. He returned to his cleansing, dipping calloused hands within the water. Try as he might, no amount of scrubbing would remove the residue from beneath his fingernails. It was no matter, it wouldn’t be much later in the night that he would once again be wiping fresh blood from his flesh.
Thus far, the night's foray into the recesses of his darkest ambitions had been a resounding failure, if the mangled specimen behind him was any indication. He turned to face it, his brow furrowing and lips curling downward in disdain. Where there was once a beautiful woman, there now lied a grotesque abomination, a hideous corpse. There was no precision, no majesty in the outcome. He took something beautiful, and instead of guiding its ascension to grandeur, he decimated any remnant of grace. A resounding failure. His failure. And yet another corpse destined to sink to the bottom of Havard Bay.
The human anatomy is a fickle thing, wrought with many a vulnerability. With surgical precision, one could extinguish life nearly instantaneously without so much as a twitch from the victim. To say that Ophelia twitched would be an understatement. She had thrashed, and his measures had grown drastic.
When a shepherd is forced to slay one of his lambs, he will hide the blade from their line of sight, as to prevent fear from tainting the meat. Fear had tainted his masterpiece tonight. When she saw the blade, an evening of risqué ventures was seen as precisely what it was: the end of her life. What generally ends with a swift dagger to the heart collapsed into multiple gashes to her chest and throat. Sloppy.
Fortunately, despite his misgivings, the night still held some hope. The evening had been far more successful than his late-night endeavors, stemming from his arrival at the masquerade.
~~~
His overcoat wasn’t enough to combat the crispness of that late September evening chill. The sun was just starting to set over the horizon, and throngs of the city’s wealthiest strolled onto the patio, masks in hand. Naturally, Virgil Dunstance received an invite. With such a last name, it was an obligation. Wealth had its benefits, such as a classical education and invitations to the most prestigious of events. And it is here that he would prowl.
He had already chosen his next target. In fact, she had been the subject of his attention for a couple of weeks now. He was very particular about how he selected his playthings. Ophelia’s beauty was matched by her grace, and her emerald eyes shimmered in the moonlight, even through her mask. They had danced as strangers, elbows locked with one another as they spun elegantly to tunes of flute and violin. And without a trace, she vanished.
She had run to the arms of a dear friend. He was entirely unfamiliar with the woman, but he could not deny her charms. She far surpassed Ophelia in every manner, and he found himself staring in admiration of this stranger. He approached without caution, eager to enact his plans with the potential of a second suiter. To his surprise, not only did he manage to convince Ophelia to return to his manse, but her companion would accompany them as well. Juliet was her name, he had learned. Juliet Rosendahl. A last name unfamiliar to him. A rare, precious jewel, unsoiled by the taint of prestige. He absolutely must have her.
The carriage ride was far more enjoyable than most. It was plain to see that Ophelia was quite accustomed to the courtesies of her stature. It was all very boring, and reeked of familiarity. It seemed as if all of these young aristocrats had been raised with the same personality. Juliet was different, Virgil could sense. Her laugh was genuine, her bright blue eyes containing a light of innocence. It was this innocence he wished to preserve, and as they slowly drifted into unconsciousness from the sedated wine he had provided them, there was a pang of regret in Virgil’s heart.
For over a year he had been collecting his playthings, but it wasn’t their deaths that brought him pleasure. No, he would draw pleasure from their bodies in the moments before he would take their lives. The methods would vary: some would be bound and gagged, taken like the beast they desired to be; some would be caressed passionately, eased into their pleasure; some would require a combination of each. The one overarching similarity with all encounters would be their climax. No matter how much they struggled, in the end their orgasm would overtake their reservations. And that’s when he’d do it.
He didn’t do this for that pleasure, but for their redemption. They had sold their souls to society, taking their mantle with their true self abandoned, and to Virgil this was no life at all. In their moments of bliss, all else was naught. Their only focus was the heat growing in their bellies, the moisture coating their thighs, and the man who would provide them with such a sensation. In that moment, their souls would return to them. In that moment they would die, jubilant and beautiful. All people die, yet not all meet such a graceful end. Ophelia had not been blessed with such an end.
When she regained her consciousness, she was bound and gagged upon the duvet in his basement, as some are wont to awaken to. There was panic in her eyes as she set her sight upon Virgil. Her eyes widened and her feminine frame began to tremble. He took her without a word, and she fought against him. At first. Before long, she had resigned to her fate, and had even begun to become an active participant. It was in these moments that Virgil knew he had succeeded.
Yet something wasn’t right about the scenario he found himself in. It was very familiar, yet far different than any he had experienced prior. In the back of his mind, he knew what it was, was aware of what kept him distracted. He found himself unable to take Ophelia any longer, deigning to the use of fingers and other apparatuses to finish the deed. She seemed unfazed, bucking her hips upon the faux phallus that he used to replace his own. She reached her peak, then saw the blade.
~~~
With a rough prod of his cane, Ophelia vanished beneath the frigid surface of the bay, never to be seen again. The benefits of a bayside manse. In successful endeavors, the body would be left to be found by passerbys, his work of art meant to be admired by the masses. Ophelia was not a successful endeavor, and had to be disposed of harshly.
He returned to his home, settling his cane next to the front door. He had mopped the mess from the basement prior to disposal, so he led himself toward his study. It was here that Juliet was resting, nestled upon a couch along the eastern wall. Even in slumber, her elegance could not be mistaken. He simply stood at the foot of the couch, staring for what felt like an hour. Did she deserve this? Would he be capable of remorse if he followed through? These thoughts did nothing to calm the raging storm in his heart as he approached, arms slipping beneath the female’s body as he lifted her to his chest. He dragged her down to his dungeon, the fresh sheets of his bed enveloping her in their warmth.
In pained him to bind her, yet it’s what must be done. It was far too late for hesitation, as she would no doubt catch on to what happened to her dearest Ophelia if she was released. No, she would never be released. The least he could do was give her a proper end, lest all be a waste.
But why end such innocence? Such purity? Let her live, Virgil, and see her reach ascension in another form.
The thought was not lost upon him, as the concept bounces about inside his mind. Yet this was not the time of ponderance, but the time of action. Her hands were bound behind her back, palms pressed to opposite elbows. He pulled her from the cushioned surface, dropping her to the floor at the foot of the bed. Her dress would be soiled by the action, the filth of the ground tainting its vibrancy. It mattered not, as it was only a matter of time before it was torn from her frame.
There was one final touch, fitting of such a plaything. He approached the wardrobe nestled in the corner, the home of his tools of the trade. What he procured had belonged to his first, the one who he thought would be with him forever. She had the same innocence, the same youthful glow. A leash and collar.
The collar was strapped about Juliet’s throat, its accompanying leash bound to the bedpost. As he stepped back from his work, he admired how wonderfully the collar suited her. It was time for the show to begin. He knelt before the sleeping femme, procuring a small packet of smelling salts and wafting it toward her nostrils. She shuttered into consciousness, bright blues meeting his dark brown gaze once again.
“Good evening, Juliet.”
A little dark, yes. But not all need be so morbid.