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Penitency
Forgiving Your Sins
- Joined
- Mar 10, 2014
I am the Absolver of Sin
As a side note: assume any photo or picture as NSFW
As a side note: assume any photo or picture as NSFW
A B O U T
If you're a detailed player with the ability to cooperate, mediate, and put in the effort, read on! I am looking for well thought-out and engaging stories that combine smut and story elements together.
WARNING: Sending a message simply saying "looking for RP?" will be instantly ignored. If you do not give me some detail of who you are and what you're looking for, then I won't respond back. ALSO, please provide a sample post (can be from any of your plays that you're proud of) if you have no post history on the site.
• Been roleplaying since 1998
• Detail oriented & literate
• Can play multiple characters, simultaneously, proficiently
• Open to smut and\or plot (long term and one-shots equally accepted)
• My characters tend to be dominant but their aggressiveness can be adapted for each story
• I consider myself advanced lit, ~300 to 1,000 words+
• I am active but will take breaks; I will often try communicate when my life gets hectic and leave it at that
• I typically do not care about gender RL but note that my characters are attracted only to females
• I am open to communicating over discord and will provide that information if we get far enough
• I typically post daily or semi-daily. Depends on the story and length of writing required
• I am very ghost friendly; if we clicked, and you return, just message me again and we can pick up or do something new
K I N K S
Offs:
| M x M | Transformations | Hyper Anything | Femboys | Under 18 | Watersports | Lactation | Tickling | Feet, Anything | Femdoms |
Favorites:
| Submissives | Rough Scenes | Titfucking | Oral (Receiving) | Size Differences | Age Differences | Dirty Talking | Worshipping | Facials (Giving) | Choking (Giving) |
| Manhandling | Fingers In Mouth | Face-Fucking | Seduction | Onomatopoeia | Hair Pulling | Multi Orgasms | Begging | Breast Play | Did I say Oral? |
I like but don't need:
| Non-Con | FFM | Gangbangs | Harems | Master & Slave | Leash & Collar | Humiliation | Sloppy Oral | Anal (Giving) | Polyamory |
| Yandere Females | Degredation (Giving) | Pet Names | Freeuse | Ahegao (Receive) | Asian Women | Branding | Mind Break | Breeding | Affection |
F E M A L E S
Faye Miah
Natalie Lee
Anri Okita
Cristy Ren
Genesis Lopez
Natalie Levin
Anastasiya Kvitko
Diane Glynnis
Sabrina Lynn
Note: I am not looking for only these women, but they are my "type." Please do not feel limited to this. But the term used to describe what I like: busty-petite.
M A L E S
Henry Cavil
Joel Kinnaman
Jason Mamoa
Luke Evans
Josh Brolin
Idris Elba
Stephen James
Kevin Creekman
Levi Stocke
Alessandro Dellisola
Joseph Cannata
Jord Liddell
Lewis Tan
Michelle Morrone
Note: I am just illustrating my "type." I will work with you to get the perfect visual for both of us and I do take suggestions.
M O D E R N- A hitman is gifted a woman for his valuable skillset, devoting his guns exclusively to the bratva in return
- Sex slavery and sex work is legal across the world in an alternative timeline; do the math
- An American C130 crash lands behind enemy lines; a local woman finds the only surviving delta operator as terrorists hunt him
- A high ranking gang member leaves the life, finds a girlfriend, but also understands that his past can never be let go
- An operative and his handler are crossed by their shadowy contact who has ties to the CIA to keep something hushed
- A veteran police officer is assigned a fresh partner after his previous was gunned down in cold blood
- Framed for murder, a wrongly accused political assassin turns to his only contact for help
- A queen is held captive for the conquering warlord who finally bests her defenses
- A mercenary is paid handsomely to find a runaway princess who hates her family
- A roaming band of criminals employ a plan to ambush a royal caravan before it reaches its destination
- An arranged marriage brings a forty years war to an abrupt end
- A slaver's camp and its notorious debauchery played out, only trading the most desirable of kidnapped elven women
- A priestess is kidnapped by a warlord who uses her powers to enact his will, corrupting her in the process
- A wandering rōnin is romanced by a kunoichi, intent on acting revenge for killing her family
- A youthful bounty hunter chases down a high priority criminal for a large sum of coin
- A champion of a warrior that always returns to his harem back at his own great hall
- A famous netrunner in Night City receives an email for help from an unlikely source
- A brilliant engineer has finally created the ultimate android for all the wrong reasons
- Getting his hands on top-secret corpo tech, a netrunner turns to his only trustworthy contact
- A solo woman is left for dead after a set up and a lucky engineer stumbles across her
- A cunning and shadowy corpo exec hires himself a busty new assistant for all the wrong reason
- A naïve girl ends up with some state-of-the-art tech that turns her into a super-soldier, and corpos want it back
- Gangs, there are a lot of gangs in this fucked up world, we can figure this one out, insert dark, criminal based plot here
- A famous boxer gets a new manager in the deep, dark world of fight clubs
- A hardened criminal serving life is enlisted as a hound that hunts the city's most wanted, each one reducing his sentence
- Two Trauma Team members are stuck in a Megabuilding on lockdown due to a gang take-over and need to escape together
- A mercenary is hired to hunt down a slaver's favorite little toy after she escapes into the wastes
- Life in a slaver's den isn't pretty but many pretty women make the best of the cards dealt to them
- After her prior band of survivors were killed, a woman finds comfort in the company of a hardened survivor
- Two survivors happen to cross paths while escaping a criminal element that has been hunting survivors in the area
- A husband and wife that were separated after the bombs dropped reunite, but one of them has already found a partner
- Always in search of a new toy, an infamous slaver's den leader finds a jewel of the wastelands
- A woman is brought into a new camp after she's found during a loot run, but is it better with this new company or not?
- With her partner killed due to a hit, a woman is taken by the mercenary who pulled off the job
- An earthquake severs California from the States, and your character is the daughter of a political figure trapped here
- Final Fantasy VII: Really looking for Tifa paired with any other canon character, including Barret, Sephiroth, Don or Red XIII
- Metal Gear Solid: Will play young Snake against canon or custom characters
- Resident Evil: Looking for Jill Valentine to be paired with any of the male canon characters or a custom
- "Fandomverse": think a "fight academy" where all characters are from all spectrum of games
- Cyberpunk 2077/Edgerunners: yeah, I love the setting and even DM it in table-top; I'll play Silverhand, Solomon, or David
Baldur's Gate 3: Looking for a Shadowheart or similar character opposite any canon or custom character of your wishWitcher 1-3: Up for playing Geralt opposite Triss or any other customs in that world setting- Tomb Raider: You play Lara, and I'll play a custom of your choosing alongside or... or monster(s)
- A father and son bonding trip to a private resort, where they meet two adventurous twin sisters
- The leader of a 1% motorcycle club, his crew, and the many women he encounters
- A foursome are put on a surprise lockdown in a vacation home when the pandemic breaks out
- Two women under the care of one strong, ex-soldier that helps keep them safe throughout an apocalyptical journey
- An abusive relationship inevitably drags the friend of the abused female character into their fucked up life
- A married woman understands her friend has gone far too long a virgin, and lets her stay with her in their household
- A story following a famous band and the girls that accompany them on their tours, girlfriends or not
- A mixed martial artist and his trainer head to Japan, where they find out his fighting skills have perks
- A group of Cyberpunk mercenaries (edgerunners) and their escapades together in Night City
S A M P L E S
There was a time when King Marhil sullied from his golden gates proudly; the hooves of his cavalry trampled the fresh green swath of newly minted battlefield with blistering speed. The glistening silver armor of his Knights redirected the rays of the sun pouring through the clouds, almost making them look heavenly before the face of their enemies. Lances crashed against steel. Wood splintered. Men collided with one another. Masculine yells for blood could be heard roaring along the countryside like the growing thunder of a storm. And for decades, Marhil managed to keep the culture of his Elven people protected from the savagery that wished to tarnish it.
Marhil had been clad in a suit of gray and gold scaled armor unlike anything the many Kingdoms and distant lands had seen before. Bright as a bolt it was, but Ulthar wore it as easily as if it was the thinnest of silks. The metal was imbued with royal blue whorls, glyphs, and arcane symbols magically stamped into the steel. Lothern steel, everyone knew. His armor was of the toughest known to the living world. The mere thought gave his famed Royal Guard the confidence to ride out and meet foes at the flanks of their leader.
Countless times had the King rappelled the invading forces of the far Eastern Empire of Vorz, beating them back to their camps and forcing them to re-group for another assault. King Marhil knew he had to be the bulwark who had no choice but to protect his Kingdom and family. If he fell, the ghastly leader of Vorz would find his tendrils wrapping around all of those Marhil loved.
Illness gripped his wife, Charis, but she pleaded with Marhil to focus his efforts to defend what was theirs. Marhil bowed his head, grit his teeth, and took up his arms countless times in the face of it all. He was a man at war from multiple fronts... conflicts which added wrinkles to his face, ash into his silver hair, and scars to an athletic body. Marhil bore his armor as well as his burdens. Some spoke that even his horse could feel the weight of the pressure pushing on the beaten leader's shoulders, despite pulling down a visor and riding out again.
However, the Empire grew impatient. Impatient enough to send their best and most renowned Lord General Drakkon Greycastle, once a famed mercenary and thorn in their side, before getting paid well enough to fight for the cause. Greycastle's army, labeled ‘Dread Company’, marched to a steady thrum of their metal clad feet and spears. Swords clamored against shields, taunting the echo of the imposing trees and lush vegetation that surrounded Soviel. Immediately, the terrain differences were noticeable. The lands of the Elven were vibrant and alive, while the dark armored men of Vorz clashed like a wood boat cutting crystalline waters. Their horns bellowed out for blood, and Marhil would oblige them. His horses cut from the flanks, kicking up turf and beating to their own rhythm in a blistering charge.
Drakkon was quick to spring an ambush that had been ready and waiting for the knight's prized V formation. Magic ripped up earth, scorched nature, and left lasting wounds. A magnificent black dragon, the outline of its many scales glowing a fierce red, pierced the sky above like a flash of lightning. A frightening howl escaped from the beast's maw that traveled between kingdoms, as well as streaming flame that cut through the line of Elven men like a modern-day bomber. A lone Orc drunkenly wielding a two-handed club tied up in barbs and nails, swung it to and fro, always took ten or more men with each strike. The combination of strength and fury was too much for Marhil's men that day.
Drakkon wound-up his monstrously sized greatsword in both hands and delivered a killing blow, rending horse and King in half. King Marhil fell in two , recessing into the blood stained mud of the earth. Drakkon wore a bloodthirsty grin upon his face beneath a crimson stained metal helm.
Despite having won a major victory, Lord Drakkon's men stayed many long months outside of Soviel's gates and sturdy walls. Drakkon could be found arguing amongst his most trusted advisors throughout the night, burning candlelight and drawing silhouettes into the leather of the strewn tent. Despite being ruthless, Drakkon was also cunning. He understood in order to mount an assault Soviel, he would lose more than half of his men. It did not matter that Marhil had fallen, there was undoubtedly a new leader in his stead. The Elf were a prideful bunch, and would not simply surrender their innocence nor culture to those who stood outside of their walls unless they had to.
With all of that in mind, there had to come a time in which the Kingdom was forced to lay down arms to avoid being starved to death by the invaders besieging them. And despite not understanding the intention from another perspective, Drakkon knew winter was here. If the Kingdom could not fetch its own food beyond its walls, they'd be doomed to die within them. When Drakkon heard "my Lord, there is a messenger from Soviel here to speak to you" another wicked grin took hold of his cold, dried lips. Drakkon gathered his men and council, loaded up the horses with supplies, and packed the war-camp. It was finally time to claim what had been rightfully earned - what was so elusive to all other of the Emperor's Generals.
Winter whipped its howling tendrils of chill and wind across the men on horseback. Snow welcomed every step, gripping at armor and horseshoes alike; the audible crunch of nature at the boot reminded each soldier of the cruel season they were brave. Greycastle had been clad in a suit of black scaled armor which layered metal upon metal. It was such a feat to cover a seven foot tall male in such a swath of armor and still be able to move, but there was demonic energy packed within the burly frame of the brute. Such an energy radiated from his core and bounced off of the living and alleys of the surrendering Kingdom.
Drakkon's helmet visor had been peeled back, exposing a cold and hardened face. Errand tendrils of ash stuck to his forehead or clouded his vision. A scar pierced the right brow, splitting it down the center. The blade-like marking stopped at mid-cheek, but did not show damage in the glowing gold iris of the eye it tried to interrupt. Drakkon's eyes were pensive, brooding, and calculated... electric and radiant, sparkled with black dots and cat-shaped pupils. Drakkon's jaw was sharp and squared; cheeks high and pronounced. His silver brows were thick and gave a confident air about the towering brute that all but matched the persona.
His steed trotted proudly down the cobblestone roads painted in white, flanked by his most valued men and further followed by the marching tune of his soldiers. Flags of red and black wavered in the strong currents of the cold, biting winds. An embroiled phoenix in the center of the fabric eyed all who dared oppose the rule of Vorz. Drakkon's monumental great-sword dangled at the side of the saddle with the hilt facing skyward; the tip of the blade nearly dragged upon the rocky roadway. His gauntlet covered hands operated the reigns of his horse as it trotted through a parted crowd of frustrated Elven that welcomed them like a dirty old, red carpet.
They were angry, and rightfully so. But the invaders continued toward the keep, eyeing some of the locals but never stopping. Some of Drakkon's men ripped down the blue, gray, and gold banners from the ramparts or from the inside of a local tavern... others rounded up captives and soldiers to prevent immediate rebellion.
Even though they had been invaded, not one man nor woman threw a rock at the imposing brute in fear of what was to come. A tall, green Orc and a robed, athletic male with a snake-like tongue at Drakkon's either side rode proudly by their General en-route to the distant keep in order to seal the surrender of Soviel. Drakkon could only wonder who was left to pen the deal.
Marhil had been clad in a suit of gray and gold scaled armor unlike anything the many Kingdoms and distant lands had seen before. Bright as a bolt it was, but Ulthar wore it as easily as if it was the thinnest of silks. The metal was imbued with royal blue whorls, glyphs, and arcane symbols magically stamped into the steel. Lothern steel, everyone knew. His armor was of the toughest known to the living world. The mere thought gave his famed Royal Guard the confidence to ride out and meet foes at the flanks of their leader.
Countless times had the King rappelled the invading forces of the far Eastern Empire of Vorz, beating them back to their camps and forcing them to re-group for another assault. King Marhil knew he had to be the bulwark who had no choice but to protect his Kingdom and family. If he fell, the ghastly leader of Vorz would find his tendrils wrapping around all of those Marhil loved.
Illness gripped his wife, Charis, but she pleaded with Marhil to focus his efforts to defend what was theirs. Marhil bowed his head, grit his teeth, and took up his arms countless times in the face of it all. He was a man at war from multiple fronts... conflicts which added wrinkles to his face, ash into his silver hair, and scars to an athletic body. Marhil bore his armor as well as his burdens. Some spoke that even his horse could feel the weight of the pressure pushing on the beaten leader's shoulders, despite pulling down a visor and riding out again.
However, the Empire grew impatient. Impatient enough to send their best and most renowned Lord General Drakkon Greycastle, once a famed mercenary and thorn in their side, before getting paid well enough to fight for the cause. Greycastle's army, labeled ‘Dread Company’, marched to a steady thrum of their metal clad feet and spears. Swords clamored against shields, taunting the echo of the imposing trees and lush vegetation that surrounded Soviel. Immediately, the terrain differences were noticeable. The lands of the Elven were vibrant and alive, while the dark armored men of Vorz clashed like a wood boat cutting crystalline waters. Their horns bellowed out for blood, and Marhil would oblige them. His horses cut from the flanks, kicking up turf and beating to their own rhythm in a blistering charge.
Drakkon was quick to spring an ambush that had been ready and waiting for the knight's prized V formation. Magic ripped up earth, scorched nature, and left lasting wounds. A magnificent black dragon, the outline of its many scales glowing a fierce red, pierced the sky above like a flash of lightning. A frightening howl escaped from the beast's maw that traveled between kingdoms, as well as streaming flame that cut through the line of Elven men like a modern-day bomber. A lone Orc drunkenly wielding a two-handed club tied up in barbs and nails, swung it to and fro, always took ten or more men with each strike. The combination of strength and fury was too much for Marhil's men that day.
Drakkon wound-up his monstrously sized greatsword in both hands and delivered a killing blow, rending horse and King in half. King Marhil fell in two , recessing into the blood stained mud of the earth. Drakkon wore a bloodthirsty grin upon his face beneath a crimson stained metal helm.
Despite having won a major victory, Lord Drakkon's men stayed many long months outside of Soviel's gates and sturdy walls. Drakkon could be found arguing amongst his most trusted advisors throughout the night, burning candlelight and drawing silhouettes into the leather of the strewn tent. Despite being ruthless, Drakkon was also cunning. He understood in order to mount an assault Soviel, he would lose more than half of his men. It did not matter that Marhil had fallen, there was undoubtedly a new leader in his stead. The Elf were a prideful bunch, and would not simply surrender their innocence nor culture to those who stood outside of their walls unless they had to.
With all of that in mind, there had to come a time in which the Kingdom was forced to lay down arms to avoid being starved to death by the invaders besieging them. And despite not understanding the intention from another perspective, Drakkon knew winter was here. If the Kingdom could not fetch its own food beyond its walls, they'd be doomed to die within them. When Drakkon heard "my Lord, there is a messenger from Soviel here to speak to you" another wicked grin took hold of his cold, dried lips. Drakkon gathered his men and council, loaded up the horses with supplies, and packed the war-camp. It was finally time to claim what had been rightfully earned - what was so elusive to all other of the Emperor's Generals.
Winter whipped its howling tendrils of chill and wind across the men on horseback. Snow welcomed every step, gripping at armor and horseshoes alike; the audible crunch of nature at the boot reminded each soldier of the cruel season they were brave. Greycastle had been clad in a suit of black scaled armor which layered metal upon metal. It was such a feat to cover a seven foot tall male in such a swath of armor and still be able to move, but there was demonic energy packed within the burly frame of the brute. Such an energy radiated from his core and bounced off of the living and alleys of the surrendering Kingdom.
Drakkon's helmet visor had been peeled back, exposing a cold and hardened face. Errand tendrils of ash stuck to his forehead or clouded his vision. A scar pierced the right brow, splitting it down the center. The blade-like marking stopped at mid-cheek, but did not show damage in the glowing gold iris of the eye it tried to interrupt. Drakkon's eyes were pensive, brooding, and calculated... electric and radiant, sparkled with black dots and cat-shaped pupils. Drakkon's jaw was sharp and squared; cheeks high and pronounced. His silver brows were thick and gave a confident air about the towering brute that all but matched the persona.
His steed trotted proudly down the cobblestone roads painted in white, flanked by his most valued men and further followed by the marching tune of his soldiers. Flags of red and black wavered in the strong currents of the cold, biting winds. An embroiled phoenix in the center of the fabric eyed all who dared oppose the rule of Vorz. Drakkon's monumental great-sword dangled at the side of the saddle with the hilt facing skyward; the tip of the blade nearly dragged upon the rocky roadway. His gauntlet covered hands operated the reigns of his horse as it trotted through a parted crowd of frustrated Elven that welcomed them like a dirty old, red carpet.
They were angry, and rightfully so. But the invaders continued toward the keep, eyeing some of the locals but never stopping. Some of Drakkon's men ripped down the blue, gray, and gold banners from the ramparts or from the inside of a local tavern... others rounded up captives and soldiers to prevent immediate rebellion.
Even though they had been invaded, not one man nor woman threw a rock at the imposing brute in fear of what was to come. A tall, green Orc and a robed, athletic male with a snake-like tongue at Drakkon's either side rode proudly by their General en-route to the distant keep in order to seal the surrender of Soviel. Drakkon could only wonder who was left to pen the deal.
It had been five long, gruesome years since the bombs dropped...
As the sun peeked over the horizon, above the ruins of once-civilization, greedy vultures took to the skies to find what had been slain overnight. The ominous birds encircled a series of dead carcasses in a multitude of locations spread throughout the varied landscapes of California. Hungry and genetically altered wolves dragged their prey into underground shelters or decrepit homes long forgotten. Large waves of arid dust flowed with the currents of the wind much like the swells of the ocean rolling and crashing on a sea shore. The humidity was layered sauna-thick and the constant song of cicadas acted as a heat index that only seemed to rise by the minute.
California had been so vibrant and alive years ago, but now abandoned structures dotted the map, decimated by the great war, like the decrepit gas stations that lacked the valuable resource they were once called upon to provide. A vengeful side of mother nature saw overgrowth and vines tangling with brick, stone, and metal as if reclaiming what was once the world before man. How fitting it had been that the ones who built up the Earth were the ones to ultimately turn it into a fine powder?
Considering California's naturally rugged terrain, the surrounding mountains made travel that much more strenuous. Every inch of road had been washed over with dry sand that licked at traveler's heels. Not to mention the fact that every inch of road was in complete disrepair; potholes, craters, and other signs of abuse really expressed the reality of today's world. Lamp posts and electric lines lay strewn about the floor like a child having tossed its toys in wait for a mother or father to step on them. Hell, even tumble weeds routinely bounced across the highways, and wildlife grazed on inner city parks that were more vibrant than the surrounding sands of the suburbs. Nothing was perfect, and it would never return to normal again.
The survivors of the aftermath learned to embrace the little things life granted them. No longer was the luxury of pulling a cell phone from your pocket to play a video game, or order food with the tap of a finger, a reality. Instead, they were relegated to the scarcity that landed them in this desperate situation. Food was rare and drink was a blessing. Because it had been five long years, most of the resources had long been looted and consumed by the years before the present. However, there was always an off chance of finding something special. To slavers, that special something was a beautiful woman to sink their dick in, and ultimately sell after they had their fill.
"I heard you're the best. I'll reward you well if you can track her down and return her to my camp, alive." A shadowy slaver handed over a well-drawn sketch of a blonde woman, true to form. Her piercing blue eyes bore into the mercenary's soul as he studied her breathtaking features.
"I can do it," the tattoo-covered mercenary noted in gruff timber as he tucked the sketch into his back pocket after a quick study, "how much is she worth to you?"
"Everything. I'll give you ammunition, batteries, gold, and a slave or two of your choice."
"Do you have any clothing that belonged to her? Something she wore before she ran off? My dog needs a scent to go off of."
"Ah, yes, follow me."
It was weeks since Nathan Graves had set out from the notorious Black Hand's slaver den on the coast of California. His boots trudged the hot sands directly east, joined by his faithful canine companion that energetically trotted nearby, unless the beast let its nose get the best of itself. At this point, finding this runaway slave was next to impossible, but the veteran mercenary had a few places in mind to scope out for possible leads. Luckily for him, the tongue wagging dog that joined him was also the perfect tool to seek out those who wished to hide in the wastes.
Edo was a trained military K9 that had done a few tours in Syria and Afghanistan before the bombs had dropped. The black and brown fur of the beast glowed underneath the beam of milky white light from the moon above; its ears were perched up high on alert, nose busily shifting from side to side as it followed a trail of familiar scent.
Nathan casually trailed the K9 and gave it room to explore as they traveled further up the road, passing abandoned supermarkets and apartment complexes that would be too dangerous to explore at this time of the night. Every footstep had the man's gear rattling audibly to join the ambience of distant crickets, hungry wolves, and groaning signage that faltered in the wind. Nathan's black tee clung to his extremely broad and bulky upper torso. Sweat dampened the material and stuck it to those grandiose biceps and triceps; either of his appendages were covered in a vast array of black ink that contrasted with an already tanned complexion. Sand and grime layered over the man's body and gear as well, dusting it finely in tan powder from the long trip he had endured.
A Crye Precision Cage Plate carrier and placard was strapped over his tee, hugging upon the slope of his pectorals and striated core. A cloth half-face covering wrapped from neck to nose and protected the well traveled mercenary from the harsh elements outside. Black tinted sunglasses covered the rest of his face, but had long turned to tan due to the caking of dirt and sand. Nate slung his Daniel Defense MK18 rifle behind him, near his backpack, as he approached the town of New Springs' front gate. One of the guards posted on the watchtower readied his bolt action rifle and trained it upon the mercenary below.
Nathan lifted a gloved hand up and made a combination of signs with his fingers: three, two, and five. Edo circled Nathan almost restlessly before sitting on his hind legs besides its owner. The guard perched upon the tower retrieved his flashlight and beamed the bright light upon the opposite tower from the gate, confirming they were allowed to open it. The red divide opened loudly like a metal giant groaning awake in the middle of the starry night. Inch by inch, the gate parted and the mercenary continued his path inside.
New Springs was a settlement of about forty people strong and mostly self-sufficient for things like food and water, which were two things Nathan was running low on after his long trek. Hell, even the man's night vision was useless because he lacked a battery pack with juice. Even Edo was down to his last can of dog food. Nathan knew New Springs well, and figured he'd stock up on supplies and information here. One of the more prominent guards greeted Nathan just inside of the colony's perimeter.
"Nathan, is that you?" He noted, furrowing his brows for a better look.
"Mmhmm," the man's deep voice rumbled from his throat beneath the face covering, "sorry for dropping in so late. I was hoping to get some supplies and information."
"You working? -- Edo! Hey there boy!" The local reached down and rubbed at the dog playfully, just between the ears.
"I am."
"Well, it is late, why don't you get some rest and we can get you what you need in the morning? You know you're always welcome here. We owe you."
As the sun peeked over the horizon, above the ruins of once-civilization, greedy vultures took to the skies to find what had been slain overnight. The ominous birds encircled a series of dead carcasses in a multitude of locations spread throughout the varied landscapes of California. Hungry and genetically altered wolves dragged their prey into underground shelters or decrepit homes long forgotten. Large waves of arid dust flowed with the currents of the wind much like the swells of the ocean rolling and crashing on a sea shore. The humidity was layered sauna-thick and the constant song of cicadas acted as a heat index that only seemed to rise by the minute.
California had been so vibrant and alive years ago, but now abandoned structures dotted the map, decimated by the great war, like the decrepit gas stations that lacked the valuable resource they were once called upon to provide. A vengeful side of mother nature saw overgrowth and vines tangling with brick, stone, and metal as if reclaiming what was once the world before man. How fitting it had been that the ones who built up the Earth were the ones to ultimately turn it into a fine powder?
Considering California's naturally rugged terrain, the surrounding mountains made travel that much more strenuous. Every inch of road had been washed over with dry sand that licked at traveler's heels. Not to mention the fact that every inch of road was in complete disrepair; potholes, craters, and other signs of abuse really expressed the reality of today's world. Lamp posts and electric lines lay strewn about the floor like a child having tossed its toys in wait for a mother or father to step on them. Hell, even tumble weeds routinely bounced across the highways, and wildlife grazed on inner city parks that were more vibrant than the surrounding sands of the suburbs. Nothing was perfect, and it would never return to normal again.
The survivors of the aftermath learned to embrace the little things life granted them. No longer was the luxury of pulling a cell phone from your pocket to play a video game, or order food with the tap of a finger, a reality. Instead, they were relegated to the scarcity that landed them in this desperate situation. Food was rare and drink was a blessing. Because it had been five long years, most of the resources had long been looted and consumed by the years before the present. However, there was always an off chance of finding something special. To slavers, that special something was a beautiful woman to sink their dick in, and ultimately sell after they had their fill.
"I heard you're the best. I'll reward you well if you can track her down and return her to my camp, alive." A shadowy slaver handed over a well-drawn sketch of a blonde woman, true to form. Her piercing blue eyes bore into the mercenary's soul as he studied her breathtaking features.
"I can do it," the tattoo-covered mercenary noted in gruff timber as he tucked the sketch into his back pocket after a quick study, "how much is she worth to you?"
"Everything. I'll give you ammunition, batteries, gold, and a slave or two of your choice."
"Do you have any clothing that belonged to her? Something she wore before she ran off? My dog needs a scent to go off of."
"Ah, yes, follow me."
It was weeks since Nathan Graves had set out from the notorious Black Hand's slaver den on the coast of California. His boots trudged the hot sands directly east, joined by his faithful canine companion that energetically trotted nearby, unless the beast let its nose get the best of itself. At this point, finding this runaway slave was next to impossible, but the veteran mercenary had a few places in mind to scope out for possible leads. Luckily for him, the tongue wagging dog that joined him was also the perfect tool to seek out those who wished to hide in the wastes.
Edo was a trained military K9 that had done a few tours in Syria and Afghanistan before the bombs had dropped. The black and brown fur of the beast glowed underneath the beam of milky white light from the moon above; its ears were perched up high on alert, nose busily shifting from side to side as it followed a trail of familiar scent.
Nathan casually trailed the K9 and gave it room to explore as they traveled further up the road, passing abandoned supermarkets and apartment complexes that would be too dangerous to explore at this time of the night. Every footstep had the man's gear rattling audibly to join the ambience of distant crickets, hungry wolves, and groaning signage that faltered in the wind. Nathan's black tee clung to his extremely broad and bulky upper torso. Sweat dampened the material and stuck it to those grandiose biceps and triceps; either of his appendages were covered in a vast array of black ink that contrasted with an already tanned complexion. Sand and grime layered over the man's body and gear as well, dusting it finely in tan powder from the long trip he had endured.
A Crye Precision Cage Plate carrier and placard was strapped over his tee, hugging upon the slope of his pectorals and striated core. A cloth half-face covering wrapped from neck to nose and protected the well traveled mercenary from the harsh elements outside. Black tinted sunglasses covered the rest of his face, but had long turned to tan due to the caking of dirt and sand. Nate slung his Daniel Defense MK18 rifle behind him, near his backpack, as he approached the town of New Springs' front gate. One of the guards posted on the watchtower readied his bolt action rifle and trained it upon the mercenary below.
Nathan lifted a gloved hand up and made a combination of signs with his fingers: three, two, and five. Edo circled Nathan almost restlessly before sitting on his hind legs besides its owner. The guard perched upon the tower retrieved his flashlight and beamed the bright light upon the opposite tower from the gate, confirming they were allowed to open it. The red divide opened loudly like a metal giant groaning awake in the middle of the starry night. Inch by inch, the gate parted and the mercenary continued his path inside.
New Springs was a settlement of about forty people strong and mostly self-sufficient for things like food and water, which were two things Nathan was running low on after his long trek. Hell, even the man's night vision was useless because he lacked a battery pack with juice. Even Edo was down to his last can of dog food. Nathan knew New Springs well, and figured he'd stock up on supplies and information here. One of the more prominent guards greeted Nathan just inside of the colony's perimeter.
"Nathan, is that you?" He noted, furrowing his brows for a better look.
"Mmhmm," the man's deep voice rumbled from his throat beneath the face covering, "sorry for dropping in so late. I was hoping to get some supplies and information."
"You working? -- Edo! Hey there boy!" The local reached down and rubbed at the dog playfully, just between the ears.
"I am."
"Well, it is late, why don't you get some rest and we can get you what you need in the morning? You know you're always welcome here. We owe you."
7:00AM - Sunny California
The bright rays of the sun poured through the surrounding hillside and washed the lush green surroundings in ever-expanding shafts of beaming light. An orange glow accompanied the rising sun in the distance, penetrating through the transparent glass doors at the different angles of a modern home and getaway. A paradise never spoken of. The soft colors and accents of the home seemed to highlight more in the day than sundown. Considering the open floor plan, long halls, and fresh colors, the house itself looked twice the size of what it had at night. A good view of the patio welcomed sleepy eyes to the stone and crystal waters of a heated infinity pool that seemed to go on for miles.
Birds chirped in an unchoreographed band, calling to one another in the distance and waking those early to the morning. The newest resident of this home made of glass and metal would find herself across the couch without a shred of clothing, but tucked into a warm blanket that promised to provide warmth from the chill of the air outside. Maybe Aiden had found humor in it all-- it was his first time saving over killing his intended target. But speaking of, Aiden was boldly absent from the interior of his home to welcome his guest. Emma was on her own in the silence of the immediate room; the ticking hand of a clock was like an impatiently tapping foot waiting for her to rise.
Of course he had to maintain himself, and remain in fighting shape, even if he might have made a grave mistake last night-- a mistake which could cost him everything if anyone found out she was still alive.
As a pleasant surprise, Emma would find a hot cup of coffee sitting on the coffee table near her couch, the steam produced from the heat still rising up. The sound of water shifting, bouncing between the concrete walls of confinement began to fill the room, accompanying the birds and morning ambiance of the hillside. The tattooed murderer was currently cutting through the reflective surface of the pool's crystalline waters. His arms moved in a proficient manner, one after the other, funneling water across his chiseled biceps or triceps before surging back in wake. Aiden's rippling back tensed and shifted, his shoulder blades nearly kissing with every stroke before lunging forwards.
Stopping at the deep end of the pool, the hitman surfaced up and grasped the concrete edging. Both hands laid flat, one of them moving up to brush dripping wet hair back smoothly, blaring his multicolored biceps in the process. His hair was a shade darker than usual now and slicked back neatly with the added weight of water. Aiden ran the same hand across his face for a moment, his mossy colored eyes reflected the surface of the pool across them as small waves bobbed about, crashing into his hard obliques and flanks. Soon, he could be seen pulling himself from the crystal waters of the pool, palms mashing to the smooth edge and triceps straining, dripping water, as he hoisted himself out.
Aiden wore a simple pair of black swim trunks that stopped high on tree-trunk thighs, showing off powerful lower extremities and hardened backside in their gripping fit. Water smoothed the material to his form, sticking over his tanned complexion. Water beaded from his wet hair and trailed over those hefty pectorals that seemed to draw shadows over his rib cage. Like a moat of a castle, his grooved abdominal muscles trapped water between them and the deep cuts of his v-shaped hips if only for a second.
A black Mad Paris Audemars Piguet watch lay strapped to his wrist and equally shedding water as if some statement piece of his social status in this chaotic world. Water beaded across its face as he checked the time, looming pectorals rising and falling sharply with each labored breath. As random metal songs bumped through the patio speakers outside, the hitman began to make his way with wet footsteps to the open interior glass doors. It was about time to welcome his guest-- undoubtedly a very confused one, at that.
The bright rays of the sun poured through the surrounding hillside and washed the lush green surroundings in ever-expanding shafts of beaming light. An orange glow accompanied the rising sun in the distance, penetrating through the transparent glass doors at the different angles of a modern home and getaway. A paradise never spoken of. The soft colors and accents of the home seemed to highlight more in the day than sundown. Considering the open floor plan, long halls, and fresh colors, the house itself looked twice the size of what it had at night. A good view of the patio welcomed sleepy eyes to the stone and crystal waters of a heated infinity pool that seemed to go on for miles.
Birds chirped in an unchoreographed band, calling to one another in the distance and waking those early to the morning. The newest resident of this home made of glass and metal would find herself across the couch without a shred of clothing, but tucked into a warm blanket that promised to provide warmth from the chill of the air outside. Maybe Aiden had found humor in it all-- it was his first time saving over killing his intended target. But speaking of, Aiden was boldly absent from the interior of his home to welcome his guest. Emma was on her own in the silence of the immediate room; the ticking hand of a clock was like an impatiently tapping foot waiting for her to rise.
Of course he had to maintain himself, and remain in fighting shape, even if he might have made a grave mistake last night-- a mistake which could cost him everything if anyone found out she was still alive.
As a pleasant surprise, Emma would find a hot cup of coffee sitting on the coffee table near her couch, the steam produced from the heat still rising up. The sound of water shifting, bouncing between the concrete walls of confinement began to fill the room, accompanying the birds and morning ambiance of the hillside. The tattooed murderer was currently cutting through the reflective surface of the pool's crystalline waters. His arms moved in a proficient manner, one after the other, funneling water across his chiseled biceps or triceps before surging back in wake. Aiden's rippling back tensed and shifted, his shoulder blades nearly kissing with every stroke before lunging forwards.
Stopping at the deep end of the pool, the hitman surfaced up and grasped the concrete edging. Both hands laid flat, one of them moving up to brush dripping wet hair back smoothly, blaring his multicolored biceps in the process. His hair was a shade darker than usual now and slicked back neatly with the added weight of water. Aiden ran the same hand across his face for a moment, his mossy colored eyes reflected the surface of the pool across them as small waves bobbed about, crashing into his hard obliques and flanks. Soon, he could be seen pulling himself from the crystal waters of the pool, palms mashing to the smooth edge and triceps straining, dripping water, as he hoisted himself out.
Aiden wore a simple pair of black swim trunks that stopped high on tree-trunk thighs, showing off powerful lower extremities and hardened backside in their gripping fit. Water smoothed the material to his form, sticking over his tanned complexion. Water beaded from his wet hair and trailed over those hefty pectorals that seemed to draw shadows over his rib cage. Like a moat of a castle, his grooved abdominal muscles trapped water between them and the deep cuts of his v-shaped hips if only for a second.
A black Mad Paris Audemars Piguet watch lay strapped to his wrist and equally shedding water as if some statement piece of his social status in this chaotic world. Water beaded across its face as he checked the time, looming pectorals rising and falling sharply with each labored breath. As random metal songs bumped through the patio speakers outside, the hitman began to make his way with wet footsteps to the open interior glass doors. It was about time to welcome his guest-- undoubtedly a very confused one, at that.
There was nothing more that could be done to save the beautiful, pretty Asian leashed to a pole and sat upon her knees in a digital construct of Lucidtech making. Luckily for Hanabi and her digital-self, the carpet was designed to be plush enough so as not to rub her knees and the bottom of her ample ass too raw, too soon. How considerate was it of the high paid developers to think of positioning her on such a fine piece of carpentry! Sakura's words reached deaf ears. There was nothing she could do but sit back, feel the motions, move to the beat, and enjoy the music the couple was making in what seemed like a room over, now projected around her in a sick clit-tease.
This one was for her. But The one upside of it all?
Sakura got the best, crystal-clear definition of the action through Hanabi's doe-like eyes. It was a resolution most brain-dance addicted junkies would murder for, and one in which editors wished they could tune to. It was like a shot of adrenaline right through the veins-- taking the eyes of another and feeling what they felt with no consequence. However, what no one at Lucidtech could account for was how well this malware took root into the interconnected twins' neural pathways. This was the first time a pair of sisters had been tested upon in this manner, and the results were shocking.
Hanabi's yipping did nothing. No, the tattooed bad-boy above her angled himself, took hold of the base of his gigantic girth, and jammed it down the little Asian's pretty throat until it bulged something unsightly. A rather evil grin began to curl at the man's warm lips, tugging and shifting them toward one side like a man who had just gotten away with murder. His hardened core tensed, flexed, and tightened into a more compact package of muscle between the v-cuts of his hips as he groaned. Looming pectorals dented at their corners, and the arm extended outwards to her head flared at his bicep nicely. "Fuck!" The towering Adonis couldn't help but curse out at just how good, how wet, her mouth was at this depth.
There was a power-play that turned on the man to no end occurring right this second: The sight of Hanabi's eyes wide, her throat outlining him, her cockshocked mannerisms. It was a powertrip no rape brain-dance or edit could do. No, here she was, barking, yipping, and then having a cock shoved down her throat and Hanabi had no recourse, even as she tried her best to disenfranchise herself and pour through code. The feeling of her tongue flattening, teeth receding just enough, allowing him to drive through her tonsils had his back arching. The action brought his chest forwards, ink closer to her eyes now for her inspection. Well, her and her sister's.
Her gagging only tightened herself like a vice to his forearm-wide cock that was like one of her arms being plunged into her gullet. Ward's large and thick hand kept itself curled at the alluring base of her ponytail, his eyes watching her hair spill in a downward cascade from the palm of his hand. It was all thanks to Hanabi's sister that had done her hair this way, otherwise he would have had to make a sloppier, tighter one to reign in his little puppy on her knees.
It was here that their eyes met now. Sisters to CEO. The brute's bright blue eyes had more character than the mercenaries they knew back home. They also held no mercy, even with the hint of nativity inside of Hanabi's beautiful eyes. Again, the two Asians were welcomed to his body from their lower viewpoint: ripped to the gills, shredded, toned, all natural. It all shifted and moved with his groans the more her head bobbed, or was forced to bob, over his impaling cock that was tough to swallow to the base. "Don't worry, little pet. -- Mnmh, fuck. -- We'll train this throat properly. Make sure you understand how to properly please a man."
Faraday couldn't believe it.
He sat on Hanabi's tub still as he had been when they left this world. Concerned eyes of brown and green scanned over vital charts and digital projections showing temp, heart-rate, and mental state to name a few. With the twin sisters' body temperatures rising, the man snapped his chin to shoulder and tossed Grim a concerned look. His voice was urgent like a doctor preparing to dive in for emergency surgery, "Grim! I can't keep them in this long like this. They're going to fry. Fry like that fuckin' two-bit blonde did!"
Grim pushed off from the sink, his feet slamming onto the floor, before rushing over to Sakura's tub. The man placed a hand on the wall, his chiseled arm flaring larger than any of the men the two girls had known on this day, and growled under his breath in growing rage. "Goddamnit! We can't lose them. This fucker is truly trying to sabotage us at every step and it's his own fuckin' contract! His fuckin' little schemes are too much for these dolls to take. What's happening!?"
The sight of Hanabi's body shifting had Faraday's heart aching as if someone stuck a hand in his ribs and began pulling. "Nononono! Shit! They're well above one hundred, even on all this tundra. Snatch me some more of those bags of ice, you gonk! We got to bring down their temps or we're aborting the contract. We can sever the connection to the net and pull the plugs when it's been done, if we need to. It should snap them back."
Little did the two know, if they did do so, the girls would arrive to this world with the same malware being tested upon them in the digital space!
Grim rushed for more ice. Faraday readied to sever the connection properly.
Hanabi's next move surprised the towering Adonis before her. She caned her head and swallowed. Swallowed until the monstrous base of his cock came in contact with her lips. The hand upon her ponytail tightened. Ward moaned out loud, probably more than he had in some time, as the Asian bombshell deepthroated him like a trained sex worker. No, better than that. Their eyes met now, his upper body straightening proudly, the hand on her ponytail kept a firm grip dominantly, but did not command.
He could see the determination in Hanabi's eyes. A hard swallow shifted his throat visibly for her, as if she was making him nervous of how good she was. "Good girl, little pet. Good --mnh, god-- good girl." His words deep, gravely, coarse as if he had been yelling for an hour. The feeling of Hanabi's breasts smacking up against his hard shins and tree-trunk thighs were heavenly. Her tattooed lover arched his head back as she began bobbing so vigilantly. The man's arm followed the flow of her head, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, but did not hinder or stop her. Again and again she kissed the base of his cock, her throat's spongy noises filling the room to the sounds of the hammering rain and aqua glow of the television.
When Hanabi came for air, popping off with a string of saliva connecting them, she was fast to return. However, Ward ensured it. His hand slammed her head back down greedily, loving how she made him twitch. His cock was throbbing, wildly painting her mouth in pre-cum or dribbling it across her lips and chin in ropes. She could feel his balls throbbing against her chin or slapping it. It kept going-- her throat rape didn't stop for what seemed like a half hour of a brutal pounding. The short jerks of her head came fast and brutal. Her lover was moaning, groaning, feeling himself so close!
As Hanabi's efforts to thwart the construct died with her focused efforts on pleasing the tattooed CEO towering above her, the Lucidtech engineers watching this whole thing from a server room would continue to face her attempts head on; they were the defenders in this controlled environment.
In that deep blue neon glow of the dark room with padded floors and an endless stretch of servers in racks, a myriad of wires crawling about the walls, they worked hard to achieve a few goals: collect data, tweak the malware in real-time, and keep the girls confined to the digital space they had constructed.
However, this test was to be brief. It was to plant the seed, test their newest changes. It had been Greyson Ward who took it too far. He couldn't control himself.
"We can't let him fry these girls! They can take this malware, but we can't push it so fast, so soon!" One engineer shouted from behind a computer screen. "Incremental!"
Again and again the man forced her face to slam into his hardened pelvis and washboard lower stomach. Again and again he'd push with his v-cut hips until that large cock drew into her throat. It was with a hard, desperate gasp that the man throbbed inside of her throat. A tattooed and muscular arm flared, bulging in muscle, as the Adonis before her used the grip on her ponytail to pull her back. It wasn't fast enough, though: the first hard, warm shot of seed poured down her mouth and stained her tongue.
It was on the second that the man's drooling, rock hard cock had been pulled out, held in the hand not peeling her head back for the perfect facial, that he began to paint her pretty face in his pearlescent fluid. Rope after rope began to streak Hanabi's cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, and dot the vision in which Sakura was getting from that perfect POV. As he continued to facial that beautiful Asain upon her knees, the connection began to fade.
Fade. What!?
"No! W-what's happening!? I am not finished- --nnh-- finished yet!" The man called to his control room, his seed still spilling, a groan cutting his startled words. Orange filled his once blue eyes as he began piecing together why the two girls were escaping his trap. Their bodies flickering like an old, static television. Buzzing. That is, until they were gone. Poof! Their minds went back up the blur of white and black. It was a reverse funnel that they had experienced on the way in.
It was here that the girls would find themselves coming back to that grungy old apartment room. The sight of Faraday would be the first, seated between their tubs still, having disconnected their jacks after severing the connections appropriately. His face was concerned, brows furrowed and drawing lines in his once smooth forehead. "I think we got them!" He shouted, looking over toward Grim, "they're back!"
Little did they know, they really got them. The malware in their brain and all.
Grim stammered forwards, towering over Sakura's tub as he brushed a hand over the salt-and-pepper of his shaven head in a worry. "Shit, that was a fucking close one. Temps were uncontrollable. We got to let them rest. Sakura? You with me?" Grim lowered to a knee, resting an arm on the tub.
Faraday would softly welcome Hanabi to the world with a concerned look, hand softly brushing against her cheek.
This one was for her. But The one upside of it all?
Sakura got the best, crystal-clear definition of the action through Hanabi's doe-like eyes. It was a resolution most brain-dance addicted junkies would murder for, and one in which editors wished they could tune to. It was like a shot of adrenaline right through the veins-- taking the eyes of another and feeling what they felt with no consequence. However, what no one at Lucidtech could account for was how well this malware took root into the interconnected twins' neural pathways. This was the first time a pair of sisters had been tested upon in this manner, and the results were shocking.
Hanabi's yipping did nothing. No, the tattooed bad-boy above her angled himself, took hold of the base of his gigantic girth, and jammed it down the little Asian's pretty throat until it bulged something unsightly. A rather evil grin began to curl at the man's warm lips, tugging and shifting them toward one side like a man who had just gotten away with murder. His hardened core tensed, flexed, and tightened into a more compact package of muscle between the v-cuts of his hips as he groaned. Looming pectorals dented at their corners, and the arm extended outwards to her head flared at his bicep nicely. "Fuck!" The towering Adonis couldn't help but curse out at just how good, how wet, her mouth was at this depth.
There was a power-play that turned on the man to no end occurring right this second: The sight of Hanabi's eyes wide, her throat outlining him, her cockshocked mannerisms. It was a powertrip no rape brain-dance or edit could do. No, here she was, barking, yipping, and then having a cock shoved down her throat and Hanabi had no recourse, even as she tried her best to disenfranchise herself and pour through code. The feeling of her tongue flattening, teeth receding just enough, allowing him to drive through her tonsils had his back arching. The action brought his chest forwards, ink closer to her eyes now for her inspection. Well, her and her sister's.
Her gagging only tightened herself like a vice to his forearm-wide cock that was like one of her arms being plunged into her gullet. Ward's large and thick hand kept itself curled at the alluring base of her ponytail, his eyes watching her hair spill in a downward cascade from the palm of his hand. It was all thanks to Hanabi's sister that had done her hair this way, otherwise he would have had to make a sloppier, tighter one to reign in his little puppy on her knees.
It was here that their eyes met now. Sisters to CEO. The brute's bright blue eyes had more character than the mercenaries they knew back home. They also held no mercy, even with the hint of nativity inside of Hanabi's beautiful eyes. Again, the two Asians were welcomed to his body from their lower viewpoint: ripped to the gills, shredded, toned, all natural. It all shifted and moved with his groans the more her head bobbed, or was forced to bob, over his impaling cock that was tough to swallow to the base. "Don't worry, little pet. -- Mnmh, fuck. -- We'll train this throat properly. Make sure you understand how to properly please a man."
Faraday couldn't believe it.
He sat on Hanabi's tub still as he had been when they left this world. Concerned eyes of brown and green scanned over vital charts and digital projections showing temp, heart-rate, and mental state to name a few. With the twin sisters' body temperatures rising, the man snapped his chin to shoulder and tossed Grim a concerned look. His voice was urgent like a doctor preparing to dive in for emergency surgery, "Grim! I can't keep them in this long like this. They're going to fry. Fry like that fuckin' two-bit blonde did!"
Grim pushed off from the sink, his feet slamming onto the floor, before rushing over to Sakura's tub. The man placed a hand on the wall, his chiseled arm flaring larger than any of the men the two girls had known on this day, and growled under his breath in growing rage. "Goddamnit! We can't lose them. This fucker is truly trying to sabotage us at every step and it's his own fuckin' contract! His fuckin' little schemes are too much for these dolls to take. What's happening!?"
The sight of Hanabi's body shifting had Faraday's heart aching as if someone stuck a hand in his ribs and began pulling. "Nononono! Shit! They're well above one hundred, even on all this tundra. Snatch me some more of those bags of ice, you gonk! We got to bring down their temps or we're aborting the contract. We can sever the connection to the net and pull the plugs when it's been done, if we need to. It should snap them back."
Little did the two know, if they did do so, the girls would arrive to this world with the same malware being tested upon them in the digital space!
Grim rushed for more ice. Faraday readied to sever the connection properly.
Hanabi's next move surprised the towering Adonis before her. She caned her head and swallowed. Swallowed until the monstrous base of his cock came in contact with her lips. The hand upon her ponytail tightened. Ward moaned out loud, probably more than he had in some time, as the Asian bombshell deepthroated him like a trained sex worker. No, better than that. Their eyes met now, his upper body straightening proudly, the hand on her ponytail kept a firm grip dominantly, but did not command.
He could see the determination in Hanabi's eyes. A hard swallow shifted his throat visibly for her, as if she was making him nervous of how good she was. "Good girl, little pet. Good --mnh, god-- good girl." His words deep, gravely, coarse as if he had been yelling for an hour. The feeling of Hanabi's breasts smacking up against his hard shins and tree-trunk thighs were heavenly. Her tattooed lover arched his head back as she began bobbing so vigilantly. The man's arm followed the flow of her head, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, but did not hinder or stop her. Again and again she kissed the base of his cock, her throat's spongy noises filling the room to the sounds of the hammering rain and aqua glow of the television.
When Hanabi came for air, popping off with a string of saliva connecting them, she was fast to return. However, Ward ensured it. His hand slammed her head back down greedily, loving how she made him twitch. His cock was throbbing, wildly painting her mouth in pre-cum or dribbling it across her lips and chin in ropes. She could feel his balls throbbing against her chin or slapping it. It kept going-- her throat rape didn't stop for what seemed like a half hour of a brutal pounding. The short jerks of her head came fast and brutal. Her lover was moaning, groaning, feeling himself so close!
As Hanabi's efforts to thwart the construct died with her focused efforts on pleasing the tattooed CEO towering above her, the Lucidtech engineers watching this whole thing from a server room would continue to face her attempts head on; they were the defenders in this controlled environment.
In that deep blue neon glow of the dark room with padded floors and an endless stretch of servers in racks, a myriad of wires crawling about the walls, they worked hard to achieve a few goals: collect data, tweak the malware in real-time, and keep the girls confined to the digital space they had constructed.
However, this test was to be brief. It was to plant the seed, test their newest changes. It had been Greyson Ward who took it too far. He couldn't control himself.
"We can't let him fry these girls! They can take this malware, but we can't push it so fast, so soon!" One engineer shouted from behind a computer screen. "Incremental!"
Again and again the man forced her face to slam into his hardened pelvis and washboard lower stomach. Again and again he'd push with his v-cut hips until that large cock drew into her throat. It was with a hard, desperate gasp that the man throbbed inside of her throat. A tattooed and muscular arm flared, bulging in muscle, as the Adonis before her used the grip on her ponytail to pull her back. It wasn't fast enough, though: the first hard, warm shot of seed poured down her mouth and stained her tongue.
It was on the second that the man's drooling, rock hard cock had been pulled out, held in the hand not peeling her head back for the perfect facial, that he began to paint her pretty face in his pearlescent fluid. Rope after rope began to streak Hanabi's cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, and dot the vision in which Sakura was getting from that perfect POV. As he continued to facial that beautiful Asain upon her knees, the connection began to fade.
Fade. What!?
"No! W-what's happening!? I am not finished- --nnh-- finished yet!" The man called to his control room, his seed still spilling, a groan cutting his startled words. Orange filled his once blue eyes as he began piecing together why the two girls were escaping his trap. Their bodies flickering like an old, static television. Buzzing. That is, until they were gone. Poof! Their minds went back up the blur of white and black. It was a reverse funnel that they had experienced on the way in.
It was here that the girls would find themselves coming back to that grungy old apartment room. The sight of Faraday would be the first, seated between their tubs still, having disconnected their jacks after severing the connections appropriately. His face was concerned, brows furrowed and drawing lines in his once smooth forehead. "I think we got them!" He shouted, looking over toward Grim, "they're back!"
Little did they know, they really got them. The malware in their brain and all.
Grim stammered forwards, towering over Sakura's tub as he brushed a hand over the salt-and-pepper of his shaven head in a worry. "Shit, that was a fucking close one. Temps were uncontrollable. We got to let them rest. Sakura? You with me?" Grim lowered to a knee, resting an arm on the tub.
Faraday would softly welcome Hanabi to the world with a concerned look, hand softly brushing against her cheek.
C H A R A C T E R S
Below are some pre-made characters to help spark your interest. These do not always have to be used in our stories, as I typically tailor make characters for each one. However, if you do love the idea of playing with these characters, do try to incorporate them in any ideas you send my way and we'll see if it can be done.
More incoming when I have time.
Name: Drakkon Greycastle
Nickname: Drak
Age: 48
Height: 6'7''
Weight: 260 lbs.
Race: Demonic Human mix
Vocation: Lord Commander of Grim Company, Mercenaries
Roleplays: Typically seen in fantasy genre writing
Temperament: Harsh, cruel, calculated, impatient, dominant, violent, tyrannical
A tall, imposing, calculated man with demonic origins. His mother, Violet, was rumored to be a witch who had made a deal with the devil to spare her only daughter from sickness and death. The deal led to the summoning of the demon she'd parlayed with, and in that foul matrimony, Drakkon was born. After birth, Violet and her daughter were killed at the hands of the demon spawn, leaving Drakkon an orphan.
Drakkon bounced around between families, but found his true home in service of the Empire. In that service, he notoriously developed a reputation for supernatural strength and reflexes that no typical knight possessed. However, officers detested his violent outbursts, demonic heritage, and dark heart. Eventually, he was expelled from knighthood in service of the Empire, but a small band of loyal warriors followed him.
With a core group of companions, Drakkon formed Grim Company-- a band of mercenaries that would do anything for the right amount of coin. The Company became notorious for its ruthless efficiency. Many kingdoms, rulers, and fanatical groups hired Drak's growing band of mercenaries to do their dirty work they themselves were incapable of doing. It is whispered that his mercenary group grew so big that it rivaled most kingdoms'.
How I typically write/use Drakkon: In most timelines, Drakkon's company is hired by the presiding Emperor because of a feat his own army cannot pull off. My favorite? The Emperor names Drakkon Lord Commander, and promises if he topples the one kingdom the Emperor was never able to absorb, that he'd let Drak rule over it with his men and take any of the women (Queen/Princess) for themselves.
Name: True Alias Unknown
Nickname: Ghost
Age: 28
Height: 6'1''
Weight: 190 lbs.
Race: Human
Vocation: Netrunner
Roleplays: Typically seen in Cyberpunk genre writing
Temperament: Arrogant, off-the-wall, fast-thinking, fast on the trigger, prone to psychotic outbursts at times (random)
Re-build and augmented through the eyes of his Sister, Ghost is a renown Netrunner known for his ability across cyberspace. As a child, Ghost was gravely injured in an accident which killed his mother and father during the Corporate wars against the street gangs of Night City. He lost both right arm and leg to an explosion which instantly killed both parents. After a year in intensive care, it was deemed Ghost's limbs were irreparable and would have to be removed. His Sister was insistent and created low-rate prosthetics with the hope of being able to afford legit pieces of hardware in the future.
Because of the incident, Ghost spent years jacked into the net, laid up at his Sister's apartment in recovery. This gave him an infinite amount of experience and skill, but also rendered his body weak. Because of his Sister's growing reputation among Solos, she began to rebuild Ghost almost possessively. His arms and legs were fitted with some of the finest prosthetics. Ghost's body was re-sculpted and carved as if he had been a gym rat his whole life- lean and slender, chiseled and defined.
However, Ghost's Sister, nicknamed XXX, went missing months later. Official tabloids and newspapers labeled the infamous Mercenary dead, but Ghost knew better. He knew she was still alive, and became determined to find her.
Ghost is a quick thinker and masterful hacker. He's known for his many digital heists of Corporate bank accounts and low level gangsters; Ghost is also known for his ferocious appetite for physical things. He suffers from mild Cyberpsychosis.
How I typically write/use Ghost: A unpredictable wildcard in the Cyberpunk world. He's one of the best Netrunners (hackers) there are in Night City, joining the ranks with people like Spider Murphy and Rache Bartmoss. However, he's still living. And you might just want him for your next job, or whatever else you need.
What are you waiting for?
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