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Author Topic: Flassche’s (closed for maintenance)  (Read 11665 times)

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Offline flasscheTopic starter

Flassche’s (closed for maintenance)
« on: October 01, 2011, 06:48:09 AM »
Status: Open for Roleplay's

Welcome all to my little cesspool of love, I do hope you like what you find.  A little bit about me. I am a twenty-four year old male, hailing from the capitol of perversion. I have about ten solid years of roleplaying behind me, casual and adult oriented.
A short scroll below reveals my Plots and On and off switch. Take a stroll around my realm of perverted thoughts and lose yourself. Keep in mind that the plots are mere sketches, if you like to alter something, change gender or add kinks, Send me a pm and we can work something out. If you rather create one up from scratch with me, I’ll be more than willing to help.
Please refrain from replying directly to this topic, a Pm will do!

Sexual nature.
In RL I am 100% straight. I consider roleplaying an act of entertainment and ‘broadening my perspective’, thus making me more open minded towards males. I usually prefer my male characters coupled with your females, yet there are exceptions. These exceptions are rare, and mood based. A good plot will usually tempt me enough to purr anyway you like.

I am quite dominant. I ‘can’ do submissive, but even then my characters would come with a heavy backbone.  I like to identify myself in my own characters, forcing me to usually be the dominant factor. This does not mean I crave submissive partners. Break me, humiliate me, try and conquer me. “Licks lips”

In almost all roles I crave to play as a male human, Caucasian.
If the scene is enticing, or I am bribed with cookies, I can play as a humanoid. Usually I am more than willing to play as a demon, tentacle or fantasy race creature thingy. Playing as a furry is a big no.

I enjoy playing a wide variety of characters, from an evil youth to a battle hardened demon.
Do you really have a specific character type you've been dying to play with? Give me some cookies and run the story idea past me, chances are I might say yes. I usually prefer my characters to have some sense of maturity, either by age or experience.

I prefer threads and Pm as a form of contact. My experiences tell me I write better then, and can set a steady pace. I can do IM if the story is exciting and tickling me in all the right places. When role playing with me over IM, keep in mind of the time zone and smaller posts.
« Last Edit: December 07, 2012, 05:27:24 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

On and Off Switch
« Reply #1 on: October 01, 2011, 07:26:16 AM »
General On switch:
-Dominance: I usually crave the Dominant position. I am willing to try and sub.
-Deep plot: Things covered and sprinkled with plot will send me purring
-Barriers: Age, Race, Size difference, incest, species, position.
-Character Flaws: Nothing is fun than not having a ‘perfect’ character.
-Male: I usually play male, purely because I suck at playing as a Female.
-Non human: Be it feisty female sex-bots or blood craving alien warriors. Bring it on!
-Mind over muscle: I usually love If I can be the dominant factor in a rp due to persuasion instead of muscle.
-Seduction: An art if done correctly.
-Non Consensual: I have spare rope in the trunk.
-Receiving Servitude, even non sexual services.

Male/Female On switch:
-Younger/equal/older: Male, with a preference for playing as a younger male.
-Unique characters: I love a new and exciting character that makes me shiver in delight
-Risk off/pregnancy: Guilty pleasure.
-Dominant/Submissive: During a MxF I am open to all kinds of personalities.
-Backbone: Let me work for it!

Male/Male On switch:
-Older male: In an mxm scene I am almost always the older male.
-Unique characters: I love a new and exciting character that makes me shiver in delight
-Dominance: During Mxm scenes I am ALWAYS the dominant male.
-Being straight: Be able to play as a young and confused male? HELL yes.
-Small dom/tall sub: A new kink of mine.

General Off switch:
-Anal on my character: No a fan at all. ‘shivers’
-Drama: I love a good dramatic scene, yet do not go all emo on me.
-Cliché: I can act out the bf/gf, best friends, co-worker scene in real life. Bring on the weirdness!
-Romance: Romantic scenes are fun to play out from time to time, yet they usually get stale.
-Heavy-gore: Beating me up? yes please!. Losing my limb..’logs off’
- Toilet stuff:  Please flush…Please?
« Last Edit: April 11, 2012, 05:50:37 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

« Reply #2 on: October 01, 2011, 08:03:16 AM »
New Plots
These plots are currently my favorites, choosing one of these, will surely peak my interest.

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
‘And in other news, the charred bodies of three men were pulled Friday from a car that had been in Farport Harbor for hours after it plunged off a pier and landed on its roof, police said.
Part of the burned out Hyundai Accent was sticking out of about 4 feet of water when it was discovered around 6:30 a.m. at the Farport Shipyard, a privately owned mara-‘

The woman switched off the radio whilst staring at her husband, giving him her famous ‘not around the kids’ look. The man merely sighed as he grabbed his little daughter and placed her on his lap, letting her have a better view from the train’s window. The girl pressed both her hands against the glass while her mouth was slightly ajar. Slowly but surely the country side was changing from its cold northern climate to more greener pastures. While affection and warmth was heavy in cabin 23-a, the cabin next to it had a different aura. A tall broad male, possible six-three, give or take an inch, was hunched over. His dark hair, cut short and rough, matched the dark vibe he was giving off. The wounds on his fists were starting to heal, the once damaged skin now whole and of a pink color. He glanced to his right as he stared at his own reflection, the bright grey eyes so similar to that of a full moon.


“Are these really accurate?” A deep controlled voice called out, finally breaking the silence after what seemed hours. The man on his left nodded, his right finger tapping lightly on the old oak carved table. Around the table were nine figures, most of them wearing a certain attire that matched the mood in this room, dark and dreary. It had been a long time since a full meeting had been called in place, centuries even. The counsel of nine wasn’t something of a frequent occurrence. “That makes seven so far. Not to mention one was from lineage.” He spoke the last word a bit harder, emphasizing the importance of it all. A woman at the end of the table nodded before she spoke, voice thick with an accent now long gone. “Speculations and repeating the facts changes nothing. All of the bodies were burned, yet autopsy showed heavy amounts of internal damage and small traces of silver fragments around the fractured areas. I think we are dealing with a hunter, a skilled one.” Seconds later a heated discussion took place once more, this time lasting longer, not stopping until the eldest of them all spoke up. “Send out four seekers. I want this…’hunter’.. found and brought before the counsel.” His voice was cold, very cold. When he spoke the others listened, knowing full well that they ought to obey. A small smile crept upon his face, showing dazzling white teeth, two of them longer than normal. “Let us see how long it will take.”

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Good and evil are two opposite poles that are present in an uneasy equilibrium. There is no coherent distinction between good and evil across all cultures, no clear definition that classifies the evil as being evil. Good and evil. Light and darkness. Nature needs opposites poles to function, to maintain a thin balance in nature. An example of this equilibrium was the epidemic that festered in the southern lands of the Elamite nation, 2135 BC, in what is now called Iran. Border skirmishes and internal strife were a constant threat, casualties on both sides heavy and numerous. In this collection of conflict and death, something horrible was born. A plague started to spread, striking out at all sides without prejudice. Thousands of people died, leaving only a shell of its former population alive. Most migrated north, seeking shelter and cleaner lands. The once that stayed were written off, although a few managed to survive the plague for a time, each in their own way.

During the worst of it all a pregnant woman was found in a disease infected village. Her blackened skin and boils bore signs of some of the worst symptoms one could have from this curse, yet she was still somehow alive. In last minutes alive she birthed two children, twins. One was crying loudly, the other was completely still almost as if it was stillborn. Their father used what remaining life he had left to take them away from the doomed village and up north, he died upon reaching the city gates, two small bundles in his arms.
These children were as opposite as could be, like darkness and light. The eldest twin was brimming with life, enjoying every sensation life had to offer and filled to the brim with an energy that was almost unhealthy. He was quick with his emotions, trusted his instincts above his rationality and was overly protective of his friends. The only illness the boy suffered was during a full moon when he would have feverish dreams and painful headaches. The younger brother was colder, in every way. He did not enjoy life the same as his brother did. Where one would find happiness and enjoyment, the other found opportunity and knowledge. He was smarter and more slender than his brother, preferring to use his intellect to solve any childhood disputes. His skin was pale, preferring the night more and more than the scorching hot sun during the day. Although he could stand day light just fine, it gave him a nauseating feeling that something was off. Over the years this only increased.

For years and years the brothers stayed together as brothers, although it was a thin bond. One married and started a family, three strong boys and two girls. The man was blessed with love and warmth. The other brother became a talented merchant and quickly began to amass wealth that raised his position in court. He married like his brother, although it could hardly be called love. His marriage did not bring the joy of childbirth, something he blamed his wife for. For years they live like mortal men, both finding a reason to exist in their own way. While other men quickly began to show signs of aging, the two brothers did not. The one who embraced light only aged slowly, at his sixtieth year he could have passed for a man in his late twenty. The brother who embraced darkness showed even less signs of aging. At first it was hailed as a gift of god, yet overtime people became suspicious, claiming that something unnatural was at work here.

It all finally ended in a great cleansing fire during a full moon. A mob had gathered to force these two families out, fearing that the evil was at work here. At first it was just shouting and weaving a torch or pitchfork angrily, yet it quickly escalated. The older brother gave into rage when the mob stabbed one of his grandchildren. He and his offspring roared out in anger and attacked the mob with such ferocity it literally paved the street in blood. Limbs were torn off and skulls shattered as if made from glass. During this time of madness most of his family managed to flee the city and spread out in every direction.

The younger brother solved things on a different way. During his years in this life he had amassed a great deal of wealth and employed a few people. He bought caravans and secretaries to trade for him and to manage his company during the day. Over time he hired guards and mercenaries to protect his caravans. So when the plebe came for him, he retaliated with his own personal army, him at head of it. He had never fought in his life before, always using rationality to do his work for him. Yet, when he took his first life with his sword and felt the blood splatter on his face and tongue, he felt more alive than ever. He carved a bloody path through the streets to his older brother, hoping he could reach him in time.

The two families joined up and destroyed the city entirely. The younger brother began to move faster and faster the more blood he drew, eventually even clawing and biting at people when his sword was stuck inside someone. The elder brother and his son were like feral beasts, throwing people farther than was possible and even tearing iron hinges clean off walls. When morning dawned half the population of the city was dead, corpses littering the streets. The elder brother and his sons and daughters that had stayed with him were heavily injured and most of them unconscious. The younger brother displayed almost no injury, the deep cuts and dark bruises now only appearing as minor scratches and marked skin.

What happened after this terribly night is only speculation. Some claim that the youngest brother fully embraced darkness and found a way to infect those close to him as well while the older brother and his blood kin were now cursed to suffer the same rage every full moon. Others claim that from that night on they had become monsters, although stories now refer to them as vampires and werewolves. The only that is reported as truth is that days later the younger brother killed the older with his bare hands and teeth in some mad rage.  The still injured sons and daughter of his older brother were quickly imprisoned and guarded at all times. And nine months later the younger son and one of his new wife's gifted a child, as if the act of taking light had given him live in return.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Description of the supernatural and natural creatures; listing all of their pro’s, con’s and given a rating to them.

Blood Vampires: Lineage or Full bloods.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The true vampiric race that is a direct descendant of the ‘first’.
+Immune to aging from a certain age.
+Highly intelligent creatures.
+Increased strength.
+Incredible speed.
+Incredible Sight.
+Incredible regenerative ability, increased further by feeding.
+Ability to turn humans into lesser Vampires.

-Weakness to sunlight.
-Weakness to silver.
-Inability to procreate without the blood of a werewolf in their veins. The stronger the wolf the stronger the offspring.
-Inability to feel, smell or enjoy without a regular doses of blood. Werewolf blood enhances this further.

Vampire: Children or Lesser bloods.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Those that have been granted the dark gift of a true vampire.
+Immune to aging.
+Increased strength.
+Increased speed.
+Enhanced Sight.
+Enhanced regenerative ability, although scarring will remain.

-Deadly reaction to sunlight.
-Extreme weakness to silver.
-Inability to procreate.
-Inability to feel, smell or enjoy without a regular doses of blood. Werewolf blood enhances this further.

Werewolves: Bredlings or blood servants.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Direct of springs of the first werewolf. For centuries they have been kept as blood vessels, servants and fodder.
+Slower aging. Can live up to be a hundred and fifty years.
+Slightly Above human strength. Equal to ‘lesser one’ in strength during a full moon.
+ Slightly Above human speed. Near ‘lesser one’ in speed during a full moon.
+Enhanced Sight/smell/hearing/touch.

-Health centuries of inbreeding and enslavement have made this race weak and unhealthy.
-Weakened after each full moon.
-Quick to frustrate.
-Frequently to conceive or completely sterile.
-Broken race, both mentally and physically..

Direwolves: Demons or Cursed ones..
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Direct of springs of the first werewolf. Usually staying in pack form. They encourage the strongest to mate and keep the bloodlines healthy and strong.

+Extreme slow aging. Can live up to be two or three hundred years.
+Above human strength. Much stronger than ‘lesser one’ in strength during a full moon.
+Above human speed. Above ‘lesser one’ in speed during a full moon.
+Enhanced Sight/smell/hearing/touch.
+Endurance. They can literally take quite the beating.
+Above human recuperation. A bit quicker to heal.
+Instinct. Trusts instincts above rationality at times

-Quick to anger.
-Weakened after each full moon.
-Loyal to their first and only mate.
-Sporadically going in heat.
-Almost berserk like behavior during a full moon causing almost feral like behavior.
(Looking for a Vampire coupled with my Werewolf)
 ( Male/male, Male/female, Male/Other, immortality, Heavy character development, Humanity play, age gap, supernatural, drama, psychological twists, twisted romance)

A god of passion.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
"How does it feel to-"
"What are you wea-“
"Can we see your face!!-"
"Is that the outfit from the concer-"
"You’re a god-"

Suddenly there was only silence, the thick car door cutting off the man from the outside. It took him a few seconds before his vision was completely restored, a side effect from the constant flashing lights. He knew the photographs and cameras were part of the whole lifestyle, yet a eye could only withstand so much. His long digits caressed the grey mask he was wearing, slowly tracing the edges before he took it off, throwing it in the seat next to him. He stared at the mask for the longest time, thoughts crashing inside his mind as if the tide was coming. He was wondering what the real mask was, Ruyin or himself? The car quickly left the scene, tearing the god like presence away from the stage.

That night the media went wild, speculating on everything. Who was Ruyin really, where was his inspiration coming from, was the man single even his sexuality was discussed over and over again. The man had risen to stardom in a matter of months, now raining as a god like presence in music, modeling and even other fields. The man’s music could best be described as chaotic and schizophrenic. He could mix classical with dance, mix Latin with rock, even conjure up new forms of music that were becoming harder and harder to properly categories. He sometimes simply stayed in his booth, mixing up the tracks and fine tuning his artwork from afar. Yet, sometimes he went for a more personal touch, wielding a classical instrument and simply blowing the audience away. Once he even went as far as to sing himself, a thing that now was constantly being watched online. The man could play pieces from Mozart as if he himself had written the pieces, yet at the same time hinting as if he knew of older pieces, much older. From classical to electro, the man did it all.

Yet for all the fame and stardom that followed this man, very little was known about the man in question. Every contact went through his manager, no exceptions. His real name, age, even basic things like eye color were unknown. The only thing people knew were from guessing. He was roughly six feet tall, give or take a few inches, looked to be in his mid twenties and had the most unnatural grey eyes, almost silver like. His hairstyle and color were as stable as his choice of clothing, constantly changing. The paparazzi proof lifestyle and air of mystery only added unto his already rising stardom. On stage, that man, was a legend. He looked and acted like he was something more than mere human flesh, as if passion and the supernatural had come together and given him these gifts.

(Either vampire/supernatural musician or a endlessly talented male musician. Looking for a female/male to be coupled with him. Looking for unique or interesting partners.)
( Male/female, Male/male Status/position difference, Deep plot, Forbidden desires, Supernatural, Music, Dance, Celebrity.)

Depressed immortality.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Allow me, dearest reader, to tell you the tragedy that is my life. Be assured that my life was not, by any means, a dull one.

My father, the chieftain of my native lands, was brutally struck down when I was just five years old. His murderer systematically raped and slaughtered my kin, whilst selling me and my older brother into slavery. At the young age of five, my brother being only three years my elder, we were cast out from normal society and forced to entertain the lowest cesspool that mankind had to offer.
This was my harsh punishment for surviving. It ultimately led to my induration and I finally became stone. My ‘owner’ was satisfied, but not sated. He was almost a demon, indeed. Watching me, cultivating me, from the sidelines with eyes of greed and death. He still haunts the security and safety of my subconscious.

When I came to Byzantine a decade or so later, I found my craving…. Revenge. To this day I still do not know if I had found it myself, or that it was indeed, all but forced on me.
It must all be some kind of sick twist of fate. When I drove that blade deeper inside my brothers, now decayed frame, I watched in awe as his eyes lost it blessed light. The next thing I remember was pain and red water, so much so that I consider it my second birth. It seems appropriate seeing as I was born anew. In the years that followed I shrugged off every last bit of humanity I could find in myself, killing every opposition and sating every desire I had. The smell and sight of blood became like an aphrodisiac to me, burning my soul with passion. Although looking back at how I was then, I lacked the elegant grace I do now to cope with it tactfully. In those decades I found myself wondering battlefields killing whoever was closest to me. At first by luck and suprise, yet soon I found out that my mind and skill became more efficient and exhilarating.

I watched nations rise and fall, while doing my best by slaughtering key figures. Life started to become less exhilarating and passionate. The joy of a kill was decreasing, only finding some pleasure in assassinating strong and powerful men and women. Yet even that quickly started to lose the thrill. Finally I stopped killing.. or caring for that matter. I became reclusive and for years denied myself the pleasure of blood and death. In those years I finally came face to face with my own humanity. My humanity that I had raped and tortured for the entire duration of my second life. I felt regret and shame, seeing as I was the cause of my pain and loss of my last kin. I could still feel the warm blood on my hand as I slowly buried the knife deep inside the flesh of my brother.

During those times of ‘abstinence’ I met a woman almost as strong and as cold as I, albeit in a different way. She too had seen the horrors of war and mistook me for a deserter or retired soldier.
Unsure and unsteady at first, we slowly opened up to each other, sharing each other’s pain and joy. I loved her, even more so when she fully accepted my past when I told it to her. We had a son and a daughter, both of whom we loved deeply. And my life was suddenly tranquil. But humans were not made to last.

My daughter went first. I watched, confused as her little form melted away. Her skin turned pale and her chest heaved slowed its pace with each labored breath. I stayed by her side for four days as the fever took her from our lives. Not long after her my son also succumbed. Looking back in the history books, people called it the black plague. I simply call it death, pure uncaring brutal death, similar to life. My wife went a twenty years later, grief and age mostly being the catalyst for her sudden death. Her hair drained of color and her skin sagged. Her hands shook and she grew thin. She died in her sleep. One morning I just could not wake her up, and I couldn't understand why. Dying in your sleep is a luxury I was unfamiliar with. She was fifty two years old when she died. I stopped counting how much older I was than her a long time ago. One’s age seems less important with each passing decade. She was like a dried up leaf. I hadn't changed at all, and was beginning to fear that I never would.
Death became a distant friend to me. How I hunger for its cold silence, yet sadly never able to feel his embrace.

In my many years on this plain of existence I have tried many ways to embrace death. Both steel and fire did no good, although fire did take many years longer to recover. I have fought mortals and monsters alike, offering them the chance to slay and kill me, yet not succeeded. So now I stand in this age, trapped in immortality, with no purpose in live. Yet the threads of fate are numerous, entangling even the darkest souls.

(looking for a supernatural creature to be coupled with me immortal human)
( Male/male, Male/female, Male/Other, immortality, Heavy character development, Humanity play, age gap, supernatural, Older male/younger male, older male/younger female, Older male/ younger other, drama, psychological twists, twisted romance, supernatural)

Burning dog tags
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Day one

The last thing Lance remembered was the light, the terrible, stabbing, insistent light that blurred everything in his vision. There had been smoke in it, and fire, and the terrible, terrible torn limbs and spewing human blood; but most of all there had been the light, and that was all he could remember for sure. Everything else was pain-tainted. Impossible to recall.

He rubbed his temples as he sat back up, his 6’2 tall frame pressing back at the seat. He could hear the plane engines roar to his right side. A vast metallic bird bringing him once again back to the embrace of war and death, home. He placed the notes he was reading earlier back in his backpack, glancing quickly once more at the names on the list. It had been three years since his last command. Three years since he had to juggle with the life of his comrades. He had once been a fine officer, committed and honorable. That all had changed since the…  He shook his head again, shaking the thought from his mind. The doc told him the guilt would fade in time. Alcohol helped though, if briefly. He was to be stationed in some god forsaken second class , close to an urban settlement, yet small enough to be called a piss hole. He knew the type of terrain, feared it even.

Standing up straight he arched his back once more before grabbing his gear. As he stood up to walk to the door, he glanced at his left side. One of those paper pushers was watching him, like a hawk one might say. The man’s nose had healed quite nicely since he last met him, incredible what today’s medical treatments could do. In the three years since the ‘platoon incident’ he had been working AR missions. Advance Recon was typically a high risk low success situation. The men called it suicide tours. For three years he did those, until finally the higher-ups decided it was time to lead a team again. The doc’s even spoke of positive effect a team might have on one.

“Fucking paper pusher.”

He mumbled as he got out of the plane, quickly making his way towards the HQ. A few handshakes and a brief, not to mention horrible, speech later and he was standing in front of another pencil pusher. They must have grown them here or something. The man eyed him wearily, glancing at him and back at the paper several times as if he did not trust him. Twice he was asked to state his rank and full name, as if the idiot could not see the captain Insignia on his shoulders. Yet twice he had calmly stated his full name. “Captain, Lance Carther.” His doc would have been proud to see him cope with his anger so professionally. He even flashed the man a brief and warm smile, thought that probably would have been lost due to his hard gaze radiating ice and death at the man. Grabbing his bag once more, the twenty seven year old made his way towards the mess hall. Compared to airline food, the military mess hall was a 5 star French restaurant.

He dumped his bag next to his table and made his way towards the kitchen, running his long digits through his short dark brown hair. He smiled politely at the woman standing at the other side of the table. That was one rule he always kept; Don’t anger people who handle your food. He had seen tougher men than him cry pathetically on the toilets. If marines where tough, lunch ladies were tougher. Imagining the fat woman holding a machete whilst storming up a hill produced a small smile on his face, one she apparently mistook for flirting. Grabbing his plate and a can of milk, he moved towards his seat. He placed the items on the table carefully, only sitting down once he was sure the lunch lady stayed where she was. Stuffing the first bite in his mouth he savored the warm liquid. A bit salty, yet the soup was good. He was just about to bring the spoon to his mouth again when a pair of soldiers entered the room. His expression never changed, yet he eyed them wearily. They seemed to walk…. Stiffly.

The two of them laughed casually as they passed a small rugby ball. Closer and closer they got, apparently walking towards the kitchen. Lance sighed as he recognized one of them from the documents he had studied in the plane. A few more soldiers walked into the room, taking seats left en right. Some looked relax, yet one or two appeared to be watching the two ball throwing soldiers too intently. Then it happened. The ball ‘accidently’ changed course and sped towards the table Lance was sitting at. He felt his right hand twitch as he almost reacted on impulse. Forcing his hand to stay where it was, he closed his eyes as the ball hit his trey and smashed the bowl that contained his soup. Part of him wanted to grab his knife, yet he inhaled calmly, faking shock even. The room quickly erupted in laughter whilst the two soldiers pretended to be shocked at the events that had transpired.

Lance kept his expression blank, his facial features not giving away anything. God was he pissed! He looked down at the plate in front of him and noticed the broken bowl. His shirt, hair, hell the entire table was completely covered in soup. He grabbed his spoon again, forcing his right hand to move the eating utensil to his mouth and back again. A small puddle of soup was still salvageable at the bottom of the bowl. He heard the laughter surrounding him, infuriating him further. He knew it was simple ‘probing’, trying to root out weakness and bad personality traits. The way those idiots where staring at him, this was probably the beginning.

He opened the lid on his milk bottle, pressing it to his mouth and drinking generously. He liked milk, a lot in fact. When he finished the milk he placed it down on the tray, carefully placing his spoon on there as well. He casually made his way over to the lunch lady, offering his thanks for the splendid meal. He made a polite comment about how clumsy he was in breaking the bowl. He would help her out tomorrow. He meant that. Again rule number one, don’t piss off the food people.
He let his gaze fall upon the room, searching for people from his own squad. “Five” He told himself over and over again as he made his way over to his bags. He grabbed his bags, leaning forwards as he did that. The chain holding his dog tag’s flipped out, revealing three pairs. He flicked the bag back on his shoulder and placed the chain back behind his shirt, almost delicately. Picking up the ball he slowly made his way over to the two men, who were now laughing hard. Try to smile more, his doctor had told him. He forced a soft smile, lacking any emotion, as he walked passed them. The second he passed them he rammed the tip of the ball in one of their chests, making sure he drove it hard against the man’s plexus. He heard the satisfying grunt and heaving for air as he walked passed them, followed by the delicious sound of somebody crashing to the ground.

As soon as he was outside he began thinking about his action. He should have remained calm, not show emotion or rage. Grasping the chain around his neck without him realizing it, he made his way over to the barracks. He was going to need some new clothes if he was going to defend himself tonight. No doubt those thickheads would want some payback. God the army reminded him of a kindergarten. Worst of all was the fact that he was going to have to lead these…. Idiots.
( Male/female, officer/soldier, squad mates, war, Forbidden desires, fight scene’s, slight gore.)

Fueling the mech.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The year is 2034, a time of battle. In the late twenties a new type of warfare was established; the mobile suits. These hulking machines at first were clunky and slow, usually operated by a dozen men. Yet, in time they began streamlining it, making controls more efficient and smart thinking. In this age Mobile Suits are as agile as the average infantry and three times as strong as your average missile strike. Controls and buttons have lost their purpose due to the new AI and AOS. The Adrenaline Operating System. Now only a single pilot is used per suit, making it that much more efficient. The pilot is hooked up to the suit by means of a series of cables and submerging itself in the Suits inner core. The core is a flesh like material that surrounds the user, feeling every heartbeat, registering vitals and slowly ciphering a portion of the users Adrenalin to react according to the pilot’s wishes.

The mech is a constantly evolving entity, learning and adapting for its own survival. The current v.4.02 system is even stranger, allowing it to even learn from its host. In recent tests it has demonstrated itself usefulness by increasing the user’s adrenalin level, making the suit that much faster and stronger, all the while keeping a constant check on the user’s limit. Sometimes by shocking, other time by hyping it up, even massaging and vibrating has been used to increase its user’s capabilities.

The pilots are handpicked young men and woman, all with strong bodies and sharp minds. Yet, their most important function is their Natural hormone levels.
Now with the new test prototype for the v.5.07 ready and the graduation of their latest test pilot, a man with an almost unnaturally high base hormone level, military minds have decided to combine these two and see what they can do.

The fleshy core in the center of the mech would be the most important bit of it. It would be the brain and heart of the device. Should the suit become damaged or need maintenance the Core is capable of removing itself or ejecting itself from the suit, able to reshape itself to better serve or protect its user. Should the mech be destroyed entirely, the core would simply alter its state and form a smaller mech or body armor.
(looking for a person to play as the suit)
( Male/female, Male/male, Male/other, Artificial intelligence, war, Sci-Fi, fight scene’s, Sex toy’s.)
« Last Edit: October 11, 2012, 08:53:16 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

« Reply #3 on: October 01, 2011, 10:10:21 AM »
Everything society frowns upon.

The Salt Twins.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The Salt Twins

Two hearts of salt… two souls of fire.
Two kindred spirits… twins in desire.
Born on the same day… two curses from above.
Lives forever entwined… a fate without love.
So they grew together, yet quickly torn apart.
A single dream, hope and pride, imbedded in each heart.

So hails the bringing of the Salt twins, destroyers of the green.

Taken from the scripture of Estial Tre’stor.
First servant of the High king of Ehtorias.
Wielder of the sanguine quill   
Thirteenth age, twelfth year.

As with all things in this word, there had to be a beginning. The tall youth that that was licking a minor cut barely remembered his beginning. His current life was that of struggle, death and as always the salt. The only constant thing in his life was salt. Today marked his twenty third name day, one he celebrated by sacrificing iron to the salt god. No such religion existed in the known world, yet he and his kind had taken up to praying to one. No one knew why; sense of purpose perhaps? Or simply boredom. Lance simply did it because it felt right. There had to be more in life than a salt desert that did not end. He and his brethren were officially part of the southern frontier Guard division. They themselves called it the Endless watch. From their main base one could see for hundreds of leagues in all direction, only spotting the tops of the rock borders in the north. If you were wanted, sentenced to death, a bastard or simply one of the insane, you were quickly ‘recruited’ to the honorary post of Watcher. He himself was raised in this desolate place, ever since the age of twelve. As soon as he could hold a weapon, he was deemed ready for the post. He did not like the position, nor did he despise it. He simply knew only the endless watch. When the order came for him to return north, to the ever green fields, he was… hesitant. Suddenly deeply buried memories came back from his past. He did not know why, yet his gaze went towards the North West.

The kingdom of Ehtorias was simply put perfect. Its northern borders were completely isolated by mountains, to the west an torturous ocean and its south was a never ending salt desert. The only safe entry way in was through the east, one constantly guarded and fortified by the King’s army. Yet the kingdom was not known simply because it could be well defended, no, the kingdom was heaven itself. Never ending green fields, rich soils and the most exotic plants and wild game. Throughout the kingdoms life a single bloodline has been burdened by the task of safekeeping and protecting this perfect land. The Ehtorians, owning their name by their constant service and sacrifice to this perfect land. Their bloodline had always been strong, constantly having numerous daughters and sons to protect this land. It was the tenth age, one with little bloodshed so far. The current king Robertus Tre’es Ehtorian had been ruling for twenty years so far, keeping the eastern countries easily at by, ye keeping traffic and commerce constantly open. The green clerics prayed to the heavens and received word of their salvation, nine months a son was born. The young boy was everything the country represented, calm, trusting and fair. The priests quickly decided it would be the salvation of the country and the continuation of a perfect rule. Prince heir and future ruler of the Ehtorian dynasty, Birus sempervirens Ehtorian.

Yet the priests were plagued with dark and troubling visions five years later. A storm of red blood rained down on the lands while salt infected the earth, draining and corrupting the very soil itself. Nine months later was a black day. The current queen died while giving birth to twins. The delivery had been hard and lengthy, in the end she barely had enough life left to hold them in her arms before she was taken to the earth. The priests informed the king of the dark fate surrounding these children, even insisting that these children were darkness opposite he light. Struck with grief and love for his wife, the King disregarded the Priests, insisting that these children were his wife’s final gift to the world of men. So for twelve years these twins were raised as one of the noble blood, learning how to live and behave as proper noblemen and women. Yet unlike their perfect older brother, these children were different. Quick to anger and stuffed with pride, they sought out conflict like a magnet attracting iron. They fought against children from all stations, preferably a few years older. Yet, nothing excited them more when they fought against each other. Boy and girl, sacred twins, they fought each other like banshees. The only thing that kept each other from going at each other’s throats was a direct command of the king. The fires of passion were simply too strong for these children. No such gift nor burden should be placed upon a living person, let alone two. No one in the world would ever understand or fully love a being like this.  At his final days of rule the king was becoming more and more alert of the nature of these twins. At their twelfth age he decided to protect his kingdom for the last time, signing a royal order of banishment.

The young prince would be send to the endless desert while the young princess would be sent to the forbidden sea. Both would grow up in the army or navy, learning the ways of the military and receiving the burden of protecting these lands. While the young prince became a legend in the south, the desert wraith or simply the salt prince, his twin sister would be known as the sea witch or salt princess. Even in banishment and exile these two found a way to compete against each other, not knowing how tightly their strings of fate were intertwined. When the king died, leaving his twenty eight year old heir as the next king. The kingdom wept from both sorrow and joy, seeing as how great a new king would take the place of the last. The first order of the new king was the return of his siblings, deciding that kinship mattered above all else. Little did the new king new why his father had banished them in the first place.

-Four weeks later-

Dear brother,

I hope this letter reaches you in safety. To long our blood been spilled in the southern wastes and the western sea’s. It warms me and saddens me to inform you that I, Birus sempervirens Ehtorian, am now rightful king to the Ehtorian kingdom. As my first act of king I hereby release you to from your bonds of warfare and come back home, as well as your sister. Too long have we been without the embrace of another. Join me in the green lands as I greet you as blood.

Birus sempervirens Ehtorian,
High king of Ehtorian,
Keeper of the royal seat.

The letter was crumpled and showed wear and tear on the edges. To many times he had read the letter, seconds later violently stuffing it back into his pockets. Four weeks since that blasted letter, four weeks since the command to return home came here. It wasn’t that he hated his brother, nor did he really like him, it as what he wrote in the letter. He knew his older brother was heir and would rule the kingdom one day, yet he had secretly hoped all these years that his sister would have drowned. He shook his head once more before he stuffed the letter back into his pocket once more.

He sighed as he peered out of the window, seeing the lush green lands, the farmers working their plows and herding their animals. A peaceful could sit and watch this picture for decades, finding peace and comfort. Lance himself thought it was too quiet, seeing as he was raised in the southern waist. There was always something going on, sandstorms that would simply sear the flesh of your bones, strange creatures that carried poisons, the southern barbarians that never seemed to run out of men to throw at you, and the salt… always was there the salt. He let his hand run over his now smooth jaw, finding it strange that the hair that had once marked him as a man was now gone. His long grey, almost silvery hair, was now cut short. He slid his eyelids over his bright grey eyes, finding the notion of ‘looking good’ as childish.

When he had received word of his brother he had packed his things and simply walked towards his former home. Four over three weeks he had traveled alone, making great time and distance, when he was spotted by the royal army. So mere hours later he was almost forced into a luxurious carriage filled with grooms and physicians. His 6 feet tall frame was already aching to get out, yet he knew he would only disappoint his brother. He liked that quality of himself, to always try and do the right thing. He considered himself a good man, for all that was worth. So when the carriage stopped and horns started blowing, he forced open the carriage door and stepped out. The man was tall and muscular, yet in a slender way, like a snake curled up to strike. His skin had a deep tan, something that was strange in the green lands. He was garbed in a fine cut, expensive dark silk, the sleeves adorned with silver. He kept his jaw locked in place as he made his way towards the royal palace. To the side men with trumpets, horns and drums stood at attention, seconds away from joyfully bursting into song at the return of a High blood. Lance simply strode past them with his long legs as his gaze shifted from left to right, daring anyone the make a sound. He’d rather face a drunken stupor than hear this lot playing.

( Male/female, Culture difference, Deep plot, Incest, Forbidden desires, Court intrigue, Drama, Bloodshed, Power play, Fate.)

The Grey Notebook.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The Grey Note brings out soul's darkest secrets and desires. It can sense within a person a hidden darkness in the smallest corner of their soul. With every name written in this plain notebook a life is changed, innocent or not, dead or alive.
Throughout the ages the book had been used countless times, often resulting in myth and legends. Witches, wizards, shamans and holy men were created from this very book, mistaking magic for something else that was supernatural. An example was Merlin, a ‘wizard’ who had used the book to change men’s heart, shaping a powerful and righteous nation, yet even he had succumbed to depravity and insanity, using the book finally to kill his enemies. Willing to do anything to achieve his divine vision, while letting nothing and no one get in his way, he changed the world.

Now with full possession of the horrific and alluring book, sitting by the window, Lance gazed at the Grey Note. He wondered, fascinated by the idea of a supernatural book in existence. He imagined how men claimed and controlled their victim's fate just by writing their name down.
The night grew cold and deadly silent. The wind blew gently flipping the white pages of the grey note. Lance leaned in closer, surprised to find something visible. Words. Instructions, to be specific. They were faded as if someone had tried to erase them.
The book itself looks like an old tomb, leather-bound with a wooden spine, giving off a smell generations worth of old dust. Dabbling in Latin he decides to translate the instructions, quickly discovering it to be a set of rules.

1.   The human whose name is written in this note will obey the effect even when the effect is unwanted
2.   A human cannot be commanded to act out certain things, only an effect can be specified.
14.   This order will not take effect unless the writer has the subject's face in their mind when writing his/her name.
        Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.
15.   If the effect is written within 60 seconds of writing the subject's name, it will happen.
16.   After writing the effect, the details of the effect should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

These five ´rules´ were quickly translated, offering him a little chuckle. Could this simply be ancient pulp or some book written by a delusional old fool? He had read up on history quite a lot, being his favorite subject. This however sounded so…. Unnatural… It even made him smile. A rare sighting these last few years. Deciding to give it a shot, seeing as he had nothing to lose, he decided to pick a human. A second later he had found the perfect candidate, his relative! Remembering every rule carefully he penned down the words. He could not order his relative anything; only give the craving of it. He imagined it would be like a sort of rash. You could ignore it, even block it from your mind if you willed it, yet the rash would tug at your subconscious to scratch it.

He penned the full name before hesitating. Now what? He needed an effect. His mind wandered off, coming up with all sorts of effects that could happen. Be extra nice to him would no doubt not work, seeing that would change ones personality. Grinning he began to write, knowing a subtle way of finding out if it was true.

--- Will feel the need to compliment people who have blue eyes.

He hoped he had written it, making sure it seemed more like an effect than an actual command. His relative would only feel the need of it, not feel compelled to do so. He sighed as he closed the book and placed it underneath his bed before walking downstairs.
(Mother/Son, Aunt/nephew, Older sister/Younger brother, Twins, Younger brother/Older brother, Younger sister/older brother, Daughter/father, Son/Father,Older female, Younger male, Family, Age gap, Mind persuasion, plot, psychological warfare)

The battle princes
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The two brothers were a sight to behold. On the battle fields they were the gods of death. The eldest was a tall male with thick ropy muscles and dark brown hair. His golden sun struck skin was still without any scars, even after ten years of combat. His signature weapon was the tall broadsword he carried. On many battle fields he had been seen splitting many a foe in twain.
The younger brother was almost an exact copy of his brother, if only shorter and younger. He had the same color of hair, yet he kept his shorter. His weapon of choice was the spear, earning him the nick name of ‘lance’.
For many years the two brothers led the army of their father to glory. Their once small kingdom was now the strongest in the continent. The eldest was crowned prince heir, while the youngest would be the next marshal of the imperial forces.

In the last battle for dominance, the two brothers led a small force of horsemen in a skirmish. The neighboring village pleaded the eldest brother to stop the fighting, seeing as it would surely spread to the village. Ignoring them he led the charge. The village did not survive the onslaught.
As the party left the village a single woman blocked their path. She was bleeding from a fatal wound. In her last moments of life she cursed the eldest brother.

That was two years ago.

A lot has happened. The youngest brother is now the heir. The eldest brother explained to the public how he had decided to live as a warrior and not as a king. He would be the body guard of his younger brother. The public was not aware of the real truth. The curse had slowly turned the once proud brother into a female. He still had the same features, the muscular and tall build, the skill with the sword and the sun beaten skin. Yet he was female now, the king had lost a son and did not recognize the mutant that was now his daughter. The younger brother was all that stood between his now sister and his father. The mutant could live if she served the younger brother.

I would be playing as the younger brother. He secretly harbored a grudge towards the elder brother. He was heir, while the youngest would serve?. Now that things had changed, he was going to let his new sister serve him. To the public she still had to act like she was a male. Dressing in armor, fighting battles, yet when she was alone with her younger brother, she had to serve.
(Brother/Sister, Incest, Muscular female, Fighting, Medieval, Risk of pregnancy, Cross-dressing, Older female younger male, Heavy plot and character development Revolving around several years.)

I dare ya!
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
He was sitting in the back of the SUV as his folks where driving. He had just done some paperwork on his and was desperate for some relaxation time. His younger sibling was sitting on the bed in the back of the SUV with the curtains closed. He opened it and let himself inside. It was a bit cramped but he managed to find a spot opposite from his younger sibling. He wanted to close his eyes and doze off. "Hey bro.. want to play a game?" He opened his eyes and noticed his younger sibling smiling bright... "Come on bro.. Let’s play truth or dare" He shook his head and tried to catch some sleep, but siblings can be persistent.
(Brother/Sibling, Older male/younger partner, innocent, Bluffing, Sneaky sex, family, age gaps)

Engineering his revenge
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
A woman of thirty has been unhappy, stressed lately. Her marriage was going through a rough patch. Plus, sex with her husband had lost its zest, become rote. So in a moment of pique, she has an affair, several affairs.
The setting for this role play takes place in the Twenty-Third century. Her husband conceives of a demonic revenge. He clones his wife and using advanced technology re-creates his wife at her current age with most of her memories, but the personality of the clone is shifted just enough that she is his version of the ideal wife.

He then drugs his real-wife and inserts a chip in her that establishes her as the clone, not his ‘new improved wife.’ He then ‘clouds her vision’ so that she is effectively blind. It’s a reversible process, but it takes a while. He numbs her vocal cords so that she cannot speak.
Again, the numbing will wear off in a matter of time, but for the moment, she is silenced.

He and his wife’s younger brother had always had a good relationship. One of their running jokes was how the nineteen year old would ‘do’ his sister if given the opportunity. It was said in a joking, you’re so lucky to have my sister as your wife kind of tone. But both understood, the boy wasn’t exactly joking either.
Unfortunately, the husband had found out that the younger brother knew his sister was cheating on him. So he wasn’t exactly thrilled with either family member any longer.

The younger brother was no slacker. In fact, he was rather brilliant though not exactly social. He had completed university at a young age and had won a spot on a prestigious scientific expedition. He would basically be in space for a number of years conducting important, experiments.
The husband stopped by just before the boy was scheduled to leave. He said, “Look, I know during the mission you are granted a sex-doll clone to service you while you’re out in space.” He leaned forward and in a man-to-man tone, he continued. “I took the liberty of changing your order slightly.
If it creeps you out, I can change it back. But I arranged for your sex-doll to have the same physical appearance as your sister.” He laughed.
“She’ll never know, because if either of us told her, she’d kill us. But what can it hurt. This is your chance to do anything you want, because it’s a clone and they have no rights.”

The husband doesn’t confess that the ‘clone’ is actually his sister or that he arranged it so she could not see and would be blind. The ‘clone’ the boy has been granted indeed looks very much like his sister, with a few alterations.
(Brother/Sister, forced incest, age gap, Sight, speech and hearing deprivation, Younger male/older female, rape, risk of pregnancy or pregnancy, and other perversions)

All hail the king.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
"All hail the king" The youth’s grin visibly wide on his face as thousands of men in arms and several hundred Knights kneel down in front of the new proclaimed king.
The royal red mantel hangs on the youth’s tall frame, slowly swaying from side to side as he stands up, his sword raised up to the sky.
"The old king has fallen, But he shall forever be imprinted in our minds as the brave and noble ruler he was" His deep voice was hard and steadfast.
The nobles and commoners alike shout out the name of the new king as he waves to the masses.
The truth was that the old king died crying like a little bitch, as the rat poison crept further in his veins. After a small bag of gold slipped from the youth’s royal fingers, the cause of death was quickly decided; ‘Natural causes’
Now Lancius Verdius the Third, former heir, and now 34th ruler of the empire has an hard task ahead of him, ruling and empire and strengthening the bloodline.
Because of my his father’s old age of 42, he has left his son and his daughters as his only children. His wife, the queen of 36, is now a widow.
The youth stalked the hall, a wolfish grin visible on his face,  stopping in front of his mother’s chambers.

Softly the youth whispers "Why look for a new queen when the old is right in front of me.
(Mother/Son, Older female, Younger male, Family, Age gap, Rape, Forced obedience, impregnation, inbreeding)

The bonds of family.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
It's been tough for her raising a baby boy all on your own. For most of his early years she was away from home all the time, working hard to afford what little she could offer the young child.
Even though a living fairly poor, she tries to raise him as an responsible adult and kindhearted person.
Due to their cramped living condition they sometimes had to share the same room, and even sleep in the same bed. Suffice to say the two of them forged a strong family bond. Now that the young boy is turning into a young man, new elements are introduced into the family, and events are testing this once tight bond to its full limits.
How much can a mother love her son, and how far is she willing to keep this loving family together.
(Mother/Son, Older female, Younger male, Family, Age gap, innocent vs experience, confused male)

Camping with the Aunt
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Its been seven years since the youth’s mother died from pneumonia, it was a hard time for his dad since he had to raise three young boy’s all by himself. The youngest teen is regularly picked on by his brother, as all older brothers do. The father worries a bit about the boy’s life, not having a female figure in his life. The father asks his sister in law to help out. Being a health nut and a climber, she quickly decides to go out on a camping trip. Just him and his aunt, living in the wilderness. Soon the teen gets a nice tan and some well-deserved aching muscles, as the duo set up camp in a small forest. All seems well, the youth is even starting to enjoy himself, when a sudden rainfall sweeps away most of the supplies, forcing them to run for cover. Now they are sitting in a small tent, soaking wet, waiting for the rain to stop. With wet clothing and only one sleeping bag, what could go wrong.
(Aunt/nephew, Older female, Younger male, fit female, Family, Age gap)
« Last Edit: October 09, 2012, 06:03:22 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

« Reply #4 on: October 01, 2011, 10:11:34 AM »
Everything from Vampires who don't frigging Glitter in the sun to panda throwing ninja squirrels who dress in purple skirts (personal favorite)
Play your cards right and there might even be a home baked cookie in it for you :-o.

Serving a half God
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Bright red orbs looked up from folded, naked hands to admire the scenery that passed by as the clouds sluggishly made its way up the mountainside. The sun was slowly yielding to the upcoming nightfall--casting a blood-red brilliance upon the clouds and sky. To the young man, it was one of the most beautiful and fitting sunsets he’d ever seen. It was certainly enough to take his mind off the matters of state. Every creature breathed and each creature existed amid this large and blooming capital. Candidly to them, the denizens culminated there, did one frame lurk, its limbs coiled up, mildly tense, though unafraid of the foreboding shadow.

He stood at the top of a large balcony, naked flesh exposed to the cold air, not bothering him in the slightest. A small runic symbol on his right neck marked him as the blood, the leading caste of this little… empire. For as long as his people could remember, his kind had been the one in charge. Only the foundations of this keep knew of another time before his kind.

He brought his slender frame to one of the mirrors in his chambers, glancing at the expression. One might have guessed his height around five feet, give or take a few inches. His short white hair danced in the wind, a vile imitation of containing life. The youth vaguely remembered having dark brown hair before he escaped from humanity, part of the curse that affected his family.
He brought his digits to his ears as he brushed a few strands of hair away from them, feeling the pointed tips. His ancestor had been one of the To’kra, or Ancient ones as commoners called themselves now. Although most of his form came from his human ancestors he did have some Ancient traits, mostly giving his body more ‘youthfull’ touch. He slid his frame in the expensive dark silk, feeling it slide against his skin. He carefully wrapped a small thin piece of cloth around his middle, fastening the garb.

Grabbing the large black cloak and wrapping it around his frame, he brought the hood upwards, shielding his hair and face. The hood alone brought enough darkness to hide his face, yet he placed another item there. A thin mask was placed over his face, lined with thin lines of silver, shielding his features from commoner’s eyes. The mask itself held no enhancement or enchantment besides the occasional grease for polishing. Sliding two twin silver daggers behind his sash, he left the room, stepping into darkness. He tried to remember why darkness and shadows gave him a comforting feeling.

First in line for to the eternal throne, heir to the realm, Prince Lancius Oridium. The young man actually hated the titles and long fancy name, preferring to call himself Lance. The change into ‘godhood’ had happened three years ago. He was human then, only displaying the soft pointed ears and fair skin. When the change took him  he was bed ridden for weeks, young body thrashing as the torment of magic assaulted his frame again and again. His hair was drained of color and his brown eyed changed into a bright red. He was no longer human on that day, nor would he ever.

He seemingly stepped out of the shadow in his chambers, taking his place on a large throne carved out of single piece of oak. He smiled gently as he noticed the chest board in next to him A single white pawn was placed in the middle of the field, surrounded by black pieces on all fronts. Behind that sea of black was single grey piece of wood. He heard the door open, casting a dim light in his chambers. He slid the grey piece towards the white one in the center as he chuckled. He loved games, would his visitor as well?

Lance eyed the tall warrior as the warrior stepped in the room. The warrior moved with a cats grace and looked as calm as any knight that was rewarded with first rank. They usually seemed to be only seconds away from tearing out people’s throats and at the same time dance the most delicate dance with a maiden. Lance found it fascinating how they could simply ooze that confidence and power. He basked in the warrior’s glory as he held out his right hand, signaling the warrior to move closer. While magic was an everyday occurrence in this realm, and a rarity in others, it did have significant disadvantages. A large spell or incantation required long and tedious channeling from multiple mages. Most people who were magically sensitive used other means to strengthen their channeling. Some used potions others crystals. There was even an unusual fellow who used a wand, funny really. While most of the country was run by magic, it was a weak yet stable process. The ancient ones were different, capable of engulfing entire cities in fire or draining oceans. Legend spoke off their might, claiming it matched that of the creator itself. Although the Oridium was technically a half breed, people still assumed they could match the powers that the creators had. Lance eyed the young warrior as he watched its expression.

“I would hear your name and oath.”

How would the warrior respond to the slender youthful frame sitting at that throne, clad in darkness with orbs of fire.
(Male/male, Male/female, Magic, servitude, age gap, supernatural, Adventure, romance, twisted romance, humor, war, bondage, fantasy)

Servitude in death
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

The outer ring was beautiful at night. Fireflies darted under the streetlamps like small fires, while the stars and moon cast a soft ambient light over the ornately carved inner wall.
A tall man – clearly from another city, by his dark cloak and shady appearance – drew in a deep breath, savoring the town's air.
To say that the hooded stranger did not leave home often would be an understatement. He was the type who tended to seclude himself rather than the more... hands-on... business he had forced to undertake now.  It wasn't that he was unskilled in this mingling with humans – he was easily a gifted conversationalist – but could hardly stand it.

The hooded figure was in the city of rings to take a life. His long grey hair was skillfully hidden underneath the hood, careful that no one would see his silver like hair. He gave a tug on both his gloves, making sure that his long digits were slid in properly. He exhaled and inhaled once again, making sure his breathing was steady and ready for the part ahead. A man who breathed easily and could control his breathing during an inhumane act would be far less likely to mess up.
Making his way around the corner he spotted the targets, five well-armed mercenaries guarding a small group of traders, making their way towards the city gates. He stalked them as they made their way outside, tracking their movements whilst spotting their defensive and offensive capabilities.

He licked his lips as he counted their heads.  For a necromancer a group like this would either  prove fatal or reward him with a nice supplement of servants. Already in his mind he began to divide them into groups of minions. Ghouls, zombies, corrupt ones or simple human captives, all would be a welcome addition. He fingered the small dagger he now held in his right hand, his thumb tracing the poison stained tip. “Let us see what the night brings.” He whispered slowly before fading into the night.
(Male/male, Male/female, Group, Necromancer, Magic, blood play, age gap, supernatural, Adventure, Rape, twisted romance, Experiments, servitude, soft gore, bondage, risk of pregnancy)

The Cupboard.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Nearly thirty years had passed since Omri had used the cupboard and brought Little Bear and Boone to life. He had learned much from the two and carried it with him into adulthood, becoming a writer and father. Yet life’s tragedies are spared for no man. The newspapers spoke of a horrific accident down at Main Street, four cars completely totaled. On that day 9 people died, including the writer Omri. Soon after his belongings were either sold off or simply dumped, including his Cupboard. For thirty years the cupboard had been dormant, waiting for the day it would seduce another owner.

After thirty years it finally got what it wanted, a new wielder of its power, a young man in his late teens. He found the Cupboard at an old garage sale. He bought the Cupboard and three lamps, deciding it was a decent enough purchase. He was getting ready to go to college, the final and best chapter of his youth. Already the young man was imagining experiences beyond a simple kiss and tug he had received in this town. Yes, college was going to be awesome. He brought the Cupboard back home and placed the lamps at the attic, knowing he wouldn’t need them until he was at college. He glanced around his room and noticed the boxes filled with Lego and toys. He had been quite a toy hoarder these past years, collecting almost everything. He knew it was childish and weird to still keep them, yet he couldn’t simply dump them. They had sentimental value.

He grabbed an old toy of his and placed it in the cupboard, not fully sure why. He turned the key once and then back again, checking the condition of the locking mechanism. When he pried open the door again he crawled backwards, his face pale as milk.

(shamelessly stolen from the movie ‘The Indian in the Cupboard’.
Looking for a Game Master/Mistress or someone to scene out a single/multiple toy/s)
( Male/male, Male/female, Male/other, Size difference, Magic device, cum-play, secrecy, fantasy, multiple characters.)

The Dark Church.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
On the day of Lance Ot’sirs initiation, it rained. It was not a light shower, no. It poured. What was that old wives' tale? Lance thought as he stood at the foot of the church waiting for one of the nuns to appear. Right. If it rains on your wedding the first seven years of marriage are supposed to be blissful. It was a fitting saying, seeing as he was about be married to the church. Lance wished he could say that his breath caught in his throat when he saw the doors opening, giving way to his path to righteousness and divine servitude. The young man was distracted, rightfully so.
He shook the negative thoughts from his mind as he walked towards the nun who had opened the door. He nodded casually as he knelt down in front of the church. His true life was beginning now.

Three weeks had passed without incidents, except his nightmares. Every night he would be haunted by them, buried into a sea of lust, pain and sorrow. He had no doubt this was because of his vow. The human mind had a strange way of dealing with fears and doubts, no doubt this was a test of god. He would stay faithful and serve the lord as he had promised. The church ground consisted of a large church, three large dormitories, a large library and the crypts. The location was just five miles south of the town of Rockspoint.

The relationship between the church and the town was one of understanding and co-dependency. The church received a yearly donation of wine and food for their service and in return they would take in wife’s, boys and girls who needed some ‘discipline’ and some teachings in ‘humility’. Nothing would put the fear and joy of god into a person when under the watchful eye of the church. The church staff consisted of five nurses, one head priest and could offer board for twenty five boys and twenty five girls and women.

For a month all was well in the house of god. Their head priest had died of old age and a young, yet promising, man was installed as the new head priest. The man was a faithful shepherd of the lord and had served in the first crusade as a cleric. He had seen the darkest side of the lord and still kept his faith. A man like that would no doubt do wonders for this little church and nearby town. And in just one month time he had gained the respect and love from all of his flock. He was a just, yet strict man. He shed a tear when he disciplined someone and laughed generously when he loved someone. The man was a paragon of the church, a true saint in years to come perhaps. Yet for all his goodness, he carried something dark and unholy. A gift he had received during the first crusade. When an arrow took him in the chest, he fell, slowly disappearing into darkness. The arrow tip had pierced his heart and gashed open the red fuel of life.

When Lance awoke again he was breathing and unharmed. Not even a small scar was on his chest, as if the arrow had never been there. At first he had thought it to be the act of god, yet that night the nightmares had begun. Each night increasing in violence and perversion. At first he had thought it to be a test of god or simply mental scarring from what he had seen during the duration of the crusade, yet he could not help but feel like he was changing. As if something had spared his life during the crusaded and had slipped inside of him. Had the man known he had a demon inside of him, he would have openly wept.

Now with the demon riding him and steering his actions, no one is save in the house of god. Who will be the first victim? One of the younglings who were being educated in this church? Or would one of the nuns be his first prey? The high priest was licking his lips as he strolled out of his chambers and began the hunt.

(Female nun, noblewoman, young male, young female, other, all open for partners.)
( Male/male, Male/female, Male/Other, Demonic nature, Heavy character development, Humanity play, age gap, supernatural, Older male/younger male, older male/younger female, Older male/ younger other, Younger male/Older female, drama, psychological twists, Religion)

The Grey Fang
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
As with all things in this word, there would be no beginning nor ending. The once young and skilled Germanic warrior had perished, yet now he still lived. As he felt the sharp teeth rip open his skin, mutilating his internal system, he felt the sweet embrace of death. It was the greatest yet darkest sensation he had ever felt since arriving at this cursed world. It made him remember his younger days, when youth fueled his veins, strengthening his resolve with each pulsing beat. In his prime he was a force to be reckoned with. When darkness finally overtook him, he suddenly felt alive again.

The fade was seen walking around the night.
He lived, but it was only a semblance of life. He had died, but he was not dead. Sometimes, when the scars of his former wounds ached and his mind was all of agony, he wished that he had met his final end, deep in the bowels of the night.

The world he was cursed to was named the new world for a reason. And he would never be free. Never once would he know the sweet embrace of death, not once. Yet the world was not without mercy. Each day he would be forced to relive the events of his death, to feel the powerful vampire jaws snapping shut. As a repayment for this, he had received a grand gift.

The fade walked towards his cabin, his hands slowly caressing the wooden frame, like an old friend coming to home for a visit, and he would have bid it enter, but he could not speak.
So, he reached for it, instead, with an eagerness that peeled emotion from him, finally opening the door.
As he stepped inside his cabin, making a straight path towards the large cracked mirror that hung in the corner of the room. Standing a few inches away, he began to take in the reflection. The once young and tanned frame that had housed his person was gone. The once mutilated neck was now a strong looking and whole, carrying two large scars that had marked predator’s teeth.

His once black hair was now as the moon, grey and absent of life, it danced so violently in the night sky. His once tanned frame was now pale, the powerful frame of a man in his early thirties. His clothing felt too tight with each intake of breath. His large hands once again showed the dexterity of a young man. The captain reborn slid his finely tailored coat aside, revealing his powerful hairless chest.
The vampire… no.. the captain stepped out of the door, taking in all of the moonlight that illuminated his vessel that night. His crew stood still, jaws dangling as he shouted. “We move east to the indies!”

In this age of piracy he had taken on the name of Lancius, privateer and captain of the grey fang. A name that quickly became one of the most wanted men in the world. The fang at your throat was a saying these days. If a sailor spotted the grey fang’s flag in the distant, usually it marked their death. Exaggerated of course yet elaborated lies have a way of spreading faster and more efficient than the truth.

"I'm here," he said softly, almost like whispering to a lover. "I'm waiting once again. Shall we dance once more?" And it sounded strange, even to himself, because it was almost an honest plea.
(Male/male, Vampire, blood play, heavy age gap, supernatural, Older male/younger male, rape, Adventure, Piracy, twisted romance)

I hate droids!
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
RLD -class command android 000-003 opened his eyes and patiently waited for his primary hard drives to spin up, his memory of the past night becoming more and more clear. He immediately went for his designated task.


A small explosion ruptured part of the ships stern, just below where it was working. The ship’s AI noticed the increasing distance between the ship and the 003 android.

“Captain, 003 RLD is leaving the ship at an alarming rate of 34 clicks. Suggestion, preparation for the loss of 003” The tall human sitting in the captains both was nodding to the AI while trying to keep the ship from crashing into one of the asteroids nearby. “How many have found us so far?” When he heard the AI say 21 he slammed his fist at the control panel. “Prepare one of the Androids suited for long term survival, place the necessary supplies and the droid in Life pod 20a. Make sure the other life pods are filled with basic supplies and target them to drop nearby life pod 20a.”
"Mental note: Don’t Hire frigging droids to do a man’s job." The captain hated droids. Androids were only slightly less irritating, they at least felt embarrassment for screwing up a job.

He reached Pod 20a and crawled inside, finding his supplies and one of the Androids, a female one. “what the?” He said out loud, obviously confused. “I though only male models existed.” The female droid was surely one of the expensive cargo’s he had been task to bring to outpost delta, a known scientific and droid manufacturing outpost.
He opened her eyes by sliding the cover from over her optical sensors, and looked at her eyes. She was surprisingly life like.

“Launch!” He yelled, while fastening his seatbelts. Seconds later he felt the pods launching, while he passed out from the heavy G’s felt inside the cabin.

..."The time is not accurate for morning...please auto correct...actual life forms in small space occupancy...two....second life form...human male, well built, sexually active....bitter...first life form....Android Fai....Female Animate Intelligence...I am...I am...No name designated....please auto correct mild malfunction...v..v...vocalizer skip. Good Morning Fai-01".

The inner computer of the semi-conscious female figure worked furiously to auto correct itself, adjusting the minor infractions as her self repair kicked in. Small damage had been maintained during the sudden ejection from the main ship, but she had managed to keep it minimal by forcing herself into a complete system shut down. The first thing her sensors had picked up upon reboot..was the extra body occupying the small space with her. A quick scan told her it was a human male...a man she had seen from a distance and been told to stay away from for good reason. Her creator had informed her countless times when she questioned it. "Some humans just..don't like Androids Fai..and a female one will only add to it".

At the time she had processed the information and stored it away for later use, deciding it was not something to worry herself over. As it was though, she was now stuck in a tiny pod with the very man she had been warned away from and hadn't the slightest clue on where they were going to land. Nor what would happen when they did. Flexing her fingers a bit she turned her head to peer at him, adjusting sensors in her eyes to help her see in the dim light of the pod. A green light appeared on the plain, white jumpsuit melded to her figure, indicating a scan was in progress. It blipped off when she finished. She now had every major stat about him stored in her data bank, and could pull what she needed when the time called for it.

A metallic, monotone female voice came on over the pods intercom.
"Estimated Landing time, 0.5 Minutes...destination unknown."
Fai frowned and reached over, touching her unconscious companions cheek gently.

ETA 10 seconds”

A soft hand caressed his cheek, making circles around his temple, brushing the short dark brown hair aside. His temple felt warm and sticky. “Blood?” He asked sheepishly. The figure that was caressing his temple was a blur, he could not see her in detail. When he  tried to concentrate, he lost consciousness again.

“5.. 4.. 3.. 2.. 1. ..impa..”
Lance was half conscious as he was thrown out of the cockpit during the impact. He heard the escape pot bursting open while in the distant the other pods were crashing. He dimly remembered he had ordered a droid to set a gentle lading path. “Stupid droids” He thought as he flew further in the air. He shoulders landed first in a deep lake. The water felt like concrete at first, causing friction marks on his shoulder. He rolled at the watery surface until he finally sank down. The cold water brought him awake in a second. If he had broken something he would have to act now. He was not deep in the water yet and adrenaline was fueling him for now.

He propelled himself upwards using his legs. “Thank god they aren’t broken” he muttered to himself as he reached the edge of the leg. A dozen seconds later and he was rushing towards the escape pod. His body was battered and bruised, it felt like he had mated with a rhino. The longer he waited the more of his supplies went to waste.

Upon reaching the crash site he found a droid lying underneath a few bags and crates. Grabbing her wrist and a handful of bags, he began to drag them from the escape pod. The pod looked instable and would no doubt meet an explosive ending, soon. After dragging most of the bags and the droid near the tree lines, he began to bury them behind a small wall of sand. It might not be much, but it would stop small pieces of metal, hopefully.

“Wake up, help me dig!” He yelled as he slapped the Droid against the face. When he took a second glance at her, he let his jaw hang. The androids features were stunning. Comparing the androids features to his 6”2 height and athletic frame, she looked weak yet at the same time even stronger than he could imagine. “HElP ME DI-.” He wanted to say something, but the blast wave caught him of guard, knocking him once again unconscious.
(Forced servitude, Master/slave,  Android/robot, interspecies, size difference, Oblivious to sex, Survival)

Summoning desire
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The youth made his way downstairs. The lower keep had a bone chilling cold to it, even more so during the winter seasons. He clenched his right fist as he opened a large iron door. The eldest of all the summoning chambers. The heralding chamber. 
It´s origins even older then the keep it self, the chamber was dark, filled with cobwebs. To think in over 25 years no man had sat foot in this chamber. Peering down on the ground he noticed a pair of boot prints inches away from his. He laughed and felt pained at the same time. "Always a step ahead of me, aren't you father?"
He glanced at his father’s boot prints as he stepped over them. He would make his own fate, carve it out with his bare hands. He reached the blood altar and he began his vile work.

A young man in worn grey pants and a brown tunic looked as serious and determined as any young man that was holding a demonic summoning ritual is able too. He finished the last of the runes and made sure each seal was in place. The 'character' or sigil of the demon he wanted to conjure was on a piece of stone in his right hand, written in his own blood.
As far as a 'blood sacrifice' went, the young man had again used his own blood, from a cut in his palm, and sprinkled the blood all around the seals, circles, and triangle. All that was left was to call the demon.
An industrious and careful young man, he made sure he had his barriers in place and a sharp dagger nearby should the worst happen, and then he cleared his throat.

"I conjure thee, O Righteous malice, by all thy names, to come before me ready to obey me in all things. I conjure thee to be submitted in human form, to do and accomplish my will and all that I command, without harm to me or anyone, as soon as I make known mine intent! Come betrayer of hope, he who opens all locks! Come blade of darkness, demon of Hell! Come eldest of evil, for I command thee!. And let all of the heavens know it is I, Blake heir of the Draconius blood line. I carry his righteous malice, fear for it is my blood to enslave the corrupt and protect the weakened just."

There was a sizzling flicker of the air, flames, acrid smoke and sulphur and then a fire materialized in the center of the innermost summoning circle. It flew against him as it burned his right shoulder slightly, yet the boy did not flinch. He held the dagger in his left hand, ready to end his life and break the blood spell. He noticed the flame taking shape as the flames turned black, it was coming. The boy's heart raced as he knew he had summoned far more than he could control, but he had to do this. He needed the help, a disease called war had blackened he land, and he needed to turn the tide. As his father had done before him, he would summon the darkest of evil and strike fear in the heart of men.

"I command you demon, take shape and speak thou name."

The fire spit its anger towards the summoner, rising high into the air stretching to the chambers ceiling. Flashes of red and orange bit at the face of the young man, the glares of yellow casting light to see by. Black smog filled the floor rolling against the stone casting his feet in shadow while the fire took it's tar form. Bending a weaving to the demons command, forming the creature that would plague the earth once more. The tar becoming transparent revealed the twisted skeleton being wrapped in veins of purples and greens. The dark, tough tissue stretching and grabbing at the skull covering the bones in layers of taunt muscle. Red orbs broke the tar glowing in rage, the neck thrashing irate. Deep dark skin filtering in to mask the monster in human shape, sharp razor teeth filling down.
The demon hunched over in anguish as white hair poured from the skull in a long stream. Gruesome claws shot down from her ligaments as they completed her long powerful digits, the final stages of the transformation nearly complete.

The air inside of the summoning circle rapidly heated up. The dense flames shot around in circles like a swarm of angry bees, rapidly smashing against his barriers in an attempt to get free. Finally, his commands sank in, and the flames began to arc and swirl around the center of the circle.
A long thin tail slipped out above its wide hips, and two large breasts formed on the formerly flat chest. The formless round head began to take shape, growing long pointed ears and red slitted eyes that glared right at the caster. When she reached her full seven foot height, she was truly magnificent.

Her skin was jet black, like death itself. Her eyes glowed ominously, and bright silvery hair stood out in a stark comparison to her skin color. Her arms and legs, even her belly, showed strength and tone, though she still managed to come off as quite womanly with her large, rounded swells, topped with greyish nipples. Her long tail swished back and forth behind her like a cat, and she crossed her arms over her chest. On the right side of her neck  a blood red rune formed, the runic symbol for the summoner's name, naming him her master. As soon as the symbol took shape on her neck he fell to his knees, screaming. Blackness, pure light rejecting darkness was burning his left hand. When the tears stopped running and the pain lessened to an only irritating level, he looked at his palm. His left hand now bore a runic symbol as well, only his was born out of pain.

“Speak….. Speak thou name!” He said as he stood up, slowly. He steeled his mind once more to further strengthen the barrier he had wrapped around her.
(Muscular female, Interspecies, interracial, size gap, demonic partner, different build, slight gore Mind control/forced obedience or Romance, heavy plot)

Crash-landing into Tiffany.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Blake was running. He ran and ran, panting and gasping for breath as he scaled one dune of ruined, scorched earth and tumbled down the slope on the other side. Behind him he heard the reports from Laser rifles and throwing spears, as his pursuers attempted to bring him down, calling out in their weird language. He could guess what it meant.
He hunkered down behind some broken crates, and looked down at the sniper rifle in his hand, all clips still filled minus the two bullets of his current one. He took a deep breath and exhaled as far as he could. Closing his left eyes he glanced in the lens with his right. Humming a strange tune as he always did when shooting, he concentrated. Twenty seconds later both his "assailants" lay dead, spilling blood over the dirt. He remained in the same position for a few more minutes before he decided the situation was clear.
Merc for hire, Blake "the hummer" Dorian looked upwards again and sighed. The two blue moons instantly reminded him of his fate. Just two weeks ago he was on spotter duty in a small outpost in Cuba, now he was waist deep in the cesspool of a planet he named after his wife. ‘Tiffany’ consisted of half urban half jungle areas, with pestering heat waves, and bone chilling nights. Every few days food, water, weapons or new "prey" would be shut down from orbit in capsules.
Now somewhat of a veteran on this planet he made his way over towards his ‘home’ in a small cave. "Just 3 more clicks" he told himself as he glanced at every treetop and bush.

Idea shamelessly stolen from the Predator movie.
Predators Trailer
(Interspecies, interracial, size gap, romance, survival, large plot, War, possible beastiality and impregnation.)

The chained queen.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Five hundred years she has led the elven race of To'ra in the west. She was known in the land to be a fair and gentle ruler. Because of her longevity (even in elf standards where superb) she was able to guide her people into prosperous age filled with piece. Yet twelve years ago mankind emerged into the west. Although in-superior creatures with a short life span, they breed fast and expand like roaches. Twelve years she held off the human filth while other races fell to the humans corruptive might. Yet here she was now, chained, drained of her once powerful magic, on her knees before the youth that is known as the eldest son of the emperor. The young boy has a look in his eyes that can only be described as evil.
(Interspecies, age gap, Forced impregnation, Pregnancy, Mind breaking, revolves around several years, BDSM, Master/slave)

The Gynoid
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The year is 2103. The young man stared out of his window, looking at the tall skyscrapers around him and sighed deeply. He was the youngest of two, a bright young man in his prime. He turned back from the window to stare at their family house android. The android was the maid and housekeeper of their family, a hardworking and loyal machine. She was one of the earlier models, yet still did her tasks perfectly. She was a v.4.75 android, yet compared to the version 12 models, she was simply old fashioned. Still for being an older model, she had heart. The tall young man knelt forwards as he began tinkering with the final component, closing the hatch and letting the Nanobots form a completely whole skin metal like surface again. Their family did ok, yet not so well that they could afford the newer models, nor did they want to. Their house droid was a part of the family. Yet, she also needed maintenance, a costly endeavor in the past. Now they simply looked towards Lance, their young son.

Lance was a straight A students in higher robots and android designs. He wasn’t the most popular kid in school yet he could do magic with robots. So, as soon as he displayed some talent in this field, their parents almost begged him to look after the droid. So now, on every Saturday morning he would do a small maintenance job on her, keeping her Nanobots levels up high and making backups of her memory drive. It was strange at first to tinker on her, seeing as she had helped with his up brining, even taught him how to cook and what not. Yet, after a while it was just routine.

The 5”9 tall youth got a small amount of cash each week from his parents to help with the upkeep, although it was not necessary. They had almost no clue how such things worked and his older sister was even more clueless. His mother and his sister both were in the fashion business, shooting pictures for the celebrities and doing their hair. Brainless jobs, Lance called it. His father was the typical office guy, working from 8:00 to 19:00, doing his best to support his family. Although his family had looks, they did lack brains, Lance was an exception. He used to ponder on the thought that he was adopted. He grinned as he stuck the 100 bucks he had gotten from his old man inside his backpack, where the rest was. He could maintain this outdated droid with only a few bucks, leaving him with quite a large amount of cash over the years. Still he felt a bit sorry for the clunky old droid and decided to upgrade her when he could. While newer droids had almost human like characteristics, their family droid was from an earlier model, so she still lacked the finesse the newer droids had.

The young man smiled as she came back online again. Each time she booted up again was proof of his successful tinkering and prodding. Her model was outdated, yet sturdy and easy to use. All robotic humanoid constructions were built from the same materials and upon the same design, yet future models obviously more high-tech and efficient. Most of their frame consisted of small intelligent shards of metal and plastic. The shards were actually nanobots. They took on the shape and abilities of how these looked like and acted. More up to date models had larger amounts of these shards, with a memory and processor build inside to interact with them. Lance had updated her memory subroutines and made a backup of her core temperature and stats. He actually preferred her model, seeing as they had fewer limitations and restrictions placed upon them. Newer models could only be tampered with in a specific setting and by a specific way. Their family droid had no such restrictions, making her cheaper in the long run. He had been amazed by her new routines, growing by the day. Her Ai truly was evolving, putting in new lines and data. It was almost becoming a personality of itself.

“It went fine.” He commented as he patted her metallic shoulder, grinning as he spoke up next. “At least, I hope.” He smiled at her once more, reassuring that it was just a joke. He liked teasing and making sarcastic jokes at her, knowing that she was still adjusting to humor and what not. Compared to the average druid, she did have a much greater understanding. He stood up and remembered the large collection of cash he had. “Actually you can help me out with shopping today. I know mom asked you to pick up some groceries and sis almost ordered you to pick up her prescriptions at the pharmacy. I was hoping I could tag along and buy something in town. No doubt you could carry the large and heavy things while I carry the groceries?” He nodded once, before he left the room letting her follow him.

A few minutes later brought him and his family droid in the shopping district. Literally thousands of people were shopping or just walking about. Lance walked into a small, if not shabby looking place, and glanced inside. “Just wait outside, I’ll be right back.” He went towards the salesman and began chatting, asking about new parts and what not. He himself had saved up some cash for some newer parts he would be buying, while at school assembling a few data chips for her shard protocol. When he was done he was carrying a heavy box outside and grinned. “Guess you won’t be exploding this week.” He gave her the heavy box and followed her around, knowing she would be much more efficient at shopping and getting back in time.

Lance helped with shopping, mostly picking out stuff he loved. He grinned as she had returned a few items he had picked out, seeing as it was mostly chips or other unhealthy things. She truly had a mind of her own now and was programmed to even ignore her master’s request if she deemed it incorrect. Her actual masters were the father and mother of the household. They had instructed her to also supervise in educating and raising the children, even disallowing certain things. The maid would not help clean the room if it was a chore of one of the children. So in the years that followed she widened her personality to be both a maid and a babysitter/teacher/mother and what not.

Lance had dragged the box up stairs and began undoing the lid. Three large metallic vials were placed inside, each with a newer kind of Nanobot inside. While their house droid was sturdy, it also lacked mobility and flexibility. It consisted mostly out of metal like shards. Lance had saved up quite a penny to purchase these new flexible ones, feeling more like rubber or plastic than metal. He plugged the containers in a small device as he loaded up the specs of his house droid. It had nearly cost him one third of his cash, yet it would be worth it. The other two thirds were spend on a new memory core and a processor, allowing her to grow and develop even further and fully use the three vials of shards he had purchased. He opened her data bank and looked at the script.

Model: v.4.75
Nano Metal count: 109.031
Internal processor: 1x v.4.45 Pr
Internal memory: 1x v.4.56 c Me
Internal elements:
- 1x v1.21 Vacuum machine.

Lance smiled as he uploaded the new data, implementing the following.
Nano synthetic count: 75:000.
Internal processor 1x v.9.22 Pr.
Internal memory: 1x v.10.123 Me

The processor would ensure the new shards to be fully active, while the increased memory would allow more learning capabilities and the ability for more commands and protocols. His first protocol was already established, seeing as his parents would freak out otherwise. It would be to adjust her appearance so she looked more like her old self, the old model..

He was programming the shards to look more like an actual humanoid droid, one with more natural curves and grace, if not a bit taller than an actual human. The newer shards were transparent mostly, so any area they covered were semi see through, unless programmed to be otherwise. So every joint in her body would be swapped with the see through material, including her throat. He did not know why, yet he wanted it to be see through. He was going to program another module next week, allowing her to use organic fluids to recharge her own core. Yet, for now he simply updated her as best as he could. He did not know what shapes and sizes her new frame would be, seeing as it was also mostly up to her, yet he knew it would look better than the old clunky droid like form she had before.

So the following day he told her to go offline again as he began tinkering. He placed the new devices inside of her while injecting the new nano’s inside of her. He then booted her up again and went downstairs to grab a bite to eat. A new program would be installed to only display her new frame in his presence, seeing as his old man would freak out otherwise, thinking all those fancy new things were only a drain on their money. When Lance returned again he dropped the sandwich.

( Male/female, Android/robot, Housemaid, Mechanical, upgrading, Forbidden desires, possible pregnancy.)
« Last Edit: October 11, 2012, 08:59:03 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

« Reply #5 on: October 04, 2011, 03:32:39 AM »
Realistic settings. Enough said.

The Barbarian’s Wife
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

The year is AD 255. The roman imperium is stretched to the breaking point; its authority and might challenged along every border. The greatest thread lies in Persia to the east, where the massing forces of the eastern empires mass for a grand campaign. In an time of constant warfare and strive, Rome ruins it very soul due to the constant plotting and political backstabbing. Once great families now fight for power as the emperor himself steers the realm to a slow and painful death. In an attempt to bolster their ranks and renew the once mighty war machine, clans from the north are rewarded citizenship and rank if they add able bodies to the war machine. Barbaric tribes currently loyal to Roma submit to the demands of the emperor. Their second born sons and a fifth of their warriors in exchange for Rome’s continued protection and the right to citizenship. 

One of Rome’s proud legions is accompanied by a thousand loyal barbarians of the north. The legions mission is to demonstrate once more that Rome is strong and stands ready for its numerous enemies. Among the many barbarians many second sons and proud warriors roar as they fight for the glory of their forefathers. One of them, a youth, is sent to the eastern front at the age of fifteen to strengthen the grip of Rome and reclaim lost honor. A barbaric youth, who’s name itself means beast, stands first amongst his people to fight for the honor of Rome. That was eight years ago.

The Germanic warrior was at the edge of the boat. The arrowhead position, it was the most dangerous position someone could take. In a direct line of fire the warrior grinned. He was naked from the waist up. His broad shoulders were now sun beaten brown. His large 6"3 was an impressive sight, even without all the small scars earned in a previous skirmish battle. He let his hands grip the hilts of the long sword and his dagger, as he slid them out of the scabbards and let them slide in again. He was ready for war, He needed it. It was in his blood after all. His long blond hair danced in the wind as his deep blue eyes took in the sight before him. A small fortress stood in front of them, garrisoned by the Sassanid’s, outnumbering them by three to one.


The tip of the boat connected with the land, as it slowly slid upwards. Immediately the men rushed out as one fleshy wave. Pouring out of the ship like a ocean of death and destruction. Some men foamed from their mouths as they rushed towards glory. Most of the barbarians were intoxicated by mixture of ale and tonics that induced rage and bloodlust.  Wulfbraht was one of them. His muscular frame raced across the beach as he dodged clumps of dead limbs. He heard his fellow warriors chasing him and he tried to go faster. ..‘Run faster Wulf!’.. He thought. He stumbled over a trailing branch, but using his momentum, kept himself upright.
Warriors burst into the moonlit clearing around the fort. Wulfbraht cringed in disgust of men hiding behind walls, yet knew fully well that it was tactically superior. He recalled his father’s words before he left the safety of the ship.

“Glory to the first”.

He glared wide eyed at the broad-shouldered men surrounding him. He recognized some of them from the gathering a half moon ago, others were with him in the boat. The scent coming off the men was strange. Sweat and other human liquids combining with the sweet ale they had drunk. As a whole they charged, frantic for the first kill. Wulf charged with his war brothers, losing himself in the dance of death. Had he known that in six months he would be shipped back to Rome for an arranged marriage to an old house, he might have forced himself to dance slower and let death lead him.
(Male/Female, Interracial, Barbarian vs Sophisticated, Culture difference, Size difference, Younger male/Older female, twisted romance, Political scheming)

Santa’s magic lap
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
"15 more minutes" Bob said to himself as he lifted another "brat" of his leg. "These fucking children are getting fatter by the second" he told himself as he placed another soon to be obese project on the ground. He was wearing a large Santa costume and was wearing the traditional itchy white beard. 30 days of community help, because of a few drunk and drive episodes. He noticed the store was getting empty and most of the shoppers were going home as well. 5 more minutes and he'd be able to get out of the suit, lock op the place and go home. He smiled wide as the last one in line came to him. He thought she looked a bit old to still believe in Santa Clause, but parents these days.
He smelled her hair as she sat down on his lap on his manhood, her body was already entering the delicious phases of womanhood.
(Soft Forced obedience, Oblivious to sex, mistaken identity, blackmail, Naïve/innocence, obedience, gullible)

The Missionary from hell.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
“It’s been six months now since I was sent to this god forsaken piece of dirt.” The man spat out as he climbed out of the car. Feet dragging through the sand as he made his way towards another village. Speaking with the local chief got him some direction. ‘The medicine man, the white god, the healer’ all names these backwatered superstitious people called him. Seeing as he was the only ‘real’ doctor in this region of Africa he would be in charge of food and medical supplies. The UN had send him here, fresh out of college, to lead the station there. Only three nurses were at his disposal, two of them incompetent.
Opening the last tent and stepping inside brought him face to face with a kneeling mother. Her hands clutching her daughter’s hands.

A worried some expression on her face. "Yes yes" he muttered as he walked toward the bed and checked out the girls health again. After a few minutes he quickly diagnosed her as a diabetic, a harmless chronic condition back where he was born, yet here it meant death. “She needs Medicine.. Yes.. the round things… They cost a lot of money.” And thus the begging and pleading began. She would do anything for the white one, the cure giver.

 ‘Why do I need to work for all these savages... and get nothing In return... I should get something...’ Looking at the mother who was now kneeling next to her daughter, he started grinning. "I know"
(Forced obedience, Evil male, Younger male/older female, interracial, superstitious female, drama, blackmail, religion abuse)

The Target
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Pe’ell pressed his shoulder firmly up against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest, the rapid beat echoing loudly in his ears. It surprised him how he still felt so exhilarated every time, feeling the adrenalin race through his veins like a drug, sharpening his senses. Thick drops of blood were dripping down the small stainless-steel knife he was holding in his right hand, his digits grasping it tightly, the metallic surface gleaming.

The room was silent, not one sound could be heard, even his breathing was shallow, forced, keeping his position as concealed as possible. A small cloth appeared in his left hand, shifting towards the small blade, cleaning it in an automated fashion. He glanced sideways, intense light grey eyes scanning his surroundings with a hawk like precision, a procedure he had repeated countless times before. The room was dark, the night and broken lamps making it so, but enough eerie moonlight still existed to see a few objects, only the corners were completely shrouded in black, hiding all in the shadows.

Moving forward cautiously, each foot placed lightly with agonizing precision.
The air became silent as the commotion subsided as quickly as it had started, the atmosphere now becoming one of deafening suspense. The minute he had ended the targets life, he had heard a feint noise, footsteps even. A flash of light flickered, causing Pe’ell to glance upwards. Again it flickered and Pe’ell squinted, seeing that the mirror before him was reflecting the light off an object.
A small smirk widened on his face as he saw the reflection of a tall youth in it, his own blade catching some of the light. The 6’2 tall frame was clad in dark clothing, dark enough to blend in with the shadows, yet colorful enough to blend in with a large crowd. His short cut dark brown hair was blending in with the dark room. The only thing that really stood out were his perfect bright grey irises.

Pe’ell finished cleaning his blade and sheathed it, hiding it in a small slot between his right shoe. Exhilaration coursing through his veins as he moved around the corner.
Within seconds he had blended in with the shadows and disappeared completely.


Pe’ell rushed towards the building as the screech of a siren cut through his reflection. Lights flashed outside and flooded the streets with a blinding glare, the glow of crimson red and dark blue, searching for answers, searching for him. And here he was standing a mere foot away from a dozen police officers, even casually talking to one of them. “Come one.. What do you mean you are not in a liberty to discuss the wellbeing of the occupant? I just watched them clear out a corpse in a body bag!” A filthy glance was al he got in return.

The scene changed quickly as more and more people crowded the streets, police men, neighbors, reporters, forming a cesspool of curiosity. Pe’ell fiddled the badge he was wearing around his neck, supported by a metal chain. The private detective role offered him some jurisdiction and awe in the eyes of the citizens, yet he was frowned upon by the average policemen.
The death of Judge George Lindsay Kingsly was a huge media sensation. The body was found a few hours ago, stabbed to death by an unknown person. The private security personal and surveillance cameras offered no answer to who this assassin was. It appeared he had emerged into his house and vanished into the depths of the night. The d corpse was still warm, yet the media vultures had already pried up enough dirt to make a satisfying story. Corruption, prostitution, blackmailing, all these things where small things compared to his link with his disappeared brother, Senator Lucas Adam Kingsly.

Pe’ell calmed his own heartbeat as he inspected his surroundings. A small black car was heading towards the crime scene. “And I see the first piece as arrived at the board” A small childish grin appeared on his face. Gods this feeling of insecurity was the best. He formed his poker face and remembered his role he would be playing. Infiltrate and advice the pieces, as they move across the board.

And when the time would be right… The senator’s eyes would grow dim as his spark of life would be extinguished by Stiehl, his blade.
(Younger male/older female, Strong female, Rape, Alter ego, Mistaken identity, Evil male, drama, Murder, Crime, detectives work)

Suck in the name of the LAW!
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Meet Dave, a thirty year old police veteran of a small backwater town in the east. In his earlier days he had been a well-respected detective in Chicago, yet the pressure soon became bad for his health. He got himself transferred to a small town and soon found his health increasing again. His reputation quickly brought awe in the eyes of these ‘simple town folks’ seeing as he was a big name in Chicago. The little police department where he works at feels empty and unfit for a real police station, so a quick call to the mayor got him the permission to hold interviews. 
Wanting above all else to protect his calm and peaceful life, he decides to pick the best candidate suited for his lifestyle.
In high respect of him, quick to follow orders, gullible and extremely innocent. 
(Soft Forced obedience, size difference, Oblivious to sex,  training/conditioning to sex, Mistaken identities)

The Treatment
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Three years after the third world war, mankind was at the brink of destruction. Overpopulation, corruption, famine, war, pollution, the list went on. Mankind was a flawed design, yet one that could be altered into perfection. The drug they came up with had many names; Stabilization drug, the SE-hk192, the limiter. Yet most people simply called it the cure. After a few years of testing the drug became mandatory, refusal would be met with a swift execution. The drug proved ineffective within a certain percentage of the population (0,02%) These individuals either had a weaker effect from the medication or were completely immune. Most of these immune people quickly rebelled against the path mankind was heading to, only to be met with execution. People who had a SE-Hk192 effective rate of 98% and higher were deemed cured, a 1% lower was considered flawed.

The drug would reduce negative emotions to almost non existing levels. Due to the decrease in that type of emotional behavior mankind slowly started correcting itself. The decrease of pride, lust and envy were the first noticeable symptoms from this cure.
In the next few centuries mankind was slowly correcting itself. Strict rules were implemented, preventing people from having more than one offspring, while only people with a good genetic background were allowed to reproduce. Slowly the overpopulation was slowing down to a more manageable state while disease and genetic flaws were simply being bred out.
Great scientific advancements were made in several fields allowing this new world to shape itself in a perfect utopia. Slowly former cities were being converted into more modern designs, housing was made similar and distributed evenly among the population. People were being located to certain locations simply because it was more efficient for their work. School and education reached a new high, classes finally reaching a 98% attendance worldwide, only illness kept it from reaching 100.

Yet with all the advancement mankind made they also lost a lot. The drug also had some side effects in the long run, only noticeable after several years of intake. Joy, excitement, sexual attraction and pleasure, artistic nature, creativity, all these things began to decrease as well. People only sought a partner because of the need to reproduce and efficient housing options. Artist slowly dwindles until finally art became a taboo. Humor became a word used only during history lessons, comedians and funny movies were soon forgotten. Mankind simply became a well-oiled efficient machine that felt nothing.

Eventually humanity decided on the plan to stop execution people who scored lower than 98%, now sending them towards stabilization camps instead of execution. Within those camps people would be forced to adjust to the society at all cost. Mankind decided this would be more beneficial than simply slaughtering people.

Within the ranks of the Humanity a promising young male has been rewarded a position in the Stabilization camp. Although young and lacking experience his methods of ‘curing’ people are effective. His latest assignment was already being transported to the facility he and his coworkers were currently located at. “Effective Cure rating of 97%” He said coldly as he browsed her file. He smiled briefly as he felt the surge of emotion. He always found it funny how a person who was Immune to the drug could achieve such a high position. The reason people never found out about his little secret was because how well he blended in with people. For years he had been one of them, following the same boring routine he did every day. When puppetry had hit him, the drug began to lose effectiveness, finally doing nothing at all when he reached the age of twenty.

He licked his lips as he walked towards the examination room. Ironic how an incurable one was curing others. The young twenty three year old moved towards the window as he peered outside. In the distance two large vehicles were making their way towards the facility. Each would hold around twenty people, captured or willing volunteers. Usually the facility produced about a 23% cure rate. The ones who did not achieve the necessary stabilization percentage would either die during the treatment or executed after a term of two years.

The young male took a step back as he  stared at his self, a reflection cast back from the window. A tall male, around six feet. Short dark brown hair and bright green eyes that usually had a stern cast to them. Wearing his white lab coat he made his way towards the separation quarters, briefly flashing his ID card in front of the scanner before stepping inside. He took his place next to his colleges and waited for the ‘infected’ to make straight line in front of them. “Lance Erilius II, you have the first pick.” One of his colleges told him in a monotone voice, not a single trace of emotion in his tone. “Indeed” Lance told him as he stepped forwards. “Line up.” He said flatly, his eyed searching the crowd.
(Soft Forced obedience, Political power play, medical play, Oblivious to sex, training/conditioning to sex, Mistaken identities)

Persuading a nurse.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
‘Name:Lance Dréfos. Age 21. Bloodtype:A- Height: 189cm. Weight: 89kg. Racial status: Caucasian. Known illness: Healthy. Date arrival: 16:34, 28-01-2012. Diagnosis: Broken ulna and radius. Intervention: Surgery and three weeks internal stay/Long term ward. Suggested treatment: 2x a day fysi-‘

Lance sighed as he threw down his chart, hearing it fall on the ground with a small clatter, his hand moving towards his short dark brown hair, clutching it tightly for a second. He had read the chart at least three times now, each time getting more and more upset. Three weeks in a god damm hospital!! He knew damm well why he was staying three weeks here, his old man was one of the chief surgeons here, a famous one in fact, so he had pulled some strings. Lance could hardly refuse, seeing as he was practically helpless with only his left arm. He needed his right arm to make a living, being a writer himself, much to his father’s disapproval. Although he was well established for a relatively young age, the old man thought it was a hobby, a faze he would grew out of. Stubborn old goat could curl up and die for all he cared. He leaned back in his pillow, closing his eyelids to hide his bright green eyes.

He knew the three weeks rest would do him good, seeing as he had just published a new novel and was feeling the writers fatigue. He needed some relaxation and inspiration. His next project would be a story about forbidden romance between the strangers. He wanted to do some ‘hand on’ experience somewhere in Miami or perhaps even Europe. Relax his tired mind while putting his body to work. He had already packed his bags and everything, only needing his approval from his boss and he was good to go. He could still remember that day, 28th of February. His boss had simply grinned at him when he told her off his next project. She knew damm well what he was planning. She knew as much about him as he knew about himself. She had scouted him in college and was impressed about his work. His first book was based on a work affair he had shared with her. Although she found it peculiar that she was his inspiration, she could hardly ignore the book sales. So, each time he had a new project coming up, she would agree to his strange... habits. She had given him that ‘I know’ look and simply waved him off, wishing him a pleasant trip. Ten minutes later some random guy bumped him in the back, sending him crashing down a flight of stairs.

So now he lay here, at St Jefferson’s hospital. It was a well renowned hospital, famous for its location and excellent care, if not a bit overpriced. He stared at his cast again, before peering down at his new ‘robe’, leaving his rear end exposed like some baboon. He sighed deeply before grabbing his pen in his left hand and began sticking it behind his cast, trying to get rid of the itching sensation. How the hell was a guy supposed to find relaxation an inspiration in a place like this. The only thing that was a relief for him was the fact that thermometers were now used in the ear instead of the rear. He heard footsteps in the hallway, no doubt one of the nurses coming to check on him. Ever since his father came in last night to ‘supervise’ his care, he had been treated like royalty. He had three extra pillows he did not ask for, nor for the two extra blankets. He was offered to be fed twice a day, due to his arm being in a cast. He tried to put on a warm smile, one infused with a rebellious touch only young males could create. The door opened and he was confronted by his new nurse, at least the nurse that would be in charge of his care for this week.

“Morning.” He smiled casually as he shifted his position in bed, giving him a more of a sitting position. He eyed his case file on the floor and swallowed, feeling his throat get a bit dry. “It- it fell, clumsy me.” This ward offered many beds, so a lot of nurses and interns ran the place, offering care and service to the patients, no doubt she would be in charge of his case.
(Male/female, Male/male,  Oblivious to sex, Naïve partner, Washing and clothing, Innocence abuse, Willing service, Medical play.)
« Last Edit: April 11, 2012, 06:16:02 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

« Reply #6 on: October 11, 2011, 05:07:00 AM »
Everything from famous movies, to cartoons like pokemon.

Escaping the vault
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The once safe haven has just been attacked by a concentrated bandit raid, despite the heavy security protocols that guarded the facility. During the chaos two siblings managed to escape the place, carrying a small package. Fate smiles upon them as they meet up with a lone wanderer a few miles away from the camp. Realizing their predicament he intervenes and guides them away from a bandit scouting party.
The two siblings beg him to take them to ‘Valhalla’, explaining to him that they have to protect the package. He offers them a deal. Escorting them to ‘valhalla’ in exchange for their loyalty.

Over time he starts to suspect that Valhalla isn’t just a fairy tale these kids were taught, but an actual pre-war vault containing thor’s hammer, a gigantic armory of pre-war tec. The owner of that vault would be assured dominance over the entire word.
Now thousands of bandits, mutants, ghouls, raiders and scum are in hot pursuit to capture them, even the dark brotherhood and the enclave are setting their sights on the trio.

During the long and harsh miles the trio have to take, boredom slowly seeps in. As a ‘relaxation method’ he begins to train the two siblings. At first he simply did it for his amusement, wanting to see how far they would go to obey him. When they did as he wanted, not aware of the ‘taboo’ element, he decided to ‘teach’ his new pupils everything he knows. To help them survive of course, honestly!!
(Fallout universe)
(Male/male/female, incest, threesome, play, age gap, gullible, Older male/younger male, older male/younger female, Adventure, obedience, indoctrination, twisted romance)

The Sithlord.
Either alien jedi or sith apprentice
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
The figure in the distance spoke. "Pathetic planet" He spoke clearly and with authority, perhaps a hint of bordering cruelty. He was leading a small group of handpicked Sith warriors towards an outpost planet in the t-9 sector. Although there were more than 20.000 defenders on the planet, they would all fall quickly to the dark side. The leader of the group pulled back his hood and grinned. He was partly human. His tanned skin showed a few battle scars, and his red eyes showed the hatred that fuelled his powers and his dark ambition. His large frame was cloaked in a black robe, and underneath was a thick scale like armor to protect his frame. His black hair danced in the wind as an orbital strike destroyed a small settlement before his eyes. He raised his hand and shouted. "ADVANCE!"
(Master/Student, fighting, Star wars, servitude, betrayal, interspecies, Force)

Training with piccolo
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Piccolo had grumbled when he had cannonballed into the natural lake, crashing through his ambivalent silence. The spray of water rained down on him as he sat cross-armed on the ledge of a jagged rock that slanted flat just next to the waterfall. He had scowled at Gohan as he resurfaced laughing. He gave Piccolo that goofy grin he had inherited from his father and swum back to float on his back.

“Stop goofing off, kid.”

Gohan managed to sober long enough to dip under the cool water and jet over to the ledge Piccolo was sitting on. He surfaced with a lazy sigh and contemplatively stared as Piccolo resumed in his meditation. Unable to help himself, the youth swam over to the opposite corner of the ledge and pulled himself out of the water. The cool breeze that grazed his nude body made his teeth clatter together for a few seconds as he pulled his long bangs out of his eyes and from matting against his temples. Piccolo sat immobile, detached from his peaceful surroundings. Smiling, Gohan enjoyed the peace and quiet. For once in his life there wasn’t a villain or mechanized death droid gunning for earth, sadly his former mentor thought otherwise, hence their current location in the wilderness. Training would be good for them both.

(Can do Original human vs original Namekian)
Inspired by:
(Male/asexual, Interspecies, cum play, fighting, barrier play, age gap, humiliation.{Possibly: Male/ asexual impregnation, egg laying)

Superheroines are whores, honestly!
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
Lance Conner; Aka Ruyin, is a powerful and skilled psychic. A man who singlehandedly stopped the tide of perversion and filth that swept over the entire continent, nay! WORLD! This all happened years ago, back when mankind gave in to their basic cravings and corrupted themselves on a daily business. The year was 2012, a year of constant strive and suffering, both economical and morally. The earth had ‘protectors’; heroes they called themselves. While some of them where outstanding citizens, aiming to make their cities a better place, some used that disguise to pollute mankind. Every day and night female heroes would ran rampant through the streets, stopping crime, all the while exposing their bare flesh like exhibitionist. They spoke of saving mankind, helping the world, yet Lance knew better, he did.

Whereas the culprits had amazing skills like breathing fire or super strength, Lance was average. He had a ‘ok’ body, standing 6”1 tall thanks to his European heritage and bright green eyes. His short brown hair was usually ruffled in that ‘out of bed look’. He kept his body in good shape, jogging with his old man every Monday and playing football with his friends in the weekend. He was the typical average Joe, if not a bit brighter than most. Yet Lance had one skill, one thing that would be the instrument of salvation. Lance was born with a slightly better evolved brain than most. He did not have super intelligence, nor could he talk with sharks or other sea creatures, he simple could send cravings. It had started at a young age, when his father was still a heavy drinker and a hard hitter. After countless nights of him hearing his father beat up his mother, whilst under the influence of a large amount of alcohol, he acted. He ran up to his father, begging and pleading, his brain working overtime to stop him. To his surprise, and his mother, the old man did.

Throughout puberty this ‘luck’ began to increase. Bartenders frequently gave him free drinks and girls at the club gave their numbers to him without him asking. Yet he was turned down frequently enough to prevent his ego from rising. He considered himself simply a ‘lucky’ guy. Years later he finally understood his incredible gift and what it could do. His mind was getting stronger the more he used it, yet it was now sufficient to begin his war. He would be on his own, yet he would prevail. Armed with the power of mental cravings, he began plotting and scheming. There were hundreds of female heroes roaming the earth, yet the closest one here was irritating enough. She would be the first step to greatness.

So there he sat, tied up with a filthy sock in his mouth, while the getaway car was crashing down the streets. A simple suggestion here and there had turned two random tough guys into bank robbers. They had taken a single hostage, a young man who looked harmless. Lance was lying in the backseat, not having much trouble in acting scared. His mouth felt dry and his whole body was shaking. He could manipulate people brilliantly, yet a single car crash could end his life without much effort. So he simply lay there, waiting for ‘rescue’ from some superpowered slut. 
(Male human/Female superhero, Strong female, Superpowers, Outfits, Public scenes, Heavy smut, Heavy cum play, Servitude, Heavy sarcasm, Small dom/Large sub, age gap, Mind persuasion, plot, psychological warfare)

One hell of a butler.
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
December 27th 1892

Although the Phantomhive estate was usually the picture of tranquility, a small bubble of frustration and anger was forming. Ciel tapped his fingers on his fine cedar desk with the speed of a man bordering unbearable frustration.


Ciel Phantomhive looked rather bored sitting at his desk, chin resting on the back of his hand, eyes slowly skimming the reports from Scotland Yard and occasionally browsing the newspapers.
He glanced at the large clock on the wall and grimaced. His staff was late, Sebastian was Late!. Over the years he had gotten used to the character faults in his other staff, yet Sebastian was different. For one, the man simply wasn’t human!

“I’d figure a soul would be worth a butler who was actually on time”

He sighed as he stopped tapping with his fingers. He made a mental note of it. It displayed his frustration. Displaying your own emotion was a sign of weakness.
The heir of the Phantomhive lineage did not have…. Could not have any weaknesses.
To be honest Sebastian was not that late. He in fact had two more minutes before he had to give Ciel his morning tea. The reason Ciel was upset was because of his dreams, that and that a witty butler had overheard his mumbling in his dreams. He recalled last night, how his servant had addressed him.
The gently whisper of Sebastian saying “Master, you must have dozed off” while shaking his shoulder, it irritated him. Ciel Phantomhive does not doze off! He simply choose to sleep on his desk while still having the documents on the table.
When reminding Sebastian on his tone and position he always kept his cool. The silver-tongued speech of the butler…. Gods it send shivers down his spine. His mouth might say "I'm terribly sorry, young master, do forgive me for speaking out of term", while his eyes said something else.
Whenever Ciel forgot about Sebastian being a demon, his eyes would remind it for him.

Ever since ‘Madam Red’s’ sudden death he had occasional nightmares. Her begging him to safe her. He telling Sebastian to save her, yet he did not obey. All simply memories bubbling in the subconscious, yet it did set his mood. It reminded him that Sebastian was only a half trained wolf. It might appear to be loyal, but how far could his loyalty stretch?. Sebastian usually did things as he deemed proper to serve his master. Ciel needed a way to remind him of his status. He was the master, he was in charge!

The youth stood up from behind his desk and turned around, facing the window. His frame was slightly taller than it had been years before, yet still carried a lot of his boyhood. His tone of voice and the way he carried himself spoke of the man he would become, yet the boy still ruled him. He was considered handsome and delicate by adults, surely an innocent looking youth could no rule a business so strictly? He kept his back to the door as he heard a pair of footsteps approaching his door, Sebastian’s. Funny how he could hear other people’s footsteps coming from the beginning of the hallway, yet Sebastian’s footsteps only did register when he was almost next to the door. 
A knock came at the master's study. His butler, Sebastian, with a covered tray resting in the palm of his other hand, stood outside the door.

“Your late”

He said coldly, neither anger nor frustration surfacing for a second. He heard the familiar sounds of the door opening and closing again, yet Sebastian always did it with grace. As if, even the act of using a door required special attention.

Ciel cocked his head to the side, eyes briefly averting from the window to look at his tall and slim butler. All the while the boy was busy suppressing a grin. The entrance of Sebastian also brought the chance of a treat. A parfait, cake, or cream filled puff, anything sweet really.

(looking for a Sebastian partnered to my dominate Ciel.)
(Servitude, Human/demon, Younger male/older male, Small dom/tall sub, Plot,
Detective, Position of power.)

Riding the Centauress
Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide
They were sitting in Lance’s spacious porch, overlooking the still unworked fields of his recently acquired farm. Lance was a Northerner who had invested a part of his heritage in a farm located in a tropical area, and was now looking for ways to make it profitable. He was in love with the exuberant vegetation, with the warm climate, with the vibrant colors of the flowers and the sheer brilliance of the light. He was well read, and the idea of starting a venture in such an exotic land had now caught his imagination. He had spent most of his coin on purchasing this land, leaving little coin to buy horses and equipment. He knew he would have to find some wild ones on his own, tame and train them. His friend was making comments about a different kind of animal, Centaurs.

He, Thom his friend, had read about the presence of centaurs in the area where Lance had bought his land, and now he were planning ways to catch some. He hoped it would be a profitable venture, but, even if it were not, the sheer audacity of the thing appealed to him. Since the times of the Greeks, nobody had ever approached a centaur, let alone tamed one. What was known about them came from reports by travelers and from ancient authors; Thom had collected all the available information, studied it, and had concluded that some hundreds of centaurs could be still alive in the tropical forest. Lance simply chuckled at the idea. Thom like any good friend insisted on it and even went as far as to drop half his book’s at Lance’s new farm, claiming it would be a good read.

They stretched hands. Lance watched as his friend stepped into his carriage and waved his hand. Centaurs ... what could be like to ride one? And were they apt for communicating with humans? How long would it take to tame one? And would they produce anything valuable? He played for a moment with the idea of training female and centaurs and selling their kind. "Well," he thought, "we shall see ... first thing is to bring some normal horses into the stables."

Next morning, he woke up, took a good breakfast and gave his maid the day off. He took his map, some carrots, A small case with the paralyzing shots, and a blowgun, just in case. He headed east, towards the forest. He walked calmly, breathing the already warm air, and after an hour was well into the forest, following the trail Thom had marked on the map. He was just crossing a stream when he lost his foothold, sending him sliding down the stream, his head hitting a rock. When he woke up again he was miles further north than he wanted. He coughed up water as he glanced around, finding himself washed back ashore, yet something was off. Little did he know that he had just been carried by the river deep into Centaur territory.
( Tall female, small dom vs large sub, Interspecies, interracial, bestiality, Romance or forced.)
« Last Edit: October 09, 2012, 06:08:55 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #7 on: October 17, 2011, 10:16:03 AM »
Updated 2/10/11:
The Blood phoenix
Placed into the New plot section.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #8 on: October 28, 2011, 02:23:49 AM »
Updated 28/10/11:
The Blood phoenix
Rewriting plot

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #9 on: October 30, 2011, 05:03:19 PM »
Updated 30/10/11:
Added some kinks

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #10 on: November 01, 2011, 09:36:21 AM »
Updated 1/11/11:
The grey fang
Placed into the New plot section.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #11 on: November 01, 2011, 09:59:25 AM »
Updated 1/11/11:
Escaping the vault
Placed into the New plot section.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #12 on: November 02, 2011, 04:23:27 PM »
Updated 2/11/11:
Riding the Centaur
Placed into the New plot section.
« Last Edit: November 06, 2011, 09:30:32 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #13 on: November 06, 2011, 09:30:46 AM »
Updated 6/11/11:
Riding the Centaur
Placed into the New plot section.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #14 on: November 08, 2011, 12:17:41 PM »
Updated 8/11/11:
The Hunt
Placed into the New plot section.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #15 on: November 10, 2011, 07:33:46 AM »
Updated 10/11/11:
Servitude in Death
Placed into the New plot section.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #16 on: November 18, 2011, 03:11:01 AM »
Updated 18/11/11:
Removed some kinks

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #17 on: November 27, 2011, 01:00:43 PM »
Updated 27/11/11:
Removed some kinks

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #18 on: November 27, 2011, 03:41:56 PM »
Updated 27/11/11:
Training with piccolo
Placed into the New plot section.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #19 on: November 28, 2011, 03:56:25 AM »
Updated 28/11/11:
Depressed immortality.
Placed into the New plot section.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #20 on: December 02, 2011, 09:25:25 AM »
Updated 2/12/11:
Removed some kinks

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #21 on: December 07, 2011, 09:45:10 AM »
Updated 7/12/11:
Removed some kinks

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #22 on: January 16, 2012, 02:02:38 PM »
Updated 16/1/12:
Restored my muse.

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #23 on: January 18, 2012, 06:25:04 PM »

Please refrain from replying directly to this thread, Pm me if you are interested.

Title:Project Legion

The year is 2034, fifteen years after the Great War that divided the word into four major factions, each still desperate to fight on, yet currently at a stalemate. In a world where global destruction can be achieved by the press of a button, one faction would need a certain edge in order to push forwards. The United Nato alliance has found this edge in ‘fear’, creating a project that will link a group of squads together, sharing cognitive data between its members, allowing them to have a greater field of vision and an almost precognitive reaction time.
The down side is that the all this raw data has to be processed beforehand, something only a select few can do. ‘Seer’ is one of those select few, although he is one of the best, able to link a squad of five at the same time without damaging performance of survivability. The downside is his growing awareness of his female team members, sometimes almost able to somewhat plant suggestions.

-Deep character building
-Multiple characters
-Mind games
-Heavy plot


My Character(s):
My main character, would be the only male member in the team; the Seer. He would have the same combat training as his squad members, although he specializes in synchronisation, using nerve gear input from all his team members and sending this feed back to the others in a more stable version.
He is the ‘glue’ that makes the Wraiths so successful, yet not the leading element in the team, simply the one doing the linking up. He is both respectful to his team members and attracted to them, the fact that he frequently has near unlimited access to their thoughts and isn’t making the job any easier. Besides this main character I will also be playing most of the enemies, taking on the role of Game master and will share the Burdon of the rest of the team, should my partner prefer this.

Your Character(s):
A partner for this story would need to either be willing to play as one main female and a few side, or take on multiple main females. I myself have a strong preference for the latter, although not every partner is comfortable doing so. As listed above, the Burdon of the team will be split equally during specific team, ensuring both partners can enjoy themselves.
Listed below in the actual story sketch are multiple female ‘profiles’. These aren’t set in stone, yet are there to give a general ‘feel’ to the story and serve as a template in creating your own, or modifying it to your preference. Feel free to add more or start afresh if you want.

Inspiration for the scene:
A blend between COD: Ghosts and Pacific rim. (Is that weird?)
« Last Edit: November 15, 2013, 03:46:02 PM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche’s house of perversion. (M/F, M/M, M/O)
« Reply #24 on: January 21, 2012, 01:42:29 PM »

Project: legion

Time: 0320,
Date: 12-11-2034
Location: Dubai, 2km north of the main crater.
Objective: Retrieve Package Delta-4
Deployment: Full squad:  Five Wraiths, one Seer.

“Tell me the others are” The shirtless guard was becoming more and more agitated as he wiped the spattered blood off of his face. The fire reflecting off of his seemingly bronze eyes made them seem to be glowing. The captive painfully tilted his head to the side and spit out the warm, red fluid that had once again gathered in his mouth. "You've had me out here for hours, on and on with the threats. How about you just bring it, you little shit? I've got stuff to do." Exhaustion was evident in his voice, having gone through this grind over and over for the last few hours. But he refused to waver, never revealing a scrap of information whatsoever. The three guards in the room were eying each other, eyes telling each other more than words ever could; confusion, anger… fear. “Dilec…” One of the other guards began to speak, voice soft. “… I don-“ He was cut off as she shirtless man rewarded him with a blank stare.

The man seated on the chair was lieutenant Sean Mitchel, a Nato operative tasked to retrieve Intel in one of the black zones. He was the sole survivor of the team, or what was left of him. He had multiple lacerations on his chest and legs, several third degree burn wounds and he was pretty sure had at least two broken ribs. This ‘Dilec’ prick had done a number on him, not really restraint in his methods of interrogation. He knew taunting the man would only result in more pain being inflicted, yet he knew he was a dead man, knowing backup wouldn’t be able to make it in time. “Y-your mother teach you how to hit?” He said with a bloody grin, spitting at the man’s face once more, daring him to use that blade once more, hopefully lethal this time.

He was chained to a steel chair that was bolted on the floor. He had multiple wounds and injuries that would severely diminish his offensive and defensive capabilities, not to mention would leave a clear blood trail for any pursuers to follow. There were three guards in this room and the last time he had seen there were six others in the room behind that. His ‘prison’ was a floor on the twenty third floor, on a spiral building that could only be accessed from the inside by stairs. He knew he was a dead man, the minute he was captured, might as well enjoy the ride. He was about to say another witty comment when he noticed something to his right, just a fraction of a second, yet enough for his peripheral vision to detect. The three guards in the room did not seem to noticed, simply intent on staring down the chained person, calculating what bone to break next. Mitchel was about to ignore what he had just glimpsed when he heard the cracking of his radio, suddenly flaring up once more.

Dilec slammed his knife in a nearby chair as he moved to the table that housed their captive’s equipment, slowly searching through it until he found the source of the disturbance. Trained digits quickly opened up the channel and he upped the volume, allowing his companions to her the message as well.

“Delta-4, this is Icarus-1.. approaching point 2-a… ETA 8 minutes… Be advised… Wraiths incoming.”

He dropped the com device and turned pale, spinning on his heels to stare at the man sitting on the steel chair, hearing him laugh out loud, a type of laugh a man got when he had nothing to lose, yet was about to win everything. The soldier on his left looked confused at his companions, then at the man laughing…. “What are wraiths?” He said, gripping his SMG and moving closer to the chained man, waiting for an answer. “Something neither living nor dead, apparitions that haunt places marked with death. They see all, know all and feed of your fear. And for you, the worst part is..” He said… lowering his voice as he noticed the shadows slowly moving, taking shape and taking on human form. “-they are already here.”

A high calibre round was fired from a mile away, taking down the man who was wielding the SMG, before the other two could react to the sudden death of their friend they could see two apparitions rush towards hem, suddenly rushing from the shadows, wielding a long curved black knife that did not glister in the light. The two men were dead before their fallen could slam into the ground, another spectre catching his body and slowly lowering him to the ground. Mitchel noticed that no hand signs were used to discuss things, instead the two wraiths that had wielded the blades quickly slid to the door, blades disappearing and wielding silenced weapons that were clearly custom builds.  They paused for a few seconds, readjusting their aims for a second before they suddenly opened fire, not even bothering to open the door, just shooting and hitting their marks, their tattered black cloaks and hoods flapping due to the wind, giving them a ghostlike visage. When they stopped shooting they simply reloaded and opened the doors, letting two other wraiths into the room, simply walking unscathed from the room that had previously been fired upon. 

“Icarus-1, we have package delta-4 ready for retrieval. Injuries appear minor. No deviations in time.”


They made a final sweep of the room before they relaxed, keeping one covering the door. Everyone’s black cloaks were suddenly retracting, disappearing in smaller slits in their suits, ready for redeployment when necessary. Three of them were clothed in white helmets, grey blackish suits and had tactical precision about them. The one in blue was obviously in charge, one glance at the posture of the shoulders would speak volumes about how finely tuned this team was. There was also the Wraith in pure black armour, occasionally standing completely still for no reason and letting his armour flash orange. Whenever it flashed orange, one of the other soldiers, the ones wielding white helmets, would suddenly reposition themselves, glancing through windows or simply nodding unconsciously.

A few minutes later, Lieutenant Sean Mitchel was on the helicopter, quickly ascending up in the air, hearing small gunfire strike the armoured plating’s of the chopper. He knew it was unwise to do so, yet he couldn’t help himself, bending slightly to the side and watching the Wraiths move out of the tower, quickly taking up position and hitting their marks, as if they already knew where the enemy had would be before they had even laid eyes on them. Seconds later he lost track of the Wraiths, the last thing he noticed was their armour turning black dull sandy grey and a ripped sand coloured cloak wrapping around their frames, letting them better blend in with the sandy environment.

He himself was a veteran in two wars, both the current Great War and a skirmish before the great collapse. He considered himself a solid soldier, perhaps even a warrior, yet he paled before the might of these individuals. There mere mention of the name Wraiths made men hesitant, on both sides of the war. He didn’t know what kind of harsh, unnatural training someone needed in order to sense enemies before they are even there, have eyes in your back and manage to blend in with the shadows, yet he had no doubt that there might be more truth to the stories than one would believe.
« Last Edit: November 15, 2013, 02:46:24 PM by flassche »