Category: roleplays

fallout roleplay

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

“Amber?” he asks. His voice is a little hoarse, as if he’s been rehearsing his lines in the mirror. “Come in,” I say, stepping aside and letting him cross the threshold into my apartment. The hallway is lined with photographs of old, cracked cityscapes. I lead him to the living room, where a single lamp casts a glow.

“I have a role for you,” I begin. “Tonight we’re not just two people. We’re the last two survivors in a fallout bunker and the world above is a radioactive wasteland. The air is thin, the lights flicker, and the only thing keeping us sane is a game of…imagination.”

Continue reading “he’s been rehearsing his lines” →

lover

Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203

Mommy Anna was making a special effort to find any excuse to spank Ronnie, but it seemed the more she tried, the more he behaved. He was doing everything he could to evade a spanking.

Every night, when Daddy Ron would work night shift, Mommy Anna would call up her lover and he would beg her to tell him stories of how she spanked Ronnie and his little sister. The two of them would get off on talking about spankings on the phone and whisper sweet spanking nothings into each other’s ears.

Continue reading “Mommy Anna’s lover” →

fucking

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The first man I truly “noticed” was Mr. Harrow, the 58‑year‑old owner of the corner bakery. I would watch him knead dough with a rhythm that reminded me of a heartbeat, with his forehead creasing in concentration and his eyes flickering over the pastries as if he were measuring the stories they could tell.

I didn’t understand at the time, but the way he laughed made me feel that I was in the presence of someone who could teach me a few things. My infatuation grew, not in the shallow way of a teen crush, but more like a slow, deliberate ache. I started to linger at the bakery after school, pretending to need a croissant while really just wanting to hear the soft rustle of his cardigan as he moved. I’d catch his eye, and for a heartbeat he’d smile.

Continue reading “The first man I truly “noticed”” →

fantasy roleplay

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

There was a time when I spent my mornings sipping coffee on the pier while the rope‑clad sailors shouted orders and hauled nets. Every time a burly deckhand looked in my direction, I felt a flutter in my already dripping wet pussy. I began to wonder whether I was simply attracted to the smell of tar and brine or to the swagger that comes with a life spent battling waves.

One breezy afternoon I decided to test my theory. I slipped into a striped nautical tee (my version of a sailor’s uniform, though I lacked the appropriate boots) and strutted down to the pier, pretending I could read the tide charts. Almost instantly, I caught the eye of one young seafarer, a lanky fellow with a tattoo of an anchor on his bicep, pretending to mend a net. I tipped my hat and said, “Mind if I borrow a rope? I’m feeling a little tangled up in my own fantasies.” He chuckled and offered me a spare coil. His fingers brushed my palm in a way that felt like a secret handshake between the tides and my imagination.

Continue reading “this MILF loves rope‑clad sailors” →

cheater

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Today is February 13th. The eve of the great lie. And that, my darlings, is why you must spoil me. First, the obvious. Spoil me to prove you can. The florist delivers on Valentine’s Day. The cliché. But a bouquet of black calla lilies arriving today, a day early, at my door, not hers? That’s a secret. That’s power. It whispers, “I am thinking of you while I am picking out the safe, red roses for my boring wife.”

Spoil me for the silence I keep. Your wife asks how your day was and you say, “Fine. I had a long budget meeting.” You weren’t in a meeting. You were here, with the curtains drawn, tasting the expensive caviar you told her you were saving for a “special occasion with the guys.” I am the living, breathing secret you tuck into your suit pocket. Simply put, I don’t call. I don’t text at inopportune times, either. My discretion is an art form and good art is never cheap.

Continue reading “The eve of the great lie.” →

Boy

Anna 844-332-2639 EXT. 203

Miss Anna was walking home from the bodega with her arms full of bags. She balanced herself well in her heels still strutting down the sidewalk. Just as she almost reached home, one of her bags ripped, and her items spilled all onto the concrete.

Continue reading “Miss Anna and the Sissy Boy next door” →

slut

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

His name is Mark. He is tall, dark‑haired, and he wears a suit that looks like it was made for him. I felt a strange heat in my chest when I saw him. I told myself it was just nerves because I really needed the merger to go through.

We sat across a long table. Papers were spread out, charts on the screen, coffee steaming in the corners. I asked about his company’s goals. He answered with a calm voice that made my thoughts drift. I could see his eyes flicker to my lips when I spoke.

Continue reading “I Wanted To Rip The Suit Right Off Of Him” →

Gifts

Posted on by Cory

breasts

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

I’ve had these, ahem, “gifts” since I was a teen. It’s like I had a magnetic field around me, drawing in every male eye within a 10-foot radius. It was both flattering and terrifying at the same time. I’d try to wear loose-fitting clothes to downplay them, but let’s be real, there’s only so much you can do to hide a pair of double-Ds from all of the neighborhood pervs.

The comments started early, too. Everything from “Wow, you must be cold!” to “Do you have trouble finding bras that fit?” But as I got older, the attention only intensified. I’d go to the grocery store and some guy would inevitably stare as if he’d never seen breasts before.

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control

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

They come to me looking for control. No, worse. They come pretending they want it, like submission is some romantic fantasy spun from silk and flowers and candlelight. But I must disillusion you. Control isn’t soft. It’s the echo of a belt on bare skin. It’s the look in someone’s eyes when they realize they’ve gone too far and there’s no going back. I don’t do gentle. I don’t do forgiveness. And I certainly don’t do second chances. I’m the consequence you didn’t think you’d earn.

Last night, a man called me “Stella, darling” during a session. Not “Ma’am.” Not “Mistress.” Darling. I didn’t correct him. I let him ruin himself with his own carelessness. We were in the basement. The one with the cold concrete floor and the steel cuffs bolted to the wall. He was on his knees, trembling. Not from fear (yet), but from anticipation. That always amuses me. The hope humans carry, even when they’re already doomed to fail.

Continue reading “Power Is Nothing Without Control” →

doctor fetish

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

Under the sterile clinic lights, wearing my favorite red dress felt like a mistake. “Amber?” A nurse called from the doorway, with a clipboard in her hand. Her smile was tight, but professional. “Dr. Lorne will see you now.”

I followed, as my heels tapped too loud against the linoleum. The exam room was cold. Paper-covered table, stirrups gleaming like instruments of some forgotten ritual. Then he walked in. Dr. Lorne. Tall. Calm. Silver watch on his left wrist…the kind that ticks just loud enough to sync with your pulse if you’re listening. He didn’t look at my chart. He looked at me. Not in a leering way. Worse. Like he already knew things.

Continue reading “wearing my favorite red dress felt like a mistake” →