Avatar of Kaithe Dame

Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

I like writing about strange people put into uncomfortable situations that force them to think creatively to overcome them. Brain worms currently include the Yakuza franchise, The Last Sovereign JRPG, Dragon Age, WH40K, Disco Elysium, and True Detective. Writing sample down below.

docs.google.com/document/d/1lqyAAPIJh…

Most Recent Posts

Gendered pronouns for the prince, YC, are irrelevant. We can change it for the RP to be whatever you'd like. I'm an advanced-novella writer and expect the same from my partners. I have writing samples I'll share in addition to whatever's on my profile.

A usurped royal is turned into a freehouse whore; at this very moment they've been brought to a cozy, faraway plantation by a formerly loyal vassal of theirs to serve them. Do not expect or request extreme kinks in this story. All 'vanilla' kinks are things I'm happy with; this is meant to be a short-term, at best, episodic, story.


It’s morning when the prince is roused out of bed, bathed, and dressed. The water is warm on Philippe’s estate, the room afforded to him nearly as comfortable and ease of living as the palace had been with a humble amount of servants waiting to serve him at a moment’s notice. The marshal had always been an austere man, a proper roundhead that pushed endlessly for the cutting of unnecessary expenses. Many had hoped for those qualities to rub off on the king’s son so that they might be spared yet another generation of failed promises and unpaid debts. Even with how much of a disappointment (YC) had been the old warrior had been at his side all the way to the end, hardfaced and steadfast all the way from the declaration of war to the chambers of the new sovereign of the realm, face flushed with rage at the disrespect shown to their rightful Lord.

That was probably why the prince enjoyed privileges uncompared when Philippe summoned him. He’s had clients with gentler hands and cocks than the soldierly aristocrat- he’s not much different than anyone else when he’s inside one of the prince’s holes, but the man always had a flare for romantic gestures. (YC) had spent three weeks with him, quietly sequestered away from his apartment at the whorehouse and brought to a faraway, quiet plot of land so that Philippe could enjoy his company.

The sun isn’t quite up when they meet on the cliff overlooking the man’s sharecrops; miles of sugar, salt, and cotton worked by sleepy men and women that had gotten just as little sleep as the prince had. Only Philippe looks fresh-faced, lounging in a chair he’d obviously dragged out himself, one that (YC) would’ve struggled to even pick up, much less carry what must’ve been for a half an hour walk. The man isn’t in the prime of his youth anymore, but he’s close, looking fit and glowing as the first warm breaths of the sun manage to reach them over the valley they now overlook. He has a coffee in one hand, holding one with so much carefulness that it’s obvious who it’s for. He’s practically glowing when he sees the prince, and it’s hard not to notice that he’s aroused with the way he’s facing, though he doesn’t seem ashamed of it. It’s obvious what he wants. He hadn’t chosen this place, at this time of day, for no reason. Already the laborers are taking notice of them, most tipping their hats in greeting to their Lord, and others casting curious look towards the boy they’d only ever seen in passing.

Philippe doesn’t order (YC) to suck his cock yet though. He enjoys playing games, whether it be when he’d taught the prince chess, or moments like these.

Instead, he only offers the prince a cup of what will undoubtedly be divine cafe, speaking after a clearly faked yawn.

“This harvest promises to be a good one. We should be seeing the last of the protests this year, Your Majesty.”

Food had been hard to come by after he’d been overthrown. With those two sentences, Philippe dashed the last bit of hope that the people would rise up and put him back into power.
Looking to GM for someone interested in playing two or a handful of female heroes in a short-term story.

PEACE

LAND

BREAD


Ten thousand miles of scorched earth stretch out in every direction from where she watches. Priests, mages, and agriculturalists whose professions she'd forgotten the name of long ago work day and night in another decade long attempt to bring it back to life. Every few hours they'd stumble upon another pamphlet or banner before turning it over to the tired soldiers overlooking them. They'd burn it, or peddle it away on a black market somewhere where it'd end up in the hands of some two bit warlord claiming to be the Overlord's successor, claiming it as evidence for their claim.

Maybe they would even succeed.

More likely they'd just end up being hung or shot in the head like countless others before them, but not before setting alight more farmland and emptying as many towns and cities before they'd gone.

For ten years the world had been this way. Recognizing it would be impossible- truly impossible. Any trustworthy, modern map wouldn't depict a single kingdom or state that had existed ten years ago, for they were all gone. The Overlord had ground them into dust, or fallen to the rabble in the wave of riots and revolutions that had taken place after her disappearance. The Overlord's defeat had put an end to the onslaught of her demons, the tireless marching and mass slaughters that had taken place; but it also meant an end to the grain doll. Land redistribution, road construction, an end to commercial taxes traveling between fiefs- post offices, and, most importantly...

The paladin glanced down to a patch of sullied, burnt out dirt and made a face. Flashes of gold shimmered beneath her feet, their roots going deep. The potato had stayed. Of all the things the demons had brought with them through their portals, of course the potato had survived. It was the sole survivor of the destruction wrought.

Of course.

A smile stretches across her face despite herself, knowing that wallowing would do her no good. It was the time for reminiscing, but not of that sort. A dear friend of hers had reached out for the first time in a decade, inviting her to their home. Their home brought a deluge of memories, not all of them kind, but she'd never been one to cower in fear of her own thoughts. It had been the place where she and her companions had defeated the Overlord, and, if what the letter had said was correct, the day of their reunion would be the anniversary to celebrate it.

Well. It was better than looking over these old men. Her job had been to make sure the Overlord's influence was scoured from the land- especially her propaganda. She'd been sure to save one, but she'd never bothered to learn demonic. The scribble on it, unfolded, meant nothing to her. All she could see were three words in thick violet text, just like the rest.

She'd never understand what had drawn the peasants to her, and, thankfully, she'd never have to worry about it again.

A fellowship of heroines is summoned to an old companion's castle to celebrate the defeat of a woman, a demon, that had once nearly conquered the world. Except, of course, plot twist, their friend has turned on them and sold them out- oops. Cue them being dominated and used by said demon in a revenge-fueled hatefuck as she happily takes her time using the bodies of the women that had thwarted her so long ago.

I wouldn't expect anything serious or long-term out of this unless we really hit it off. I'm a novella/advanced writer who enjoys lesbianism (their friend could be a male though, no complaints), spankings, femdom, cunnilingus, body worship, forced bisexuality/lesbianism, mind control, dub-con, exhibitionism, interracial (fantasy and otherwise), orgies, priest/paladins/nuns/clerics being defiled, forced and voluntary chastity, chastity being ruined, and the vast majority of vanilla and more mild things.

My limits are tentacles, feral animals, non-con, toys, choking, and most other things of that caliber. If you have to ask, then it's on this list. I don't enjoy extreme kinks.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
Yeah, didn't intend to bump this so early. Wrong one.
Bump.
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet