All uses of the word 'you' are entirely temporary to this prompt and not reflective of the actual RP. As a rule of thumb I hold little sentimental value to the exact scenario established in my prompts and use them mainly to set a mood and atmosphere.
...
"Liberator."
This was always the hardest part.
You recognized the face from the fields, only then the woman's arms had been made lame with dense-looking metal orbs that tethered her to the earth with a chain born through it one end to the other and running until it met the hands of one slave, then a third, forming the core of the labor gangs that limped their ways across the plantation. Even a week with a spine bent as hers tearing cotton from pods would could shatter a body, but this one doesn't seem broken, reaching across the difference between them to catch your hands, looking for your eyes and refusing to let them go once she has them. Where hers were once sunken and tired, they've filled now with a light that's almost as frightening as her captors.
"Liberator!" She says again, louder, relief and joy in her voice. Unlike the others she knows the Signs in your eyes, the marks that you'd been born with to herald the woman you would one day become. It's the Sign that this procession of now liberated slaves had come to see, their knees quick to find dirt with thuds that echo around her, voices trailing behind in low whispers.
Some whisper to their Gods, some thank their family, some thank lucky fetishes that they'd managed to hide from the creatures that had taken them. The woman standing before you does not kneel, still staring with something between disbelief and intoxication.
"Thank you," they manage, pulling away with a sniffle that slips into laughter. Someone takes her into their arms, rubbing the places that the cold iron had bound them. Your own hands hadn't moved, still as stone and tender where your hands had met. It isn't cold in these swamps, especially not after what the demons had done to it, but you shiver anyways, struggling to banish the thought of someone to hold you too.
"Are you well?" Philippe the Oathbreaker asked, drawing closer. He'd been there by your side the entire time, but for a man as dressed for war as he was it was always a shock when his voice revealed his presence. It wasn't suitable for a hero to creep around in shadows - he'd been told as much a thousand times before - but they seemed to follow him wherever he went, bending at the seams to track him like predators on the prowl.
Or... no, that wasn't it. They weren't stalking him. He was their master after all, dressed always in dried gore like a butcher and with some horrible looking blade at his side. You'd never seen him so much as regard a mosquito cruelly, but in the eyes of strangers the gentle-spoken man could only ever be a scion of Hell, perhaps even one of its Princes manifesting himself.
He wasn't. The closest they had to that was Yarra, a redeemed succubus who was busying herself with the attention of children curious of the tail that trailed out of her body. She'd spring it off the ground like a serpent coming to life and scatter them shrieking before calling them back by 'killing' it with a strike of her hand, the brave amongst them poking at it until it shook again. She was laughing alongside them, the demon's beautiful voice perfectly delivering a spike straight to your heart, quickening to a gallop.
"You are not," Philippe sighed, regarding you without pity, only a patient sympathy that helped dull the need that you'd been trying to deny the last two hours. You had not managed to drive the slavemasters of this plantation away without suffering one of their blows, one that had left you unharmed in body whilst your soul...
Maybe not your soul. And maybe your body was injured in a sense of the word with the way your body was becoming a firepit beneath your plate.
Still meeting a silence matched by your increasingly focused stare, he tortures you with a smirk on one side of his face, nodding.
"I will keep your tent clear of company."
Bless him.
"Go on. These ones have no need of you now. You've done all you can for them, and you look to be the only one in need."
He laughs at your scowl.
...
Prefer this one way more than the one that preceded it.
All of this really means that a gallant heroine destined for defeating a bunch of BBEG(s) is hit with a Lust spell and, after denying themselves any attention while their wards and natural defenses were worn away, finally has the peace of mind to go and relieve themselves of their need for the night, deciding against working it out alone.
It does not actually have to be a spell that got them going. Maybe they're just a very touch-starved, kissless virgin, or they're just in a very upbeat mood after a good day of helping people and seeing them happy because of her actions just gets her randy. I'm more than enthusiastic for all possibilities.
As for who is the one to help them? I established two characters; Philippe, an older veteran who's spent a lifetime fighting evil using the tools of his enemies to defend the innocent - Yarra, a zainy succubus who YC helped bring to the path of light and is a bit of a lecher regardless of that fact. But it doesn't have to be either of these two as I consider myself pretty good at kitbashing characters to fit my partner's exact needs and interests.
So long as you give me something fun to work with I'd probably be happy to indulge any longheld favorite fantasies. The only real rule is that they have to be on the domme-spectrum and mostly humanoid. My default is that they be supportive, kind, and gentle (even if a bit overexcited like Yarra will be and some other character designs I have), but that isn't a hard line in the sand. I do like the idea of a genuinely altruistic woman on the path to save the world, obsessed with emancipation for all peoples, having a thing for being dominated by a cruel mistress who treats her badly... with her permission.
As for your YC? Ideally they're a bit of a bit of a cornball, but I don't get enjoyment from dictating to my partners what to do. I like being surprised even if I have a Christmas list. Again, there's a single rule that they have to be enthusiastic about the job of saving the world and on the 'Good' side of things. Everything else is just bonus points.
'Everything else' in this case, again, totally optional and without any grudges if they get shot down -
- More muscle and sinew than a bombshell beauty. Maybe even unconventionally attractive.
- Tomboy personality best described as being someone who grab their father's rusty old knife to cut their own hair before running off into the woods to fight demons.
- A confident warrior of justice who'd fisticuffs with a werewolf but has no idea how to kiss. Ideally triply so around women. Competent failgirl lesbians are one of my favorite things.
- Unrealistically colored hair; shock blue straight out of an anime as an example and/or with unnaturally eye colors. I know it's stupid, but I don't care, and think it looks cool in a Dark Fantasy setting.
Kinks evolve massively between characters. Do not ask for 'hyper' related content, extreme, or non-con related. The overton window of this prompt is handholding, good communication skills, and nonpsychopathic dominants being compassionate and listening to their submissive's concerns. Can it be rougher? Absolutely, but we're talking a painful spanking and movement restraint being the end of the line.
Please have a writing sample prepared. Thanks.
Ideally this RP will see our MC struggle and often fail against institutions that she cannot fix, problems far beyond herself, and either coming to terms with what she will be happy to live with or burn herself out.
...
"Liberator."
This was always the hardest part.
You recognized the face from the fields, only then the woman's arms had been made lame with dense-looking metal orbs that tethered her to the earth with a chain born through it one end to the other and running until it met the hands of one slave, then a third, forming the core of the labor gangs that limped their ways across the plantation. Even a week with a spine bent as hers tearing cotton from pods would could shatter a body, but this one doesn't seem broken, reaching across the difference between them to catch your hands, looking for your eyes and refusing to let them go once she has them. Where hers were once sunken and tired, they've filled now with a light that's almost as frightening as her captors.
"Liberator!" She says again, louder, relief and joy in her voice. Unlike the others she knows the Signs in your eyes, the marks that you'd been born with to herald the woman you would one day become. It's the Sign that this procession of now liberated slaves had come to see, their knees quick to find dirt with thuds that echo around her, voices trailing behind in low whispers.
Some whisper to their Gods, some thank their family, some thank lucky fetishes that they'd managed to hide from the creatures that had taken them. The woman standing before you does not kneel, still staring with something between disbelief and intoxication.
"Thank you," they manage, pulling away with a sniffle that slips into laughter. Someone takes her into their arms, rubbing the places that the cold iron had bound them. Your own hands hadn't moved, still as stone and tender where your hands had met. It isn't cold in these swamps, especially not after what the demons had done to it, but you shiver anyways, struggling to banish the thought of someone to hold you too.
"Are you well?" Philippe the Oathbreaker asked, drawing closer. He'd been there by your side the entire time, but for a man as dressed for war as he was it was always a shock when his voice revealed his presence. It wasn't suitable for a hero to creep around in shadows - he'd been told as much a thousand times before - but they seemed to follow him wherever he went, bending at the seams to track him like predators on the prowl.
Or... no, that wasn't it. They weren't stalking him. He was their master after all, dressed always in dried gore like a butcher and with some horrible looking blade at his side. You'd never seen him so much as regard a mosquito cruelly, but in the eyes of strangers the gentle-spoken man could only ever be a scion of Hell, perhaps even one of its Princes manifesting himself.
He wasn't. The closest they had to that was Yarra, a redeemed succubus who was busying herself with the attention of children curious of the tail that trailed out of her body. She'd spring it off the ground like a serpent coming to life and scatter them shrieking before calling them back by 'killing' it with a strike of her hand, the brave amongst them poking at it until it shook again. She was laughing alongside them, the demon's beautiful voice perfectly delivering a spike straight to your heart, quickening to a gallop.
"You are not," Philippe sighed, regarding you without pity, only a patient sympathy that helped dull the need that you'd been trying to deny the last two hours. You had not managed to drive the slavemasters of this plantation away without suffering one of their blows, one that had left you unharmed in body whilst your soul...
Maybe not your soul. And maybe your body was injured in a sense of the word with the way your body was becoming a firepit beneath your plate.
Still meeting a silence matched by your increasingly focused stare, he tortures you with a smirk on one side of his face, nodding.
"I will keep your tent clear of company."
Bless him.
"Go on. These ones have no need of you now. You've done all you can for them, and you look to be the only one in need."
He laughs at your scowl.
...
Prefer this one way more than the one that preceded it.
All of this really means that a gallant heroine destined for defeating a bunch of BBEG(s) is hit with a Lust spell and, after denying themselves any attention while their wards and natural defenses were worn away, finally has the peace of mind to go and relieve themselves of their need for the night, deciding against working it out alone.
It does not actually have to be a spell that got them going. Maybe they're just a very touch-starved, kissless virgin, or they're just in a very upbeat mood after a good day of helping people and seeing them happy because of her actions just gets her randy. I'm more than enthusiastic for all possibilities.
As for who is the one to help them? I established two characters; Philippe, an older veteran who's spent a lifetime fighting evil using the tools of his enemies to defend the innocent - Yarra, a zainy succubus who YC helped bring to the path of light and is a bit of a lecher regardless of that fact. But it doesn't have to be either of these two as I consider myself pretty good at kitbashing characters to fit my partner's exact needs and interests.
So long as you give me something fun to work with I'd probably be happy to indulge any longheld favorite fantasies. The only real rule is that they have to be on the domme-spectrum and mostly humanoid. My default is that they be supportive, kind, and gentle (even if a bit overexcited like Yarra will be and some other character designs I have), but that isn't a hard line in the sand. I do like the idea of a genuinely altruistic woman on the path to save the world, obsessed with emancipation for all peoples, having a thing for being dominated by a cruel mistress who treats her badly... with her permission.
As for your YC? Ideally they're a bit of a bit of a cornball, but I don't get enjoyment from dictating to my partners what to do. I like being surprised even if I have a Christmas list. Again, there's a single rule that they have to be enthusiastic about the job of saving the world and on the 'Good' side of things. Everything else is just bonus points.
'Everything else' in this case, again, totally optional and without any grudges if they get shot down -
- More muscle and sinew than a bombshell beauty. Maybe even unconventionally attractive.
- Tomboy personality best described as being someone who grab their father's rusty old knife to cut their own hair before running off into the woods to fight demons.
- A confident warrior of justice who'd fisticuffs with a werewolf but has no idea how to kiss. Ideally triply so around women. Competent failgirl lesbians are one of my favorite things.
- Unrealistically colored hair; shock blue straight out of an anime as an example and/or with unnaturally eye colors. I know it's stupid, but I don't care, and think it looks cool in a Dark Fantasy setting.
Kinks evolve massively between characters. Do not ask for 'hyper' related content, extreme, or non-con related. The overton window of this prompt is handholding, good communication skills, and nonpsychopathic dominants being compassionate and listening to their submissive's concerns. Can it be rougher? Absolutely, but we're talking a painful spanking and movement restraint being the end of the line.
Please have a writing sample prepared. Thanks.
Ideally this RP will see our MC struggle and often fail against institutions that she cannot fix, problems far beyond herself, and either coming to terms with what she will be happy to live with or burn herself out.
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