Quibono
Serf
- Local time
- Today 11:41 AM
- Messages
- 2
- Age
- 25
Salve, and welcome to my request thread!
About Me/What I expect
My name is Quibono, as you can no doubt already see. I've been roleplaying for about a decade now, and would consider myself to be literate/advanced in terms of quality. My schedule is a bit eclectic, so if we are writing, be prepared for me to have a few days of writing multiple posts, followed by a few where the production drops. I'm perfectly fine with any other types of schedules, so as long as you are fine with mine, we'll be good. I value communication greatly - writing roleplays requires two to tango, and it's never fun to be the only person coming up with ideas. Please, if you have them (even plots not on here, if you think we're compatible writers), let me know about them! Finally, I tend to be a dom when there are D/S dynamics in the story. I am exclusively so for MxM plots, but can be convinced to be a switch or sub for some MxF. If the plot is MxM, I only like to play against more feminine guys. You don't have to be a femboy, but I'm not into manly dudes.
Kinks
- BDSM
- Master/Slave or Dom/Sub Generally
- Humiliation
- Mindbreak/Corruption/Stockholm syndrome
- Non-Con
- Spitting
- Adultery
- Age Difference
- Etc. I think you get the idea
- Vanilla, kissing, hand holding on the beach
Settings
Earnestly, anything works. My favorites are cyberpunk, historical, or fantasy, but I bear no ill will towards anything else. Fandoms are also fine if I know them. Mass Effect, Star Wars, Dragon Age, Elder Scrolls are all good ones, but if you have another you think would work well, just tell me and we can discuss it!
Plots
Finally!
If you like any of the ideas but want to change something, or have a different idea, still reach out!
Please note these are short summaries and not indicative of how I write in actual roleplays.
Finally!
If you like any of the ideas but want to change something, or have a different idea, still reach out!
Please note these are short summaries and not indicative of how I write in actual roleplays.
Life, for you, is good. Business for a hostshot merc netrunner is booming, and luckily, you're one of the best console jockeys on this side of the rockies. At least in your own, chromed up mind - and more importantly in the mind of your new employer, who has hired to you to break through the ICE of one of the smaller local corps, find some files, and hand them over. Easy. Routine. Almost boring if it wasn't for the ridiculous amount of money you're about to be swimming in once you pull it off. A small, nagging part of your brain, one of the last pieces still unviolated by the internally housed cyberdeck, tells you there must be a catch; no one pays this amount of money for a job like this. You ignore it. Get your coolant-bath ready, and hop in. A quick jab and an IV is set in your wrist. Two weeks worth of nutrition and hydration, in case something goes wrong. You don't think you'll need it. Finally, you jack in, and feel the exhilaration that comes to every addicted netrunner when they feel their real self, the cyberself, take over.
The job goes wrong. You break through layers of ICE and think everything is fine until you notice a terrifying darkness following you through the corp's intranet. It catches you. You feel yourself flatline. Everything goes dark for a moment. Then, blinding light. It fades, revealing the sight of a bedroom. Your own, in fact. Except there's a handsome man, wearing a tight and sleek black netrunning suit. He sports an even tighter, predatory smile. With sight, you also regain feeling. That of your heart, beating once more - and ropes, binding your hands behind your back. The man is a a corpo netrunner, a cybersecurity specialist. He drops that the small corp you thought you were hitting was just a front for a much larger one. One able to afford the premier runners of the world. To afford him. He states, with that same damned smile, that he decided he liked your gutsiness; that he was interested. He saved you from the black ICE (his own) that was about to kill you for good, before bringing you here. Of course, here is a mental construct, a machine induced dream that feels far too real as you sit there. And even more when he walks over, and drags a bare finger up your neck, and to your lips. You struggle, but it's clear. This is his world, and your hell. You have two weeks before your IV runs out, to try and escape before you die of dehydration in your apartment, still jacked in. Two weeks to make sure he doesn't probe your brain and find out where your apartment really is, and turn this digital hell into an even more physical one. Two weeks to endure whatever the twisted mind of a man who fries the brains of script kiddies for work decides to do to you.
The job goes wrong. You break through layers of ICE and think everything is fine until you notice a terrifying darkness following you through the corp's intranet. It catches you. You feel yourself flatline. Everything goes dark for a moment. Then, blinding light. It fades, revealing the sight of a bedroom. Your own, in fact. Except there's a handsome man, wearing a tight and sleek black netrunning suit. He sports an even tighter, predatory smile. With sight, you also regain feeling. That of your heart, beating once more - and ropes, binding your hands behind your back. The man is a a corpo netrunner, a cybersecurity specialist. He drops that the small corp you thought you were hitting was just a front for a much larger one. One able to afford the premier runners of the world. To afford him. He states, with that same damned smile, that he decided he liked your gutsiness; that he was interested. He saved you from the black ICE (his own) that was about to kill you for good, before bringing you here. Of course, here is a mental construct, a machine induced dream that feels far too real as you sit there. And even more when he walks over, and drags a bare finger up your neck, and to your lips. You struggle, but it's clear. This is his world, and your hell. You have two weeks before your IV runs out, to try and escape before you die of dehydration in your apartment, still jacked in. Two weeks to make sure he doesn't probe your brain and find out where your apartment really is, and turn this digital hell into an even more physical one. Two weeks to endure whatever the twisted mind of a man who fries the brains of script kiddies for work decides to do to you.
Life, for you, is far too exciting for your tastes. All you've ever known is mercenary work, and not the easy kind either. Heists, corporate smash jobs, inter-gang assassination, hostage recuse - this is the life of a hired gun. You want out. Coming home to your far too meager apartment, eating your far too meager food, you decide to wind down after a particularly nasty run. You'll have to find new partners. Your last couple took slugs to the gut courtesy of the 7th Street gang. It meant a bigger portion of money for you, and you weren't friends, but it's a bother all the same. You decide to jack into your console, maybe find a good VR to watch. As soon as the jack makes contact, you feel your heart stop a moment, your optics go black. You come to in an obviously cyberspace version of your apartment. You are not alone. A man, wearing a sleek netrunner suit and an apologetic smile is seated on your couch. He apologizes for killing you temporarily, before explaining that he's a corporate netrunner, permanently jacked in and existing more or less in cyberspace alone. He wants out. He offers you information, and the chance to grab some expensive tech, if you'll only bust him out of his deadend job. You, seeing a way out for both of you, accept.
It's odd, having someone exist in your head, and doubly so when the two of you get raunchy with each other. But it isn't bad. And as you prepare for this job, you find an easy friendship, and more, forming.
It's odd, having someone exist in your head, and doubly so when the two of you get raunchy with each other. But it isn't bad. And as you prepare for this job, you find an easy friendship, and more, forming.
You are the Queen of a longstanding nation, one that once commanded almost the entirety of its continent. In latter years, it has grown militarily weaker, but is still respected for its fine craftsmanship and rich culture. (think similar to Rome, or if you'd like it could even be Rome) This comes to an end suddenly, and violently. A group of Barbarians, led by a war chief, break through your nation's small military and storm into the country. Within days, they've breached the walls of the capital, and it quickly falls. You and your husband are captured, and brought before the war chief, sitting on what was once your throne. It is then that you are claimed. Not just by words, but by him. Sobbing, you are forcibly taken on your old throne, your husband powerlessly watching. You retain your position, on paper. Queen of the nation still - but now husband to the warchief, your violator, master, and owner. He hurts you. He humiliates you. He rapes you. He loves you. That is the most confusing part, and maybe the worst. He seems to change on a dime - one second forcing you to dance seductively in the great hall before publicly fucking you, to walking you through the castle garden with nothing but a gentle hand on your waist.
Will you try to escape? Reclaim your kingdom? Free your old husband and rightful king? Or will you begin to realize that maybe these Barbarians are not so bad, that they have a manly vitality about them that your husband of old never did...
Will you try to escape? Reclaim your kingdom? Free your old husband and rightful king? Or will you begin to realize that maybe these Barbarians are not so bad, that they have a manly vitality about them that your husband of old never did...
You are a college professor, with a sterile family life, a boring job, and a deeply buried desire for something exciting. That something comes at an unlikely time, and unlikely place, from an unlikely person. Like it's straight out of some perverted fantasy, a talk originally meant to be admonishing one of the more Jock types in one of your classes for not taking it seriously ends with you bent over your desk, his hand gripped tight in your hair, bite marks you'll have to hide along your neck, and an utterly, blissfully, destroyed pussy. At first, you think it is a one time thing, to your hidden disappointment and burning shame. He doesn't bring it up again, but you notice that he pays more attention in class. When time for the next test comes around, you are pleased to find that he's not only passed, but with flying colors. You are even more pleased, and guilty, to find that he's written something on the last page of his test. A phone number, an address, a time, and a command. "Dress Appropriately." You hope by the end of that meeting you will not be dressed at all. You are mostly correct.
You decide to break up with your boyfriend, and the nice person you are, you do it in person. You neglect a few things though. First, you are breaking up because he's an insanely controlling asshole. Second, he is really strong. To say the least, the breakup does not go well.
That night, you find yourself naked besides a shock collar around your neck, laying in a too small dog cage. A TV, large enough to be the entire side of your cage, is playing video from earlier in the day. Speakers, surrounding your cage, make sure the sound is inescapable. You hear, and when you open your eyes, see, yourself being beaten and raped throughout the day. The crack of whips reverberate through the bars of the kennel, and even while looking away at the wall, you can see the phantom images cast by the TV of his dick ravaging your ass as you wail. Come morning, you beg for mercy. You receive none.
That night, you find yourself naked besides a shock collar around your neck, laying in a too small dog cage. A TV, large enough to be the entire side of your cage, is playing video from earlier in the day. Speakers, surrounding your cage, make sure the sound is inescapable. You hear, and when you open your eyes, see, yourself being beaten and raped throughout the day. The crack of whips reverberate through the bars of the kennel, and even while looking away at the wall, you can see the phantom images cast by the TV of his dick ravaging your ass as you wail. Come morning, you beg for mercy. You receive none.
You are in college, and have a hidden like for crossdressing. Whenever your roommate is gone, you indulge in it, especially when he's gone for multiple days. On one such occasion, when he's supposed to be gone for a weekend, you are cooking in the kitchen of your shared apartment, when he suddenly barges in the front door. You jump, frightened by the unexpected noise and begin to protest, before you both end up staring at each other in awkward silence. You are in a skirt, and frankly, look like a bit of a slut. Fast forward a couple minutes, and you are pressed onto the ground, your roommate's cock slamming into your prostate as hard as he can, whether you like it or not.
Turns out he got dumped, and has some pent up feelings about it. You're not sure whether you're incredibly lucky, or cursed.
Turns out he got dumped, and has some pent up feelings about it. You're not sure whether you're incredibly lucky, or cursed.
Thanks for reading! I'll add more later, so check back in again. If you liked what you saw, but don't want to do any of these plots, please feel free to still send a message! I'd love to discuss setting up a story with you regardless!