Fakestkake
Serf
Lately, I've been in a particular mood, where I feel drawn towards stories, and dreams, and stories about dreams.
I mean dreams that feel meaningful without having meaning, and longing without an object. Or confusing and
bewildering.
Also, I want a story that knows that it is a story. A red thread and a strong theme that keeps coming up. Dramatic
irony, starstruck lovers, and a heavy sense of destiny.
I have decided that instead of try to explain what I want, I will include some samples. These are fairly mild in terms
of graphic language, (though I have no problem with explicit words) but there are sexual themes and tension. I
prefer that the language is appropriate to the scene.
Samples
The boring, useful stuff
Who are you, how long have you been writing and what kind of things do you like to write?
I am a man from Norway. I have been writing as a hobby on and off for 20 years.
This is not the same as having 20 years of writing experience.
I like to write fantasy, horror, and erotica based around D/s dynamics.
How long do your replies tend to be and what is your writing schedule like?
I write almost every day, when I get into it, but not during work hours, and not while I sleep.
I may not live up to that. It depends how tired I get.
The length of the replies will also vary, but I think 2-5 paragraphs is suitable for a daily cadence.
What is your tolerance level for gore? Violence?
High. Again I prefer the story actually demands it. It doesn't do anything for me on it's own, so to
keep it brief let's just avoid it.
Do you write sexual content? If so, what are your kinks? Limits?
Yes.
My kinks are various things related to Dominance and Sadism. Female orgasm denial and teasing is
something I enjoy alot. Just like violence, I find that BDSM also becomes meaningless without the
emotional connection. A lot of my sexuality tends to be based around the woman and her thoughts
and feelings, and much less about my own character doing things. That's not a fit for everyone.
Do you write any fandoms? (Please bear in mind that any characters under 18 and any high school settings must be aged up)
I do not tend to do this, but I am not opposed to it. The pitch has to be good on its own merits,
however.
Do you have any pairing or setting ideas?
See above.
Do you have any detailed plots prepared?
See above.
Do you have any characters you want to write? (Our character forum is here if you want a dedicated thread)
No.
Any additional notes you want to add?
Not at this time
I mean dreams that feel meaningful without having meaning, and longing without an object. Or confusing and
bewildering.
Also, I want a story that knows that it is a story. A red thread and a strong theme that keeps coming up. Dramatic
irony, starstruck lovers, and a heavy sense of destiny.
I have decided that instead of try to explain what I want, I will include some samples. These are fairly mild in terms
of graphic language, (though I have no problem with explicit words) but there are sexual themes and tension. I
prefer that the language is appropriate to the scene.
Samples
There is a city in my dreams, that keeps appearing. In this city I have an apartment on the second floor of an old
building. The bedroom has a balcony facing a back street, and on the opposite side of this barely driveable road,
there is a hillside. Because the city is built around this hill, it reminds me of Athens, but I don't know what is up
there. I just know there are no houses.
The lighting and water of my apartment is modern, but all my furniture is old, teak and inherited. There are
some plants that I somehow keep alive, and a lot of comfortable seating. I often have guests over, but I don't
know any of them. They are usually the friends of someone I do know, who tagged along, but the ones I know
are nowhere to be seen. Sometimes, among these friends of friends, is you.
I don't know who you are, but you keep appearing in my dreams. You wear simple dresses that seem to be
made of a single piece of fabric. Sometimes slightly sheer, often shaped vaguely like a toga. Your hair is long,
but changes about as often as your clothing does. Often, you have a thigh split, and a tattoo showing just
enough to establish a pattern. It reminds me that your skin continues, underneath the garment.
I wonder if such a tattoo should be traced, rather than felt. But then, it seems we never get that far. You need
to get home, but actually you live just up the hill, so maybe we'll run into each other.
Your exact appearance changes, even though I always recognize you. Presumably you are altered by impressions
gathered by my waking mind. Often, my recognition is aided by the fact that you wear a wreath. Totally
unironically, amongst otherwise normal people, you sometimes wear a circlet of golden leaves. Stephanos.
When I ask you about it, you seem to recognize that I've asked you before. You comment on it, just enough to
make me aware of how unsmooth my people skills are, but then you let it go, and take it off, to show me. The
exact leaves that are represented in golden form changes. It seems they hold some sort of meaning, or hold a
statement about who you are in that moment, which changes, just like everything else.
Sometimes you have Oak leaves. There's something regal about them, and thus about you. However, when you
wear oak, you are standoffish, and I can't really get close to you, emotionally. You are already taken. Probably
shouldn't be here at all.
When you wear grapevine, you are drunk. There's probably alcohol involved, but mostly you are drunk on the idea
of letting go. You just want to live, and be happy, and sing, sometimes. I have to grab you so you don't fall off the
balcony, and you say you picked the grape on the other side of the road, but the bushes there are cypress, and
they are not made of gold.
Is cypress even a leaf? It's not quite a needle at least. I don't know why it grows on the hillside behind the house
in my dreams, and you never wear it.
The olive wreath makes you proud and strong. Too popular and busy for me, perhaps, although you seem reluctant
to let me go. You make the advances. It often goes to the bedroom. Maybe a kiss, even, but then you have to go.
It's early, but you have an important event tomorrow. I don't know what it is, but I think you're going to nail it.
Most often you wear Laurel. Perhaps this is the true you, if there is such a thing. You're happy to explain things to me
then, and often do so, with a sense of drama. You even do the voices, or step up on the table. It feels like you should
capture the room, but for some reason, I'm the only one who sees. You tell me things that are true. -Sometimes of
the future. You remind me of my teacher, and make me feel warm.
I like when you wear myrtle, but I won't go into why. I'm sure you know.
As for why you wear a stephanos at all?
building. The bedroom has a balcony facing a back street, and on the opposite side of this barely driveable road,
there is a hillside. Because the city is built around this hill, it reminds me of Athens, but I don't know what is up
there. I just know there are no houses.
The lighting and water of my apartment is modern, but all my furniture is old, teak and inherited. There are
some plants that I somehow keep alive, and a lot of comfortable seating. I often have guests over, but I don't
know any of them. They are usually the friends of someone I do know, who tagged along, but the ones I know
are nowhere to be seen. Sometimes, among these friends of friends, is you.
I don't know who you are, but you keep appearing in my dreams. You wear simple dresses that seem to be
made of a single piece of fabric. Sometimes slightly sheer, often shaped vaguely like a toga. Your hair is long,
but changes about as often as your clothing does. Often, you have a thigh split, and a tattoo showing just
enough to establish a pattern. It reminds me that your skin continues, underneath the garment.
I wonder if such a tattoo should be traced, rather than felt. But then, it seems we never get that far. You need
to get home, but actually you live just up the hill, so maybe we'll run into each other.
Your exact appearance changes, even though I always recognize you. Presumably you are altered by impressions
gathered by my waking mind. Often, my recognition is aided by the fact that you wear a wreath. Totally
unironically, amongst otherwise normal people, you sometimes wear a circlet of golden leaves. Stephanos.
When I ask you about it, you seem to recognize that I've asked you before. You comment on it, just enough to
make me aware of how unsmooth my people skills are, but then you let it go, and take it off, to show me. The
exact leaves that are represented in golden form changes. It seems they hold some sort of meaning, or hold a
statement about who you are in that moment, which changes, just like everything else.
Sometimes you have Oak leaves. There's something regal about them, and thus about you. However, when you
wear oak, you are standoffish, and I can't really get close to you, emotionally. You are already taken. Probably
shouldn't be here at all.
When you wear grapevine, you are drunk. There's probably alcohol involved, but mostly you are drunk on the idea
of letting go. You just want to live, and be happy, and sing, sometimes. I have to grab you so you don't fall off the
balcony, and you say you picked the grape on the other side of the road, but the bushes there are cypress, and
they are not made of gold.
Is cypress even a leaf? It's not quite a needle at least. I don't know why it grows on the hillside behind the house
in my dreams, and you never wear it.
The olive wreath makes you proud and strong. Too popular and busy for me, perhaps, although you seem reluctant
to let me go. You make the advances. It often goes to the bedroom. Maybe a kiss, even, but then you have to go.
It's early, but you have an important event tomorrow. I don't know what it is, but I think you're going to nail it.
Most often you wear Laurel. Perhaps this is the true you, if there is such a thing. You're happy to explain things to me
then, and often do so, with a sense of drama. You even do the voices, or step up on the table. It feels like you should
capture the room, but for some reason, I'm the only one who sees. You tell me things that are true. -Sometimes of
the future. You remind me of my teacher, and make me feel warm.
I like when you wear myrtle, but I won't go into why. I'm sure you know.
As for why you wear a stephanos at all?
Rose woke well rested, but disoriented. A glance at the clock revealed that she was late for roll call.
She had had too much of that tea last night, no doubt. Mr Greenstone's aphrodisiac tea. He didn't seem like a sexual
person, but he said his reason for drinking it himself was to feel "invigorated" and "more grateful" for his position as
the Lord of a Manor, surrounded by an all female staff of maids. He was often very willing to share.
There was no time to properly lace her corset, but then it seemed she hadn't properly unlaced it the night before. She
had to take her time with the stockings. They were her only pair, so she couldn't replace them if they tore. The blouse,
apron and skirt would have to go on in whatever condition they were in. She had a bad feeling about Inspection today,
but there was no time.
The rest of the staff was already lined up when she hurried in, and took the place next to the head maid, who did not
even turn to look at her.
"Maid Rose, just about at the last second I see?" The older Mr Greenstone was just finished inspecting the uniform of
the last maid at the other side of the line.
"Sorry Sir, I.." Rose could barely hear her own words over the sound of her own heartbeat. "I slept more than I intended."
"Well, you are on time, so I won't hold it against you. Let me see you..."
He moved a strand of hairs away from her forehead, and looked at her face carefully.
"You are as pretty as ever Rose, though you should make a habit of washing your face."
"Yes, Sir." The inspection was going better than she feared. She cast her eyes down to the floor when he straightened the
embroidery of her apron.
"Raise your skirt." She could not get an exact read on the tone of his voice, but he did not seem to be angry.
"Yes." Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her skirt near her thighs, and pulled it up high. She did not want to make the
mistake of not raising it high enough again.
Her eyes darted to him, and then out the window. She would never get used to exposing herself like this, despite the
way it made her feel. She hoped that he would see. That he would understand, that she could be his, even more so
than she already was.
"You are still going without underwear I see? It suits you."
Was there a tiny hint of aroused growling in his voice?
"Thank you, Sir."
"And I believe you are right that the smooth shave is a better overall look once you choose to forego underthings."
When he repeated her own words from the day before, they sounded like lies. Had he seen straight through her?
Wasn't that what she wanted anyway?
Then, without warning, he reached out a hand towards her sex, and slowly traced along her bare slit. She could feel
herself become wetter, and she had probably been glistening to begin with.
"You are rather wet, however.."
He held up a finger with a sticky, clear fluid on it. Her cheeks burned.
"That's.. I'm sorry, Sir. I.."
"-No no," he interrupted, "it's just a sign of your youthfulness and health."
She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Her mind flashed to the evening before, when he had placed a
finger on her mouth. These were the only two times he had touched her.
"Thank you, Sir."
He stepped back, and cleared his throat.
"All right, Inspection complete. You may all commence your duties. Rose: I would like to drink tea in my study."
There was a rustle of fabric as all the maids in their frilly skirts sprung into action. Mr Greenstone turned his back and
walked slowly towards the stairs.
"You may lower your skirt, Rose."
Rose let go of her skirt, and found that her legs could in fact still walk, and she made her way to the kitchen. She was
beginning to wonder how long she could bear being so close to a man like Mr Greenstone, without ever gaining more
than his strange, grandfatherly affections. She would make the tea strong, she decided. She would entice him. Seduce
him. Let him take her. The aphrodisiac tea would no doubt render him unable to control himself. The strong, spicy scent
or the tea was very pleasant, and the water gained a golden, almost orange color. For a moment, she wanted to taste a
sip, although there was no need to do so in secret. Mr Greenstone often invited her to drink from the same pot as him.
She put two cups on the tray, next to the teapot, and told herself it was because the symmetry was more pleasing to the
eye.
"Rose!" Mr Greenstone murmured, and glanced up from his book, when she entered the study.
"I'm sorry about the wait, Sir. The water had not yet been boiled." She walked slowly, determined to avoid any clatter.
"Please, sit with me by the window."
He put a bookmark in his book, and aligned it carefully with the spine, before he closed it and put it down neatly.
"In fact, Rose, I'm not sure I'm in the mood for tea today. I think I'd rather just chat, and watch you drink it."
"Certainly... Sir."
She was flustered, and suddenly didn't know what to do with herself. In the end, she sat down at the very edge of the
free chair. She arranged her skirt so that her bare thigh was clearly visible, and glanced up at him, only to find that he
was watching everything she was doing. He made no comment on her blatant seduction, however.
"Well.. go on!" he smiled, and gestured towards her cup. It clattered when she picked it up, and she cursed under her
breath, before she took a small sip. The warm fluid flowed over her lips, took a long lap around her body, and settled
in her loins. She was suddenly aware of her nipples light touch against her blouse. There was more clattering when she
put the cup back down, but it didn't bother her as much this time. She had Mr Greenstone's full attention, and
probably his desire. And she was sexy.
"Tell me about yourself, Rose."
Mr Greenstone conversed in a relaxed manner, and sat back in his chair.
"Well, I've.. never been with a man."
She began, trying to steer the topic, even though she felt deathly afraid of it.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll have no problem attaining a man, once you find one you like, Rose." He smiled.
"That is.. kind of you to say, Sir."
She breathed. She wasn't sure if it was the disappointment or the arousal that broke her voice.
"Do drink up!" He gestured to her cup again. "Have there been any who caught your interest?"
She took her cup, with no clatter this time, and then she emptied it, with big, unladylike gulps. There
was a fire in her belly, roaring out to her limbs, and surging downwards. It was dizzying, and she felt
sticky between her thighs, which she was now slowly spreading apart.
"Er... come again?" She asked, confused. Her eyes were out of focus.
"I asked if any man ever caught your interest, Rose."
Mr Greenstone spoke in a friendly tone, and took the teacup from her feeble hand, in order to refill it.
"Ye.. yees. One." It was him, of course. Didn't he know that? "Is there anything.. I can do for you Sir?" She
slurred, in nonsensical continuation.
"Don't worry about me, Rose. Just drink up, and enjoy yourself. I need to go to a meeting, but why don't
you rest here for a while, and enjoy your tea?"
"yEs. THanK yoU, SIr" Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away. He was leaving. She didn't want
him to leave. Her aching sex didn't want him to leave, but she could do nothing about it. She wasn't even
sure she could stand up right now. Before she thought of something more to say, he had already left.
She had no idea how much time passed, but at some point the second cup was empty, and she slowly made
her way back to her chambers. She let her clothes fall where they wanted, and herself fall into bed.
Rose woke well rested, but disoriented. A glance at the clock revealed that she was late for roll call.
She had had too much of that tea last night, no doubt. Mr Greenstone's aphrodisiac tea. He didn't seem like a sexual
person, but he said his reason for drinking it himself was to feel "invigorated" and "more grateful" for his position as
the Lord of a Manor, surrounded by an all female staff of maids. He was often very willing to share.
There was no time to properly lace her corset, but then it seemed she hadn't properly unlaced it the night before. She
had to take her time with the stockings. They were her only pair, so she couldn't replace them if they tore. The blouse,
apron and skirt would have to go on in whatever condition they were in. She had a bad feeling about Inspection today,
but there was no time.
The rest of the staff was already lined up when she hurried in, and took the place next to the head maid, who did not
even turn to look at her.
"Maid Rose, just about at the last second I see?" The older Mr Greenstone was just finished inspecting the uniform of
the last maid at the other side of the line.
"Sorry Sir, I.." Rose could barely hear her own words over the sound of her own heartbeat. "I slept more than I intended."
"Well, you are on time, so I won't hold it against you. Let me see you..."
He moved a strand of hairs away from her forehead, and looked at her face carefully.
"You are as pretty as ever Rose, though you should make a habit of washing your face."
"Yes, Sir." The inspection was going better than she feared. She cast her eyes down to the floor when he straightened the
embroidery of her apron.
"Raise your skirt." She could not get an exact read on the tone of his voice, but he did not seem to be angry.
"Yes." Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her skirt near her thighs, and pulled it up high. She did not want to make the
mistake of not raising it high enough again.
Her eyes darted to him, and then out the window. She would never get used to exposing herself like this, despite the
way it made her feel. She hoped that he would see. That he would understand, that she could be his, even more so
than she already was.
"You are still going without underwear I see? It suits you."
Was there a tiny hint of aroused growling in his voice?
"Thank you, Sir."
"And I believe you are right that the smooth shave is a better overall look once you choose to forego underthings."
When he repeated her own words from the day before, they sounded like lies. Had he seen straight through her?
Wasn't that what she wanted anyway?
Then, without warning, he reached out a hand towards her sex, and slowly traced along her bare slit. She could feel
herself become wetter, and she had probably been glistening to begin with.
"You are rather wet, however.."
He held up a finger with a sticky, clear fluid on it. Her cheeks burned.
"That's.. I'm sorry, Sir. I.."
"-No no," he interrupted, "it's just a sign of your youthfulness and health."
She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Her mind flashed to the evening before, when he had placed a
finger on her mouth. These were the only two times he had touched her.
"Thank you, Sir."
He stepped back, and cleared his throat.
"All right, Inspection complete. You may all commence your duties. Rose: I would like to drink tea in my study."
There was a rustle of fabric as all the maids in their frilly skirts sprung into action. Mr Greenstone turned his back and
walked slowly towards the stairs.
"You may lower your skirt, Rose."
Rose let go of her skirt, and found that her legs could in fact still walk, and she made her way to the kitchen. She was
beginning to wonder how long she could bear being so close to a man like Mr Greenstone, without ever gaining more
than his strange, grandfatherly affections. She would make the tea strong, she decided. She would entice him. Seduce
him. Let him take her. The aphrodisiac tea would no doubt render him unable to control himself. The strong, spicy scent
or the tea was very pleasant, and the water gained a golden, almost orange color. For a moment, she wanted to taste a
sip, although there was no need to do so in secret. Mr Greenstone often invited her to drink from the same pot as him.
She put two cups on the tray, next to the teapot, and told herself it was because the symmetry was more pleasing to the
eye.
"Rose!" Mr Greenstone murmured, and glanced up from his book, when she entered the study.
"I'm sorry about the wait, Sir. The water had not yet been boiled." She walked slowly, determined to avoid any clatter.
"Please, sit with me by the window."
He put a bookmark in his book, and aligned it carefully with the spine, before he closed it and put it down neatly.
"In fact, Rose, I'm not sure I'm in the mood for tea today. I think I'd rather just chat, and watch you drink it."
"Certainly... Sir."
She was flustered, and suddenly didn't know what to do with herself. In the end, she sat down at the very edge of the
free chair. She arranged her skirt so that her bare thigh was clearly visible, and glanced up at him, only to find that he
was watching everything she was doing. He made no comment on her blatant seduction, however.
"Well.. go on!" he smiled, and gestured towards her cup. It clattered when she picked it up, and she cursed under her
breath, before she took a small sip. The warm fluid flowed over her lips, took a long lap around her body, and settled
in her loins. She was suddenly aware of her nipples light touch against her blouse. There was more clattering when she
put the cup back down, but it didn't bother her as much this time. She had Mr Greenstone's full attention, and
probably his desire. And she was sexy.
"Tell me about yourself, Rose."
Mr Greenstone conversed in a relaxed manner, and sat back in his chair.
"Well, I've.. never been with a man."
She began, trying to steer the topic, even though she felt deathly afraid of it.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll have no problem attaining a man, once you find one you like, Rose." He smiled.
"That is.. kind of you to say, Sir."
She breathed. She wasn't sure if it was the disappointment or the arousal that broke her voice.
"Do drink up!" He gestured to her cup again. "Have there been any who caught your interest?"
She took her cup, with no clatter this time, and then she emptied it, with big, unladylike gulps. There
was a fire in her belly, roaring out to her limbs, and surging downwards. It was dizzying, and she felt
sticky between her thighs, which she was now slowly spreading apart.
"Er... come again?" She asked, confused. Her eyes were out of focus.
"I asked if any man ever caught your interest, Rose."
Mr Greenstone spoke in a friendly tone, and took the teacup from her feeble hand, in order to refill it.
"Ye.. yees. One." It was him, of course. Didn't he know that? "Is there anything.. I can do for you Sir?" She
slurred, in nonsensical continuation.
"Don't worry about me, Rose. Just drink up, and enjoy yourself. I need to go to a meeting, but why don't
you rest here for a while, and enjoy your tea?"
"yEs. THanK yoU, SIr" Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away. He was leaving. She didn't want
him to leave. Her aching sex didn't want him to leave, but she could do nothing about it. She wasn't even
sure she could stand up right now. Before she thought of something more to say, he had already left.
She had no idea how much time passed, but at some point the second cup was empty, and she slowly made
her way back to her chambers. She let her clothes fall where they wanted, and herself fall into bed.
Rose woke well rested, but disoriented. A glance at the clock revealed that she was late for roll call.
Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away, there was a king who had a single daughter. The daughter was to
be married away for power or political alliance, and her chastity was the most valuable thing in the entire kingdom.
That is why the king had devised a magical chastity belt, which was unbreakable by most known means, and
would only be opened with the key, which the king himself wore in a chain around his neck.
The belt would magically take care of any bathroom problems, and there is no need to go further into that.
The chastity of the princess was of course not only a question of stopping any undesirable entry. It would also
not allow any kind of self-gratification whatsoever. Nothing, from the lightest touch, to gunpowder could afford
the princess any kind of stimulation underneath the belt. This was no accident, for the king knew very well that
she would want to do so.
It would be worth the wait he explained, when she was finally married. And thus, this was the princess' sole goal
in life.
Then it was, as these things tend to go, that the kingdom was invaded by forces of darkness. The king slain, the
princess forced to flee, and the fate of the kings key unknown. In one sweep the princess had lost everything except
her chastity, and that no longer held any value, as there was little to be gained to anyone who would marry her.
The princess, now a full adult, with normal sexual urges (or possibly slightly higher than normal, it's not like I could
tell you exactly how much is normal) was still trapped in chastity. Many long nights she spent writhing in her sheets.
Savoring every touch on her skin, softly sighing and moaning while she touched... everywhere. -Except where it would
give her any kind of release, that is. Thighs, breasts, lower belly, pushing herself deeper into frustration was becoming
an art. Fantasizing about the things she could not have.
Some nights she caught a trembling. Shivering with lust and yearning. Most nights she merely accepted, and found a
kind of pleasure in her trapped existence. A safety, and a sense that she actually preferred it this way. The pleasure of
always wanting and never having was perhaps better than a release could be? She had after all never had an actual
orgasm, and who's to say she was wrong? Our sexuality tend to be shaped by our lives, after all.
But then one day, a stranger walked into town. This man had his face shrouded in his hood, and around his neck he
wore a chain with a key...
be married away for power or political alliance, and her chastity was the most valuable thing in the entire kingdom.
That is why the king had devised a magical chastity belt, which was unbreakable by most known means, and
would only be opened with the key, which the king himself wore in a chain around his neck.
The belt would magically take care of any bathroom problems, and there is no need to go further into that.
The chastity of the princess was of course not only a question of stopping any undesirable entry. It would also
not allow any kind of self-gratification whatsoever. Nothing, from the lightest touch, to gunpowder could afford
the princess any kind of stimulation underneath the belt. This was no accident, for the king knew very well that
she would want to do so.
It would be worth the wait he explained, when she was finally married. And thus, this was the princess' sole goal
in life.
Then it was, as these things tend to go, that the kingdom was invaded by forces of darkness. The king slain, the
princess forced to flee, and the fate of the kings key unknown. In one sweep the princess had lost everything except
her chastity, and that no longer held any value, as there was little to be gained to anyone who would marry her.
The princess, now a full adult, with normal sexual urges (or possibly slightly higher than normal, it's not like I could
tell you exactly how much is normal) was still trapped in chastity. Many long nights she spent writhing in her sheets.
Savoring every touch on her skin, softly sighing and moaning while she touched... everywhere. -Except where it would
give her any kind of release, that is. Thighs, breasts, lower belly, pushing herself deeper into frustration was becoming
an art. Fantasizing about the things she could not have.
Some nights she caught a trembling. Shivering with lust and yearning. Most nights she merely accepted, and found a
kind of pleasure in her trapped existence. A safety, and a sense that she actually preferred it this way. The pleasure of
always wanting and never having was perhaps better than a release could be? She had after all never had an actual
orgasm, and who's to say she was wrong? Our sexuality tend to be shaped by our lives, after all.
But then one day, a stranger walked into town. This man had his face shrouded in his hood, and around his neck he
wore a chain with a key...
Hidden away, in a deep, green valley, below jagged, snow-capped peaks, is the treasury of the Emperor. At least a days
journey from the closest city, with no obvious road. It is guarded by lifetime guards, sworn -directly to the Emperor
himself- to guard his treasures, and to never partake in them.
The Gilded City, as it is also known, is on an island in a shallow, clear river. The banks of which are steep and forested
with pine trees which are similar, but not quite the same as any you may have seen before.
Outside of the guards, and the Emperor himself, on frequent visits, the Treasury is home to 7 people. Women. Who are
the Emperors most treasured possessions.
The first is black of skin, and hair, with violet eyes. It is said she can see in the dark, but then much is said which doesn't
seem likely. Her silk robes are black, with gold inlays. Her hair is braided carefully, every morning, after she bathes naked
in the cold river, and she spends her days reading, and practicing archery. She submits to nobody but the Emperor.
(And his Second)
The Second is the only of the seven who is older than the Emperor himself. Her face is regal, pale, with red lips, but with
a playful twinkle in her eye. Her dark hair is always in a knot, with a black kanzashi. She is in charge of punishments in the
Emperors absence. Her deep blue kimono flows behind her when she glides through the hallways. Who can say how she
spends her time, or how she is always aware of every little rule that is broken.
The youngest, and most beloved by the other treasures, is a strawberry blonde with rosy cheeks, and joyful laughter. She
shifts between biting her lip in nervous tension, to rolling around and squealing in excitement, because she is never alone.
Her pink and orange robes are often dotted with dirt from the ground in the fruit gardens, which she is in charge of.
(Which is why the fruit gardens are a bit of a mess). It is said she is hairless below the neck, and that the Emperor enjoys
her taste...
The Green has her dark, greying hair uncombed. When she wears clothes, which is often not the case, she wear coarse fibers
in earthy green colors. Even though she is a bit of an outsider, she is often the first to greet the Emperor when he visits, and
they often sleep together under the open sky. She practices alchemy, and witchcraft, and her tea, brewed from glacier water,
is said to have very sexual properties.
Only one of them deal in actual riches. She has a brown and yellow dress, and always carries a satchel with a heavy ledger. She
is blonde, with sharp, blue eyes, and she keeps track of the Emperors possessions, and currency, whatever they may be. Her
days are spent counting, and adding, and calculating, because she fears not being in control. But she also loves it.
One of them is very frail, and only sits in the sun, watching the river flow. Her hair is almost white, and her once red robes have
almost lost all color. She amuses the Emperor with thoughtful poetry, and singing, and enjoys the most gentle treatment on
long, sunny afternoons, when she rests her head in someone's lap. She sees as much of other worlds, as this one. When she
goes to sleep, which is right after the sun sets, she is impossible to wake before it rises again.
The last of the treasures, has dark hair, brown eyes, and a dirty smile. She wears a red sari, and a yellow flower in her hair, which
is tied back with a red string. She is in charge of the wine, and thus often sleeps late. When she entertains the Emperor, they will
dance until morning, and get in trouble with the Second. They will tease the youngest, and drink the brew of the green, and
waste the coin of the yellow. Then they will spend moments of sexual frenzy with the black, and eventually wake up to the soft
touches of the pink.
How they get their food, and how they don't seem to age, is unknown.
journey from the closest city, with no obvious road. It is guarded by lifetime guards, sworn -directly to the Emperor
himself- to guard his treasures, and to never partake in them.
The Gilded City, as it is also known, is on an island in a shallow, clear river. The banks of which are steep and forested
with pine trees which are similar, but not quite the same as any you may have seen before.
Outside of the guards, and the Emperor himself, on frequent visits, the Treasury is home to 7 people. Women. Who are
the Emperors most treasured possessions.
The first is black of skin, and hair, with violet eyes. It is said she can see in the dark, but then much is said which doesn't
seem likely. Her silk robes are black, with gold inlays. Her hair is braided carefully, every morning, after she bathes naked
in the cold river, and she spends her days reading, and practicing archery. She submits to nobody but the Emperor.
(And his Second)
The Second is the only of the seven who is older than the Emperor himself. Her face is regal, pale, with red lips, but with
a playful twinkle in her eye. Her dark hair is always in a knot, with a black kanzashi. She is in charge of punishments in the
Emperors absence. Her deep blue kimono flows behind her when she glides through the hallways. Who can say how she
spends her time, or how she is always aware of every little rule that is broken.
The youngest, and most beloved by the other treasures, is a strawberry blonde with rosy cheeks, and joyful laughter. She
shifts between biting her lip in nervous tension, to rolling around and squealing in excitement, because she is never alone.
Her pink and orange robes are often dotted with dirt from the ground in the fruit gardens, which she is in charge of.
(Which is why the fruit gardens are a bit of a mess). It is said she is hairless below the neck, and that the Emperor enjoys
her taste...
The Green has her dark, greying hair uncombed. When she wears clothes, which is often not the case, she wear coarse fibers
in earthy green colors. Even though she is a bit of an outsider, she is often the first to greet the Emperor when he visits, and
they often sleep together under the open sky. She practices alchemy, and witchcraft, and her tea, brewed from glacier water,
is said to have very sexual properties.
Only one of them deal in actual riches. She has a brown and yellow dress, and always carries a satchel with a heavy ledger. She
is blonde, with sharp, blue eyes, and she keeps track of the Emperors possessions, and currency, whatever they may be. Her
days are spent counting, and adding, and calculating, because she fears not being in control. But she also loves it.
One of them is very frail, and only sits in the sun, watching the river flow. Her hair is almost white, and her once red robes have
almost lost all color. She amuses the Emperor with thoughtful poetry, and singing, and enjoys the most gentle treatment on
long, sunny afternoons, when she rests her head in someone's lap. She sees as much of other worlds, as this one. When she
goes to sleep, which is right after the sun sets, she is impossible to wake before it rises again.
The last of the treasures, has dark hair, brown eyes, and a dirty smile. She wears a red sari, and a yellow flower in her hair, which
is tied back with a red string. She is in charge of the wine, and thus often sleeps late. When she entertains the Emperor, they will
dance until morning, and get in trouble with the Second. They will tease the youngest, and drink the brew of the green, and
waste the coin of the yellow. Then they will spend moments of sexual frenzy with the black, and eventually wake up to the soft
touches of the pink.
How they get their food, and how they don't seem to age, is unknown.
I dreamed a girl was asking me on dates.
There was something sad about her, that I couldn't quite place. And she was shy and reserved, didn't really say much, and answered
all my questions in short, simple answers. She seemed like she didn't really want to go out with me, to be brutally honest. I got the
impression that she didn't like me at all, which was confusing, because she was the one reaching out.
There is a danger when you answer with reasoned careful answers, and you are guarded like this, that you don't give people a chance
to read your emotions. Further, that makes it difficult for anyone to feel something back. I'm kind of the same, deep down. Looking
for conversations to end. Resolution.
A part of me wanted to tell her that I wasn't interested, even though it made me feel guilty after she went through a lot of trouble
getting movie tickets and dinner reservations. As a way to show my growing impatience, I told her that I just didn't understand what
she wanted, and I was getting tired of prying all the information out of her.
Annoyingly, she answered that all she wanted was for me to do whatever I wanted with her. Annoying, because that's not a real answer.
At the same time, it meant something else coming from her. She wasn't flattering. I wondered... Could I suggest... anything?
Actually, my next question was "why me?", but she couldn't quite answer that, except that I seemed like the kind of person she was
looking for.
Someone with a soul. Someone who actually pays attention, and isn't just on auto-pilot.
Someone like her?
There was something sad about her, that I couldn't quite place. And she was shy and reserved, didn't really say much, and answered
all my questions in short, simple answers. She seemed like she didn't really want to go out with me, to be brutally honest. I got the
impression that she didn't like me at all, which was confusing, because she was the one reaching out.
There is a danger when you answer with reasoned careful answers, and you are guarded like this, that you don't give people a chance
to read your emotions. Further, that makes it difficult for anyone to feel something back. I'm kind of the same, deep down. Looking
for conversations to end. Resolution.
A part of me wanted to tell her that I wasn't interested, even though it made me feel guilty after she went through a lot of trouble
getting movie tickets and dinner reservations. As a way to show my growing impatience, I told her that I just didn't understand what
she wanted, and I was getting tired of prying all the information out of her.
Annoyingly, she answered that all she wanted was for me to do whatever I wanted with her. Annoying, because that's not a real answer.
At the same time, it meant something else coming from her. She wasn't flattering. I wondered... Could I suggest... anything?
Actually, my next question was "why me?", but she couldn't quite answer that, except that I seemed like the kind of person she was
looking for.
Someone with a soul. Someone who actually pays attention, and isn't just on auto-pilot.
Someone like her?
"Good night, Sister Magdalene."
A dull ache woke in Initiate Gabrielle's lower stomach when she realized she was finally alone for the night. Even though nobody else
was in the dark courtyard, she kept her face calm like stone while her heart started fluttering. Her footsteps echoed in the late twilight,
and she walked towards her chambers, then took a discreet left turn, down the stairs to the cellar. For a moment it seemed almost like
a fiery, red light flickered on the stone archway, but when she looked closer it was not there.
There's no reason anyone would suspect anything, she told herself. Past the vats of apple cider, and through the drained cistern, there
was an old chamber, once flooded, which -as far as she knew- nobody else knew about. A chamber with a circle, around a pentagram,
and a dais, and a scepter.
She was aware of the danger. She knew she was giving in to temptation. She was confident, perhaps overly so, that she could hold
herself back from crossing the line, even though she didn't exactly know where the line was. It was okay though. She just had to stay
far away from it.
"Back again, huh? Can't help yourself? Slut."
She was not. A slut, that is. She was undeniably back again. Just to look. That was all.
"I just want to look at it again," she replied. She wasn't sure if that was an excuse or not. The red creature inside the circle slowly rose
to its full height and turned towards her. It was... tall. Imposing, even. When the back was straightened, it looked mighty. And then
there was...
Initiate Gabrielle swallowed, and felt her body struggle with the yearning, when she saw the red cock. Smoother than you'd think, for
such a creature. Undeniably big. Slick. Ready.
"Can't get enough, huh? You know you could have more, right? All you have to do is ask, and I can step over there and gently fill you
up to the brim, and have you moan and whimper. Or I could push you against the wall, and claim you. You want to be claimed, don't you?"
The thing seemed to switch between alluring and disgusting. Well, maybe not disgusting, but at least debauched. There was a sort of
trembling in her chest, underneath her robes. She wanted this. To be tested. To be deprived. Her grip on the dais tightened to stop her
hands from going elsewhere.
"You can touch yourself, you know?" The demon grinned and put its own hand around its member, as if to demonstrate. "It's not like it
would change anything. You're just making things hard on yourself for no reason." On the word "hard", the demon's member seemingly
flexed, showing veins along the side. It was almost hypnotizing. She would look. Only look.
"Oh, but you like that, don't you?" It was slowly stroking the considerable length of its cock. "You like holding back. You like the secret
feeling of the wetness between your lips, slicking against each other when you walk."
She let out a kind of yelp, or a whimper. Breathing heavily, and clinging to the dais. She would have been embarrassed in any other
setting, but here she had nothing to hide. The thing was right, she realized. The demon had that particular power over her, but it would
never have any more. She would simply endure this feeling. It was agonizing and amazing.
It grinned, and seemed to lean closer. "You could do so much more, and still not do anything sinful, you know..."
What? Like what? She didn't ask out loud, but she was sure the demon knew her thoughts anyway, but when she didn't speak, there was
a silence that made it hard to even think. It was like the air vibrated with her struggle against her desires. At the same time she was
trapped, and couldn't make a single sound. When the demon turned away, disappointed at her lack of interest, she almost screamed.
What more?! She wanted to ask, but she did not.
The demon replied anyway:
"You could.. go without underwear, and feel the breeze on your wet sex...."
-She would. She would do that.
"Or you could shave your sex so that it is smooth, and even more alluring to touch, which, you will not."
That didn't seem like it would be a problem either. Right? She was panting.
"You could always come back here, and watch me stroke my cock for you. Or you could fantasize. About being defiled."
Defiled...
If only she could be defiled while still rejecting the thing in her heart.
She would have to leave for her chamber soon. -Just another long glance at the cock.
"Would it hurt?" Her own voice surprised her.
"Would you want it to..?" The demon challenged. "Yes." It concluded, shortly after.
She wouldn't want pain. Right?
With a deep breath and a strong force of will, she closed her eyes and turned around. Every step that brought her away from it made her
feel a little lighter. More free. Until she was left only with her normal, rebuked desire to touch herself, and slickness between her legs.
That "no underwear" idea might be worth trying though...
A dull ache woke in Initiate Gabrielle's lower stomach when she realized she was finally alone for the night. Even though nobody else
was in the dark courtyard, she kept her face calm like stone while her heart started fluttering. Her footsteps echoed in the late twilight,
and she walked towards her chambers, then took a discreet left turn, down the stairs to the cellar. For a moment it seemed almost like
a fiery, red light flickered on the stone archway, but when she looked closer it was not there.
There's no reason anyone would suspect anything, she told herself. Past the vats of apple cider, and through the drained cistern, there
was an old chamber, once flooded, which -as far as she knew- nobody else knew about. A chamber with a circle, around a pentagram,
and a dais, and a scepter.
She was aware of the danger. She knew she was giving in to temptation. She was confident, perhaps overly so, that she could hold
herself back from crossing the line, even though she didn't exactly know where the line was. It was okay though. She just had to stay
far away from it.
"Back again, huh? Can't help yourself? Slut."
She was not. A slut, that is. She was undeniably back again. Just to look. That was all.
"I just want to look at it again," she replied. She wasn't sure if that was an excuse or not. The red creature inside the circle slowly rose
to its full height and turned towards her. It was... tall. Imposing, even. When the back was straightened, it looked mighty. And then
there was...
Initiate Gabrielle swallowed, and felt her body struggle with the yearning, when she saw the red cock. Smoother than you'd think, for
such a creature. Undeniably big. Slick. Ready.
"Can't get enough, huh? You know you could have more, right? All you have to do is ask, and I can step over there and gently fill you
up to the brim, and have you moan and whimper. Or I could push you against the wall, and claim you. You want to be claimed, don't you?"
The thing seemed to switch between alluring and disgusting. Well, maybe not disgusting, but at least debauched. There was a sort of
trembling in her chest, underneath her robes. She wanted this. To be tested. To be deprived. Her grip on the dais tightened to stop her
hands from going elsewhere.
"You can touch yourself, you know?" The demon grinned and put its own hand around its member, as if to demonstrate. "It's not like it
would change anything. You're just making things hard on yourself for no reason." On the word "hard", the demon's member seemingly
flexed, showing veins along the side. It was almost hypnotizing. She would look. Only look.
"Oh, but you like that, don't you?" It was slowly stroking the considerable length of its cock. "You like holding back. You like the secret
feeling of the wetness between your lips, slicking against each other when you walk."
She let out a kind of yelp, or a whimper. Breathing heavily, and clinging to the dais. She would have been embarrassed in any other
setting, but here she had nothing to hide. The thing was right, she realized. The demon had that particular power over her, but it would
never have any more. She would simply endure this feeling. It was agonizing and amazing.
It grinned, and seemed to lean closer. "You could do so much more, and still not do anything sinful, you know..."
What? Like what? She didn't ask out loud, but she was sure the demon knew her thoughts anyway, but when she didn't speak, there was
a silence that made it hard to even think. It was like the air vibrated with her struggle against her desires. At the same time she was
trapped, and couldn't make a single sound. When the demon turned away, disappointed at her lack of interest, she almost screamed.
What more?! She wanted to ask, but she did not.
The demon replied anyway:
"You could.. go without underwear, and feel the breeze on your wet sex...."
-She would. She would do that.
"Or you could shave your sex so that it is smooth, and even more alluring to touch, which, you will not."
That didn't seem like it would be a problem either. Right? She was panting.
"You could always come back here, and watch me stroke my cock for you. Or you could fantasize. About being defiled."
Defiled...
If only she could be defiled while still rejecting the thing in her heart.
She would have to leave for her chamber soon. -Just another long glance at the cock.
"Would it hurt?" Her own voice surprised her.
"Would you want it to..?" The demon challenged. "Yes." It concluded, shortly after.
She wouldn't want pain. Right?
With a deep breath and a strong force of will, she closed her eyes and turned around. Every step that brought her away from it made her
feel a little lighter. More free. Until she was left only with her normal, rebuked desire to touch herself, and slickness between her legs.
That "no underwear" idea might be worth trying though...
The boring, useful stuff
Who are you, how long have you been writing and what kind of things do you like to write?
I am a man from Norway. I have been writing as a hobby on and off for 20 years.
This is not the same as having 20 years of writing experience.
I like to write fantasy, horror, and erotica based around D/s dynamics.
How long do your replies tend to be and what is your writing schedule like?
I write almost every day, when I get into it, but not during work hours, and not while I sleep.
I may not live up to that. It depends how tired I get.
The length of the replies will also vary, but I think 2-5 paragraphs is suitable for a daily cadence.
What is your tolerance level for gore? Violence?
High. Again I prefer the story actually demands it. It doesn't do anything for me on it's own, so to
keep it brief let's just avoid it.
Do you write sexual content? If so, what are your kinks? Limits?
Yes.
My kinks are various things related to Dominance and Sadism. Female orgasm denial and teasing is
something I enjoy alot. Just like violence, I find that BDSM also becomes meaningless without the
emotional connection. A lot of my sexuality tends to be based around the woman and her thoughts
and feelings, and much less about my own character doing things. That's not a fit for everyone.
Do you write any fandoms? (Please bear in mind that any characters under 18 and any high school settings must be aged up)
I do not tend to do this, but I am not opposed to it. The pitch has to be good on its own merits,
however.
Do you have any pairing or setting ideas?
See above.
Do you have any detailed plots prepared?
See above.
Do you have any characters you want to write? (Our character forum is here if you want a dedicated thread)
No.
Any additional notes you want to add?
Not at this time
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