Closed Lingeress' Litany of Licentiousness

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Closed Lingeress' Litany of Licentiousness

Rules Check
  1. Confirmed
Pairings
  1. MxF
  2. FxF
  3. Any (Groups)
  4. MxMxF
  5. MxFxF
  6. Doubling
Content Warning
  1. Gore
  2. Kink
  3. Graphic Violence
  4. Sexual Assault
  5. Incest
  6. Self Harm
  7. Substance Abuse
  8. Narrative Bigotry
  9. Sensitive Topics
Preferred Genres
  1. Fandom
  2. Erotic
  3. Fetish
  4. Deviant
  5. High Fantasy
  6. Low Fantasy
  7. Sci-fi
  8. Slice of Life
  9. Dystopian
  10. Medieval
  11. Horror
  12. X-Punk (cyber, steam, aether, etc)
  13. Space
  14. Political
  15. Crime
  16. Supernatural
  17. Modern

Lingeress

your touch lingers
September Challenge Participant July Challenge Participant 5000 Likes! 250 Posts!
Local time
Today 12:06 AM
Messages
357
Pronouns
she/her
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I'm a hobby writer and lover of storytelling. I used to RP on a few forums several years back, and I miss the dynamics of those kinds of writing communities. I'm currently working on a couple of interactive erotica projects while I settle back into writing regularly, and came here to test out my chops, learn and grow.

I mostly want to improve my writing and RP skills in the romance and erotica genres but I enjoy exploring a lot of different themes. I like pretty much everything, from the lighthearted to the grimdark; the super silly to the super serious.


Currently, I'm craving dark, twisted or disturbing story lines; either in plot, setting or character, or all of the above. I would prefer a story with smut in it, but it doesn't have to revolve solely around sex; have the story figure out when and where it wants to slip that on in.


I'm a big fan of the fantasy, sci-fi, supernatural, dystopian, and 'punk' genres, but modern day settings can also be a blast.

I come from a background in theatre arts and improv, so I feel I have a decent grasp on what makes compelling character choices and on how to work with others when letting our characters play together on the same stage. However, I'll let my writing partners be the judge of that! 'Yes, and-ing...' is one of my favorite things to do.

I find that I am more of a 'scene' writer versus an 'overall plot' writer. I can usually pick apart scenes and put them back together pretty well, but I might not know the next best step to take to further advance the plot along. This is one of the major things I want to improve upon.

  • I look to write with someone who just enjoys writing; someone who is interested in writing a story together.

    I enjoy hearing about funny ideas, weird ideas, happy ideas, brutal ideas...you name it. I love exploring the expansiveness of the human psyche in all its grit and glory. I may not feel like I can write for all of it, but I'm willing to try. It's a good way to learn what I am and am not good at.

    I'm happy to work with anyone of any skill level. However, proper word usage and sentence structure is a must. If I can't understand what you're trying to say, we're not going to get very far into the story.

    I'm not a big fan of defining specific word counts per post. However, effort does count here. A one or two-sentence response isn't usually enough for the other person to work with.


    I am not a once-a-day poster. I cannot post a response in 24-hours, I need time to formulate my ideas and write them out, then read them over and edit them. Writing quickly is a skill I wish I had. I aim to post once a week, but may need a little longer.


    Communication is a must, and getting to know each other is a big plus. I've found that writing with someone you feel a sense of camaraderie and shared enthusiasm with usually ends up producing a better overall story. Plus, it's more fun and engaging. If you know any fun icebreakers, lay 'em on me.

    I won't ever drop an RP without first communicating about it.

    I write in 3rd person, past or present tense. 2nd person is just too confusing for this kind of storytelling and 1st person tends to lead to emotional beclouding.
  • I play characters with all kinds of different personalities, wants, needs, and fears. I enjoy playing female characters the most. I generally stick to heterosexual and bisexual characters. I love letting my characters surprise me, which comes out during the writing process. My favorite part of romance stories is the tenderness. My favorite part of dark stories is the rawness.

    I try to keep the flowery and purple prose to a minimum. When intimate or sexual scenes are involved, let me know how much detail you feel comfortable writing. As much as I like describing a pulsing vein on a thick, juicy cock, I'm perfectly fine brushing over surface-level details or even fading to black.

    I like playing submissive characters, either obedient, reluctant or bratty. My kind of bratty is mostly sass or snark, though; a bratty kind of bravado. The thought process behind submissive characters is something I understand intuitively. This is not to say that I play characters who only act submissively. It's not really a label. It's more of a general tendency or desire for another to take control in the bedroom, and the freedom and exploration of giving up control to them. My characters still have their own thoughts, goals, and agency. And, it doesn't mean I have no desire to explore playing more domineering characters!

    I've never sat down and written out a list of desired writing kinks before, so I asked the internet to help me out. It had a lot to say. So, here ya go!

    If something isn't listed, it doesn't mean I'm not willing to include it in writing. It probably just skipped my mind or it's something I'm truly neutral about. I like far more things than I don't, so don't feel afraid to ask.

    Kinks I Enjoy Writing

    GREEN LIGHT: Aphrodisiacs, biting/scratching/clawing, blindfolds, blood play, body modification, bondage, breath play/choking, bukkake/cum play, cockwarming, collar and leash, creampies, deepthroat/face-fucking, degradation, discipline, dubcon/noncon, exhibitionism, fear play, feather torture, fire play/candle wax, fisting, forced orgasms, foreplay/aftercare, gangbang/group sex, glory holes, hate sex, humiliation, impact play, knife play, latex/leather/rubber, lingerie, masochism, massage, master/slave, masturbation (mutual or otherwise), mind control/hypnosis, monster boys/girls, nipple play, objectification, orgasm conditioning/control/denial/on-command, ownership marking, pet play, power dynamics, praise, primal play, public sex, punching/hitting, punishment, rough play, sadism, scarification, sensory deprivation, sex fighting/sex wrestling, sex toys, sexual torture, sleep fucking, spanking, squirting, submission, the grotesque (deformities/scars/etc.), vaginal/oral/anal, voyeurism, watersports.

    YELLOW LIGHT: Bimbofication, furries/futa/anthro (within site rules), incest, lactation/hucow (achieved through magical/scientific means), large age gaps, rimming, size difference, tattoos/piercings, virginity.

    RED LIGHT: Age-play infantilism, chastity devices (unless used as torture/punishment), comically large breasts, fetishism (turned on by non-living objects), klismaphilia (douching/enema fetish), necrophilia, pedophilia, pregnancy as a fetish, scat/gore/vore (as fetishes, I'm fine including these things in stories), transvestic fetishism (transvestism is fine), zoophilia.
  • Hyperballad (suicidal ideation)
    Bare feet crunched the sparse grasses that were sparkling with early morning dew. The cool air caught each steady exhale as the woman trickled to the mountainside cliff's edge. Her grip tightened around the spatula in her hand as her breath caught in her throat.

    The magnificence of the view never faded. She could see down into the valley for miles and at the lush network of trees that surrounded it. She imagined their root systems weaving so deep in the ground that they cradled the valley in a basket. At night, as she was trying to fall asleep, she imagined those roots cradling her body, too. They would pull her down, wrapping the earth around her like a cold, comforting blanket.

    Toeing the edge of the ground, a small pebble loosened and fell off the side. The woman grinned as she watched it descend. It bounced haphazardly off the sides of the cliff in what looked like hops of elation. The height made her feel off-kilter, as if the longer she looked down the stronger the urge was to jump. She yearned to experience that adrenaline-filled sensation of falling. It looked so much like pure freedom.

    But it wasn't time for that, yet.

    Looking down at the spatula in her hand, her knuckles were wraith white. She hadn't realized she had been gripping it so tightly. Cautious not to give in to the downward pull, she loosened her grip and tossed the kitchen utensil off the cliff.

    As she watched it descend, she traded places with it in her mind's eye. The wind nipped at her hair and clothing as if to say, "Welcome, friend! Can we play with you?" She imagined eyes on her back; a crowd of bewildered onlookers staring down at her until she crashed.

    The sound of her body slamming against the rocks on the side of the cliff surprised her. In the movies, the sound effects would be amplified to increase unease in the viewer. Her imagined reality sounded duller, less impactful. The pain felt dull, too. The snapping of her bones was louder than any sound the rocks could produce. Excitingly, the ground beneath her bouncing descent grew larger and larger. She wondered if—right before she hit the ground—would she close her eyes or keep them open?

    She heard the spatula clink against the other utensils, car parts, and bottles she had tossed over. With a satisfied smile, she relaxed into the peacefulness of the moment. She felt happy to still be standing on solid ground. With the spatula in its new resting place, she was safe now; one less possession instead of her own life. That was what she kept telling herself, anyway.

    Her mother's voice pierced the air. She froze, tension pulling at every muscle in her body. The moment, ruined.

    "Girl! Where are you?! Why isn't breakfast started yet?!"

    "Coming, mother!" the woman exclaimed, reeling on her heels.

    She stole one last glance toward the cliff's edge before running back toward the house. As she ran, she wondered what she could use to prepare breakfast with, since that was the last spatula. Her mother would call her a fool for not being able to find it. Her mother wouldn't notice her resourcefulness in figuring out a different way to make it work. She never did.

    As the bacon sizzled on the griddle and the eggs began to firm in the pan, the woman mused to herself. Tomorrow morning. What could she take without anyone noticing it was missing?
    The Orgasm Diary (rape, strong language)
    I want to see how many different ways I can describe the female orgasm. 🥴
    Orgasm Count (so far): +3


    1)​

    The orgasm that ripped through her body shattered the illusion and blasted through her vision like a thousand tiny shards of glass. She cried out as it rippled rapturously in waves. Her body convulsed, on fire against the ground in which she found herself forcefully pinned down. The gravel felt cool as it cut against her cheek.

    Reawakened to discover her cunt being pounded mercilessly, her body rocked roughly into the ground. Scraped and bloodied, her muscles relaxed as thoughts of resistance fluttered away.

    Had she even tried to resist? Would it have mattered?

    Vague images swirled through her mind. Had her mouth screamed 'stop', corrected with words like 'don't' mixed with blubbering moans she couldn't decipher?

    Her brain floated along in a blissed-out fog. She couldn't remember anything before coming to. At present, she couldn't remember her own name. She found she didn't care. She could figure that out later.

    She felt a godly-sized hand push down on her head as she choked on dust.



    2)​

    A moan stretched from her throat. She had—what she would end up calling—her 'inside-out' orgasm. Starting from inside her on the underside of her clit, the cosmic sensation pooled outward—slow like magma and thick like honey. It took its sweet, sweet time and when it reached her outward shores, it sprung back—quick as lightning—erupting outward in fireworks. She screamed out in bliss, her body bucking wildly. Until it calmed. His meaty finger was pressed down hard against her, prolonging the experience.

    She panted, wide-eyed, staring up at the looming figure above her. That had been the single most pleasurable sensation she had ever experienced, and it had been given to her through force. Confliction wracked her mind because she knew, in that convicted moment, she absolutely wanted to experience that again.

    He had been concerned enough about her pleasure that he took the effort to ensure she had felt good, too. She didn't know what to make of that. Would a simple 'thank you' suffice? An awkward, 'Aye, it's been swell,' then go about her other duties as if that orgasm hadn't just ripped a hole in the very fabric of the universe itself?

    A burning knot settled in the pit of her stomach. This was her captor. Her abuser. Her…reason for still being alive. She blinked. But this wasn't her happily ever after. This would never be her happy ending. She would never find peace here. She would never belong.

    Underneath him, she tried to make herself smaller. She couldn't read his expression but there was something of interest in his eyes. What it was, she was too afraid to inquire further.

    In the following days she would find herself stealing glances toward the brute, staring at him with renewed interest.



    3)​

    Her cheeks flushed as steam swirled off her skin. She let out a quiet moan. She imagined Norville's hands, trembling to reach out and cup her breasts—his touch so soft it gave her goosebumps. Olivia's nipples hardened.

    She circled her clit a little faster, keeping the pressure light. It grew more and more sensitive as she imagined the young man's hands all over her body, exploring it delicately. Olivia shivered at the thought of such tenderness. Her pleasure intensified.

    The pressure inside of her began to build. She brought her other hand down to lift the hood of her clit, exposing herself to even more sensitivity. Her breath stuttered—heartbeat pulsing loudly through her veins. Her mind clouded with thoughts of only his caress. Heat pooled around her clit, throbbing for more pressure. Olivia obliged. She pressed harder, deepening the richness.

    After a few more minutes, she came. A soft orgasm released outward in silky waves—the warmth of the sensation washing over her entire body. She twitched, gently, from a few more rubs of the oversensitive bud. Withdrawing her hand, she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling, humming. Heaving relaxed breaths, Olivia finished up in the shower and turned the water off.
 
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