♡ ― open to. female (sub) ♡ ― plot. Dr Amy Grant is your muse’s psychologist, helping her cope through a traumatic time (stalker / obsessive ex partner / similar). Your muse has begun opening up and genuinely trusting her so much that Angie’s obsession for her has flown under the radar. Very basic dark manipulation and mind control plot. Dubcon possible but not necessary, specify in the tags.

♡ ― Amy could basically feel her heartbeat sync to the nervous fidgeting of her patient. The last two weeks had been exhilarating – that sweet girl had dutifully kept taking her medication and shown up to their sessions two times a week, completely unaware that the meds were effectively just sugar pills. Every time she had shuffled into her office and sunk onto the couch, Amy had felt livelier, like a hunger that nothing else quenched was finally being fed. Of course she knew that this was unethical… but God, seeing that girl nervously blush whenever she managed to wear down those protective walls a little further, made her throb. She crossed one leg over another, giving her patient a warm and seemingly tender smile. “How are we today? If you don’t have something urgent to discuss with me, I’d like to try something new… to get to the core conflict of the issue. A visualization exercise if you will.”

LAURA HARRIER ph. Adrian Martin Hourglass Cosmetics, January 2024

i want to treat someone like prey so bad... biting their neck as i tear their clothes off them, giving them head so rough and sloppy and just for me, just to taste them and memorize the smell and taste of them so i can hunt them down anytime i want them under me again

i want to not tell them what position, just growl and bite and manhandle them, paws bruising their hips as i force them up against me, making them present for me, leaning down across their back and clamping my teeth around the back of their neck, not quite biting but pressing down enough to hold them still

i want to pant and whine and growl in their ear while i mount them, forgetting who's under me except for a warm hole for me to cum in, sloppy thrusts where i don't care about their pleasure im just lost in the feral need to breed this soft thing under me full of my pups, not even pulling out after i cum just biting their shoulder to muffle my howls and then starting to thrust into their messy hole as my cum leaks out around me. but other than that im doing well, thanks for asking :)

― Minnie’s treading on very thin ice. The sound she lets out makes the muscle in his jaw feather repetitively, eyes falling shut as if he’s trying to focus – but fuck, she doesn’t let him. The tongue that sticks out from between her teeth and curls against the corner of her mouth has Lucas shift his weight unnoticeably to everyone else, but very noticeably to her, with how his bulge presses against the curve of her ass against his lap. Wonders what else she could use that tongue for, and he does feel how wet she is… it sends his thoughts into haywire when he finally relents just a little and traces the outline of her pussy lips with his middle finger. Fuck. “Your brother’s gonna kill me.” That’s not even a joke. He’s protective. Man, Lucas loves him like he’s family but that fucker’s a stereotypical big brother. At least until now he can claim that Minnie’s pushing his hand further up. But when he gets to particularly wet patch and the scent of her cunt suddenly hits his nose full-force, making him press his fingers against the damp fabric just a little harder, he lets out a low groan anyway. “Shit… you’re soaked.”

though his voice took on a warning tone, for minnie it was invitation to push the envelope even further. "mmm?" she hums softly, easily mistaken for a moan. her fingers trace faint lines over his knuckles. legs spread slightly to dig his hand deeper, let him feel the damp heat radiating from her core. it's not like anyone will see, she thinks, chin tipping to nudge his jaw with her nose. minnie drags her tongue against her rose-colored swollen lips, slowly, wanting him to see the way the flesh dips, to imagine what other things her tongue might be capable of if he'd let himself indulge. another push, this time using two fingers so he could feel how wet she is, how soaked through her panties had gotten just from the mere act of sitting on his lap. imagine, she thinks to herself, just how much wetter he could get her to be if he'd stopped fighting, slipped two fingers in—three—and made her cum right here, right now. another turn of her head, this time to nip at his earlobe. the movement causes one strap of her dress to slip off her shoulder, which she allows. releases his hand to smooth her palms over her breast to draw his gaze there. a huff and a puff in his ear from exertion, discomfort from lack of friction between her legs. "do you think you could help me?" she whispers. "feel better, i mean? m'so, so dizzy. i think a blood rush would help."

♡ ― She’s naïve, she’s always been. It’s quite funny, actually: as tight as she is with Minnie, Josie’s always been the polar opposite – even just the possibility of Eamon having any feelings for her flies right past her, because it seems so nonsensical. Every happy memory she has of growing up is with him. Hearing him brush off her request for details disappoints her if anything, scooting even closer to monopolise his attention. “So no butterflies? At all?” her lilting voice pesters quite happily before pulling for a pouting sigh, “Remember Joe from social sciences? He kept asking me out, I don’t know – I felt guilty for always saying no but the moment we were at the restaurant, he kept talking about how nice it is to finally meet a girl with a non-existent body count and how all women should be like that, yada yada yada. I almost called you to get me out of there. Watching Netflix with you just sounds so much more fun than enduring one more interrogation like that.”

eamon's cheeks flush. he'd only gone on a date because his friends absolutely insisted it was of utmost importance that he move the fuck on from his longtime crush on josie, a feat he'd insisted was impossible, or at least sisyphean in that every time he thinks he's gotten over her, he finds himself right back at the foot of the hill with the same boulder to roll up like last time. selfishly, he also only agreed to go so he could tell josie, watch for any signs of jealousy on her expression, see if maybe her feelings have changed over the past few months that they've reunited. "she was nice," he finally says, arms crossing over his chest. but she's not you. "it was nice. i mean, i don't know if we're going for another, but..." he shakes his head. "who was your last date?" funny, then, how he got jealous instead.

KRISTINE FROSETH as Sarah Jo in SHARP STICK (2022) dir. Lena Dunham

GRACE VAN DIEN 2024 | ph. Emma Bassill

― That twisting of her body made him press out a hissed breath, feathering a muscle in his jaw. She did it on purpose. She fucking had to be doing it on purpose – and Lucas would have lied had he claimed that the pout on her lips and the smell of her breath creeping up on him didn’t make him even fucking harder, if that was even possible. Minnie was pretty. It had been more than once that his eyes had lingered on her body whenever she had leaned down. He knew it was fucked up, they were friends. But with her perfume creeping deeper and deeper into his lungs, Lucas really fucking tried to keep his eyes on literally anything that wasn’t her cleavage. “Hold you?” Too late. He cursed himself the moment her hand dragged his to her lap and kept it there. Every bump in the road now made him feel like he had to repress a moan from how it made her grind against his bulge. It was tempting, it was really fucking tempting to push his fingers between her thighs. “Minnie…” Warningly.

was the skirt necessary? for a camping trip, absolutely not. for a long car ride with lucas and their friends? also not. but for minnie and her massive, hard-to-ignore, getting-really-fucking-painful-not-consummating crush on lucas? abso-fucking-lutely. she couldn't have contrived a perfect opportunity herself even if she tried. and it helps, really, that they're both in the back-most of the car, and that their friends would have to turn to catch her in the act. each bump on the road allowed her to "shift"—or in other words, grind her ass even deeper into his lap. her skirt spread around her legs so that there was no fabric blocking her bare ass and panties from his jeans, a feat she'd accomplished over the last forty minutes since they climbed into the car. when he asks her to lean forward, she twists slightly to the side and meets his gaze. doe-eyed and bottom lip jutting out in a pout, she scoops her hair and pushes it aside. leans further back against him, forehead now resting on his cheek. "m'so dizzy," she murmurs into his ear. "can you hold me like this?" she takes his hand on her hip and drapes it over her lap, tucking it there with her own palm.

♡ ― Willa thought it made him hot. Henry looked all proper every time her parents made her tag along to church. He was tall, good posture, always kind of looked like he was the next dutiful messiah, ready to help everyone in need – but Willa knew, God, she just fucking knew that he had to be sick in bed. At least she fantasized about it. About him sneaking a peek at her every time she came to church in a short skirt or tight dress, about him stuttering during his rosaries or whatever they were called. She couldn’t even be assed to learn the Lord’s prayer. About him jerking it to the thought of her sitting there in the first row, spreading her thighs just slightly and showing off that she wore nothing underneath. Hearing his voice from the other side of the netted window made her all giddy. It was so low and deep… made her wonder just how good his moaning would sound. Biting back a grin that was audible in her sweetly lilted voice anyway, Willa battered her eyelashes even if he couldn’t quite see. “I’ve sinned, Father. I’ve been having… very indecent thoughts about someone I shouldn’t think this way about.”

HENRY LISTENED TO THE ECHO of footsteps as a family filed out. most times, confessions were of small things like children being mean to their siblings or adults confessing to using unkind words about their coworkers or in-laws (which they'd confess to again the next time they came). rarely did henry find himself hearing the things people thought he heard all the time. when they found out he was a priest, they asked what some of the crazier things he heard were. some went as far as asking him to blink once or twice if he was getting colder or hotter to whatever taboo they were asking about. it wasn't like he could tell them (even if he was the kind of man who liked to gossip). so he'd just smile awkwardly and shake his head, happy to have a reason to abandon the conversation.

he waited a few moments to see if anyone else was still finding the courage to come into the booth and confess to whatever sin they had committed. but when the minutes continued to be filled with silence, he prepared to leave. it was when he reached for the ornate, wooden door that he footsteps approaching the booth. henry pulled his hand back from the handle - like he'd been burned - and leaned back, giving them time to sit down. he kept his eyes forward, respecting the privacy the netted window gave them. he finally spoke, " what is it you've come to confess, my child ?? "

open to f !! ( 21+ only)

henry prentiss. he/him. 47. straight. 6'3. priest. pinterest board.

plot: your muse is a rly mean slutty girl, lowkey depraved innocent girl, or a ditzy lil bimbo and she's come to confess her sins and everything she's saying is true but rly she's trying to get him flustered bc he's this nervous priest who never makes eye contact with her bc she's always dressed slutty (and if u wanna be even worse.....she could be his step/niece) and omg her showing him who she is and acting like its an accident or maybe she's like ??? proud to show him if that makes any fucking sense ??? just her doing nasty shit to get him to break (like touching herself omfg)

♡ ― Owen was a dick. Had always been, kind of. But he had a decent stash of weed that made the whole house smell like dirty sweat when he had his friends over and their parents were gone. Leah could have really used some of that weed: her racing thoughts were driving her crazy, all she wanted was just to shut all of it up, to dumb herself down for at least a couple hours before the work piled up on her again. Wasn’t that horrible of an idea, right? And she’d definitely replace it… if she figured out where the fuck one got weed in the first place. Wasn’t like her friends smoked. She’d dated someone once who did but that was it.

The knock startled her out of her stupid rummaging. Her pajama shorts had ridden up her thighs when she had leaned forward. Now acutely aware of having gotten caught red-handed, Leah sunk back to her heels. Owen looked even talker from this angle. She gawked at him a little stupidly. “Don’t tell mom and dad. Swear it, Owen, or I’m telling them about your stupid porno stash.”

OWEN SLOWED TO A STOP as he stepped inside, hearing the rustling coming from his room. he tossed his keys on the coffee table, his apron on the couch, and walked down the hall. he expected it to either be his mom coming in with some bullshit ideas her book club friends had given her to ' fix her son ' or one of his friends breaking in to steal his money or weed because they ran out. but what he saw was so much better than he could've though (or even fantasized). his sister on the floor in front of his closet, sitting on her knees, looking through the shitty tin lunchbox he kept hidden under the floorboards. owen knocked his knuckle against the doorframe.

open to STEP/SISTER !! (21+ only)

owen raley. he/him. 25-27. bisexual. 6'5. fry cook. pinterest board.

based

connection: gimme slutty dumb bimbos or dumb innocent girlies PLS !!

"You're my student. And I'm your teacher. That's all."

MARTIN FREEMAN | Miller's Girl (trailer)

― open to: females, 20s, sub or bratty ― plot: the concept of ‘the car was too packed so you have to sit on my lap and the bumpy road is really making this way more exciting than I planned it to’ lives rent-free in my head. Could involve multiple partners / her being passed around later, please give me a hint at your preferences in the tags. Bonus points if she knows or believes he has a crush on her and provokes him on purpose.

― “Did you really have to put on a skirt? For a fucking road trip?” Lucas hissed through gritted teeth low enough for no one but her to hear. They hadn’t even had hit the fucking forty minute mark and he was desperately trying to keep his composure. The air was fucking musty as shit, with everyone squeezing into an already tight car and every inch that wasn’t occupied by limbs, was crowded with sleeping bags and other shit. He’d been pumped for this trip all week – a whole give days up in the mountains and just hanging out together after not seeing each other more than sporadically for years? But of course it was just his luck that she’d squeezed herself onto his lap. With a skirt. A skirt that continuously rode up her thighs. Trying to keep his blood where it belonged (his head, preferably as far up as possible) with her scent lingering in his nose and her ass practically grinding against him, made the drive a living hell for him. Lucas tried keeping her from moving around too much by grabbing her hip, but his fingers brushed over a little bare skin not even voluntarily and it took a really big amount of effort not to moan. “Can you at least lean forward a little so I don’t choke on your hair?”

♡ ― plotted dynamic! @wickedlvst

♡ ― Laura didn’t like talking about sex. She hadn’t grown up half as religious as Evie, of course she was religious to some extent – not exactly a regular churchgoer, maybe, but her parents had made her dress up on Sundays and tag along. But she wasn’t prude, it just didn’t get her off. The friendship with Evie was her safe haven in a way, and it functioned as a decent excuse to turn down yet another blind date that her parents had organized in hopes of getting a grandchild soon. Huddled on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate (hers spiked, Evie’s not) and a half-eaten pizza on the coffee table, Laura gave a fatigued scoff. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking it’d be fun to be a man, you know? I don’t think my brothers get half as many comments about bringing home a wife as I get about bringing home a husband. And we could make for a cute fake couple, get your parents off your ass, too.”

♡ ― Feeling Celia’s walls clench and pulse around her fingers as the climax took hold of her was like taking a hit of the most potent drug ever created by mankind. Miriam hated the thought that anyone else could unravel her half as much. She wanted to be the only one, she wanted all of Celia’s gasps and whimpers and cries – and more than anything else, Miriam wanted to be the only one that could wipe Celia’s brain into a clean slate. She did love her, in her twisted, wicked way. Had written entire diary entries about how unfairly her parents treated her with all their expectations, about how much she hated every discussion about marriage. All of this, every little drop of Celia’s cum sticking to Miriam’s hand as she continued pushing her fingers into Celia to claim her, was hers. Hers hers hers. Her arm hooked around Celia’s waist, freeing her from being pressed into the mattrass only to straddle her over her thighs so her back was pressed against Miriam’s chest. Fingers went back to circling her clit as if no amount of overstimulation could possibly satiate her need to hear Celia whimper more. At least now she could speak more freely without the pillows subduing her voice; that was nice of her, wasn’t it? Teeth grazed over the side of Celia’s jaw. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to lick all of you clean. Your tits, your thighs… did they fuck you in the ass? Hm? I want all of you. Every little inch of you is mine.”

Celia could barely tell how to feel. Her brain was so used to logic, to thinking, planning, leaving her feelings out of everything. Not with Miriam. Miriam and their whole relationship had been a string of passions, of decisions she shouldn't make and did anyhow. It felt easier given the work she did in secret, easier to give herself over to someone she wanted when she spent so much time giving herself to anyone with money in their purse. Her family would have her head if they knew, and yet she cared more about disappointing Miriam, about the secrets that had driven them to this position now, the taunting tone in the other woman's voice, the sense that she was on the edge of feeling small and awful and loved more than ever at the same time. Miriam's possessiveness lit some kind of fire in Celia that struggled against the shame she felt, and the further in to this moment she got, the more Celia had to lose her logic altogether. Her mind went blank, numb and on fire all at once as her fingertips searched for purchase in Miriam's mattress and her body writhed under her relentless pursuit. Celia didn't have an answer. They'd touched her everywhere, had her in places and in ways she never truly wanted to be had. But this -- she bit her lip, shook her head, her insides clenched around Miriam's fingers as an orgasm shattered her thoughts entirely. Celia whimpered around the feeling, gasping out Miriam's name and nothing else.

♡ ― Not just when it comes to massages. Something in his voice sends a shiver down her spine and she’s not entirely sure if it’s a pleasant one. Her friends make fun of her all the time: Josie the prude, Josie that’s never more than held someone’s hand, papa’s favourite. But as his strong hands begin to creep even higher, the way he kneads her flesh makes her feel like heat pools between her thighs. Josie swallows thickly. He says it’s okay and he’s the professional. She’s obviously just freaking out. “Y-yes, I do,” she nods her head as if that would even do shit from where she lies on her stomach, but trying to take the reassurance is one thing, not tensing up her muscles is another. It feels good. It’s not supposed to feel this good, right? A gasp and she squirms a little, “Isn’t that like, um… aren’t your hands too far up?”

he knows he's toeing a dangerous line, should keep his hands to himself - at least metaphorically -, but ever since she came into his practice all shy and nervous - clearly a virgin when it comes to getting a professional massage at least -, he's been fighting off temptation. until he nudges the line of professionalism a little, strong yet soft hands brushing over the top of her thighs, testing her levels of comfort. though it's probably the least professional reaction he could have, silas can't help but grin a little when she immediately tenses, wondering if she's blushing and secretly loving how reactive she is. "it's okay", he coos in response, touch growing firmer as he begins to knead the top of her thighs, "it can feel a little unfamiliar if it's your first massage, but don't worry, it's going to feel really good if you simply keep an open mind." fingers dip between her thighs, teasing the sensitive skin of the inside of her thighs. "you do want leave here all relaxed, don't you?"

♡ ― Seeing that tall, muscular man he was completely unravel and grovel at her feet was the single more arousing addiction Semra had ever indulged in. He was her perfect match, as soapy as that sounded: he wanted someone to take control and to finally take that burden off his shoulders, and she wanted that almost pathetic worship. Call it daddy issues, whatever. Biting down onto her lower lip, Semra’s mouth tugged into a mean smile. “Hm… I did miss your mouth. If you’re too stupid to use it to explain yourself, maybe at least it’s useful in some other way?” She pulled her foot away from him. As wonderful as it had felt to have his hands devotedly caress her like that, he didn’t actually deserve it, did he? The suds slid down her bare breasts when she got up just a little. She kept herself to the utmost standard. Gym several times a week, waxed, moisturized – just to remind him that she was so much better than he probably deserved – and she expected the same from him. If he didn’t send her proof of his completed work-out regimen, she ignored him for a week, barely even addressing him at work.

Sinking onto the bathtub rim, Semra curled her finger at him to crawl close. “I met a really nice man on the subway back home,” voice lilted, “He was bigger than you. I could see the outline of his cock under his slacks and I was thinking… Gosh, Semra, he could fill you up nice and full. I gave him my number,” Semra’s fingers slid between slick folds, teasing Isaac with a small roll of her hips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me making you watch while this mountain of a man fucks me senseless. Where would you like him to shoot his load for you to eat off me, hm? Kiss me there.”

There was reasons for his tardiness, but Isaac knew better than to give the woman excuses. Not to mention no excuse was good enough for not arriving when Mistress expected him. Mentally kicking himself, he thought back to clients that had kept him out late. None of them were worth disappointing Mistress. And yet, here they were. How could Isaac say he missed her, after being out later than he was allowed?

He let out a soft sigh as he felt the foot against his chest. "Forgive me, Mistress." His free hand moved up and softly caressed at the skin. "I'll take any punishment you see fit." Bowing his head, he continued holding up the glass for her. His devotion ran deep, and the man wanted to prove that. The powerful and influential Isaac had always craved a release from his demanding life. That was something he finally got as the woman's submissive, and he loved every minute of it. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He sat on his heels in the tub, eyes begging to be allowed to serve her.

sorry for the busy past couple days! replies + dms are being worked on now and there's at least one, possibly two open starters coming up!