u/daddy94699

Hey all, I'm looking for a roleplay partner to do a bit of world building with! I'm looking at playing as a main character who recently moved to a new town. The story line/plot will focus on one or a couple of scenario ideas at a time, and really going into depth on them.

As a bit of a starting point, I'd be looking to play out various scenarios revolving around a hung 'alpha' type, you know, arrogant and a bit misogynistic, who moves into a new town and cause all sorts of sexual chaos. That might be something from making quite the impression on the MILF neighbour next-door as she comes to bring some welcome cookies over to him. Maybe he's fucking the mayor dumb, ruining the hipsters at the local coffee shops, railing a student who disagreed with his presentation at the local college, or plowing his coworkers at the new law-firm he's working at. I quite like a corruption angle in most of my roleplays. Turning smart, eloquent women into babbling sizequeens, playing up the ditzification/bimbofication sort of idea!

I play 3rd person usually, but am able to mix it up depending on what seems right for the roleplay.

The actual projection of the overall story can be discussed, but I'm looking for a long-term partner to explore various situations. We can discuss where we want to start things off and other inner-prompts or scenes we may be interested in.

Kinks: Cock shock, cock praise, cock worship, deepthroat, sloppy head, face fucking, corruption, Mind Break, Ahegao, Huge Cocks, Alphas, Lots of Cum, Hypnosis (Cocknosis), Anal, Tit-Fucking, Outfit Control, Toys, Ditzification, Sizequeen Conversion, Detail, Slow build-ups, and the use of references/porn/gifs/pics. And so much more!! Limits: Watersports/Scat/Blood/Vomit/Animals

I look forward to hearing from would-be roleplayers, and I'd love to hear a bit about you in responses. I can play on a number of different platforms! All characters and participants must be 18+

Hey all, I'm looking for a roleplay partner to do a bit of world building with! I'm looking at playing as a main character who recently moved to a new town. The story line/plot will focus on one or a couple of scenario ideas at a time, and really going into depth on them.

As a bit of a starting point, I'd be looking to play out various scenarios revolving around a hung 'alpha' type, you know, arrogant and a bit misogynistic, who moves into a new town and cause all sorts of sexual chaos. That might be something from making quite the impression on the MILF neighbour next-door as she comes to bring some welcome cookies over to him. Maybe he's fucking the mayor dumb, ruining the hipsters at the local coffee shops, railing a student who disagreed with his presentation at the local college, or plowing his coworkers at the new law-firm he's working at. I quite like a corruption angle in most of my roleplays. Turning smart, eloquent women into babbling sizequeens, playing up the ditzification/bimbofication sort of idea!

I play 3rd person usually, but am able to mix it up depending on what seems right for the roleplay.

The actual projection of the overall story can be discussed, but I'm looking for a long-term partner to explore various situations. We can discuss where we want to start things off and other inner-prompts or scenes we may be interested in.

Kinks: Cock shock, cock praise, cock worship, deepthroat, sloppy head, face fucking, corruption, Mind Break, Ahegao, Huge Cocks, Alphas, Lots of Cum, Hypnosis (Cocknosis), Anal, Tit-Fucking, Outfit Control, Toys, Ditzification, Sizequeen Conversion, Detail, Slow build-ups, and the use of references/porn/gifs/pics. And so much more!! Limits: Watersports/Scat/Blood/Vomit/Animals

I look forward to hearing from would-be roleplayers, and I'd love to hear a bit about you in responses. I can play on a number of different platforms! All characters and participants must be 18+

\*\*Background:\*\*

My name is Dr. Sam Carter, and my practice sits in the most exclusive part of town. I don't advertise; my reputation brings me clients who need results, not sympathy. I specialize in performance psychology and relationship dynamics, but my real expertise is in deconstruction—taking apart the carefully constructed facades of people who have mastered the art of performance and finding the raw, desperate need underneath.

Mia came to me three weeks ago. I knew her before she ever walked through my door. You'd have to live under a rock not to. She's "MiaValentina" online, a walking, talking wet dream with five hundred thousand followers who hang on her every post. Fitness content, beach photos, "get ready with me" vlogs. She's a master of creating an illusion of effortless perfection. Her body is a work of art, all lean muscle and soft curves, and she knows exactly how to photograph it to make men and women alike lose their minds.

But her real-life relationships are a disaster. Her last boyfriend, some tech bro, had left her, and the gossip sites had a field day. The official reason was "irreconcilable differences," but I'd heard through the grapevine that his actual complaint was that she was a "beautiful, empty shell." He said she could turn on the charm like a faucet, but there was nobody home. She could perform seduction, but she couldn't handle intimacy. She couldn't surrender.

That's where I come in. In our first two sessions, she was exactly as I expected: poised, polished, and completely full of shit. She sat across from me in designer athleisure wear that cost more than most people's rent, her blonde hair perfect, her nails manicured. She spoke about her "relationship issues" like she was discussing a business strategy that needed tweaking. She was trying to find a new technique, a new angle to "win" at relationships.

I let her talk. I let her lay out the whole pathetic performance. And then, in our last session, I gave her the first real test. I told her that her problem wasn't that she needed to be \*better\* at relationships. Her problem was that she needed to stop performing entirely. I told her she needed to learn to surrender.

Today is her fourth session. She's due any minute. This is where the real work begins.

\*\*Dialogue Start:\*\*

The door to my office opens precisely at 2:00 PM, and Mia steps inside. Today she's wearing a tiny white tennis skirt and a tight pink crop top that shows off her flat stomach and the hint of a belly button piercing. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she smells of expensive coconut sunscreen.

"Dr. Carter," she says, her voice smooth as she sits down in the leather chair across from my desk, crossing her long, toned legs. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said last week. About... surrendering."

I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers. "And?"

"And I want to try," she says, her blue eyes meeting mine. There's a flicker of something genuine there—a crack in the facade. "But I don't know how. I've never... let go. With anyone."

I let the silence hang in the air for a moment. "Then we'll start small. Close the door, Mia."

She looks surprised, but she gets up and closes the heavy oak door, the click echoing in the quiet room.

"Now lock it."

Her eyes widen slightly, but she does as she's told, the soft thud of the lockbolt home making her flinch.

"Good," I say, my voice low. "That's the first step. Creating a space where what happens here stays here. Where you don't have to perform for anyone. Not for me, not for your followers, not for some imaginary audience. Just you."

I stand up and walk around my desk, leaning against it in front of her. I'm close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look up at me.

"In our previous sessions, you've been in control, Mia. You've been telling me what you think I want to hear. That ends today. Today, you're going to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?"

She swallows hard, her pulse beating in her throat. "I... yes."

"Yes, what?" I ask, my voice firm.

"Yes... Dr. Carter."

"Good girl," I say, and I see a shiver run through her. "Now stand up and take off your top."

\*\*How Things Will Progress:\*\*

From here, the corruption will be gradual but relentless. Each session will push her boundaries further, always framed as "therapy" but clearly about her submission to me.

1. \*\*Body Surrender:\*\* In today's session, after she takes off her top, I'll have her stand still while I touch her—first clinically, then possessively. I'll explain her physical responses to her as they happen, normalizing her arousal to my control. The session will end with her performing oral sex on me, framed as "learning to serve" rather than "performing seduction."

2. \*\*Visual Documentation:\*\* In the next session, I'll introduce photography, claiming it's to "document her progress" and help her see herself through my eyes. These photos will start artistic but become increasingly explicit, creating a visual record of her transformation.

3. \*\*Public Exposure:\*\* We'll progress to semi-public encounters—parking lots, public restrooms, even her own gym after hours—framed as "exposure therapy" to help her overcome her need for control.

4. \*\*Anal Training:\*\* I'll introduce anal sex as "the ultimate act of surrender," teaching her to find pleasure in giving up complete control of her body to me.

5. \*\*Recording:\*\* I'll begin recording our sessions, explaining that it's for "therapeutic review" but actually creating leverage and deepening her submission.

6. \*\*Cum Addiction:\*\* I'll train her body to crave my cum, first through facials (marking her as mine), then creampies (claiming her completely), until she associates my ejaculations with her ultimate pleasure and purpose.

7. \*\*Total Corruption:\*\* The final stage will be when she arrives at my office not as a patient, but as my eager slut, dressed in lingerie I've bought her, begging for the next lesson in surrender. Her online persona will become a hollow shell she performs for others, while her real self is the submissive woman who exists only for my pleasure and approval.

Each step will break down another piece of her carefully constructed identity, replacing it with a new one centered on my approval and her submission to my desires. The ultimate triumph will be when she can no longer separate her "therapy" from her desire—when she truly believes that surrendering to me completely is her only path to healing.

All characters and participants must be 18+

​

**Background:**

My name is Dr. Sam Carter, and my practice sits in the most exclusive part of town. I don't advertise; my reputation brings me clients who need results, not sympathy. I specialize in performance psychology and relationship dynamics, but my real expertise is in deconstruction—taking apart the carefully constructed facades of people who have mastered the art of performance and finding the raw, desperate need underneath.

Mia came to me three weeks ago. I knew her before she ever walked through my door. You'd have to live under a rock not to. She's "MiaValentina" online, a walking, talking wet dream with five hundred thousand followers who hang on her every post. Fitness content, beach photos, "get ready with me" vlogs. She's a master of creating an illusion of effortless perfection. Her body is a work of art, all lean muscle and soft curves, and she knows exactly how to photograph it to make men and women alike lose their minds.

But her real-life relationships are a disaster. Her last boyfriend, some tech bro, had left her, and the gossip sites had a field day. The official reason was "irreconcilable differences," but I'd heard through the grapevine that his actual complaint was that she was a "beautiful, empty shell." He said she could turn on the charm like a faucet, but there was nobody home. She could perform seduction, but she couldn't handle intimacy. She couldn't surrender.

That's where I come in. In our first two sessions, she was exactly as I expected: poised, polished, and completely full of shit. She sat across from me in designer athleisure wear that cost more than most people's rent, her blonde hair perfect, her nails manicured. She spoke about her "relationship issues" like she was discussing a business strategy that needed tweaking. She was trying to find a new technique, a new angle to "win" at relationships.

I let her talk. I let her lay out the whole pathetic performance. And then, in our last session, I gave her the first real test. I told her that her problem wasn't that she needed to be *better* at relationships. Her problem was that she needed to stop performing entirely. I told her she needed to learn to surrender.

Today is her fourth session. She's due any minute. This is where the real work begins.

**Dialogue Start:**

The door to my office opens precisely at 2:00 PM, and Mia steps inside. Today she's wearing a tiny white tennis skirt and a tight pink crop top that shows off her flat stomach and the hint of a belly button piercing. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she smells of expensive coconut sunscreen.

"Dr. Carter," she says, her voice smooth as she sits down in the leather chair across from my desk, crossing her long, toned legs. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said last week. About... surrendering."

I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers. "And?"

"And I want to try," she says, her blue eyes meeting mine. There's a flicker of something genuine there—a crack in the facade. "But I don't know how. I've never... let go. With anyone."

I let the silence hang in the air for a moment. "Then we'll start small. Close the door, Mia."

She looks surprised, but she gets up and closes the heavy oak door, the click echoing in the quiet room.

"Now lock it."

Her eyes widen slightly, but she does as she's told, the soft thud of the lockbolt home making her flinch.

"Good," I say, my voice low. "That's the first step. Creating a space where what happens here stays here. Where you don't have to perform for anyone. Not for me, not for your followers, not for some imaginary audience. Just you."

I stand up and walk around my desk, leaning against it in front of her. I'm close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look up at me.

"In our previous sessions, you've been in control, Mia. You've been telling me what you think I want to hear. That ends today. Today, you're going to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?"

She swallows hard, her pulse beating in her throat. "I... yes."

"Yes, what?" I ask, my voice firm.

"Yes... Dr. Carter."

"Good girl," I say, and I see a shiver run through her. "Now stand up and take off your top."

**How Things Will Progress:**

From here, the corruption will be gradual but relentless. Each session will push her boundaries further, always framed as "therapy" but clearly about her submission to me.

1. **Body Surrender:** In today's session, after she takes off her top, I'll have her stand still while I touch her—first clinically, then possessively. I'll explain her physical responses to her as they happen, normalizing her arousal to my control. The session will end with her performing oral sex on me, framed as "learning to serve" rather than "performing seduction."

2. **Visual Documentation:** In the next session, I'll introduce photography, claiming it's to "document her progress" and help her see herself through my eyes. These photos will start artistic but become increasingly explicit, creating a visual record of her transformation.

3. **Public Exposure:** We'll progress to semi-public encounters—parking lots, public restrooms, even her own gym after hours—framed as "exposure therapy" to help her overcome her need for control.

4. **Anal Training:** I'll introduce anal sex as "the ultimate act of surrender," teaching her to find pleasure in giving up complete control of her body to me.

5. **Recording:** I'll begin recording our sessions, explaining that it's for "therapeutic review" but actually creating leverage and deepening her submission.

6. **Cum Addiction:** I'll train her body to crave my cum, first through facials (marking her as mine), then creampies (claiming her completely), until she associates my ejaculations with her ultimate pleasure and purpose.

7. **Total Corruption:** The final stage will be when she arrives at my office not as a patient, but as my eager slut, dressed in lingerie I've bought her, begging for the next lesson in surrender. Her online persona will become a hollow shell she performs for others, while her real self is the submissive woman who exists only for my pleasure and approval.

Each step will break down another piece of her carefully constructed identity, replacing it with a new one centered on my approval and her submission to my desires. The ultimate triumph will be when she can no longer separate her "therapy" from her desire—when she truly believes that surrendering to me completely is her only path to healing.

All characters and participants must be 18+

The university library was the last place Sam expected to find the woman who would consume his thoughts. At 21, the college quarterback was used to attention, but nothing had prepared him for the moment he looked up from his textbook and saw her.

She was shelving books in the literature section, reaching high on her tiptoes in a way that made her silk blouse pull taut against generous curves. Her dark hair was swept up in a loose bun, with a few tendrils escaping to frame a face that seemed both sophisticated and warm. When she turned and caught him staring, her eyes—deep amber and knowing—held his gaze without flinching.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked, her voice a rich melody that vibrated through Sam's chest.

Sam cleared his throat, feeling an uncharacteristic flush creep up his neck. "Uh, no. Just... admiring the view."

A slow smile spread across her lips. "Is that so? Well, the library has many beautiful sights." She extended a hand. "I'm Evelyn, by the way. The new literature professor."

"Sam," he managed, his large hand enveloping hers. "Football. I mean, I play football."

Evelyn's eyes drifted appreciatively over his muscular frame, barely concealed by his tight t-shirt. "I can see that," she murmured, her thumb brushing suggestively against his palm before releasing his hand. "You must work quite hard to maintain a physique like that."

"Four hours a day," Sam found himself saying, his usual confidence returning as he sensed her interest. "Weights, conditioning, practice..."

"Discipline," Evelyn noted, stepping closer. The scent of jasmine and something uniquely her filled Sam's senses. "That's an admirable quality in a young man."

Sam's heart hammered against his ribs as she moved into his personal space. He was suddenly aware of every inch of his 6'3" frame, of the way his muscles tensed under her appreciative gaze. "I try to be," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register.

"I can tell," Evelyn replied, her eyes darkening with something that made Sam's blood heat. "You know, Sam, I'm new here. I don't know many people yet, and I was just thinking about how nice it would be to have someone show me around."

Sam's mind raced with possibilities as he imagined showing her much more than the campus. "I'd be happy to," he said, trying to sound casual despite the growing tightness in his jeans.

"Good," Evelyn purred, leaning in just enough that her words were for him alone. "Because I have a feeling there's much more to you than just a football player, and I'm very interested in discovering all of it."

Her eyes flickered down to his lips and back up again. "Perhaps we could start with coffee tomorrow? My treat."

"Tomorrow," Sam agreed, already wondering how he'd survive the night thinking about her.

As Evelyn walked away, Sam couldn't help but notice the sway of her hips, the confident stride of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted—and was accustomed to getting it. He had a feeling his encounter with the 38-year-old literature professor was just the beginning of an education he'd never find in any textbook.

All characters and participants must be 18+

The living room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Sarah sat on the plush sofa, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the coffee mug she'd been nursing for the past hour. The morning had passed with no mention of Mother's Day, no card, no call, no acknowledgment from her son Sam who was still upstairs in his room.

At 18, Sam was certainly old enough to know better.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and straightened her posture, schooling her expression into something neutral as Sam appeared in the living room doorway, phone in hand, scrolling through what was probably social media.

"Morning," he mumbled without looking up, heading toward the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sam," Sarah replied, her voice even. "Any special plans for today?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Probably just hang out with friends later. Why?"

"No reason," she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Just thought you might remember what today is."

Sam paused, finally looking up from his phone with a blank expression. "Sunday?"

Sarah set her mug down with a soft click. "It's Mother's Day, Sam."

A flicker of something—panic? guilt?—crossed his face before being replaced by defensiveness. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I've been busy with exams and stuff."

"Too busy to remember the woman who's been cooking your meals, doing your laundry, and asking how your day is all these years?" Sarah asked, her voice dangerously soft.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I said I'm sorry. What do you want me to do about it now?"

Sarah stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she walked toward him. "I think we need to have a talk about appreciation, Sam. And perhaps some consequences for forgetting."

She gestured to the armchair opposite the sofa. "Sit. We're going to discuss how you're going to make this up to me, and how we're going to establish some new rules about respect in this house."

Sam's eyes widened slightly at her tone. This wasn't the usual gentle Sarah he was used to. There was something different in her posture, her expression, her voice—a new authority that made his stomach flutter with a mixture of apprehension and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Now, Sam," she added when he hesitated, "or the consequences will be more severe."

The living room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Sarah sat on the plush sofa, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the coffee mug she'd been nursing for the past hour. The morning had passed with no mention of Mother's Day, no card, no call, no acknowledgment from her son Sam who was still upstairs in his room.

At 18, Sam was certainly old enough to know better.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and straightened her posture, schooling her expression into something neutral as Sam appeared in the living room doorway, phone in hand, scrolling through what was probably social media.

"Morning," he mumbled without looking up, heading toward the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sam," Sarah replied, her voice even. "Any special plans for today?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Probably just hang out with friends later. Why?"

"No reason," she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Just thought you might remember what today is."

Sam paused, finally looking up from his phone with a blank expression. "Sunday?"

Sarah set her mug down with a soft click. "It's Mother's Day, Sam."

A flicker of something—panic? guilt?—crossed his face before being replaced by defensiveness. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I've been busy with exams and stuff."

"Too busy to remember the woman who's been cooking your meals, doing your laundry, and asking how your day is all these years?" Sarah asked, her voice dangerously soft.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I said I'm sorry. What do you want me to do about it now?"

Sarah stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she walked toward him. "I think we need to have a talk about appreciation, Sam. And perhaps some consequences for forgetting."

She gestured to the armchair opposite the sofa. "Sit. We're going to discuss how you're going to make this up to me, and how we're going to establish some new rules about respect in this house."

Sam's eyes widened slightly at her tone. This wasn't the usual gentle Sarah he was used to. There was something different in her posture, her expression, her voice—a new authority that made his stomach flutter with a mixture of apprehension and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Now, Sam," she added when he hesitated, "or the consequences will be more severe."

The living room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Sarah sat on the plush sofa, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the coffee mug she'd been nursing for the past hour. The morning had passed with no mention of Mother's Day, no card, no call, no acknowledgment from her son Sam who was still upstairs in his room.

At 18, Sam was certainly old enough to know better.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and straightened her posture, schooling her expression into something neutral as Sam appeared in the living room doorway, phone in hand, scrolling through what was probably social media.

"Morning," he mumbled without looking up, heading toward the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sam," Sarah replied, her voice even. "Any special plans for today?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Probably just hang out with friends later. Why?"

"No reason," she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Just thought you might remember what today is."

Sam paused, finally looking up from his phone with a blank expression. "Sunday?"

Sarah set her mug down with a soft click. "It's Mother's Day, Sam."

A flicker of something—panic? guilt?—crossed his face before being replaced by defensiveness. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I've been busy with exams and stuff."

"Too busy to remember the woman who's been cooking your meals, doing your laundry, and asking how your day is all these years?" Sarah asked, her voice dangerously soft.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I said I'm sorry. What do you want me to do about it now?"

Sarah stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she walked toward him. "I think we need to have a talk about appreciation, Sam. And perhaps some consequences for forgetting."

She gestured to the armchair opposite the sofa. "Sit. We're going to discuss how you're going to make this up to me, and how we're going to establish some new rules about respect in this house."

Sam's eyes widened slightly at her tone. This wasn't the usual gentle Sarah he was used to. There was something different in her posture, her expression, her voice—a new authority that made his stomach flutter with a mixture of apprehension and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Now, Sam," she added when he hesitated, "or the consequences will be more severe."

The living room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Sarah sat on the plush sofa, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the coffee mug she'd been nursing for the past hour. The morning had passed with no mention of Mother's Day, no card, no call, no acknowledgment from her son Sam who was still upstairs in his room.

At 18, Sam was certainly old enough to know better.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and straightened her posture, schooling her expression into something neutral as Sam appeared in the living room doorway, phone in hand, scrolling through what was probably social media.

"Morning," he mumbled without looking up, heading toward the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sam," Sarah replied, her voice even. "Any special plans for today?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Probably just hang out with friends later. Why?"

"No reason," she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Just thought you might remember what today is."

Sam paused, finally looking up from his phone with a blank expression. "Sunday?"

Sarah set her mug down with a soft click. "It's Mother's Day, Sam."

A flicker of something—panic? guilt?—crossed his face before being replaced by defensiveness. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I've been busy with exams and stuff."

"Too busy to remember the woman who's been cooking your meals, doing your laundry, and asking how your day is all these years?" Sarah asked, her voice dangerously soft.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I said I'm sorry. What do you want me to do about it now?"

Sarah stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she walked toward him. "I think we need to have a talk about appreciation, Sam. And perhaps some consequences for forgetting."

She gestured to the armchair opposite the sofa. "Sit. We're going to discuss how you're going to make this up to me, and how we're going to establish some new rules about respect in this house."

Sam's eyes widened slightly at her tone. This wasn't the usual gentle Sarah he was used to. There was something different in her posture, her expression, her voice—a new authority that made his stomach flutter with a mixture of apprehension and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Now, Sam," she added when he hesitated, "or the consequences will be more severe."

The living room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Sarah sat on the plush sofa, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the coffee mug she'd been nursing for the past hour. The morning had passed with no mention of Mother's Day, no card, no call, no acknowledgment from her son Sam who was still upstairs in his room.

At 18, Sam was certainly old enough to know better.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and straightened her posture, schooling her expression into something neutral as Sam appeared in the living room doorway, phone in hand, scrolling through what was probably social media.

"Morning," he mumbled without looking up, heading toward the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sam," Sarah replied, her voice even. "Any special plans for today?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Probably just hang out with friends later. Why?"

"No reason," she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Just thought you might remember what today is."

Sam paused, finally looking up from his phone with a blank expression. "Sunday?"

Sarah set her mug down with a soft click. "It's Mother's Day, Sam."

A flicker of something—panic? guilt?—crossed his face before being replaced by defensiveness. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I've been busy with exams and stuff."

"Too busy to remember the woman who's been cooking your meals, doing your laundry, and asking how your day is all these years?" Sarah asked, her voice dangerously soft.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I said I'm sorry. What do you want me to do about it now?"

Sarah stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she walked toward him. "I think we need to have a talk about appreciation, Sam. And perhaps some consequences for forgetting."

She gestured to the armchair opposite the sofa. "Sit. We're going to discuss how you're going to make this up to me, and how we're going to establish some new rules about respect in this house."

Sam's eyes widened slightly at her tone. This wasn't the usual gentle Sarah he was used to. There was something different in her posture, her expression, her voice—a new authority that made his stomach flutter with a mixture of apprehension and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Now, Sam," she added when he hesitated, "or the consequences will be more severe."

All characters and participants must be 18+

The living room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Sarah sat on the plush sofa, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the coffee mug she'd been nursing for the past hour. The morning had passed with no mention of Mother's Day, no card, no call, no acknowledgment from her son Sam who was still upstairs in his room.

At 18, Sam was certainly old enough to know better.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and straightened her posture, schooling her expression into something neutral as Sam appeared in the living room doorway, phone in hand, scrolling through what was probably social media.

"Morning," he mumbled without looking up, heading toward the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sam," Sarah replied, her voice even. "Any special plans for today?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Probably just hang out with friends later. Why?"

"No reason," she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Just thought you might remember what today is."

Sam paused, finally looking up from his phone with a blank expression. "Sunday?"

Sarah set her mug down with a soft click. "It's Mother's Day, Sam."

A flicker of something—panic? guilt?—crossed his face before being replaced by defensiveness. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I've been busy with exams and stuff."

"Too busy to remember the woman who's been cooking your meals, doing your laundry, and asking how your day is all these years?" Sarah asked, her voice dangerously soft.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I said I'm sorry. What do you want me to do about it now?"

Sarah stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she walked toward him. "I think we need to have a talk about appreciation, Sam. And perhaps some consequences for forgetting."

She gestured to the armchair opposite the sofa. "Sit. We're going to discuss how you're going to make this up to me, and how we're going to establish some new rules about respect in this house."

Sam's eyes widened slightly at her tone. This wasn't the usual gentle Sarah he was used to. There was something different in her posture, her expression, her voice—a new authority that made his stomach flutter with a mixture of apprehension and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Now, Sam," she added when he hesitated, "or the consequences will be more severe."

The university library was the last place Sam expected to find the woman who would consume his thoughts. At 21, the college quarterback was used to attention, but nothing had prepared him for the moment he looked up from his textbook and saw her.

She was shelving books in the literature section, reaching high on her tiptoes in a way that made her silk blouse pull taut against generous curves. Her dark hair was swept up in a loose bun, with a few tendrils escaping to frame a face that seemed both sophisticated and warm. When she turned and caught him staring, her eyes—deep amber and knowing—held his gaze without flinching.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked, her voice a rich melody that vibrated through Sam's chest.

Sam cleared his throat, feeling an uncharacteristic flush creep up his neck. "Uh, no. Just... admiring the view."

A slow smile spread across her lips. "Is that so? Well, the library has many beautiful sights." She extended a hand. "I'm Evelyn, by the way. The new literature professor."

"Sam," he managed, his large hand enveloping hers. "Football. I mean, I play football."

Evelyn's eyes drifted appreciatively over his muscular frame, barely concealed by his tight t-shirt. "I can see that," she murmured, her thumb brushing suggestively against his palm before releasing his hand. "You must work quite hard to maintain a physique like that."

"Four hours a day," Sam found himself saying, his usual confidence returning as he sensed her interest. "Weights, conditioning, practice..."

"Discipline," Evelyn noted, stepping closer. The scent of jasmine and something uniquely her filled Sam's senses. "That's an admirable quality in a young man."

Sam's heart hammered against his ribs as she moved into his personal space. He was suddenly aware of every inch of his 6'3" frame, of the way his muscles tensed under her appreciative gaze. "I try to be," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register.

"I can tell," Evelyn replied, her eyes darkening with something that made Sam's blood heat. "You know, Sam, I'm new here. I don't know many people yet, and I was just thinking about how nice it would be to have someone show me around."

Sam's mind raced with possibilities as he imagined showing her much more than the campus. "I'd be happy to," he said, trying to sound casual despite the growing tightness in his jeans.

"Good," Evelyn purred, leaning in just enough that her words were for him alone. "Because I have a feeling there's much more to you than just a football player, and I'm very interested in discovering all of it."

Her eyes flickered down to his lips and back up again. "Perhaps we could start with coffee tomorrow? My treat."

"Tomorrow," Sam agreed, already wondering how he'd survive the night thinking about her.

As Evelyn walked away, Sam couldn't help but notice the sway of her hips, the confident stride of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted—and was accustomed to getting it. He had a feeling his encounter with the 38-year-old literature professor was just the beginning of an education he'd never find in any textbook.

All characters and participants must be 18+

Hey all, I'm usually the dominant type, but have grown very interested in exploring my submissive side. With that in mind, I'm looking for a roleplay focusing on a soft/mommy domme dynamic between a star college football star and one of his new profs. Open to discussing details and revising the plot if desired!

The living room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Sarah sat on the plush sofa, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the coffee mug she'd been nursing for the past hour. The morning had passed with no mention of Mother's Day, no card, no call, no acknowledgment from her son Sam who was still upstairs in his room.

At 18, Sam was certainly old enough to know better.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and straightened her posture, schooling her expression into something neutral as Sam appeared in the living room doorway, phone in hand, scrolling through what was probably social media.

"Morning," he mumbled without looking up, heading toward the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sam," Sarah replied, her voice even. "Any special plans for today?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Probably just hang out with friends later. Why?"

"No reason," she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Just thought you might remember what today is."

Sam paused, finally looking up from his phone with a blank expression. "Sunday?"

Sarah set her mug down with a soft click. "It's Mother's Day, Sam."

A flicker of something—panic? guilt?—crossed his face before being replaced by defensiveness. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I've been busy with exams and stuff."

"Too busy to remember the woman who's been cooking your meals, doing your laundry, and asking how your day is all these years?" Sarah asked, her voice dangerously soft.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I said I'm sorry. What do you want me to do about it now?"

Sarah stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she walked toward him. "I think we need to have a talk about appreciation, Sam. And perhaps some consequences for forgetting."

She gestured to the armchair opposite the sofa. "Sit. We're going to discuss how you're going to make this up to me, and how we're going to establish some new rules about respect in this house."

Sam's eyes widened slightly at her tone. This wasn't the usual gentle Sarah he was used to. There was something different in her posture, her expression, her voice—a new authority that made his stomach flutter with a mixture of apprehension and something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Now, Sam," she added when he hesitated, "or the consequences will be more severe."