u/karvohkyle

you were a bonafide star the moment you walked into my audition room. You didn’t get your lines right, and you stumbled through your positioning, and even more disappointingly, you still didn’t know how to control the room with your presence. it was such a shame. still, as I listened to your voice and watched your innocent smile, I couldn't hide that underneath all the freckles, there was a star.

So I obviously rejected you for the role and called your agent to offer her a good monthly stipend to keep you hopeful but unemployed. just enough to help you pay your bills out of the kindness of your heart.

By the time you make it back to my audition room, a year has passed, and that naive star I saw is now reduced to a desperate smile and eyes begging for any form of adoration. As my casting director walks you through the scene again and again after rookie mistakes, I reach down to reposition my erection. We give you our smiles, and even a blind man could see that you were not going to get a call back. When you left, your shoulders dropped; it was clear this was the last straw. Maybe the hollywood dream wasn’t made for you.

I reach into my pocket and copying the number from your file and I text you

“what happened to you? you looked pathetic today. you really won't make it in this town like this. text me now."

Kinks: manipulation, control, oral, anal, objectification, dirty talk, cumplay, dubcon, humiliation

Limits: scat, vomit, excessive blood, gore, and stuff along those lines.

you were a bonafide star the moment you walked into my audition room. You didn’t get your lines right, and you stumbled through your positioning, and even more disappointingly, you still didn’t know how to control the room with your presence. it was such a shame. still, as I listened to your voice and watched your innocent smile, I couldn't hide that underneath all the freckles, there was a star.

So I obviously rejected you for the role and called your agent to offer her a good monthly stipend to keep you hopeful but unemployed. just enough to help you pay your bills out of the kindness of your heart.

By the time you make it back to my audition room, a year has passed, and that naive star I saw is now reduced to a desperate smile and eyes begging for any form of adoration. As my casting director walks you through the scene again and again after rookie mistakes, I reach down to reposition my erection. We give you our smiles, and even a blind man could see that you were not going to get a call back. When you left, your shoulders dropped; it was clear this was the last straw. Maybe the hollywood dream wasn’t made for you.

I reach into my pocket and copying the number from your file and I text you

“what happened to you? you looked pathetic today. you really won't make it in this town like this. text me now."

Kinks: manipulation, control, oral, anal, objectification, dirty talk, cumplay, dubcon, humiliation

Limits: scat, vomit, excessive blood, gore, and stuff along those lines.

I got home to find you two arguing. It was happening more and more, finding your mother reminding you of how careless and irresponsible you are becoming, and you shouting at how controlling and inconsiderate she is. Like, every single time I come home to this, I imagine with just a few tiptoes I could slip up the stairs and fall to my bed, but like most nights your mother could always tell when I enter the house.

This time the argument was different. Apparently you were caught fucking the college janitor, and the school is considering expulsion. Your mother couldn’t believe she raised a whore, and you couldn’t believe she would dare speak when she got you at a younger age than you are. While the words fly, I look at the letter from the school. They understand that sex is tolerated, if not encouraged, among students, but your behaviour with the staff and in the school offices was misconduct they couldn't allow.

Since I was a huge contributor to their board, however, they would consider your continued admission if you get to go to mandated counselling with me present before they can reinstate you. I look up at you. Your miniskirt and tanktop wrestling to hold your dignity behind them. For the first time I felt disappointed. Sure, I couldn’t hide that I have been almost absent in your life these past few years, and I have almost prescribed all my interactions with you through your mother, but a janitor.

"Quiet," the both of you barely hear me in your shouts. You have your eyes squarely on your brother as you throw your hands towards her that you barely register me beside her.

I reach out and slap you, which shuts the both of you up. “I said quiet. Can I have some peace inside my house?”

hello, I would love to rp this plot with someone. I will play your father (first person) and therapist (third person) as we both manipulate you to discipline and correct your bad, bad behavior. Please reply with the limits you would like to be considered and any suggestions you have for the plot.

The slap rang through the whole house. I could hear the muffled shouts and her crying followed by another louder slap

I had heard him come in, drunk and combative. I didn’t know what had started the fight. It varies night to night, from the salt in the food to a rumor she was seen somewhere she shouldn’t be. It always starts differently, but it always ends the same way, with her crying and him asleep in their bed.

This time, I was ready. I took a deep breath. I have been exercising these last few months for this. I have been replaying this moment for years. I open the door and step out.

He didn’t expect it and neither did I. I find him holding her down on the ground as he tries to open his belt. She isn’t fighting back. I punch him in the face, and he falls instantly. I expected a fight. I expected some pain. I expected that he would stand up and like he has done to us all these years,, he would beat the shit out of me and throw me out of his house. Yet here he was and he wasn’t moving.

The adrenaline pumping in my system wouldn’t let me calm down. I reached down and grabbed his neck. There is no pulse. I flip his body and start slapping it awake.

“dad, dad, Dad." Nothing. I don’t know what to do. I look at my mother; she hasn’t moved. Her dress ripped up to reveal her legs spread apart on the kitchen floor. "Mom, call 911.” her eyes were locked on me, but there was almost no one behind them. Mom. Call 911." Suddenly, there she was. She slowly pulled herself together and stood up, heading towards the door.

I look down on the body, and for the first time, my father is not scary. He is not restless; he is not loud; he is not angry. He is barely a man. Well, what has remained after a man. For the first time in four hours, I unclench my fists. It finally dawns on me what has happened, and without his shadow hovering over my thoughts, I have, for the first time in my life, clarity.

I stand and find my mother just dialing the number. Before it can connect, I take the phone from her ear and end the call.

“you are going to help me bury the body." I look in her eyes, and she instantly nods. I finally understood what my father meant all those times he said women are like dogs; they just need someone to order them around.

Hello, I'm looking to roleplay this dark and intense story with someone, preferably an older woman. Could be short-term but best served long. First person and in past or present tense.

Kinks: manipulation, control, oral, anal, objectification, dirty talk, cumplay, dubcon, humiliation

Limits: scat, vomit, excessive blood, gore, and stuff along those lines.

Dear Samantha,

When your mother told me she was pregnant, my heart stopped. She was crying and hysterical about how careless I had been, and I was barely a man, to be honest. I comforted her because I know it's what I should have done, and I even gave her some comfort sex to ease her into slumber, and then, in the middle of the night, I left and never came back.

I had dreams. I wanted to be a writer who'd ensnare great minds with his mind and build up a fanbase that could rival the Hemingways of the world. I wanted to travel and explore, sow my oats on every continent, and discover all the depths of my graces and demons in a lifetime of success and notoriety. None of it could be achieved if I were to stay in our little town raising a child.

As you can tell, none of that happened. I am no closer to any of that as I was the day I left. I might even be further considering all the networks and opportunities that won’t give me a second call. My job as a supermarket attendant barely gets me through the months' bills, and the long hours ensure any time outside of work is best passed under the unquenching influence of booze and regret.

When I saw on Facebook the face of your mother with a caption of the accident that took her life, I broke down in tears. She was as beautiful as the day I left her, and the idea that she had been in the same town i left her all this time and now even if i wanted, I couldn't speak to her. I spent the whole night replaying the little time we had together and trying to stop myself from building the life I could have lived if I weren't so stupid. To be loved. To have someone to share a presence with, through the good and the bad. The chance to be a father to someone and rediscover life again through their fresh eyes. And I gave it all up for nothing.

Sitting at the back of the funeral, I listened to what everyone had to say about her. A lot of it I could agree with because they were the same things I fell in love with; a lot more were the things she became after I left her. When you went up and you opened up about the love you had for your mother despite the absence of her bartending and toughness when she was present, I saw her beauty even more radiantly in your face, the same innocence I tried to comfort all those years ago worn on you, and my absence in both of your lives was so palpable that not even an acknowledgement of me found its way through the whole procession.

I don’t know why I am writing this letter. I just want you to know that I am here if you ever want to talk. You have every reason not to, and I will respect it if you don’t want anything to do with me. I wouldn’t, too, if I were in your shoes. I won’t promise you that I am changed or anything of that sort. I just want to say hi and tell you I am here. When you flip this letter, you will see my number.

Hope to hear from you.

love,

Dad

Dear Samantha,

When your mother told me she was pregnant, my heart stopped. She was crying and hysterical about how careless I had been, and I was barely a man, to be honest. I comforted her because I know it's what I should have done, and I even gave her some comfort sex to ease her into slumber, and then, in the middle of the night, I left and never came back.

I had dreams. I wanted to be a writer who'd ensnare great minds with his mind and build up a fanbase that could rival the Hemingways of the world. I wanted to travel and explore, sow my oats on every continent, and discover all the depths of my graces and demons in a lifetime of success and notoriety. None of it could be achieved if I were to stay in our little town raising a child.

As you can tell, none of that happened. I am no closer to any of that as I was the day I left. I might even be further considering all the networks and opportunities that won’t give me a second call. My job as a supermarket attendant barely gets me through the months' bills, and the long hours ensure any time outside of work is best passed under the unquenching influence of booze and regret.

When I saw on Facebook the face of your mother with a caption of the accident that took her life, I broke down in tears. She was as beautiful as the day I left her, and the idea that she had been in the same town i left her all this time and now even if i wanted, I couldn't speak to her. I spent the whole night replaying the little time we had together and trying to stop myself from building the life I could have lived if I weren't so stupid. To be loved. To have someone to share a presence with, through the good and the bad. The chance to be a father to someone and rediscover life again through their fresh eyes. And I gave it all up for nothing.

Sitting at the back of the funeral, I listened to what everyone had to say about her. A lot of it I could agree with because they were the same things I fell in love with; a lot more were the things she became after I left her. When you went up and you opened up about the love you had for your mother despite the absence of her bartending and toughness when she was present, I saw her beauty even more radiantly in your face, the same innocence I tried to comfort all those years ago worn on you, and my absence in both of your lives was so palpable that not even an acknowledgement of me found its way through the whole procession.

I don’t know why I am writing this letter. I just want you to know that I am here if you ever want to talk. You have every reason not to, and I will respect it if you don’t want anything to do with me. I wouldn’t, too, if I were in your shoes. I won’t promise you that I am changed or anything of that sort. I just want to say hi and tell you I am here. When you flip this letter, you will see my number.

Hope to hear from you.

love,

Dad