u/multi-musing

"You sure you want another one?" The bartender called out as he approached, another clean glass in hand. Before Elliot could answer, the same bartender shook his head and began to make the professor's preferred when he wanted to forget everything: an old fashioned on the rocks. "Thanks." With a sheepish defeated grin, he pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who quickly grabbed and placed it beneath the sticky wooden counter-top. "You got it, boss." Truthfully? He hadn't even been that much of a regular. God forbid. A respected professor becoming a regular at a seedy dive bar that students from the same college frequented once the semester was in full swing? Without tenure, he'd be screwed. Up shits creek and without a paddle to call his own. What would the college think? Let alone the wife who drove him to begin drinking to begin with? Not as if they fought about much. Elliot should've been happy and content with his lot in life. A gorgeous wife he met while pursuing his own degree, a successful life, what more could he want?

Attention. Affection. During their college years and when they were first embarking on their professional lives together.. they had that. Passion. Love. Elliot loved her. He did. Did she love him back? She claimed to. Made every single promise in the world; from flying back home and spending a weekend with him to taking a whole month vacation from her job just so they could always take that trip to the Maldives they always talked about. Did it ever manifest? Did it ever amount to anything at all? Before he could answer his own musing, the clink of the glass ripped him from his melancholic daydream. How many had he consumed already since the start of the night? It couldn't have been that much. Two? Three? Now four?

"Careful. I might have to cut you off soon." With a cheeky grin, the bartender finished adding the garnish: an orange peel spread around the rim. "Appreciate it." Elliot nodded solemnly before shooting his fingers around the glass. That's what he was there for. To forget. To numb the emotional toll it took on his body. Ironic, wasn't it? A professor of psychology unable to handle the intense emotions surrounding his marriage. A classic example of do as he says and not as he does. During the school year, Professor Vanderpool preached about coping mechanisms, the differences between healthy and destructive behaviors, and how best to approach, address, and think of solutions. How best to understand the mind within the head of the person you are trying to help. Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. Impossible to follow himself.

With a sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. Elliot grimaced. As much as it was his preferred drink, the whiskey always burned. Lowering it between his fingers, he balanced the glass between them before he swirled on the bar stool to take a look at the bar. The semester was only a few days out. Most students were probably busy moving into their dorms, obsessing over their schedules, sorting out last minute financial aid hiccups, to even think about frequenting the most popular college bar in town. It also happened to be the only one that didn't card unless you gave them a reason to. Ethics wasn't his field and thus he didn't worry himself about it. Not as if he'd get in trouble.

A few college aged kids still lingered about, some of them doing their best to avoid the attention of the barkeep or bouncers. All of them except for one woman. One young woman. Brown-ish hair, tight clothing, her lips wrapped around the straw of a drink while she eyed him down. Either as a defense mechanism or an unknowing invitation, he turned back around and placed both his hands on the sticky counter. Elliot grimaced again from that. What was the harm in entertaining a little bit of fun? When was the last time he felt truly alive? As long as his wife didn't find out, not like she was ever attentive enough to notice, who would it hurt? Bringing one hand over the other, he subtly slid his wedding band off his ring finger and slid it into the front pocket of his vest.

It was going to be a mistake. That much he was sure of. Did it bother him? Absolutely. What else was he supposed to do? Suffer? Stew in silence and lose himself to the drink like so many other deplorable men in the nation? Flirtation compared to the vice of drink -- which was worse? Elliot answered that very question the moment he turned around. His eyes met hers and all it seemed to take was a silent understanding. A quick gesture of his head. A visual invitation. Was it terrible that a part of him hoped she'd turn him down the moment she sauntered over? How old was too old to the younger generation?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. The idea revolves around a professor whose relationship has hit a rough patch. He wound up going to a bar, caught the view of a gorgeous young woman, and though he promises to himself that he wouldn't do anything -- he winds up going back home with her. It will ultimately culminate in a blackmailing plot when the young woman in question suddenly finds herself in one of his classes. Using their night of passion as fuel, she uses it as leverage to keep their affair going. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction!

Realistic Faceclaims for our characters are a must and I often use celebrities to achieve this goal. I'm especially looking for: Rachel Sennott, Tate McRae, Sabrina Carpenter, Jennie (Blackpink), Ella Purnell, and Mikey Madison*; though I am open to more than just those! Just who I'm craving at the moment.

Some kinks (not all required) I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!blackmail, corruption, degradation, coercion, squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

"You sure you want another one?" The bartender called out as he approached, another clean glass in hand. Before Elliot could answer, the same bartender shook his head and began to make the professor's preferred when he wanted to forget everything: an old fashioned on the rocks. "Thanks." With a sheepish defeated grin, he pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who quickly grabbed and placed it beneath the sticky wooden counter-top. "You got it, boss." Truthfully? He hadn't even been that much of a regular. God forbid. A respected professor becoming a regular at a seedy dive bar that students from the same college frequented once the semester was in full swing? Without tenure, he'd be screwed. Up shits creek and without a paddle to call his own. What would the college think? Let alone the wife who drove him to begin drinking to begin with? Not as if they fought about much. Elliot should've been happy and content with his lot in life. A gorgeous wife he met while pursuing his own degree, a successful life, what more could he want?

Attention. Affection. During their college years and when they were first embarking on their professional lives together.. they had that. Passion. Love. Elliot loved her. He did. Did she love him back? She claimed to. Made every single promise in the world; from flying back home and spending a weekend with him to taking a whole month vacation from her job just so they could always take that trip to the Maldives they always talked about. Did it ever manifest? Did it ever amount to anything at all? Before he could answer his own musing, the clink of the glass ripped him from his melancholic daydream. How many had he consumed already since the start of the night? It couldn't have been that much. Two? Three? Now four?

"Careful. I might have to cut you off soon." With a cheeky grin, the bartender finished adding the garnish: an orange peel spread around the rim. "Appreciate it." Elliot nodded solemnly before shooting his fingers around the glass. That's what he was there for. To forget. To numb the emotional toll it took on his body. Ironic, wasn't it? A professor of psychology unable to handle the intense emotions surrounding his marriage. A classic example of do as he says and not as he does. During the school year, Professor Vanderpool preached about coping mechanisms, the differences between healthy and destructive behaviors, and how best to approach, address, and think of solutions. How best to understand the mind within the head of the person you are trying to help. Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. Impossible to follow himself.

With a sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. Elliot grimaced. As much as it was his preferred drink, the whiskey always burned. Lowering it between his fingers, he balanced the glass between them before he swirled on the bar stool to take a look at the bar. The semester was only a few days out. Most students were probably busy moving into their dorms, obsessing over their schedules, sorting out last minute financial aid hiccups, to even think about frequenting the most popular college bar in town. It also happened to be the only one that didn't card unless you gave them a reason to. Ethics wasn't his field and thus he didn't worry himself about it. Not as if he'd get in trouble.

A few college aged kids still lingered about, some of them doing their best to avoid the attention of the barkeep or bouncers. All of them except for one woman. A college-aged woman. Brown-ish hair, tight clothing, her lips wrapped around the straw of a drink while she eyed him down. Either as a defense mechanism or an unknowing invitation, he turned back around and placed both his hands on the sticky counter. Elliot grimaced again from that. What was the harm in entertaining a little bit of fun? When was the last time he felt truly alive? As long as his wife didn't find out, not like she was ever attentive enough to notice, who would it hurt? Bringing one hand over the other, he subtly slid his wedding band off his ring finger and slid it into the front pocket of his vest.

It was going to be a mistake. That much he was sure of. Did it bother him? Absolutely. What else was he supposed to do? Suffer? Stew in silence and lose himself to the drink like so many other deplorable men in the nation? Flirtation compared to the vice of drink -- which was worse? Elliot answered that very question the moment he turned around. His eyes met hers and all it seemed to take was a silent understanding. A quick gesture of his head. A visual invitation. Was it terrible that a part of him hoped she'd turn him down the moment she sauntered over? How old was too old to the her generation?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. The idea revolves around a professor whose relationship has hit a rough patch. He wound up going to a bar, caught the view of a gorgeous college student, and though he promises to himself that he wouldn't do anything -- he winds up going back home with her. It will ultimately culminate in a blackmailing plot when the woman in question suddenly finds herself in one of his classes. Using their night of passion as fuel, she uses it as leverage to keep their affair going. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction!

Realistic Faceclaims for our characters are a must and I often use celebrities to achieve this goal. I'm especially looking for: Rachel Sennott, Tate McRae, Sabrina Carpenter, Jennie (Blackpink), Ella Purnell, and Mikey Madison*; though I am open to more than just those! Just who I'm craving at the moment.

Some kinks (not all required) I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!blackmail, corruption, degradation, coercion, squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you!

Discord: solactery

"You sure you want another one?" The bartender called out as he approached, another clean glass in hand. Before Elliot could answer, the same bartender shook his head and began to make the professor's preferred when he wanted to forget everything: an old fashioned on the rocks. "Thanks." With a sheepish defeated grin, he pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who quickly grabbed and placed it beneath the sticky wooden counter-top. "You got it, boss." Truthfully? He hadn't even been that much of a regular. God forbid. A respected professor becoming a regular at a seedy dive bar that students from the same college frequented once the semester was in full swing? Without tenure, he'd be screwed. Up shits creek and without a paddle to call his own. What would the college think? Let alone the wife who drove him to begin drinking to begin with? Not as if they fought about much. Elliot should've been happy and content with his lot in life. A gorgeous wife he met while pursuing his own degree, a successful life, what more could he want?

Attention. Affection. During their college years and when they were first embarking on their professional lives together.. they had that. Passion. Love. Elliot loved her. He did. Did she love him back? She claimed to. Made every single promise in the world; from flying back home and spending a weekend with him to taking a whole month vacation from her job just so they could always take that trip to the Maldives they always talked about. Did it ever manifest? Did it ever amount to anything at all? Before he could answer his own musing, the clink of the glass ripped him from his melancholic daydream. How many had he consumed already since the start of the night? It couldn't have been that much. Two? Three? Now four?

"Careful. I might have to cut you off soon." With a cheeky grin, the bartender finished adding the garnish: an orange peel spread around the rim. "Appreciate it." Elliot nodded solemnly before shooting his fingers around the glass. That's what he was there for. To forget. To numb the emotional toll it took on his body. Ironic, wasn't it? A professor of psychology unable to handle the intense emotions surrounding his marriage. A classic example of do as he says and not as he does. During the school year, Professor Vanderpool preached about coping mechanisms, the differences between healthy and destructive behaviors, and how best to approach, address, and think of solutions. How best to understand the mind within the head of the person you are trying to help. Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. Impossible to follow himself.

With a sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. Elliot grimaced. As much as it was his preferred drink, the whiskey always burned. Lowering it between his fingers, he balanced the glass between them before he swirled on the bar stool to take a look at the bar. The semester was only a few days out. Most students were probably busy moving into their dorms, obsessing over their schedules, sorting out last minute financial aid hiccups, to even think about frequenting the most popular college bar in town. It also happened to be the only one that didn't card unless you gave them a reason to. Ethics wasn't his field and thus he didn't worry himself about it. Not as if he'd get in trouble.

A few college aged kids still lingered about, some of them doing their best to avoid the attention of the barkeep or bouncers. All of them except for one woman. One young woman. Brown-ish hair, tight clothing, her lips wrapped around the straw of a drink while she eyed him down. Either as a defense mechanism or an unknowing invitation, he turned back around and placed both his hands on the sticky counter. Elliot grimaced again from that. What was the harm in entertaining a little bit of fun? When was the last time he felt truly alive? As long as his wife didn't find out, not like she was ever attentive enough to notice, who would it hurt? Bringing one hand over the other, he subtly slid his wedding band off his ring finger and slid it into the front pocket of his vest.

It was going to be a mistake. That much he was sure of. Did it bother him? Absolutely. What else was he supposed to do? Suffer? Stew in silence and lose himself to the drink like so many other deplorable men in the nation? Flirtation compared to the vice of drink -- which was worse? Elliot answered that very question the moment he turned around. His eyes met hers and all it seemed to take was a silent understanding. A quick gesture of his head. A visual invitation. Was it terrible that a part of him hoped she'd turn him down the moment she sauntered over? How old was too old to the younger generation?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. The idea revolves around a professor whose relationship has hit a rough patch. He wound up going to a bar, caught the view of a gorgeous young woman, and though he promises to himself that he wouldn't do anything -- he winds up going back home with her. It will ultimately culminate in a blackmailing plot when the young woman in question suddenly finds herself in one of his classes. Using their night of passion as fuel, she uses it as leverage to keep their affair going. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction!

Realistic Faceclaims for our characters are a must and I often use celebrities to achieve this goal. I'm especially looking for: Rachel Sennott, Tate McRae, Sabrina Carpenter, Jennie (Blackpink), Ella Purnell, and Mikey Madison*; though I am open to more than just those! Just who I'm craving at the moment.

Some kinks (not all required) I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!blackmail, corruption, degradation, coercion, squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

"You sure you want another one?" The bartender called out as he approached, another clean glass in hand. Before Elliot could answer, the same bartender shook his head and began to make the professor's preferred when he wanted to forget everything: an old fashioned on the rocks. "Thanks." With a sheepish defeated grin, he pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who quickly grabbed and placed it beneath the sticky wooden counter-top. "You got it, boss." Truthfully? He hadn't even been that much of a regular. God forbid. A respected professor becoming a regular at a seedy dive bar that students from the same college frequented once the semester was in full swing? Without tenure, he'd be screwed. Up shits creek and without a paddle to call his own. What would the college think? Let alone the wife who drove him to begin drinking to begin with? Not as if they fought about much. Elliot should've been happy and content with his lot in life. A gorgeous wife he met while pursuing his own degree, a successful life, what more could he want?

Attention. Affection. During their college years and when they were first embarking on their professional lives together.. they had that. Passion. Love. Elliot loved her. He did. Did she love him back? She claimed to. Made every single promise in the world; from flying back home and spending a weekend with him to taking a whole month vacation from her job just so they could always take that trip to the Maldives they always talked about. Did it ever manifest? Did it ever amount to anything at all? Before he could answer his own musing, the clink of the glass ripped him from his melancholic daydream. How many had he consumed already since the start of the night? It couldn't have been that much. Two? Three? Now four?

"Careful. I might have to cut you off soon." With a cheeky grin, the bartender finished adding the garnish: an orange peel spread around the rim. "Appreciate it." Elliot nodded solemnly before shooting his fingers around the glass. That's what he was there for. To forget. To numb the emotional toll it took on his body. Ironic, wasn't it? A professor of psychology unable to handle the intense emotions surrounding his marriage. A classic example of do as he says and not as he does. During the school year, Professor Vanderpool preached about coping mechanisms, the differences between healthy and destructive behaviors, and how best to approach, address, and think of solutions. How best to understand the mind within the head of the person you are trying to help. Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. Impossible to follow himself.

With a sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. Elliot grimaced. As much as it was his preferred drink, the whiskey always burned. Lowering it between his fingers, he balanced the glass between them before he swirled on the bar stool to take a look at the bar. The semester was only a few days out. Most students were probably busy moving into their dorms, obsessing over their schedules, sorting out last minute financial aid hiccups, to even think about frequenting the most popular college bar in town. It also happened to be the only one that didn't card unless you gave them a reason to. Ethics wasn't his field and thus he didn't worry himself about it. Not as if he'd get in trouble.

A few college aged kids still lingered about, some of them doing their best to avoid the attention of the barkeep or bouncers. All of them except for one woman. A college-aged woman. Brown-ish hair, tight clothing, her lips wrapped around the straw of a drink while she eyed him down. Either as a defense mechanism or an unknowing invitation, he turned back around and placed both his hands on the sticky counter. Elliot grimaced again from that. What was the harm in entertaining a little bit of fun? When was the last time he felt truly alive? As long as his wife didn't find out, not like she was ever attentive enough to notice, who would it hurt? Bringing one hand over the other, he subtly slid his wedding band off his ring finger and slid it into the front pocket of his vest.

It was going to be a mistake. That much he was sure of. Did it bother him? Absolutely. What else was he supposed to do? Suffer? Stew in silence and lose himself to the drink like so many other deplorable men in the nation? Flirtation compared to the vice of drink -- which was worse? Elliot answered that very question the moment he turned around. His eyes met hers and all it seemed to take was a silent understanding. A quick gesture of his head. A visual invitation. Was it terrible that a part of him hoped she'd turn him down the moment she sauntered over? How old was too old to the her generation?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. The idea revolves around a professor whose relationship has hit a rough patch. He wound up going to a bar, caught the view of a gorgeous college student, and though he promises to himself that he wouldn't do anything -- he winds up going back home with her. It will ultimately culminate in a blackmailing plot when the woman in question suddenly finds herself in one of his classes. Using their night of passion as fuel, she uses it as leverage to keep their affair going. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction!

Realistic Faceclaims for our characters are a must and I often use celebrities to achieve this goal. I'm especially looking for: Rachel Sennott, Tate McRae, Sabrina Carpenter, Jennie (Blackpink), Ella Purnell, and Mikey Madison*; though I am open to more than just those! Just who I'm craving at the moment.

Some kinks (not all required) I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!blackmail, corruption, degradation, coercion, squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

Discord: solactery

"You sure you want another one?" The bartender called out as he approached, another clean glass in hand. Before Elliot could answer, the same bartender shook his head and began to make the professor's preferred when he wanted to forget everything: an old fashioned on the rocks. "Thanks." With a sheepish defeated grin, he pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who quickly grabbed and placed it beneath the sticky wooden counter-top. "You got it, boss." Truthfully? He hadn't even been that much of a regular. God forbid. A respected professor becoming a regular at a seedy dive bar that students from the same college frequented once the semester was in full swing? Without tenure, he'd be screwed. Up shits creek and without a paddle to call his own. What would the college think? Let alone the wife who drove him to begin drinking to begin with? Not as if they fought about much. Elliot should've been happy and content with his lot in life. A gorgeous wife he met while pursuing his own degree, a successful life, what more could he want?

Attention. Affection. During their college years and when they were first embarking on their professional lives together.. they had that. Passion. Love. Elliot loved her. He did. Did she love him back? She claimed to. Made every single promise in the world; from flying back home and spending a weekend with him to taking a whole month vacation from her job just so they could always take that trip to the Maldives they always talked about. Did it ever manifest? Did it ever amount to anything at all? Before he could answer his own musing, the clink of the glass ripped him from his melancholic daydream. How many had he consumed already since the start of the night? It couldn't have been that much. Two? Three? Now four?

"Careful. I might have to cut you off soon." With a cheeky grin, the bartender finished adding the garnish: an orange peel spread around the rim. "Appreciate it." Elliot nodded solemnly before shooting his fingers around the glass. That's what he was there for. To forget. To numb the emotional toll it took on his body. Ironic, wasn't it? A professor of psychology unable to handle the intense emotions surrounding his marriage. A classic example of do as he says and not as he does. During the school year, Professor Vanderpool preached about coping mechanisms, the differences between healthy and destructive behaviors, and how best to approach, address, and think of solutions. How best to understand the mind within the head of the person you are trying to help. Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. Impossible to follow himself.

With a sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. Elliot grimaced. As much as it was his preferred drink, the whiskey always burned. Lowering it between his fingers, he balanced the glass between them before he swirled on the bar stool to take a look at the bar. The semester was only a few days out. Most students were probably busy moving into their dorms, obsessing over their schedules, sorting out last minute financial aid hiccups, to even think about frequenting the most popular college bar in town. It also happened to be the only one that didn't card unless you gave them a reason to. Ethics wasn't his field and thus he didn't worry himself about it. Not as if he'd get in trouble.

A few college aged kids still lingered about, some of them doing their best to avoid the attention of the barkeep or bouncers. All of them except for one woman. A college-aged woman. Brown-ish hair, tight clothing, her lips wrapped around the straw of a drink while she eyed him down. Either as a defense mechanism or an unknowing invitation, he turned back around and placed both his hands on the sticky counter. Elliot grimaced again from that. What was the harm in entertaining a little bit of fun? When was the last time he felt truly alive? As long as his wife didn't find out, not like she was ever attentive enough to notice, who would it hurt? Bringing one hand over the other, he subtly slid his wedding band off his ring finger and slid it into the front pocket of his vest.

It was going to be a mistake. That much he was sure of. Did it bother him? Absolutely. What else was he supposed to do? Suffer? Stew in silence and lose himself to the drink like so many other deplorable men in the nation? Flirtation compared to the vice of drink -- which was worse? Elliot answered that very question the moment he turned around. His eyes met hers and all it seemed to take was a silent understanding. A quick gesture of his head. A visual invitation. Was it terrible that a part of him hoped she'd turn him down the moment she sauntered over? How old was too old to the her generation?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. The idea revolves around a professor whose relationship has hit a rough patch. He wound up going to a bar, caught the view of a gorgeous college student, and though he promises to himself that he wouldn't do anything -- he winds up going back home with her. It will ultimately culminate in a blackmailing plot when the woman in question suddenly finds herself in one of his classes. Using their night of passion as fuel, she uses it as leverage to keep their affair going. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction!

Realistic Faceclaims for our characters are a must and I often use celebrities to achieve this goal.

Some kinks (not all required) I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!blackmail, corruption, degradation, coercion, squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you!

Discord: solactery

"You sure you want another one?" The bartender called out as he approached, another clean glass in hand. Before Elliot could answer, the same bartender shook his head and began to make the professor's preferred when he wanted to forget everything: an old fashioned on the rocks. "Thanks." With a sheepish defeated grin, he pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who quickly grabbed and placed it beneath the sticky wooden counter-top. "You got it, boss." Truthfully? He hadn't even been that much of a regular. God forbid. A respected professor becoming a regular at a seedy dive bar that students from the same college frequented once the semester was in full swing? Without tenure, he'd be screwed. Up shits creek and without a paddle to call his own. What would the college think? Let alone the wife who drove him to begin drinking to begin with? Not as if they fought about much. Elliot should've been happy and content with his lot in life. A gorgeous wife he met while pursuing his own degree, a successful life, what more could he want?

Attention. Affection. During their college years and when they were first embarking on their professional lives together.. they had that. Passion. Love. Elliot loved her. He did. Did she love him back? She claimed to. Made every single promise in the world; from flying back home and spending a weekend with him to taking a whole month vacation from her job just so they could always take that trip to the Maldives they always talked about. Did it ever manifest? Did it ever amount to anything at all? Before he could answer his own musing, the clink of the glass ripped him from his melancholic daydream. How many had he consumed already since the start of the night? It couldn't have been that much. Two? Three? Now four?

"Careful. I might have to cut you off soon." With a cheeky grin, the bartender finished adding the garnish: an orange peel spread around the rim. "Appreciate it." Elliot nodded solemnly before shooting his fingers around the glass. That's what he was there for. To forget. To numb the emotional toll it took on his body. Ironic, wasn't it? A professor of psychology unable to handle the intense emotions surrounding his marriage. A classic example of do as he says and not as he does. During the school year, Professor Vanderpool preached about coping mechanisms, the differences between healthy and destructive behaviors, and how best to approach, address, and think of solutions. How best to understand the mind within the head of the person you are trying to help. Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. Impossible to follow himself.

With a sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. Elliot grimaced. As much as it was his preferred drink, the whiskey always burned. Lowering it between his fingers, he balanced the glass between them before he swirled on the bar stool to take a look at the bar. The semester was only a few days out. Most students were probably busy moving into their dorms, obsessing over their schedules, sorting out last minute financial aid hiccups, to even think about frequenting the most popular college bar in town. It also happened to be the only one that didn't card unless you gave them a reason to. Ethics wasn't his field and thus he didn't worry himself about it. Not as if he'd get in trouble.

A few college aged kids still lingered about, some of them doing their best to avoid the attention of the barkeep or bouncers. All of them except for one woman. A college-aged woman. Brown-ish hair, tight clothing, her lips wrapped around the straw of a drink while she eyed him down. Either as a defense mechanism or an unknowing invitation, he turned back around and placed both his hands on the sticky counter. Elliot grimaced again from that. What was the harm in entertaining a little bit of fun? When was the last time he felt truly alive? As long as his wife didn't find out, not like she was ever attentive enough to notice, who would it hurt? Bringing one hand over the other, he subtly slid his wedding band off his ring finger and slid it into the front pocket of his vest.

It was going to be a mistake. That much he was sure of. Did it bother him? Absolutely. What else was he supposed to do? Suffer? Stew in silence and lose himself to the drink like so many other deplorable men in the nation? Flirtation compared to the vice of drink -- which was worse? Elliot answered that very question the moment he turned around. His eyes met hers and all it seemed to take was a silent understanding. A quick gesture of his head. A visual invitation. Was it terrible that a part of him hoped she'd turn him down the moment she sauntered over? How old was too old to the her generation?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. The idea revolves around a professor whose relationship has hit a rough patch. He wound up going to a bar, caught the view of a gorgeous college student, and though he promises to himself that he wouldn't do anything -- he winds up going back home with her. It will ultimately culminate in a blackmailing plot when the woman in question suddenly finds herself in one of his classes. Using their night of passion as fuel, she uses it as leverage to keep their affair going. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction!

Realistic Faceclaims for our characters are a must and I often use celebrities to achieve this goal. I'm especially looking for: Rachel Sennott, Tate McRae, Sabrina Carpenter, Jennie (Blackpink), Ella Purnell, and Mikey Madison*; though I am open to more than just those! Just who I'm craving at the moment.

Some kinks (not all required) I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!blackmail, corruption, degradation, coercion, squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

Discord: solactery

"You sure you want another one?" The bartender called out as he approached, another clean glass in hand. Before Elliot could answer, the same bartender shook his head and began to make the professor's preferred when he wanted to forget everything: an old fashioned on the rocks. "Thanks." With a sheepish defeated grin, he pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who quickly grabbed and placed it beneath the sticky wooden counter-top. "You got it, boss." Truthfully? He hadn't even been that much of a regular. God forbid. A respected professor becoming a regular at a seedy dive bar that students from the same college frequented once the semester was in full swing? Without tenure, he'd be screwed. Up shits creek and without a paddle to call his own. What would the college think? Let alone the wife who drove him to begin drinking to begin with? Not as if they fought about much. Elliot should've been happy and content with his lot in life. A gorgeous wife he met while pursuing his own degree, a successful life, what more could he want?

Attention. Affection. During their college years and when they were first embarking on their professional lives together.. they had that. Passion. Love. Elliot loved her. He did. Did she love him back? She claimed to. Made every single promise in the world; from flying back home and spending a weekend with him to taking a whole month vacation from her job just so they could always take that trip to the Maldives they always talked about. Did it ever manifest? Did it ever amount to anything at all? Before he could answer his own musing, the clink of the glass ripped him from his melancholic daydream. How many had he consumed already since the start of the night? It couldn't have been that much. Two? Three? Now four?

"Careful. I might have to cut you off soon." With a cheeky grin, the bartender finished adding the garnish: an orange peel spread around the rim. "Appreciate it." Elliot nodded solemnly before shooting his fingers around the glass. That's what he was there for. To forget. To numb the emotional toll it took on his body. Ironic, wasn't it? A professor of psychology unable to handle the intense emotions surrounding his marriage. A classic example of do as he says and not as he does. During the school year, Professor Vanderpool preached about coping mechanisms, the differences between healthy and destructive behaviors, and how best to approach, address, and think of solutions. How best to understand the mind within the head of the person you are trying to help. Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. Impossible to follow himself.

With a sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. Elliot grimaced. As much as it was his preferred drink, the whiskey always burned. Lowering it between his fingers, he balanced the glass between them before he swirled on the bar stool to take a look at the bar. The semester was only a few days out. Most students were probably busy moving into their dorms, obsessing over their schedules, sorting out last minute financial aid hiccups, to even think about frequenting the most popular college bar in town. It also happened to be the only one that didn't card unless you gave them a reason to. Ethics wasn't his field and thus he didn't worry himself about it. Not as if he'd get in trouble.

A few college aged kids still lingered about, some of them doing their best to avoid the attention of the barkeep or bouncers. All of them except for one woman. One young woman. Brown-ish hair, tight clothing, her lips wrapped around the straw of a drink while she eyed him down. Either as a defense mechanism or an unknowing invitation, he turned back around and placed both his hands on the sticky counter. Elliot grimaced again from that. What was the harm in entertaining a little bit of fun? When was the last time he felt truly alive? As long as his wife didn't find out, not like she was ever attentive enough to notice, who would it hurt? Bringing one hand over the other, he subtly slid his wedding band off his ring finger and slid it into the front pocket of his vest.

It was going to be a mistake. That much he was sure of. Did it bother him? Absolutely. What else was he supposed to do? Suffer? Stew in silence and lose himself to the drink like so many other deplorable men in the nation? Flirtation compared to the vice of drink -- which was worse? Elliot answered that very question the moment he turned around. His eyes met hers and all it seemed to take was a silent understanding. A quick gesture of his head. A visual invitation. Was it terrible that a part of him hoped she'd turn him down the moment she sauntered over? How old was too old to the younger generation?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. The idea revolves around a professor whose relationship has hit a rough patch. He wound up going to a bar, caught the view of a gorgeous young woman, and though he promises to himself that he wouldn't do anything -- he winds up going back home with her. It will ultimately culminate in a blackmailing plot when the young woman in question suddenly finds herself in one of his classes. Using their night of passion as fuel, she uses it as leverage to keep their affair going. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction!

Realistic Faceclaims for our characters are a must and I often use celebrities to achieve this goal. I'm especially looking for: Rachel Sennott, Tate McRae, Sabrina Carpenter, Jennie (Blackpink), Ella Purnell, and Mikey Madison*; though I am open to more than just those! Just who I'm craving at the moment.

Some kinks (not all required) I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!blackmail, corruption, degradation, coercion, squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

"You sure you want another one?" The bartender called out as he approached, another clean glass in hand. Before Elliot could answer, the same bartender shook his head and began to make the professor's preferred when he wanted to forget everything: an old fashioned on the rocks. "Thanks." With a sheepish defeated grin, he pushed his empty glass toward the bartender who quickly grabbed and placed it beneath the sticky wooden counter-top. "You got it, boss." Truthfully? He hadn't even been that much of a regular. God forbid. A respected professor becoming a regular at a seedy dive bar that students from the same college frequented once the semester was in full swing? Without tenure, he'd be screwed. Up shits creek and without a paddle to call his own. What would the college think? Let alone the wife who drove him to begin drinking to begin with? Not as if they fought about much. Elliot should've been happy and content with his lot in life. A gorgeous wife he met while pursuing his own degree, a successful life, what more could he want?

Attention. Affection. During their college years and when they were first embarking on their professional lives together.. they had that. Passion. Love. Elliot loved her. He did. Did she love him back? She claimed to. Made every single promise in the world; from flying back home and spending a weekend with him to taking a whole month vacation from her job just so they could always take that trip to the Maldives they always talked about. Did it ever manifest? Did it ever amount to anything at all? Before he could answer his own musing, the clink of the glass ripped him from his melancholic daydream. How many had he consumed already since the start of the night? It couldn't have been that much. Two? Three? Now four?

"Careful. I might have to cut you off soon." With a cheeky grin, the bartender finished adding the garnish: an orange peel spread around the rim. "Appreciate it." Elliot nodded solemnly before shooting his fingers around the glass. That's what he was there for. To forget. To numb the emotional toll it took on his body. Ironic, wasn't it? A professor of psychology unable to handle the intense emotions surrounding his marriage. A classic example of do as he says and not as he does. During the school year, Professor Vanderpool preached about coping mechanisms, the differences between healthy and destructive behaviors, and how best to approach, address, and think of solutions. How best to understand the mind within the head of the person you are trying to help. Simple in theory. Difficult in practice. Impossible to follow himself.

With a sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a swig. Elliot grimaced. As much as it was his preferred drink, the whiskey always burned. Lowering it between his fingers, he balanced the glass between them before he swirled on the bar stool to take a look at the bar. The semester was only a few days out. Most students were probably busy moving into their dorms, obsessing over their schedules, sorting out last minute financial aid hiccups, to even think about frequenting the most popular college bar in town. It also happened to be the only one that didn't card unless you gave them a reason to. Ethics wasn't his field and thus he didn't worry himself about it. Not as if he'd get in trouble.

A few college aged kids still lingered about, some of them doing their best to avoid the attention of the barkeep or bouncers. All of them except for one woman. A college-aged woman. Brown-ish hair, tight clothing, her lips wrapped around the straw of a drink while she eyed him down. Either as a defense mechanism or an unknowing invitation, he turned back around and placed both his hands on the sticky counter. Elliot grimaced again from that. What was the harm in entertaining a little bit of fun? When was the last time he felt truly alive? As long as his wife didn't find out, not like she was ever attentive enough to notice, who would it hurt? Bringing one hand over the other, he subtly slid his wedding band off his ring finger and slid it into the front pocket of his vest.

It was going to be a mistake. That much he was sure of. Did it bother him? Absolutely. What else was he supposed to do? Suffer? Stew in silence and lose himself to the drink like so many other deplorable men in the nation? Flirtation compared to the vice of drink -- which was worse? Elliot answered that very question the moment he turned around. His eyes met hers and all it seemed to take was a silent understanding. A quick gesture of his head. A visual invitation. Was it terrible that a part of him hoped she'd turn him down the moment she sauntered over? How old was too old to the her generation?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. The idea revolves around a professor whose relationship has hit a rough patch. He wound up going to a bar, caught the view of a gorgeous college student, and though he promises to himself that he wouldn't do anything -- he winds up going back home with her. It will ultimately culminate in a blackmailing plot when the woman in question suddenly finds herself in one of his classes. Using their night of passion as fuel, she uses it as leverage to keep their affair going. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction!

Realistic Faceclaims for our characters are a must and I often use celebrities to achieve this goal. I'm especially looking for: Rachel Sennott, Tate McRae, Sabrina Carpenter, Jennie (Blackpink), Ella Purnell, and Mikey Madison*; though I am open to more than just those! Just who I'm craving at the moment.

Some kinks (not all required) I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!blackmail, corruption, degradation, coercion, squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you!

Discord: solactery

"Man, fuck this." Kendall hissed under his breath as he scrolled through what felt like the fiftieth occult blog he found this week alone. He'd never been interested in the occult, the supernatural, nor did he believe in any of it. Desperation. That's what drove him. Or was it boredom? Pure curiosity? No. Desperation. It was nearly three in the morning and there he was wide awake, scrolling, surfing, going back to Google and clicking on the 15th page of search results.

SUMMONING RITUAL. USE AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Scoffing to himself, Kendall clicked on the link, opened the page, and began to read. The process was simple, straight-forward, and nothing like what contemporary media made it appear to be. Where he was expecting to craft some intricate and elaborate pentagram on his dorm room floor, it seemed that was entirely unnecessary. According to the website, all he needed to do was arrange objects in a similar pattern, recite and chant a few specific incantations, and that should have been it. "Fuck it." Kendall sighed and pushed himself away from the computer desk, his chair rolling along the hardwood floor. Standing up, he traveled around the room, which he thankfully had all to himself for the moment, and gathered several objects. Textbooks, papers, folders, his phone, and a marker. "Here goes nothing."

An hour later and the arrangement was complete. As he stepped back to compare the real thing to the diagram on the blog post, he narrowed his eyes and quickly made a few last minute adjustments. The symbols were as foreign as he expected. It was no pentagram let alone any religious iconography he could recognize. Feeling his heart begin to race, even though he was sure it wouldn't work, he popped the cap back onto the marker, tossed it onto the computer desk, and leaned over to read the incantations. Once he committed them to memory, he took a deep breath and turned back around. It felt almost degrading and yet he was that desperate.

Would it give him purpose? Could he bind some supernatural infernal hellspawn to his will and use it to fuck around with everyone who had fucked with him? Once he felt the twitch and ache of his growing erection between his thighs, his imagination alone beginning to run wild, he shook his head and knelt before the crudely arranged summoning circle. Kendall cleared his throat, his hands smoothing out his white t-shirt before placing themselves in his lap and over his crotch. With one final moment of hesitation, he closed his eyes, parted his lips, and recited.

"I beseech you, infernal one. I beseech you, beg of you, plead with you, to send me one of your most faithful servants." His voice was shaky, uncertain, confused. "Grant me the powerful, grant me the wicked, grant me your salvation." Opening one of his eyes, he peeked at the center of the summoning circle to see if anything was happening. As he expected, nothing. Turning his head toward the computer, one of his clasped hands reaching up to brush his hair back, he looked at the final line of the incantation. Turning back to the circle and closing his eyes, he exhaled unsteadily. "I offer myself in mind, body, and soul as payment. Should I offend, should I break the terms of our pact, may I be claimed for all eternity." Who believed in such nonsense? Kendall knew it was bullshit, knew it wouldn't amount to anything, and when the summoning circle remained dormant -- he felt vindicated.

Rising, his lips curled into an amused grin just before he scoffed and walked back to his desk. "Bullshit ass website." The words were muttered under his breath, the man hunched over the desk as he returned to scrolling -- completely unaware of the dark, void-like, circle forming from the center of the ritual site behind him. Once the black circle reached the markings, a chill ran down Kendall's spine. Slowly turning around, he saw a silhouette rising from the ground. "Holy fucking shit!" Stumbling backward, his hands caught the edge of his desk. It actually fucking worked?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me. Ideally, I am looking for a dominant character for the succubus, or, at the very least, a switch. If you'd like to play a submissive succubus, however, you're still more than welcome! I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction and I'm curious to see what type of succubus lore you'd like to go with!

Some key kinks I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you!

Discord: solactery

"Man, fuck this." Kendall hissed under his breath as he scrolled through what felt like the fiftieth occult blog he found this week alone. He'd never been interested in the occult, the supernatural, nor did he believe in any of it. Desperation. That's what drove him. Or was it boredom? Pure curiosity? No. Desperation. It was nearly three in the morning and there he was wide awake, scrolling, surfing, going back to Google and clicking on the 15th page of search results.

SUMMONING RITUAL. USE AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Scoffing to himself, Kendall clicked on the link, opened the page, and began to read. The process was simple, straight-forward, and nothing like what contemporary media made it appear to be. Where he was expecting to craft some intricate and elaborate pentagram on his dorm room floor, it seemed that was entirely unnecessary. According to the website, all he needed to do was arrange objects in a similar pattern, recite and chant a few specific incantations, and that should have been it. "Fuck it." Kendall sighed and pushed himself away from the computer desk, his chair rolling along the hardwood floor. Standing up, he traveled around the room, which he thankfully had all to himself for the moment, and gathered several objects. Textbooks, papers, folders, his phone, and a marker. "Here goes nothing."

An hour later and the arrangement was complete. As he stepped back to compare the real thing to the diagram on the blog post, he narrowed his eyes and quickly made a few last minute adjustments. The symbols were as foreign as he expected. It was no pentagram let alone any religious iconography he could recognize. Feeling his heart begin to race, even though he was sure it wouldn't work, he popped the cap back onto the marker, tossed it onto the computer desk, and leaned over to read the incantations. Once he committed them to memory, he took a deep breath and turned back around. It felt almost degrading and yet he was that desperate.

Would it give him purpose? Could he bind some supernatural infernal hellspawn to his will and use it to fuck around with everyone who had fucked with him? Once he felt the twitch and ache of his growing erection between his thighs, his imagination alone beginning to run wild, he shook his head and knelt before the crudely arranged summoning circle. Kendall cleared his throat, his hands smoothing out his white t-shirt before placing themselves in his lap and over his crotch. With one final moment of hesitation, he closed his eyes, parted his lips, and recited.

"I beseech you, infernal one. I beseech you, beg of you, plead with you, to send me one of your most faithful servants." His voice was shaky, uncertain, confused. "Grant me the powerful, grant me the wicked, grant me your salvation." Opening one of his eyes, he peeked at the center of the summoning circle to see if anything was happening. As he expected, nothing. Turning his head toward the computer, one of his clasped hands reaching up to brush his hair back, he looked at the final line of the incantation. Turning back to the circle and closing his eyes, he exhaled unsteadily. "I offer myself in mind, body, and soul as payment. Should I offend, should I break the terms of our pact, may I be claimed for all eternity." Who believed in such nonsense? Kendall knew it was bullshit, knew it wouldn't amount to anything, and when the summoning circle remained dormant -- he felt vindicated.

Rising, his lips curled into an amused grin just before he scoffed and walked back to his desk. "Bullshit ass website." The words were muttered under his breath, the man hunched over the desk as he returned to scrolling -- completely unaware of the dark, void-like, circle forming from the center of the ritual site behind him. Once the black circle reached the markings, a chill ran down Kendall's spine. Slowly turning around, he saw a silhouette rising from the ground. "Holy fucking shit!" Stumbling backward, his hands caught the edge of his desk. It actually fucking worked?

---

Heya! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. Ideally, I am looking for a dominant character for the succubus, or, at the very least, a switch. If you'd like to play a submissive succubus, however, you're still more than welcome! I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. We can take this pairing in almost any direction and I'm curious to see what type of succubus lore you'd like to go with!

Some key kinks I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

Truthfully? Lukas's heart was racing with anticipation. As soon as the last message had come in from his friend, the prospect of sleeping with her let alone a friend of hers at the same time absolutely tantalizing, Lukas had already popped up from the couch of his own hotel suite and rushed to the master bedroom to pick out his attire for the night. The phone was tossed on the bed, his hands opening the door to the walk-in. Even though it was a vacation of sorts, as visiting Saint-Tropez often was, he refused to leave his good clothing behind. A vacation wasn't an excuse to dress shoddily and if he was going to spend the night with a woman who made her whole career off wearing the best clothes from the most renowned designers, he couldn't quite show up looking like an ordinary bloke.

Picking out his desired outfit, he wandered to the bed, laid out each article of clothing neatly, and took a seat. Grabbing his phone, he opened up her page and began scrolling through her posts, her following, her followers. "Who is it.." After realizing she had millions of followers, he snooped through the few hundred people she went out of her way to follow. Plenty of them seemed to be gorgeous women, a few handsome men (himself included), but nothing that gave him the clues or answer he was looking for. Partially disgruntled, he stood back up, stripped out of his current clothing, and donned the dark navy blue suit. It was pristine, not a single wrinkle on the fabric, and he spent the extra few minutes adjusting his cuffs and collar until they were just about perfect. All he wore underneath the fancy raiment was a white undershirt, a pair of grey boxers, and dress socks.

Before leaving the suite, he phoned ahead to one of the nearby bars, ordered a bottle of Domaine de la Romanèe-Conti, and grabbed his other essentials: a container of mints, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare charger. There was no way of knowing whether he'd be staying long, staying the full night, but it was better safe than sorry. Lukas departed from the hotel he was staying at, swung by the bar he ordered the expensive wine from, procured the bottle and hid it inside of a bag, and began his journey to the Hotèl Byblos.

Hotels were in abundance in Saint-Tropez and why wouldn't they be? The place was a tourist hot spot for both the ordinary and the wealthy alike. Standing outside the hotel she was staying at, Lukas slipped a cigarette between his lips and gave it a light. He was a slave to ecstasy and that pleasure, that surge of dopamine, came in all different forms. Whether it was him fucking the latest gorgeous woman he met in a bar or party, or him snorting a line of cocaine off the glass of a clear table. "Evening, mein freund." Lukas politely offered a greeting to a group of men that stumbled their way past him, the men reeking of booze. One puff, two puffs, three puffs. Once he felt the nicotine begin to calm him, he snubbed against the building, discarded and wasted most of the stick, and walked through the doors.

"Hallo!" The German royal approached the concierge, his hand carefully placing the bag down beside his leg. "I am here to see a friend of mine, ja? She is staying in the presidential suite. A miss YOUR MUSE." Had he not been able to provide a name, it was very likely the front desk would have told him to piss off. If there was one thing about expensive hotels and suites, they hardly gave out information about their clients. Fortunately, the front desk gave him no trouble, told him the code to punch into the elevator, and off he went after grabbing the bag. The series of numbers were punched into the elevator's keypad and the doors closed with a ding. Knowing he had a minute or two to himself, he took a deep breath, popped a few wintergreen mints into his mouth, and let them dissolve under his tongue.

Standing on his heels, he whistled the tune of Deutschlandlied until the elevator stopped at the top floor, dinged, and opened up to an opulent hallway. "Presidential suite, eh?" Lukas clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, kept the bag close, and came face to face with the door. His free hand rapped against the solid surface. After a moment of silence, his hand was about to knock against the door another time just as it opened. "Ah!" Lukas peered down at the shorter woman from behind his shades, that free hand reaching up to pluck them from the bridge of his nose. "It never ceases to amaze me how you can be this much prettier in person." Complimenting the stunning model, he leaned forward and used his one free arm to offer her a hug -- his lips offering a friendly kiss on the cheek while his nose took in her perfume.

Once they parted from the embrace, he entered the extravagant presidential suite. "I brought a rather expensive bottle of wine for us to share. I hope we all will like it. It's a Domaine de la Romanèe something." Chuckling, he slipped off his dress shoes by the door and wandered further inside to see her friend waiting on the sofa.

---

Hello! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me. If the above example starter didn't give a clear picture, I am looking to write a threesome (MFF) based story with an OC of mine named Lukas who is a prince from the German von Hohenzollern dynasty. The above starter is only an example. I am more than willing to change details as long as the core MFF principle remains the same. Lukas can very easily be changed to a different muse that is a celebrity such as an actor, musician, or even athlete.

I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing up to multi-para and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. Ideally, though, I would love for this to turn into a messy love triangle in a longer-term roleplay.

Some key kinks I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, pubic hair, body worship, filming/photography, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thighfucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, and so much more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include any kinks you'd like to explore. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+.

Discord: solactery

Truthfully? Lukas's heart was racing with anticipation. As soon as the last message had come in from his friend, the prospect of sleeping with her let alone a friend of hers at the same time absolutely tantalizing, Lukas had already popped up from the couch of his own hotel suite and rushed to the master bedroom to pick out his attire for the night. The phone was tossed on the bed, his hands opening the door to the walk-in. Even though it was a vacation of sorts, as visiting Saint-Tropez often was, he refused to leave his good clothing behind. A vacation wasn't an excuse to dress shoddily and if he was going to spend the night with a woman who made her whole career off wearing the best clothes from the most renowned designers, he couldn't quite show up looking like an ordinary bloke.

Picking out his desired outfit, he wandered to the bed, laid out each article of clothing neatly, and took a seat. Grabbing his phone, he opened up her page and began scrolling through her posts, her following, her followers. "Who is it.." After realizing she had millions of followers, he snooped through the few hundred people she went out of her way to follow. Plenty of them seemed to be gorgeous women, a few handsome men (himself included), but nothing that gave him the clues or answer he was looking for. Partially disgruntled, he stood back up, stripped out of his current clothing, and donned the dark navy blue suit. It was pristine, not a single wrinkle on the fabric, and he spent the extra few minutes adjusting his cuffs and collar until they were just about perfect. All he wore underneath the fancy raiment was a white undershirt, a pair of grey boxers, and dress socks.

Before leaving the suite, he phoned ahead to one of the nearby bars, ordered a bottle of Domaine de la Romanèe-Conti, and grabbed his other essentials: a container of mints, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare charger. There was no way of knowing whether he'd be staying long, staying the full night, but it was better safe than sorry. Lukas departed from the hotel he was staying at, swung by the bar he ordered the expensive wine from, procured the bottle and hid it inside of a bag, and began his journey to the Hotèl Byblos.

Hotels were in abundance in Saint-Tropez and why wouldn't they be? The place was a tourist hot spot for both the ordinary and the wealthy alike. Standing outside the hotel she was staying at, Lukas slipped a cigarette between his lips and gave it a light. He was a slave to ecstasy and that pleasure, that surge of dopamine, came in all different forms. Whether it was him fucking the latest gorgeous woman he met in a bar or party, or him snorting a line of cocaine off the glass of a clear table. "Evening, mein freund." Lukas politely offered a greeting to a group of men that stumbled their way past him, the men reeking of booze. One puff, two puffs, three puffs. Once he felt the nicotine begin to calm him, he snubbed against the building, discarded and wasted most of the stick, and walked through the doors.

"Hallo!" The German royal approached the concierge, his hand carefully placing the bag down beside his leg. "I am here to see a friend of mine, ja? She is staying in the presidential suite. A miss YOUR MUSE." Had he not been able to provide a name, it was very likely the front desk would have told him to piss off. If there was one thing about expensive hotels and suites, they hardly gave out information about their clients. Fortunately, the front desk gave him no trouble, told him the code to punch into the elevator, and off he went after grabbing the bag. The series of numbers were punched into the elevator's keypad and the doors closed with a ding. Knowing he had a minute or two to himself, he took a deep breath, popped a few wintergreen mints into his mouth, and let them dissolve under his tongue.

Standing on his heels, he whistled the tune of Deutschlandlied until the elevator stopped at the top floor, dinged, and opened up to an opulent hallway. "Presidential suite, eh?" Lukas clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, kept the bag close, and came face to face with the door. His free hand rapped against the solid surface. After a moment of silence, his hand was about to knock against the door another time just as it opened. "Ah!" Lukas peered down at the shorter woman from behind his shades, that free hand reaching up to pluck them from the bridge of his nose. "It never ceases to amaze me how you can be this much prettier in person." Complimenting the stunning model, he leaned forward and used his one free arm to offer her a hug -- his lips offering a friendly kiss on the cheek while his nose took in her perfume.

Once they parted from the embrace, he entered the extravagant presidential suite. "I brought a rather expensive bottle of wine for us to share. I hope we all will like it. It's a Domaine de la Romanèe something." Chuckling, he slipped off his dress shoes by the door and wandered further inside to see her friend waiting on the sofa.

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Hello! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. If the above example starter didn't give a clear picture, I am looking to write a threesome (MFF) based story with an OC of mine named Lukas who is a prince from the German von Hohenzollern dynasty. The above starter is only an example. I am more than willing to change details as long as the core MFF principle remains the same. Lukas can very easily be changed to a different muse that is a celebrity such as an actor, musician, or even athlete.

I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing up to multi-para and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. Ideally, though, I would love for this to turn into a messy love triangle in a longer-term roleplay.

Some key kinks I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!squirting, creampies, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, pubic hair, body worship, filming/photography, anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thighfucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, and so much more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include any kinks you'd like to explore. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+.

In a world where pornography isn't viewed with as much taboo or disdain, the people crave more than just the slop Hollywood has come to produce. No more do the people yearn for as many rom-coms, horror slashers, or slap-sticky goofiness. Instead, they crave to see the hottest stars and starlets take the plunge into the world of Adult Entertainment.

Each woman's goal tends to be different. Some wish to revitalize their career with spice and drama, where others simply want to experience being in the role of a pornstar. Regardless, the move to record with some of the world's top porn studios is not seen as career suicide and, if anything, is celebrated by most of their fans around the world -- even if the resulting scenes drive an obscenely high price tag just to view.

These porn studios are more than willing to pay top-dollar in order to shoot and film these scenes, offering a financial incentive that could ease the conscious of even the most stubborn of stars. None are too obscure, none are too famous, and it does not matter if they are an actress, musician, or even wrestler. If they were known and attractive, an email would find its way into their inbox one way or another.

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Hello, DPP! My name is Sol and I'm looking for femme partners interested in writing out the above prompt with me over on Discord. This plot is inspired by a fan-fiction on AO3 that I have come to adore with the same name. Contrary to the brief plot above, the characters involved do not need to be the celebrities themselves. They can very easily be OCs that we turn into celebrities of our shared world! I'm pretty flexible when it comes to that! Otherwise, you can find a list of celebrities I enjoy on my profile. I'm looking for detailed partners; ideally you are capable of writing multi-paragraphs and write in third person point of view.

I'm looking for everything from short-term, long-term, or even just straight smutty filth in episodic one-shots. Due to the nature of the plot, it would be easier for short-term or even a series of one-shots with all different kinds of celebrities. Of course, I have no issue in following a specific celebrity in a longer-term plot if we click well! Really, this is just a shameless excuse to write filthy smut with some of the hottest people in the world in fictional environments/settings.

Some key kinks I'm looking to explore with this plot: >!squirting, gangbangs, creampies, bukkake, facials, rough sex, soft sex, big cocks, small cocks, pubic hair, body worship, filming/photography (duh), anal, titfucking, armpit fucking, thighfucking, exhibitionism, excessive semen, face-fucking, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, sweat, 3+ penetration, double penetration, and so more more.!<

If this interests you, please feel free to shoot me a chat request! Make sure to include your favorite celebs and the kinks you'd like to explore with them. Look forward to hearing from you! I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+