You'd never admit it, even to yourself, but part of you wishes it would happen. Forget the consequences, forget the reality, forget your obligations. If the opportunity came up, and you're sure nobody would find out, you wouldn't hesitate. Because no matter who you are in your life, be that a respected professional, a dutiful partner, pillar of the community, committed feminist; deep inside you, there's something you want, something that society at large would disqualify all your accomplishments, all your good deeds, all of your credentials for.

Brief, intrusive flashes of a fantasy force their way into your mind at odds with your rational side. When a car full of drunk young men drive by, you grab your phone and step back, but a sliver of your mind, a little part of you hopes they stop. At the nightclub, you watch your drink and stay with your friends, but you can't help but sometimes take a look at the group of tough-looking men and wonder what would happen if you threw caution to the wind and left with them. You know you wouldn't, but there's still a part of yourself that wants a vacation from responsibility, to give in, to give it away, to be taken and molded into something filthy. Something trashy.

My scenes are about that transformation, that escape from everyday life and a trip into a new life. Where you're forced to confront the feeling of giving in, being taken, being used and humiliated. Stripping away your old life, where you no longer act, but are acted upon. At the mercy of of cruel men who will only take, where your only decision you have left is how to feel about it when you're face down, exhausted, and repeatedly used. I have multiple scenes that capture this feeling, or you can suggest something else entirely.

Walk of Shame
This scene starts where many scenes end, after a group of men have degraded you at a party. Perhaps you were drunk, or drugged, or wanted to fool around with one before others joined in. Regardless, they spent hours using you, forcing themselves on you, filling you up again and again. Once they were finished, they shoved you out the door as a final indignity.

It's not a long walk home, or a short one either, but you're a mess. Your clothing torn and stained, your makeup smudged and face streaked with tears. Your legs shaking, a stream the combined cum of a dozen strangers running down your leg, god knows how much they made you swallow.

You think it's over, but the night is young, and a set of headlights behind you are the first clue you're not done yet.

Prison Mistake:

It’s the night shift, the inmates have been quiet tonight. It’s your third week on the job and you’ve gained a bit of a reputation.

“Don’t give them anything “ was your training and you took that to heart. Your cold demeanor and refusal to engage with the inmates as people got you the nickname “Ice Bitch”

But for now, it’s quiet. Your shift mate called in sick and not wanting to raise a stink with the union being so new, you took the shift alone. Besides it’s 9pm to 5am. Lights out time. You can always call for help from another dorm.

The Debt:

Perhaps you relied on some alternative funding for a venture you wanted to start and it didn't go all that well. Perhaps your boyfriend is a lot worse at gambling than he thought he was, or your family business wasn't cooperative enough for some toughs who were demanding protection money.

You were coming with them, and it wasn't a request. That was a while ago, though, at this point all you know is the cheap motel room, the filthy bed and the door opening every so often to serve you some new indignity. Maybe you're having fun, maybe you're not, maybe you've been told you'll get to like it, and you're fighting that thought with every bit of your being. You don't even bother to lay on the bed, your spirit is leaving you. You feel it drip out of you, every hole, you feel it in the pit of your stomach, you feel it smudge on your cheek face down in the condom wrapper littered carpet. This is your life now. The last little bit of yourself is leaving. Maybe you were always meant for this, maybe this is your inner nature, but a part of you fights that thought.

The door creaks open and fills the room with light. Footsteps, you can't tell how many. It looks like its about to start again

Lot Lizard
You thought it couldn't get worse. A punctured radiator leaving you on the side of a mountain road. No phone reception, and not a single place in this hick county takes credit cards for some reason.

A pickup from a kind truck driver has you believing at first that your luck's about to turn around, get you a tow, something to eat and have you back on the road, but as you pull into the backroad truck stop and motel, the stares of the men are hungry, predatory. The kind driver buys you a meal and even covers your tow for now, and he has a pretty good idea how you can make the money back.

Hookup
It's been a rough week, it's Friday night, and you might have had a few too many cocktails, so you decide to blow off some steam with a one-off hookup. The pickings are slim but you've matched with one guy who looks good, but he clearly isn't much of a conversationalist, plus he lives close by. Why not? He might be one of those guys who skates by on looks without having much to add, but he's perfect for what you want right now.

What you don't know is that he's got a lot of roommates, and they've got their own plans for when you get there.

Consent: Variable. With the types of scenes they are it could be a very submissive girl who's having a great time pressing their boundaries, or it could be a mind-break type scene, but full start-to-finish noncon isn't as much fun to me.

Kinks: Rough sex, gangbangs, humiliation (body writing, name-calling, raceplay if you're into that), facefucking, multiple creampies, throatpies, rough anal, degrading positions, manual restraint (pinning, holding), interrogation and confession, psychological torment, dirty talk

Limits: No celebs/real people/furry stuff, blood, toilet, not really into futa, sorry. Fantasy stuff is a big "maybe" if you've got a great idea. Definitely prefer things go where we're both equally contributing to the scene, so one-word replies and expecting me to act as a storyteller isn't a good fit

Contact and Meta: I generally give replies of varying length, whatever is required to move the scene forward. Sometimes that's 1-2 lines, sometimes it's multiple paragraphs. If I'm vibing with the scene and available I tend to reply very quickly. Can be one-off or long term.

My vision of an ideal scene is a feeling. A vague memory. A sensation. A weak, sighed moan, a body tensing up and falling limp, the sight of a dripping, broken hole. It's over and you're on the floor, laying on your side, leaking, covered, sweaty, flushed red and stained white. Thoroughly used, so used that nothing matters any more. Another round? Three more rounds? My friends? Strangers? It's gone so far that it doesn't matter. So far into the void of subspace that it's more resignation than desire, it's acceptance. My scenes aim to capture that ephemeral feeling.

Long setups are great, but they can run into a problem when one or both of us don't have enough time to get to the action or don't follow up, but if you're up for it I'm definitely onboard.

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