Everyone has those versions of themselves they put on for others, and everyone has those masks they eagerly await another to wear for them. This post is for both, whether you wish to take off someone's mask or need someone to wear it.

Masq: The Interdimensional, Time-Traveling Brothel

I shuffle about through the empty metallic rooms, each wall replaying a recent session, displaying the life-like setting these rooms can conjur with ease.

19th Century, a Victorian woman eager to strip off her corset and sleep with the collection of men who had eyed her on the street that day-- unthinkable once she leaves these hallowed halls. 35th Century, a man eagerly wishes to pound the lithe frame of a beautiful, androgynous alien known as the Al'ma now long extinct-- I had him pegged as a historian, though it's not my place to ask, ever. 20th Century, a divorcee who was certain one last time would mean satisfcation-- it didn't. 9th Century, a woman is eager to summon a demoness to grant her power and freedom, all I can offer is pleasure-- she gladly accepts.

As one of the Emer I can accommodate, my ageless form one which shifts between identities effortlessly, concepts of gender meaningless for my people, but those of sexual gratification paramount. When precisely we developed Masq is an enigma in and of itself, when I opened one of my own only slightly more concrete. I do have a life outside these walls, too, but once inside it doesn't concern me. I'm still there, of course, underneath the mask. Sometimes I'm to accommodate that which brings me no pleasure and the act, if there is any, is paper-thin. The mask is merely a mask, the substance within it is unchanging. Why might I do this, then? Sexuality is fascinating, all of it. A first-person view more-so, even if only intellectually. I delight in discovering what masks people bring for me to wear, but I don't pretend I can truly become what they seek. That will only ever be back in their time, unmasked.

Once the door closes behind you I take your form, offering you a mirror to see yourself clearly in, before you tell me what it is you want. Need.

Anyone from anywhen and anywhere can wander in and ask for what they desire most, and I, L'melia, will fulfill it.

Quite the offer, no? Should you be interested drop me a message about your character and their desires so that L'melia can help you to fulfill them. Besides those hard limits which are outlined in my DPP Profile, anything is fair game! Just know that canonically L'melia's tastes are my own. Should they not enjoy what it is you've asked for they will make it no secret, even as they accommodate you. This is the dynamic I'm particularly interested in, after all: the limitations of a mask.

But, everything else you might come along with is just as fascinating. L'melia and I are of one mind about that.

Those Masks Meant For Removal

Now then, on to those ideas where the character I'll play is in desperate need of removing their mask, and ideally your character will help them to fulfill this burning desire! In some capacity, anyway.

I'll note where appropriate should I intend to play a particular gender or expect a particular gendered to work best for a given scenario but should it not be specified it's entirely up for discussion. Likewise, while these ideas are rather rough I would prefer us fill in the details to a certain extent even if plenty of these are smuttier than my typical post. To help with formatting I'll place the prompts themselves in italics, that which constitutes me speaking in-character, whereas standard text will be out-of-character seeing as each idea will need a little explanation.

Now then, on to the ideas!

[A4A] A Hero's Need To Surrender

It was done, the dimensional fissure closed, the demons pouring through extinguished along with the twisted mages who had been corrupted by their Lord to unleash this power. I had been at the front of those fighting back the horde, my comrades and I succeeding where no one else could. The tales spun of that day, beating back the void, led to my name being known throughout the nations of Men. But as things returned to normal I was evermore seen as the people's champion.

From the greatest threat to the most trivial of task people called upon my good will to assist them, and I happily oblige. Every time. This mask of love and hope and eagerness to restore order fixed too strongly to my face, leaving me unable to do that which I yearn for. A release, to lose, to surrender to someone else these reins of mine I've held for so long. And as I wander into the next town I hope here will be where I find that which I've been seeking.

Whether I'm a powerful warrior, delicate but skillful mage, your classic 'healslut,' a nimble rogue, or anything else, I'm also going to be made yours. To forget for a moment all my strength, all my power, and be readily vulnerable and at your mercy.

[A4A] The Machinist's Usefulness

Space travel has all sorts of risks, doubly so when you're on a smuggling (or insert your particular idea here) vessel. Sure, it's important to have people good at their jobs, possessing connections to those who can point you towards new work and keep you out of the snares of authorities, and you sure as hell need to know your way around the galaxy, but you also need someone to keep your lightspeed-defying bucket-of-bolts running. That's where I come in.

Slender-built and oft covered with grease, continually wearing my signature overalls and boots with little in the way of anything underneath spare my underwear, it's my job to keep the Acadia enroute to its destination. Whenever something starts to fly off the rails I'm here to service it, to put it back together again. But that's who keeps my company: machinery, the sputtering and churning bowels of the vessel. Outwardly I'm loud-mouthed, snide, oft sarcastic, but too damn good at my job to prompt anyone to truly complain. Yet it's meant I've kept everyone at a distance and seem content to do so. Never mind all the times I've stifled my gasps as I got off alone down in those depths, aching for someone to catch me. For someone to be quiet for and serve, much the way I am with the machines I feel so comfortable with. For all this bravado I wish to be put to use, running my mouth certainly isn't the best use for it.

Oh Captain My Captain! Or somesuch, most likely. I envision this being rather oral-heavy for those most curious about this, regardless of what genitalia and physique I possess or what you do I'd love to make good use of my mouth! Let me know what you might have in mind, this is rather open for interpretation.

[A4F] Wedding the Lascivious Princess

"H-Hmm? Show th-them in! Oh..." The voice from the other side of the ornate double doors is hardly mistakable, it's the princess. And... others.

"M-My Lady.. Please!" Your handmaiden explains in shock, turning back towards me worriedly as she shoos away two figures writhing with their appendages prodding at your insides, all three of you utterly nude. "I told you your match was coming to meet you today. Couldn't you have today of all days taken a break!"

I take it this is rather normal for you, as you seem to all but smirk at me whilst you lay atop your bed as if nothing was out of the ordinary at all. Your handmaiden offers me all sorts of apologies, begging me not to hastily call off the marriage, yet I certainly could not unilaterally do such a thing nor do I have an unwavering desire to do so. It feels as though this mask of decorum, of pleasantry and burying urges deep inside, has just be ripped off. Shattered.

Presumably royalty of some fashion is to marry a very lecherous princess! Potential for cheating, group sex, and cuckolding/queaning abound! Am I precisely what you wanted in a (likely arranged) partner? A strong-man eager to fulfill these desires of yours to you heart's content despite the protests of the Court that to act so depraved is unthinkable? A beautiful young woman to revel in your habits alongside you while our advisors sputter at our brazenness? A tepid, lithe young man who derives pleasure from his royal wife whom he cannot satisfy alone, eager to follow her down this path of debauchery?

[A4M] A Nymph's Confession

"How do I look?" I ask, giving you a quick twirl about whilst I stand in the middle of your room. "Like the real deal?"

Cosplay. Something fun, cute, becoming someone else for a little while. And unlike what everyone online says it's not solely about the sex appeal. I mean, not for me it's not. Right? It's a decision each person makes for themselves and every participant I've spoken to personally adopts the same innocent attitude towards it all. For fun, nothing else.

Then why does it make me so horny? Why am I so eager to give in to those stares which fall on me at conventions? Why do I wish any one of those people who stare had the courage to ask me back to their room? Why am I so certain I would say yes? I think I might be done being the prudish cosplay queen.

Cosplay coitus! A rather simple, debauched scene here. This mask is one of purity, of an earnest love for the media they bring to life rather than the sexual pleasure so many derive from the practice. Underneath is precisely the yearning for that pleasure.

[m/MtF4A] To 'Look Like' A Girl

The bullying started when I was young, as such things often do. Growing a little bit behind the pack, hair a little too long, frame a little too thin. Features too soft.

"You look like a girl!" The voices yelled in chorus.

Years go by, I get older, taller, fill out a little more in the places I ought not to, and never become the man I had long yearned to prove everyone wrong. And yet, at the same time, a growing portion of myself becomes dissatisfied with the parts of me which are the most like the man I'm mocked for not resembling. The body I've been in for so long feels alien, and I wish the offhanded comments I've long endured are truer than the are.

And yet, against my better judgement, I swallow this dissonance for a long while. Only recently have I become to come to terms with it, and with your help this mask will fall to the floor, a man no longer.

Complex, yet simple! Let's occupy that space where emasculation blurs with affirmation, where the identity others mocked me for is precisely what allows the mask to finally drop. Are you a partner? A fling? A friend? Someone doting and encouraging? Opportunistic and indifferent? Just because I accept this identity in its entirety doesn't mean you must be kind about it.

The only thing I'll go ahead and say it an out-and-out no are slurs. That's something we'll leave just for the bullies in this story, thanks.

I'll mention I'm happy to do this from an FtM perspective as well. Tacking it on at the title felt dismissive given how specific much of the description here is while creating a second section dedicated to it felt redundant.

[Futa4F(FFF)] The Noble Accepts Their Insatiability

My life at home with my family came to an untimely end shortly after the great celebration of my coming of age. Why? Well, shortly after coming of age a rare affliction of the women in my family line took hold of me, a fully-functioning member replacing that which ought to have some day birthed my children. Nothing outrageous, myself being petite and at most considered modestly curvaceous it is suitably sized to match the rest of my physique. With it, comes a lust that gnaws at my being day and night. One which I do my upmost to contain. Day after day I tried to display my discipline, how this had changed nothing, all whilst my frantic parents tried to placate potential suitors and come up with a plan of action.

Ultimately, it all fell through, and my responsibility was passed on to my younger siblings.

Now I've been sent away to the West following the proliferation of some story about a Witch's curse, having spent months locked away in this castle already, far from my home and the position I ought to have ascended to when my marriage proceeded. It's not as if I can't venture outside, though. The small town of Milya contains amusement enough for the day to day, but most of my time is spent inside nonetheless in the company of a gaggle of maids.

Frankly, I couldn't stand the urges welling inside me any longer. A letter to my parents was sent simple enough, requesting funds to hire a small staff to facilitate the upkeep of the grounds and rooms about the castle, rather than the single servant who had been stationed here prior when this place remained unoccupied. Their instructions are twofold, care for me and the property I preside in, and to 'deal with' these urges of mine. They are abundant, after all, and require much attentiveness, and I've grown rather tired of playing the dutiful daughter.

A gaggle of maids for an insatiable dick-girl who's finally admitted she ought to indulge a bit. Or just one handling the satiating, I shan't require you play a group seeing as that is quite the ask. What attitude might you have towards your duty? Lustfully excited? Doting and motherly? Detached and procedural? Reluctant? And perhaps my initial hiring of you is earnest, genuinely tiring of this dusty old place, before you talk me into giving in to what I so readily struggle with.

And that wraps things up! For now, anyway.

I think I’ve written just about enough. Though I know I've linked it earlier in this post already and generally dislike requiring folks to read it, seeing as these little prompts are comparatively vague (as are my notions about where to take them) you can get to know a bit more about me in my DPP Profile before shooting over a message. And I am very eager to read your message!

Hope you enjoyed the read!