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    1. KingTony 7 yrs ago

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Bio

Greetings.

I have been role playing online since about 2010, at the table (aka D&D) since about a long time ago, and in the bedroom since a bit longer ago than before that. (Sorry, couldn't resist that one)

I recently (March 2017) had my laptop crap out on me, so currently I am on phone only. It has put a crimp in my style: I like long, descriptive posts, but doing so with two thumbs rather than ten total digits is difficult, thus I cut back on some RPs and shortened the posts in others. Bummer.

I am very interested in two new ideas, both very simplified table top concepts:
  • The first is a survival RP-game inspired by the movie, "I Am Legend". I have already begun the OOC for this.
  • The second is the reason I originally came to RPG, a post-alien invasion survival RP-game that inspired my avatar and descriptor. I have not yet begun the OOC for this.


I post almost every day, typically more than once. (My current average is 4 posts a day across 2 continuing role plays, and that doesn't even count the PM RPs to which I post even more often.)

I am anal about spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Mistakes are to be expected, but so is proof reading if you are going to write with me. You shouldn't have to be a cryptographer to decode, interpret, and understand poorly written posts from me, thus I shouldn't have to be for you either. Common courtesy.

I will write erotica at all levels if that is something in which you are interested, but -- if our characters are or will become sexually involved -- I am also perfectly fine with fading-to-black the graphic scenes.

Most Recent Posts

So, here's the gist of the story:

  • It is the future, perhaps 2060 or so.
  • A viral outbreak in 2018 and the years of mayhem and madness that followed nearly wiped out the human race.
  • In many places, life has become a series of never ending dangers.
  • And in many of those places, survivors hide out from others in the fear that those others will only bring them misery and woe.
  • Even after the end of the plague, mankind is still facing local extinction in many areas, including that of our story.
  • A man (me) and his wife (you) are on the road, traveling from place to place, simply trying to survive.
  • They come across a father (me) and his two daughters (you), with whom they do some trade.
  • That's when the father makes a proposal: he wants the husband to breed with his daughters in an effort to help perpetuate the human race.
  • It makes sense ... but ... how will each of the characters deal with such a radical idea?
  • Just for kicks, we can toss in a son, too. You see where I'm going with that, right?


Very important point about the sex:

  • This in not intended to be nor will it become one long sex scene!
  • This is meant to be a great deal of story with a small amount of sex.
  • If you don't write erotica, we can write this story entirely in a thread and "fade to black" the sex scenes.
  • If you do write erotica:

    • We can still write the story in a thread, "fade to black" when sex is imminent, write the erotic scenes in PM just for the two of us, then mention the basics of the PM writing -- without graphic detail -- in the thread in a way that doesn't leave potential readers hanging.
    • Or we can write the whole thing in PM.
  • I don't care one way or another.


My ideal writing partner:

  • Will be just like or very similar to me, meaning...
  • She will post almost every day.
  • She will post at least 10 times a week.
  • She will proofread for spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Mistakes are expected, and I will make my own fair share (fare Cher?) of them. (Hell, there are probably mistakes in this post that I won't catch!) But just as mistakes are expected, so is proofreading.
  • She will be fine with replies that are only one or two lines when one or two lines is all that is needed to move the story forward; and she will be fine with one or two or ten paragraphs when one or two or ten paragraphs are needed to fully describe the situation, surroundings, events, and more.


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"The Lady of the Castle"

"I can't believe you went through my phone!

John was pacing back and forth between the two rows of gravestones on a weed choked gravel path, fuming as glanced between his cell and his girlfriend. He held the phone out before him on display, as if she didn't already know what the topic of conversation was. He'd been cheating on her for months -- not with one woman but with two! -- and had been very careful at keeping his trysts secret from her. He'd feared she was getting suspicious at his unavailability at times -- those nights or afternoons when he was boning someone else -- so he'd decided it was a good time to take her on a vacation ... to prove his love, he'd hoped she would believe just in case she did know about his infidelities.

"Why the hell would you look through my phone?" he snapped.

He reared his hand back to throw the device across the cemetery but then -- remembering how much it had cost -- instead gripping it tightly (like he wanted to grip her neck) before stuffing it into his coat pocket. Of course, it had been his own fault she'd been on his phone: he'd convinced her that she didn't need the international data plan for their six days on the wrong side of the Atlantic, so when she'd needed to call home to check in, of course she'd had to use his phone, which did have such a plan.

And there it was ... right on the main screen ... the missed call indicator from Babs. Babs ... Babs! What the hell was going through his head, John thought after getting caught, that he hadn't saved Barbara's number in his contact list under a name that wouldn't raise flags? Harry's Bar & Grill or Arlington Athletic Club. Some place that she knew he frequented but from which he would never get a phone call. But no! He had to save it as Babs. Not only that but he hadn't cleared the call log, which showed that even while he was here in Southern England he'd been keeping in touch with the woman he was fucking on the side!

And, of course, there was the second woman with whom he was sleeping as well. John didn't know if that relationship had been discovered during his girlfriend's perusing of his contact list, call logs, emails, and more; and he wasn't about to ask either. Why pour gasoline on the fire, right? He grumbled to himself, "Idiot".

Still pacing back and forth, John looked to his girlfriend and wondered whether she thought he'd called her an idiot, not himself. He was going to clarify, but then ... why? He'd destroyed this relationship. She wasn't the type to deal with a cheating man. And honestly, even if she was, he had no intention of dumping either of his other lovers. John wasn't the settling down type, even if he had asked her to move in with him ... had introduced her to his parents ... had spent almost $15,000 on a vacation in the UK.

He stopped his pacing for a moment, looking off over the stones of the small cemetery. He just shook his head. Again he murmured, "What the fuck am I still doing here?"

John didn't specifically mean here in the graveyard. He actually liked this place: the graveyard itself, the South of England, all of it. He looked down to the stone at his feet. It was a replica, of course, but it still told a story. 1500 years ago, this land had been the property of a knight who likely had ruled all the land as far as the eye could see: empty rolling hills filled with sheep and goats; thick pine and juniper forests filled with wildlife; and a winding river flowing unobstructed from the hills to the distant English Channel.

That knight of long ago wouldn't recognize his lands today, of course. The city of Winchester spread out in every direction, filling the lowlands with commercial and industrial buildings and the hills -- now mostly deforested -- with homes as far as the eye could see. Hell, even the wild, free flowing river no longer existed as it once did. Now, it flowed through a concrete channel, with its clean water siphoned off in the north to service tens of thousands of residents who then pumped their waste back into the waterway in the south.

Things change: sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

That thought caused John to turn back and look at his girl friend again. He was feeling both anger and sorrow for what had happened between them. "The B&B is still paid up for two more days. You have your plane ticket to get home. I'll call the bank to authorize you to use this..."

He pulled out his wallet, withdrew his credit card, and set it atop a grave marker. "I'll ... I'm just gonna ... I'm just gonna get outta here ... leave you to ... to do what ever you want. I'm sorry. Really, I am. But ... I can't do this."

John could have said more. John should have said more. But ... it was time to move on.

He turned and walked away into the deepening evening dark of the Medieval cemetery, knowing that she would be just fine on her own...

Paul's excitement increased at the feel of Sophia's hands working at his belt.  But she was having a difficult time with it -- there were three, after all, holding up his sword scabbard, daggers scabbard, and finally his pants themselves -- and he was getting increasingly anxious to be deep inside her.  He swept her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and playfully tossed her into the middle of it before rapidly finishing what she'd begun. 

A moment later -- after using his toes to push his boots off -- he stepped out of his pants and undergarments and pulled three layers of clothing from his upper body in one movement.  Suddenly, he was standing before Sophia stark ass naked, his manhood pointing anxiously her way.

(OOC: I am unsure of how much more can be in an open thread.  I will send you a PM to take about this further.)

.............

Olivia's inquiry about Lady Eddithia caught Lars entirely off guard.  He wasn't a man who was easily left stunned or speechless, but in this case he was both.  He looked to Olivia with wide eyes, then after a moment turned his back to her and strode casually toward the window that looked down upon Portston. 

He should have expected questions about his mother-in-law, what with her son's recent return. Why hadn't he?  Well, never mind: the important thing for Lars was to head off his daughter's curiosity about the Duchess without making it appear as though he was trying to head it off.

"I ... I didn't know how to tell you this, my daughter," Lars finally said, deciding to go with the standard story Noble's in power used to stay in power when it was not their right to do so.  He turned and looked to Olivia, feigning an expression of devastation.  He dropped his gaze, drew and released an anxious breath, then -- even managing to conjure up a bit of wetness in his eyes -- lied to his daughter. "Lady Eddithia ... she has passed."

He faked some more devastation in his breathing and tone, then continued, "The Priest said she was sick ... more so than usual, for several moons.  They did their best, but...  They tell me she went quietly and peacefully ... in her sleep, six days ago."  

Lars felt a tear break loose and allowed it to descend his cheek for Olivia's benefit before he turned away to hide a feared smile.  He moved to the window and looked far beyond Portston, in the direction of the mountain monastery which was the still-very-much-alive Eddithia's prison-home.

"I only heard day before last andwas going to tell you last evening," he continued his lie, "But with the excitement of Lord Paul's return ... and what with not being able to locate you--"

That, of course, was a dig intended to make Olivia feel guilty about sneaking out of the castle.  He finished, "...I simply forgot."

He turned to face Olivia, a second hard-forced tear streaking down a cheek.  "Please forgive me, my daughter.  If you wish ... we can venture to the monastery day after next ... to pay our respects, and lay the Duchess to rest."

Day after next... Lars thought.  That should be enough time for Crone to slip out of Westrock and make the trip ... to put the old woman out of the Count's misery...
Black Raven Inn:

Paul had escorted Sophia to the back entrance of the Black Raven, not interested in having any of the Count's lagging men seeing him enter. Once inside, he'd had one of his men take charge of Sophia -- escorting her up to his room -- while he sent a second out the front entrance to retrieve Winston.

"I see no blood," he quipped when his Lieutenant entered and joined him at their corner table. Winston caught Paul up on the morning's activities, admitting that blood or no blood, he had in fact killed one of the Count's men. He reassured Winston, "There'll be hell to pay for that."

"No more than there will be when Lady Olivia reaches the Castle," Winston said. He explained what Lars's daughter had told him about Lady Eddithia's current residence, offering without being prodded by his Lord, "Give me five men, and we can have your mother back here by sundown tomorrow."

"No," Paul said softly. He shook his head softly, waiting for the barmaid to depart after having brought two flagons of ale, "Not yet. We still don't have the lay of the land yet."

They talked for several minutes about avenues of surveillance and questioning to get that lay of the land. Then, glancing up at the second floor of the Inn, Winston smirked a bit. "Speaking of getting laid on the land ... how was your picnic?"

Paul laughed aloud, chastising his man for his crudeness. "She's a nice girl. We had a wonderful talk."

"Nice girl...? Wonderful talk?" Winston grimaced. "So ... she's not upstairs now picking leaves out of her ass crevice from a roll under an elm?"

"No, she's not," Paul laughed again as he stood and slapped his Lieutenant on the shoulder. He began to depart, then leaned in closer to the big knight and said, "But ... perhaps if you can keep things down here quiet and calm for a bit..."

He headed for the stairs, snapping his fingers and -- when the Innkeeper looked his way -- pointed to a bottle of wine. With a bit more of inhibition-loosening liquid in his hand, Paul ascended to and through his door, shutting and locking it behind him. He gave Sophia a long, hungry stare, set the bottle aside, and crossed to her. Without hesitation, he took her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers in a wet, passionate kiss ... one hand pulling at her upper back to smash her bosom tight to his chest ... the other hand dropping to begin gathering and lifting her dress up toward her waist.

......................

The Castle Westrock:

"Did you really have to send all those guards to come and get me, Father?"

Lars had been scribbling his signature upon a variety of documents -- including several orders of execution -- when his daughter surged into the anteroom of his personal quarters. He set the quill aside and waved away his Chief Scribe.

"Do you not think I am old enough to get to know that people in town?"

"I think you are--"

"You have kept me locked up in this castle every time I come to visit and that is why I left without permission."

"I think...!" he began again, this time with a tone she recognized. She went silent, and after a calming breath -- rather than continue to chastise her for her rebellious and youthful nature -- he instead said with a caring voice, "I think you put me to worry, my daughter."

Olivia drew a deep breath of her own, telling him, "Of course, I apologize for worrying you, Father. But still!"

"Still nothing!" Lars snapped, reverting to his disciplining tone again. He glanced beyond his daughter to see the handmaiden trying to look inconspicuous. Lars drew in a deep breath and demanded, "Be gone! Less I turn you over to the Castle Guard brothel!"

Lars ignored Olivia's response to his rude and crude interaction with the quickly departing servant, instead diverting his gaze from her a moment, then standing to come around to step up close to her. He took her shoulders into his hands and -- again calm and fatherly -- said, "My daughter ... there are so many dangers beyond the castle walls ... even more so now with the return of Lord Paul and his band of outlaws."

He watched Olivia's reaction to the last, then quickly clarified, "Olivia, you don't know these men. But I do. They are thieves ... raiders ... murderers and rapists. Paul Cranston may have left Westrock the son of a Nobleman ... the Lord of a Duchy Guard Force ... but he returns little more than a Warlord ... the leader of Highwaymen who have, for nearly a decade, survived by raiding villages ... by killing hard working citizens of Counties and Duchies across the east to line their pockets with coin to be spent on loose women and mind-poisoning brew."

He squeezed her shoulders and pulled her tight to him, begging, "Please, my daughter ... you must not fraternize with these ... these black hearts ... for they will be the end of you."


Cast of Characters:

(coming)
Paul had stood and offered Sophia a hand, then an elbow. A short walk back to the Black Raven and a minute or so of stripping away layers of clothing, and the nobleman would be deep inside the warmth and wetness of the thankfully willing young peasant. But ... that wasn't to be such an easy thing apparently. Arriving within sight of the Inn, Paul saw the ruckus outside and -- slowing their pace -- moved Sophia gently over into the shadows of a smithy.

A dozen men were spread out across the cobblestone streets, their uniforms telling Paul that they were far more than just the standard Castle Guard; and those men -- with their weapons drawn -- were on guard because in close proximity were Paul's own men and, standing obvious amongst them, his right hand man, Winston. He couldn't know precisely what had transpired inside the inn or was just now happening outside of it. But as he watched, Paul saw an obvious officer-type lead out two women -- Lady Olivia and her hand maiden -- and help them up into a horse cart that quickly arrived with another Guardsmen at the reins.

Paul watched as the cart started away and the Guardsmen fell in behind it. The more professional soldiers were slower to withdraw, though, as the officer and Winston had some words. Ultimately, though, the only men left standing in the street worked for Paul, who reached over to take Sophia's elbow and -- as if nothing had happened -- asked the girl, "Shall we?"

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