Whitzz/544K-RP-Datasets huggingface dataset:
Thread: For My Beloved Daughter {jupiter1001, me}

Anger was too mild a word to describe what the Baron felt as his daughter spoke. He pursed his lips, and his eyes widened with every word she said. A tense air gathered around him and his wife, having been a witness to the extent of her husband's rage, gently rested her arm in an attempt to soothe him. It was a futile effort though, and he withdrew from her touch. His other children, all expression erased from their comely faces----other than one of pity for their youngest sister--- shifte uncomfortably in their chairs. Alexandre stood up slowly, inhaling carefully, and then exhaling. He pardoned himself from the room for a brief moment, and ascended the steps towards Sylvia's room. He shoved the door open and found her changing back into her boiled leather vest and breeches. Ignoring her outward surprise and the order to get out!, he strided over to her and delivered a stinging slap to her face. It was the first time he had ever struck her, and all discretion had left him, and for a precious few moments, he let his rage run unbridled. He grabbed her by the collar and delivered two more slaps in succession--- not hard enough to leave more than a temporary red mark, however. Regaining his senses, he threw her back down on her bed roughly. Ten minutes, Sylvia. I am giving you ten minutes to wash up, brush your hair, change into a new gown, and then return to the dining hall.The guards around your room shall escort you. I you are even a minute late, so help me God I will throw you into the dungeon for the remainder of this day. With that, he stormee out d her bedroom and back down the hall A sudden ache stabbed at his heart as he neared the dining room, the full realization Of what he had just done to his own daughter caused him to stagger slightly. He stated at his hands... He had jut struck his own little girl.. Had anyone else even raised a hand against her with ill intent, not only would he have imprisoned them, he would have had their hands flayed . Alexandre was guilty of a crime he despised. But at the same time... It was as if he was in control again, as of he ha reasserted his position as not only a Baron, but as her father. It's for her own good.. he mutterEd to himself, taking a seat once again at the table as he awaited her arrival.
Thread: For My Beloved Daughter {jupiter1001, me}

As her father stormed off, Sylvia lightly touched her cheek, it still stinging with pain. The shock of what had just happened having not yet worn off. She feel to her knees and started ot cry, feeling a deep sense of betrayl, no matter how well deserved she knew her punishment to be. Sniffing a bit, the thought through her two options. Scorn her father further, or follow his orders. If she was completely honest with herself, she would know that she had a fear of her father, and that he would strike her once again. Gathering herself, she slowly stripped out of her breeches and vest, and pulled the large dress over her head. She hated it. It felt crampt, and it chaffed her horribly. With a sigh she viewed herself in the mirror, hating the way the dress accentuated her body, making her feel like something to be shown off. Using a damp clothe, she scrubbed the dirt off her face, and then dried her face off. She exited her room, her gaurds following her closer, more like gaurding a prisoner than a baron's daughter. She entered the room, her head down, her spirit obviously broken. In a quiet voice, though one heard by all in the hall she whispered Forgive me father. As the last of the redmarks faded from her face. She slowly took a seat at the table, all eyes upon her and her father.
Thread: For My Beloved Daughter {jupiter1001, me}

Alexandre, if he were honest with himself, wanted nothing more than to bring his precious baby girl close to his chest and simply hold her there as he wept in remorse for what he had done. I'm so sorry.. He wanted to tell her.. I swear I will never... But the words caught in his throat. He would not show softness, not in front of his guests, and not in front of the daughter he had just disciplined. He noted the veiled shock on everyone's faces... ...And he smiled. He looked straight at her, as if nothing had occurred prior. Oh, think nothing of it, dearest Sylvia. A few minutes' tardiness has never killed anyone. His tone was so...soft, and sweet, as if he were praising her. He even went so far as to raise a gloved hand to her cheek, feigning a frown. But do be careful with your training, Sylvia. Withdrawing his touch quickly, he turned back to his guests and commenced the celebration properly. The rest of the evening passed by smoothly for him. Sylvia did not gripe or argue once, and for once she was... obedient. It was...empowering, he thought with reluctance, but it felt as if his life was now perfect.
Thread: For My Beloved Daughter {jupiter1001, me}

Oce the dinner was over, and oh how she had loathed that dinner, Sylvia silently went back to her room, where she quickly stripped herself of that wretched dress her father had made here wear, and lay under her bedcovers, crying into the side of her pillow. She had wanted to cry the entire dinner, to tell everyone about her fathers betrayl, but had held her tongue the entire night, fearing of the reprisals, fearing of her father. She hated the feeling of fear, and wanted nothing more to dispel it. As she lay there, her cheek a river, and her eyes reddened, she decided not to follow any order given tomorrow, that she would not be her fathers slave to drive about as he pleased, that she was not afraid of him. But she was.
Thread: For My Beloved Daughter {jupiter1001, me}

Alexandre slept peacefully that night. His dreams were sweet and long, and he woke up feeling incomparably refreshed. Why am I so..happy? he wondered. Alexandre was admittedly not a morning person. He was prone to bouts of irritation right after he had woken up for the day, though he hid it quite nobly. And oft he dreaded every day, which with its start threatened to bring about countless squabbles, headaches, and the like.. But not today. Today he felt as if all was right not only within his barony, but in the whole world. The events of last night concerning Sylvia were only a faded memory now, as if they too were a part of his dreams. Striding through the kitchens after getting dressed, and into the dining hall, he smiled as he saw his family there, communing all together in peace. Sitting down pleasantly at the head of the table, he greeted them each in turn, inquiring about their night's rest, so on and so forth. His smile broadened slightly as he looked at Sylvia, however. Good morning, Sylvia he commented, his voice as soft and gentle and oh so fatherly as it had ever been, betraying any anger shown the night prior. How are you this morning, darling. He sipped his tea, taking a moment to relax before the day truly began.
Thread: For My Beloved Daughter {jupiter1001, me}

Sylvia smiled a bit as her father walked in. But not a smile of happiness, but one filled with sly thoughs of cruelty. She sipped her tea a bit in order to hid this and replied ot her father, and with a bit of hostility to. Well, hello father. I cant believe that you managed to join us, what with your rampant headaches. I myself slept wonderfully. And the reason for this being that it was filed with all the ways through which i can disobey you, and crawl out from under your authority. I'll just make sure to stay out of your reach this time. She rubbed her cheek a bit, as if reminding her fahter of what he had done
Thread: Hot plots! Right out the oven! [M/F, F/F]

well this is a new idea I was thinking of, I am working on a slave rp that has an interesting arc to it, but plenty of smut and lust driven action. basically a noble is rotting in a lovely passionless marriage to a very nasty woman. he is pressured by his families to produce and heir with her, but understandably doesn't want to. one night while drunk with this friends, they decide to cheer him up and take him to visit a high end slave shop. he end up falling lust with and unforgivably sexy, neko and has passionate sex with her. the next day he realizes the the answer to his dilemma... who says his wife needs to bare this heir....
Thread: Seeking dom females

Good luck! There is very few on this site...
Thread: Seeking dom females

CreativeWriter said You're a spoiled rich girl at my school. You're two years older than me, and despite your popularity, I've fought off your advances countless of times since I am somewhat shy and nerdy and don't like you at all. Sick of it, you complain constantly to your parents so that they stage a kidnapping and present me to you on your birthday. Kinks Non-consent Forced Homosexuality Training Click to expand... Hi! I've actually been really interested in being the dominant one in my roleplaying lately so I'm interested. However noncon is a huge turn off for me. Are there any other scenarios you'd be interested in? I certainly don't mind the training angle. Feel free to take a look at my rabbit hole or request thread. Just ignore the submissive only on the rabbit hole I haven't had the chance to update it lately. Hope to hear from you soon!
Thread: Wasteland Flame (PsionicCuttlefish & Xeres)

Crap crap crap! Markus fumbled desperately with the autolaser rifle in his hands, trying to slot in a fresh powercell while hunkered down behind his damaged Dunerunner. Bullets continued striking the outer plating of the three-wheeled laboratory-rover on the other side, and Markus thought bitterly about how he was down to his last few powercells -entirely- on his own weapon, given their high scarcity, while traditional weaponry was still cheap and easy to keep going. Not daring to pop his head up, Markus raised his rifle over the top and blind-fired in the general direction of the incoming bullets. With the autoturret on the rover out of comission, he had nothing to cover him. There weren't supposed to be bandits out this far out from East Ravine! He had settled down in this area because there was hardly anyone else, yet enough hidden salvage that only he could find. There were only supposed to be mutant-dogs and shamblers our here, he could handle those! Not a team of bandits trying to kill him and steal the treasure-trove of supplies and tech in his rover! The bullets started to come from different directions then. They were spreading out. Flanking both sides. Markus chanced leaning around one side and blasting a few lasers in the direction of one of the flankers, but he knew he was a goner. Outnumbered and outgunned. All his prodigious technical intellect, and he couldn't get himself out of this one. He had let his guard down, and now it was over for him. The only thing that could save him at this point was a miracle...
Thread: Wasteland Flame (PsionicCuttlefish & Xeres)

The relentless heat scorched the sands, sun glaring down in blinding golden beams. Such a torridness could drop any man, civilian or soldier, with little water and less shade to be found in the barren landscape. The few shadows that could act as shelter were already occupied, it seemed, by a pack brigands. No more than scrawny scavengers with barely an ounce of dignity among them, yet plenty of ammo to spare. Likely they had come across a plentiful score of ammunition from a nearby encampment. Hopefully that encampment was already abandoned, and the casualties of such a plunder were yet to occur. The vultures and their guns seemed desperate to get at the broken-down vehicle. Either that, or they had no consideration for conserving their ammo. The firing squad seemed to hold up only when it was time to reload, or check for movement in the Dunerunner. Little did they know, their relentless shots and shouting alerted a nearby presence that had even less consideration for their well-being than they did for their quarry. Slowly but gradually, the firing ceased from one end of the flanking spectrum to halfway across. Only one side, under cover by the rubble that remained of a small town constructed of adobe houses, had continued to fire. At last, a particular pillager called for a cease fire on the surrounding groups. Each group consisted of three or fewer, and strained their gunfire-rattled ears against the sudden, peculiar silence. The crackling of a pre-war transmitter puncuated the silence from an enclosed hut, one of the few that remained standing, and a gruff voice speaking into the noise. Why the fuck did you stop shooting? He's not dead yet, assholes, keep at him! Silence was the only response. Some of the grunts fidgeted nervously. The voice tried again, more angrily. Hey, shitheads! I said keep firing! There was only quiet. Just as the apparent commander pressed the intercom again, there was a loud crack from an adjacent hut, a dwindling scuffle, and once again, silence. Then hell broke loose again. Bullets barraged within the huts as a blurry figure resembling a dust devil swept between the tumbledown homes and other rubble where-ever the brigands had sheltered themselves. The explosion of yells and guns and other such disarray was silenced as soon as it erupted, until a familiar gruff voice whimpered, wavering voice babbling incoherently before there was a BANG, and it was finished.
Thread: Wasteland Flame (PsionicCuttlefish & Xeres)

Even as the spreading-out bandits got closer and closer to circumventing Markus' limited cover, he refused to give in. He knew he was going to die, but at the very least, he wanted to take at least one of the bastards down with him, make them pay for this score of salvage. He continually peeked around either end of the Dunerunner, whichever one the incoming bullets sounded closer from, and ocasionally loosed a few bursts from his autolaser, trying to slow them down. He started peeking out several times around the right end of the Dunerunner, towards a few bandits who were using the few still-standing walls of a ghost town as cover. Not heading anything closer from behind him on the left side, Markus kept trying to draw a bead on one of the bandits, but they were keeping him too well pinned down to make a clean shot without getting hit himself. Markus suddenly realized with stomach-plummeting dread that he hadn't checked the left end for far too long, long enough to let them get around. Markus quickly tried to crane his head around that end to see just how close his death was--only to find the bandits had stopped advancing in that direction. In fact, he couldn't see any around that end anymore. Taking a risk, Makrus leaned out a little further. Still no bandits on that side, where had they gone? Markus then suddenly realized that the bullets had stopped coming entirely a terrifying silence hung over the battlefield. Markus leaned out even further, enough to see straight-on where the bandits had originated. Suddenly, chaos erupted again in the buildings where the bandits were taking cover. Something was flitting between buildings, and the bandits had all turned their guns inward to deal with whatever it was. It was far too fast to be a shambler, and too tall to be a mutant-dog. Had a speed-shredder made its way out here, too? Whatever it was, Makrus didn't want to count on it buying him much time or being able to take it out himself. He wasted no time in leaning back to the right end of his Dunerunner, where he took aim at the nearest distracted bandit. Makrus fired, and--finally--took down a bandit as the rapidly-cycling laser drilled a hole through the man's head. He then set about trying to pick off a few more while he could, as whatever it was tore through the bandit's line from the other direction...
Thread: Wasteland Flame (PsionicCuttlefish & Xeres)

The few of the bandits that were left had gone into a frenzy. Over half of their band was dispatched of, and it was all too clear that something had infiltrated their ranks. The sweat of fear began to mingle with the sweat from the heat, as they couldn't seem to pinpoint the source of whatever was eliminating their fellow brigands. There were no screams, only scuffling and muffled cries of pain. It seemed as though a dust devil had taken solid shape and was incurring vengeful wrath upon them. Soon enough, only one group remained, five trembling bodies that hid behind the cluster of their own Dunebikes. Low, wide four-paneled vehicles that could hover above the churning sands and offered little cover, but enough space for storage. Storage of bigger, better artillery. Just as a cornered dog will resort to drastic measures, the remaining bundles of scavengers decided it was time to get serious. Their enemy was not far from sniffing out the last of them, and they scrambled to assemble their most destructive weapon in their compartments. As they slid the last parts into place, the faint outline of a khaki-cloaked figure could be seen emerging from behind the rubble, not thirty feet away. The group shouted in alarm, three supplied cover fire as the two others struggled to load the massive rifle. The figure seemed to avert the bullets with ease, darting between whatever cover it could as it came ever-closer to its prey. Inch by inch it grew larger, drawing panicked screams from the bandits. They cursed and shrieked at the riflemen, urging them with haste. Soon enough the figure was within ten feet of them, taller than any of the members of their band. One of the men broke down into hysterics, throwing down his empty gun and shoving at his comrades. There was a bang. He dropped first. The figure grew closer still, with two massive pistols in both hands, taking out the second and third bandit in one smooth motion. The guns were then aimed at the remaining bandits, and the fourth collapsed into the sand, blood streaming from her throat. Suddenly, the rifle was mounted on a Dunebike, there was a sharp click, and an ear-shattering BOOM. The last remaining bandit reared back from the rifle, howling from the pain in his dislocated shoulder. He stumbled but remained on his feet long enough to catch a glimpse at his target. The figure had stopped, knees slightly bent, as though struggling to keep balance. An arm wrapped around the left side of its stomach, where a dark stain grew steadily from beneath the fabric. The survivor's eyes widened, as did a maniacal grin. He clambered onto the Dunebike with some difficulty, but managed to himself into the seat, dislocated arm slung over himself and the other on a handle. He took one last look at the mysterious cloaked hunter, sweat streaming down his twisted face. Burn in hell, you sick bastard! And he kicked his vehicle to life.
Thread: Wasteland Flame (PsionicCuttlefish & Xeres)

One by one, Markus worked on picking off another trio of bandits, until only one group remained. He didn't know how many, but knew which building they were hiding behind. Particularly since the telltale cra-cra-crak of rifle fire continued to sound from that direction. Through a blown-out window, Markus saw the dark blurry shape dart into the building, with the screams of the bandits signifying how they were falling before the hostile. Suddenly, a loud BOOM pounded across the area, so powerful Markus felt the bass thud in his chest. What was that?! A friggin' cannon? Markus muttered to himself. He peeked over the top of his Dunerunner rover to try and get a better view. He just barely saw one of the bandits come out from cover slightly to mount up on a Dunebike. To escape? To run over whatever was attacking them? Either way, didn't matter to Markus. He could scarcely have hoped for it, but if none of the bandits got out of this, no one could tell where this location was, and Markus could return later to salvage anything of use. He took aim once more with his autolaser, and let loose a burst. The bandit slumped and fell off the bike. Silence ruled the scorched land. No more screams, no more gunshots, no more visible movement. Were the bandits all dead? It certainly seemed so. Was what had attacked them still alive? He had no idea, and almost didn't want to find out. The smart--or rather, wise--thing to do here was to hop back into his Dunerunner, jury-rig it to get it running again, and get out of Dodge. But Markus had an almost dangerous curiosity beyond most people and an intellect to match, but not much sense. Whatever it was that had attacked the bandits, Markus at least wantd to know what it was. Maybe he could learn something useful. If it was a speed-shredder, it was a better one than any he'd seen. That would be useful to know. Waiting only a few moments longer to see if there were any sneaky bastards left to take a potshot at him, Markus then crouched down and ran across the empty wastes from his Dunerunner to the nearest half-demolshed building. Ignoring the cooling corpses of the bandits, he moved from wall to wall, until he was at the last building where he had seen the unknown thing enter, but not come out of. Makrus crept along the wall slowly until he reached an edge, and after taking a breath, slowly leaned his head around to get a glimpse of what was left in the building...
Thread: Wasteland Flame (PsionicCuttlefish & Xeres)

The building was one of few that stood with some retained amount of structural integrity, and one of the largest to boot, standing or no. Slats of scrap wood and straw crisscrossed over each other as a makeshift roof, and the terracotta walls were cracked, but whole. There was surprisingly little light in the hut, as there were no windows, and the entrance faced eastward. The sun had began its decline. A small gap in the slatted roof gave way for a single beam of golden sunlight, illuminating a strip within the otherwise dark building. Within the hut was guarded with as dark a shadow as daytime could provide, the lonely ray of scintillating sunlight slicing through the darkness and across the bloodstained sand. A large, dark outline could be made out through the haze, likely made difficult by the adjustment of pure sunshine to dim shadow. It appeared to be motionless, though the steady rise and fall of its chest could be seen if one were to look carefully enough. The figure was tall. Very tall. The mass that consisted of the mysterious vigilante's body appeared to be much larger than the average person. Even seated it held impressive height. Though the apparent guardian was still hooded, its cloak laid partway open, revealing the gravity of its wounds. A dark, wet mass had seeped across the whole right side of the figure, darker than the shadows surrounding it. The seemed as though it made no move to treat the severe wound, clearly fatal if left unattended. The figure did not struggle or fidget, said no final words or curses. It simply sat in the far corner of the building, quiet and unmoving, until it realized it had company. There was a low, alarming growl that resonated throughout the considerably spacious structure. It rumbled on for a time, pausing only for short breaths between. Past the hazy ray of sunshine the figure was cloaked in darkness, though the faint glimmer of snarling teeth could be seen from within. The growling didn't last, however. It seemed as though the apparent guardian decided that there was no immediate threat. But then the slow rise and fall of its chest slowed even further, and the tenseness of its shoulders had instead gone limp. The figure was definitely unconscious.