Whitzz/544K-RP-Datasets huggingface dataset:
Thread: Photography [Minnie & Anon]

Aleah's sense of vulnerability only heightened as her wrists were tied into place, and she looked up at Edward with a concerned look on her face. It had been easy enough to go along with this, to just say yes, but quite another to have him actually lock her arms in place. She hadn't really thought about what would actually happen, but of course it was going to involve bondage, since that was his whole thing. She had looked at a lot his work before coming here, so she should have realized how it was going to go down. Having her hands tied made her want to immediately break away. Feeling her freedom of movement being ripped away by this creep was a terrible feeling, and she got a bad feeling in her gut. She just had to focus on the article, and the good it would do her. It was going to be worth it. It was going to be worth it, she repeated in her head. Just focus on the article, and everything would go by quickly. What had he said? That the women wanted to be undressed by him? That sounded strange, but then she supposed he would attract a certain type of woman the sluts who wanted to, or even liked, to be tied down and photographed. To be dehumanized on screen. So, what, uh, what's your next big proj-, she began, but a big rubber ball shoved in between her lips cut off her words. She whined in a high pitch, instinctively protesting. The gag was too big, and it was very uncomfortable. She looked back at him, staring at him accusingly, just as he put his hands on her thighs and lifted her ass right up in the air, making it look even bigger an bubblier than it was. In this position, her legs were spread indecently, and the only thing between Edward and her was a thin piece of underwear. The spank hit her ass like a truck, and she gave a muffled yelp as her fat butt jiggled satisfyingly.
Thread: Photography [Minnie & Anon]

Her butt jiggled so perfectly, he simply had to spank it again to see the flesh move. He spanked her left ass cheek this time - harder than the previous one. Eyeing the two handprints on her fat ass, he stepped back. See. I will be honest. He spoke, as he walked back to his camera, and picked it up, stepping up behind her so he could take a picture of her from behind, with a close up of her red ass. I know you cant even write a decent article about anything. He walked around her, kneeling so he could take a picture of her scared, flushed face. You are just too dumb for that. He added, after he had taken the picture, and reached in, giving her face a hard slap, before he pushed her hair behind, and held it in a tight ponytail, making her scalp sting. I am going to show you exactly what a bitch like you is good for. He smirked, and spat on her face, smearing it all over the slut's features, before he stood up, and peeled off his shirt. He was lean, not too muscular and not too thin either. He slapped her face one more time, before he moved back, behind her to face her ass. Unbuckling the belt from his hip, he pulled it out smoothly, smirking as he noticed she was watching him. He gazed into her eyes, as he curved the belt into a whip of sorts. She smelled of fear. And god, did he love it. He brought the belt crashing down on her ass. One after the other, he whipped her ass raw - alternating between her thick, fat buns. He laughed, watching them jiggle. Chuckled, watching her squirm. Whipped her harder, as he saw her ass start to get bruised. That's what a woman was for, after all. A toy for the man to play with, and do as he wished.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

Rayla sighed from where she sat behind her console, peering out at the area surrounding her through the cockpit of her ship. This was a sketchy place, but... well, it was a sketchy business. Still, the woman didn't like it -- here, she was outnumbered, outgunned, and probably outsmarted. Still, the credits were promising and times were tough, lately. Honest work was impossible to come by not that Rayla was ever one for honest work, and the bounties in this sector weren't paying like they used to -- not with a few new mercenary groups sweeping in. The real criminals had all jumped to other sectors to keep under the radar, and so Rayla was desperate for credits, hoping to do nothing more than keep her ship space worthy. Finally, the three men came in to view. Rayla narrowed her golden eyes and pushed the loose, silver bangs from her face. With a slight huff, she twisted in her chair and hit a switch on the wall. The hatch beneath her feet hissed open and slid apart, ladder extending to the metallic surface below. Her ship wasn't anything grand. It had just enough cargo space to transport whatever they were carrying, though it was small, hard to hit, and even harder to detect, with twin laser cannons, shielding, and a sleek, agile look to it. Not a bad ship, really -- it was a Banshee variant, manufactured by her own species. It got the job done, anyway. As for Rayla, she said nothing to the man as he addressed her. At least, she wasn't the first to speak. Hands on hips, she pursed her lips and listened as he rambled on, a brow slowly raising. The woman wore a skin-tight body suit, though she had left her armor aboard her ship, and so it clung to her supple frame like a second skin, showing ever muscle, curve, the thick of her rear, and the swell of her breasts. Still, she had a pistol strapped to one thigh, and as the man finished, she found her fingers drumming off of the butt of it, itching to fire. But she didn't. Still, Rayla was annoyed already. Easy enough, she said, eying the card. Rayla took it and tucked it in to the collar of her suit, golden gaze wandering over towards the crate. Do I need to feed it? Well, she wasn't stupid. They were quite clearly concerned for the safety of their cargo -- and what sort of cargo needed holes to breathe that wasn't living? Still, it never crossed Rayla's mind that she might have been trafficking a person from one place to another... surely this was just some strange sort of exotic animal? That's what the woman told herself, anyway. With a nod as the crate was loaded up, she faced the larger man again, arms crossed beneath her ample breasts now. We done here?
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

The sleazy gang members didn't make any effort not to look at Rayla, as she effectively attracted their eyes with her skin-tight outfit, which did very little to hide her body. Being a human-based solar system, Drow were an exotic species, and were prized prostitutes due to their rarity. The demand was so high that even the more prosperous middle-class of her kin would resort to this kind of work on Anathea. Their sexual capabilities were exaggerated, to an almost mythical level, as the sex pushers were in the habit of grossly embellishing this most exotic of merchandice, to squeeze even more of a profit from it. The way these men looked at her now told her they were used to viewing girls like her as sexualized objects, as they didn't appear to care what she felt while they blatently stared at curves. The obese suit seemed to have difficulty taking his eyes off her breasts, but eventually she met her eyes. You don't need to feed it, or water it, or anything. It's been drugged, and won't wake up until you're done and on your way to the next lump o'mud, he said, and spat. Like I said, you don't think about it, he said, just as the crate was secured inside her cargo hold, the small truck backing away, beeping. At her next question, he took another long look at her ample chest, which she pushed upwards and outwards by crossing her arms. He licked his lips and spat again. Sure, we're done. If you ever want to expand on your career options though, I can get plenty of work for someone like you. I know guys who would pawn their ships to spend an evening with such a lovely thing. I can get you steady jobs, no problem, he said, and the two other guys grinned foolishly at her, unashamedly staring at her details.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

Pass, Rayla said quite easily, keeping a straight face and a steady tone -- though she was smirking on the inside. The woman could feel their eyes on her body just as much as she could see them, and it bolstered her confidence, knowing she looked so good -- even with the ugly scar that ran down the left side of her otherwise gorgeous face, with her ashen-grey skin, bordering on a light purple in the right light, golden eyes, nice, plush lips... and, of course, there wasn't any denying that body. But Rayla was as proud as she was stubborn, and though she wasn't prude, she couldn't, wouldn't, be anybody's whore. No matter how good the cash. You can get a good look at my ass as I'm walking away, though. I expect the other half, once the job's done. Her arms uncrossed, but, true to her word, she gave them a generous view of her ample rear as she retreated back towards her ship, a small swagger and a womanly stride to her confident steps. Barring any more interruptions, Rayla would climb the ladder back in to her ship and seal the hatch again, twisting to her right where the small cargo hold held the crate. Just in front of her was another hatch she had to duck under to get in to her room, and on her left was the cockpit again. Rayla sighed, hitting something on her left, augmented arm, bringing her ship in to the air again and setting a course. Now, she muttered, facing the crate they'd loaded. What do we have here? Rayla crouched down, never much one for rules, even if she was being paid to follow them. The woman leaned in close, peering through one of the holes.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

Shame. I'm sure you would've soon found yourself living in luxury, and for such stressless work But, alas, you are free to choose. If only this was Shuruy, I'd have you collared, not wasting your talent flying around in that beater, he said, spitting. On the planet of Shuruy, slavery was not only legal, but encouraged, and women without owners could be claimed freely. It wasn't a place a free, independent woman wanted to find herself, but it was said to be one of the leading cultures of the erotic, as its people developed ever more intricate appetites. Some even saught out slavery, in order to realize their sexual potential, trading in freedom for pleasure of the flesh. They grinned and laughed among themselves as Rayla turned and strode towards her ship, her hips swaying seductively. One of them whistled, and they kept staring at her backside until she was all the way inside. Gust! I'd break a guy's arm to lay with that, a voice said behind her, only to be answered by a snort. You'd break a guy's arm just for the satisfaction of it. Now take your mind off that supple tart, we got more work to do. More packages to deliver He said, and his voice trailed off as Rayla sealed the hatch behind her. The suits would walk away from the ship, leaving her entirely alone on this silent pier. The wooden crate was large, and it was bolted shut on all sides. There were two rows of holes near the top, which were too small to put more than three fingers into. Peering into the crate, Rayla would find it to be quite dark, and impossible to see exactly what, or who, was on the inside. She could, however, see a curled-up form on the floor of the crate. Whatever it was, the body rose and fell slowly, to the sound of a gentle breathing. It didn't appear to be conscious.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

Hm. Rayla frowned to herself, trying to make out the shape. Still, it was too dark and too dim to discern from person or... non-person. With a sigh, she stood back up again and drummed her fingers along the top of the crate with a low, metallic hum, thinking carefully to herself. She could just open it, take a peak... close it. No harm in that, right? Except what if they'd rigged the thing to go off when she did. Then there'd be no getting the other half of those credits... Dammit. Rayla growled and turned, heading back in to her seat. She took the controls and focused on flying towards their destination, pushing thoughts of the crate out of her mind. Long as it doesn't wake up and eat me, the drow murmured, though she'd toss a look over her shoulder every so often. After an hour or two of this, Rayla was sure that she was far enough away to have a little privacy. Leaving the ship to pilot itself, she went to the crate again and looked for some way to open it. Just one peek.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

The dark slums of the Pits were soon out of sight, and out of smell range, giving way to the grand, lavish city above. Gold shone from monumental tower tops, cruisers in the billion-credit range zooming past. Everything appeared exquisite, sparkling with the energy of consumerism, with all signs of poverty well hidden away. It was still early, and though it was past sunrise, the land was cloaked in a grey gloom by the thick clouds overhead. Rayla had to wait a few minutes, forced to circle around, before she was given clearance to depart by an automated speaker on her radio. The seasoned Banshee cut through the clouds, to where the sun beamed on it, until she drove right out of the planet's thick ozone layer, into the Darkness, which was only intruded by the light of the distant stars. Several large, hulking space vessels floated, moored, just beyond the planet's gravitational pull, and they looked deceptively lifeless. But soon they too, were left behind, and Rayla was once more all by herself, in the deep dark space. The crate looked to be bolted completely shut, with no kind of mechanism or any other alleviation in its monotone design which might help open it. But, as the ashen-skinned Drow examined it further, something sounded from within the crate a cough. It sounded eerily human. Then came a groan, and the sounds of movement from within. Ugh, where am I? Asked a light, feminine voice. Her words were slow and slurred, the drugs still having a profound effect on her. Who is that! The crate yelled, once she appeared to realize that she was not alone. Stay back! I'll hurt you! She shouted, sounding on the edge of panic. Her breathing wasn't gentle now, as she audibly hyperventilated. It was still dark inside the crate, but if Rayla peeked inside, she would see a pair of deep violet eyes, which glowed slightly in the dark.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

Rayla jumped back a step or two, heart in her throat. She swore harshly in her own language and reached for the pistol at her thigh, but didn't draw it. Fuck. It was a girl? So she was trafficking -- and those three idiots down there hadn't even given her a strong enough dosage to keep her from waking up. Shit, Rayla snarled. Shit. Fuck! Fucking shit! She kicked the wall of her Banshee with a boot, then turned to face the talking crate again, frustrated and worried now. What if they came after her, for knowing too much? Whoever this girl was... whatever she was... Fine. So she wasn't human, then -- and likely not a synthetic, because drugs wouldn't work on her, then. So, what? Drowish, that was possible. Though Rayla's own gaze was golden, they were sometimes known to be violet. Or maybe this particular human just had peculiar eyes. Rayla crouched down so that whoever was inside could peer through the holes and back at her, and she raised a finger to her lips. Look. Just -- hold on, OK? Keep it down. And don't freak out. You got it? I, uh... I'm gonna get you out. Fuck... Sighing, she stood and looked the crate over again. Just as soon as I figure out how.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

When the Drow crouched down and looked inside, the girl would shy away from her, moving to the other side of the crate. Rayla's attempts at comforting the trapped girl didn't seem the phase her, the rescue pitch doing nothing to calm her down. On the contrary, it had the opposite effect, and she did freak out, beginning to make high pitched, whining sounds. Scraping could be heard, as she began to claw at the insides of the crate. By the sounds of it, she was trying to dig her way out with her nails, seeming endlessly desperate to get out of the confining, dark crate. Then the banging started. The crate vibrated in unison with the muffled thumps, accompanied all the while by that shrill whimpering. Where am I! I want out! She screamed as she banged at the crate from the inside. Her voice was, oddly enough, devoid of any kind of dialect. It was a clean, pure English, which was rather rare to come across. The banging became louder. She cried in pain every time her fist met wood, but she didn't stop or slow down. She struck harder, and more and more frequently. The crate began to rattle ominously. Then there was a crack, but it wasn't the cracking of bones, but the cracking of wood. Violet light emanated from the holes, and strange, dusty steam of the same color rose from the breathing holes. I want out! I. Want. Out! She yelled, and as if that had been some sort of switch, the cargo hold's lights all went out, leaving the room in pitch darkness, except for the violet glow coming from the crate. She gave a piercing, furious howl, which was followed by the sound of breaking wood. The top of the crate shattered, bits of the sturdy planks flying everywhere. The girl stood up, and her body looked to be aflame, purple flames coiling and slithering across her skin. Everyone had heard stories about this energy the Source Material. But it was so rare to witness that nobody knew what it really was. Source was something mystical, and should belong in children's stories, but one of the recurring facts about it was that it made the person glow a deep violet. She was a short girl, standing a head shorter than Rayla, and looked to be in her late teens. She was a human, with short, red, flaring hair. Her face was clean, unscarred and without any kind of make-up. But it had a very cute almond-shape, and her lips looked big and mushy. Her body was athletic, and her modest curves were tight. Who are you! Where am I! She shouted at Rayla, and pointed at her. I'll turn you to dust! She threatened wildly.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

What the--! Rayla exclaimed, raising her mechanical arm to block most of the shrapnel. Furious, she turned her golden eyes on to the girl -- though they widened as soon as she caught sight of the purple flame. Goddess, the woman breathed, falling back a step or two, pistol halfway raised, though she knew it wouldn't do her any good. Was this for real, or was it just some elaborate prank? No, this was definitely real. Rayla raised both hands, pistol facing away from the redheaded human. She licked her lips nervously. Listen to me, Rayla said, you... you need to calm down, alright? You're acting crazy. The drow swallowed. Do anything stupid, and we're both dead. Alright? We're in space. And this isn't a very large ship, baby girl. She motioned around herself for emphasis, indicating that... well, this was it. Look. See? I'm putting the pistol down. And sure enough, she did. Rayla placed it to the side, somewhere in her cockpit, then faced the girl again, looking her up and down. Cute. Scary, but cute. Let me get you some clothes, and we can talk about this. Got it?
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

Purple flames continued to flicker across the girl's skin, and a dusty, violet steam rose from her, as if her body was boiling. She was the only light in the room, all the other lights having gone out, for some inexplicable reason. She emanated heat, and Rayla, although she was yards away, would feel the warmth. But the red-haired girl didn't appear at all bothered by the heat. Her focus seemed to be entirely on the Drow, and on her sidearm, her big eyes stared at her sharply, and her face was contorted in concentration, as if she would take her eyes off the woman, it would be the end of her. It didn't look like she was going to move though, standing in a locked position in the broken crate, her flaming hands raised towards Rayla threateningly. She made no rash action though, and she appeared to be listening intently to what the ashen-skinned beauty had to say. Finally, she stepped out of the crate, keeping her eyes locked on the woman in front of her. It's lies. I know you're lying! I'll turn you to dust! I'll-, she said, but halfway through her sentence, and in mid-stride, she gave a pained cry and buckled over, wrapping her arms around herself, clutching her sides. She fell to her knees, and it looked like she was barely able to keep herself from falling on her face. As she kneeled on the ground, groaning and whimpering in agony, the purple flames began to evaporate, until it was only her eyes which shone of violet. The lights in the Banshee flickered back on, one after the other. Panting, the girl looked up at Rayla, her eyes welled up with pained tears. P-please don't h-hurt me. I-I didn't mean what I said, she said, her lip quivering. From one moment to the next, she had been transformed from a torrent of energy to a whimpering, sobbing little girl.
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

Rayla looked around with her golden eyes, swallowing hard. She didn't like her ship powering off -- if meant life support wasn't up, which meant they'd be out of oxygen as soon as they'd used up what was left. She didn't say anything in fear of being vaporized by purple flames. Instead, she watched the girl, kept her hands where she could see them, and kept her mouth shut, waiting to see what happened next. Then she fell. Rayla took one step back and dropped her hands, and though she hesitated, the drow moved forwards to gently grab the girl by her shoulders, kneeling just beside her. Look, she said, voice firm, you need to relax. I'm not going to hurt you. Not unless you keep doing stupid shit, like start a fire in my ship. Whoever you're afraid of, they're gone now. Just... She looked around for something to wrap the girl up in, and came up with the leather coat she'd had thrown over her pilot's chair. Rayla draped it around the human's shoulders. What's your name? she asked, brow raised. Rayla brushed some of her own silver bangs from her eyes, then did the same with the girl's red hair. If you don't wanna tell me, fine. But I can't stuff you back in that crate, and I can't kick you out of my ship, and I can't go back planet side because I'm sure your friends want me dead. So get up, and let's figure this out. You wanna bed?
Thread: Cargo [Queenstreet & Pryde]

The girl seemed to take comfort in Rayla's words this time, and leaned into her as she gently grabbed her, not seeming to care whether she was butt naked. Thank you she said, as she felt the coat being wrapped around her, and it would sound like the most earnest thank you she had ever heard. She wiped her nose, looking into Rayla's eyes, seeming only now to really see her. My name? She repeated, and seemed to have to think for a moment. I'm called Lynn. My name is Lynn, she said, seeming to remind herself of this fact as she said it out loud. At the woman's behest, she did let herself be helped up from the ground, but she hadn't been on her feet for two seconds before she embraced the long-eared mercenary with a tight, almost desperate hug. Because the Drow was so much taller, she was nestling her head at the top of her ample bosom. I'm sorry I started a fire on your ship. I'm sorry I threatened you. I'm just, I'm just not used to meeting friendly people, she said, still clinging onto Rayla tightly, as if the Drow was her lifebuoy. I'm not tired. I'm hungry. And I hurt. But the hurt is always there, so I can't really do anything about that, she said, and seemed to stifle a pained groan. But what is your name? And what am I doing here? Why am I on your tiny ship? And why was I in a crate? She asked, hailing her with questions, looking right up at her now instead of leaning against her chest, looking into Rayla's eyes. She was still hugging her though, and didn't seem inclined to let go any time soon. The purple-eyed girl didn't seem to value private space, as the Drow's face was but inches away from Lynn's soft, mushy lips as she spoke.