Tumblr's Finest Dominant

[Lord_Steve]

Lord_Steve, you're hot.

Okay, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but... you kind of look like a girl. Just a little. Mostly in the fleshy area with the cartilage that covers your giant brain.

Maybe it's just me.

it's just a trick of the light! and my breasts. and chromosomes, those tricksy little assholes.


i wish lovecraft were around to see this. alas.

CaresseDArcy I would love to expound upon your dream this afternoon.

 

[Lord_Steve]

So while I am normally quite content lingering in the shadows of this thread and gathering my enjoyment in the corners. I have been tormented with a dream as of late. Though ‘dream’ is a term I use loosely here since it could really be a nightmare.

The background images are unclear and I wake before it really even begins but not before they make their appearance… the inkwell and the pen. The ink, dark and glassy shines through the sparkling crystal while the pen rests next to it; it’s silver edges glinting. I feel drawn to them but without the urge to use them and even as I fight the surge to flee.

Bleh but I digress, as it’s images are still locked in my mind. However, it is precisely that feeling and the open invitation issued that led me to the epiphany…

Why not edge briefly into the light and take it to Lord Steve?! Perhaps his wit and cleverness with the written word can interpret the story or poem of the inkwell and the pen. Perhaps his all around Domliness can reveal the meaning. Hmm perhaps he can just get it the hell out of my subconscious… yes, that one!

Lord Steve will you please save me from this loop of antique writing implements?

The ink is full of stars. You have always known this, somehow. The ink that is creeping up the cleft nib of the pen is a galaxy in its infancy and is also the night sky.

If you picked up the pen and swept it across a clean sheet of paper, you would create something instantly ancient. And terrible, in the way that hawks are terrible, which is to say instinctively and through no fault of their own.

The feather of the pen, were you to look very closely, would be complex beyond your comprehension. Fractal detail, spiraling into infinite whorls somewhere far, far beyond the subatomic level. It was plucked from the raptor that sits on top of the edge of the sky and watches you live with yellow eyes.

The thing about writing with the night sky is that you are creating your own world as much representing the one in which you are writing, and your terror is a product of the fragility of your perception. If you could see the feather as it is, if you could drink the night from the inkwell and feel the stars burn through your belly, if you could sort your own shit out long enough to figure what could possibly be worth writing with so rare an instrument, well.

If you could do any of that, you wouldn't be having this dream. Would you.

 

[CaresseDArcy]

The ink is full of stars. You have always known this, somehow. The ink that is creeping up the cleft nib of the pen is a galaxy in its infancy and is also the night sky.

If you picked up the pen and swept it across a clean sheet of paper, you would create something instantly ancient. And terrible, in the way that hawks are terrible, which is to say instinctively and through no fault of their own.

The feather of the pen, were you to look very closely, would be complex beyond your comprehension. Fractal detail, spiraling into infinite whorls somewhere far, far beyond the subatomic level. It was plucked from the raptor that sits on top of the edge of the sky and watches you live with yellow eyes.

The thing about writing with the night sky is that you are creating your own world as much representing the one in which you are writing, and your terror is a product of the fragility of your perception. If you could see the feather as it is, if you could drink the night from the inkwell and feel the stars burn through your belly, if you could sort your own shit out long enough to figure what could possibly be worth writing with so rare an instrument, well.

If you could do any of that, you wouldn't be having this dream. Would you.

Wow...

Admittedly, given what I’ve read, I had rather high expectations but you exceeded even those. My only regret is not being able to check in earlier. Thank you, truly, I think that was quite brilliant.

That expansion should eliminate the dream problem but perhaps even more delightful, now I can honestly say that Lord Steve just mind fucked me. What a pleasant alternative; a win, win!

P.S. While I can easily agree with the previous comment that your pic is beautiful; I will have to smother my jealousy at the very regal pose you struck... and that neck!

 

[Aurantica]

The ink is full of stars. You have always known this, somehow. The ink that is creeping up the cleft nib of the pen is a galaxy in its infancy and is also the night sky.

If you picked up the pen and swept it across a clean sheet of paper, you would create something instantly ancient. And terrible, in the way that hawks are terrible, which is to say instinctively and through no fault of their own.

The feather of the pen, were you to look very closely, would be complex beyond your comprehension. Fractal detail, spiraling into infinite whorls somewhere far, far beyond the subatomic level. It was plucked from the raptor that sits on top of the edge of the sky and watches you live with yellow eyes.

The thing about writing with the night sky is that you are creating your own world as much representing the one in which you are writing, and your terror is a product of the fragility of your perception. If you could see the feather as it is, if you could drink the night from the inkwell and feel the stars burn through your belly, if you could sort your own shit out long enough to figure what could possibly be worth writing with so rare an instrument, well.

If you could do any of that, you wouldn't be having this dream. Would you.

Mind. Blown

 

[satindesire]

The ink is full of stars. You have always known this, somehow. The ink that is creeping up the cleft nib of the pen is a galaxy in its infancy and is also the night sky.

If you picked up the pen and swept it across a clean sheet of paper, you would create something instantly ancient. And terrible, in the way that hawks are terrible, which is to say instinctively and through no fault of their own.

The feather of the pen, were you to look very closely, would be complex beyond your comprehension. Fractal detail, spiraling into infinite whorls somewhere far, far beyond the subatomic level. It was plucked from the raptor that sits on top of the edge of the sky and watches you live with yellow eyes.

The thing about writing with the night sky is that you are creating your own world as much representing the one in which you are writing, and your terror is a product of the fragility of your perception. If you could see the feather as it is, if you could drink the night from the inkwell and feel the stars burn through your belly, if you could sort your own shit out long enough to figure what could possibly be worth writing with so rare an instrument, well.

If you could do any of that, you wouldn't be having this dream. Would you.

Have you ever RPed? You write like a gamer.

 

[Lord_Steve]

Have you ever RPed? You write like a gamer.

i don't know how to respond to that!

not in a long, long time.

 

[FloggingMolly]

That is fantastic writing hon

 

[Lord_Steve]

That is fantastic writing hon

oh that's right I owe you a thing i'll do that right now!

 

[Lord_Steve]

How about something with a medieval knight in shining armour with a bdsm twist?

Thing about rescuing princesses is. You show up, gleaming from toe to tit, your vambraces etc polished and engraved like achilles' shield, your sword massive and carefree and sharp like a smashed bottle.

And there's a fuckin dragon or ogre or whatever, two tons of meatstink and ugly, teeth like geisha's hairpins, temper like a grenade in the process of going off, eyes like an evil metaphor for something fierce.

And you stab that motherfucker in his goddamn eyes because you're basically hungover and wearing like 60 lbs of collector's quality gear that's getting banged and scratched to shit by the rocky walls of his lair and last night ended with you urinating fiercely up against the gates of the royal palace and promising the king loudly that you would save the shit out of his super-hot daughter.

And the next morning the royal guards show up at your room in the tavern and it turns out you actually swore a royal oath or pinky promise or some shit but basically you've got 24 hours to make with the rescuing or else your lands, title, and cock all become property of the kingdom.

So you're cranky, and you take it out on this monster because all his roarin' and threatenin' is exacerbating your headache and pretty soon its two tons of monster mcnuggets and there's the princess, bodice ripped, bosoms heaving, tied to a stake in the middle of a cave.

And it's immediately clear that this particular royal chick is way, way into watching monsters get chopped up by knights. She's gonna have to change her smallclothes when she gets back to the castle, is what I'm saying, and she's probably going to lock herself in the royal bedroom to "recover from her ordeal" with the handle of her hairbrush for several hours.

And, well. She's already tied up, is the thing. And she doesn't seem to mind that much. And since one of your horses got eaten in the melee, you DO have this riding crop just sitting in your saddlebags.

What I'm saying is, there's a lot of marks that a fluffy princess dress can hide, and a lot more you can blame on a particularly fast and bumpy ride back to the castle.

 

[where]

actually fine here's a picture of me.

http://i.imgur.com/Gyucf.jpg

I have a huge cock.

apparently I'm forbidden from looking.

I want a story about a demonic steampunkish nymph who captures maidens and ties them up before performing all kinds of terrible (ish) tortures involving various antique medical devices including violet wands.

There is actually a reason for this and in a month or so, you may see what it is, with luck.

 

[satindesire]

i don't know how to respond to that!

not in a long, long time.

Yahoo's User Room deaths killed RP entirely. I don't blame you for your long hiatus.

 

[Etoile]

Imma do this in two parts I think

----------------------------------------------------


In that place it's impossible not to wonder if the human soul could find its way to heaven if you, say, slipped and cracked your head on the spotless curb. "Go towards the light" has little currency is a place where neon supremacy outdoes the sky.

The moon and stars are tawdy and meek by comparison.

You are pretty sure you came here looking for something but you've lost your way in a labryinth of storefronts haloed by half-understood japanese sigils. You bought something that reminded you of food and put it in your mouth, and hey, it was delicious. Your alienation is intoxicating but your watch has stopped and the feeble stars overhead seem to have shifted and danced overhead and you are arriving at the realization that you have been devoured by this district.

So you wander through this fabulous intestine, pulled forward by the muscular movement of the crowd. You buy things. You thrust money into the hands of clever merchants in exchange for arcane wires and flat panels with interlocking touchscreens begging to be touched, the purpose of which objects is irrelevant next to your need to own them.

The crowd washes around your ankles. You forget them. The alleys seem to be getting narrower, the lights less persistent. It is unimaginable that it should be dark in this place so when you look up and can't see farther than the nearest wall you are at first too surprised to be afraid.

Hands, in the darkness.

You remember how sharks, approaching a swimmer, will butt and brush and rasp to see if this flailing object is alive, if it will bleed.
So, a hand, on your arm. Curiously courtly, as if to escort you to a dance. As you turn, it slips away. You say something in english, and the night laughs.

Your leg next, and the back of your neck. Somehow the radius of your vision has irised inward, it is like you are trapped in a black shell two feet in every direction.

You are being herded. You flit away from hands on your hip, up your skirt, down your back, and find more. You can't imagine how many, but the night seethes with long fingers and slender arms, but no faces. Just so many amputee limbs grasping at your flesh.

You can taste the lust of this city. There are no individuals groping you, plucking at your clothes, it is the buildings and the sidewalks and the signs in the distance that look like they were carved out of frozen lightning. The elemental erection of the city is present in the breath, in the heartbeats, in the footfalls of this mob.

There is a door. You are being held. You are led through.

Too bright. Every atom of your eyeballs is screaming. You are tied to a chair. They have put a light in your eyes. You realize this, and do not calm down.

There are four, or five. Their silhouettes keep blending and twisting against the light. It's hard to say. You go to cover your eyes but your wrists are tied. The cord is plastic and cold and smooth.

A face blocks the light. Your eyes adjust, but slowly, you see glasses and a sharp face. The pain in your wrists shimmers and pulls at your thoughts but you are too, too scared to hurt.

The light is suddenly gone. The darkness hurts and pulls at you. You feel like running in every direction and it is like there is a small creature with sharp claws caged in your ribs.

"You are here because we have been waiting. You don't know for how long." The voice is accented, but not in a way you recognize. There is a hand on your thigh. "You are ours. There are many of us. Spread your legs."

This is phenomenal.

ok sorry about the wait etoile i have been stupidly busy. Also, i'm sure you wanted something more explicit but I know for a fact that at least two people I have seen naked in a sexual context read this thread and i'd rather keep things pg-13 for that reason!

OK!

Come at me with some story/poem ideas. I'll clear up some of my backlog tomorrow, but don't be shy, lurkers!

It's absolutely perfect! Your writing makes the imagination run wild so it doesn't need to be any more explicit.

I am impressed that there are people you know IRL in here, I barely know anybody on Lit IRL, and you just got here! Or did you mean something else?

I have been busy too, have barely been on the computer in two weeks, UGH.

 

[TarevaChine]

You truly are unique!

 

[Lord_Steve]

apparently I'm forbidden from looking.

I want a story about a demonic steampunkish nymph who captures maidens and ties them up before performing all kinds of terrible (ish) tortures involving various antique medical devices including violet wands.

There is actually a reason for this and in a month or so, you may see what it is, with luck.

Umm, sorry my dear but that just doesn't really inspire me, unless you want something truly, truly ridiculous.

I think if I started writing actual fantasy erotica I would laugh myself half to death and then finish the job by leaping, masturbating, out a window.

FEED ME MORE STORY PROMPTS RAAAR

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

Hmm.....how about the day Lord_Steve stormed into Bikini Bottom and made them all embrace the BDSM bug.

Make it part of your family game night!

 

[Lizzie_Borden]

Thing about rescuing princesses is. You show up, gleaming from toe to tit, your vambraces etc polished and engraved like achilles' shield, your sword massive and carefree and sharp like a smashed bottle.

And there's a fuckin dragon or ogre or whatever, two tons of meatstink and ugly, teeth like geisha's hairpins, temper like a grenade in the process of going off, eyes like an evil metaphor for something fierce.

And you stab that motherfucker in his goddamn eyes because you're basically hungover and wearing like 60 lbs of collector's quality gear that's getting banged and scratched to shit by the rocky walls of his lair and last night ended with you urinating fiercely up against the gates of the royal palace and promising the king loudly that you would save the shit out of his super-hot daughter.

And the next morning the royal guards show up at your room in the tavern and it turns out you actually swore a royal oath or pinky promise or some shit but basically you've got 24 hours to make with the rescuing or else your lands, title, and cock all become property of the kingdom.

So you're cranky, and you take it out on this monster because all his roarin' and threatenin' is exacerbating your headache and pretty soon its two tons of monster mcnuggets and there's the princess, bodice ripped, bosoms heaving, tied to a stake in the middle of a cave.

And it's immediately clear that this particular royal chick is way, way into watching monsters get chopped up by knights. She's gonna have to change her smallclothes when she gets back to the castle, is what I'm saying, and she's probably going to lock herself in the royal bedroom to "recover from her ordeal" with the handle of her hairbrush for several hours.

And, well. She's already tied up, is the thing. And she doesn't seem to mind that much. And since one of your horses got eaten in the melee, you DO have this riding crop just sitting in your saddlebags.

What I'm saying is, there's a lot of marks that a fluffy princess dress can hide, and a lot more you can blame on a particularly fast and bumpy ride back to the castle.

I love this one.

 

[FloggingMolly]

Thank you so much!! I was just having an 'ohshiteverythingsuckswhereisthefuckingicecream!' moment, but you helped me step away from the spoon. I wouldn't have been able to stop it dribbling out of the corner of my mouth anyway, now that I'm plastered with a rather stupid grin, which I'll probably be wearing til bed time!

Thank you

 

[Lord_Steve]

hey dge

DGE please get a tumblr and call it Sire Chad or Master Mike or MC Pain or something


and rule the internet with me

as bro and bro

forever

lets do thisss

 

[Etoile]

"teeth like geisha's hairpins"

EPIC.

 

[satindesire]

"teeth like geisha's hairpins"

EPIC.

Yeah, I did a spit take on that one.

 

[FloggingMolly]

DGE please get a tumblr and call it Sire Chad or Master Mike or MC Pain or something


and rule the internet with me

as bro and bro

forever

lets do thisss

I'm not sure the world could cope with the awesome.

 

[where]

Umm, sorry my dear but that just doesn't really inspire me, unless you want something truly, truly ridiculous.

I think if I started writing actual fantasy erotica I would laugh myself half to death and then finish the job by leaping, masturbating, out a window.

FEED ME MORE STORY PROMPTS RAAAR

bah! maybe you will be inspired when you see the photos! and really, funny is good. we should laugh at this kind of stuff.

 

[Lord_Steve]

bah! maybe you will be inspired when you see the photos! and really, funny is good. we should laugh at this kind of stuff.

maybe then I will!

idk maybe I'll try to find a fun angle on it tomorrow. in the meantime GIVE ME MORE THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT OR I WILL SHIT IN YOUR HEARTS lovingly

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

DGE please get a tumblr and call it Sire Chad or Master Mike or MC Pain or something


and rule the internet with me

as bro and bro

forever

lets do thisss

Come live with me and be my bro,
And pixels we shall make our ho.

I'm not sure the world could cope with the awesome.

Mom, can I sleep over at Tumblr tonight?

 

[Lord_Steve]

Come live with me and be my bro,
And pixels we shall make our ho.




Mom, can I sleep over at Tumblr tonight?

yessss