Overview

Suggested restriction: there are at least four individuals on the boat, and one chooses celibacy.

I lie here in my bed, resting. The rhythm of my heartbeat, slow and steady, is in my ears. She bends over me, cooling my flesh with a damp cloth. Her touch is gentle, and she smiles at me. That smile takes me back in time. I see the smiles in my memory, of lovers and not-lovers alike, lovers and friends, sometimes foes. It's funny how the years can wash away animosity; the negativity fades and you can only see the missed opportunities, the chances for peace not taken or missed. What could have been, should have been. My breath hitches at the thoughts. There have been a lot of them. My journey through Life has been long, my loves many. Nearly all are gone now, though. The tears well in my eyes as their faces flash by. My pulse quickens as I sob quietly. The cool, damp cloth hesitates as she senses my distress. She bends over me, and I gaze at her delightful breasts in the dim light, a gift to me. Soft and warm, large enough to fill one's hands with delight, and capped with pretty pink nipples begging to be kissed. It's difficult to be sad when presented with the ultimate comfort, for who can really not love a woman's breasts? Our first nourishment, a cradle for your head when the world is too strong, a landing zone for endless kisses. My heartbeat quickens further at the sight of such loveliness, Ah, but only if I weren't so tired now. But my eyes are getting heavier now, and she moves off. I feel the loss, the pang in my chest, and the tears come freely now. The thudding of my pulse diminishes as the light fades and sleep comes for me. She speaks, but I cannot understand through my drowse. She is persistent, though. She pulls back the sheet and straddles my hips, leaning forward, her hands on my chest. I can feel the heat between her thighs warming me, her nether lips caressing me through the cloth that separates us. Were I not so tired, she would be bringing my hardness back to its youthful glory. Her hands on my heart, pressing firmly, quickening, but I am going to sleep now. As I drift off, I am vaguely aware of the room filling, people shouting, spoiling an old man's last moment with an angel. For no sick person has ever thought any less of a nurse than an angel. But still, it was a fine last few moments before my long rest. Her heady perfume is the last scent as I drift off. It was a good night.

<starts boxing up her toaster> Where is this going?

Thank you very much! LOL, I feel like I'm back in the 70s when banks would give free toasters to their 1,000th depositor. (Dated myself there.)

We worked on each other with those knives for hours, one careful slice at a time. As the clothing dropped to the floor in ribbons, we paused to tease. She lightly drew her blade from my jawline all the way down my chest. I stroked mine down her breast, tracing her nipple, and then caressing the underside. She kissed me while holding her blade against the side of my neck. I kissed her neck as I slid mine through the cloth down her back to her ankles. She had to be extra careful when she cut away my boxers, because my cock was straining to be free. I, too, had to be careful as I made her panties go away; her pussy was flushed with her arousal, and she was open like the most beautiful flower God ever gave to we humans. She drew the tip of her blade along the seam of my scrotum, up the shaft, and traced around the head of my cock; holding still was sweet agony. In return, I dragged the spine of mine along her pussy, letting the cold steel slide along her clit. The blades went to the side and were forgotten then. Neither of us could restrain ourselves by then. She leapt onto my lap, and I held her hips as she guided me into her. We kissed in a frenzy as we held each other close, nipples rubbing together, her vulva gripping me like a vise. We couldn't sit still; I got to my feet and braced my back against the wall as she used her legs and hips to meet my frenzied thrusts. I'm eternally grateful that she was as turned on as I was, because neither of us lasted two minutes I think. Her pussy squeezed me in a death grip as she came, and that made me shoot my cum into her like I was doing Death Kegels. I was down but not out, so I threw her onto her back and went down on her mercilessly, determined to make her beg for mercy. That didn't happen. When I was hard again, she twisted and went down on me as well. Another not-my-finest outing; she was an artiste when it came to blowjobs. She knew that I didn't mind a bit of teeth, and she knew exactly how much and when so I didn't last much longer than the first time. But that was alright. We fell asleep in each others' arms, nude amidst the rags, the end of a long, magnificent night which I've never forgotten. All of my Korean lady neighbors laughed at me for days, and all I could do was grin back. Worth it.

Dorothy had rolled up the bed and pushed it aside. The room was filled with those little candles; almost as bright as if the electric lights were turned on, but softer in that magical way that only a fire can bring. She was wearing a full hanbok, the Korean version of a Japanese kimono, had her hair up, and had really put a lot of time and effort into her makeup. Charitably, Dorothy wasn't a beauty. She had a roundish face which suffered from childhood acne scars. But tonight she was breathtakingly exotic and sexy. I was wearing decent jeans and a nice Coca-Cola shirt, but I felt slovenly compared to her. There were two mats on the floor, and she was sitting on her knees on one of them; I intuited the other was for me, and so I sat, cross-legged (my knees couldn't take what she was doing.) She sat patiently, with a neutral expression, eyes demurely downcast. Between us were two Tanto knives, blades bare and glowing in the candlelight. We sat there, silent and motionless, for a time. It was probably less than a minute, but the anticipation I was feeling made it seem like an hour. Then, wordlessly she picked up her dagger, leaned forward, and with two flicks sent the buttons of my shirt flying. She then turned the point and sliced it from neck to hem in one smooth stroke. I couldn't breathe; the blade was terrifyingly sharp and was only millimeters away from slicing my flesh. But she handled it like a surgeon, placed it back on the floor, and sat back and waited. I knew what was expected of me, but now I was genuinely frighted ... for her. Unlike my shirt, the hanbok was thick and puffy with layers of cloth and I wasn't sure that I was up to the task she'd set for me now. But the tension in the air was incredibly arousing. I picked up my Tanto and, concentrating harder than I'd ever done in my life up until then, slit the sleeve of her hanbok from shoulder to wrist.

As a GI stationed in Korea, I was unusual in that I had an American girlfriend; I'll call her Dorothy. Being unmarried, we officially had billets on post but lived together in a small apartment in the local ville. Winters in Korea back in the day could be a shock even to seasoned Northerners. There are large flat plains, and at the time there were few trees so nothing would disrupt the cold wind coming down from the mountains in the north. It cut through any amount of winter garb and chilled you to the bone. I was coming home on a Saturday evening after stopping at the barracks to shower and change into civvies, but the cold night and a sixteen-hour shift didn't leave me in the mood for fun. I wanted nothing more than a warm bed. Dorothy had traded shifts with our mutual friend Julie to have the day off, but she didn't share what she'd be doing with it. Suits; Dorothy enjoyed travelling to Seoul for shopping and sightseeing, neither of which were my cup of tea. When I got home, there were lights on but they were dimmed. That was unusual, but I was too tired to really notice in all honesty. Getting inside changed that, though; the apartment was lit with a score of little candles floating in bowls of sweet oil, and it was almost tropically hot. My first instinct was to call out, but it didn't feel right somehow. The quiet and the stillness ... well, it just felt right. I shed my nylon and wool cocoon, took off my shoes, and walked over to the closed bedroom door.

Welcome, @AJoeOfSubjectiveQuality you're the 200th member of the club! I feel like you should get a prize or something.

(Will probably feel cringey tomorrow, but tonight it feels right.) Cover me; My cheek within your thigh, Shut out the stars, Those million mocking demons. Close your door, Allow no sound But wind and breath And bending friction Of two bodies vibrating Together To claim the same point in space. My lips tasting yours, Speaking hymns; words pressed Others pulled from you. Feverish, I need your water, I am breathing, too much; I need to drown, and live. My heart folds, folds tighter Against itself, you pull me Against you, and I am no longer Confused. Cover me. Exploring you by fingertips Like a place walked in a dream, I know your shape in this dark. And I whisper into you, Wordless, I whisper into you A new heaven, A new earth To cover me.

IV The Boys Before: All The Others I dated a lot then, and slept with a lot of guys. I thought maybe an older experienced guy might be what I needed. Maybe an active guy was what I needed. I thought big muscles might do it. I thought a big cock might be the answer. I tried them all, with increasingly lower standards for what it took to go to bed with a guy. I searched for something in a lot of beds and back rooms, but I didn't find it. I ended up using my own fingers more often, or just ended up unsatisfied, waiting for them to finish. It was disappointing, and I began to lose interest in sex. I started to think that I was never going to find what I wanted. I tried, but I spent more time fingering myself or growing bored while some guy pumped ineffectually into me. He got off, I did not. Bleh. It wasn't working, and it wasn't worth it. I'd let myself get caught up in... whatever weird fantasy I'd been caught up in. I needed to focus on my studies. I gave up.

III. The Boys From Before - Dylan Dylan was a step up from and two boyfriends after Blake. He was just as good to me, but it felt natural with him, not forced. His smiles were genuine, his laugh was infectious, and when he touched me... goosebumps. Where I resisted Bake's scheduled dating template advances because they felt forced, Dylan just made things feel natural. I slept with him after our second date. He made me feel things. He made me feel something in bed, too. For the first time, sex was actually enjoyable. I'd never been brought to orgasm by vaginal sex, never by a penis at all. The closest I came was some heavy petting, rubbing against each other with our clothes on, a penis pressing against my clitoris through layers of clothing. It felt good and I almost got there, but then it turned into clothes coming off and parts being inserted and he got off but I didn't. But Dylan tried to satisfy me before he satisfied himself. He put in effort. He moved right, touched right, adjusted, asked questions. I liked that. It was like an experiment, trial and error, and he found a spot I really liked. I gave him a lot of chances to get me there, even if he did end up wearing himself out trying. For the first time, I wanted to have sex, and we did. We had a lot of sex. But ultimately, he didn't give me that big O I knew was possible, and I had to give it to myself with my fingertips on my clit. I'd been built up, brought close, but in the end, I'd been let down again. But the worst part was, now I knew it was out there, I knew it was possible to get that same feeling from sex. I broke things off with him. I told him it just wasn't working, and I told myself I didn't need a boyfriend, that it was getting in the way of my studies. But the truth was, I wanted to find a man who could give me what none so far had been able to give me.

II. The Boys Before: Blake Blake and me Before I tell you about Marcus, let me tell you about the boys I dated before him. The first was Blake. I know, the name should have tipped me off. Where those high school boys had been all muscles or earnestness, Blake was everything I thought I wanted in a boyfriend. He was a top student, polite, from a well-to-do family, attentive, doting, and he showered me with gifts. I should have loved that. But it all felt... I don't know. Fake? I didn't feel like he cared about me as much as he went through the motions of doing all the things he was supposed to do for his girlfriend. First date at an expensive restaurant to show he had taste - check. Second date at the theater to show he appreciated the arts - check. Third date at the carnival to show he could have fun - check. I just felt like everything was on his checklist, including our first kiss. Like it was timed out and precise, this was when we should kiss, this was when I should let him touch my breast, this was when we should sleep together. It didn't help that I saw pictures of his ex-girlfriends and realized that if we all stood together we'd look like some kind of pro-diversity poster. After that, I felt like I was the trophy Asian girlfriend, like he was trying to get one of each flavor before he settled down with his perfect blonde Stepford Wife. I had fun with him, but it all felt manufactured, like we were models posing for photos with no real substance behind them. I wanted to like him, and he treated me very well. But in the end, he wanted to sleep with an Asian girl and I wanted more than to be his conquest. I never slept with, despite many, many attempts to direct us toward nudity and dark bedrooms. I think that was why he eventually just stopped calling. Sharon said she saw him dating some other Asian girl a few months later, so maybe he finally checked that off his bucket list. Either way, I don't feel like I missed anything there.

YIELD a story about a girl letting go and finding herself I. Introduction My freshman year was quiet, just me studying, practicing, and a handful of pretty forgettable boyfriends. I had a party girl roommate, Sharon, and when she was out, I was home studying. I slept when I could, sometimes on a couch down in the lounge when she decided to bring home some random guy to scream out the loudest orgasms in the world with in our tiny room. She was literally my polar opposite. I got along with sober Sharon just fine. She was fun, funny, and loved horror movies. We were close to the same size, and she borrowed my shoes too often for my liking, but she let me borrow her strappy heels when I wanted to dress up, so I was happy to trade every now and then. Still, she was... extra. The aforementioned boyfriends were... well, they're ex's now, so that should tell you something. Most of them were typical college boys and really only wanted sex. I wasn't very interested in sex. I'd done it already, with Kirk Landon in high school, and the experience wasn't anything to write home about. My best friend in high school, Tina, had insisted I try it a few more times, because everyone knew the first time sucked. Kirk hadn't impressed me, so I tried it with another muscle guy, Trent, who also failed to impress. Determined to learn from my mistakes, I dated a theater guy named Evan, thinking maybe I needed someone sensitive to get the full effect. He wasn't done in thirty seconds like the other two, but he just... made it so much. I wasn't in love with him... I mean, he was nice, and handsome, and super sweet, but... he tried to make it all romantic. I just wanted a good fuck, but he went all romance novel and honestly, I got bored. So I decided maybe sex just wasn't my thing. I wasn't even planning on dating in college, to be honest. But guys talked to me, invited me out, and for every ten times I said no, one would catch me in just the right mood or say just the right thing and next thing I knew, I'd be out on a date. They didn't all go somewhere, but several guys ended up sticking around regularly enough through my freshman and part of my sophomore year to be considered boyfriends, I guess. I even slept with a few of them, but none of them changed my opinion of sex as a waste of time. But then I met Marcus.

This was a tricky one, because the existing options felt like they covered the intuitive avenues. But I had fun chasing out the threads a bit (Always loved a good CYOA ). -- Opening -> SciFi World -> ... -- (context from SciFi World) A door hisses open, and a figure in a dark uniform steps inside. Their face is partially obscured by a visor, the flickering light reflecting off its surface. They glance at the monitors beside your bed, then turn their gaze to you. Your head throbs. Pieces of memory float just out of reach, fragments of something that should make sense, but doesn’t. Before you can answer, the figure taps a small device at their wrist. A holographic display flickers to life, casting a faint glow across the sterile walls. They skim through a list of data, nodding slightly. A distant alarm blares, red warning lights flashing through the corridor beyond the open door. Something is happening. "Welcome back." They pause, considering you for a moment. Then, they say... - If they say, "The station has nearly finished adjusting life support to host the xeno consulate, Madam Ambassador. May I suggest attaching your visor and rebreather?,” click here The cool respect in the faceless figure’s tone reflexively draws you up from the spartan bed, your chin lifting as some instinct tells you to mask the pain throbbing inside your skull—to show no weakness. Rising, the synthetic fibers of a slim, midnight-black dress wrap you from wrists to ankles, sliding over your skin as smoothly as clean oil. Circuit patterns in a glossier shade of black give texture to the regally imposing garment, providing a field for the star-and-dove badge at your breast to stand against: a silent reminder of your office and authority as an ambassador of the United Worlds. Ambassador? No, that doesn’t seem right. You’re a student…aren’t you? You were in Morocco—the pit. You were falling. And yet—you also remember taking the oath under New Terra’s pale blue sky, the cold of long months between the stars with little more than a translator comm and your loyal guard. You swallow, trying to take a steadying breath while the station’s life-support warnings continue to blare, underscoring the fractious sparking of your warring memories. “Ambassador, please,” the figure in the dark uniform repeats through the fish-eyed reflection of the visor covering his face, holding up a transparent version of the same apparatus. Despite the chill in his professional voice, you detect a hint of concern as you take the visor. Your hands adjust the clips by muscle memory, a part of you having done this hundreds of times before. With your nod of assent, the guard leads you out into the station’s central corridor. The smell of the visor’s rebreather filtering the processed air into sterile neutrality is reassuring… familiar. Finally, the hallway running lights give way to more generous solar lamps that throw your shadow to the ceiling of the station’s plasteel corridor as you approach the round vac-sealed portal into the meeting room. Each ringing step against the metal floor sends images, like individual chips of a mosaic, that form in your mind as you begin to recall who you are meeting with... - If you recall the dark claws and black chitinous body of the Xenifoe, click here - If you recall the graceful femininity and coiled head-tentacles of the Anirias, click here - If you recall the elaborate battle paint and braids of the stoic, four-armed Sparcoitus, click here - If you recall the luminous black eyes, teardrop heads, and thin bodies of the Zeta Grays, click here

No worries! Thank you very much

So it was! It's unlocked now. My apologies!

I was poking around (think I might have something to submit), but it looks like the Challenge page is locked.

Actually, let's do it in the challenge thread. I can link it to the CYOA no matter where it is.

@IsabellaRose Do you want us to write the option in the challenge section or directly in your story?

By request, I extended the deadline of the most recent challenge to 22 Mar!

New challenge posted! This time I'm trying to get you all to participate in my reindeer games

THE CHALLENGE Add an option to my Choose Your Own Adventure story in the club! Here's a link to the first entry. Click through, and when you get to a point where something makes you say "I wish Izzy would have put this as an option", then write that option! Post it in the Choose Your Own Adventure section and I'll add a link to your post into the Choose Your Own Adventure story! You can either repost it here (feel free to copy some of the text from the post I wrote to give it context if you want) or post a link to it here, both options will be valid. Deadline EXTENDED! Midnight (EST) , 22 Mar 2025 Limits no limit to how many times you can enter! no strict word limit, but please try to keep entries about the same length as the ones already written Prizes 1st Place: 4,000 EcchiCredits 2nd Place: 2,000 EcchiCredits 3rd Place: 1,000 EcchiCredits

Your fingers brush against the collar, its surface cold as death and heavy with promise. Your pulse quickens as you consider your options. You can feel the demon's eyes on you, his presence pressing down like an iron weight, and you know that this choice is more than it appears. He wants you to submit, to bow, to give yourself over completely, and in this world, with him towering over you and fear gripping your heart, you see no alternative. You place the collar around your neck and fasten it with a loud click. The moment the collar locks into place, a frigid chill spreads across your skin making goosebumps rise. It’s as if icy fingers are gripping your throat, tightening with an unyielding force that makes it difficult to breathe. The chill snakes downward, seeping into your chest, your nipples hardening, and you feel your body go rigid beneath its touch. You try to lift your head, but the collar becomes impossibly heavy, pressing down on your shoulders as if it weighs a thousand pounds. The weight pushes you down, forcing you onto your hands and knees, bowing even deeper in submission. A sudden, burning pain erupts beneath the collar. It feels as if the runes engraved on its surface are burning into your flesh, searing into your skin with a pain so intense that it claws at the edges of your consciousness. But the agony never quite allows you the mercy of blacking out. You’re forced to endure it, feeling the heat pulse against your skin, branding you. Just as the pain begins to ebb, a cold, suffocating void swallows your thoughts and a whispering presence fills the void in your mind. It feels cold and heavy, an alien influence that presses against your consciousness like a shadow. This presence coils around your thoughts, and you feel it slowly invading your thoughts, telling you that the one thing you want to do above all else is serve your new master. You try to resist, to push the presence away, but each attempt is met with an agonizing pressure behind your eyes. It feels like invisible claws are digging into your mind, and the pain is unbearable. A compulsion takes hold of you, a mindless desire to obey that overrides every instinct. You feel an addiction to servitude, a need to follow orders as if it’s the only thing that matters. The compulsion is overwhelming, all-consuming. It wraps around you like a shroud, trying to crush any trace of defiance. But your fear remains strong even as hope fades into cold emptiness. You know that the collar’s influence will compel you to act according to the demon’s wishes. You struggle to fight it, to reclaim control, but the moment you resist, an excruciating pain lashes through your body, a sensation like searing heat, like thousands of needles pressing into your brain. The pain is crippling, a simple message that you cannot disobey. Desperate, you reach up to touch the collar, to try and remove it, but your fingers are met with a paralyzing shock. The pain is electric, locking your muscles in place, leaving you unable to move for several moments. The collar cannot be removed. Not by you. Not by any force under your control. As the collar’s influence settles over you, you realize with growing dread that you are a thrall, utterly subservient to the demon’s will. You will obey any command without question, because something in your mind is telling you that you want to obey, but also because you know that resistance will cause pain. You are no longer free. You are a slave, a vessel of obedience until the collar is removed or the demon’s power is somehow broken. "Very good," the demon says, and his compliment makes you happy. You want to please him. "Nothing will harm you unless you fail me or displease me." He commands you to stand, and you do, pushing up first to your knees and then to your feet. He walks a slow circle around you and you feel his apprising gaze like a razor's caress. His clawed fingers trace the curve of your ass, cup one breast, and lift your chin until you are forced to look up into those wonderful, terrible eyes. "Yes, you will do nicely," he says, and steps back. "I will give you your choice of three tasks to prove your worthiness. Fail me, and you will know my displeasure. Pass, and you will be accepted as my servant. "You may act as a host for a disembodied soul for one day, rewarding one who served me well by letting them experience life again through your senses; to feel, even pain, is a reward for those who feel nothing. You may give yourself to some of my favored minions as a reward for their service; mortal flesh is coveted by many. Or, if you think yourself capable," his grin is evil and says that you are not, "you may try to pleasure me, but I warn you... I am a demanding and unforgiving lover, and my pleasure has meant death to many mere mortals." If you decide to act as a host for a disembodied soul for a day and let them live again in your body, click here. If you decide to give yourself to his minions as a reward for their service, click here. If you think you are capable of satisfying him sexually and decide to try that, click here.

You grit your teeth, your pulse pounding with defiance as you look up into the demon's burning eyes. The collar feels impossibly heavy in your lap, but you know, deep in your bones, that accepting it means surrendering everything you are. With a final, shaky breath, you fling the collar aside, letting it clatter to the pulsing, fleshy ground. You rise to your feet, legs trembling but steadfast, and take a step back. "I refuse," you say, your voice quivering, but your resolve steady. "I would rather face whatever comes than be your thrall." The demon’s eyes narrow, his burning gaze simmering with a dangerous mixture of amusement and displeasure. "A foolish choice," he says softly, a rumble like distant thunder. His lips curve into a cruel smile, and he takes a single step back. The heat of his presence recedes, and you feel the air around you grow cold and sharp. "Very well," he murmurs. "It may be entertaining to watch the shadows devour you." He raises one clawed hand, and with a subtle motion, he disappears, fading like smoke into the dark. The moment he's gone, the air fills with an unholy wail, a discordant symphony of pain and hunger. The creatures, the chorath, twitch and convulse, their jagged limbs scraping against the pulsing ground as they lurch forward, no longer restrained. Their eyeless heads snap toward you, the hum of their gaping maws filling the air. One steps forward, claws sinking deep into the fleshy earth, its limbs elongating unnaturally as it pulls itself closer. You turn and run, sprinting through the twisted landscape, your feet slapping against the pulsing, squelching ground. The air is thick with decay and the smell of blood, and the heartbeat beneath you seems to speed up, as if driven by your fear. The world around you shifts, the pulsing structures of bone and sinew twisting, making your escape feel like running through a nightmare maze. Behind you, the pack of chorath gives chase, their limbs skittering with a sickening speed. You veer left, darting between two towering spires of twisted bone, hoping to lose them. But the flesh-like ground beneath you quivers and shifts, as if it’s aware of your movements. Ahead, a narrow crevice opens in the ground, an impossible path downward into shadowy depths. You can leap into the unknown or risk being torn apart by the creatures that follow. But then you see it, a jagged ridge of bony, flesh-like structures to your right. If you can climb it, you might reach higher ground and put some distance between you and the creatures. You hear the guttural screeches of the chorath drawing nearer, feel the vibration of their claws sinking into the ground behind you. If you leap into the crevice and risk the unknown depths below, click here. <link forthcoming> If you climb the jagged ridge of twisted bony structures, click here. <link forthcoming> If you keep running, click here. <link forthcoming>

Post all your questions, comments, and discussions here.