Choose Your Own Adventure
I will be writing a "Choose Your Own Adventure" style sexual misadventure.
Each chapter will have a poll for which option to choose.
Feel free to comment after each part, as the links will lead to new topics! I'd love to hear your feedback and I'm desperate for votes to help guide me towards which parts should be written next!
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You are a college student in a specialized international program focused on archaeology, anthropology, and cultural studies. Your skill with languages and high grades had earned you a place in this program along with other students from a variety of universities around the globe. This class deals in real world experiences. You don't have a dorm room; you have a bunk and footlocker on an ocean-going vessel, a tiny shared room in a youth hostel, barely enough space for your bedroll in a tent near an archaeological dig. You don't have a lab; you have actual dig sites. There is no lecture hall; lectures are delivered in mess halls, on ship decks, and out in the open desert. …
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Your grip tightens on the cool metal of the doorknob. The words from the other side of the door are smooth as silk but threaded with darker expectations. You breathe in. Steady yourself. You are an actress, not a toy, not a decoration, not prey. You push the door open and step inside, your heels clicking against the polished wood floor. The room beyond is dimly lit, the glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across plush leather furniture and a sleek, black desk. Floor-to-ceiling curtains are drawn over what you assume are windows, their heavy fabric muffling the sounds of the city beyond. The air is thick with cologne and the faint bite of whiskey. At the far en…
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Your grip tightens on the cool metal of the doorknob. The voice from the other side of the door is smooth, controlled, confident, a man used to getting what he wants. A man who expects you to comply. That expectation hangs in the air between you like a challenge. You push the door open and step inside. The room is dimly lit, bathed in the golden glow of a single lamp perched on the edge of a sleek black desk. Floor-to-ceiling curtains smother any outside light, sealing the space in an unnatural hush. The scent of cologne, leather, and whiskey lingers in the air. It feels intentional, designed. At the far end of the room, he sits. The director. An older man, stil…
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Your breath hitches, your pulse hammering in your ears. The weight of the bit of chain hanging from your collar is suddenly unbearable, as if it’s tightening, pulling you back into the hands of the monster this man before you works for. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to still your trembling fingers as you drop them from the chain. You can’t fight him. He’s too big, too strong, and you don’t even know how many more are lurking in the ruins, waiting to drag you back in irons. If you resist, he’ll enjoy breaking you. But if you play along, if you act weak, you might get close enough to strike when he least expects it. So you let your shoulders slump, let your gaze d…
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Your fingers brush against the collar, its surface cold as death and heavy with promise. Your pulse quickens as you consider your options, fear and resolve warring in your heart. 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. But you refuse to be so easily cowed. You draw a breath, summoning every ounce of courage you possess, and lift your gaze to meet his fiery eyes. "What if I don't want to be just another toy for you?" you ask, voice surprisingly steady despite the terror coiling in your belly. "I can be m…
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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, tight…
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The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. The creatures before you remain frozen, their grotesque forms rigid, their eyeless faces locked onto you in unnatural stillness. The air itself feels wrong, charged with an unspoken command that holds them at bay. Then, a voice, low, steady, and merciless, breaks through the thick, unnatural quiet. "Your choice, female. Kneel or be fed to the chorath." The words slither into your ears like cold steel, sharp and absolute. The voice carries no hesitation, no indulgence, no cruelty, just certainty, as if your fate has already been decided, and the only thing left to determine is how much you will suffer first. Yo…
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Your breath comes in shallow gasps, your body rigid, every muscle screaming at you to run. But you don’t. You have nowhere to run. The ground beneath your feet twists, the pulsing veins slithering beneath your bare skin, urging you downward. It is an expectation, a demand written into the very fabric of this place. You lower yourself to your knees. A tremor runs through the air, the pulsing rhythm of this world momentarily halting, as if even the landscape itself watches. The creatures before you, the chorath, shudder, their jagged limbs tensing, but they do not move. The heavy silence stretches. Then you hear laughter. It is a low, rumbling sound, a vibration …
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You move, not forward, not back, but sideways, feet barely skimming the pulsing, slick ground as you push off in a desperate lunge. The creatures before you do not react, the chorath remain locked in their unnatural stillness, their jagged limbs trembling under invisible restraint. They are not the hunters now. Whatever breathes behind you is. A sound follows you, a wet, thick inhalation, as though something vast is drinking in your very essence. A slow, dragging exhale chases after it, rolling over your bare skin like the breath of something starving. You don’t look, you just run. The world around you is a nightmare of writhing veins and unnatural structures, p…
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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…
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You hold your ground, despite the heavy weight of his gaze, the way his fingers still hover near his dagger. The tension in the air is suffocating, but you don’t back down, you push forward. "If you kill me," you say, voice low, steady, "you will doom your king." The knight lets out a short, amused exhale, but there’s an edge of uncertainty behind it. "Is that so?" You take a slow breath, keeping your expression composed, your lie already forming. You have to sell this. "My father knew this war was coming," you say, inventing history as you go, layering truth with deception. "Before your army ever reached our gates, before the first sword was drawn, he…
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You're about to say something when he pulls you by the hair, half dragging you toward the throne. You scramble to keep up, feeling like he's about to rip your hair out by the roots, and a scream comes from your throat. You hate yourself for making the sound. He lifts you by the hair, pushing you forward. He forces you onto the throne on your knees, facing the back of the chair. You struggle to keep your balance as he moves and pulls you by the hair, your ass pressed out toward him, hands scrabbling on the arms of the chair, and when you finally get a moment to gain your balance, he wastes no time. Holding you by the hair from behind, his other hand spreads your…
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The knight’s smirk deepens, his amusement turning sharper. He knows you lied. His sword is in his hand, his patience wearing thin. This is where most people break. This is where he expects you to stammer, to beg, to fall apart. So you don’t. Instead, you tilt your head, letting your lips part slightly, softening your expression. You let the tension shift, not into fear, but into something else. Something he wasn’t expecting. "I lied," you admit, exhaling as if resigned, as if you’re suddenly very aware of the space between you. Your voice is lower now, a thread of quiet vulnerability woven into it. "But only because I didn't know. I thought you'd be like the rest, no…
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"If your king is wise," you say, voice measured, even, "he will see the advantage in this." You hold your ground, even as he steps closer, his shadow falling over you like a noose tightening. The weight of his presence is oppressive, but you do not falter. You have his attention, and that is power. His fingers graze the hilt of his dagger, but you refuse to acknowledge the threat. You will not show fear. "You have already won the battle," you continue, keeping your voice steady, authoritative, the way your father once spoke in court. "But if you kill me, the war is far from over." The knight raises a brow, intrigued but skeptical. "Is that so?" "You kn…
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You nod slowly, reluctantly, but you nod. You wish you were stronger, wish you could resist him, but you know that this will end the same whether or not you fight. The only difference is that if you fight, you'll be beaten and bruised... you might even be killed. You can feign obedience for your survival, at least long enough until you can find a chance to strike. "You are in control," you say. "I am at your mercy." His grin grows even darker as you nod your acquiescence. "Good girl," he says, his hand still strong on your wrist. He tugs you closer and you take two quick steps toward him to keep your balance, your slippers sliding on the stone floor. His h…
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You reach down and pickup the bloody sword. Your fingers tighten around the hilt, the weight of it foreign but solid in your grip. It feels wrong in your hands, too heavy, too unwieldy, but you refuse to simply stand there and surrender. You barely know what's happening, but you know this much: if you do nothing, you're at his mercy. And judging by the look in his eyes, he has none. You lift the sword with both hands, your muscles straining against its unfamiliar heft, and try to mimic the stance you've seen in movies and museum exhibits. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you take a step forward, willing your shaking limbs into action. The knight watches you…
Last reply by IsabellaRose , -
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You stare at him defiantly and he raises one gloves hand ready to slap you. One look in his eyes tells you that you can't delay. Slowly, your fingers work at the ribbons lacing up the front of your gown. Once you finish unlacing the front of your dress, you slowly spread the two side of the fabric aside. The air is cool on your chest and you feel your cheeks flush as you pull it open to expose your breasts. This is embarrassing, degrading, and you look down at the floor, unable to meet the knight's eyes. "That's better," he says, his voice controlled, but the fire still in his eyes. He stares at your breasts, his eyes filled with lecherous intent. "Now, press th…
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You make your choice in an instant and dart into the second room, making immediately for the hidden passage. Your feet barely skim the stone as you pivot sharply, lunging through the open doorway to your left. The room is a wreck, its once-grand furniture smashed to splinters, books and papers scattered across the floor. Dust swirls in the air, disturbed by your frantic movements. Behind you, the knight’s boots thunder down the stairs. "Now, now, Princess. I see you!" Your hands fly to the bookshelf, trailing along the carved wood until... there. Your fingers find the notch, pressing inward with all your strength. Click. The shelf groans open, revealin…
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"I will not." You stare up at him, grim defiance on your face and venom in your words. You try to swing at him, but he catches your wrist in his hand. His eyes are filled with fury. The blow lands before you realize he swung. There is a ringing in your ears and you taste blood in your mouth. You are dizzy, barely able to hold yourself in the kneeling position, and not completely aware of what's happening as you hear the sound of fabric shredding. You body is tugged roughly, your position shifted about, and when you are released, you fall back onto your bare bottom on the cold, stone floor. You are naked sprawled on your backside on the floor of the castle. …
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Your breath is unsteady, your mind racing. You are beaten. The weight of your father's death, your kingdom's fall, and the cold steel of the knight's grip around your wrist remind you of that with every thudding heartbeat. But submission is not your only option. You lift your chin, just slightly, enough to show him you are still a Valoryn. Enough to make him hesitate, even if only for a second. "I won't beg," you say, your voice quieter than you intend, but steady. "And I won't pretend I have the power to fight you." His smirk remains, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his sharp eyes. He waits, letting you speak. "But killing me would be a waste," …
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The knight is on you before you can move. His hands are tugging at your skirts, exposing your calves, your thighs, your undergarments. He lets out a grunt of approval as he sees your bare inner thigh, and slides his hand up between your legs, groping you roughly. His grin is feral, predatory. His hand closes on your most private parts and he nearly lifts you up off the floor as he gropes you. A jolt of fear runs through you. His hand comes away from your legs, your skirts bunched up uncomfortably between your legs, and he leers over you, pulling you up roughly. You only make it as far as one knee before his hand is fisted in your hair and he holds you there, shoving…
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The knight’s boots thunder down the stairs behind you, but you don’t hesitate, you don’t think, you just move. You veer left, heart hammering, raises your arms up in front of your face, and launch yourself through the window. Glass shatters and explodes outward as you fly out into the day. There is a moment of panicked freefall as the cool outside air hits you and you see everything in a freeze-frame moment. Enemy guards in the courtyard below look upward at the sound, shards of glass reflect the sunlight all around you as blood wells in tiny lacerations all up and down your arms, your feet pedal at nothing below you, and then the moment is past. Your feet hit the sl…
Last reply by IsabellaRose , -
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You nod slowly, reluctantly, but you nod your agreement. You wish you were stronger, wish you could resist him, but you know that this will end the same whether or not you fight. The only difference is that if you fight, you'll have more bruises, possibly cuts... you might even be killed. Your body is what he wants. You can give him that much for your survival. It's not like anyone will know. His grin grows even darker as you nod your acquiescence. "Good girl," he says, his fingers still curled in your hair. With his other hand, he strokes your cheek slowly, almost as if he were stroking a favored pet. "Good girl," he says again. This time you feel the sham…
Last reply by IsabellaRose , -
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You nod slowly, reluctantly, but you nod your agreement. You wish you were stronger, wish you could resist him, but you know that this will end the same whether or not you fight. The only difference is that if you fight, you'll have more bruises, possibly cuts... you might even be killed. Your body is what he wants. You can give him that much for your survival, or least pretend to until you can find a way to escape. His grin grows even darker as you nod your acquiescence. "Good girl," he says, his fingers still curled in your hair. With his other hand, he strokes your cheek slowly, almost as if he were stroking a favored pet. "Good girl," he says again. Th…
Last reply by IsabellaRose , -
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You take a slow step back, lifting your hands in a show of surrender. Fighting is pointless, as is running, you can see that clearly. This man is stronger, faster, trained in ways you are not. But brute strength isn't the only weapon in the world. Your mind races, grasping for anything that might shift the balance in your favor. If you are truly a princess in this world, then you still have power. If not in steel, then in words. "I see," you say, schooling your features into something composed, something regal. "House Valoryn has fallen." You say it as if the words don’t hollow out your chest. "And what now? Do you mean to kill me?" The knight pauses, his sneer …
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