IsabellaRose

Guilty. Years ago I took a class and bought some special pens and inks to make the invitations for my brothers' wedding. It took a lot of time, but it was part of my gift to them. Plus, I got to learn a new skill that I always wanted to know, so win-win. Of course, I'm horribly out of practice now. The next person has felt their heart break.

...and new challenge is posted!

THE CHALLENGE Write your tale to the theme "sci-fi seductions" - include alien sex, pleasure technology, synthetic bodies, space station encounters, or whatever your kinky little heart desires! Deadline Midnight (EST) , 2 August 2025 Limits 1 entry per person no strict word limit, but please try to keep it around 2,000 words- remember, everyone has to read these to vote Prizes 1st Place: 4,000 EcchiCredits 2nd Place: 2,000 EcchiCredits 3rd Place: 1,000 EcchiCredits

Winners have been posted for Challenge 41!

Fuck, of course.

Guilty. Let me tell you about the public decency laws in New York State. If you are young and dumb and decide to try having sex on a public bus with your boyfriend... don't. The bus driver will call it in, the police will be waiting for you at the next stop, and your best case is climaxing before they take you off the bus... even if you are both minors, it's still a bad situation, or so I've been told. I got busted shoplifting, so I wouldn't know about any of that other stuff. The next person has their own story of a run-in with the law they'd like to share.

Not guilty. I used to, but the paycheck shrank and supporting some of the stuff I supported went away when the money did. The next person has a preferred alcoholic beverage that they are now going to tell us about.

improper usage

If you don't see one soon, remind me and we can get another fantasy-themed challenge posted after the next couple I have queued up.

His father and step-mother were gone for the entire summer, and Anton had the house to himself. It was going to be a great summer of parties, girls, and anything he wanted to do, as long as he kept it low key enough that the neighbors didn't noticing. But then Mom told him that his stepsister was staying here for the summer. She was supposed to have been with her mother, but now her mother had a new boyfriend and was also traveling most of the summer, and she didn't want his stepsister to be alone for her last summer before college. Anton had never really liked Aya. Not that he hated her, but ever since their parents got married and she spent every other weekend in his house, it was like living with a hall monitor in human form. She was the type to iron her socks, to color-code her binders, to call "family meetings" over toothpaste caps and who forgot to label the leftovers. She had perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect posture. She never cursed, never broke curfew, never laughed at dirty jokes. And don’t even think about bending the rules at school. Aya Miyazuki, the Class President and Queen of Smug Glances, would have your name written on a report form faster than you could come up with an excuse. She walked like she was always on parade, spoke like a teacher in training, judged like she had a gavel in her school bag. And Anton? Anton was the step-brother-shaped stain on her otherwise spotless life. He'd escaped her for his entire first year at college, timing his visits for the weekends she was with her mother, and had only come home because she wasn't supposed to have been there. But then things had changed, and he'd promised his mother that he'd look out for her, despite having zero interest in doing so. Now here he was, stuck with her for an entire summer. What should have been fun had turned into a nightmare of bossy, overstepping, rule enforcing, straight-laced interference. He was resolved to make the best of it, get his chores done around the house, keep things clean, and spend as little time with her as he could. He had already cleaned the bathroom, emptied the dishwasher and cleaned up after breakfast, and had just finished folding a load of laundry. He had tried to ignore the much more adult bras and panties that she had thrown in with his clothes, folding them without really looking... except for the black lace, the satin fabric, the... no! Sure she'd graduated, she was eighteen, but she was also his stepsister. He wouldn't think about her that way... mostly because he had no chance with her. Not that he'd want a chance anyway. She was so... frustrating. He picked up the basket and headed for the hall to put his laundry away and leave hers in the basket on her bed. But as he was about to swing her door open, he froze. What the hell was that? He leaned closer, and he heard it again. It was definitely coming from Aya’s room. “Mmn… tail’s in the way…” Tail? He knocked lightly. “Aya?” Silence. “…I’m coming in to drop your laundry!” Still no answer. So he nudged the door open... and promptly forgot how to breathe. There she was. Aya, his stepsister, the girl who quoted the rulebook like it was scripture and once tattled on him for missing curfew. She was currently kneeling in front of her mirror in a skin tight black corset with long gloves, thigh high stockings, clip-on cat ears, a collar with a little bell, a fuzzy tail, and... he could barely process this... paw gloves. She hadn’t noticed him yet. Her expression was serene, proud even as she struck a pose. Then she saw him in the mirror. Their eyes met. Time stopped. “...Anton!” she gasped, face draining of color, then flushing violently red. He took a slow step back. “I... uh... I didn’t see... “You saw EVERYTHING!!” she yelped, diving behind her bed, only to trip on the tail she’d forgotten was hanging loose and fall with a very undignified thud. She popped back up, flailing to hide behind a laundry hamper. “You were supposed to knock!!” “I did knock!” “You’re supposed to wait longer!!” He held up the laundry basket, deadpan. “I was just bringing in your laundry and... wait… is that my hoodie you were kneeling on?” She let out a squeak and kicked it under her bed. “NOPE. Doesn’t even smell like you. Shut up.” Anton squinted. “Are those… custom fangs?” “GET OUT!!” she screamed, lobbing a pillow at his head. He ducked it. “Hey, I’m not judging. Just didn’t realize my stepsister was secretly a cosplay catgirl.” “You’re not allowed to say those words together!!” “Too late, sis.” She froze. He blinked. “So... this is what the class president does when no one’s home?” Aya stammered, cheeks flaming. “I... I was just... this is part of a costume... f-for a play... for the summer... drama... club...?” He raised a brow. “Really. You get dressed up in pet play corsets and crawl on the floor for drama club?” Her whole body shivered with embarrassment. “Including the tail plug?” Silence. Then a slow, helpless, mortified whimper: “...You weren’t supposed to know what that was.” They both stood there in the lingering silence. He crossed the room, arms folded, smug grin growing wider. “Wow. If the school knew their beloved class president was actually a submissive little kitty behind closed doors…” She grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest, trying to hide. “Please don’t tell anyone. I’m begging you.” Anton crouched next to her, voice smooth and low. “Okay. I won’t tell.” Her ears perked. “You won’t?” He nodded, then leaned closer. “On one condition.” Aya blinked. “What?” He whispered, “Be my kitty instead.” Her blush reached nuclear levels. “W-what?!” “You like being told what to do, right? You like being called a good girl, having someone scratch behind your ears, maybe tug your leash a little—” “STOP TALKING!!” She tried to bury her face in the pillow. He tugged the pillow away. “Come on. It’s either I tell Mom why you own four sets of paw gloves… or you sit in my lap and purr like a good kitty.” “I... I’m not sitting in your... !” He smirked, pulling out his phone and holding it up, snapping a photo. "I just have to hit send." Aya stiffened and then, after a beat… slowly lowered herself to her knees again, eyes downcast. “...Meow,” she said, crawling toward him, rubbing her cheek on his leg.

“Target acquired.” Serava Nightwhisper, proud first-year student of the Infernal Academy for Seduction Arts, stood confidently in the mortal realm, one stiletto heel planted on a desk. Her crimson tail flicked with purpose. Her barely-there uniform was technically school-appropriate… if the school was within one of the provinces of Hell. In the mortal realm, the amount of bare flesh revealed would be considered scandalous at best. Her body was her weapon, and showing it was firing the first shot. Across the room sat her target: a mortal boy. Glasses. Books. Faint scent of vanilla shampoo. “You are in the presence of a succubus,” Serava purred, her voice sultry, like a chocolate fountain you’re not supposed to touch. “Tremble, mortal. Swoon. Submit.” He blinked. “...are you in drama club?” She staggered, tail going stiff. “What...?! No! I am your worst, but also most delicious, nightmare!” He raised a brow. “You walked into the classroom wearing that and expected me to tremble?” “No, I expected you to... ugh! ...listen, it’s my first field assignment, okay? You’re supposed to fall for me! I studied all the poses!” She dropped her shoulder, arched her back, and leaned forward with a smoky gaze, textbook “Succubus Tier 1: Beginner’s Seduction Stance.” ...except that the desk leg she was leaning on gave a soft creak. CRACK. She yelped, stumbled, rolled, and landed face-first into his lap. Silence. She froze. He froze. Her cheek was definitely... against... something. He stared down, expression unreadable. “Um…” She exploded upward like a spring-loaded bat out of hell, hands flying to her flaming-red cheeks. “I-didn't mean to do that! Don’t read into it!” He tilted his head. “...Did you just go all tsundere on me?” “No!!” but yes. Serava scrambled backward, knocking over a chair, tail tangled in the leg. Her wings flapped once, then folded tightly behind her back. This was not how her mentor said it would go. “I practiced in the mirror for weeks!” she said, sniffing, holding back tears. “I whispered dark temptations! I did the hip sway thing!” “You did sway,” he admitted. She glared, but then asked, “seductively?” “More like someone trying to sneak a watermelon past airport security.” Serava shrieked in indignation. Her blush somehow deepened. “You... you’re supposed to be powerless against me!” He smiled. “Maybe I like flustered girls better... I'm definitely more interested now.” She made a choked sound in her throat and immediately tripped over her own tail trying to flee, falling onto her back, legs splayed out, staring up at him, her micro skirt riding dangerously high, stiletto's sliding across the floor ineffectually as she tried to pull herself together.

deviant sex

nonsensical speech

impenetrable fortress

forgotten home

oh god guilty and we dont talk about it ever. The next person considers tickling a form of foreplay.

Not proud by any stretch of the imagination, but definitely guilty. The next person recorded something non-sexual for public viewing.

dashing away

The entries are in... now it's up to you to vote! Whose entry should win Challenge 41? Voting closes on midnight 19 Jul 2025!

what happens next I wasn’t supposed to get this far. There was no plan for month six, just a shaky day one followed by a hundred and eighty-two more shaky day ones, (but who's counting?) and somehow now six months on I floss my teeth. I eat breakfast. I pay rent early like someone who wants to keep her place. I’ve got a closet with more running shoes than regrets on most days, and I haven’t woken up beside a stranger in so long I forget how it feels to trade loneliness for someone else’s hunger. sometimes I want it back the oblivion, the lie of invincibility, the fast, hot "fuck you" to the world that felt like freedom even when it was just me losing again. I think about that a lot. I think about how easy it would be to buy a bottle, to ruin a week, to disappear into a bar booth and a back room or back seat like a magic trick no one claps for. but I don’t. not because I’m better or healed or whole. but because I’m too goddamn stubborn to let this world win. and maybe because the sunrise over the city this morning looked like something i could paint. and maybe because the silence in my bed is finally just silence and not a scream. and maybe just maybe it's curiosity. Maybe I want to see what happens next.

I won't lie, I definitely wrote a lot of poetry trying to channel Charles Bukowski... or at least that's what it looks like in hindsight. I know I read a lot of Bukowski back then, because he felt like home. I think at the time I was trying to mine my life for the words that would paint what I felt, and no other style of writing aside from confessional diary entries seemed to make anything stick. But like most poetry, everything I wrote was pretentious, filled with weak attempts to describe emotion and life with mere words, as if words alone could convey the smells, the textures, the feelings,...physical or emotional. They can't, but sometimes they suggest enough to evoke something that might mimic what your particular experience tells you the author might have felt, and I guess that's close enough for mere mortals. I found a lot of stuff from the old days. A box of notebooks, thumb drives, and a few old laptop hard drives, two of which I could access with the help of a tech friend. There's stuff on there that is terrible, but some that's okay. You can see my inspiration - Bukowski is a massive influence, some might say I ripped off his style, and I definitely did, or tried to, in a lot of those writings, even if unintentionally. But also paintings that are mostly garbage, but sometimes inspired, clearly influenced by Mary Abbott and Elaine de Kooning... sketches where it looks like I'm in high school trying to draw still life without lifting my pencil, collages where it looks like I was just paste and angst on a bad drug trip, but sometimes inspired. Anyway... I'll share some of that stuff here. Poems that still make me embarrassed, not for what they try to convey, but for the weak attempt at conveying it, and mostly in someone elses' style, even if I tried to make it my own voice. Maybe I'll start with a hopeful one.

There are at least two videos that I know of floating around somewhere. One should in theory be limited to an old VHS camcorder and whatever it might have been duplicated to, and one was on a old shitty phone where you could barely tell who it was because the quality was super crappy. So I guess, guilty, in an amateur sense, and none to happy about either, to be quite honest. The next person watches amateur porn looking for people they know.

Depending on the season and the time of night, guilty. Sometimes Orion gets too low to see. The next person has been watched by an uninvolved party while enjoying a sexual act.

Blair gasped as she felt the sudden intrusion, a thick cock filling her completely, stretching her in the most delicious way. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned loudly, not caring who heard. The sensation was overwhelming, sending waves of ecstasy through her body. She could feel every inch of him, every vein, every pulse, as he moved inside her, his hips slamming against her ass with each thrust. Her hands gripped the chair to steady herself as she lifted her ass, giving him the best angle for the deepest penetration. She opened her eyes and looked around, her gaze meeting the stares of each of her neighbors one by one. Jake's eyes were wide with lust, his mouth slightly open as he watched Dave fuck her. The mailman had dropped his bag, his hand moving inside his pants as he stroked himself, his eyes never leaving her body. Old Man Thompson was leaning against his hedge trimmer, his eyes glinting with desire as he watched the scene unfold. Who else might be watching from behind curtains? Blair reveled in the attention, their lust feeding her own desire. She loved being watched, loved having others see how much she enjoyed being taken, how much she craved it. It made her feel dirty and naughty and powerful all at once. She was the center of all of their attention, and she loved it. The only thing that could have made it better is if more of them joined in, choked her with cocks, or stroked themselves until the came across her tanned skin, up her back, on her hands as she stroked them, in her hair, in her face... Blair's body moved in sync with Dave's, her moans filling the air. She could feel her orgasm building, her body tensing, her breath coming in short gasps. The sun beating down on her back, the cool plastic of the lounge chair against her sensitive nipples, the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the moans and gasps of her neighbors, all of it heightening her pleasure. She was close, so close, and she knew Dave was too. She could feel his cock throbbing inside her, his grip on her hips tightening. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with her own, her body begging for release.

I watch as Lucy adjusts her blouse, the fabric clinging to her skin in the oppressive heat. The movement draws my attention to her curves, and I can't help but appreciate the view. Her blouse is damp, and the way it clings to her body leaves little to the imagination. I can see the outline of her bra, and my mind wanders to what lies beneath. I find myself wondering what it would be like to reach out and touch her, so I lean back in my chair, trying to get a better view of her. Her skirt is riding up, and I can see more of her legs than I should. The thought of what might or might not be underneath that skirt sends a jolt of excitement through me. I shift again, trying to adjust myself discreetly, but I can feel my cock growing inside my already uncomfortable khakis. I take a sip of the cold drink she gave me, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. The cold liquid is a brief respite from the heat, but it does little to quell the fire burning inside me. I can feel my heart racing, and I know it's not just from the temperature, and just like that, I have an idea. I walk to her desk, gesturing with my glass of ice water, as if intending to hand it to her. But as I do, my grip "accidentally" slips, cold liquid and ice cubes spilling down her cleavage. I watch as the water soaks through her blouse, clinging to her skin and outlining her curves even more clearly, making the fabric nearly transparent. "Oh, my... I'm so sorry," I say, trying to sound sincere. "Let me help you clean that up." I reach out, my fingers brushing against her skin as I try to help. I can feel the heat radiating from her body, and I know she can feel mine too. I lean in closer, my voice a low whisper. "Or maybe, if we can't cool down, we see just how hot we can make it..." I let the suggestion hang in the air, the innuendo clear. I straighten up, a smirk playing on my lips as the bulge in my pants becomes apparent.