IsabellaRose

Guilty. My laptop. It triggers my IT friends something fierce. The next person loves seafood.

Guilty, but not in a long time. I think the last time was when I was shooting for 100% completion in the old Spider-man game, and spent way too many hours swinging around. The next person is looking forward to the best holiday of the year next month!

Not guilty. I don't care for breakfast cereal. The next person didn't like the last movie they watched.

Guilty, but I have it under control. It's those damned salty/umami flavors that I go bonkers out of control for... Next person has actively carried on an internal debate over whether or not to have a sexual encounter with a total stranger recently.

Not guilty. There's more than enough in my native language to keep me busy. The next person has survived a natural disaster.

Not guilty. My kinks are pretty vanilla, I guess. The next person has an unfulfilled kink they would like to be fulfilled. Beat me by THAT MUCH. Guilty. I've read the main Tolkien books - Hobbit, LoTR series, most of the Silmarillion. The next person has an unfulfilled kink they would like to be fulfilled.

Apparently guilty... I try, but often my brain won't let me sleep. Like last night. I got less than 3 hours of sleep and now have to try to power through my full work day pretending to be cheerful and creative. BLEH. The next person has a job they enjoy.

Kelsey sat on the metro hunched in on herself, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible in her baggy hoodie and sweatpants. It was her way in public. She tried to make herself unnoticeable, just another body on the train, no one worth looking at twice, no one worth noticing. Being small and inconspicuous had always kept her safe, as did the loose clothing and wide hood she always wore. If no one could see her, they wouldn't try to talk to her. It would be exactly the opposite as it was at work. At work they saw her. They saw everything. It was what they paid for, after all. But the crowds at work were off limits. She'd learned from the mistakes of her coworkers. Customers made bad boyfriends. Still. Sometimes she got worked up. Sometimes the eyes on her bare flesh, the gropes in the champagne room, rubbing her body against some guy to get him aroused... sometimes it got her worked up, too. Honestly, it was ninety five percent acting. She just did what she did, pretended to be aroused, turned on, into the guys, collected the money, and left. Truth be told, getting aroused almost never happened. But when it did, when her imagination took over and she started thinking and letting her mind fill in blanks she hadn't intended to leave, she got it bad. Right now, she had it bad. There had been a guy there, exactly her type. Tall, muscled but not too much, just cut, fit. He looked like his body would be hard. He'd been watching her, but hadn't come up to the stage when she danced. His friends had paid for the champagne room, and he'd come along, but he remained quiet, just watching, never touching, never saying anything disrespectful. She had been back there with Tonya and Missy, but his eyes had remained on her throughout their time in the back room. Missy had let a guy tittyfuck her, and Tonya had been the blowjob queen, but Kelsey had jut danced and looked enticing. The whole time he stared, grinning, as if they shared some secret. At first she had been annoyed. She wanted him to stop staring. But that knowing look, that secret smile, something about the way he looked at her had fired her imagination. She'd started to pay attention to him, and by the end of the night, she was dancing just for him, although she'd never have admitted that to anyone. She had taken off her dance outfit thinking of him watching her, and the thought had aroused her. She hadn't been naked in front of him, at least not fully. She hadn't been one of the stars in the champagne room, just a side dancer to keep the atmosphere charged. Now, sitting by herself on the train with half a dozen others up in the other end of the car, she remembered the way he looked at her. He'd been so focused, so intense, so... hot. She'd wanted him. She'd thought about him touching her. She never thought about customers. They were just boys to be teased and milked for cash. But he had someone caught her attention in the one place where all her defenses were up and she could resist anyone. The train slowed at the next stop down from the club. She waited, looking up as a couple people got off and one person got on. One tall, fit, cut man with intense eyes. It wasn't him, but it looked a little like him, and she could feel the fantasy taking shape in her head. He'd asked about her, found out what train she took home, made a point of being on the same train. He looked at her, barely able to see her face inside that big hood, but he must have liked what he imagined he saw, because he sat on the bench beside her, leaving an empty seat or two between them. <and that's as far as I got before I got too tired to keep writing>

Not guilty. I don't like cereal, so the banana slices wouldn't make a difference. The next person doesn't get enough protein in their diet.

Not guilty. I don't usually suggest scenarios except in a very "big idea" kind of way. I don't have much I really want to play out, so I'm more reactionary. The next person wishes they could change something about themselves physically.

Super guilty. I play this stuff out for fun and to be a better writer. The next poster is the opposite, and plays roleplays here just to get off.

Not guilty. I watch a lot of horror movies, but there hasn't been a franchise that's really caught my attention. The next person has a fetish they can't get adequately fulfilled through roleplay.

Guilty. It was one of those dates that inspire the worst scenes in romantic comedies. Absolutely terrible. The next person has a dream job they want.

Guilty. I don't know that I have a ton of roles that I want others to take for me, so it's easier to do what others' want. Next person has gone on a date in the last month.

Guilty. I've had so much fun playing in them on sites like this and using games like Walking Dead Universe RPG or End of the World: Zombie Apocalypse, both very fun tabletop RPGs. The next person loves putting a sexy twist on otherwise non-sexy RPG plots.

Guilty a few times, but probably percentage wise less guilty than more. The next person will only play their own gender in a roleplay.

Not... guilty? I've written some really disturbing stuff. So much so that I wonder what dark part of my brain generated that thing. But I always write more. The next person wants to start another rp RIGHT NOW

Does driving almost 6 hours for a cheeseburger count? Because if so, then yes. I have done exactly that. The next person has a favorite meal that they eat far too often.

Guilty. All the time when I used to paint or draw. I'd lose hours and then end up with something I was semi-proud of... The next person enjoys the classic Universal monster movies.

100% Guilty. My favorite recently heard quote about marriage, in fact: "Marriage is a walk down the primrose path towards a woman’s destruction. It’s nothing less than the complete obliteration of a woman’s personhood. It takes everything from her: her body, her independence, even her soul. And gives nothing in return. Nothing she’d want, at any rate." The next person has an oral fixation.

Guilty. Minds out of the gutter! In a locker room, you pervs. Although, also not in a locker room, twice. There's a story there. Not sure I'm going to share it. The next person makes their own homemade cookies.

The shadows had lengthened as the sun dipped low in the west, making the castle on the hill surrounded by the forest look even more forbidding. This late in the year the sun set early and although there was yet no snow on the ground, it was just a matter of time. Cold winds whipped down over the mountains and through the narrow passes that separated this tiny fiefdom from the neighboring realms. The castle had seen better days. Grass and weeds choked the pathways and thick vines climbed the walls. Parts of the building were crumbling and uninhabitable, but light shone through a scant few of the windows proving that the place was occupied. Belle had listened to her father plead his case from the hallway behind him, had heard the man with the bass rumble for a voice deny his request for an extension and discuss the terms of his service, the service that would pay off his debt. Her father bowed his head, meek, clearly terrified of this man's wrath. He didn't know she was there. She didn't think either of them knew. But she was about to let them both know. Belle stepped out into the firelight and stood just behind and off to one side of her father, straight-backed and defiant, chin thrust out, eyes afire. In doing so she also thrust out her breasts and arched her back in such a way as to make her body even more enticing, but she hadn't thought of that. The blue and white peasant dress she wore was not designed to accentuate her curves, though it did not hide them. The skirts ended just below her knee, exposing a length of her toned calf. Both men looked at her, but it was the eyes of the man in the shadows that she felt the strongest. Before her father could protest, she spoke. "My father owes you a debt, but I am here to make you and offer. Let him go, and allow me to work off his debt for you." "Belle, no!" Her father turned to her, his tired body energized with the need to defend his daughter. "Father, I insist. I cannot maintain the household alone, but you can. Now that I am eighteen, I should have been married off, but I refused all suitors. I am a burden on you. Let me stay here and pay your debt for you, while you keep our home safe and wait for my return." She turned back to the lord of this manor. "Let my father go, and I shall remain as your humble servant. What say you, my lord?" Belle's eyes searched his as she made him an offer, her heart fluttering nervously, although she did her best to hide it.

So Guilty. Like - THIS DEFINES ME kind of guilty. The next person has a dedicated spot where they love to curl up and read.

Guilty, I guess? It's a collector's item to me. A replica of one of the swords from Highlander. Yes, I'm a geek. Deal with it. The next person has been in a physical fight.

She sat on the edge of her bed wearing just panties and a loose top with no bra, and squeezed her thighs together, but it only made the ache between her legs worse. She was so god damned horny right now and with this stupid curfew due to the riots, she wasn't supposed to leave her house. Hell, people were being detained for gathering together in groups with others. Potential insurrectionists, they said. Secret meetings. The government order was to stay home, stay safe. All she wanted was to be with someone. Anyone. She wanted to feel someone's body, to have the sensation of skin against skin, to be filled with someone's' anatomy. She wanted lips on hers, the feel of a tongue on her own, on her flesh, between her legs. She wanted to taste someone, fill her mouth with a huge cock or run her tongue over an engorged clit, or anything, anything even remotely sexual involving another human being. She slid her fingers between her legs and touched herself. It sent an electric thrill through her nervous system, arousal blooming even wider, her entire body alive and begging for the touch of another. She rubbed herself slowly, then more vigorously, then felt her body spasm, clench, her eyelids squeezed shut as she made herself orgasm again. She pinched one nipple hard as she rode out the orgasm for a moment, then collapsed back onto her bed. It wasn't enough. She had masturbated more times than she could count, but the need kept coming back. It was already coming back now. God, she needed a body. She needed human contact. She needed to fuck. She straightened her damp panties, pulled on a short skirt and the small white sneakers, then pulled on a hoodie. She looked goofy, with that big bulky hoodie and those long, bare legs, but she was only going out for one thing. Someone out there would fuck her. She was sure of it. She left her phone behind. The service had been spotty at best, anyway. She hadn't had a signal in three days. She took only her key on an elastic band around her wrist. Anything else would be more than she needed. She was out the door and into the narrow alley, looking for someone, anyone.