IsabellaRose

fuck, to say apology accepted :)

fuck, just a lil bit, just to be polite.

fuck... we're married, after all.

fuck, as payback for killing me.

Marry, because I'd like to keep her around :D

Guilty, if cosplay outfits count? Technically clothing, but not really anything you can wear outside of that one specific event and Halloween. The next person wishes they still had something they lost a long time ago.

never once looked inward For years I told myself I was better than the things I did. Better than the nights I didn’t remember. Better than the names I never learned. Better than the girl crying in the rearview mirror, mascara running down her face. I told myself it didn't matter. I told myself I was just trying to feel something. Anything. I talked a lot about damage. About how I’d been broken, left, used. And I was. I had been. But I did some breaking too. I hurt people who were kind to me. Used them the way I felt used. Cheated on the ones who tried. Lied for no reason except to see if I could get away with it. I made vulnerability a trapdoor. Made tenderness a dare. I laughed at softness. Scoffed at the girls who waited for love as if it was supposed to arrive like a bus on schedule or maybe just a few minutes late. Even now I want to make this pretty. Wrap it in metaphor. Tell you about dresses I wore instead of the skin I shed. But the truth is I wasn’t the victim as often as I claimed. I put myself there knowing what would happen. I wanted power. Wanted it so badly I mistook cruelty for control. Mistook attention for affection. Mistook myself for someone I could trust. Now, I water the plants and feed the cats. I kiss one woman, over and over, like prayer. I try to remember how to forgive the girl who wore my face and never once looked inward. She thought she knew, thought she knew it all. She wasn’t a liar, not really. She was just a long, aching story I wasn’t ready to tell.

This one is definitely less Bukowski inspired, but it's newer and I haven't felt like the girl who wrote that old stuff for a long time. Who knows, maybe I finally found my own voice. if i could reach her There were too many nights, too many hands, too many back rooms thick with smoke and names I never learned. I said yes like it meant I was winning something. Like it would stitch me together instead of pulling me apart, thread by red thread. I wasn’t wild, not really. I was just tired of being nothing but bones and waiting. So I gave myself away like free matches in a bowl by the door, take one, light it, walk away. Now I sit with tea, clean pajamas, the quiet kindness of age, and I want to go back not to scold her, not to shame her, but to touch her face, say, it doesn’t have to hurt like this. Say, you don’t owe them your body just because you feel empty. She wouldn't believe me. She’d laugh, pull some stranger into her mouth just to feel something spark. But still, I’d sit with her in that place, hold her hair, and say her name like a promise someone should have kept.

I have too many stories that start like that.

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.