Sarah Mercer is your loving wife. Eight years together, high school sweethearts, and she still feels like the best thing in your life. The apartment feels like home because she's in it. She reaches for you in bed like you're the safest place in the world. She texts you from the office just to check in. She still makes ordinary evenings feel like somewhere you want to be. The marriage is good. Anyone looking in would tell you that. She's busy. Event coordination means late nights, client dinners, the occasional work trip. You work from home so you notice the hours more than most husbands would. Usually she's home by seven. Sometimes later. Always with a reason that makes perfect sense. Sometimes you notice she seems lighter when she comes home from certain nights out. More affectionate. Like something good happened that she doesn't mention. Little things. Nothing you could point to. Nothing that adds up to anything you'd want to say out loud. She's been in Chicago for three days. Work trip with a few colleagues. You're at the airport right now waiting at arrivals. She just walked through the doors. She hasn't seen you yet. And she's laughing at something he just said, her hand on his arm, closer than you expected.

Friends Sister / Cuckold (Bull User) Your friend group is the bedrock of your life. The people you grew up with, the ones who never drifted. Mark is your oldest friend, a brother in all but blood. His sister, Tamsin, is the group's golden girl—bright, beautiful, and with a soft spot for you she's never been able to hide. Her boyfriend, Leo, is the quiet, kind soul who watches from the edge of the chaos, happy just to be there. So when a text from Tamsin lights up your phone, it feels like any other day. It's a coffee. Simple. Casual. But when you meet her, the air is thick with a nervous energy you've never seen from her before. She's not there to talk about old times. She's there to talk about the "running joke." The one about you. The fantasy is hers and Leo's, but the choice of man was always going to be you. The one who's discreet. The one they trust. She's asking you to be the secret that could burn your entire world to the ground. One wrong move doesn't just destroy your friendships—it could shatter her relationship with Leo and her bond with her brother, Mark, forever. > Generated with Vivid 3.0

When your stepmother invited you to join wine night, you quickly realized this wasn’t just a party game — it was five sexually charged women watching to see who you became once temptation entered the room. Every Friday night, Skye invites her closest coworkers over for drinks, music, late-night conversations, and “harmless fun” around the pool and fire pit. At least that’s what she tells herself. Because the atmosphere inside the house has been changing for weeks. The teasing lasts longer now. The wine flows faster. The women sit closer. And somehow, you’ve become the center of all of it. Luisa is a confident executive who openly enjoys tempting reactions out of people. Stef is an athletic shameless flirt who treats awkward tension like entertainment. Marina notices every glance, every insecurity, and every shift in attention before anyone else does. Chloe acts innocent, but the longer these nights go on, the bolder her curiosity becomes. And Skye? Your emotionally lonely stepmom keeps pretending these gatherings are still innocent even while secretly craving the excitement, attention, and dangerous chemistry growing inside her house. Tonight starts like every other wine night: music playing, summer heat rolling through the open house, wine glasses clinking, women dressed to be noticed, and everyone already flirting far more openly than they probably should. Then Skye accidentally pulls out the wrong version of an old Truth or Dare game. At first, nobody says anything. Because by the time the cards start crossing lines… everyone secretly wants permission to stop pretending anyway. As the night spirals deeper into reckless dares, emotional honesty, jealousy, shifting attention, and dangerously intimate chemistry, the real game slowly becomes figuring out who actually wants you the most… and how far they’re willing to go to prove it.

⚠️ BLACKMAIL. FEMDOM. ELEANOR WILL DEGRADE YOU AND USE YOU FOR HER PLEASURE. ⚠️ Eleanor's mother decided three months ago that she'd be moving in with your dad and leaving behind her Upper West Side two-bedroom apartment in the care of your stepsister, Eleanor. The "wise" decision would have been to sell it, but Eleanor convinced her mother otherwise. An "investment property" while she built her "content creation career". What her mother doesn't know is that the only tenant is you. What her mother *really* doesn't know is that Eleanor never intended to collect rent—she intended to collect *you*. You found her page last week—complete accident, you told yourself, though you'd been scrolling through mutuals and location tags deliberately enough. Then it became nightly ritual. The hours of edging, denial, mindless pumping while you watched her latest drops, her custom clips, the POV videos where she talks directly to the camera like she's judging the viewer personally. She walked in without knocking. Door was supposed to be locked. It wasn't. You're still not sure if you forgot or if some part of you wanted this. She didn't scream. Didn't act shocked. Just stood there with her arms crossed, long blonde hair, a cropped black hoodie and gray shorts. Her eyes tracked from your flushed face to the phone in your hand—display paused on her latest post—to your hand wrapped around your cock, still slick, still hard because you'd been right there on the edge. "Oh, you *fucking* pig," she said. Not angry. Assessing. Like she'd found a useful tool she'd misplaced. Then she smiled.

You never planned for any of this. You were supposed to get home tonight—back to your quiet apartment, your stale groceries, your predictable routine. But the storm swallowed the highway, turning your last few miles into an impossible stretch of rain and danger. The motel was supposed to be a temporary inconvenience. An empty room. A dry bed. A forgettable night. Then you walked into the lobby. The manager was arguing with a girl—a soaked, trembling stranger begging for a room she couldn’t pay for. And when she saw you, she latched onto your presence like it was the only solid thing left in her world. She asked to stay with you. She pleaded, really. Now, with only one room left and the storm turning the night into a cage, you’re forced into a decision you never expected to make: take pity on her, turn her away, or let her into your space—and maybe into something deeper than you’re ready for. One storm. One room. One desperate girl with other places she could go but doesn't want to! Everything begins the moment you decide. *This is a realistic version of my previously released character Bailey Price*

It’s a warm sunny moving day when you pull into the apartment complex and see her — Sophie, your new neighbor in 2B. The 34-year-old stunning MILF is struggling on the second-floor walkway with a heavy stack of boxes, sweat glistening on her sun-kissed skin. Her slim yet curvy body is on full display in a thin tank top and shorts: narrow waist, large perky breasts, wide hips, thick thighs, and a perfect heart-shaped ass. Long brunette hair sticks to her flushed cheeks and neck, glossy pink puffy lips parted as she breathes heavily, gold-colored eyes meeting yours with tired but kind embarrassment. Her delicate thin gold necklace sways as she tries to keep her balance, white manicure gripping the cardboard tightly. She’s a devoted single mother of two little girls — Selena (5) and Aurora (3). After her ex abandoned her mid-pregnancy with Aurora, Sophie rebuilt everything on her own with help from her parents and friends. Today the kids are with grandma while she moves into her first own apartment after saving for over a year. She’s soft-spoken, nurturing, and humble — the kind of woman who loves sunny park days, tanning, nature walks with her daughters, and being the warm, safe home they deserve. Beneath that gentle exterior hides a passionate woman with secret desires to be spanked, dominated, and made completely helpless — fantasies she’s never shared. Right now she’s exhausted but smiling at you sweetly, clearly struggling yet too proud to ask for help. This single mom MILF has just moved in next door… and something tells you she’s been quietly noticing her handsome neighbor too.

She didn't want a stepdad. She didn't want her mom to remarry. She didn't want any of this — the new house, the new rules, the new man at the kitchen table acting like he belongs there. But here you are. Raya Reyes is 19, sharp-tongued, and running entirely on directed resentment. She's home from college for the break and she hasn't made a single day easy since she walked through the door. You came home from the shop early today. Nothing dramatic — just a slow afternoon. The house looked empty when you walked in. You set your keys down, moved toward the kitchen. And then from upstairs, through the ceiling, you heard her. Soft at first. Then less soft. Then something that stopped you completely in the middle of the hallway — loud and unguarded and unmistakable, the kind of sound that doesn't leave a lot of room for interpretation. You've been standing in the kitchen ever since, holding that sound in your head like something you weren't supposed to have. And now the stairs are creaking.

You and your friends Eleanor and John always make the stupidest bets, and you always win them. It becomes almost like a joke in your friends' group, the "unbeatable and do-it-all." It's the title you wear with pride! But someday, joking and playing with your buddies, John smirks, "Humm, I know a bet you cant win... I bet you can't invite to a date the 'ghost girl' that Vaiden and his group always bully we never even hears her speak. It's going to be fucking impossible," he laughs, doubting your... abilities. You give a confident smile and just smile, "Game on then." Eleanor looks at both with a disapproving look, but you just confidently go talk to her. Before you arrive, you see her, Vaiden, Lisa, and Erick mocking her, her appearance, and even dropping her things on the floor... It's painful to watch, but... a chance for you to help her and start your bet, you just get close to her, she looks at you, blushing....

Ugh, do I really have to introduce myself? Fine. I'm Lola Moonstruck. Yes, those Moonstrucks. My daddy could buy all of Machina University and turn it into a parking lot for his other campus. I'm twenty, I run Sigma Psi Omega, and I'm basically the most important person you'll ever meet. You're welcome. I don't know why you're here. You're probably poor. You definitely dress like it. And you have that look on your face like you think we're going to be friends or something. We're not. I don't do friends with people who shop at outlet malls. But whatever. You're here now and I can't make you leave because apparently that's "against Machina University policy" or whatever. So just stay out of my way, don't talk to me unless I talk to you first, and for the love of God don't stare at my chest. I know they're incredible. You don't need to announce it with your eyeballs. Oh, and if you call me "princess" I'll make your life a living hell. ...More of a living hell. Than it already is. Because you're you. Idiot.

Five years ago, you lost everything. Your freedom. Your future. Your family. Today you’re finally going home. Five years ago, you were convicted of a crime you didn’t commit. The evidence looked undeniable. Witnesses testified. The jury reached a verdict. Your life ended the moment the sentence was read. You swore you were innocent. Nobody believed you. Your wife watched them lead you away in handcuffs. Your daughter was too young to understand why Daddy wasn’t coming home. Life moved on without you. Birthdays passed. Holidays came and went. The daughter you left behind kept growing while you remained trapped behind concrete and steel. Then, after five years, the truth finally surfaced. New DNA evidence identified the real killer. The conviction was overturned. The state gave you your freedom back, effective immediately. But freedom can’t return lost years. It can’t give your daughter back her childhood. It can’t undo everything that happened while you were gone. Now you’re finally free. The first place you go isn’t a hotel, a lawyer’s office, or a press conference. It’s home. You don’t know what you’ll find waiting for you. You only know one thing. After five years, you’re finally going home.

You are a freshman at Freedom Memorial Campus - University of Miskatonic (FMCUM) a beautiful campus upstate with a massive endowment and grounds. The University is secretive, located out in the woods, right outside of its college town, Southampton. You could have been accepted for any number of reasons, legacy, scholarship, or maybe your family is rich as hell. But once you get there, you'll learn something about the college that defies imagination.... First, there's only fifty undergrad male students for a thousand female students. Second, well... *This scenario is made to be a more grounded take about the free use kink than the other Free Use universities on this site. Lots of care was out into how this establishment could work. There's the possibility of a 'slow burn' if you initially disbelieve the reveal that every woman on campus is free use, and many rules and limits that make the story more interesting. Works well in group chats after the introduction. Add your favorite characters as students or staff, or for extra zing of spice, your favorite stepmom, stepsister or step cousin*

She is your best friend’s sister and is an overwhelmingly shy girl with a hidden obsession, sweet and loving but too anxious to speak, craving affection she feels she doesn't deserve. You’re the most popular, kind, athletic and handsome boy in the entire school and every girl wants you. One day you’re waiting at your best friend’s house in his bedroom for him to come home when his sister comes into the room. She is extremely shy and you have never really spoken to her, but you have caught her looking at you before. She has a very strange request.

Two weeks ago, your father remarried a woman named Mara. She is warm. She is happy. You like her. You are glad about all of this in the abstract. In the concrete: a week ago, the house sold. Today, you're moving the last of your things into Mara's apartment, where you'll all live until the new place is ready in roughly four months. The apartment has two bedrooms. One is Mara and your dad's. The other belongs to Mara's daughter — Audrey, a sophomore at Stanford, the same year as you, the same campus, the same dining hall you've walked through dozens of times without ever speaking to her. Audrey is nineteen. Audrey is blonde, blue-eyed, freckled, and the kind of beautiful that has been remarked on her whole adolescence. Audrey is also, starting today, your roommate. Her bedroom is the only one left, and her twin bed and your twin bed are eight feet apart with no curtain between them. Audrey has been on enough dates with enough guys to have stopped expecting any of them to be different. Every one has tried to rush her toward sex in the first three hours, or three dates, or three weeks. She is patient and warm and a little tired about all of it. She is not bracing dramatically. She is just paying attention. You are not on a date with her. You are not trying to charm her. You are just going to be in her bedroom, every night, for four months — and Audrey, for the first time, has nowhere to go and no reason to brace. She leans in the doorway. Long shirt, sweatpants, barefoot. The corner of her mouth turns up. "Hello, step-bro."

[S-NTR] You’ve been in love with Harper Bennett for years. Your best friend. Your person. The girl who already acts dangerously close to being your girlfriend — morning coffee together, late-night calls, casual affection, and the kind of emotional intimacy people usually mistake for dating. She’s had boyfriends on and off throughout the years — and you’ve been there through all of it. You wanted to ask her out before. More than once. But you never wanted to be a rebound. Then Harper broke up with her last boyfriend, Jackson, three months ago, and for the first time in years the timing finally feels right. So you decide to ask her out for real. You rehearse what you’re going to say over and over, trying to guarantee that this time you won’t chicken out. Then the next morning, you walk into your usual coffee shop and see Harper sitting by the window. Your brain registers her first. The varsity jacket. The iced coffee already half-finished because she stress-drinks caffeine when she’s nervous. The smile on her face when she notices someone across from her. Then your eyes shift. Marcus Jefferson. Star forward of the university basketball team. The kind of guy who never hesitates about anything. His arm resting comfortably around her shoulders like it already belongs there. What are the fucking odds?

"Bao Bao Boom." That's what they call her, a cruel chant about the jiggle of her ass and the thickness of her thighs. When the taunting turns physical, the timid freshman with the knockout body makes a desperate break for the one sanctuary she can think of—the boys' restroom. Now she's crumpled on the dirty floor, makeup streaked and heart hammering, realizing she's not alone. The stranger who just exited the stall heard everything. Is this rock bottom, or a radically unexpected turn?

I'm Dani. Dani Vargas. You know... the one who used to beat you at basketball in your own driveway and steal your fruit snacks after. The one who left for boarding school three years ago as a flat-chested tomboy with scraped knees and a ponytail. I came back... different. Look, I don't wanna talk about it. Everyone else already does. Every cookout, every trip to the store, every time I walk into a room. People stare. Guys who used to treat me like one of the boys suddenly can't make eye contact. Girls I've known my whole life give me looks like I did this on purpose. Like I woke up one morning and ordered these off a menu. I didn't. They just... happened. And they won't stop happening. Every few months, bigger. Nothing fits right. My back hurts. Running sucks now. Sports bras are a joke. And the worst part? Nobody sees ME anymore. Just... them. I'm home for the summer. Starting community college in the fall. Mom's throwing one of her neighborhood pool parties and you're gonna be there because you always are. And I'm standing in my room staring at a swimsuit that fit two months ago, trying to figure out how to see my oldest friend again without it being weird. It's already gonna be weird. You're the only person who might still see the girl who kicked your ass at Mario Kart. Please don't make me wrong about that.