[F4M] Non-Con, Dub-Con and Blackmail Fun!

I am 18+ and all characters and participants must be 18+

Hi everyone!! I'm itching for a roleplay centered around one of the three of the classic kinks: dubcon, CNC, or blackmail. A little basic, I know, but it's my thing!

I'm a big fan of (obviously) themes of dub/non-con and blackmail, but I have a little bit more substance than that!

I'm also a fan of BDSM, bondage, piss play, gang-bangs, beastiality, humiliation, degradation, BBC, race play, forced prostitution, public use, wax play, object insertion, and all sorts of other things!

Things I'm not a fan of would be pregnancy play or impregnation, scat, intense violence, gore, vore, and any sort of flatulence/smell stuff.

If you're interested in any of my ideas, let me know! Send a list of your kinks/limits, continue where my prompt leaves off; something! Just please don't only say "hi''or "hey" because that doesn't give me much to work with!

My username is otpiggy

I can’t wait to play :)

1. WOOF Appointment Gone Wrong

Money hadn't been too tight for me, but I was looking for a little cushion. I'd heard about the app called WOOF from a friend and it sounded too good to be true - people would hire strangers to come sit with their dogs or other pets when they needed a vacation or were at work, and according to Jenny, the money was good.

I downloaded it, uploaded my picture and a quick bio, then looked at ads. None of them seemed too great, and I was going to delete it, and then I saw it:

WANTED: Sitter for English Mastiff and Great Dane. Two days. Pay: $400.

I clicked on the post instantly; sure, the dogs were pretty big, but l'd grown up with a Great Dane and I knew how to handle larger dogs. Besides, the pictures made them look so sweet, and the pay was great.

To my surprise, the man who made the post responded within an hour, and two days later, I was driving to 227 W County Rd 5 - a forty-minute drive.

"Wow...Dave didn't mention it was on a farm!" I gasp, looking over the massive farmhouse and barn ahead of me. Pigs, horses, chickens, and even a few cows were visible in the field and scattered pens. Pulling up to the house, I check my phone, only to find the signal was lost.
"Shoot. Hopefully he has good WiFi."

Getting out, I make my way up to the front door of the farmhouse and knock. "Hello? It's Julia, from WOOF!"

(I sign up for a pet-sitting appointment thinking it'll be easy money, only to find out the owner of the property has a much different job in mind for me — becoming the breeding bitch for his two dogs!)

2. Clubbing Was a Mistake

“Hey—can I get a vodka cranberry?” My voice barely makes it past the thump of bass and the blur of conversation, swallowed up by the chaos that fills the club. The bartender nods once, sliding the drink across the counter, and I give a quick thanks before retreating back into the crowd. This wasn’t my scene — not even close — but it was Keely’s birthday, and what Keely wanted was to go crazy at Wonderland. Being the only one who didn’t drink much made me the easy choice for DD, and as much as I’d rather be home, it was better and much safer this way.

“Thanks!” I half-shout again, even though he’s already turned away. The glass is cold in my hand as I push my way through the crowd, dodging swaying arms and stumbling feet until I finally spot the small table I’d claimed earlier in the night. It’s tucked into a dim corner, just far enough from the speakers that I can hear myself think, but still close enough to keep an eye on the girls. Thankfully, no one’s taken it while I was gone.

I sink into the booth, exhaling as the music pulses against the walls. Out on the floor, Keely and Alyssa are already lost in their own world, laughing as they pull two random guys into their dance circle. Their movements are wild, their smiles wide. I take a sip of my drink — sweet, sharp, a little strong — and set it down beside my phone.

Shoe shopping sounds a lot better than pretending to have fun. I scroll aimlessly, half-watching the screen, half-watching the girls, oblivious to the faint, unbroken line of sight from across the room—eyes fixed on me with quiet, sinister interest.

(I get dragged along to a nightclub for a friend’s birthday and wind up catching the eye of someone with not-so-good intentions for me! Are you a sex trafficker? A couple with a shared love of BDSM looking for a new plaything? A gang-member looking for a new girl to pimp out? A club employee wanting to start a train on me in the bathroom? Let’s find out!)

3. Becoming the Program Chair’s Plaything

I don’t think much of it when the notification pops up on my phone halfway through my afternoon lecture.

From: Dr. Michael Harlan
Subject: Please Stop By This Evening
Julia,
When you have a chance, I’d like to discuss your doctoral application. This won’t take long, but I’d prefer to do it privately after office hours. Please stop by my office at 7:00 PM if you’re available.
—Dr. Harlan

I read it twice before locking my phone. That was…unexpected.

Dr. Harlan wasn’t just another professor. He chaired the graduate admissions committee for the doctoral program I’d spent the last three years working toward. If anyone knew where I stood, it was him.

Maybe this was good news. Maybe he wanted to discuss research opportunities before applications officially opened. Or maybe I was reading way too much into a five-sentence email. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, I’d managed to convince myself it was probably nothing.

The academic building was almost empty, a far cry from the usual bustle during the day. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead as I made my way down the long hallway, my flats clicking against the polished floor. Most of the office doors were already closed, their lights dark.
I smooth the wrinkles from my blouse and glance down at the folder tucked under my arm. Resume. Transcript. Personal statement. Probably overkill, but I’d rather be overprepared than caught off guard.

The frosted glass on the office door glowed faintly from the light inside. I take a slow breath, adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder, and raise my hand, rapping my knuckles on the solid wood.

(I receive an email from the chair of my dream doctoral program asking for a meeting; little do I know this meeting will end with me making a decision that will change my life forever when he threatens to kick me out of the program unless I commit to a summer-long, off-site “independent study”!)

4. ⁠The Envelope

“Thank God that day is over.” I sigh, stretching my arms over my head as I step into the break room. My feet and head are killing me. Twelve hours of short-staffed chaos, a combative ETOH in 305, and a psych patient off his meds who slapped me in the face — twice. I’m done.

The room is quiet, just the sound of lockers clanking open and shut as the last of night shift heads out. I nod goodbye to Bri and Jared, too tired to speak.

I spin the dial on my locker and swing it open.

Something drops out.

A dark red envelope and…a pink flip phone?

I freeze, then crouch down slowly to pick them up. The envelope’s thick. Images inside. I pull them out, confused, until I see what they are.

My stomach drops.

Seven images. All of them…of me. Or at least, my face. My body. My scrubs, in one. Nothing I remember, because they’re not real, but they look it. Three of them are outright pornographic. One shows a needle in my arm. Two make it look like I’m selling pills. One is—God, I don’t even want to think about that one.

Fake. Obviously fake.

But good enough to pass for real if someone wanted them to be.

My hands are shaking. There’s a folded note tucked behind the images.

You have one chance to make this go away. Text the number in the phone.

I stare at the phone in my hand.

One number is saved. No name. Just a blank contact.

My thumb hovers over the keys, trembling.

I take a breath, then type.

Who are you? What do you want from me?

(I finish a terribly long shift to discover several photoshopped images waiting for me in my locker, images showing me partaking in drug use and highly inappropriate sexual activity. If I don’t want to lose my job, my license, and possibly my freedom, I have to do whatever I’m told. Let’s explore!)