What sort of video game would you want to create if you had the manpower of a big studio (like Rockstar or EA) ?

A game concept that I've been thinking of and fapping to would be a game that plays like this:

You control a ship that's shaped like a buzzard saw and you move through an enclosed tunnel. There are obstacles in your way that you have to avoid, but also women that you can slice through in a myriad ways and combos - and by doing so you gain points for unlockables, such us ship upgrades, new babe models to snuff etc.
The game would have a sort of carmageddon vibe to it, but way more twisted. Perhaps the babes would start out fully dressed and mediocre looking and by farming points they could become hotter and less clothed.

I think it would be nice if the game classified babes into customizable point categories such as hair colour ( i.e brunettes 1 point, blondes 5 points, redheads 10 points, painted unicorns 20 and so on) or by chest size (increasing cup sizes=more points or the opposite).

This sort of game would be a feasible 3-4 year hobby undertaking for a single programmer, but it would take quite a bit of dedication.
The idea of a perfect mutilation system has been bugging me for quite a while now. It would have to support any potential way the body could be sliced, support body morphing so that the bodies are customizable, simulate internal injuries and the slicef sides should look realistic enough. Afro Samurai offered a glimpse of this idea, but it is far from perfect. If anyone with programming experience knows how the Afro Samurai system works, I'd really like to know too.

Now, on to other features that may be completely unrealistic( maybe ) for a one man army, but are still stuff I fantasize about.

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Hey guys. Unsure if this is the right place to post this, but I need help. I recently got into rp with someone from a forums site and I really liked her. I haven't done this stuff before so I got attached, but wanted to know if she was real (phishing attacks/cops suck). Not trusting her really fucked her up and I wish I had just believed her at first. I just have issues trusting people online in the first place, let alone with sensitive topics like the stuff we do here.



I miss talking to her and I don't know if she's even ok, which makes me worried. She stopped responding late Saturday night and I haven't heard anything since. I'm the one who fucked this up, but I want to try to fix it.



What the fuck do I do?

Soooo...I'm ignorant when it comes to laws. What exactly is illegal about liking guro? If anything? (I live in the US by the way.)

I know pedophilia is against the law here, but I'm not into that (that is not me judging anyone who is). So, how would I get in trouble for looking at this website...if I would get in trouble at all?

I just figured these are important questions I should have asked a long time ago. :/

I want to try a /lit project, but I've realized there's a key blank in my knowledge.



I have plenty of writing experience, and feel confident enough that I can write most death scenes in a way that's both fun and hot. But I know almost nothing about asphyxia, and since it's such a popular fantasy - and my own #1 fetish - I want to know more.



So saying I'm sitting in my chair writing this, and somebody walks up behind me and loops a cord around my neck...



What actually happens? How does my body react, what sensations do I feel and how long does it take me to die? Graphic detail is good, if I'm going to write I want to do a good job.

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I have been long time visiting here and I always thank for many great artists! I wanted to make my own works but my painting skills are terrible and do not improve...so I couldn't.

Few days ago, I downloaded SMF on steam and I thought I can make something! Although my first piece is akward, I made these with gratitude to the members. I'll make better works by improving my SMF skills.

Melanie figured that the bag had started leaking inside her belly as the plane was winging its way over Southern California. She even knew when the bag had split. Marco had assured her that each packet of heroin had been compressed within double wrapped condoms and had very little air inside. But as the plane gained altitude after take-off and the cabin pressure decreased, she could feel the packets expanding in her stomach and lower bowel, making her already pregnant looking abdomen swell further. She'd found the sensation quite erotic and had reclined her seat and stroked her belly like any four month pregnant woman would.

Melanie started to feel the effects of the leaking heroin by the time they were over Frisco. It began as a sweet warmth that spread through her core and loins then her thighs and bottom. At first she didn't realize that it was the heroin, thinking that she was just getting an unusually strong case of the hornies from the expanded packets inside her.

Mel had laid back in her seat and squeezed her thighs together as the good feelings began, but soon they grew too strong to be natural she'd felt a cold rush of fear rush through her as she realized that at least one of the bags inside her gut had burst. 'Stay calm', she had told herself as her fear and anxiety started to build. She thought it out and came to the conclusion that the bag couldn't have burst - each packet was thicker than a man's thumb and almost as long. That much pure heroin would have killed her within minutes. The end of one of the double wrapped condoms must have come undone and the inner one must be leaking is all. All she had to do is remain calm until she got to Vancouver and the retrieval could begin. She'd make herself throw up to get rid of anything left inside her.

Melanie had 130 packets of heroin inside her body. Marco had managed to press 80 inside her bowels, one by one, then she had began the arduous task of swallowing the remaining 50 using small shots of olive oil to make them slide down. The result was a rounder midsection and a distinct bulge in her belly that she had passed off as a four month pregnancy. That got her out of the x-ray body scan at the airport and had elicited smiles from most of the security and airline staff she'd encountered.

By the time the plane was winging over Seattle, Melanie felt quite sick despite the slow orgasmic feelings radiating from her abdomen. She'd got her unsteady legs under her and made her way to the bathroom. One of the stewardesses steadied her by supporting her right arm and had asked if she was allright.

“Just feeling airsick.” Melanie had managed as the stewardess helped her into the bathroom and closed the door for her. Melanie had braced herself and leaned over the sink, feeling her belly expanding inside her and opened her mouth and throat. With no effort at all, a long rope of foamy white vomit had slid up her throat and over her tongue to slide into the stainless bowl of the sink. 'I'm in trouble' Melanie had thought to herself. The sweet bliss of the heroin was coming on stronger now and her legs felt warm and liquid under her. Pulling her cel out of her purse, Melanie hit a number and 'send'. When Nance had answered, Melanie said;

“Nance. a bag must have split. I think I'm overdosing.” Nance had told her they would get her out of the airport as soon as they could once she landed.

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This is all I have. If you have something that's not here, please share.

My mommy had me when she was younger than I was when I killed her.



She hit me a lot. She never really slapped me, but she threw me on the wall and grabbed my arm and slammed me into the wall again and again, and always put me down, blaming me for being a bastard who's father wasn't good to her.

...And other friends of hers hit me a lot. I don't know how she knew them, but they did jobs for her and she fucked them a lot. I got really sick of it.



She also fondled me and my older sister a lot. I overheard my sister and her slightly older friend discussing how that happened to both of them but usually the daddy or uncle does it. We didn't have such a dad so it fell to my mother to abuse us.



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Hi guys. I'm really new to this scene, and there are a couple of things I'm wondering about that I hope you can help me with.



A common theme I see across guro is loss of bladder control. Girls almost always pee as they're dying. At first I thought it was just asphyxia, but it seems to cross all fetish lines. Strangled? *trickle* Decapitated? *splash* Drowning? cute little golden cloud.



And as a girl, and a girl who's fantasies revolve around her being the victim, that leaves me curious. Do we really pee when we die, and if so what causes it? And I feel a little shy asking this, but would I feel it?



Thanks, sorry for the weird question.

I am actually in a position where in I could get meat, which I'd like her to eat unknowingly or not.



Anyone else find this cool?



I have kik too, Lukesixx6

LostDragon01 made this gif but never colored or finished it. can some one do that, it's there OC getting sucked by a fish, then swimming away after biting off his horse's cock.

Alright, since Killer and Victim is essentially dead, I've decided to recreate the game. Hopefully my changes will be enough to keep it alive.



The concept is mostly the same; Person 1 creates a character, and decides if that character is a killer or a victim. If Person 1's character is a killer, then Person 2 creates a scenario in which their own character is killed by Person 1's character. If Person 1's character is a victim, then Person 2's character will kill them. After Person 2 writes out the scenario, they create their own character and allow the next person to write a scenario.



Some basic rules;



Although the original paragraph is singular when it comes to characters, you may have up to three characters in a scenario. The only restriction is that you cannot mix them; 3 killers or 3 victims, not 2 Killers and 1 victim.

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Feel free to send all of your shark gores!
Cut or not!
Because sharks are tasty.

The Discreet Brothel: a report on recent occurrences at the Velvet Glove Social Club, based on interrogations and surveillance camera files.



The evening of October 31 proved to be far more remarkable at the Velvet Glove Social Club than anyone had expected, even considering it was Halloween and Madame Solange had arranged some special entertainments for the delectation of a clientele whose sophistication should have prevented it from taking any notice of a holiday intended for small children. Nothing of the exterior suggested anything of the decadent activities to be enjoyed within. The club presented an austere, though somewhat foreboding front to the view of non-initiates who drove or walked past. Located in a brownstone on a nondescript side street, its windows were muffled by heavy, deep purple draperies. A small, simple brass plate on the door announced the club’s unusual name, and a plain black button to the right of the door enabled a visitor to ring for admittance. A cone-shaped fixture emitted just enough sour yellow light to illuminate the top step in front of the door, leaving the rest of the building’s front in dim obscurity. No light penetrated from around window draperies. Beginning at eleven, anyone standing across the street would have viewed a slow trickle of well-dressed men, and a few richly outfitted women, filtering along the street front alone or in groups of two or three, or disgorged from expensive but nondescript chauffeured automobiles, who climbed the steps, rang for admittance, and disappeared into a briefly illuminated gap in the doorway.



Once inside, they found themselves in a dazzlingly rich entry hall, enveloped in draperies and tapestries of deep burgundy, gold, navy blue, sparkling with brilliantly candle-lit crystal chandeliers, leading up a staircase carpeted in deep blood-red plush along a curving mahogany banister. The wall upward was lined with obscurely rendered paintings portraying intricately detailed erotic entanglements of a disturbing quality, hinting at bodily distortions and couplings not found in any normal dimension. An array of accommodating, compliant hostesses, young women draped in the scantiest of costumes—all protuberant bosoms, bottoms, nipples, and clitorises, curving thighs, black velvet on pale alabaster skin, ivory baubles strung over lush expanses of ebony skin, outrageously contrived hairstyles, musical voices edged with a note of hysteria—accompanied the guests up the stairs, arms entwined, hands groping and fondling, eyes brittle as ice offering the hint of reality at odds with the exuberant mood.



When they reached the top of the grand staircase, patrons were met by Madame Solange, a ruined beauty in an exotic antique kimono whose porcelain makeup just managed to obscure evidence of far too many facelifts and Botox injections, whose age seemed to be mid 50s but might just as easily have lain somewhere in the mid 70s, and who managed to convey to each individual guest in just a few words that he or she would find within the club’s warren of rooms—containing an infinity of forms of feminine enticement, of every race and hue, color and language, level of erotic proficiency and kink—precisely that particular decadence that would first arouse and then satisfy ultimately unspeakable desires. Madame Solange conveyed some guests to the bar, where exotic fillies of every nation, wearing nothing more than festoons of rhinestones, feathers, and carnival beads, with ornate gold piercings through surgically enhanced nipples and labia, served cocktails of rare liqueurs whose importation and sale were still legally outlawed—with vaginal secretions and in some cases menstrual blood smeared along the rim of each glass by a perfectly nailed finger. Other guests repaired to a small theater, lushly upholstered in deep blood-colored burgundy plush on walls, floor, and seats, to watch an endlessly shifting ballet of copulating couples (gymnasts hired away from Cirque du Soleil whose gyrating contortions, performed while hanging from rings, standing on their heads, or riding unicycles, left their viewers feeling dizzy and even vaguely disembodied). As the guests gazed in stunned silence at this arousing tableau, pubescent nymphs, crouching on their knees, one to a patron, with surgically modified lips sucked and vacuumed flaccid middle-aged penises or suctioned deep within the collapsed membranes of post-menopausal vaginas. Still other guests were escorted, in ones or twos, and sometimes threes, through winding hallways to the dim doorways behind which each patron would find the world’s only courtesan whose special talent meshed precisely with their own individual fetishes.

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Looking for additional information on Lilith's Blessing

This was done as part of a collaboration/trade with another Author who goes by Ms. Masterson on Hentaifoundry (hxxp://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/MsMasterson/profile). This was my end, and in return I got a really neat schoolgirl story that I helped her write and edit. I'll probably post it here at some point...



Anyway! enough explanation, here's' the story:



Roasted Asari Tits

Tags: F/self, Xenophilia, Debreasting, cooking, microwave, hints of cannibalism and incest, Mass Effect Setting



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Hello! I'm looking to see if anyone wants to do an erotic guro rp with me over Discord! I've been itching to have my adorable, submissive character be dominated and killed silly, brutal ways!



I like to 3rd person rps that are detailed! Is 6987 Quill



DM me for specifics x3

This is a continuation of the ultra short story I made on the USS thread. I like the concept very much, but at the end, this took many months to finish. Enjoy, and do leave comments of any kind!

---


I lied in the bathtub. My feet rested on the head rest, my camera sitting next to it. The tap dripped hot water onto my face, its wisps of steam condensing on my boxcutter's fine blade. "Bye, world."

I grasped my neck and felt my pulse. Two arteries, two cuts. It hurt, but I didn't care anymore. The hot water washed the blood away, carrying my life within.

I felt my body cooling.

I embraced death's lethargy.


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Commissions back open~