FORUM COMPETITION: "WE PROMISED TO PLAY SAFE"

[Ce****]

We promised to play safe...until the thrill of being seen took over.

You met my eyes and stepped closer, the agreement between us electric and simple. I closed the distance with hands that learned your shape long ago, tracing your spine like I was remembering a prayer. Your breath hitched when my grip found you, not from *** but from wanting, a bell ringing out in the open. Anybody could have turned the corner, anybody could have seen you *** and offered and still you stayed steady, offering yourself to the risk. I took you with that exact kind of need, teeth to claim, palms to steady, voice low and owning every inch of you. A car rolled by, a face glanced, and your laugh sharp with *** and want answered mine like a promise. Afterwards, with the small tremor still in your hands and my forehead against yours, the night kept the secret we both had given away. You are mine.

[Li****]

We promised to play safe... until the thrill of being seen took over.

It started with flickering monitor light—pinged commentary, reactions, fandom. A jolt of disownership hit before our eyes met. But when they did, we saw it: the bond, the shadow-born nature we’d always carried but never named. Lust was the gateway. This was blnfage—recognition through depravity.

The game wasn’t planned. It emerged. Fetch an Innocent. One dominant, one unsuspecting. Find them. Hypnotize. Mind control. Submit proof. Bonus points for collateral damage. The forum judged. The followers fed. We delivered terror wrapped in lust, greed, and sociopathic delight.

We told ourselves it was a service. Harden the soft. Wake the morally adrift. But we knew—we were what the madmen in lab coats called evil.

It all fell into place too easily. The players played. They wanted fame, a prize. We teased it. Let them imagine it. Let them use their learned techniques on prey. And when the winner emerged—most depraved, most destructive—we turned the game on them. Fair play, we said. But it was annihilation.

The twist was too dark. Too final. The followers went silent. No posts. No mentions. Just a digital void. An urban myth. A mind-erased memory. And us? We live in the shadow, still feeding.