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CO-writer-127K

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[ { "from": "system", "value": "Today you will be acting as a writing assistant in the nonfiction genre. Your partner will send something and you will write the next 8 sentences, matching their level of character familiarity.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had nephew name Lot—now dass right. Boffe of dem kinfolks. Dey have servant mind de stock whut dey raisee. One day dey two servants dey were quarreling.\n\nAbraham say to de Lot, \"We two kinfolks. Dese servant dey quarrel, don't lettee dat breakee de friendship. Now, data right, dasa left. Now which way you goin'?\" Lot say to de Abraham, \"I goin' to Sodom and Gomorrah, where you goin'?\" Abraham say, \"I goin' to de Land of Caanan.\"\n\nWhen dey so much in sin in Sodom and Gomorrah, den de Lord he tookee two angels to pass Abraham's tent.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Abraham seen dem and want to bow to dem and den he went and get kid and dressee him and set it before dem to eatee dinner.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "When dey get thew eatee dey start to Sodom and Gomorrah.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One de angels say to de udder, \"Less not hidee our business from Abraham. Less tellee him whar we gwine.\" So dey say, \"Abraham, do you know we goin' to Sodom and Gomorrah to settee it afire, goin' burn de place down? So muchee sin wentee before God dat God goin' burn de place out.\"\n\n\"Naw,\" Abraham say, \"if I findee fifty ratcheous will you spare de city?\" De angels say, \"Yes, for your sake.\"\n\nAbraham went to Sodom and Gomorrah and can't find de fifty ratcheous. \"If I findee forty ratcheous will you spare de place?\"\n\nDey say, \"Yeah, for your sake, we spare 'em.\"\n\nHe fell back to twenty-five and couldn't find 'em.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 9 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When he call for ten de Lord wont lissen. He flee way from him. Den de two angels go to Lot house and tell him, \"Now you leavee here and don't lookee back.\"\n\nWhen de people see de daughters of Zion come to Lot house, dey say to Lot, \"Whut is dey doin dere?\" Lot say don't bother dem. Den de angel pull Lot backee and wavee de hand and all de people go blind. Den dey say to Lot, \"You flee away from here jes' as quick as you kin, and don't lookee back.\"\n\nLot's wife lookee back and turn to a pillar salt and she be dere till Judgment Day. Poor Cudjoe, I no lookee back. I pressee forward.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "continue this part. its from middle of story so expect established chars. twenty-three sentences sentences in Zora Neale Hurston style. genres: nonfiction. elements: biography", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Three men, dey each have a lady. One say, \"If I live to marry a wife, when she have a son, he go git down on top of a elephant to ride.\"\n\nAnother one say, \"If I live to have a wife, when she have a son, he go git down on top a zebra for a ride.\"\n\nDe third man he say, \"If I live to marry disa girl I love, when she have a son, he go git down on top a lion for a saddle horse.\"\n\nDe people, dey say, \"How he goin't do dat? He cain't do dat because befo' he ketchy de lion, de lion ketchy him.\"\n\nHe say, \"Oh, no!\"\n\nWell he marry de girl and dey have a son. When de boy he git so he kin run and throw de spear from the hand, you unnerstand me, de man he go in de woods and he found two young lions; but dey mama she gone killee something for them to eat. So he takee de two lions and killee one and takee de hide and stretch hit on de fence in de garden. De other one, you unnerstand me, he chain by de neck to de tree.\n\nDe mama lion she come home and she miss her babies, and she know de man take her children.\n\nShe feel hurtee, you unnerstand me, her breast swell way laka dis. She make up her mind she goin' punish de man whut killee her babies. So she turn herself into a woman, and many men see her come into de village. She look very fat and handsome and all de men want to marry her.\n\nShe tote a purse here (upon her hip). She say she will marry de man dat throw somethin' in de purse.\n\nEverybody dey chunking at de purse. Dey chunk and dey chunk. Some throw too fur, some don't throw fur 'nough. Nobody make it go in de purse.\n\nDe man dat ketchee de lions, he stand and lookee but he don't try chunkee in de purse. He love his wife and don't want no mo' wife.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She watch him and she aska him, \"Why you no try chunkee in de purse? Don't you want me for yo' wife?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He say, \"I don't wanta chunk. I gotta wife already.\"\n\nShe say, \"But I wanta you to chunk.\" She beg him please till after while jus' so he pick up somethin' wid his left hand throw disa way, but it went right in de purse, so she went home wid him to his house.\n\nSoon's she git in de house she see de skin stretch on de garden fence and see de other one chained to de tree, and she swell up insider her, and she wish for night to come. She wishee it was night dat minute.\n\nShe lay in de bed wid de man dat night, but she ain' never go to sleep. He go sleep; but she wait to kill him. When she see he sleep, she turn back to a lion and got up walking in de house.\n\nDe man he got dogs, you unnerstand me, and dey know she a lion, and dey know when she git up to kill him. Jus' when she go to him to tear him up, de dogs bark and say, \"No, you don't! No, you don't! Dass my master, and iffen you kill him you can't cross dis yard. We killee you.\"\n\nShe come back and lay down wid de man and wakee him up. She say, \"Husband, I can't sleep. Yo' dogs makee so much noise, dey keep me wake. I think dey goin' come in de house and bite me. You betta go chain dem up.\"\n\nHe git up and go chain de dogs lak she say, den he go back to sleep. She git up agin, but de dogs hear her and dey talk so loud she skeered he hear 'em. So she git back in de bed and she think whut she kin do to kill him.\n\nIn de morning she say to him, \"I can't stay wid you 'cause yo' dogs dey won't lemme sleep. I'm goin' home disa morning. You going piece de way wid me?\"\n\nHe say he go wid her piece de way. He go git his hunting spear and his bow and arrow, but she say, \"Whut for you take de spear? You mean to killee me on de way? You don't need no arrow neither.\"\n\nHe tellee her he always take his spear when he go to de woods, but she cry and say she skeered he goin' kill her, so he put down de weapons. Den he put on his hunting knife but she make him take dat off, too. Den he takee a whistle, you unnerstand me, and put it in his shirt, and takee nine eggs to eat on de way. Den he go on wid her.\n\nOn de way dey talk.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She aska him, \"If a lion jump on you, whut you goin' do?\"\n\nHe say, \"I turn to a deer and run away fast.\"\n\n\"Oh, but a lion overtake a deer, den whut you do?\"\n\n\"Den I turn to a snake and go in de ground.\"\n\n\"Oh, but de lion ketchee you befo' you dig de hole.\"\n\n\"Well, den I turn...\" he start to say he turn to a bird and fly up in de tree, but de voice of his father come to him and say, \"Hush!\" so he say, \"I don't know whut I do den.\"\n\nAfter a while dey come to a woods and de woman excuse herself and go in de bush and stay a minute—den a big lion come out and take right after de man. He think quick whut he goin' do, and he turn to a bird and fly up in de highest tree.\n\nDe lion open one side and took out nine men wid dey axes and open de other side and take out nine mo' and dey 'gin to choppee down de tree. De man he blow on de whistle so his dogs hear him and come.\n\nDe men dey chop hard at de tree. De lion she walk round and round and roar whut she goin' do when de tree fall. When de tree 'gin to fall, de man drop one egg and de tree it come back up agin. He blow and blow for his dog, but dey ain' heared him yit.\n\nHe drop another egg when de tree commence to fall nex' time, and he kep' on till de last egg it gone. De tree 'gin to shake agin, but he blow and blow on his whistle.\n\nOne young dog say to de other, \"Dat seem lak master's whistle I hear—don't you think so?\"\n\nDe ole dog say, \"Oh, lay down! You always hear somethin' so you kin run in de woods.\"\n\nAfter a while de young dog say he hear somethin' agin, but de old dog say, \"No, be quiet.\"\n\nDe tree is almost choppee down, and de lion stand on her hind legs so she grab him when he fall. De young dog say agin he hear de whistle and de ole dog say, \"Wait, I believe I hear somethin', too. Wait a minute.\" He lissen, den he say, \"Hit is master's whistle! He in trouble, too. Lemme go in de house and put de eye medicine in de eye.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He go in de house and put de medicine in his eye, so dat he kin see clear cross de world. \"Unhunh!\" he say.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 20 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your next response only must contain 26% dialogue", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I see master and he in bad trouble. Less go.\"\n\nDey run to de tree faster dan anythin' in de world and kill de lion and all de men. De man flew down from de tree and turn back to hisself agin. Den de man and de dogs take up all de meat and take it home and throw it in de yard. Den de man he go in de house wid his wife, but he don't tell her nothin' 'cause de ole dog he tell him dat if he tell, he will die.\n\nWhen she look in de yard and see all de meat, she say to him, \"Where you git all de meat?\"\n\nAnd he say, \"I been hunting,\" but he don't tell her dat de dogs done made baskets outa plum twigs and brung de meat home. Dey walk on dey hind legs laka men and tote de baskets wid dey front legs.\n\nHis wife say, \"You never brung home all data meat. No man kin tote so much, it too much for one man. You tell me who brung dat meat for you.\"\n\nAll day she keep dat up. Night time come and he wanta go to bed. She say no, she not sleep wid him never no mo' less he tell her 'bout de meat. So he tell her and den she sleep wid him. But de nex' mornin' she say to de dogs, \"Why don't you tell me you kin tote meat laka man? Here I been had to wash yo' eatin' trough and tote yo' grub to you, and you plenty able to bring yo' plate and fetch yo' own grub.\"\n\nDen de man he die 'cause he told whut de dog tell him not to, and de people make a great funeral for three days wid him. His wife she cry and cry 'cause she make him die, but dey go to bury him. But de ole dog say, \"No, wait till his father come—he gone away on a journey.\" So dey wait three mo' days and when de father come he rub medicine on his eyes and he woke him, and he live a long time after dat, and his son git down on de lion he brung home.\n\nCudjo Lewis (Oluale Kossola), in front of his home in Africatown (Plateau), Alabama, circa 1928. To have his photograph taken, Kossola dressed in his best suit and removed his shoes: \"I want to look lak I in Affica, 'cause dat where I want to be.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Collaborative writing: I'll start, you add 1 sentence. Match character familiarity level. Genres: nonfiction. Elements: biography.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hurston described Kossola as a \"poetical old gentleman... who could tell a good story.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And in the tradition of the griot of his West African homeland, Kossola tells a story of epic proportion.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He is at once storyteller and heroic figure, as he is the protagonist in the saga he relates to Hurston.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He was \"left to tell\" the story of a massacre that befell the town of Bantè, and he was the last original founder to sing the paean of Africatown.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Characteristic of griots is their extraordinary memory.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As with others who had interviewed Kossola, Hurston, too, took note of this attribute.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the preface to Barracoon, Hurston commends his \"remarkable memory.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And she states, \"If he is a little hazy as to detail after sixty-seven years, he is certainly to be pardoned.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Hurston used secondary sources in relation to Kossola's narrative, but not as a corrective.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her use of historical research did not align with that of \"the scientific crowd.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Woodson knew that people's memories were notoriously unsound and must be checked carefully by reference to written documents.\" But Hurston's motivations were different: \"The quotations from the works of travelers in Dahomey are set down, not to make this appear a thoroughly documented biography, but to emphasize his remarkable memory.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "I need a seven-sentence chunk to fill the gap marked by `[text_redacted]` in this text.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Prior to their December 1927 meeting, Hurston had interviewed Kossola once before. As she states in her introduction to Barracoon, \"I had met Cudjo Lewis for the first time in July 1927. I was sent by Dr. Franz Boas to get a firsthand report of the raid that had brought him to America and bondage, for Dr. Carter G. Woodson of the Journal of Negro History.\" From February to August of 1927, Hurston conducted fieldwork in Florida and Alabama under the direction of Franz Boas, her mentor, the renowned \"Father of American Anthropology.\" Boas had early on approached Woodson, the \"Father of Black History,\" about a fellowship for Hurston, in support of the research. In accordance with their arrangements, Hurston was to collect black folk materials for Boas and scout around for undiscovered black folk artists. In addition to the gathering of historical data for Woodson, she was also to collect Kossola's story.\n\nWoodson supported Hurston's field research with a $1,400 fellowship. Half of the funds came from the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, an organization founded and directed by Woodson. Elsie Clews Parsons, of the American Folklore Society, granted matching funds. As a fellow and \"investigator\" for the association, Hurston was expected to contribute material to the Journal of Negro History, a publication of the association. During the latter part of her time in the field, Hurston drove to Plateau, Alabama, to undertake her last task for Woodson and conduct the interview with Kossola. Along with various reports and archival data, Hurston submitted to Woodson materials she had collected on Fort Mosé, a black settlement in Saint Augustine, Florida. Woodson published this material as an article entitled \"Communications,\" in the October 1927 issue of the Journal.\n\nIn the same issue, he published Hurston's Kossola interview as \"Cudjo's Own Story of the Last African Slaver.\" A footnote at the beginning of the article stated that as \"an investigator of the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History,\" Zora Neale Hurston had traveled to Mobile to interview Lewis, \"the only survivor of this last cargo.\" The note states further, \"She made some use, too, of the Voyage of Clotilde and other records of the Mobile Historical Society.\" In reality, Hurston made more than a little use of the society's records. And though part of the article was \"a firsthand report,\" the larger portion of the article was secondhand information drawn from Emma Langdon Roche's Historic Sketches of the South (1914). Emma Roche was a writer, artist, and farmer born in Alabama in 1878. Her book is an account of the origins of slavery in America, couched in proslavery tenets and paternalistic perspectives. Her narrative recounts the history of the Clotilda and follows the fate of the Africans who were stored in its hold.\n\nOnly decades later would the literary critic and Hurston biographer Robert Hemenway bring the matter of Hurston's \"borrowing\" to scholarly attention and discussion. Hemenway credits the finding to the linguist William Stewart, who discerned it in 1972. \"Stewart's discovery was conveyed to me,\" Hemenway noted in Zora Neale Hurston: A Literary Biography, \"by John Swed of the University of Pennsylvania. I am grateful to Professor Stewart for granting me permission to cite his research and findings.\" Though the footnote in her 1927 article acknowledges the Mobile Historical Society as a secondary source, it does not reference Historic Sketches specifically, and Hurston makes no direct reference to Roche's book within the body of the article itself. Rather, improperly documented paraphrased passages and near-verbatim appropriations from Roche's work constitute the larger part of the article. \"Of the sixty-seven paragraphs in Hurston's essay,\" Hemenway relates, \"only eighteen are exclusively her own prose.\"\n\nHemenway speculates that Hurston found her interview with Kossola lacking in original material and therefore resorted to the use of Roche's work to supplement it. He supposes, too, that Hurston, writing at the outset of her career, suffered a quandary of purpose, direction, and methodology: How, exactly, was she to introduce the world to African American folklore, which she perceived to be \"the greatest cultural wealth on the continent\"? Hemenway observed that Hurston, as one of the folk herself, struggled to negotiate the sociocultural chasm between her rural hometown of Eatonville, Florida, and the wealthy enclaves of New York City. He believed that her frustration with the academic study and presentation of the African American folk and folk culture was a reflection of the same struggle.\n\nHurston had imbibed Boas's theory of cultural relativity and understood that there were no superior or inferior cultures; she understood that cultures were to be assessed and evaluated on their own terms. But were the methods of Boas and Woodson conducive to her purposes? Was it possible that \"the reportorial precision\" of Western scientific investigation could be the means by which she would document and celebrate African American genius and, thereby, challenge European imperialism and Euro-American cultural hegemony? Or, did she believe, as did poet Audre Lorde, that \"the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house\"?\n\nIn a letter to her friend Thomas Jones, the president of Fisk University, Hurston articulated her conundrum. \"Returned to New York and began to re-write and arrange the material for Scientific publications, and while doing so, began to see the pity of all the flaming glory of being buried in scientific Journals.\" She was dubious about Boas's objective-observer approach to folklore collection, and she chafed under Woodson's brand of scholarship. She preferred to be in the field, writes Hemenway, and so resented the time she spent investigating court records and \"mindlessly transcribing historical documents.\"\n\nNonetheless, Hemenway wondered why Hurston would risk her career and whether her plagiaristic use of Roche's work was \"an unconscious attempt at academic suicide.\" This attempt, Hemenway concludes, \"is made because of a lack of respect for the writing one has to do.\" If detected and \"her scientific integrity destroyed... Hurston's academic career would have been finished.\" She would then have been free from Boas's admonitions and Woodson's demands, and \"the unglamorous labor\" of collecting folklore. Is it possible, Hemenway speculates further, that footnotes referencing Roche had been included but were lost or otherwise omitted from the \"other records\" to which the article's footnote alludes? In any case, Hemenway states that \"Hurston's career needs no absurd apologetics. She never plagiarized again; she became a major folklore collector.\"\n\nHurston biographer Valerie Boyd has proposed that even though Hurston resented the \"hack work\" she did for Woodson, it is also just as likely \"that Hurston believed the report was only for Woodson's files; she did not expect it to be published any more than she thought her transcribed 'Communication' was worthy of publication.\" The \"Communications\" article was a compilation of transcribed excerpts from letters and historical and congressional documents, strung together with brief transitional statements. This style of reporting bears comparison with the composition of \"Cudjo's Own Story.\"\n\nBoyd wondered whether Hurston's submission of material that contained only 25 percent of her original work might have been Hurston's \"way of getting back at Woodson for arbitrarily slicing her pay and cutting into her research time by having her do his dreck work.\" Hurston had complained to her friend, the poet Langston Hughes, that she had finished her work for Woodson but wasn't paid in full. \"I thought I'd get pay for the month but he only paid me for two weeks.\" She vented to Hughes and told him that she felt depressed about the matter.\n\nAs Hemenway conjectured that Hurston may have saved the \"juicy bits\" of her folklore finds for theatrical collaborations with Langston Hughes, Boyd conjectured that Hurston \"had resolved to save her most compelling material from Cudjo Lewis for her own work.\" Kossola had gained some celebrity as the last living survivor of the Clotilda. Other anthropologists, folklorists, historians, journalists, and artists alike had sought him out. Hurston's colleague Arthur Huff Fauset had already collected from Kossola the folktale \"T'appin\" (\"Terrapin\"), which he published in Alain Locke's 1925 The New Negro: An Interpretation. Speculations aside, Boyd states, \"Making 'some use' of material from another writer is completely common and acceptable. But, as Zora knew, copying another's work, and passing it off as one's own, is not.\"\n\nIt is possible that the compromised article may have both relieved Hurston of tedium and allowed her a boon of lore for her own purposes, thereby hitting a straight lick with a crooked stick. Or, as Lynda Marion Hill suggests in Social Rituals and the Verbal Art of Zora Neale Hurston, Hurston's professional faux pas may have been an instance of Hurston masking her emotional response to a troubling event. In 1927, Zora Neale Hurston was new. Although Hemenway may have agreed with Franz Boas that \"Hurston was a 'little too much impressed with her own accomplishments,'\" it is equally true that she herself was still very much impressionable. In 1927, the career to which critics allude was in the future. Hurston was not the seasoned social scientist who had published the folklore collections Mules and Men (1935) and Tell My Horse (1938). She was not the author of four novels, including the celebrated Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937). She was yet at the beginning of things.\n\n\"Cudjo's Own Story\" was Hurston's debut scholarly publication. \"In writing her first essay on Cudjo,\" Lynda Hill surmises, \"Hurston might have been too moved and too uncertain how to manage her subjective response, rather than too frustrated with the rigors of scientific analysis, to produce an authentic text.\" As Hurston reflected on her interview with Kossola years later in her autobiography, Dust Tracks on a Road, \"It gave me something to feel about.\" The interview changed Hurston, Hill observes. This elder, an Isha Yoruba in America, had schooled her in the sociopolitical and cultural complexities of \"My People.\" In face of Kossola's recollections, the social constructions of \"My People\" and \"Africans\" were deconstructed by the reality of ethnic identifications, which not only distinguished tribes and clans but also generated the narrative distance and the ideological difference that rendered one ethnic group capable of regarding another as \"stranger\" or \"enemy,\" and allowed that group to offer up the \"Other\" to \"the trans-Atlantic trade.\"\n\n\"One thing impressed me strongly from this three months of association with Cudjo Lewis,\" Hurston writes. \"The white people had held my people in slavery in America. They had bought us, it is true and exploited us. But the inescapable fact that stuck in my craw, was: my people had sold me and the white people had bought me. That did away with the folklore I had been brought up on—that the white people had gone to Africa, waved a red handkerchief at the Africans and lured them aboard ship and sailed away.\"\n\nHurston was a collector of folklore. However, the folklore she was \"brought up on\" contradicted the folklore she was collecting from Kossola. Moreover, \"all that this Cudjo told me,\" Hurston mused, \"was verified from other historical sources.\" Harlem Renaissance pundits and artists like Zora Neale Hurston were wrestling with the identity of \"the Negro.\" They had reclaimed the image of black people and asserted the value of black culture (vis-à-vis white people and Anglo American culture). There was a decided movement to do away with the image of \"the Old Negro\" and usher in \"the New Negro,\" whose authentic culture and ethos were rooted in African origins. How did the butchering and killing of African \"others\" and the extirpation of whole societies fit within the profile of this modern, authentic \"New Negro\"?\n\nMight Hurston have attempted to avoid \"the inescapable fact\" of that dimension of African humanity that was motivated by \"the universal nature of greed and glory\"? Could it be that the woman and social scientist whose objectives entailed the discovering and uncovering of African cultural retentions in America was blindsided by Kossola's recollection of the inhumanity that was integral to his delivery at the port of Ouidah? Perhaps, rather than force herself to deal with such disorienting facts that stuck in her craw, Hurston chose, in the moment, to submit a narrative about the raid that had already been penned.\n\n\"Although justifying plagiarism is impossible,\" Hill writes, \"the reasons for it should be scrutinized in light of its being, to date, a one-time occurrence in the long, productive career of a prolific and widely published author.\" Hill's perspective is an important one, especially given the fact that Hemenway levels a similar charge, condemning and dismissing Barracoon, as though the manuscript were but an extension of the earlier published Cudjo Lewis piece. It is not. Hemenway proclaims that the article published in the Journal was an anomaly and reports that Hurston returned to Mobile to interview Kossola anew and did so with greater success. Barracoon, the book-length work, was the result of her efforts.\n\n\"Yet, even this unpublished manuscript, written in 1931,\" writes Hemenway, \"makes extensive use of Roche and other anthropological sources; although it skillfully weaves together the scholarship and Hurston's own memories of Cudjo, it does not acknowledge those sources, and it is the type of book that Boas would have repudiated.\" Hemenway writes further, \"The bo[text_redacted] of Negro History, and to the records of the Mobile Historical Society.\" In her introduction, Hurston describes her interviews with Kossola and states, \"Thus, from Cudjo and from the records of the Mobile Historical Society, I had the story of the last load of slaves brought into the United States.\"\n\nIn her use of Roche's work, as with her use of other secondary materials, Hurston makes a good-faith effort in Barracoon to document her sources. She does paraphrase passages from Historical Sketches, and she places direct quotes within quotation marks, though in the manuscript draft she is inconsistent in this. And some sources are actually documented within the text of the introduction and others are footnoted within the body of the narrative.\n\nThe historian Sylviane Diouf states that Hemenway's characterization of Hurston's manuscript was \"uncalled for.\" \"She may have conflated some of what Cudjo said with some of what she knew as a scholar, but she made a genuine effort at separating the two. With few exceptions, the information provided in Barracoon is confirmed by other sources. Witnesses, experts in Yoruba cultures, contemporary newspaper articles, and abundant archival material corroborate the various events in Cudjo's life as described in Barracoon.\"\n\nFar from being a fictionalized recreation, Diouf writes, \"Cudjo's story, as transmitted by Hurston, is as close to veracity as can possibly be ascertained with the help of other records.\" She states further that Hurston \"had produced an invaluable document on the lives of a group of people with a unique experience in American history.\" Rather than repudiate her, Boas might well have been pleased and encouraging, as Hurston, in this early phase of her professional writing, endeavored to utilize historical records to support her folklore findings—just as both Boas and Woodson had instructed. What is more significant is that Hurston was struggling to appease neither Boas nor Woodson, but was engaged in the process of actualizing her vision of herself as a social scientist and an artist who was determined to present Kossola's story in as authentic a manner as possible.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "ok purports to be solely the words of Cudjo; in fact, it is Hurston's imaginative recreation of his experience. Her purpose was to recreate slavery from a black perspective... but she was doing so as an artist rather than as a folklorist or historian.\"\n\nAlthough the journal article and the book manuscript have a common subject in Kossola, they are two distinct works. And where the charge of plagiarism is reasonable with the first, it is unfounded with the second. Hurston does draw on Roche's work in Barracoon, and she acknowledges it only indirectly. In her preface to Barracoon, she writes, \"For historical data, I am indebted to the Journal", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Fill in the blank marked `[original_content_missing]` with just 201 characters that makes sense in context.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "From the earliest known \"slave narrative\" to the postbellum oral histories collected in works like George P. Rawick's The American Slave, one glimpses the vicissitudes and the interior lives of a people forced to exist in and toil under inhumane circumstances. Few of these narratives recount the incidents that preceded disembarkation and the holding pens and auction blocks of America. There are the journals of captains and manifests of ships, and there are the letters, diaries, bills of sale, and estate wills of the merchants and rulers of plantocracies who trafficked in African lives. As Hurston bemoaned in her introduction to Barracoon, \"All these words from the seller, but not one word from the sold. The Kings and Captains whose words moved ships. But not one word from the cargo. The thoughts of the 'black ivory,' the 'coin of Africa,' had no market value. Africa's ambassadors to the New World have come and worked and died, and left their spoor, but no recorded thought.\"\n\nThe subject of capture in Africa and transport through the Middle Passage is not the experience of those who were born into the condition of servitude on American soil. Narratives like Kossola's, of which there are but a few, describe the Maafa, the violent uprooting of bodies, the devastation of societies, and the desolation of souls. Rather than chart the journey from slavery to freedom in America, Kossola's narrative journeys back to Africa and gives us a glimpse into the collective black experience as seen through the openings in the barracoons that lined the African coasts of the Atlantic world.\n\nBarracoon differs from classic slave narratives in a number of ways. The Barracoon narrative is not a conventional bid for freedom and it chronicles no harrowing tales of escape or trials of self-purchase. Unlike the authors of conventional narratives, Kossola was born in Africa. And because he was not born in the United States, he had to obtain citizenship through the naturalization process. Where narratives like those penned by Frederick Douglass speak to the cause of abolition, racial equality, and women's rights, Barracoon does not articulate an explicit political agenda. And it does not speak with the kind of heroic, self-possessed, and self-realized voice associated with black autobiography.\n\nWhere conventional slave narratives speak of conversions to Christianity, Kossola's narrative does also, but it does so while simultaneously expressing the spiritual traditions and customs of his homeland. He hadn't built up his hope on a future heavenly glory, but rather on a return to his people, a vision that speaks to the centrality of ancestral reverence. Kossola's nineteen years of life in Africa were more real to him than a declaration of independence in America. His narrative does not recount a journey forward into the American Dream. It is a kind of slave narrative in reverse, journeying backward to barracoons, betrayal, and barbarity. And then even further back, to a period of tranquility, a time of freedom, and a sense of belonging.\n\nThe African diaspora in the Americas represents the largest forced migration of a people in the history of the world. According to Paul Lovejoy, the estimated number of Africans caught in the dragnet of slavery between 1450 and 1900 was 12,817,000. The Nobel laureate Toni Morrison dedicated her novel Beloved to \"the 60 million and more,\" a number inclusive of the \"disremembered and unaccounted for\" in the Middle Passage. Millions suffered capture and survived the passage across the Atlantic, but only a small number of Africans recounted their experiences.\n\nAs Sylviane Diouf points out, \"Of the dozen deported Africans who left testimonies of their lives, only Olaudah Equiano, Mahommah Gardo Baquaqua, and Ottobah Cugoano referred to the Middle Passage.\" Eight of the ten narratives collected in Philip Curtin's Africa Remembered: Narratives by West Africans From the Era of the Slave Trade (1967) recount experiences of the Middle Passage. \"They give us some notion of the feelings and attitudes of many millions whose feelings and attitudes are unrecorded,\" writes Curtin. \"Imperfect as the sample may be, it is the only view we can recover of the slave trade as seen by the slaves themselves.\" Ten years after Curtin's work, the scholar Terry Alford would exhume from the bowels of oblivion the events of the life of Abd al-Rahman Ibrahima, published as Prince among Slaves: The True Story of an African Prince Sold into Slavery in the American South. His narrative, too, recalls capture and deportation.\n\nA few enslaved Africans like Olaudah Equiano, who experienced the Passage, acquired the skills to write their own narratives. Others like Kossola, who never learned to read or write, utilized the as-told-to mode of [original_content_missing]the bottom of the ocean floor, Barracoon speaks to us of survival and persistence. It recalls the disremembered and gives an account for the unaccounted. As an expression of the feelings and attitudes of one who survived the Middle Passage, it is rare in the annals of history.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "narration. Through this publication, Barracoon extends our knowledge of and understanding about the experiences of Africans prior to their disembarkation into the Americas. Like a relic pulled up from ", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Hey can you write like Zora Neale Hurston and use whatever i write as a jumping off point? btw characters and stuff might show up without backstory, just go with it", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "(ooc) Next output: 62% quoted text (ooc)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There is a loneliness that can be rocked,\" says the narrator in Beloved. \"Arms crossed, knees drawn up; holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship's, smooths and contains the rocker. It's an inside kind—wrapped tight like skin. Then there is a loneliness that roams. No rocking can hold it down. It is alive, on its own. A dry and spreading thing that makes the sound of one's feet going seem to come from a far-off place.\" It settles into the disjointedness of lives torn asunder by \"a sequence of separations\"; into the woundedness of a radical and \"unbearable dislocation\" from home and kin to an estranged place on foreign soil. The loneliness that attends such disruption infuses Kossola's narrative.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It cannot be rocked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"After seventy-five years,\" writes Hurston, \"he still had that tragic sense of loss. That yearning for blood and cultural ties. That sense of mutilation.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is the existential angst that is consequent to deracination.\n\nMaafa is a Ki-Swahili term that means disaster and the human response to it. The term refers to the disruption and uprooting of the lives of African peoples and the commercial exploitation of the African continent from the fifteenth century to the era of Western globalization in the twenty-first century. Conceptually, the phenomenon of the African Maafa is comprehensive in that it recognizes the extensive and continuous devastation of the African continent and its inhabitants and the continuous plundering that extends the trauma brought about via trans-Atlantic trafficking.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "For \"illegitimate trade\" was superseded by the European \"scramble for Africa\" and colonization of the continent, just as the \"Peculiar Institution\" of slavery in America was reformulated as the convict-leasing system, an earlier form of the Jail-Industrial Complex.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And just as Kossola was ensnared in the institution of slavery in America, his son, Cudjo Lewis Jr., who was sentenced to five years of imprisonment for manslaughter, was handed over to the convict-leasing system in the state of Alabama.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oluale Kossola could never fathom why he was in \"de Americky soil.\" \"Dey bring us 'way from our soil and workee us hard de five year and six months.\" And once free, he says, \"we ain' got no country and we ain' got no lan'.\" And in postbellum America he was subject to the exploitation of his labor and the vagaries of the law, just as he was in antebellum America.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He remained confounded by this cruel treatment for the rest of his life.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kossola's experience was not anomalous. It is representative of the reality of African American people who have been grappling for a sense of sovereignty over their own bodies ever since slavery was institutionalized.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "keep the story goin for six sentences more. nonfiction genre, Zora Neale Hurston style. characters might be from earlier chapters", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The American Dream is a major theme in the narrative of racial difference. The shadow side of that dream, which is not talked about, entails the plundering of racial \"Others.\"\n\nIt was this dreaming that inspired both William Foster and Tim Meaher to flout the law of the US Constitution, steal 110 Africans from their homes, and smuggle them up the Mobile River and into bondage. Though Foster and Meaher were charged with piracy, neither was convicted of any crime. No one was held responsible for the theft of Kossola and his companions and their exploitation in America. Of the thousands of Africans smuggled into America after 1808, only one man was held accountable and hanged, and even he died proclaiming his innocence.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "I need around 788 words or so to fill the gap marked by `<\|missing\|>` in this text.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "At the end of the Civil War, once they learned they were free, Kossola and his compatriots began to plan their repatriation. They soon realized that their meager earnings would not be adequate to live on and allow them to save enough money to fulfill their dreams of returning to Africa. Also unaware of the activities of the American Colonization Society, they resolved to recreate Africa in America. Toward that end, the community of Africans elected Kossola to approach Timothy Meaher about granting them some land on which to rebuild their lives as a free people.\n\n\"You made us slave,\" Kossola told Meaher. \"Now dey make us free but we ain' got no country and we ain' got no lan'. Why doan you give us piece dis land so we kin buildee ourself a home?\" Meaher's response was one of indignation. \"Fool do you think I goin' give you property on top of property? I tookee good keer my slaves in slavery and derefo' I doan owe dem nothing? You doan belong to me now, why must I give you my lan'?\" Kossola and the others rented the land until they were able to buy it from the Meahers and other landowners. The parcels they bought became Africatown, which was established by 1866.\n\nTheir African Dream was inextricably bound up with Timothy Meaher's American Dream, and their dream of return would be forever deferred. But the survivors of the Clotilda would work together to create a community that embodied the ethos and traditions of their homeland. In its founding and government, Africatown was similar to other black towns, writes Sylviane Diouf. But it was distinguished by the fact of its ethnicity. Although some African Americans were numbered among them as spouses and founders, Africatown \"was not conceived of as a settlement for \"'blacks,' but for Africans.\"\n\nAfricatown was their statement about who they were, and it was a haven from white supremacy and the ostracism of black Americans. The bonds the Africans created in the barracoons, on the ships, and in servitude were the source of their survival and resilience, and the foundation of their community.\n\nAfricatown is more than<\|missing\|>the purpose of importing Africans into America or for trafficking enterprises in other countries. Penalties ranged from fines of $200 to $2,000. The March 1807 Act Prohibiting the Importation of Slaves declared all participation in international trafficking to be illegal and abolished the importation of Africans into the United States. Fines for violation were increased to upwards of $20,000 and imprisonment of at least five but not more than ten years. The act was to take effect on January 1, 1808. The 1820 act charged participants in the traffic with piracy, which carried a penalty of death. Although international trafficking had been deemed illegal or \"illegitimate,\" proslavery adherents continued to engage in it. The United Kingdom also abolished trans-Atlantic trafficking in 1807. In its efforts to suppress the traffic in humans, it encouraged and promoted \"legitimate trade\" with Africa. Such trade entailed the exchange of \"legitimate\" commodities from Africa, such as the agricultural exports of palm oil, palm kernels, kola nuts, and ground nuts.\n\nJim Crow: Jim Crow refers to the social system that developed in the United States following the Civil War. The name \"Jim Crow\" is based on a character developed by \"the Father of American minstrelsy,\" Thomas Rice, who performed in blackface. Rice appropriated the song about Jim Crow from black folklore and created a stereotypical character of blacks as lazy, ridiculous, worthless subhumans. Rice's derogatory depictions of black people were popular with his white audiences. The name \"Jim Crow\" then became synonymous with the system of racial segregation that cast blacks as inferior beings while elevating whites as superior. In 1896, the US Supreme Court's decision in Plessy v. Ferguson would sanction Jim Crow. The decision upheld the doctrine of separate but equal, which segregated the races in public spheres and effectively ushered in de jure segregation in American society.\n\nKrooboys: Krooboys and Kroomen were a group of seafarers and ship laborers who settled along the West African coastline. They originate from the Kru (or Kroo) peoples of the Liberian hinterlands who migrated to the west coast. During the eighteenth century, they worked as sailors and laborers for the British and Europeans in their maritime commerce with West Africa. They worked aboard trafficking vessels and operated as dealers, brokers, and middlemen for those looking to purchase Africans. They were known for their skills in maneuvering canoes filled with people or merchandise through the rough surf, onto the beach, or out to ships.\n\nMaafa: Marimba Ani defines Maafa as a Ki-Swahili term that means disaster and the human response to it. The term refers to the disruption and uprooting of the lives of African peoples and the continuous commercial exploitation of the African continent—from the fifteenth century to the era of Western globalization. The African Maafa entails the multidirectional, violent, and catastrophic phenomenon that pervaded the entire African continent, not just its western coast. Thus the concept also encompasses the trafficking of Africans across the Sahara, the Mediterranean Sea, the Red Sea, and the Indian Ocean, which occurred centuries before the commencement of trans-Atlantic trafficking.\n\nMiddle Passage: The Middle Passage describes the transoceanic route taken by trafficking vessels from the west coast of Africa to the Americas. It also refers to the middle leg of what is called \"the triangular slave trade\": Ships originating in England or Europe would sail to the African coast to exchange manufactured goods for African captives; Africans were then sold or exchanged in the Americas for raw materials (cotton, sugar, coffee, tobacco); ships laden with these materials would then make the return journey from the Americas to Europe. The length of the voyage from African shores to ports in the Caribbean and the Americas varied. The voyage from Africa to Brazil would take at least a month. From Africa to the Caribbean or North America could take two or three months. Other variables such as wind, inclement weather, mutiny, rebellion, or escape from other vessels would hasten or retard a ship's passage.\n\nMosé, Fort: In the late 1600s, Africans escaping enslavement in the British colonies settled in Spanish territory near Saint Augustine, Florida. In 1738, the Spanish governor, Manuel de Montiano, fortified the settlement with the construction of Fort Gracia Real de Santa Teresa de Mosé, granting the settlers citizenship and sanctuary and thereby establishing the first free black town in North America. The fort would become the northernmost point of Spanish defense against the British, and the townsmen would become members of the Fort Mosé militia. Captain Francisco Menendez, who had escaped enslavement in South Carolina, was appointed as the \"chief\" of the town. Under his leadership, the Fort Mosé militia, along with Native Americans and the European residents of Saint Augustine, defended the fort against a British attack in 1740. Fort Mosé remained a haven for Africans, African Americans, and Native Americans until the Peace of Paris agreement of 1763 that ceded Florida to the British.\n\nOrìṣà: In the spiritual traditions of the Yoruba people of West Africa, the supreme deity is manifested as the trinity of Olodumaré, Olofi, and Olorun. The Orìs.à are a reflection of these divine expressions. They represent a pantheon of deities who embody specific qualities of the cosmos. Among the pantheon are Obatalá, Oshún, Yemayá, Changó, Oyá, and Ogún. Traditional ceremonies serve to unite humans with the spirit realm and restore balance between humans and nature. Ancestral reverence is an integral aspect of the tradition. In the Americas, African spirituality was a source of resilience and resistance to the bleak and absurd reality into which African peoples had been forced. The Orìs.à tradition, along with other spiritual traditions of West African peoples, merged with the religious traditions of European Christianity and those of indigenous Amerindians to create new belief systems such as Vodun, Hoodoo, Obeah, Santería, and Candomblé. Zora Neale Hurston investigated and documented these syncretic religions in Mules and Men (1935) and Tell My Horse: Voodoo and Life in Haiti and Jamaica (1938).\n\nRoche, Emma Langdon: Emma Roche was born on March 26, 1878, in Mobile, Alabama. She was the daughter of Thomas T. and Annie Laura (James) Roche. Emma Roche was an artist, writer, housekeeper, and farmer. She wrote Historic Sketches of the South in 1914 and illustrated the book with her own drawings and photographs of the residents of Africatown.\n\n\"Slaver\": Trafficking vessels were called \"slavers,\" because those involved in the trafficking did not see the Africans they transported as human beings, but instead as slaves (i.e., chattel, commodities, cargo, merchandise). And they treated them accordingly. Aboard these vessels Africans experienced shock or melancholia, knowing neither their destiny nor their fate. The holds were dark and fetid. In the beginning of these oceanic voyages, the mortality rate for Africans could be as high as 50 percent. During this period, \"tight packing\" was a common method of loading Africans into the ships. In order to minimize loss due to high mortality rates, captains had their crew cram as many people as possible into a hold, allowing little room to turn or sit up. On some ships, Africans were laid one on top of the other, stacked like logs. In later centuries, changes in the design of the ships, regulations, and the desire for greater profit would modify the methods used to transport Africans.\n\n\"Slavery\": The term slave originally meant captive, and it was historically associated with the Slavic peoples of Eastern Europe, who were conquered by western Europeans in the ninth century and forced into conditions of servitude. The same term has been used in reference to African peoples whom western Europeans pressed into servitude in the Caribbean and the Americas. It has also been used to refer to the condition of servitude practiced in Africa prior to Arab-Islamic and European encroachments into Africa.\n\nCharacteristic features of slavery are that people perceived to be different from the larger society can be subjugated and exploited for their labor; that these people have no rights and are considered property, a thing owned; and that they and their offspring inherit this condition for life.\n\nIn the United States, slavery has been called the Peculiar Institution. As it was elsewhere in the Americas, this institution was violent, inhumane, and racialized.\n\n\"Slavery\" (African \"Internal Slavery\"): Forms of servitude existed in Africa prior to the invasions of Arab Muslims and Europeans—but it was not slavery. Slavery was but one form of servitude or labor practiced in various civilizations from antiquity to the modern day. Serfdom, clientage, wage-labor, pawnship, and communal work represent other kinds and conditions of labor that were practiced. The conditions of labor in ancient or early African society were more characteristic of conditions associated with feudalism, not slavery, and were more aptly described as relationships of dependency.\n\nAfricans in conditions of servitude could be subject to labor others refused to perform, labor that was considered degrading, tedious, or dangerous. They could be subjected to maltreatment and even be used as living sacrifices. But for the most part, Africans in relationships of dependency had rights and maintained their human dignity. After the mid-fifteenth century, the systems of servitude among West Africans were transformed, as trans-Atlantic trafficking became integral to the politics and economy of African societies.\n\nTrans-Atlantic trafficking also transformed the identity of people on the African continent and their relationship to one another. As people were now perceived as slaves, those outside a particular group—in terms of ethnicity, ideology, or lineage—became subject to capture and deportation. In spite of the ethnic and cultural diversity of the people on the continent, Europeans and Americans referred to them, collectively, as \"Africans.\" This resulted in the belief that \"'Africans' sold their own sisters and brothers.\" This tendency to generalize the varied ethnic groups as \"Africans\" has been a continuous source of conflict for the people of Africa and the African diaspora.\n\nTrans-Atlantic Slave Trade: The business of ferrying captive Africans across the Atlantic to other lands for the cultivation of cash crops was initiated by the Portuguese in the mid-fifteenth century. Prince Henrique of Portugal (1394–1460), known throughout Europe as \"Henry the Navigator,\" knew well of the vast wealth of Africa and Asia. No longer content with negotiating with Moors, Berbers, and Arab middlemen for the goods and people of sub-Saharan Africa, he sought direct access to these continents—not over land, but by sea. Before trade for African bodies was established and regularized, European seafarers engaged in the typical \"smash and grab\" approach of acquiring Africans for use as slaves. In 1441, the Portuguese seized twelve Africans from the west coast of Africa. Subsequent actions of that sort resulted in retaliation. The Portuguese then established formal compacts with African officials. Portuguese colonists, settled in the island of Madeira, had begun experimentation with the cultivation of sugarcane. Initially, they imported eastern Europeans and Africans to perform this labor. However, Constantinople's fall to the Turks in 1453 closed the \"slave ports\" of the Black Sea to western Europeans seeking eastern European slaves. In the aftermath of this turn of events, the majority of the laborers in the cane fields of Madeira came from the African continent. The Portuguese replicated this model of cultivating sugarcane with the labor of Africans in the plantations of the Caribbean and the Americas. Other European nations, England, and the English colonies in North America emulated the Portuguese. Well after the abolition of trans-Atlantic trafficking by most European nations and the United States, the Portuguese would persist in their trafficking enterprises until 1870.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": " a historic site. It is a place expressive of African ingenuity and a prime model of the processes of African acculturation in the American South.\n\nAs Africatown is more than a cultural legacy, Oluale Kossola was not just a repository of black genius, tapped for a few stories, tales, and colorful phrases, and Zora Neale Hurston knew this. She did not perceive Barracoon as another cultural artifact illustrating the theoretical characteristics of Negro expression but as one, singular, portrait of black humanity. \"Slavery is not an indefinable mass of flesh,\" as Ta-Nehisi Coates writes. It is a particular and specific woman or man. It is Kossola, and his wife, Abilé, their six children, the host of Africans who founded Africatown, and their shipmates who survived the Clotilda.\n\nWe must courageously embrace this history because it is, as James Baldwin understood, \"literally present in all that we do,\" and the power of this history, when we are unconscious of it, is tyrannical. The history of Kossola's life elucidated, for Zora Neale Hurston, \"the universal nature of greed and glory\" as an \"inescapable fact\" of our common humanity. It is this common humanity that Hurston struggled to make the world understand.\n\nIf we view Barracoon as just another brilliant example of Hurston's anthropological genius, we are gravely mistaken and we do not fathom the full import of her objectives as a social scientist. In her endeavor to collect, preserve, and celebrate black folk genius, she was realizing her dream of presenting to the world \"the greatest cultural wealth on the continent,\" while simultaneously contradicting social Darwinism, scientific racism, and the American pseudoscience of eugenics. She was refuting the tenets of biological determinism that were at the heart of the Great Race theory. The body of lore Hurston gathered was an argument against such notions of cultural inferiority and white supremacy, and it defied the idea of European cultural hegemony as it also questioned the narrative of white nationalism.\n\nBarracoon is a counternarrative that invites us to break our collective silence about slaves and slavery, about slaveholders and the American Dream. Completed in 1931, the narrative of Oluale Kossola has finally found its audience, and Zora Neale Hurston's first book-length work has found a taker and is now finally published. Though nearly a century has passed between the completion of the final draft of her manuscript and the publication of Barracoon, the questions it raises about slavery and freedom, greed and glory, personal sovereignty and our common humanity are as important today as they were during Kossola's lifetime.\n\n⁂\n\n[ Glossary ]\n\nClotilda, The: A 120 81/91-ton schooner built by William Foster in Mobile, Alabama, in 1855. It was 86 feet long, 23 feet wide, and 611/12 feet deep. Two-masted, with one deck, it was built for speed. These types of ships were designed during the years of suppression of the traffic, in order to outmaneuver those ships that were policing the waters. The US Constitution declared those engaged in the illegal importation of Africans into America to be pirates and declared that those apprehended would be charged with piracy—and hanged. In collaboration with Timothy Meaher, William Foster refitted the Clotilda as a \"slaver.\" Its journey to Africa represented their first smuggling venture, and it would be their last. In March 1860, Foster set sail for Ouidah on the coast of West Africa, where he illegally bought 125 Africans who were held in the barracoons of Dahomey. Fearful of being captured by two approaching steamers, Foster weighed anchor and left fifteen Africans on the beach. After about forty-five days on the Atlantic, Foster docked near Twelve-Mile Island off the Mobile River. After disembarkation of the Africans, Foster burned and scuttled the Clotilda at Big Bayou Canot, in an effort to cover up his piracy. The Wanderer, which transported more than four hundred Congolese captives to Jekyll Island, Georgia, in November 1858, had long been considered the last vessel to import Africans illegally into the United States. With its documented 1860 arrival into Mobile Bay, the Clotilda now holds that unfortunate distinction.\n\nIllegitimate Trade: A series of constitutional acts transformed trans-Atlantic trafficking from a \"legitimate\" to an \"illegitimate\" activity. American participation in trans-Atlantic trafficking can be traced to the colonial era. As the largest trafficking enterprises in the colonies at that time were run out of Rhode Island, the D'Wolf family, headed by James and Charles D'Wolf, ran the largest trafficking enterprise in Bristol, Rhode Island, after the American Revolution. By the end of the eighteenth century, American vessels, along with the British and the Portuguese, would dominate the Atlantic traffic in human beings. In 1794, the US Congress passed legislation that outlawed the building of or fitting out of ships for ", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Cooperative chapter writing\nMy role: Provide a story segment\nYour role: Expand with one hundred and thirty-seven sentences, emulating bluRaaven in the Lovecraftian, based on video game genre\nNote: This is part of a larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Essential phrase to include: \"Water and essence of valerian,\"", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When he wakes up in a clean bed in what he later will learn is a sanatorium, he finds a pair of flintlocks and a rose quartz rosary lying on the night stand next to him, meaning they're probably his.\n\nNot that he has the slightest idea where he is, or how he got here in first place.\n\nAs he tries to gather himself, a group of people wearing unfamiliar faces enters the room. They crowd around his bed and ask questions, but when he has no answers it is them who tell him that he was lost to them for night half a year, dead and buried, mourned, and now brought back to life by a miracle of the Light.\n\nThey tell him this place is called the Hamlet, and that his own name is Dismas.\n\nHe does not know what to make of the information. He sits on the bed naked from the waist up, surrounded, and clutching the covers so hard it turns his hands into claws.\n\nIt is a blessing when a stocky woman with a voluminous headdress and a commandeering presence enters the room. A white veil billows after her from how briskly she strides before she stops to level an incinerating gaze at the thong of strangers.\n\n\"Out. NOW.\" She points in the direction of the door.\n\nThere is a chorus of protests, but when a male voice says, \"Come on, let's give him some time,\" they start leaving, one by one, until the only ones left are the nurse and him and the room is blessedly quiet once more.\n\nHe doesn't understand, doesn't remember, he doesn't remember—\n\n\"Awake, are we?\" the nurse asks, her attention turning to her patient.\n\nHe looks up from the crumpled indents that his hands left on the sheets and nods, not trusting his voice.\n\n\"Good. It's about time.\" She approaches him with a pewter cup full of clear liquid. \"Drink this,\" she says, handing it to him. \"Water and essence of valerian,\" she explains, reading his questioning look. \"Best you take it easy for a while, and this will help.\"\n\nHe takes the cup, and she helps steady his hands and makes sure that he downs the contents.\n\nSlowly, the tension begins to drain out of him until he realizes he is shaking and sore, several muscles twitching uncontrollably. He wonders if he cramped and didn't even notice, and if that is the reason why he is so sore. The tremor in his hands is the last to abate.\n\nHe is fine.\n\nThe medicine is clearly working, and the nurse bustles about as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He is still confused about waking up in an unfamiliar place, but the sudden wave of exhaustion that crashes over him makes even worrying increasingly difficult.\n\nHe is fine.\n\nOutside, the sun is shining.\n\nI've been through worse.\n\nOf course he doesn't know that, but thinking it helps.\n\n\"Lovely day outside,\" the nurse says, opening the shutters wide to let a warm breeze in.\n\nIt is, but he has a comfortable bed and is content to enjoy it from inside his nest of blankets. Nobody makes him leave. He sleeps, and when he wakes it is dark outside. Somebody must have been watching over him, because despite the late hour, he is served a bowl of hot chicken broth, salty and sweet, and it makes his mouth water for more. He eats a second serving, and then, although no longer hungry, wolfs down a third, and then collapses back into his bed's soft embrace and sleeps until it is daylight again.\n\n\"Feeling better?\" The nurse is back.\n\nShe had left him to disrobe and bathe in privacy, and he had made good work of the tub, the slice of soap and the couple of buckets filled with tepid water that he'd been given. Afterwards he had not bothered with slipping back into the loose linen shirt and pants that he had worn ever since he'd first woken up. Those needed a wash as badly as he had.\n\n\"Yeah,\" he rasps, sitting up. Every time he speaks it feels like he's got gravel stuck in his throat, but at least he now manages words. The first time he tried, he couldn't make a sound and he ended up coughing so bad, he almost passed out from the lack of air.\n\n\"Good.\" She beckons him to follow her. He hesitates for a moment, but then follows, clad in naught but the towel wrapped around his hips. The stone floor feels cold underneath his bare feet, but it's not a long walk, just down the stairs and into a smaller room on the left.\n\nHe doesn't have to be told that the room's most prominent feature, a huge mirror of polished silver that leans against the wall, is not originally from the sanatorium. It looks ornate and heavy and wherever it came from, it must have been a hassle to carry it all the way here. He wonders why they bothered. Then, he wonders who did.\n\nThe blurry shape reflected in the dull, grey surface slowly comes into focus as he steps closer.\n\nThe man frowning at him is a stranger.\n\nThis is me.\n\nHe looks like someone he wouldn't want to have a run-in with in a dark alley.\n\nThe corners of his mouth tug downward, and his nose looks like it has borne the brunt of several punches to the face. He ought to shave, because his stubble is growing in patches around the scars on his jaw.\n\nOverall, he looks older than he feels. There are streaks of grey in his black hair, too many to count. He has brown, weather-worn skin, not dark enough to mark him from the East or as a Southerner, but too dark to belong to a Northerner. A mutt, then.\n\nDuring his bath he had already discovered that sometime in the past, he'd been stabbed, multiple times. He wonders what he did to deserve that. His body tells the story of a past filled with violence and hunger. He doesn't mind the scars so much as he does the prominent jut of bone at his hips or the hollows he'd like to fill out with muscle.\n\nHe drops the towel.\n\nThe rest is… ordinary.\n\n\"Well, I ain't no beauty,\" he concludes. It is a little disappointing.\n\n\"You look better than most things that were dead for half a year,\" the nurse comments dryly as she pokes her head in to check on him. He discovers then and there that he sure doesn't have a prudish bone in his body.\n\n\"Heh. Bet I smell better too.\"\n\n\"Don't push it.\" Her eyes narrow, though he manages to catch the flash of teeth in the mirror before she disappears again.\n\nHe returns his attention to his reflection. \"S' just you and me now, pal.\"\n\nIn the looking glass, the man's shrewd obsidian eyes look back at him, gauging.\n\nHe sighs. Not even his mirror image seems to approve.\n\nWhen he returns to his room, he finds a well worn pair of boots standing next to his bed, and fresh clothes laid out on top of it. They fit him well enough, though his favourite piece by far is the coat. It's like a second skin, even though it hangs down to his knees and he needs to fasten the belt because it's made for a man twice his girth. He rolls up the sleeves and then buries his nose in the soft fur collar, smiling. He knows it's his with a certainty he cannot explain. He may not recall who he is, but he has the distinct feeling that this coat knows him well.\n\nHe is informed that he is free to leave.\n\n\"This is a sanatorium, not a prison,\" the nurse huffs, before she tells him that he'll better be back by sundown, or he'll get to know the single holding cells they use for uncooperative patients. He shivers at the thought, and promises to be back on time.\n\nThe sanatorium has been his world, for the few days he actually remembers living on it. A miniscule world consisting of a mostly bare room with large windows overlooking the town, a washing tub, a bed and a nightstand. Leaving it seems like a daunting prospect, but as his strength returned, he has been getting increasingly restless.\n\nThe moment he steps outside, the light hits him like a sharp rock to the head. It hurts and it makes his eyes water, so he shields them with his hand, squinting through near-closed lids. The street he finds himself in is as unfamiliar as the room he had woken up in had once been. He will not let that deter him – after all, had he not gotten used to the latter as well? It's not a very large town; he had been able to see as much from the window. He only needs to pick a direction, and to follow it.\n\nHe chooses to head right, because it looks like it leads towards the town's outskirts.\n\nThe road swings in a gentle curve, leading him past a stable and a large barn-type building. A heavy set of double doors stands open, allowing him to see the carriages within. There is a herd of horses grazing on a spacious pasture behind the stables. From there it isn't far to the forest's edge. A waystone painted orange and green from the moss and lichen growing on top of it marks the border of the Hamlet.\n\nFrom here on out the cobblestone gives way to packed earth and the road disappears into the forest. He contemplates the trees for a long moment before he turns around and heads back. He will find out more about the world out there after he has grown familiar with this place. One step after another.\n\nGoing the other way, he realizes that no matter where he is in the Hamlet, there is one sight that doesn't change. Overlooking the town is a sprawling estate, flanked by ancient oak trees. With its iron fence and pointed spires it seems ancient, cold and foreboding. He doesn't approach but he has no trouble making out that like most of the town, it must have seen better days and just like the buildings below it too shows signs of repair.\n\nHe spies a cart full of tools and supplies next to a house and further in the distance the sun is bleaching skeletons made of logs where new buildings are being constructed. A few of the buildings sport walls of bright, fresh wood that contrast against the old, washed-out timber.\n\nHe doesn't mind being lost in the crooked streets of this town. Maybe, he muses a while later as he passes a flock of geese in someone's overgrown front garden, he ended up here because he wondered whether it's true what they say about the countryside; that so far away from civilization, dogs bark out of their arses.\n\nHe is terribly disappointed in that regard when he actually comes across a dog. It's a gangly wolfhound that shows some white around its muzzle and walks with the stiffness of old age. He makes kissing noises at it and it wags its tail when he scratches it behind the ears. Since it looks well-cared for, he doesn't feel too bad about not having any scraps on him that he could feed it.\n\nThey spend some companionable time together, the man sitting on the bench and the dog lying in a sunny spot next to him.\n\nConsidering his situation, it is a marvel that he can feel almost at peace here, when he still lacks a clear idea of where here actually is. Maybe there is a part of him that recognizes this Hamlet, though why he should choose a place in the middle of nowhere when there were cities out there, busy and full of life, he does not know. He could have headed to Velstaad, or Fraehaven, or even as far North as Old Port, the jewel of the Northern city states. For the time it takes to draw breath he can see an ice cold, green sea with ships bobbing in the harbor.\n\nThen the vision is gone, as if carried away by the wind. Even the names of the cities slip through his mind like the rough tufts of the wolfhound's fur through his fingers. He tries not to mourn their loss. It isn't like he knows whether they are real, after all.\n\nWhen the hound's ears prick up and it rises to trot off without a backwards look, leaving him on his own again, he decides to move on.\n\nHe still hasn't seen the other side of the town. It takes him a moment to remember which way to go, but as he steps into a broader avenue, he can see past a gap in the buildings and catches sight of that estate again. He'll have to remember to ask whom it belongs to. For now, it is as good a landmark as he can ask for.\n\nNary a minute has passed since he decided on his new course, when an approaching figure catches his eyes. It's not the everyday villager scurrying past, too busy to spare a glance at a stray, be it dog or man. No, this is a striking blonde woman wearing a floppy hat and thigh-high boots that would be the cause of much gossip and scandalous looks at any social event. She walks like a lady and dresses like a rogue, and he is intrigued what a character like her might be doing here, when—\n\n\"Dismas!\"\n\nShe breaks out in a wide smile, and he looks around, fully expecting that she is addressing someone behind him. There is no one though, and he suffers a moment of confusion until he recalls that,\n\nDismas, that's supposed to be me!", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"… yeah?\" He can hear the uncertainty in his voice.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There you are.\" She draws even with him, and then hooks her arm through his like they are a couple out for a stroll.\n\nHe is too surprised to react in any way and thus, the window to so passes. Up close, he can tell that they're roughly the same height, and that she's beautiful in an effortless, undone way. Like she doesn't care anymore, and hasn't for a while.\n\n\"How are you?\"\n\nShe eyes him up and down from underneath her hat, coquettishly almost, and he studies her in return. There is a mole on her right cheek, and she reminds him – he cannot tell. Dismas swallows, because for one moment it was almost like he could remember…something.\n\nShe doesn't wait for an answer. \"Oh, you're gonna get so sick of people asking that,\" she drawls, at the same time as clear blue eyes drill into him. \"How's the memory?\" the mysterious woman asks, all mirth gone in an instant.\n\n\"Things are still…foggy.\" Dismas answers truthfully.\n\n\"Foggy, right.\" She nods once, her brows drawing together, mouth puckering in a most unladylike pout. As quickly as it had appeared, the expression is gone again, replaced by a smile. Less toothy, and this time, it makes the skin around her eyes crease, softens the haughty look. Even her voice sounds gentler when she asks, \"Let me show you around then, yes?\"\n\n\"Thanks … \" Dismas falters.\n\n\"Audrey,\" the blonde supplies easily.\n\n\"Thanks, Audrey.\"\n\nThey stroll through the Hamlet's streets together, and Audrey shows Dismas where he can find the bakery, the barber, and the general goods store. She leads him to the river where it's broad and slow and one can bathe in the summer, and back to where he can take his laundry to the washerwoman to get it cleaned.\n\n\"This is the barracks,\" Audrey announces, pointing at a squat building made of stone. It sports a couple of new wings that are made of timber and cling to it like a growth.\n\n\"Barracks?\" Dismas asks, not sure what a place like the Hamlet would need a barracks for.\n\n\"Of course,\" Audrey continues, unaware of his thoughts. \"Where else do you think everybody lives?\"\n\n\"Houses?\" Dismas offers, because last time he looked that's exactly what they were for.\n\n\"I don't mean the townsfolk,\" Audrey answers, with a gesture like swatting away a bothersome mosquito. She pokes Dismas in the upper arm. \"I mean the fighters!\"\n\n\"Like…soldiers?\" Dismas guesses, because maybe the town keeps some sort of militia at the behest of one lord or another.\n\n\"Something like that,\" Audrey agrees, her tone implying that it's actually nothing the like.\n\n\"What'd ya need soldiers for?\" Where there are soldiers, there's usually also conflict. Then, wars follow and then woe anyone who runs into one of the press gangs roaming the streets in search of easy targets.\n\n\"We had a bit of a problem with vermin,\" Audrey remarks in an offhand manner.\n\n\"Vermin.\" Dismas looks at his companion, but she seems too lost in thought to notice. \"Like what?\" he insists to know. \"Plague o' squirrels? Rabid badgers?\"\n\n\"No, more of the Eldritch kind.\"\n\nAudrey begins to walk again, and Dismas follows her, stumbling on the first step to catch up. He knows his eyes have to show his disbelief, but… \"Eldritch!?\"\n\nThe blonde nods and pets him on the arm. \"Don't worry, sweetness – it's mostly under control now. These days it's more about making sure it stays that way. And if we root out some cultists while doing so then all the better, wouldn't you agree?\"\n\nDismas isn't sure any of the news is agreeing with him, but he nods anyway. Eldritch…cultists…then, something Audrey has said sparks his interest. \"We. That means you fight too?\"\n\n\"Oh, you didn't think I was here to look pretty and provide enjoyable company, did you?\" Audrey tosses her hair over her shoulder. She is teasing him, but in a good-natured way. Dismas doesn't mind. He can tell that she is trying to make this easier for him to swallow. It goes down as well as boiling oil.\n\n\"Why are you here?\" Dismas asks, meaning, \"Why am I here?\" but not having worked up the courage to ask that question just yet.\n\n\"Because cultists carry offerings for the things they worship, and after we kill them, we can strip all the filthy lucre off their cooling bodies,\" Audrey says with almost maniac glee. \"Of course, the Heir gets most of it.\" She sighs wistfully. \"But we still get a substantial cut – oh, don't look at me like this. We can't all cite noble reasons like Reynauld with his holy war, or Baldwin with his quest for an honorable death. No, some of us are really that shallow, and in for the gold.\"\n\nA moment of silence follows. Dismas doesn't think Audrey nearly as shallow as she pretends to be. He also thinks she wouldn't appreciate him saying so. Therefore, he doesn't. He likes Audrey.\n\nThey go on, past the smithy and training hall – the old one, because as Audrey tells him, they've expanded since. Behind the buildings they find grassy plains that melt into gently rolling hills on the horizon. To their left there is a large field lined with straw dummies, but it's empty now.\n\nMuch closer, a rough dozen of men and women have gathered around a lone figure in armour. More than one of them carry some form of weapon and all appear to be absorbed by what the knight is telling them. He is balancing a longsword on one shoulder, gesticulating with the other, and when he shifts it is enough for Dismas to spot the golden cross of the Light on his chest.\n\nDismas knows a crusader's symbol when he sees one and he instantly feels weary of the man.\n\n\"Who's that?\" Dismas asks, pointing in the direction of the crusader. His mouth feels dry, his heart palpitating too fast.\n\n\"Who - ,\" Audrey squints as if she had trouble making out whom he means. \"Oh.\" She looks at him funny. \"That is – Reynauld.\"\n\n\"What's a crusader doing here?\" Dismas wants to know. The man in question has not spotted them, none of the warriors have. They pick up their arms and assume various fighting stances, and a moment a later they can hear the ring of metal striking metal.\n\n\"You probably know that better than we do,\" Audrey replies. \"You were the first two to arrive here, together.\" She gives Dismas an apologetic look and a miniscule shrug. Perhaps he will recall, perhaps he will not.\n\n\"So is he the commander around here?\" Dismas guesses.\n\n\"Not quite,\" Audrey replies and Dismas has the impression that she is relieved that they're not talking about the crusader anymore. \"That would be the Heir, the lord of this estate. But I don't think there is a decision that he makes that he doesn't run past Reynauld first. He oversees the expeditions,\" Audrey explains, \"and the training of the recruits. Linesi and Barristan help him out.\"\n\nBefore Dismas can ask, Audrey continues. \"You'll know Linesi when you see her; she's the one with really dark skin. She's also a wicked shot with a crossbow. You wouldn't be able to tell she and Margaret are friends if you ever see them training together. Have you met Margaret yet?\"\n\nDismas shakes his head.\n\n\"We can swing by the shooting range later, see if she is there,\" Audrey says. \"Anyhow, Barristan's a former man-at-arms. He's the old grouch with an eye patch. He arrived here with Baldwin – now he used to be a king in the East, can you believe?\"\n\n\"Used to be?\" Dismas repeats carefully.\n\n\"Baldwin's dead,\" Audrey says curtly. \"He was leprous, and he chose to die fighting rather than to waste away of sickness. Even if Para claims she could eventually have healed him.\"\n\n\"And Para is –\"\n\n\"The Hamlet's resident Plague Doctor. You'll usually find her at the sanatorium, if she isn't arguing with Junia about some questionable medical practice or another. Junia's the head Vestal, by the way.\" Audrey pauses, then adds, \"This town? It ain't much. But we do look out for each other.\"\n\nDismas still does not know how he found himself in the company of all these people, but before he can ask, or do something else like embarrass himself by bawling in reaction to her words, Audrey's grip around his arm tightens, and she pulls him off to the side. They take a cobbled alleyway that leads them to a large square. This has to be the town center, with two-story buildings huddled close together as there is not enough space for them to stand on their own.\n\nThe middle of the open area is taken up by a well and a large statue of a regal man in a robe. Dismas is awed at the sight at first, but the impression is spoiled as he and Audrey come closer. A pair of pigeons has nested on top of the statue, and now the man has bird shit dripping down the left side of his face and beard.\n\nAudrey pays the statue no heed, instead pulling Dismas towards a sprawling house with a stone base and wooden upper levels. She makes a grand gesture, grinning like the cat that got not just the cream, but the whole bucket of milk. \"And this here is our favourite place: Jubie's.\"\n\nThe moment they step over the threshold, Dismas feels right at home. Jubie's is a tavern that walks the fine line between seedy and comfortable, and it is named for its owner. Jubert is a burly man with a depressed moustache that quivers with barely restrained emotion when he hands them two small glasses full of amber liquid.\n\n\"On the house.\"\n\nDismas thanks the innkeeper while Audrey blows a kiss in his direction. They take their drinks and sit in a comfortable corner booth that offers them glimpses of the outside through the small crown glass window next to them.\n\n\"Cheers.\" Audrey knocks her glass against his, just hard enough to make the liquid inside slosh around, but not hard enough to spill it. \"To friends.\"\n\nIt's a good toast to drink to and the booze burns just the right way going down. When their drinks are gone, Audrey orders them two tankards of apple cider. Jubert also serves them a tender cut of meat that's been roasted to pink perfection, and a thick slice of crusty dark bread that is ideal for soaking up the juices. Audrey chews with her eyes closed and an expression of bliss on her face. Dismas expected her to pick at her food, not to rip into it like a hungry wolf.\n\nHe does not know how he will pay for the meal, but Audrey tells him not to worry about it, so he doesn't.\n\n\"I come here often?\" Dismas asks. His hunger has been sated halfway through the meal, but he can't quite stop eating.\n\n\"Jubie probably had to take a loan from the Heir to cover for the loss of income,\" Audrey says through a full mouth.\n\n\"Heh.\" Dismas looks around, takes in the sturdy wooden tables and benches, the giant tile stove that is radiating heat even from half a room away, and the small touches like the cushions to sit on top of or the blankets that cover the backrests but can be used to wrap around one's shoulders. Yes, he can see himself coming here often.\n\n\"What's down there?\" He nods at sturdy, rustic staircase at the end of the common room. He can't see where it leads, because there is a thick felt curtain blocking the view into the space below.\n\n\"Tables for cards and dice,\" Audrey says. \"Basically, Jubie's got a gambling hall in the cellar.\"\n\nDismas suddenly realizes that he hasn't played a game of cards in what feels like forever. Audrey, who can probably read him like a book, shakes her head.\n\n\"Oh, no. You, mister, have a ban.\"\n\nDismas' face falls.\n\n\"Perhaps we can argue the details another time,\" Audrey adds hastily, \"but let's not get into trouble on your first day back.\"\n\n\"I'm not looking for trouble,\" Dismas mutters casting a longing look at the stairs.\n\n\"Maybe not,\" Audrey agrees, \"But trouble's always looking for you. Oh, cheer up. I'm sure they'll let you play a couple of rounds if you promise to keep the aces out of your sleeves.\"\n\nUnder different circumstances, Dismas would be irritated about her assumption that he might cheat – or rather that he might get caught cheating. But she probably knows better, and also there is a pretty redhead that slides into the booth right next to Audrey. She kisses the blonde's cheek, and takes a surprised Dismas' hand in both of hers.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Audrey hurries to introduce her as Margaret.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Margaret has a dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks, and she wears her fiery red hair tied in a loose knot.\n\n\"Bonjour,\" she greets Dismas with a bright smile. \"Je suis très heureuse de te revoir. Comment ça va?\"\n\n\"Ça va,\" Dismas replies, and the only one surprised that he actually understood the river of words is himself. \"And you?\"\n\n\"Fine,\" Margaret replies, letting go of his hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face and behind her ear. She nods at Jubert when he brings her a large pint of ale, then takes a long drink and sighs. \"Ah. Much better now. Say, is Reynauld coming too?\"\n\n\"I… don't think he is, no,\" Audrey says when Dismas fails to answer.\n\n\"Non?\" Margaret's look turns to worry. \"Is something wrong between you?\"\n\n\"No, we're just taking it slow until Dismas' memory recovers, ma chérie,\" Audrey fills in.\n\nMargaret smiles and shrugs, contemplating Dismas with a tilt to her head. \"You know, I was getting used to being the best shot in town. But it was a bit boring too. No competition.\"\n\n\"Don't let Lin hear you,\" Audrey chides and Margaret laughs.\n\nWhen Audrey asks if they should order another round a good while later, Dismas declines politely.\n\n\"Thanks, but I should head back. Nurse's orders.\"\n\n\"Oh, yeah. Wouldn't want to get you locked up after your first day out,\" Margaret says.\n\nDismas swallows. He'd had no intention of testing the nurse's patience, but he had not believed in the existence of such cells. He does now.\n\nAudrey and Margaret accompany him back to the sanatorium, and thankfully the nurse does not lock him up. She asks after his wellbeing, then lets him retire to bed.\n\nThat night, Dismas lies awake. Outside, the moon is too bright, casting the whole room into cold, hard-edged shadows. The bed is too hard, and the covers too hot, and Dismas tosses and turns, and eventually just lies with his gaze turned to the ceiling while dark thoughts nibble at his sanity like mice.\n\nHe doesn't understand how it can be that he knows what a pistol is, how he can understand and speak Margaret's language or know the first verses of the Light, but not recall his own name. There is a hole inside of him. More than once he rests a hand on his chest to feel for a pulse. His heart beats away as he lies awake and aches, and does not know for what.\n\nMemories? Perhaps they are not lost to him forever and besides, he can make new ones.\n\nFriends? He met two today and they still care about him.\n\nWhy does he feel so alone then? There is something missing, and he is terrified of closing his eyes for fear of losing what little he gained today.\n\nHe tries to curb such wayward thoughts like one might discipline an unruly dog pulling on a leash and come the morrow a bleak mood has gotten hold of him that not even the first rays of the rising sun can dispense. Dismas dresses quickly and leaves the sanatorium with the nurse none the wiser. He walks the streets of the Hamlet like a ghost, unseen by the villagers.\n\nWhen he reaches his goal, the sun sets the gilded cross atop the belfry on fire. A sign from the heavens? He doubts it. No, it is not heaven he descended from.\n\nHe doesn't enter the church, but passes it by and steps through a hip-high iron gate that opens on screaming, rusted hinges. Dismas' pants are quickly soaked around the calf where the high grasses, wet with morning dew, brush against them.\n\nHe sees broken tombstones and others so worn from wind and rain that they have been polished smooth, the engravings that adorned them having become illegible with the passing of time. This is an old part of the cemetery. He will find no answers here.\n\nDismas follows the gravel path until the cemetery changes. He can tell that somebody has been tending to the more recent graves. There are flowers planted in neat beds and the grass is cut short. Many of the crosses are made of simple wood and will rot away eventually, but whoever the unfortunate souls resting in them are, somebody at least made an effort for their sake.\n\nDismas moves on. He counts eight mounds, and there are more still, but one of the graves draws his attention. It has a large pile of earth next to it, suffocating the delicate flowers underneath. It is open, a back abyss, deep enough to swallow a man standing. Dismas forces himself to step closer. Hidden in his pockets, his hands curl into fists.\n\nHis eyes land on the tombstone. A proper one, made of stone and adorned with some crimson fabric. Somebody has bothered to leave candles, but they have since burned out. He can read the letters carved in the stone, albeit with difficulty.\n\nPerhaps they were wrong – the voices that first visited him. Perhaps his resurrection is not a work of the Light, but of the Dark – and his existence not a miraculous second chance, but punishment. What if he is unable to die, cursed to return time and time again? He will claw his way out of the earth, fight and die until he loses not only his memories, but his sanity.\n\nHere he is: a man who cannot remember his past, nor envision a future.\n\nA walking corpse, he is disgusted with his own existence.\n\nPerhaps he ought to climb back in, let the earth cover him like a blanket, let everything fade back into blackness.\n\nHe should—\n\nHe.\n\n\"Ya alright there, lad?\"\n\nDismas's head whips around so fast, it makes him dizzy. He is standing right at the edge of the grave and has to catch his balance so as not to actually fall in. How long had he stood here, eyes rooted to the ground and his thoughts full of darkness?\n\nDismas would be offended to be called 'lad' by anybody else, but the man who is sitting on a bench that leans against the church wall has to be into his early sixties by now. Compared to him, Dismas might well be a lad. He thinks he recognizes the man's voice as the one who had said to give him some space, back at the sanatorium when he had first woken.\n\nThis has to be Barristan, the man-at-arms. He is stocky of build and has a head of white hair, an equally white beard, and wears an eye patch over his right eye.\n\n\"Was I really dead?\" Dismas asks, not expecting an answer.\n\nBarristan pauses in packing his pipe. Then, \"I helped bury you,\" he answers.\n\nDismas realizes Barristan probably isn't here to stare at Dismas' grave.\n\n\"What brings ya here?\"\n\n\"I lost friends, too.\" He points his pipe at another grave, the engraving on which reads,\n\nBaldwin. He remembers Audrey speaking of him, king and leper. He ended up in the lot next Dismas'. Unthinkable, in any place other than the Hamlet.\n\n\"Think he might be alive in there too?\" Dismas asks in morbid fascination.\n\nBarristan gives him a sharp look with his one good eye. \"I hope not. He deserves his rest.\"\n\n\"Yea, I could do with some o' that too,\" Dismas mutters and rubs at his burning, gritty eyes.\n\n\"What ya need, is something to take yer mind off all o' this,\" Barristan states, misunderstanding. \"Behind the barracks you will find the kitchens. Why don't you see if you can make yourself useful?\"\n\nDespite his exhaustion, Dismas does as Barristan suggested, leaving the man-at-arms to his pipe and his grief. He has no trouble finding the barracks again, and a slender man in a turban points him to the kitchen where he spots a corpulent woman in a deep green habit.\n\n\"Sister–,\" Dismas calls out to make his presence known.\n\nThe nun turns, surprise showing on her round face. \"Junia.\" She watches him approach with open curiosity. \"What brings you here?\"\n\n\"Barristan said I might be of help,\" Dismas answers honestly.\n\n\"You have met Barristan?\"\n\n\"Yea, earlier. In the graveyard,\" Dismas explains and he instantly knows by the Vestal's expression that he has given himself away.\n\n\"Is there…something on your mind?\" Junia enquires.\n\nDismas snorts. That's one way of putting it. \"Lots.\"\n\n\"Margaret told me that you seem to have lost your memory,\" Junia asks carefully.\n\n\" 'S true.\" Dismas answers. There is no point in lying anyway. \"Dunno why. Nurse can't explain it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the Light brought back the parts of you that were…salvageable,\" the Vestal muses.\n\nDismas barks out a hollow laugh. \"Sister, there's not much of me left.\"\n\nIt is enough of an answer when Junia does not reply. Dismas' mood turns sour, the questions from earlier assaulting him again. Perhaps a Vestal of the Faith will have better answers for him than a grizzly old veteran.\n\n\"What if this was a mistake?\" Dismas asks quietly.\n\n\"I don't claim to know the Light's will pertaining to all of us, but mistakes like that do not happen,\" Junia says.\n\n\"Yeah, well. You ever heard 'bout something like this happenin' before?\" Dismas wants to know.\n\nJunia takes her time answering. \"No.\"\n\n\"Guess there's a first for everything, then.\"\n\nThe Vestal crosses her arms. \"Perhaps it is a mistake,\" she replies in a cool tone. \"I can think of two dozen good people who would deserve this more than you.\" Dismas has the distinct impression that Junia doesn't like him very much.\n\n\"But.\" The Vestal sighs, the rigidness melting out of her posture. \"Life is the greatest treasure of all, and the Light chose you. Now it is up to you what to make of it.\"\n\nDismas holds his breath, then releases it in a rush. She is right, but that doesn't mean he feels ready to do… what exactly? He'll start by making dinner and go from there.\n\n\"What're we cookin'?\" Dismas' voice sounds strangled.\n\nJunia takes the change of topic in stride. \"Broth,\" the nun says, pointing to a large bubbling pot. \"Meat and vegetables and dumplings with mushrooms, onion and fresh white cheese.\"\n\nAt least they work well together, Dismas is pleased to find out. Junia oversees the pots and pans and Dismas chops away at the vegetables and meat. Eventually, only the dough remains. Mixing enough for all the hungry mouths is an enormous task and by the time they're finished kneading it, they're both covered in flour and short of breath. Dismas' arms ache and his hands cramp, but he has been able to pour all his frustration into making the dumplings. He is drained, of the anger and despair, and of energy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Now we need to get the salt water boiling,\" Junia says cheerfully while Dismas slumps in a chair.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 29 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I do not know the time, but it takes exactly two Laudate Lucem to cook them properly.\"\n\nDismas nods, then realizes he doesn't recall the prayer. He doesn't recall any prayers, come to think of it. If the Light resurrected him, he should probably know to say a few words of thanks. And if not, well, it wouldn't hurt either way.\n\n\"Teach me?\"\n\nIs that a flash of shock on Junia's face? She overcomes it quickly. \"Of course. Though it should be said with a rosary. I can borrow you mine.\" Her hand goes to her belt.\n\n\"I already got one,\" Dismas replies, pulling the beaded necklace out of his breast pocket. He'd put it in his coat this morning and been carrying it with him ever since.\n\nJunia eyes it with curiosity and something like knowing. She stirs the pot one more time, then shows him how to properly hold the rosary.\n\n\"Alright, repeat after me.\"\n\n\"So I'm a man of the Light?\"\n\nThey're at Jubie's again, and Audrey has re-introduced him to Josephine, a small woman of Eastern descent with an eccentric wardrobe, a wickedly sharp wit and a bloodhound's talent for sniffing out lucrative deals. It's the latter that helped her become the Heir's financial advisor – a task she claims suits her much better than dungeon-crawling.\n\nIf not for Margaret's timely intervention, Dismas fears that he may have pledged all his worldly belongings to her, which Josephine would let him loan back…for a fee. As it is, he is still the proud owner of a patchy wardrobe, a pair of flintlocks and a mysterious rosary made of semi-precious stone.\n\nThere is a moment's silence following his question, and then all three girls break out in hysterical laughter.\n\n\"Guess not,\" Dismas huffs and slides the rosary back into his breast pocket.\n\nHe is sure they will let him in on the joke, even if Josephine is shaking her head as she attempts to sip her drink without spilling any of it. Audrey is wiping tears from her eyes and Margaret's face has gone red, but at least she looks like she is trying.\n\n\"Tha- that – \" An unsteady finger points at Dismas.\n\nThen, Audrey makes a pig-like grunting noise when she takes a breath and Margaret hides her face in her crossed arms, leaning on the table for support. Meanwhile, Josephine is fighting a losing battle with not having her ale come back up her nose, and Dismas kicks up his feet on a nearby stool, a wide grin making his face ache.\n\nHe is happy, he realizes, his earlier bleak mood gone for now. He doesn't know if it was the work, or Junia's reminder that his life is in his own hands, but here, in this dingy Hamlet, with the girls for company and a cool, damp glass of Jubie's home brew in his hand, he feels something that has been eluding him since waking up, maybe even something he has not known in his former life: a sense of belonging.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "The text has a missing section marked as `[text_redacted]`. Give me approximately 194 characters long that would fit there.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Life in the Hamlet has a certain rhythm, Dismas finds. There are the villagers, who go about their ways and whose lives, returned to mundanity now that the Hamlet has been freed of the Eldritch plague, seldom touch on those of the resident adventurers'. Then there are the men and women who risk life and limb for fortune and glory, whose task is to rout the remaining cultists and put to the sword any monsters that would dare to reclaim the Hamlet or its surroundings.\n\nPerhaps it is a foolish attempt to reconnect with his past, but Dismas has had his name put up on the duty roster, and each morning he checks in to see what the day will bring for him and for the others. Everyone has to pull their weight, and Dismas is no exception.\n\nHe enjoys being put to work, enjoys having a task more than he does the actual work itself. That usually ranges from helping out in the kitchens, to sweeping the barracks, doing laundry, or repairwork. One day he drives the cart to the sawmill where they load it up with logs, and on another to the mill to collect bags of flour. He helps the nurse in the sanatorium, changes bedding and scrubs out bed pans and, lastly, he works the bellows for the smith until his arms and back burn with agony.\n\nHe is still sore from the workout, not recovered even after a full night's rest. Dismas groans as he attempts to sit up with his muscles screaming in protest. He can feel each and every one of his estimated fourty-plus years keenly this morn.\n\nOh, to be young again. To be the dashing rascal from his dream, quick with a smile and quicker yet with a dagger. Dismas rubs sand out of his eyes, savouring the lingering memory of his dream as one might the aftertaste of expensive whiskey.\n\nThe chirping of cicadae was only interrupted by the shrill sound of the guardsmen's whistles. He was furiously stomping his feet to get them into his boots while a pretty woman in a candlelit room swathed in crimson brocade called him ugly things, screaming that he owed her money.\n\nDismas remembers jumping out of a window and landing on a protruding construction with cat-like grace. He rolled off of it, glad that he had taken the time to don his boots. They were of a fine make and, unlike the pants he had forgone, they actually offered an advantage in combat.\n\nHe also had his coat – the very same one he owned still, outside the realm of dreams – and it was heavy and bulky with the comforting weight of his flintlocks.\n\nWhen the guardsmen came after him, Dismas met them with his[text_redacted]ed them inside his boots. They were marred only by a small bloodstain, high up near the waistband.\n\nThere was the sound of more whistles in the distance, the city streets flooding with torchlight. Dogs barked and the good, law-abiding citizens stuck their heads out of their windows and barred their doors. The highwayman passed through moonlit alleyways unseen, becoming one with the night.\n\nDismas stretches one more time, then whistles a tune as he rises to dress, stuffing his pants inside his boots, just the way he had in his dream. He had been an unstoppable force of fury and calculation and it had been exhilarating. He has never felt so alive. Dismas feels high on the thrill of his imaginary fight, even though the images are fading fast.\n\n(In fact, come midday, he will have forgotten them entirely.)", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": " dirk drawn and his pistols loaded. After the fight was over, he stripped their corpses of anything valuable, including a set of trousers that were too long in the leg but would do when he stuff", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write five hundred and fifty-six character spaces give or take to replace the `[missing]` in the following text.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The duty roster hangs in the common room of the barracks. It is a large board made of soft spruce wood and because many of the adventurers do not know their letters, they each have a wooden symbol to represent them. It is pinned to the board along with more of such carvings that stand for meeting places and times of the day. Most of the information of one's duties gets passed on by word of mouth, but this is a good way for everyone to keep track of all the others.\n\nDismas' marker, a flintlock crossed with a dirk, has a rising sun and tankard of ale next to it. He's wanted at the tavern which gives him a good chuckle since he planned on being there anyway, though for recreational purposes rather than any work related ones.\n\nDismas studies the rest of the roster, noting how the four name-markers at the very top have a torch next to them. That has remained unchanged for the past three days. Every week a party of adventurers is sent out into one of the regions of the Hamlet; the Ruins, the Warrens, the Weald or the Cove. Their work ranges from scouting to extermination or, in this case, inspecting and repairing the protective wards that hold the forces of evil at bay. The four are bound to return soon from their mission in the Cove and Dismas' gaze wanders on.\n\nHe can connect a face to the majority of the name-markers by now. Some people do not feature as often as others, having other tasks to attend to. Barristan, for instance, is in charge of the fresh recruits, teaching them the basics of weapon practice and how to maintain their equipment, as well as the tactics they will need to know to successfully work as a unit.\n\nReynauld's duty appears to be to grind the more advanced trainees into sweaty, bloody pulp, and Linesi oversees the distribution of resources; from making sure they order enough iron for the smith to forge into weapons, to gathering their portion of victuals from the farms.\n\nThe Heir watches over it all from that ancient, haunted mansion on the hill. His gold is the grease that keeps the machine running, and he is liberal with it.\n\nDismas has his weekly allowance, and after he is done with whatever work awaits him in the tavern, he'll most likely spend it there. But he finds joy in a proper meal and a pint or two of cool ale, and he is never in want of good company at Jubie's.\n\nAs he crosses the main square, Dismas catches sight of the cathouse gi[missing]he had picked up from Farley, the smith.\n\nAs he enters the tavern, Dismas is immediately welcomed by Mallilie, the wolfhound. An old lady she may be, but she sends him stumbling when she leans her full weight against his leg. He is not allowed to pass until he has spent an appropriate amount of time stroking her rough fur. Only then does she head off with a yawn, to curl up on her bed next to the tiled stove.\n\nDismas wipes his hands on his pants until they're clean of dog hair and saunters up to the bar, knocking on its polished surface. He greets Jubert with the same cocky smile he had the whores, even if it's wasted on the old sourpuss.\n\nJubert informs him that he needs the cellar decluttered to make room for new shelves he had commissioned from the carpenter. Some of the old ones are so rotten they are threatening to disintegrate under their load, the wood not even fit to be kindling.\n\nThe innkeeper threatens to slap Dismas so hard his head'll be dancing a jig for a fortnight and a day if he gets drunk on the job. Then, they spend the day hauling casks and bottles upstairs until the tavern looks more like a warehouse and Dismas half-wishes to be back in the smithy.\n\nHe doesn't touch a drop of ale until sundown, then steals six bottle from one of the last crates, stuffing them behind the leather straps that usually hold his flintlocks. His coat is loose enough that Jubert does not notice the added bulk, and with hundreds of other bottles lying around he will hardly miss the few that are gone. Dismas doesn't think too much on his sleight of hand, considering it a just payment for his hard work, and a bit of fun to boot, no harm done.\n\nSince Jubert closes down the tavern for the night – probably afraid of other guests taking liberties – Dismas has to look for another place where he can enjoy the wine. But everyone knows that it's solitary drinking that makes a drunkard, so he first finds himself some company.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "rls out and about, hanging up baskets of laundry to dry the cloth in the sun. They wave at him as he passes by, their manner friendly rather than seductive, and he greets them with a bow and a,\n\n\"Mornin', ladies.\"\n\nHe knows them by name now, although he hasn't availed himself of their services. Jenny, a petite redhead with her hair cut short, asks if he will come and see her later. He has considered it, more than once, if truth be told, but never seriously enough to do something about it. Dismas keeps his answer vague, and moves on, whistling a tune ", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Here's a text with a hole in it (marked by `[missing]`). Your job is to write ~four thousand, five hundred and sixty chars to plug that hole.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The mistress of the brothel jumps up when six people storm her establishment. They rent the largest room where Dismas, Audrey and Margaret end up on the spacious bed. The plush futon is taken by Josephine and her two companions.\n\nOne of them is a dark-skinned, turban-wearing man whom Dismas had seen around but never spoken to. The Easterner introduces himself as Alhazred, a scholar from the Holy Land. The other man is named Darell, a former lumberjack turned mercenary who is now proud to call himself adventurer.\n\nThey speak of everyday things at first; the work that is being done around the Hamlet, and the Heir's future plans about which they can only gossip. Then the talk turns to dungeons and quests, future and past. Before long, the companions are regaling Dismas with tales about past ventures, the people they had known and adventured with, and the close calls they had had.\n\nThey laugh about the time Alhazred got stuck in a slime made of ectoplasm, about being lost underground, about Josephine stealing a near priceless gemstone from a mysterious entity they had dubbed the \"Collector\" in the middle of the fight, and about Audrey's short-lived infatuation with an Eldritch queen of the sea, called the Siren.\n\nThe[missing] know he was,\" Alhazred says solemnly, and slowly the grin melts off Dismas' face to be replaced by a look of shock.\n\nThe façade lasts for a couple of heartbeats, and then there is a bout of laughter, and Dismas receives a jovial elbow in the ribs. Alhazred hides his smirk in his beard, but Audrey cackles,\n\n\"You should see your face!\"\n\nDismas shakes his head and laughs along. He should have known by now that they were pulling his leg. \"I ain't ever trustin' another thing ya say, ya lyin' shits,\" he drawls and reaches for the pipe again.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "y open the wine and pass the bottles around while Alhazred sets up his opium pipe. In no time, the candlelight is dimmed by a low-hanging cloud of bluish smoke. It makes Dismas' eyes sting and water and his lungs burn with the first drag of the bittersweet tobacco, but afterwards the feeling is replaced by one of lazy contentment as he listens to the stories – many of which he features in – become progressively wilder and less plausible.\n\nDismas isn't the only audience for the group of adventurers. Because it's a slow night for the establishment, the cathouse girls are free to join them and a few lounge on the floor on pillows, enjoying the time off and listening with rapt attention. Jenny is there too, and over the course of the evening she slides closer and closer to Dismas who does his best to pretend that he doesn't notice her advances.\n\nOh, to have a pretty girl in his lap – yet the thought of taking Jenny feels wrong somehow. Dismas doesn't understand why. It's not that she isn't pretty, but he doesn't desire her. He knows he used to visit the brothel, before, and the girls still spend time with him even though he isn't paying them. He reasons that this has to mean that he couldn't have been a bad client.\n\nThey'd have some fun rolling in the sheets, and he'd treat the girl right. Dismas doesn't make a move though, and his dilemma is resolved when he returns from a trip to the outhouse to find Jenny making out with Darell. She doesn't spare him another glance, and he doesn't miss the attention.\n\n\"Oh, get a room you two,\" Audrey drawls, amused.\n\n\"As if you're one to talk,\" Alhazred says with an edge in his voice.\n\n\"Don't be mean,\" Josephine reprimands him, gently stroking the Easterner's pointy beard.\n\nAfter hogging a bottle for himself, Dismas' mind is as fuzzy as his tongue, and it is with a pang of embarrassment that he realizes he is the only single one here.\n\nMargaret notices him gawk and gives Dismas a shy smile. \"Shall we invite Rey?\" she asks and everyone except for Audrey laughs as if she had told a joke, the point of which flies right over Dismas' opium-addled brain.\n\nAlhazred coughs, the first one to succumb to Audrey's withering glare, and the topic quickly changes.\n\n\"Are you coming to the play?\" Josephine asks Dismas.\n\n\"The play?\" Dismas repeats, blinking heavy-lidded eyes. \"What play?\"\n\n\"The town play,\" Margaret reminds him.\n\n\"There's a town play?\" Dismas asks in joyful surprise.\n\nThere's a collective groan that condemns Dismas' ignorance of what might as well be the Hamlet's most anticipated event.\n\n\"Oh, sure, it's only the one thing everyone's been talking about since Pierre has announced that he's come up with a new piece,\" Audrey shoots back. \"Have you been living under a rock?\"\n\n\"Nah,\" Dismas counters. \"Under a mound 'o earth.\"\n\nThere's a brief lull in the conversation as nervous glances are cast their way. Darell and Jenny are probably fucking in that corner so they don't notice, but Alhazred and Josephine look shaken at the morbid comment. Audrey cackles like it's the funniest thing ever and Dismas can't help but grin.\n\nWhen the darkness weights heavily during a sleepless night, when he is alone and can feel all that earth press down on his chest, suffocating him until he can barely breathe, he sometimes succumbs to the fear. But Dismas will crawl back inside that grave before he'll let anyone know.\n\n\"So, who's Pierre?\" Dismas asks through a yawn. The room feels too hot, and everything is soft and blurry around the edges. His eyes close of their own accord until Audrey clucks her tongue at him.\n\n\"He used to be a court jester, I guess. Before he murdered some king and his whole entourage.\"\n\n\"He murdered- ,\" Dismas splutters, suddenly feeling a lot more awake as the news cut right through his opium-haze.\n\n\"Details ,\" Audrey replies in a singsong voice. \"Now he keeps the spirits high in the Hamlet.\"\n\n\"The play will be fun, you'll see,\" Margaret assures. \"Audrey has a role and so do Josephine and Al.\"\n\n\"We all take part in the bigger pieces,\" Alhazred explains. \"Not us specifically, that is,\" he corrects himself.\n\n\"So you know what's it about?\n\n\"Oh no, we only know our own role,\" Josephine throws in. \"Pierre hasn't told us anything beyond our lines, and we're not to share them.\"\n\n\"On the pain of death,\" Alhazred adds in a hushed whisper. The scholar's eyes dart nervously around the room, as if he expects Pierre to appear in one of the shadowed corners, ready to garrote him with a lute string.\n\n\"Think he was bein' serious?\" Dismas asks with a grin.\n\n\"Oh, I", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Cooperative chapter writing\nMy role: Provide a story segment\nYour role: Expand with 1 sentence, emulating bluRaaven in the Lovecraftian, based on video game genre\nNote: This is part of a larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is so late as to be early, when Dismas staggers back to the sanatorium.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The cobblestones seem to shift treacherously under his feet, and more than once he needs to lean a guiding hand on the walls of the buildings.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On the way, Dismas ends up throwing up in someone's vegetable garden.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He probably could have picked a better spot for that, but he's so damned miserable that he hurls right over the threaded wattle fence.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Not in the right state of mind to apologize for that, and terrified that he might have to attempt to if he is seen, he staggers on.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Dismas' stomach lurches when he finds the sanatorium doors closed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He tries to push them open, but they won't budge.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He does the only thing he can think of, and bangs the massive door knocker against the wood until they open.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The noise must have roused the nurse, that or maybe she is a vampire that never sleeps.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She is looking at Dismas with her arms crossed and her mouth in a thin line.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"If you're feeling healthy enough to get drunk in the tavern, you clearly no longer need our services,\" she says with a sniff.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Unless you want to dry out in one of our special rooms.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Still, she takes a step back and allows him to stumble past her.\n\n\"Sorry, darlin',\" Dismas slurs over his shoulder, and begins to pull himself up the stairs.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "i'll kick things off by writing a bit (might include characters you don't know yet), then you'll take over and write the next six sentences in the distinctive voice of bluRaaven.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On the next morning, Dismas is woken by a racket that makes him groan as pain laces past his closed eyelids. Without looking he knows that it is too early for him to be conscious, but whoever is banging bedpans together in the corridor outside of his room has no regard for his sleep and no pity. Dismas blinks.\n\nA giant, beady-eyed vulture is leaning over him, close enough to peck out his dry, bloodshot eyes. A shrill scream escapes Dismas' throat, and he quickly dives under his blanket for safety.\n\n\"Please, stop that,\" the bird says in a cool tone.\n\nDismas holds his breath.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"This is a place for the sick and ailing,\" the bird continues, its voice thick with disapproval.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dismas dares to pull the blanket down far enough so he can chance a peek at the monstrosity from underneath it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm feelin'plenty sick,\" he croaks.\n\n\"Oh, I bet you are,\" the bird agrees almost good-naturedly.\n\nThis time though; Dismas can spot human eyes behind the thick glass goggles, and a few strands of blonde hair that have escaped the headdress. He has heard about the eccentric plague doctor before; but her presence sends a cold shiver down his spine.\n\n\"What're you doin' here?\" Dismas rudely asks. \"I ain't got the plague, do I?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Para tilts her head to the side, perfectly mimicking the movement of a curious bird.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 7 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Body rot, if I had to judge by the foul humours rising from you,\" she says drily. \"But worry not. Cecil promised me that I could try this new cure I have right here,\" the plague doctor says and lovingly pats a box. Then, she shoves it right under Dismas' face as she opens the lid.\n\nThe inside is black with the squirming, fat and pulpy bodies of dozens of leeches.\n\nA sigh escapes the birdlike mask. \"Unfortunately, that abomination next door had to rattle its chains and wake you up.\"\n\nThe highwayman only pauses to pick up an armful of his belongings, before he is out of the sanatorium at a run.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "CREATIVE WRITING:\nten sentences sentences\nMaintain character context\nGenre: Lovecraftian, based on video game", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Over the course of the next hours, Dismas finds out the hard way that he doesn't like being hungover.\n\nThankfully, not every night ends with an escapade like that of yestereve. In fact, that was quite a change from Dismas' usually quiet evenings. On most days, Dismas visits the tavern for an evening meal and a round of gossip and then he heads to the church to say his prayers before it is time for him to go to sleep. It allows him a moment of peace, of clarity. He does not like to be alone, but he soaks up the company and noise of Jubert's tavern, and treasures the quiet moment when it's just him and the Light.\n\nThis time, the dimly lit and blessedly quiet interior of the church offers a welcome refuge. The old stonework is infused with the scent of incense and it mixes with that of the burning candles. Dismas sinks down onto one of the pews and leans his head against the wall. It is cool the touch and after a long moment he can feel it begin to numb the dull pain in his skull that throbs in rhythm with the beat of his heart.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He closes his eyes and focuses on deep, even breaths.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He may even have dozed for a while. An indeterminable amount of time later, the rolling queasiness in his stomach is gone. In its stead, Dismas is plagued by feelings of guilt. It is inappropriate to be sitting out his hangover in a holy place, but he is loathe to leave just yet. So, to placate the Light, Dismas begins to fumble his way through the Verses that Junia has taught him.\n\nHe's only forgotten a couple of words in the Latin ones and will have to ask the nun to go over them with him again, but overall he is really pleased that he can remember most of them. The moment of triumph is dashed when a cold, high voice speaks up from the shadows behind the altar.\n\n\"Did you miss the tavern in your drunk stupor? Here is a holy place.\"\n\nDismas looks up to find the priest sneering down at him. He must have come in through a side-door, or the Highwayman would have noticed his entrance.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The priest's hands are hidden inside the long sleeves of his simple brown robe, and there is a look of contempt on his face.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next output: 18% quoted text", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And your pronunciation of the Light's language is atrocious.\"\n\nIf Dismas were a dog, then the sight of the priest would have raised his hackles. Since he is not, it only makes a cold fury surge through his veins. His prayers are between him and the Light, and not for the other man to listen in on.\n\nDismas rises abruptly, and the world around him lurches dangerously. \"What of it; so's yer haircut. And if the Light ain't struck ya down fer that, it'll tolerate my drunk arse,\" the highwayman growls. He finds his equilibrium, and turns his back on the cleric, only to find another man bearing witness to the exchange.\n\nThe doorway is filled out by the figure of the damned crusader.\n\nWhere the priest is a gaunt, weaselly fellow in a poor cleric's robe, the crusader is wearing a splendid tabard of white and gold. To add insult to injury the warrior may have doffed his armour, but he looks no less broad for the lack of it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Only the red scarf around his neck seems to be out of place, but Dismas is too irritated to contemplate the eccentric accessory.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and with his courage bolstered by his anger, shoots the crusader the darkest look he can manage, daring him to say something. It stops the knight in his tracks as if it was an actual force, and Dismas uses the moment to brush past him, and out of the church. Although he can feel the other man's eyes on him, burning into his back, the former highwayman doesn't look back.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "writing exercise: 16 sentences sentences continuing this chapter, bluRaaven style, Lovecraftian, based on video game genre. characters may be pre-established", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "(authors note, Somewhere in your response, you need to say: \"No, come next full moon,\")", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He cannot stand the hurly-burly that is the tavern, and he is in no condition to work, so Dismas naps the rest of the day away in a hay pile in the stables until the rumbling of his stomach wakes him. This morn, Dismas may have sworn he'd never be able to keep down a bite of food, but the afternoon has him roaming in search of something to eat.\n\nAs he is strolling up the main street, Audrey finds him.\n\n\"Where have you been?\" the blonde huffs, frustrated. \"The Heir wants to see you.\"\n\nIt takes the meaning of her words a long time to make it to Dismas' brain. \"What, now!?\" He's in no mood, let alone in a condition, to meet the lord of the Hamlet.\n\n\"No, come next full moon,\" Audrey replies tartly and grabs his sleeve. \"Come on!\"\n\n\"Wait!\" Dismas rips himself out of her clasp, then trudges over to a rain barrel next to a house. With just the barest hesitation, he dunks his head in the water and furiously scrubs at his face and hair in an attempt to look just a little bit less like the hungover mess he is.\n\n\"How's it look?\" he asks Audrey, nervously, after resurfacing.\n\n\"Like your drunk arse fell into the horse trough.\" Audrey spares him no mercy and nudges him along.\n\nThe mansion grows larger with every step, and it brings to mind a giant bear trap that Dismas is about to set his foot in. He wouldn't say it is voluntarily, as a sharp poke near his kidneys tells him that Audrey might be holding a dagger to his back.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Even the brass knocker on the door is shaped to depict something tentacled and vile.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dismas casts Audrey one last pleading look that is skillfully ignored as the doors open to reveal a liveried servant bowing deeply.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old man makes an inviting gesture towards the inside of the mansion and hobbles backwards awkwardly, still bent at the middle.\n\n\"Ah, 'tis the scoundrel who kept my liege a-waiting?\" a high-pitched voice mutters, but Dismas cannot discern the man's expression since the servant's eyes are still on the floor as if he was mustering Dismas' dusty boots.\n\nThe highwayman thinks he can hear Audrey murmur 'good luck' at him and then, with a last shove that sends him stumbling over the threshold and into the antechamber, he's on his own. He might be more impressed to be standing inside an actual mansion, if his mind wasn't busy feverishly wondering what he'd like to have on him more: his rosary or his pistols.\n\n\"Please forgive the Caretaker.\"\n\nDismas' gaze snaps from a particularly large cobweb overhead and to the main hall.\n\nHis host is a tall man in his early to middle thirties, with wispy blonde hair and a sallow, unhealthy complexion, but his voice is cultured and holds a good measure of warmth and a trace of an apology. \"He's quite mad, you see.\"\n\nAs if on cue, a giggle bubbles up behind Dismas. He whips around to see that the so-called Caretaker has straightened and is regarding him with the frozen grin of a skull. The Caretaker slaps a hand over his mouth, as if to cover an expression that has been permanently etched upon his face, then hurries away, leaving Dismas and the Heir alone.\n\nDismas uses the moment to survey his surroundings. In the main hall, a fine tablecloth is laid out on the large oak table. Atop it are plates of painted porcelain and massive silver candleholders. The cutlery is made of silver as well, and the drinking glasses are crystal.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It seems like a ridiculous display of wealth in Dismas' eyes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The lord of the Hamlet clears his throat. \"I'm Morphew Dumont.\" There is something almost charming about the Heir's discomfort. It bolsters Dismas' own confidence.\n\n\"Dismas, but I think ya already know that.\"\n\nMorphew nods, hastily, and bids Dismas to come further inside, leading him towards the table that is decked out for two. \"Of course. I was… uh, told of your predicament. Please, take a seat.\"\n\nDismas sits down in an opulent chair of crimson brocade. The upholstery wants swallow him whole, but the illusion of grandeur is spoiled by the dozens of tiny moth-holes that dot the fabric.\n\n\"How are you feeling?\" the other man asks hesitantly.\n\n'Audrey was right,' Dismas thinks. He has fast grown sick of people asking him that very question.\n\n\"Alright, I guess,\" he answers courteously enough. \"Don't remember feelin' no different.\"\n\nMorphew nods, and fusses with the silken scarf tied around his neck. Dismas has trouble making out his expression in the gloom.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A closer look also reveals that the initially impressive windows that line the front of the room are streaky with grime, and barely let any light through.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dead insects lie strewn about the windowsill and the main source of light is the enormous chimney behind Morphew.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[Author's note: Your response should contain the word 'never' precisely 2 times]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Dismas regards the Heir and wonders if it is possible for a human to wilt and wither like a plant. Just as the silence between them stretches for too long, the Caretaker arrives, carrying trays laden with food.\n\nDismas accepts the food and declines the wine. The sour, fermented smell makes his stomach heave. During dinner, Morphew does most of the talking, and the drinking. Too much, in fact, as Dismas can tell by the feverish glassiness of the other man's eyes.\n\nOverall, it has to be the strangest dinner that Dismas has ever partaken it. Morphew is a generous host, but to Dismas he seems to wave between his role as Dismas' employer and someone who is not quite a friend, yet longs to be one. With every glass of wine some of the lordly manner falls off Morphew, until Dismas finds himself faced with a young man who slumps in his chair and rests his feet on a free seat without any regard for the expensive, if aged upholstery.\n\nDismas slides uncomfortably in his seat as Morphew hints at his loneliness, cursing being stuck in the decrepit mansion with only a madman for company and the oppressive presence of the ghost of his dead grandfather. He had never been one of the adventurers, had never known the camaraderie that Dismas has enjoyed from the moment he had awoken in the sanatorium.\n\nThe highwayman feels a wave of gratitude for Audrey who has treated him like an old friend, giving Dismas a better idea of who he is, and for Margaret's open-hearted kindness, Josephine's good-natured banter, Alhazred's sharp wit and Junia's unwavering faith in the Light which has helped him believe that there might, after all, be some good in this world.\n\nDuring a break between the courses, Morphew shows Dismas a painting of his grandfather, Mortimer Dumont – or as Morphew calls him – \"The Bastard\". Dismas might not have the full story, but it is very clear that Morphew thinks that his grandfather was responsible for most of the evil that befell the Hamlet.\n\nWhy Morphew would want the life-sized painting of a man he clearly hates to hang above the staircase is beyond Dismas. They turn their backs on the old Dumont, and towards the balcony from which they can overlook the entire Hamlet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Lovely view,\" Dismas comments, and Morphew nods, chewing on his lower lip.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Despite an uneasiness building inside him, Dismas decides to take advantage of the other man's talkative mood to ask about how they had met. A highwayman and a nobleman –they are not two likely travel companions.\n\nFor some reason, Morphew seems reluctant to speak of the day he had hired Dismas and Reynauld to accompany his carriage through the Weald to a cursed village, forgotten by the rest of the world. Instead, his gaze flicks towards Dismas with ever increasing frequency. He has trouble focusing, but Dismas has to give him credit for trying.\n\n\"It's good to have you back,\" Morphew whispers, the alcohol having erased most inhibitions.\n\nInstantly, Dismas can feel himself go hot and cold at the same time. Sweat pricks his skin between his shoulder blades and under his arms.\n\nDismas takes a step back. Morphew follows. \"You may stay, if you wish. After dinner.\"\n\n\"Uh… what's for dessert?\" Dismas asks, in a desperate attempt to steer the conversation somewhere, anywhere, else.\n\n\"Jelly of eel, pudding of ectoplasm,\" the Caretaker giggles.\n\nDismas whips around to find the old servant standing at the top of the stairs, watching them with his hands clasped before him, his maniac grin in place.\n\nMorphew must be used to the man's eccentric remarks, because he only sighs before a delicate hand lands on the shoulder of an increasingly panicking Dismas. Suddenly, Morphew is too close and the delicate flush of his skin and the intensity of his gaze hint that at something that Dismas doesn't want to contemplate further.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Desperate, Dismas picks the only topic that comes to his mind.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So – I guess I like taverns, but how did ya come by a crusader? \" he rattles out.\n\nMorphew flinches, as if the highwayman had backhanded him. He stares at Dismas with a wounded look in his eyes, then turns away. \"If you would excuse me,\" Morphew chokes out, and from one moment to the next, he storms off the balcony and back inside the mansion.\n\nThe Caretaker glowers at Dismas. The dark look makes for an expression that is as ridiculous as it is terrifying when combined with his permanent grin.\n\n\"Shouldn't ya help yer master?\" Dismas asks the servant. \"Wouldn't wanna have him take a tumble down the stairs an' break his neck, eh?\"\n\nThe Caretaker cackles, but his eyes go wide with panic at the picture of Morphew falling to his death. With his arms stretched out before him, as if ready to catch his master should he stumble, the Caretaker takes off at a run.\n\nThus, Dismas finds himself standing on the balcony, alone. Suddenly, he can breathe freely again.\n\nHe recalls his dream and before he realizes that he has made up his mind, he is already swinging his leg over the balustrade. Dismas climbs over it the rest of the way, then attempts to lower himself to make the drop as short as possible.\n\nThe balcony's metal bars are slick, and too thin to hold onto properly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "They slip through Dismas' hands, and a few desperate, but ultimately futile leg kicks later, he is falling.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Instead of meeting the hard ground, Dismas lands in a thorny brush, suppresses a howl of pain like a kicked dog, and drags himself though the vines to freedom.\n\nDismas limps his way down the hill, ragged and bleeding, but determined to put as much distance between himself and that accursed mansion as possible.\n\nIt is with a sigh of relief that he pushes into Jubie's tavern.\n\nIn a nook right beside the tiled oven, Reynauld is eating his supper, alone save for the company of Mallilie the hound, who has curled up at his feet. He doesn't notice Dismas, and the highwayman tiptoes through the common room, then hastens upstairs. The crusader might have been the unknowing savior of the hour, but Dismas isn't going to clue him in.\n\nHe tries the doors until he finds one that is unlocked. To Dismas' surprise it's not unoccupied though, as he finds out after he closes the door behind him.\n\n\"Well, hello there.\" It's Jenny, who is watching Dismas with amused doe-like eyes. \"I didn't know I was about to have company.\"\n\n\"Truth be told, I was just lookin' fer a room,\" Dismas admits, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly. \"Thought this one was free.\"\n\n\"Madam's making a few changes, so we're staying at the tavern rooms,\" Jenny explains as she rises, her thin nightshirt pooling around her ankles. \"Y' know what, why not, stay here.\"\n\n\"If ya don't mind,\" Dismas answers and steps into the room.\n\nThe girl's eyes widen as the light of the lamp illuminates his face.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What happened to you?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I got mauled by a shrub,\" Dismas laments, and toes out of his boots, leaving them lying on the floor as he falls into the bed.\n\n\"Poor you,\" Jenny says. The bed dips lightly under her weight as she sits down next to Dismas. A heartbeat later, light fingers brush over the cuts on Dismas' temple. \"How come you got attacked by that mean shrub?\"\n\nDismas laughs, and tells her about his meeting with the Heir.\n\n\"What was the lord like?\" Jenny asks in a hushed voice.\n\n\"Weird,\" Dismas mumbles, cracking open one eye. \"Invited me to stay over at the mansion.\"\n\nJenny's eyes are huge, reflecting the light of the oil lamps. \"And, did you accept?\" she asks in a hushed whisper.\n\n\"Darlin', I jumped off the balcony,\" Dismas tells her, his voice choked with laughter that has to hold back. \"Dunno 'bout the local custom, but 'm sure to say that don't count as acceptin'.\"\n\nJenny laughs, a pretty carefree sound and the tension that had filled the room for a moment evaporates with his confession.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dismas can feel her weight shift, and small hands begin to work the tension out of his shoulders.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 13 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It's nice, but he is tired. For a moment he simply enjoys the attention, before he turns his head sideways to say, \"Forgive me, lovely, but I'm knackered.\"\n\nShe withdraws so abruptly that Dismas can feel the gust of cold air where her warmth used to be.\n\n\"What?\" Dismas asks, perhaps not very tactfully.\n\n\"It's just that I used to be your favourite,\" the girl whispers. She looks very young and vulnerable all of a sudden.\n\nDismas blinks. Light in Heaven, what was it with people wanting to lay him today? \"Yer still my favourite,\" he says, doing his best not to slur his words too much. \"But for spendin' time with, not for fucking.\"\n\nHer face is still unreadable, and Dismas hopes he isn't going to get himself gored by one of her stilettos. Then, Jenny bends down to lightly kiss his lacerated cheek.\n\n\"You should get some rest.\"\n\nHe is asleep before the amused girl can even reply.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Help complete this text by providing four sentences where you see the `<\|missing_text\|>`.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "In the morning Dismas wakes to a delicious smell. He peels his face from the pillow to find a tray laden with food right next to it. Jenny is lying on her stomach on the other half of the bed, her legs swinging in the air.\n\n\"Thanks, sweetie,\" Dismas says as he slowly rights himself. Jenny has brought enough for two, and they eat together and chat about nothing and everything.\n\n\"Are you coming to see the play too?\" Dismas asks towards the end of breakfast.\n\n\"Sure! I even got a role,\" Jenny tells him. The girl is beaming, so Dismas shoots her a smile of his own when there is a knock on the door.\n\n\"Dismas? You in there?\"\n\nThey both look up, and Dismas shrugs. \"Yeah, who –\"\n\nThe door opens a crack to reveal a familiar face.\n\n\"Had a good night?\" Margaret asks, peeking into the room.\n\n\"Uh-huh,\" Dismas grunts while Jenny wraps herself in the blanket, apparently ready to sleep some more.\n\nSince Dismas has been officially pronounced healthy, he can do some light training, and Margaret takes him along for target practice.\n\n\"She is cute,\" Margaret says in an offhand-manner as they walk over to the shooting range. \"Jenny, right?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" Dismas mutters. \"Wait, what? No, it ain't like that.\"\n\n\"It is alright,\" Margaret insists with a knowing smile.\n\nDismas curses. \"We didn't fuck. I was drunk and fell asleep.\" Damn, that made it sound like he had wanted to, though.\n\nMargaret clicks her tongue. \"That's not very nice, falling asleep on a lady.\"\n\n\"Yeah, good thing Jenny's a whore, not a lady.\" Dismas feels a pang of shame for doing the girl such an injustice, but Margaret rolls her eyes and doesn't press him further.\n\nShooting comes naturally to Dismas. He hits his targets with the same confidence and ease with which he can make a stone skip over water. It is only after the pistols are empty, that he falters. He must reload, surely. Only, he does not remember how.\n\nMargaret shows him while she patiently explains the whole process. He learns how to hold the weapon and how to measure the black powder, then watches as Margaret loads his other pistol, much quicker and more efficient than before.\n\n\"That's a neat trick,\" Dismas remarks.\n\nShe nods and hands the weapon back to him. \"You showed it to me.\"\n\nDismas lets her words sink in. He knows from past comments that Margaret and Linesi the arbalest considered him to be their peer when it came to marksmanship, but he has never truly thought about it. \"I was good, huh?\"\n\n\"You could reload your pistols blindfolded faster than anyone I've ever seen,\" Margaret says. \"You once managed five shots off in a minute, and hit all of the targets.\"\n\nDismas whistles. He had no idea anyone could be that good, let alone that someone could be him. \"Still, dunno 'bout the blindfold.\"\n\n\"Oh, that was because you told us you couldn't always risk fire during a<\|missing_text\|>s fingers as if to check for himself. \"Still got all o' em.\n\n\"And make sure it stays that way,\" Margaret says in a stern voice, then, after many more rounds of shooting, shows him how to take care of his flintlocks by cleaning them of grime and soot.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": " nighttime ambush,\" Margaret explains. \"And it's a skill that has served us well in the dungeons. But we were always worried one day you'd lose your fingers due to embers in the bore.\"\n\nDismas holds up his hands, wiggling hi", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "There's a gap marked by `<fill_in_here>` in the following text. Fill it with about nine words.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The day of the play, the town square is transformed into a grand open-air stage. The first rows consist of broad, sturdy benches, while further behind seats are erected on a raised dais.\n\nThere had been a debate about setting up the theater in one of the fields, but in the end Pierre had thrown a tantrum on a scale that had Barristan turn all puffy and red, and stomp away. It would have been more impressive if the man-at-arms had been a taller man. The main reason they had, in the end, chosen the town square over one of the fields, was the acoustics.\n\n\"It used to be we could just borrow half a dozen tables from Jubie, and it was enough,\" Linesi says and points Dismas and Darell a little bit towards the left. The arbalest is now overlooking the construction in Barristan's stead and when she nods, the two men put down the bench they had been carrying. Dismas is red-faced and sweating a river despite having dressed down to a shirt and having rolled up his sleeves, while the former lumberjack, probably used to logging around large chunks of wood, isn't even out of breath.\n\n\"Aye, and Pierre was doing hand puppet plays, and telling stories back then,\" Junia adds as she joins them. The nun crosses her arms as she surveys all the construction work that is going on around <fill_in_here>en.\"\n\n\"It's made him a diva,\" Linesi grumbles, and the nun laughs.\n\nDarell turns back towards the rows of seats, his hands on his hips. \"Looking good, boss, what do you think?\"\n\nLinesi musters the neat rows of seats with a critical eye. Then, she nods, a smile spreading across her face. \"I think we're done.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "them. \"He's sure come a long way since th", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue with bluRaaven's style in the Lovecraftian, based on video game genre. This is part of a longer work.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The last couple of hours before the play pass quickly. The town square is abuzz in nervous excitement as villagers are talking and laughing and milling around the stage, as if afraid that the play might begin early. Finally, the church bells announce the end of the mass – held earlier today – and quickly, the seats around the stage begin to fill. Those who did not get an outdoors seat crowd behind the windows of the tavern and brothel, and the other buildings that offer a view of the stage.\n\nMeanwhile, the front rows are reserved for the heroes of the Hamlet, and Dismas is surprised, yet pleased to be counted amongst them. He sits down with Margaret to his right while a tall, brown skinned woman takes the seat to his left. She is garbed in colourful cloth and leather, the style of which appears both martial and comfortable. The look is softened by a few gold ornaments, but the corded muscle in her arms marks her unmistakably for a warrior.\n\n\"I don't think we've met,\" the woman says, regarding Dismas with curiosity.\n\n\"No, I don't think we have,\" Dismas agrees and holds out his hand for her to shake.\n\nShe does, but in doing so Dismas catches sight of her left arm which ends at a stump below her wrist. He knows that he doesn't succeed in hiding his expression of shock.\n\n\"Armani.\"\n\n\"You were part of the last expedition,\" Dismas blurts out, as if to make up for his staring.\n\nArmani nods, tactfully ignoring Dismas' rude behaviour. \"With Damian, Tardif and Para, yes.\"\n\n\"I met Para,\" Dismas recalls with a grimace and Armani laughs, a surprisingly deep sound for a woman.\n\nChildren with trays of snacks and drink scurry between the grownups, and Dismas buys ale for the three of them, along with some spicy meat skewers, rings of dried apple, and hazlenuts roasted in honey.\n\nSuddenly, there is a sound like thunder and Margaret lets out an excited squeal and grips Dismas' hand.\n\nThe chatter around them dies down immediately, the jovial, relaxed atmosphere replaced by one of eager anticipation. Armani shoots Dismas a grin as the cloth begins to lift, revealing the stage and the solitary figure standing in its middle. Dexterous fingers move over the strings of a lute to coax it into a soft tune.\n\nPierre begins his play with the tragic story of a kingdom, where the good king was dethroned by his younger brother, who, always the second, overlooked, was now possessed of an insatiable lust for power. Even as the royal family was executed for treason, one wet nurse found the courage to smuggle the king's son, a mere babe at the time, out of the castle and to deliver it into the hands of a retinue of loyal followers. Those men and women, condemned to a life as rebel fighters, all swore fealty to the true heir. One day they would see their liege take his rightful throne, and when he did and their exile came to an end, the kingdom would know peace and prosperity one more.\n\nThe music stops for one moment, then picks up again, louder this time than before. The notes hang in the air, discordant and ominous. The music continues even as the curtain closes. When it opens a few minutes later to the cheers of the crowd, the scenery has changed. A large linen sheet that is spanned over the back of the stage shows the majestic outline of a castle, and the chair that has appeared on the stage is decorated to look like a throne.\n\nA figure in long robes reclines in it, its features indistinguishable until it raises its head. Dismas has to chuckle when he sees who has been cast for the role of the evil monarch. It is none other than Alhazred, and it is obvious that he is enjoying every moment on stage. The scholar rests the tips of his fingers against each other, and his dark eyes are like two pits. Even Alhazred's voice seems sharper somehow, cold and cruel, and his act sends murmurs of unease and approval through the crowd.\n\nThe king announces his plans to marry his daughter to some lord of great political importance. Of course, a royal marriage requires a proper banquet, and thus the king sends out envoys far and wide to carry the message of the betrothal. But unbeknownst to him, his two closest confidantes are traitors who covet the kingdom for themselves.\n\nThus, they have come up with a devious plan to murder their liege.\n\nFor that very purpose they hired Danneville, the greatest court jester of all times. But Danneville is not just a musician and a comedian – he is as quick with his dirk as he is with a joke – for he is also a master assassin.\n\nA lucky turn of fate forces Danneville, en route to the king's court, to seek shelter from a terrible storm. Thus, he stumbles into the rebel village, where the food and wine that his hosts offer him loosens his tongue enough for him to mention the king's invitation. The moment Danneville lays down to rest, he is taken prisoner with one of the rebels to impersonate him.\n\nThat man happens to be Pierre, who is not just the narrator of his play, but also assumes the role of the hero, a quick witted, if somewhat clumsy and naïve member of the group of rebels.\n\nPierre travels to the king's court, tasked with finding a way to open the castle's secret passage that the wet nurse had used on the night she had fled with the infant regent. It would allow the rebel forces to take the castle in a storm, without risking open battle.\n\nBut trouble begins the moment Pierre, disguised as Danneville the court jester, sets foot in the keep. Of course, Pierre has no idea that he has been hired to assassinate the king, but he manages not to break cover even as the two traitorous lords corner him. Yet clueless Pierre side-steps all their innuendo with clever remarks and distractions, aided by no small amount by lady luck.\n\nEven his audience with the king is a success, and as Pierre teaches the crowd the lyrics to his songs, and in no time at all, the viewers happily chime in. Now Dismas knows why the jester insisted upon setting up the stage right in the middle of the town, where even the last rows can hear his voice, loud and clear.\n\nThen, the princess enters the stage. Dismas barely recognizes Audrey beneath a wig a lot of make-up, and dressed in a skirt instead of her usual eccentric mix of leather and lace. All pity he might have felt for the character who is about to be forced into a marriage evaporates when they learn that the princess is no less cunning and cruel than her father. Used to pulling the strings in the back, Audrey's performance gives Dismas the chills, and he can tell that his friend is right in her element.\n\nJosephine has a role as the princesses' servant, a witch whose evil eye can hypnotize anyone who gazes into it and a snap of her fingers makes any man lose his free will.\n\nAs the fake Danneville falls under the witches' spell everything seemed lost and Pierre has the audience gasping, at the edge of their seats, as he proclaims he will now announce his undying love for the princess to the king, and convince him to let her marry him, or die trying.\n\nHe storms off the stage, and then another roll of drums announces a break.\n\nThere is a collective groan from the audience, but the mood soon lightens as people stand up to stretch their backs and to get their mugs refilled.\n\nMargaret decides that she needs to head somewhere, and pulls Dismas along, leaving Armani with a pile of snacks that the Eastern woman decimates with an expression of bliss. Margaret leads Dismas behind the stage, where tents have been erected to give the actors a place to spend the time when they're not on stage and to keep away the curious onlookers.\n\nDismas, following Margaret's lead, ducks into one of the tents. Its interior is a simple rug, a table and a couple of chairs. Audrey relaxes in one of the chairs. She has discarded her wig and Dismas can see that she is flushed under all the heavy makeup.\n\n\"You were amazing!\" Margaret croons, handing her lover a cup of water that Audrey accepts with a grateful expression, draining it in a single go while Cat, one of the brothel girls, busies herself fixing Audrey's makeup, which has begun to run at the hairline.\n\n\"How do you like the play so far?\" Audrey asks.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It's great!\" Dismas exclaims with a laugh, and he doesn't have to lie one bit.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The play has just the right amount of comedy and suspense, and the songs are simple enough for the audience to sing or whistle along to.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The tent fills out as the actors file in, Alhazred and Josephine, and various others. They talk about Pierre's close calls, and laugh at the best jokes until Audrey leans close to Dismas, her words for his ears alone.\n\n\"Say, have you talked to Rey yet?\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\nAudrey looks at him askew. \"You know, Reynauld.\"\n\n\"Why would I want to talk to him?\" Dismas asks, aghast. He has more sense than to tangle with a religious fanatic.\n\nAudrey sighs, and for the first time since Dismas has known her, she looks nervous. \"Walk with me?\" It seems that she is trying to spare him the embarrassment of having his personal relations explained in front of the others. He will have to remember to do something real nice for Audrey.\n\nWhen they're outside, a sigh of relief escapes Audrey at the fresh evening breeze. \"Look. He has asked about you,\" she begins as they take a stroll with no particular destination in mind.\n\nReynauld. They were still talking about the crusader, right? Audrey must have seen the disbelief in his mien, because she rests a hand on Dismas' shoulder.\n\n\"He…cares about you.\"\n\n\"I don't think he likes me all that much,\" Dismas stammers.\n\nAudrey groans. \"Dismas.\" The exasperation is so thick in her voice it makes Dismas physically uncomfortable. He draws up his shoulders, hiding in the thick fur of his coat. He had noticed his friend's ribbing, the occasional innuendo thrown his way, and he had ignored all of it. Now, a part of his mind is screaming that he is not ready to have that kind of talk.\n\n\"He didn't try to see me,\" Dismas points out and even to his own ears he sounds like a petulant child searching for an excuse to avoid a detested task. But there is truth in his words. Reynauld had pretty much ignored him so far.\n\n\"He didn't?\" Audrey appears to be surprised by the news. \"I thought he'd –, well. Since you were… friends.\"\n\n\"We were friends?\" Dismas repeats.\n\nAudrey lays a single finger on her chin as she tilts her head. \"Mhm, I'm not so sure about that.\"\n\n\"So he cares about me, but we ain't friends?\" Dismas says, more confused than ever.\n\n\"You argued often,\" Audrey says by way of explanation.\n\n\"Light help me, woman, if ya don't speak straight I'm gonna have to take ya to Para to get yer head checked,\" Dismas growls, heedless that it was his own head that decided to chuck all his memory right out.\n\nThey have walked a small circle, returning to the actor's tent.\n\n\"You'll just have to figure it out for yourself,\" Audrey answers with determination. She worries her lip, then turns to take Dismas' hands in her own. \"Look, I know he's not easy to be around, but…you did have a way of getting through to him when we couldn't. Just talk to him, if only to spare me having him visit every other night to–\"\n\nShe breaks off, and before Dismas can react in any other way than to stare at her in shock, she announces that she needs to get ready for the stage. The tent flap closes in Dismas' face, who staggers back to his seat with Audrey's words still rattling around his skull.\n\n\"Is everything alright?\" Magaret asks him, as the chipper redhead sits down beside him again.\n\n\"Sure,\" Dismas answers, still pondering everything he has learned when Margaret suddenly calls out,\n\n\"Look who's here!\" The redhead gets up and waves. \"Hey! Hey, Rey!\"\n\nDismas will be damned sooner than believe that this is circumstance, but before he can shush Margaret, the crusader's head turns towards them. He's easy to make out in the crowd, towering over most of the villagers and Dismas' heart skips a couple of beats as the man's eyes focus on them. He slumps in his seat as the crusader pauses, then heads their way.\n\n\"Bonjour Rey,\" Margaret greets the crusader with a smile that the man returns weakly. It seems genuine, but it doesn't reach his eyes. As if smiling is a reflexive response remembers, but doesn't understand.\n\n\"Why don't you sit with us?\" Margaret offers and scoots over, pulling Dismas along so that there is just enough space for the large man to squeeze himself in next to Dismas.\n\nIt is then that Reynauld appears to notice the highwayman, and his eyes grow wide, a crease appearing between his brows. There are dark bruises under the warrior's eyes, and both his beard and hair have a overgrown, unkempt look to them that Dismas had never noticed before. Then again, they had never been this close.\n\nDismas cannot help but notice how his heartbeat picks up at the attention of the crusader.\n\n\"If I may?\" Reynauld asks, and his voice is softer than Dismas had imagined it. He realizes this is the first time he has heard the other man speak other than to yell instructions at the recruits.\n\n\"Dismas wanted you to join us,\" Margaret continues says, her tone sincere and innocent, as she leans forward to look at them both.\n\nA blatant lie, but Dismas doesn't correct her when he sees the surprise in Reynauld's face. A moment later, the crusader's features soften into a genuine expression of joy and the feeling in Dismas' chest intensifies tenfold which is strange, because there is nothing menacing about Reynauld's smile, quite to the contrary.\n\n\"Dismas –\"\n\nThere is a hint of memory there, like a lingering aftertaste, a whiff of perfume long after the person has departed. Part of it feels like fear and Dismas can make no sense of his own feelings.\n\nBefore he can say anything, the drums roll again.\n\n\"We should - ,\" Reynauld gestures at the benches.\n\n\"Yeah,\" Dismas agrees, swallowing past a dry throat.\n\nThey sit down, close enough that their sides touch. Dismas imagines that he can feel a shiver pass through Reynauld's broad frame, but the crusader doesn't move away.\n\nThe play continues.\n\nPierre manages to free himself from the curse the princess' witch has laid on him, then bests the king's champion in a tournament for which he is even knighted.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ultimately, he succeeds in finding the hidden passage and leads the rebels to victory.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 38 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Once the last songs are sung, the audience erupts in thunderous cheers and applause that continue for what feels like an eternity. When they finally die down, Dismas is surprised to see that the moon and stars are in the sky. He'd been so engrossed in the play that he had missed the sun setting.\n\nBut while they had enjoyed the play, others had not been idle. Pierre announces that bonfires will be lit in the fields, even as braziers are kindled in the town square. A euphoric, festive mood lies in the air, and no one feels like heading back home yet.\n\n\"Wanna go sit 'round one of 'em bonfires?\" Dismas nervously asks the man next to him. He is surprised to see the crusader rub his palms together, slowly but incessantly.\n\nReynauld nods, but doesn't follow Dismas. \"Go on ahead, I'll be with you in a moment.\"\n\nDismas joins Audrey, Margaret and a few others around one of the many bonfires that have been lit in the practice fields in the meantime. There are wooden footstools and piles of straw to sit on, and the villagers' kids dart from one fire to the other, trying to sell the last of their roasted hazelnuts, or some spiced bread dough, or sausages for skewers.\n\nAudrey is visibly exhausted, and falls asleep with her head in Margaret's lap.\n\nThere is no sight of Reynauld.\n\nWavering between disappointment and relief, Dismas enjoys the hypnotic calm of the fire, watching it burn and listening to the conversations around him until the stars begin to flicker and pale.\n\nDismas doesn't wait up on the other man.\n\nHe reaches the end of the town square before he recalls that he got kicked out of the sanatorium. He stands in the shadow of the stone buildings, undecided as what to do now. He could head to the tavern. The crown windows glow golden in the night, and laughter and voices spill into the street. Dismas keeps walking.\n\nThe entrance to the church is dark and silent, but the gloom is not oppressive. Rather, it brings to mind a comforting blanket and the thick curtain keeps the nippiness of the night at bay. Dismas walks through the heavy cloth to find the inside illuminated by the candle altar. In all the times he had visited the church, he has never seen all the candles extinguished.\n\nWhoever lights them is diligent in their duty and Dismas adds one little light to the flickering tapestry of fire before he sinks down onto a high-backed pew. Today has been exciting and exhausting in equal measure.\n\nHe intends to say a quick prayer to thank the Light, but while the first Verse of the prayer comes easily, Dismas finds it increasingly hard to concentrate on what follows. He shakes his head, but his thoughts have drifted off. Instead of the holy words, his mind is now filled with jolly songs, colourful costumes and a sad pair of brown eyes that regard him with breathtaking intensity.\n\nDismas shakes his head and starts anew. This time he gets but two stanzas further than on his first attempt. The highwayman yawns. The Light from the candle altar blinds him. Dismas closes his eyes. Just for a moment, just to help him concentrate…\n\nHe can see Pierre, playing his lute on the stage. There is Audrey in her makeup and costume, but she's standing in the Heir's mansion. Clearer than all, he can see Reynauld's battle-weary face before his inner eyelid.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "The following text is missing a piece (marked with `<\|missing_text\|>`). Come up with a chunk of thirty-five characters to complete it.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The next thing that Dismas knows, there is a seagull pecking at his knee. He tries to shoo it away, but the bloody hellbird won't let him sleep.\n\n\"Dismas,\" the bird speaks in a voice much too deep for its scrawny neck.\n\nDismas wants to tell it to fuck off, but there is something stuck in his throat and he coughs, coming to ungraciously. His neck is stiff from having fallen asleep with it at a<\|missing_text\|>of the pew. He hopes he hasn't drooled in his sleep. He quickly wipes a rough palm over his mouth just in case.\n\n\"Wha–?\" He blinks at the shape before him, and then stares, wide-eyed.\n\nReynauld's hand is still resting on Dismas' knee as the crusader crouches in front of him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": " weird angle against the hard wood ", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "yo next 102 sentences bits needed. dr_mabeuse style, Fiction, BDSM genre. this is from a bigger story k?", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Emma was quiet the rest of the drive into town but perked up as we exited the expressway and started driving through the city.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The rain had let up and as we neared my neighborhood things started feeling more urban—the buildings, the lights and neons and action in the streets—and pretty soon she was sitting up and looking around. I wasn't exactly angry with her but I was a bit guarded, and I felt better that we were at last on my turf. Running from me in the rain had probably been no more than a little tease—a way to provoke my lust—but it had reminded me of the trickiness of the game we were playing and of the difficulty of trying to decide what was real and what was pretend.\n\nIt also brought to mind something that had been simmering in the back of my mind about this relationship: the old consumer warning—beware of deals that seem too good to be true, because they usually are. So far Emma had given me everything I'd wanted while taking little in return, and while it was possible that she was in this just for the sex, I was, I was beginning to doubt it. I was beginning to sense some shadows moving behind the veil.\n\nI pulled off the expressway and the tires splashed in the potholes full of water as we hit the city streets. Emma stretched. The ride had been boring. I was bored too.\n\nMy neighborhood's known as Chinatown North or Little Saigon. It's close to the lake (it's officially known as Lakeview) and back in the 20's was actually a very nice area, with big apartment buildings and lots of shopping and a couple of huge ornate movie theaters and the El (which was new then) running right through it. It had become a slum in the '40's and stayed that way till Chinese and Vietnamese started colonizing in the 70's, and it still had the feel of an immigrant ghetto in parts—a weird, eclectic mix of all sorts of people. But now the gentrifiers and developers smelled money and construction barricades were going up. You could still find some good, reasonable places, though, and the neighborhood itself was full of little jewels—great restaurants and tiny bakeries, weird herb shops huddled under the El tracks next to hi-end boutiques; rehabbed deco buildings next to brand new blister-pack condos. I'd been here for seven years.\n\nEven after that deluge there were still people out—always people here, going out to eat, to and from the El, standing outside smoking, hanging around in little doorways getting some air—and it felt kind of good after that drive from the suburbs. The streets looked slick and shiny with the reflected neons, the little Chinese groceries blinking cryptically in the dark. Emma was staring out the windows with guarded fascination, the lights shining on her face, and she looked beautiful. I couldn't tell what she made of it, and I wasn't sure how I felt. On the one hand I was glad there was so much activity, on the other, I'd kind of hoped I would have had her to myself. I didn't want to have to compete for her attention.\n\n\"Oh wow,\" Emma said as we drove by a bus stop. \"Look at him. That guy's nuts.\"\n\nHe was. Some tall thin man in a tattered Cubs jacket was yelling \"Fuck Youuuu!\" at the top of his lungs and throwing both arms up in a double bird towards the moon, it appeared.\n\n\"Yeah, well... You see that occasionally. Cubs play today?\"\n\nShe shook her head and we drove on. I knew she wasn't entirely comfortable in the city and I was trying to make things easy on her. There were a lot of weird characters in this neighborhood.\n\nI pulled down Carmen and took the alley that ran in front of a viaduct covered with graffiti from the Ghost Tiger gang and Insane Gangster Nation and others: RGraham05 and PureRules. Some Viet boys glared at the lights and hid their joint, gave me the finger. The alley led to an enclosed parking lot behind Lakeview Hardware and the Three Happiness Restaurant, and here I parked the van, where the air smelled like hot garlic and sesame oil. We could hear the sizzle of water hitting hot wok and oriental music from a radio, the distnat roar of the El.\n\nEmma rummaged around in her bag and started to pull out her phone, then stuffed it back in. She took out a silver bracelet and glanced at it, then pushed that back into the bag too.\n\n\"What's that?\" I asked.\n\n\"Nothing. A watch.\"\n\n\"A watch? Can I see it?\"\n\nShe sighed unhappily and retrieved it and handed it to me. It was a very handsome watch, the band made of brushed silver, the watch face a deep, featureless blue, slightly iridescent, and covered with a thick crystal dome. It was very masculine in a very feminine way.\n\n\"Why don't you wear it?\"\n\n\"I don't want to. It reminds me of a ring.\"\n\nI looked at her. \"But it's a watch.\"\n\nShe took it back and put it in her bag. \"It's round. It goes around me. It's almost the same thing. I don't like it.\" She looked around. \"Where are we? Are we here?\"\n\n\"Oh. Yeah, we're here. Almost. Come on, it's just around front. I'll show you.\"\n\nShe took her bag and I locked up.\n\nCarmen's a side street that runs right off Broadway in the heart of Little Saigon, lined with shops—groceries, noodle shops, dry cleaners, a little pharmacy, all local, all jammed together. I live upstairs above First Service Auto Parts and as we walked down the street, the rich, foody smells from the front of Three Happiness suddenly reminded me of how hungry I was. I was cold too, soaked to the skin from being out in the rain.\n\nEmma stopped by the window of Ho Ho's grocery, transfixed by the roast ducks hanging there illuminated by the blue neon sign. \"Those things still have their heads!\"\n\n\"Come on, Emma. I'm freezing.\"\n\n\"Do they eat the heads?\" She looked at me.\n\n\"Come on.\" I grabbed her arm when a voice accosted me.\n\n\"Hey Conner, man! How you doing? \" Jimmy Vu stepped out of the doorway of Ho Ho's, wearing his green fatigue jacket and drinking a juice box. Jimmy's uncle owned First Service Auto Parts and he was always around. He was a big Baby Huey kind of guy with a bad buzz cut that made him look like a baby chick.\n\n\"Hey Jimmy.\" I saw right away that his eyes fixed on Emma. The straw of his juice box stayed in his mouth but didn't move. I smiled. I don't know that he'd ever seen me with a woman before, at least, not one like Emma.\n\n\"Emma, this is Jimmy Vu. He knows everyone in this neighborhood and can fix anything, right Jimmy? If you're ever in trouble, Jimmy's the man to see.\"\n\nThis was total bullshit. Jimmy does know everyone and is a very sweet guy but he's totally ineffectual, but I knew Jimmy would like it, and he was clearly knocked out by Emma.\n\nHe shifted hands so he could keep the juice box in his mouth and still shake hands. \"Pleased to meet you.\" he said.\n\n\"Pleased to meet you, Jimmy.\" I knew Emma was embarrassed by how she looked.\n\n\"We got caught in the rain,\" I said. \"Terrible. Almost drowned. Clinging to tree limbs. Got to go change before we both get pneumonia. Excuse us, Jimmy.\"\n\n\"Yeah sure. It was a bitch, huh?\"\n\n\"Global warming,\" I said. We turned and pushed through the street door. I opened the double lock at the bottom and we started up. I live up a long, dark flight of stairs, and halfway up an El went by.\n\nI won't lie. It's very loud. The building shook a little, the stairs trembled. Emma froze, grabbing onto the rail, her mouth open in fear. I'm used to it, I just kept walking, then realized she wasn't with me. I turned back and smiled at her.\n\n\"IT'S JUST THE EL TRAIN,\" I screamed at the top of my lungs. \"YOU GET USED TO IT.\"\n\nThe train rumbled off into the distance and we continued up to the apartment door. I unlocked it and pushed it open and let her step inside, watching her, trying to see the place through her eyes. Closed the door, locked it behind her.\n\nIt's a semi-converted loft. What that means around here is that it's a big, even vast, unfinished industrial space with a kitchen and two bedrooms and a bathroom tucked into one corner and I did most of the dry wall on those myself. But other than that it's pretty much the same as the auto parts storeroom below me only smaller (I have half of this floor. A restaurant supply outfit has the other). I've got the same plain wooden floors and raw exposed brick walls, the same crude wooden beams. Of course, I sealed my walls to try and keep the dust down and the same for the beams so they have a bit of finish and shine, but other than that, it's pretty much like living in a factory.\n\nIt gets better towards the back, towards the living part where the kitchen and bedrooms and bathroom (and El tracks) are, and back there I have a sofa and a few chairs, all my books and my desk and TV and that's where I work, but up in front where you enter, where the windows overlook Carmen, it's just a big, empty space with a kind of industrial grimness, a harshness, maybe even a cruelty. You could play hockey in there. I don't know how much the vases of willow buds and Chinese silk screens and movie posters do to alleviate that emptiness.\n\nI didn't know how a girl from the suburbs would react to it.\n\nEmma stepped into the space I thought of as my living room and looked around. The front windows are big and arched.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "They look down on Carmen and then out onto the diminishing blocks of the city.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The streetlights from outside painted her shadow on the floor behind her and elongated her into the darkness.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was like standing in the mouth of a cave.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Wow,\" she laughed. \"Conner, this is really cool...\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her pleasure made me smile. \"Yeah. I know.\"\n\nShe raised her hands as if she could feel the space, then she started spinning. All this room usually makes people do things like that. They either spin or they yell.\n\n\"Here, I'll show you the kitchen.\"\n\nI led her towards the back, and as we crossed the front room Emma noticed the chain hoist Jimmy Vu had helped me mount on an eight-foot length of Unistrut just that morning. I'd bought it from Just-Right Auto Parts and we'd driven it into one of the solid oak beams that spanned the front of the loft just that morning: working capacity 1500 pounds. I told Jimmy I was getting into metal sculpture and he'd bought it. The hoist slid smoothly on its four solid steel ball-bearing-loaded wheels up and down the length of the I-beam with the touch of a finger and stopped with a handheld brake.\n\nI stopped and watched her as she examined it.\n\nShe looked at me and then the hoist but I didn't say anything. She didn't say anything either. She looked down and saw the deck shackles I'd installed in the floor. These are like screw eyes but made for floors. They fold flush with the surface when you're not using them. You get them at yachting supply places. I know my hardware.\n\nShe looked back up. My ceilings are ten feet high. Even from where I was standing I could see her breathing increase.\n\nAny residual anger I held towards her from that episode in the park faded after that as the spell started working between us again, just like that, with just that look she gave me as she examined the hoist and knew I had something planned for her. I showed her the kitchen with the back door that led out to the fire escape and the roof beyond, the windows that looked out onto the El tracks and past that across city blocks to the wall of high rises by the lakefront and the little squares of lighted apartments where people lived their lives, and yet farther beyond, to the great blue-black immensity of the sky over the lake the moon had vacated. I showed her my bedroom with the four-poster bed freshly made up, the chains already attached, and then the other bedroom, the spare room with the door closed and locked and I saw her sudden curiosity and impatience. Everything had been swept and tidied and cleaned with that bachelor's pitiful attention to a woman's company.\n\nI had things planned for us so I wanted Emma to hurry in the shower. I even wanted for us to take turns and her to go first to avoid any funny stuff, but it was no use. I have a great shower, a fantastic shower—a room within a room with a marble floor, glass walls, dual shower heads, my one luxury—and of course I had to go in and show it off, and once I decided to get in with her, all thoughts of a quick rinse just disappeared. I peeled off my wet clothes and dropped them on the floor and stepped into the shower and turned it on. I moaned as the water came on and I just stood there, head into the spray leaning against the wall and letting that blessed warmth soak into my bones.\n\nAfter a while it occurred to me that I was alone.\n\n\"Emma? Aren't you coming in?\"\n\n\"Did you want me to?\"\n\n\"Of course I want you to! What do you think?\"\n\nSilence. Through the foggy glass I saw her putting her hair up, then take off her clothes. She seemed uncertain. The bathroom was filling with steam, then the door opened and she stepped into the stall.\n\n\"I didn't know whether you wanted me to or not.\"\n\nI was going to say something smart but she stepped into the shower with her hands held up over her chest like a child, blinking against the spray, looking shy and vulnerable and. I held my tongue.\n\n\"Come here under the water. I'll soap you.\"\n\nHer skin touched mine as she slid past. She was cold and she seemed small. I took the hand piece down and trained it on her and she grimaced as the hot water struck her body. She closed her eyes and I ran the water all over her, washing her front from the neck down—her breasts, her chest, her belly. I gently pushed her hands down till she stood in front of me naked and exposed, trusting, hands at her sides. She was embarrassed, I could tell, and it struck me how she could stand in front of me naked if she were tied and not be embarrassed—she could stand in front of me and take the whip—but to stand here and be washed was something else. I was seized with some powerful feeling I can't explain—some need to both violate her and protect her at the same time. I started getting hard and hating myself for it.\n\n\"Turn around,\" I said. \"I'll wash your back.\"\n\n\"Shouldn't I do you—?\" She looked at me and then dropped her eyes. The attention made her uneasy. \"Sorry.\"\n\nShe turned around and pressed her forehead against the tiles. Her hands crossed over her breasts again. It occurred to me that she still carried my semen inside her. I'd have to leave so she could wash herself.\n\n\"I'm sorry I ran from you,\" she said. \"It was a silly thing to do.\"\n\nIt took me a moment to remember what she was talking about, and then I just shrugged. \"Don't worry about it,\" I said.\n\nI didn't ask her why she did it. I really didn't feel like I had to know.\n\nI had honestly meant to wash her off and get out. I was like a social director. I had things planned, things I wanted to show her, places I wanted to go with her, but none of them seemed very important now. Here we were warm and wet and my hands were moving over her body and she was getting soft as I touched her.\n\n\"Lean against the wall,\" I said.\n\nI was worried the soap might dry her skin but she was content to let me do what I wanted with her. I soaped my hands and began to rub her down, kneading her muscles as the water streamed down upon us. She rested her cheek against the tile and she suddenly seemed so small and delicate, fairylike, a sylph in the falling water. I was hard now, hard and red and throbbing, some sort of ogre. I leaned against her and my cock slid beneath the globes of her ass and pressed up against her pussy. She automatically thrust her bottom out in invitation, spreading her legs.\n\nI sighed and began to move, dragging my prick against her wet slit, back and forth, holding her hips. Emma gave a little whimper, a kind of questioning sigh, a kind of \"Yes? Is this it?\" She was ready for whatever I wanted, and once again, her complaisance, her willingness to give herself to my pleasure, just drove me mad with desire.\n\nI began to fuck her, never entering her but pumping, sliding my cock back and forth. The pleasure, the friction was excruciating. I reached up and took her breast in my hand and she covered my hand with hers and showed me to squeeze, to take her.\n\n\"Emma—\"\n\n\"ah...?\"\n\nAgain that little questioning sigh: \"Whatever you want...\" I reached for her hair and pulled it free and down it came, catching the water and falling wet into my hand where I seized it and pulled her head back, pulled her away from the wall—she leaned back against me and I took her mouth in a bruising kiss and she melted against me, opening her mouth and surrendering, offering herself, giving it all. My fingers slid around and slid up into her pussy and I felt the thick residue of my own earlier ejaculation still incubating in the heat of her body. I grabbed her breast and holding her tight I backed awkwardly into the shower, as she arched against me lost in that hungry, sucking kiss.\n\nGod, she just got to me again—the way she yielded, like anything I wanted to do to her was fine, anything I wanted to take from her, that's what she wanted to give. She even felt that way in my hands, as if she were swollen with some sort of womanly sweetness, bursting with it —her tits, her hips, the tightness of her thighs—and if I didn't relieve her of it, if I didn't squeeze it out of her of pierce her or make her come—she'd just explode.\n\n\"Emma!\"\n\n\"Oh, Conner!\"\n\nIt was insane, holding her pressed against me as the water streamed down against us. It ran over her face and down her body, dripped from her eyelashes and chin and nipples. It reminded me of come, like she was being bathed in come.\n\n\"Put your hands up around my neck, Emma. Hold on to me!\"\n\n\"What—?\"\n\nI showed her, taking her arms and putting them up around my neck so that she was standing, leaning back against me. I reached up and got the hand piece from the shower.\n\n\"Don't let go, Emma.\"\n\n\"Oh, Conner! No! Don't!\"\n\nI spread her pussy apart with my left hand and trained the shower head on her clit with my right, flicking it across her so the spray whipped across her exposed flesh and made her jerk and cry out as if struck. She instinctively closed her legs and brought her arm down to protect herself.\n\n\"Don't you dare, Emma!\" I warned. \"Keep those hands around my neck like I said!\"\n\n\"Oohhh...\" She whined and locked her fingers around the back of my neck, seeing she had no choice but to close her eyes and hang on.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I got a better grip on her, pressing her against me with my forearm and spreading her labia apart and pressing them down to expose her turgid clit, my fingers sliding in her swollen and slippery flesh.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I whipped her with the water again and again and each time she jerked spastically, lifting her hips to the spray and crying out without restraint, her voice echoing off the hard, tiled walls. She was coming, coming with each lash of hot water, hardly even struggling, helpless to resist giving herself to me again and again as if this were her only function in the world.\n\nI felt like a master musician must feel, one with his instrument and joined with it, holding Emma in front of me like a cello, like a string bass, bowing her with the lashing water and feeling her vibrate with orgasm, feeling every stab of pleasure and every ounce of her joy and before I knew it Emma was sobbing and shuddering and I dropped the spray and let her slide from my arms. She fell to her knees and I stood tall over her with my head up and back slightly arched and grabbed her hair and pulled her up and took my prick in my hand and pressed it against her face and with one stroke, then two and then three—I exploded against her, thrusting my hips out, my eyes rolling back in my head in savage release as I pulled her up against me with the strength of my arm, pulled her up and made her take it, my cum splashing all over her, spurting all over her face as I held her there and she rubbed her cheeks and mouth all over my erupting dick, moaning, and panting in a transport of bliss.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "See that `[text_redacted]` in the text? Replace it with a twenty-two-word bit.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "We were famished after the shower. Emma wanted to stay in because she thought her hair looked awful and felt her clothes were too muddy but in fact her hair looked fine and I found an old boat-necked sweater that worked well enough for her and I knew she really wanted me to get her outside. Already this was taking on the giddy up-all-night feeling of a teen-aged sleepover and she was glowing with excitement.\n\nWe skipped down the stairs and out into the street and I wanted to take her across the street to Long Viet which is this tiny hole-in-the-wall place I've always dreamed of taking a girl to, pitch black on the inside and as wide as a closet with a tiny porthole for window and lit only by the blue neon sign, a ridiculously narrow mirrored bar in the back like a sliver of glass, makes it feel like an aquarium.\n\nDown on the street we ran into Jimmy again, this time he was with Uncle Stanley, a little, round-headed, sloe-eyed guy I didn't know very well, and Ricky Sun, who I did know and liked. Ricky'd been in the poetry course I'd taught at Truman College which was just a few blocks down and was a funny kid with bleached blond hair combed into a sculptural brush that gave him an unfortuna[text_redacted]at people thought Beavis and Butthead were cool, which they did, but not in the way that Ricky thought.\n\n\"Conner, Conner, it's an honor!\"\n\nThe other thing about Ricky is that he wrote poetry by lifting strings of words out of the rhyming dictionary.\n\nI smiled. \"You guys still around?\"\n\n\"Where we supposed to go, Conner?\" Rickey smiled.\n\nEmma stepped out where they could see her and the boys, taken by surprise, stood up a bit taller and gave her polite little bows, I introduced her around and they all shook hands, and I was touched to see this sweet formality and Jimmy's showing off as he told the others, \"Oh, we've already met, haven't we Emma?\"\n\nI gave her my arm as we crossed the street and she took it. I hadn't felt so fucking proud in years. As I pushed open the door of Long Viet I looked back across the street and saw Jimmy and Uncle Stanley smiling at me, their heads almost touching, and Ricky Sun with eyes wide giving me both thumbs up.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "te resemblance to Beavis or Butthead. It was unfortunate because I think Ricky did it intentionally out of the mistaken belief th", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "AI Prompt: fourteen sentences sentences. Match character context. Fiction, BDSM genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was time for us to talk and there were things I wanted to tell her, but they were confused things and only half clear and I'd hoped for better than that. At my age and for where I thought I'd be in terms of maturity and knowing my own mind, I'd really hoped for better than that. But sitting there in that dark and intimate place with Emma right across from me and almost waiting for me to say something, it seemed impossible to start, and so we sat and ordered food and talked about this and that and I never did say what I should have said.\n\nBut what I should have said was this:\n\nI'm a writer, Emma, and a bad poet, and I'll never have the money your David does. I don't know what I've gotten myself into here. I started an affair with you because I wanted your body. I wanted to fuck you and do terrible things to you and I thought that's all I wanted. Now I seem to have fallen in love with you and I don't understand how and I don't know what to do about it.\n\nI don't even know you very well, and I'm almost afraid to know you better. Maybe I love you because I don't know you. Maybe if I knew what you were really like and what you wanted out of life and what you think is important I wouldn't care for you at all and that would be the end of this. You're a lot younger than me and we see things differently. Things matter a lot more to you—material things—and I gave up on those a long time ago, probably because I know I'll never have them, but also because I think I found something more important in my writing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I don't talk about this much because I feel silly when I do, but when I write, I feel like the most important man in the world, because when I write, I give meaning to things.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I create significance, and I create meaning, and as hard as that may for you to believe, that's really even more important than life and death.\n\nYou're sitting here with me now, and we were just up at my flat and I was holding you and making you come in my arms, and what does all this mean? We're both here now telling ourselves stories, trying to find the one we like best to describe what's going on. Are we just playing with each other sexually? Are we in love? You're wondering if I'm just using you, if I think you're just a whore. I'm wondering if I'm just some cheap thrill you know you can string along and then dump before you settle down with your boyfriend. We're writing this story, Emma. Everyone's a writer. We all write our own lives and the lives of those around us. It's just that I do it all the time and I think about how I do it more than most people. I do it large. I'm aware of it.\n\nThere are stories within stories within stories, Emma. We live in a sea of stories and meanings and symbols.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When I first fucked you in that cold empty lecture hall, don't you think I knew what that meant? The echoing emptiness of that auditorium, a place where students gather to learn from a teacher; your aloneness in the dark as I touched you, as you wordlessly begged to be touched? It was cold in there and dark. It was hard. I wasn't kind. Do you know why it had such an effect on you?\n\nWhen I chased you down in that rainy park and took you in the mud like an animal, do you know what that meant? How you were burning to be free yet needed to be captured and ridden to the ground and fucked in that field in the rain and the grass and the mud with no pretense and no apology and nothing but raw animal passion. I nailed you to the dirt with my cock, Emma. Pulled your hair back till the rain was in your face and rode you like a bitch. It was just what you wanted, wasn't it?\n\nDo you see, Emma? This is what I can give you. This is why I brought you here. Because tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, I'm going to take you around the city and I'm going to show you other stories, magical stories, impossible stories and unbelievable stories, and I'm going to show you how they connect to you and to what you feel and how they reach deep and connect us to unimaginable things.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Unimaginable things—the emeralds in the gem room at the Field Museum, the Gods of ancient Egypt, the opium dens of colonial China, the Kabalistic Tree of Life, the gold of the Incas in Pizarro's treasure Ships, the magic of the Italian renaissance, the Italian beef sandwiches of Taylor street and the swaying of the willows by Diversey Harbor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "They're all linked by erotic imagination and the power of poetry and that's no small stuff.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That's the very fire and chains of love right there, Emma, and I'm offering to give it to you. I'm offering to lay all of this at your feet, to bring it to you, bathe you in it. We'll live in it, because that's what I can give to you, Emma. Do you understand?\n\nAnd just where are we in all of this? In all this meaning and talk and all this thinking and explaining. Do I even have to say it? It's the one thing that's obvious, that I've been saying all along.\n\nI've been saying it all along the only way it can be said. Not even a writer can say it with words, because it has to be felt, and it has to be felt because it's not even an idea, it's a sensation, an emotion, a certainty, Emma, that's what it is—that sheer presence of me in you, of me against you, of me with you, melting into you, possessing you, having you, being you. It's that one certainty that's too important for words.\n\nIt's where we start, it's where we end.\n\nThis is what I need you to understand, Emma, more than anything, and this is what I can't even say.\n\nWhen I started this I thought it was some naughty fun—a game about D/s, BDSM, whips and chains. I never knew this would happen to me, that you would open up this floodgate of emotion, break down this dam of passion.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "<<USAGE LIMIT>>: 'almost' must be used 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You think I'm playing games, and I almost wish that were true, but what I'm feeling is real. It's real and now I don't know how to convince you it's real. You think I'm playing games, and I almost wish that was true. What I'm feeling is real. It's real and now I don't how to convince you it's real -- and if I can, I'm terrified that I might find out it isn't real to you.\n\nYou devastate me, Emma. You destroy me with what you give me. I'm supposed to be the master, I know, and yet you make me weak and helpless, fill me with rage and strength, turn me into a man like I've never been before. It's sick, insane, maybe pathological, but I don't know if I can live without it anymore. When you give yourself to me the way you do, you take me apart and put me back together into something new and strong and clean. You empty me of my rage and anguish and take it into yourself and turn it into something beautiful. I don't know how you do it. I've never known anyone like you.\n\nAnd yet I know how it must be for you too.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Maybe I'm wrong but I swear I can feel what you feel, how you seem to swell with this sweetness as if you're going to burst, your breasts and your pussy and your whole body all filled with this languorous heaviness, and forgive me Emma, but what you want then is not more sweetness and gentility but to have that pleasure pulled from you, beaten from you and taken, your body pierced and punctured, crushed and squeezed by the arms of desire, bruised by fevered kisses and punished by passion.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 10 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You want to know that a man wants you enough to go mad to have you, will kidnap you and tie you and spend himself upon you and batter you both to pieces in his need to possess you.\n\nThat's how it feels, isn't it? Because that's how it feels to me, and I know that when we're together like that, when it's good like that, we're feeling exactly the same thing. Two people don't get any closer than that, Emma. You don't know how rare and precious that is, for that one brief instant to be you and feel your own love.\n\nSo that's what I know, Emma. That's all that I know. That all of us live most brightly in our lover's hearts, and in mine right now you have a palace.\n\nI can't even make you an offer yet and I don't know what else to say. Just take what I've told you and think about it, but just know that you're much more to me than what you might think, and that this is much more to me than a game.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Produce 2 sentences using the prose and structure of dr_mabeuse every time its your turn using what the user wrote as a seed. Story may drop you into ongoing events with established characters - work with whatever context is provided.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "That's what I should have said to her at Long Viet as we ate our bowls of pho and our barbecued pork and pot stickers and drank our tiny cups of tea.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "That's what I should have said, but I didn't.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She looked so beautiful as she sucked up the noodles, the ends whipping around and splattering drops of broth before disappearing between her pursed lips.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She laughed at the delicious implications.\n\nI didn't say anything because I was afraid that she really was in it just for the sex, just sowing her wild oats before her marriage to David, and that if I bared my soul to her like that, I'd only make a fool of myself and embarrass us both and lose whatever authority as a Dominant I already had.\n\nBut mostly I didn't say anything because I'm such a stupid man.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "i'll kick things off by writing a bit (might include characters you don't know yet), then you'll take over and write the next sixty-two sentences in the distinctive voice of dr_mabeuse.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "From Long Viet we went right over to Dee's, one of a chain of weird discount clothing stores scattered around the city and close-in suburbs. I'd discovered Dee's before with a friend but never had an opportunity to shop there myself. They specialized in trendy cut-outs and fashion knock-off stuff that was hot one day and cold the next and ended up selling at Dee's for five dollars for a pair of pants and three for a tee shirt, seven dollars for an entire outfit. They specialized in clothes that were a bit too hip, and had a few too many hanging threads, but every so often my friend said you could find an outrageous bargain, and at those prices you could wear the stuff once and throw it away, which is pretty much what I had in mind.\n\nDee's was in an over-illuminated over-chromed mini strip mall on Broadway that also contained a blindingly bright fruit market/grocery whose stacks of grapefruits, apples and bananas extended out into the street. Everyone there wore sunglasses. They had to. The mall was frequented by a bunch of pretzel-thin hipless, breastless Asian and Chicano girls who looked faintly green under the powerful fluorescent lights. They made Emma look especially voluptuous, almost meaty.\n\nThankfully Dee's itself wasn't so bright. Emma had no idea what we were doing there till she rifled through some of the racks and saw the Lurex, velvet, spandex, mesh, vinyl, and then looked at the price tags.\n\n\"You've got to be kidding!\" she said.\n\nSeveral of the pretzel girls looked up.\n\n\"I know they're kind of flashy, \" I said, leaning over a rack of iridescent tops the size of dinner napkins, \"But I like flashy. Sue me. I want to buy you some clothes, Emma, my treat. I want to play sugar daddy so you can't say I never got you anything. I know this isn't the highest-end stuff in the world, but still, just for the hell of it. I've got a hundred dollars I don't want to walk out of here with. Okay?\"\n\nBut Emma's face suddenly got dark and sad, and I realized I'd done something wrong.\n\n\"No, Conner. That's okay. couldn't.\"\n\n\"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"Nothing. It's just... I'd rather not. Is that all right?\"\n\nI'm very stupid when it comes to women. Vaguely I sensed something swimming around between us like a fish in the dark again—that same business about what was real and what was a game.\n\n\"No, look, Emma,\" I said, grasping at straws. \"It's not like I'm really buying you something. These aren't really clothes. They're props. That's what they are, get it?\"\n\nShe smiled and shook her head but I think my earnestness must have gotten to her, or she realized she'd hurt my feelings, or something, because she relented.\n\n\"Props,\" I repeated, \"And at these prices, I want you to shock me with your lurid and whorish purchases, understand? And check it out—they have underwear too. Behind you.\"\n\nShe looked at me and then looked behind her at a display of demi-bras (my friend had told me their underwear was especially good, their stockings too), and she surrendered: \"Well, these bras aren't bad...\"\n\nWho was the poet who wanted to be a pair of his lover's panties?\n\nI walked up to the counter and made a show of giving the cashier two fifties. \"Don't give these back to me no matter what. I'm an irresponsible madman and will only spend it all on books. Make sure she spends it all. I'll be right back. I have an urgent need for a grapefruit.\"\n\nI thought Emma might be more motivated if she knew she could surprise me with her purchases, and I secretly liked the corny domesticity of the idea of the woman surprising her mate, so I walked outside and stood in the parking lot and had a cigarette while she spent my money on sexual enhancements.\n\nIt was a gorgeous night and I was right where I wanted to be—both satisfied and aching for more. secure and feeling like I was on the edge of a dangerous precipice, almost feeling like I was loved. My failure to tell her how I felt in the Long Viet came back to me. I should tell her, and yet things were going so well. It would be so easy to ruin everything at this point.\n\nBesides, she knew what was going on. We hadn't really made love yet. She knew I hadn't brought her all the way into the city just for a quick shower and a bowl of noodles. She'd seen the hoist and the locked room and now here I was buying her clothes at Dee's and she knew I had something planned. The main event was still to come. There was time.\n\nI was worried about leaving her alone so I walked back in. The cashier nodded towards the changing booths in the back and I walked back, and I heard her voice coming from one of the stalls, tight, low, urgent, talking on her cell phone.\n\n\"...Well see? That's why I didn't want to tell you! If you didn't know, then you wouldn't have to lie! You're the worst liar in the world, Angela, and David knows that too! ...(pause)...Well— Well— Well, just turn it off! Just don't answer it anymore! Angela—? Angela—? Angela! Would you listen to me—!?\"\n\nI turned and walked out, went outside, face burning, dizzy.\n\nSupposedly no one knew where she was. Her roommates didn't know. Her fiancé didn't know. It was our secret affair, private, our own little game, something we shared. If anyone got hurt it would be just us. And now here it was—the tone of her voice, tight, pinched, pleading, manipulative.\n\nStrange how my face burned. Throbbed almost—the part of me I show the world. As if I'd been slapped.\n\nI leaned against a car and watched as Emma came out of the dressing room, putting her phone away. She didn't look at me. She looked at the outfits she'd taken in with her. I tried to see her for who she was.\n\nBut was it really so weird, I asked myself? What had I heard? I'd heard her having words with Angela her roommate about David's calling her and that was really all. So Emma had lied to me when she told me her roommates didn't know about us. Was that such a big deal? It kept me from pestering her at home. It kept me from dropping by or trying to make more of this thing than it was.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "This is from a serialized story. Produce twenty sentences using the prose and structure of dr_mabeuse every time it's your turn, using what the user wrote as a seed. Stick to the Fiction, BDSM genre. Characters and plot points may reference earlier chapters.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The Blue Moon is the oldest bar in continuous existence in the city of Chicago.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What that means is that they've been drinking there since 1923. Al Capone drank there, actually owned it for a while. The booth he sat at is still there. The basement room he and his flunkies gambled at is still downstairs but stripped now and used for storage only, but there's still a tunnel that runs beneath Broadway and comes up on the other side of the street a block away for use in case of police raids, of which there were none, because Capone owned the police.\n\nThe Blue Moon is the quintessential private eye bar, forever stuck in that era of hard booze and fast women, garish green lights and red juke boxes, men in fedoras and women in low-cut dresses. The people who go there know it and they dress the part, so going there is half night-out, half costume party. It's always kind of surreal.\n\nHarvey the bouncer met us outside and we squeezed in through the crowd at the door and made our way down the long bar towards the bandstand in the back where the booths were, already occupied. The place was dark and crowded as usual, but there always seemed to some space you could slide into. It was noisy without being loud, bubbling and alive, crowded without being crushing. It was a perfect bar, exciting and relaxing at the same time, a sense of anticipation always in the air. You walked in and looked around and there were people looking for you. The dim booths, shadowy corners, colored spotlights reflecting in polished brass instruments, rows of bottles standing against cloudy mirrors. It was here that they'd started the poetry slams in the early 80's, opening up the mikes to any poets who wanted to read, and suddenly the word went out and people started crowding in to hear this new, spoken music and things took off. That's how I found this neighborhood and found this life, and that's why I'd brought Emma down here to this place I'd told her so much about, to meet my other mistress. But now that we were here I was feeling strange and confused, still upset about that phone call and the collar and so many things. And it was early yet, not even midnight.\n\nWe found a place at the very edge of the bar almost next to the bandstand under a bust of Plato. The band was a Retro big band called Retro Metro-- 18 pieces, 3 singers in 40's outfits and camellias in their hair, great brass, all professionals. They suck up a room and spit it out, and for someone like Emma who'd never heard live big band, they were a revelation, like discovering music for the first time There was one stool at the end of the bar right next to the band stand and I slid Emma onto it as the band was playing \"Night in Tunisia\" and her eyes just went wide.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your next response only must contain 6% dialogue", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We were so close you could almost feel the blast from the trumpets and hear the keys on the saxophones slapping and hear the musicians laughing and kidding each other and ordering drinks from the bar. The air smelled of beer and sweat and gardenia and people were dancing in a way you don't see anymore—jitterbugging, foxtrot, tango, really good dancers, dancing out of sheer joy. But I was irritated and confused and ordered a double whiskey for myself while Emma had a rum and coke.\n\nI'd made it a point not to really look at her when we left my place, but now I did, when I took off her sweatshirt and threw it on a stool, not caring whether anyone took it or not.\n\nShe was wearing the gray skirt, which hung on her without pleat or wrinkle, an exquisite, mistlike curve that showed where space stopped and Emma began. Above the skirt she wore a white top with a square neck and long, tight sleeves that was gathered between the tits in a way that was both innocent and suggestive. It was made of some material that looked very tactile—the urge to touch it was almost overwhelming, and I guess that was the point.\n\nHer entire person was made for holding, I realized—her shape, her scent, the colors she'd chosen, the way she moved, the textures of her clothes. In the mood I was in it was maddening, not just that she was made for holding, but that she had designed herself to appeal this way to me. Why did she do this to me if she didn't want me to hold her? I was trapped now and confused, angry and humiliated about the collar.\n\nThe band rushed up to a close, hit the note and held it. The dancers stopped, fell away in happy applause, whistles.\n\nI noticed the clock: midnight. I turned to her. \"Aren't you expecting a call?\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"David. He should have called you by now.\"\n\nEmma looked at me cautiously. \"Sometimes he doesn't call.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(In the next section: Include exactly 2 instance(s) of the word 'knows')", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I nodded wisely, as if in sympathy. \"Good thing he didn't call tonight with us being in a bar and everything, huh?\"\n\nThe Band started playing and Emma put her drink down. \"Conner, what's wrong? Why are you so angry? What have I done?\"\n\n\"Who says I'm angry? It's just a lucky coincidence that he doesn't call tonight while you're out with your other boyfriend.\"\n\nI looked at her. It was terrible. I was hurting her and it was like I was cutting my own stomach open but I couldn't stop.\n\n\"He doesn't know you're out with me, does he, Emma? No one knows you're out with me, right? That's what you told me, and you wouldn't lie to me.\"\n\nI saw the fear in her eyes then. She knew I'd found out. She spun so she was facing the room, sideways to me. She was so incredibly beauiful. Even with what she was doing to me she was beautiful.\n\n\"No,\" she said, \"No one knows about us.\"\n\nI took a sip of my drink, as the band started up the next number. I was leaning against the bar so I was a little behind her. I put my drink down and leaned over her, slid my arm over her chest and caressed her breast.\n\n\"You're a terrible liar,\" I whispered in her ear. \"You must even be a worse liar than Angela.\"\n\nI felt her stiffen.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I kissed her on the side of the neck. She smelled wonderful. Like flowers.\n\nShe pulled away and turned around. \"Conner? I think that's enough. I think it's time I went home. I want a cab. You're too drunk to drive.\"\n\nI looked at her for a moment and then smiled. \"Sure, honey. Fair enough. One dance, okay? One dance.\"\n\nThe band was playing a slow, campy version of Fats Domino's \"Blueberry Hill\", bloated and overdone, a grotesque, rollicking parody of itself. A lissome girl in a black velvet 40's evening gown stepped up to the microphone and started belting out the lyrics with super exaggerated enunciation, wrapping her lips and tongue around each syllable with cock-sucking, clit-licking enthusiasm. I took Emma's hand and dragged her off the stool.\n\nI don't dance and Emma doesn't either, not to a song like this, but she was too shocked to resist, and too frightened. I was frightened myself, with no idea what I was feeling or what I was trying to do. I grabbed her and put my arms around her and held onto to her and she had no choice but to follow. The room was a garish green, the music was swollen and staggering, the singer sounded like she was having sex with the microphone, and in my arms was the girl who was killing me with the love I felt for her. I pressed my face into her neck and crushed her to me like I wanted to kill her.\n\n\"I found my thrill...\"\n\nI held her in my arms and she was already a million miles away, she was already a memory, a ghost, and this would be all I'd have of her, this stiffness I held in my arms.\n\n\"Call me 'master',\" I whispered.\n\nEmma sighed and I squeezed her against me. It felt good to use my strength. It felt good the way she yielded.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Master!\" Emma whispered.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(hey for the next response, Include 'light' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I twisted her wrist behind her back and pushed it up, up between her shoulder blades—up until she gasped and her breast pressed into me.\n\n\"Again!\"\n\n\"Conner! God! Master! Oh! Master! Conner!\"\n\nI pushed her back into a dark little corner, behind a phony column where shadows hid us and only one beam of sickly yellow light could get through and slash across her face and in that light I saw her looking at me fearfully. I kept her arm twisted behind her back.\n\n\"You're a liar, Emma. You're a liar but you're going to give me what I want anyway, understand?\"\n\n\"No, Conner. No, I—\"\n\n\"Master!\"\n\n\"—Master! I—\"\n\n\"Shut up! I'm tired of playing games, Emma. I'm tired of being yanked around. You're not going anywhere tonight. I'm not taking you back to campus, I'm not taking you back to your car. You're staying with me tonight and you're staying for as long as I want you to stay. I'm not playing with you any more, Emma, do you understand? You're coming home with me and you're going to give me what I want. You're going to give it to me if I have to fucking crawl inside your mouth to get it!\"\n\n\"Conner! Conner! Master!\"\n\nI grabbed her face in my hands and I kissed her. I kissed that lying mouth. I kissed her and I bit her lips and I felt the tears spill down her cheeks. I was on fire and my cock was hard, stabbing her like a dagger as I held her face in my hands and leaned my weight against her, pressing her back against the wall.\n\nThe band was playing and the singer finished her verse and the trombone player must have stood up because as I kissed her and sucked the air from her lungs I heard the first golden blast of that pure, fat horn on my back and it seemed to drive me harder on top of her, pushing her into the corner till it was like we were in a world of our own, just me and Emma unseen by anyone. I dropped one hand to her leg, her thigh, and slid it up under her skirt, lifting the skirt, and Emma was biting me frantically, and I don't know if she wanted me or she hated me and anyhow I didn't care because it didn't matter anymore either way. Tears were spilling down her face.\n\nI abandoned my assault on her thigh and my hand went around to her behind where I started lifting her skirt, my hand gathering up the soft fabric. I gathered it up till I felt her naked ass.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She was wearing some kind of thong and I spread her cheeks apart with my fingers and began to run my finger up and down her crack. Emma moaned and put her hands on my cheeks and now apparently she decided she wanted it because she kissed me, holding my face as if she were trying to hold me steady or make me slow down—\n\n\"Don't touch me, slave!\" I hissed at her.\n\nShe pulled her hands away as if struck and pressed them against her shoulders, clenching them into tight, nervous little fists. I pushed my finger against her asshole and she whimpered.\n\n\"Oh God, Conner! I don't know what to do! What do you want me to do? Master! Master! What do you want me to do?\"\n\nI didn't answer. Standing in that little alcove with the shadows of the dancers sweeping over us, I pressed her against me and pushed my finger against her asshole while in front my hand slid under her skirt and found her pussy. She had managed to find some naughty things at Dee's after all—a g-string with a gauzy invisibly fine little pantie that clung tight to her little mound like a shadow, no thicker than a piece of cellophane—and split around her pussy so that her labia were revealed to the air and the night. How interesting...\n\nI leaned against hers. I pressed my weight against her and pushed her into the wall as I slid my hand under her skirt and continued to investigate her as if I were learning all this for the first time.\n\nThe panties were split, and hanging down over her clit was a little string of beads or pearls, I couldn't tell, but they hung down so that they'd slap against her clit as she walked, as she moved, spanking herself, keeping herself aroused and ready. It didn't matter that I'd made her buy them, that I'd insisted she buy slutty underwear and that she wore them just for me. They made me nuts for her, filled me with rage and excitement. They must have been spanking her all the time we were walking to the Blue Moon—and now as I fingered and fondled her clit she totally forgot my no-touch order and totally forgot my rage and anger and she turned on and lit up like a little flare as I touched her, igniting and melting against me, rubbing her hot, open mouth against mine and dissolving into a buttery pool.\n\n\"Conner, please! Don't make me... Don't...\"\n\n\"Come, Emma! You're going to come for me right here you little slut! You're going to come for your Master to show him how much you love him! To show him you love him more than anyone!\"\n\nHer face was screwed up into a tight litle mask of shame and denial and her body was trembling as she fought me but I wouldn't let her win. I refused to let her win. I needed her more than she needed herself, much more than she needed herself and I played with her clit and pressed against her anus and felt her shudder and sob.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Conner! Please! Master! Oh God! Master! I can't! I can't!\"\n\nBut already she was gone and as soon as my middle finger broke through her tight little sphincter in back she sobbed and pushed her pussy at me and I felt a hot little stream when she came, a hot little dollop of her lubricant dripping out into my hand, so utterly filthy. I loved it—all dressed up in her sweet little outfit, yet play with her pussy and stick your finger in her ass and the cum drips out of her like juice from a peach. She'd squirted before when she'd come but never like this, never in this precious little drop, and she shuddered deeply, trembling so violently I thought she might fall, so that when she grabbed onto me I didn't object. She buried her face against my chest, mouth open, gasping for air.\n\n\"Master, Master!\"\n\n\"Again, Emma! Again, damn it!\"\n\n\"No! Please, no!\"\n\nThe trombone player was still soloing, the rest of the brass limbering up, preparing to dive back in and see the song home, and I felt Emma's thighs quivering, the wad of come sliding off my finger as I pushed her towards another orgasm.\n\nShe was helpless when she got like this. She couldn't stop coming. She dug her nails into my shirt. Opened her mouth and bit me. I shoved my finger up into her ass.\n\n\"That's it, slut! Bite me, Emma! Bite me! Fucking make me bleed!\"\n\nShe snarled like a feral cat and her ass squeezed tight on my finger, her snarl becoming a high squeal of release as she came again. My shirt was wet where she bit me.\n\n\"Conner, no more! Please, no more! Not here. Please!\"\n\nI looked at her, tiny—helpless, her eyes closed tight . The music washed around us in a river of rich golden sound and Emma was caught like a beautiful little tropical fish on the hook of my fingers.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I wanted to crush her in my fist and I wanted to take her in my hands and cherish her next to my heart.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was a place she always put me—paralyzed between boiling sexual rage and weeping tenderness, and in the eye of this testosterone-fueled hurricane, Emma stood and hid against me from my own rage and shivered in constant orgasm. It was more than I could stand.\n\n\"Come on!\"\n\nI grabbed her hand and led her out through the front of the bar. The band was just getting to its feet and lifting their horns and all standing up and putting their horns to their mouths and blowing—the solid, hard-driving, good-rocking-tonight wide open final chorus, down the streets of the city and over the roofs of Chicago and out into the darkness over the Lake and I grabbed Emma and led her stumbling with her tear-stained face and shaking legs out through the press of people—some my age, some hers; some who looked at us, some who didn't—out the door and out onto the heat of Broadway in the summer night, across the street dodging cars and down the block, neither of us speaking, neither of us saying a word. In the wake of the rain the air had died and grown stifling and hot and I began to sweat as I led her along by the hand, her having to trot occasionally to keep up, till we came to Carmen and we turned down my street, passed the now-dark windows, came to my door and I opened it and led her into the hot dark inside.\n\n\"Come on,\" I said. \"Upstairs.\"\n\nI remember my mind was unusually sharp as I followed her up, although I'm not quite sure what that means in this context, because I really didn't know what I was doing anymore. Or maybe that was it. I didn't have to worry about sending the wrong message or being misunderstood anymore, so that made things very clear and simple. I didn't have to be careful and try and see things through her eyes and wonder if she'd misinterpret or misunderstand. I didn't have to think about anything at all. I'd taken Emma and she was mine—for the night at least—and at this point there was no tomorrow and no fucking around. I was going to have my way with her.\n\nThe front of the loft was totally dark when we entered. There was just enough light coming in from the street so you could make out the chain hoist hanging there from the beam, looking as ominous as a hangman's noose. There was a plain white wooden trunk standing nearby I'd put there earlier while Emma'd been changing. All my gear was in there, things I'd been collecting against this night.\n\n\"Go stand over there,\" I gestured towards the wall near the hoist.\n\n\"Conner, what are you going to do?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Just shut up and do it!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She did as I said, despite all the windows being open it was so hot and sweltering in the loft that the place was giving off its ancient smell of musty wood and machine oil, and it was almost enough to make me feel bad for her, seeing her dressed up in those clothes I'd bought for her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Almost. But then what did I care?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It occurred to me how stupid I must have looked to her, taking her to Dee's.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She had no sense of irony when it came to things like clothes and material goods. This was David's girl. She probably thought I'd been serious when I'd taken her there, and as I watched her cross the floor now in that skirt and her white top, the foolishness of this entire affair hit me.\n\nI turned to ice inside. I went to the trunk I'd pulled out earlier and dragged it over closer. I got what I needed: a spreader bar and anklets, the suspension cuffs, a metal carabineer. I went to Emma and stood in front of her and began to buckle the cuffs on. They weren't simple, having fours buckles each and it took some time. Her tits were rising and falling with each breath and she kept her eyes closed, waiting. As I worked, I spoke to her.\n\n\"You know, this emptiness, it's a female thing. The space in here. It's female.\"\n\nShe said nothing.\n\n\"I'm telling you what this means, Emma. I'm telling you what everything means from now on, because I don't think I'm getting through to you.\"\n\nI finished the one cuff and started on the other. It's funny I hadn't noticed her scent in the bar, or earlier, or ever before in our relationship as far as I could recall, but now I did, very subtle and opulent and sexually arousing, so that I really wanted to bury my face in her neck and inhale her fragrance. And how had she done that? Had she brought perfume in her bag? Had she applied some while I was dragging her down the street? Or was her nervousness making her emit some natural pheromone meant to soothe a male attacker and deflect his wrath into thoughts of sex?\n\n\"Darkness is female too,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And silence and quiet and all things that receive and take in and that are passive and horizontal and wet and soft and cool and sweet.\"\n\nI snugged the last buckle in place and clipped her wrists together with the carabineer.\n\n\"And with all this femininity at work, the poet in you asks, where are the masculine influences to counterbalance them? Because in poetry class we certainly learned how inportant it is to maintain a balance between masculine and feminine elements, between light and dark, passive and aggressive, hidden and overt. Well, here they come...\"\n\nI grabbed the chain hoist and slid it over and we both looked up as this cast iron demon swept in smoothly above us on its steel wheels like one of the four horseman of the apocalypse. A 1500-pound capacity chain hoist isn't a huge piece of machinery but it's still handsome and menacing, all manly and metal and dripping chains, and what male doesn't get off on seeing a nice powerful piece of industrial machinery at work?\n\nI locked the brake on the hoist and pulled down the lifting chain, opened the toggle on the stainless steel hook and clipped it to Emma's wrists. I pulled on the hauling chain and the lifting end ran through the block with a smooth, clocklike whirr and Emma's hands lifted up to eye level.\n\n\"Conner...!\"\n\nI bent down and attached the spreader bar to her ankles, buckled the anklets in places then attched the short chain to the the bar to one of the floor shackles and stood up. Emma stood there and looked at me with her eyes wide in the darkness, her breasts rising and falling. I could feel the emptiness of the loft stretching around us.\n\nThe hoist had a thirty-to-one mechanical advantage and as I ran the chain through my hands, Emma's wrists starting rising inexorably, up, up, up over her head. Up till her hands were extended like the hands of a diver and she was standing straight and reaching up, then on her toes, then reaching high. The chain to the spreader bar pulled taut and she started to fall back but the chain caught her and held her, suspending her from her arms and she cried out in alarm.\n\nShe stood there rocking slightly, feet apart, arms extended, looking straight ahead, helpless.\n\nShe was still dressed though, still wearing her clothes from the bar. I stood behind her. I reached into my pocket. The knife was about three and a half inches long and opened with the smoothness of silk upon silk. I pulled out the hem of the white top she was wearing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was too bad—it fit her so well.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Don't move,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the dim light of the loft it only took a few seconds to cut off the top, running the knife up from the hem to the collar, and then along the arms. Her skin beneath was flawless. I was very careful. As I cut her clothes off her, I talked to her.\n\n\"There's something I read that says that this is all a form of worship, Emma, that in a funny way, I'm worshipping you. I think that's kind of right. Because when we worship something, we're trying to get control of it, aren't we? We're trying to tell God or whatever, be nice to me, give me a break. We're trying to say, I adore you, you're fantastic, but take it easy on me too, aren't we? And yeah, I'd say that about sums up what I'm trying to do with you, Emma. That comes pretty close.\"\n\nI'd cut through the skirt and yanked it off and she cried out. She was scared now, hanging in that chain, and I knew her arms wouldn't take much of this. I had to hurry.\n\nI went up behind her. I whispered in her ear. \"I have to take your bra off, baby. Your pretty panties too.\"\n\nShe nodded nervously.\n\nI slid my hands along her skin. She was warm and soft and so ready to be fucked just like this. And I was so on fire for her.\n\nI slid the knife under the straps of the bra and sliced through them, then unhooked it and let it fall. I pulled the sides of her panties out and sliced through those as well, then pulled the garment through her legs.\n\n\"Are you ready, Emma?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nI took up the little bit of the slack in the hoist, pulling till her body was bowstring tight and the soles of her shoes started to rise off the floor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She cried out and gasped. Her rib cage lifted and her stomach sucked in and she started to pant like a dog.\n\n\"You all right, baby?\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes!\"\n\nI stepped behind her. \"I'm afraid I have to gag you.\"\n\n\"All right. Do it. Do I get a safe word? What's my safe word? Three times?\"\n\nI moved behind her and slid the ball between her teeth and buckled the gag into place behind her head. I finished and took a moment to just run my hands down her perfect body, over her breasts and her swollen nipples, her ribs, the dramatic in-tuck over her waist and flare of her hips.\n\nI stepped back and tested the balance of the flogger in my hand.\n\n\"No, baby,\" I said. \"I'm afraid I can't give you that. This time there is no safe word.\"\n\nI raised the flogger and brought it down hard on her ass and then again and Emma yelled—a desperate, muffled sound in the loft—and I had to stop myself because I didn't want to end up beating her. That's what I'd been afraid of and I didn't want that, so I backed off and walked in a circle a couple of times just to cool off. I was too hot, too on edge, still pissed about the whole David business.\n\nI started in again, this time just brushing her ass with the flogger, aiming it so the fall just singed her buttocks and tickled them with pain and I saw her flex her ass and arch her back. That's what I wanted. To arouse her. To drive her crazy with it like she drove me crazy. That was how to use my anger. Emma threw her head back and bit into the gag.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her hands gripped at the chains, then she dropped her head again and closed her eyes as the whip fell.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Include 'right' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I knew she was concentrating on the sensation, that teasing, stinging, driving sensation. Conner's telling you you're a slut, honey. Conner's saying it. Conner and his nasty whip. Is he right? Is he?\n\nI began a steady, rhythmic series of figure eights, bringing her senses alive. The flogger came down in the darkened loft with a wicked scything sound, and soon I began to hear Emma's muffled moans.\n\nI am right, aren't I, Emma? Yes, I am. You like it, don't you? You love it. Nipples getting hard. Pussy starting to throb. You love it, Emma. You love being whipped.\n\nHer head went back, eyes closed. Starting to feel good now. The pain's starting to buy her something, a certain kind of freedom, a permission to own a part of her sexuality that I can only admire. God, she's fucking beautiful when she gets whipped! Just incredible!\n\nThe flogger first stings, then burns, then numbs and raises a deep, throbbing, endorphic hunger, and as I whipped her, I fixated for some reason on her foot in her shoe, on the delicacy of her ankle and the way it moved as the whip came down—the little twitch and surrender, as if eager to get going, the pull against the anklet that held her bound to the spreader bar. Strange how we fix on such little trivial things and find such incredible heat in them.\n\nAfter a time I stepped in front of her and grabbed her hair, pulled her head back and saw the fear and excitement in her eyes. If she were faking, I couldn't tell—fear and excitement, and she wanted more.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I put my hand between her legs and pushed up and my palm came away smeared with wetness. She stared at me and dared me to go on.\n\nI started whipping her chest, her breasts, the same figure eight, upper left to lower right, upper right to lower left. Emma let her head fall back at first and then raised it again, tucking in her chin to look down at her chest as the flogger fell, watching the marks appear on her skin, watching her breasts as they shook and recoiled under the flogger's blows, watching what was happening as if it weren't happening to her, as if it were someone else, as if she could almost believe it till every few strokes I'd have to stop and reach out and caress her breasts and feel how hot they were, and the nipples, feel how swollen.\n\nI switched to her thighs, swinging the flogger back and forth as if I were scything weeds, feeling the leather slap against the firmness of her legs and stick and drag over her sweat-slick skin. It was as if she had something of mine. She had something and I wanted it back. I didn't know what it was, or maybe that wasn't even it. There was just something, something she did to me that I couldn't stand. She just tore me up, this girl, this woman. She tore me up and did things to me and I felt like I was fighting for my life here, fighting for my sanity, pitting my 235 pounds against her maybe 135, and me with my whips and hoists and chains and ropes and I didn't have a chance.\n\nOutside in the street a car had stopped, subs cranked, bass booming through the deck, you could feel it in your chest, the muffled rattling, impotent boom.\n\n\"Damn it, Emma! Damn it!\"\n\nThe sizzling hiss of the whip as I flogged her tits, her nipples. She gasped and wailed but there was nothing she could do to escape or avoid the blows, stretched as tight as she was, crucified almost, caught in mid air and suspended between the spreader bar and the hoist, rigid, gagged, exposed, and despite her shuddering and her protests the sheen of her own obscene juices smeared on her thighs by the blows of the whip showed how excited she was. She was driving me mad, and her own quivering excitement was making me hit her harder, whip her faster, going for the essence of her, reaching for the bone. Emma was shaking. Saliva began to ooze from the corners of her mouth.\n\nSlapp!! Whapp!! Smackk!! Whackk! !", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What the fuck have you done to me, Emma?\" I snarled. \"I want to know what you've done to me!\"\n\nI aimed the flogger at her cunt, bringing it up between her legs so the fall slapped against the flesh of her pussy, the strands slapping against her buttocks from below. She howled behind the gag, her eyes clenched tight.\n\nWhapp!! Whackk!! Slapp!! Smackk! !\n\n\"You've taken something from me, bitch! You've fucking taken something from me and I want it back! Understand me? I want it back!!\"\n\nShe's flying now, her body rigid like a diver's—arms stretched overhead and wrists together, legs flexed and rigid and held apart by the spreader bar, long hair flowing over her tits, her eyes clenched tight in painful endurance as the flogger slaps up against her pussy again and again and Emma's muffled cries of rising excitement get higher and higher and more and more urgent and hysterical, out of control...\n\nWhackk!! Flackkk!!! Smasshh!!! Slasshh!! !\n\n\"Come on, Emma! Come on bitch! Get it, Emma! Get it for me, baby! Give it to me! Get it for me, Emma, damn it!! Get it! Get it!!\"\n\nI could see she was starting to come, see she was starting to lose it I could see it in the way she was trembling, her stomach heaving, jerking, her breath rushing in and out of her dilated nostrils like the snorting of a bull, her fingers spreading wide as if they'd break off and then clenching tight into trembling, agonized fists. The muscles on the insides of her thighs quaking with the strain of fighting it off and her eyes were closed tight and clenched in the pain of overwhelming ecstasy...\n\nI dropped the flogger and rushed to her, terrified she'd pass out, yanked the gag from her mouth and tore slack from the hoist to lower her. She started to crumple, falling into my arms like a sack of wheat. She gasped for breath, sucked in a piteous lungful of air and turned to me, eyes still closed—\"Conner! Conner—!\"\n\n\"Emma! Yes, baby, yes! I've got you! I've got you now! I've got you\"\n\n\"Connerrrrr!!!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I held her as she jerked and spasmed in convulsive orgasm as if a thousand volts of electricity were ripping through her in total sensory overload and I crushed her to me as if only I could keep her from exploding into pieces out of sheer ecstasy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She hung half in my arms and half in the hoist and jerked and twitched and came and came and came, and it was like heaven, it was glorious, it was like it was me myself who was doing it, who was coming like that, and I actually felt the thrills rip through my own body in waves of concentric bliss, as if there were parts of her that I had somehow internalized or ingested that now responded to the pleasure in her like the ocean responds to the pull of the moon and they rushed to her, feeling what she felt.\n\n—But no, it was better than me myself doing it because it was her, and I'd taken her there. It was the place I'd taken her, the story I'd told her, the heart I'd given her, and I stood there and held her and squeezed her and took everything back from her—anything she'd taken from me and anything I'd given her, anything she'd stolen and anything she'd borrowed, I got it all back from her right then, it all came flooding back in overflowing and I unhooked her from the chains and sank to the floor with her in my arms and sat there holding her and rocking with her and thinking that this was only sex and this was only sex and that's all that this was, only sex.\n\nAnd I thought: if I took her back tomorrow, we still were even.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Looking at this text, there's a `[original_content_missing]` that needs filling. Give me ~seven thousand, two hundred and forty-seven chars that would work.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Conner, please—\"\n\n\"Quiet, Emma\"\n\n\"Conner—\"\n\nShe was standing under the hoist, completely naked. The cuffs were gone, the spreader bar and anklets were gone. The gag was lying on the floor. Her wrists were lashed behind her, and I was fastening my collar around her neck.\n\n\"It doesn't mean anything, okay? It's just a piece of decoration, a piece of jewelry I happen to like. Can you think of it that way. Does it have to be some big fucking deal? It looks good on you, that's all. It turns me on, Emma, isn't that enough?\"\n\nShe looked like she was going to cry. It had been a long fucking night.\n\n\"Come here.\"\n\nI pulled her towards me, took her in my arms and kissed her neck, inhaling her scent and the smell of the leather and burying my face in her hair. I couldn't help it, the thing did turn me on. It's a shameful secret of mine—the sight of a collar on a woman is a powerful aphrodisiac to me. It's ridiculous but true, and Emma was still mine for the night.\n\nI took her ass in one hand and massaged her breast carefully in the other. I was cautious in the way I touched her. She was red and hot from whipping and I'd already salved her down, but Emma was Emma—upset or not she melted against me and flowered beneath my touch and my kisses, pressed herself into my hands and began to purr.\n\n\"That's better,\" I said. \"That's better, better...\"\n\nIn all this time I hadn't come, I hadn't had any relief. I'd been up and I'd been down and I was aware of the ache in my groin and the wetness in my shorts but I hadn't even allowed myself to think of relief. And now it was time. Now it was time.\n\nI went to the trunk and pulled out a bunch of things already wrapped in a towel. I was already prepared for this. The last thing I took out was a big blanket which I folded in half and spread over the trunk for a bed.\n\n\"Come here, Emma. Come here.\"\n\nThere in the darkness in the middle of the big empty floor I had her sit on the edge of the trunk and I kneeled between her legs. It was late now and there wasn't much noise off the street as I leaned forward and closed my eyes and lost myself in the softness of her tits again, that shy and generous sweetness. Breasts would be fantastic even if they weren't erotic. The fact that women love to have them played with just makes them miraculous, a reason to be glad to be alive. As I nuzzled and kissed her flesh, Emma sighed and her face took on an innocent look of sensual pleasure, She closed her eyes touched my cheek with her fingers as if welcoming me to her boobs, as if I'd been a stranger. I understood. After all this time of being focused on her, it was as if, who was this man? Who's coming to use this body? But it was my turn. It was time.\n\nI stood up and slid off my shorts. I was hard and ready. I kneeled back down on the floor and picked up the silver chain and found the clamp, slid it around her nipple and screwed it on. We both watched. Not too tight. I don't want to distract from the main event. I j[original_content_missing]won't tie her up, and I smile and say, \"Don't be ridiculous.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "ust want her to be aware. We both watched as I affixed the hardware to her body, the jewelry, putting my mark on her, no matter how temporary. First one, then the other. She winced, then relaxed, moved her shoulders back and forth. For now, these were Conner's. She was letting me use them. Her breathing increased.\n\nWe still haven't talked. In all that's happened between us, we still haven't talked, and it's important you know this in light of what happened next. Am I spoiling my story by telling you what an idiot I am? I hope not, because I think you should probably know that by now. At this point, after all that's happened, I still think that Emma's going back to David tomorrow, and so does she. We have a sexual affair so perfect that we can't get past the sex.\n\nI lower her down onto her back on the trunk. I bring her ass to the edge of the trunk and I stand up. I'm rock hard and aching. She's absolutely beautiful lying there wearing my collar, despite the lash marks on her breasts and thighs or perhaps because of them, despite the uncertainty on her face, the trace of sadness and threat of tears.\n\nI touch her knees to spread her legs.\n\n\"Please, Conner. I want you so much!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nI bend my knees slightly. I don't even have to touch my cock. He seems to know the way, and she's so swollen and wet and open it's like they're magnetized. He finds her and he touches her and with the slightest move from me he parts her and she opens and he just slips inside, just barely, because I'm holding him back.\n\nEven so, Emma arches as if struck, gasps, her hands seize my forearms and her nails dig into my skin, Her knees rise. Despite my need, I force myself to stop there just to torture us both.\n\n\"Are you ready?\"\n\n\"Oh yes!\"\n\nI slide into her.\n\nDespite all the attention and foreplay and bondage and whipping and orgasms and all the baroque and bizarre sex, Emma's still tight, hot, fresh, and quivering with need for this simple act of love. She spasms when I enter, cries out with painful satisfaction, greets me with animal heat and I plunge all the way into her with a pure, primal hunger of my own, pushing my weight into her.\n\n\"God, Emma! Christ, you're good! God, I forget how good you are like this!\"\n\nHer face is all sweet and creamy with lust. She smiles as she squeezes me with her buttery pussy. She makes me groan.\n\n\"Fuck me, Conner. Fuck me!\"\n\nI pull out of her and plunge back in, my loins whapping against her upturned thighs. Emma arches and squeezes me again.\n\nI start to fuck her now, pumping into her, riding her, my ass rising and falling in steady rhythm, brushing her hair away so I can see my collar on her throat, that beautiful collar against her swanlike throat. She thinks it's a decoration. She doesn't know what it means to me.\n\nIt would have been so beautiful, so easy. It fits her so well and she looks so fucking beautiful in it.\n\nAnger makes me fuck her faster, knowing it could be the last time. My hands close on her whipped and beaten ass and I dig my fingers in. Emma winces, then squeals and wraps her arms around me, her hips begin to slap up at me.\n\n\"It could have been so good, Emma!\" I whisper. \"It could have been so good. I couldn't give you what he could, but there's other things, Emma. He can't give you this, can he? He doesn't do this for you, any of this—what I showed you in the dark and in the rain, the stories, the secrets between us...\"\n\nI get up on my knees and then on my feet. I pick up her ankles and hold them in the air as I fuck her, hold them as if she were a post-hole digger and I'm the mad driller. She feels so good and I want her so much and I begin to fuck her hard, slinging my hips at her, trying to hurt her with my cock, hammering my words home.\n\nI'm not sure what I'm doing, because I'm fucking her and I'm talking to her and I'm watching my prick run in and out of her, entering her and pulling out, over and over, but it's like I can't stop talking to her, can't let her go like this, and so I'm talking and fucking her and fucking and talking:—\n\n\"Because I don't think you understand Emma, goddamn it! I don't think you know what we have between us or how special this is, to feel what I feel for you, you bitch! To go crazy for a woman like I go crazy for you, Emma. —Ugh!— To want to whip someone and hurt someone and love someone and die for them and fuck them to death like I do for you, Emma. (Jesus!!!) Do you understand me? (Fuck!!) Do you know what I'm saying, you bitch! Do you know how much I fucking love you, Emma, (Oh GOD!!) you beautiful goddamned slut!? —CHRIST!!!—Jesus, Emma! God! I'm close, baby! Emma! Fuck, I'm close!!!\"\n\nI'm hanging over her with my cock sunk all the way in her and her legs draped over my arms, absolutely at the point of tears and Emma gets up on her elbows and stares at me astonished and says, \"Oh God, Conner, Conner! What are you saying? God, what are you saying? I don't understand this! I don't understand any of this! All I want is for you to love me! That's all I want. That's all I ever wanted. Just tell me what I have to do for you to love me, Conner! Please! Because I can't stand this anymore. I don't want him! I want you. Oh, Conner!\"\n\nAnd then she did start crying, hard, which made her squeeze me inside with every sob.\n\n\"No!\" I said. \"No crying! Not now! Not now when I'm going to come, damn it! Not now damn it fucking shit fuck ass cock ball cunt dick fart!\"\n\nBut she wouldn't stop, and so she laid there with her hands over her eyes crying with me with my dick inside her on the edge of orgasm and I'm on the verge of tears too, and what can you do in a situation like that? Well, I'm sorry but like a bastard I went and finished fucking her and had one of the worst orgasms of my life thank you very much and she hardly even noticed, because she was having some kind of emotional orgasm of her own, and she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me like crazy and really started sobbing and I was like suddenly drowning in the sweet salt of her tears.\n\nThings were amazingly messy there for a moment. And then they weren't. Then they were very clean.\n\nAnd then I hold her and we talk, and talk, and she tells me how afraid and ashamed she's been, certain that I only wanted her because I think she's a sub and a slut and a whore. And that's why she thought I'd offered her that collar and that's why I'd taken her to Dee's, and in fact, that's why I even bothered with her, because I thought all she was good for was tying up and whipping and fucking. She said she'd loved me all along but that she'd been afraid to tell me because she knew I'd never want to have anything to do with a sub and a fuckslut.\n\nAnd I tell her that I thought all she wanted me for was as a master, someone to tie her up and whip her, that I thought she'd find me too old and weird to have as a real-life lover, and that if I ever told her how I really felt she'd get creeped out and run.\n\nAnd so there we were, trapped in these ritualized sexual roles of Master and slave, unable to show our genuine feelings, afraid we'd scare the other one off.\n\nSuddenly we're looking at each other without the masks now, and there's me, and there's Emma. She wants to know if this means she can't still be my slut, if I still ", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Fill in the blank marked `<\|missing_text\|>` with a bit with forty-three words that makes sense in context.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "It's really late now, like 3:35 in the morning, and the streets are quiet and empty, the lights are all off. I'm sitting in an arm chair in the living room with my pants on and nothing else, a bottle of tequila about half gone, one end of a rope in my hand.\n\nWhat's on the other end of this rope is my heart. She's naked, lying face down, hanging from a block and tackle attached to a beam in my ceiling. Her ankles are tied against her thighs, her elbows are tied together behind her back. There are ropes around her waist, her legs, her wrists, her breasts, her arms, her chest. They're placed along her body so as to distribute her weight evenly such that no rope cuts into her skin and causes discomfort, and in this way she can hang suspended for some time facing the floor as she wishes, her hair hanging down obscuring her face, anonymous but unmistakably female. She might be an ornament, or a captive, or a fruit that has grown in my home, a gift of my own imagining, or perhaps just a mystery, suspended between heaven and earth. I sit here and admire her, watching her as she revolves very, very slowly in the darkness, like a dream in the mind of the sleeping city, feeling all sorts of things, my heart and my mind filled with her, not sure what she is, thinking she must be everything to me. I never want to stop looking at her. In the background, John Coltrane plays, \"My One and Only Love.\" It's a heartbreakingly beautiful song.\n\nIn a moment I'll go and untie her and help her down, help her stretch and massage out any cramps she might have. I might make her dance with me because I so love this song and I so love to dance with a woman I love. Moving your body together with someone you love through artistically structured time is one of the more beautiful things human beings do. Dancing is one of the ways we do that. BDSM is another.\n\nI think we live our lives in other people's hearts and minds. Alone by ourselves we're not very much good at all. But when we l<\|missing_text\|>pretty thin reading with faded ink and hardly any pictures and dull stories. And then others are nice, heavy little volumes filled with stories of whippings and weird, perverse sex, dark Chinese restaurants with weird food and drugs being dealt in the back, hot women coming in your hand in loud bars with brassy music playing.\n\nIt's nice when one of these books falls into your hands. It's nice when you read through the first few pages and know it's going to be a good one, and you settle down and know you've got pages and pages to go.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "et someone else in with their stories and all their sights and sounds and songs and smells and sensations, we suddenly start filling our shelves and boxes with books and books of them and building up our libraries.\n\nSome of these books are ", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "u know dr_mabeuse? write like that. ninety-three sentences sentences. Fiction, BDSM stuff. this is from middle of story", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Writing fiction doesn't pay much, and you give up a lot when you try to be a writer. Money, the things other people have, even family—you can pretty much kiss all that goodbye. But there are compensations. Your life's maybe not as wide as most people's, but it's deeper, and sometimes it's more interesting. You're always trying to explain and describe things to yourself, and so you see things other people miss and feel things most people are too busy to bother with.\n\nI know, because when this story takes place, I was living in an unconverted loft in a seedy part of the city, right smack up against the L tracks. So close that I could stand at my window in my underwear and stare eye to eye with the people riding to work in the morning and coming home at night, and I could see their eyes didn't go very deep. I was writing mostly porn at the time, and I knew they were reading it, but you couldn't tell from their eyes.\n\nI was also teaching a survey course poetry at Crane Community College to pay the bills, and that's where I met Emma. It was a summer session, a small class of maybe 20 students in a funny kind of miniature lecture hall, a semester's worth of work crammed into six weeks, and I was just there as temporary help—an adjunct instructor—because none of the real faculty wanted to waste their summers teaching kids who were just trying to blow their way through a survey course. Emma was a returning student in her mid- twenties. She'd dropped out of her regular four-year college for whatever reason before graduating, had done whatever she'd dropped out for for a few years, changed her mind and now worked in an office during the day and took courses at night to finish her degree.\n\nI liked returning students. They know why they're in college and they take it seriously. They've also been out in the real world long enough that they come into the classroom with some real questions, but they're still naïve enough to think that they'll get some real answers.\n\nStill, I never expected to connect with Emma. She seemed a bit too vain, a bit too good-looking and fashionable to have any intellectual ambitions, and her glowing tan didn't inspire a lot of confidence in her academic dedication. She was tall, very nicely built, with a lush and sumptuous woman's body—long brown hair and brown eyes, and she always dressed well. She took care of herself. She looked like a girl whose main interest was men, and who knew her own worth and thought pretty highly of herself. I had her pegged for an upper middle-management husband in a year or two, two kids and a McMansion, and incipient alcoholism starting about age 40 when she learned about her husband's affair.\n\nThat is to say, she seemed like a perfectly normal suburban girl to me. In light of what happened between us, that's important to keep in mind. She wasn't a freak, or a loser or a geek, or neurotic in any meaningful way, and in fact the work she turned in was very good. She knew how to use semicolons, which is a rarity these days bordering upon the freakish. She was a very smart girl and could have coasted through the class but she really wasn't interested in being smart and apparently had never found much use for it. What she was was something else that I still don't know how to define. Sensual? Sexual? Feminine? Submissive? Obsessed?\n\nSome of my former students tell me I'm intimidating at the beginning of the semester, and I do like to start out pretty tight and relax as I go along, so maybe that's what got her. Or maybe it was when we started talking about Beat poetry and the sexual license and drug-use of the Beats. Maybe my own acceptance of these kinds of behaviors came through. But soon Emma was coming down the steps of the lecture hall after class to hang around the lectern with a few other students to continue the discussion or just schmooze as I put my notes away. Sometimes I'd end up walking her out of the building.\n\nBy that time she knew I wrote and was published, and when she asked me one night after class what kind of stuff I wrote, I stopped wiping down the white board and told her: \"Romance\"\n\nThat wasn't entirely true, because as I said, what I was really writing at the time was pornography, BDSM mostly, savage and passionate and very graphic, pouring all my own sexual frustrations into it. I wasn't proud of this, and normally I avoided the question altogether, but that night's lecture had been about Kerouac and Ginsberg and Burroughs, drugs and sex and homosexuality, and Emma seemed to have a breathy, spellbound look about her that I wanted to be a part of, so I told her. A community college poetry instructor doesn't get many chances to impress his students.\n\nThen she asked me if I published under my own name and I did the unthinkable. I gave her my pen name—my porn name—and I told her my stories were on the web. I even told her where to find them\n\nIt was an idiotic thing to do and I'm not sure why I did it. I guess I knew that I was an adjunct instructor at a crummy community college and would never have the money and prestige someone like Emma would respect, but I wanted her to know who I was inside. I wrote porn, but when I wrote it I poured my heart and soul onto the page and I knew it showed. It was powerful stuff. I guess I wanted her to know that about it.\n\nAnd on top of that, I had to admit I was attracted to her. That's not uncommon when you teach college, but this was an unusual attraction. I'm a sexual dominant by nature. That doesn't mean I walk around with a whip and Nazi jackboots on, but I have a special sensitivity for women who are attracted to my type. Emma gave no sign of being submissive, but those labels are misleading anyhow. There was something about her, something I felt—maybe the way her pupils dilated when I grew stern or irritated, or the way she toyed with her hair during lecture—but I felt it.\n\nIn any case, I was there for the summer only, so what did I care? If she read my stuff and got shocked, then the hell with it. At least I'd have the pleasure of scandalizing her. Odds are she wouldn't even remember my pen name or wouldn't bother looking up my stories anyhow.\n\nThere happened to be an hourly exam during the next class session, so I really didn't get to talk with her before then. I just passed out the blue books and they got to work. She kept her head down and began writing, and I leaned against the lectern and kept a casual eye on the kids, but I couldn't keep my eyes off those long legs now, or the heavy thrust of her breasts against her cotton tee, the way she twisted her hair in her fingers as she concentrated. One time she looked up and caught me staring at her, and she seemed to hold my eyes a bit longer than necessary before returning to her test. There might have been a slight smile on her lips or I might have imagined it.\n\nThe students turned in their bluebooks one by one and filed out, and Emma kept her eyes down discreetly as she slid hers onto the pile, but when I got back to the office I was using, I turned to hers first, and on the second page, outlined in a square of pencil with hearts in the corner it said. \"I read your cheerleader story! It was incredible!!! Is it for real??? --Curious!!! M.\"\n\nThe \"curious\" was underlined three times.\n\nI sat there in the office with my heart in my mouth. I knew the story she meant, of course. It was a toss-off—no real plot, written for a BDSM site: a teasing college cheerleader is abducted and tied up in the deserted gym by the football coach who slowly strips off her clothes and does all sorts of thoroughly rude and nasty things to her, which she of course loves. It wasn't my greatest piece of work, but the parallels to our current situation gave me chills.\n\nI graded the other tests quickly, hardly concentrating as I turned over various responses in my head. By the time I got to Emma's test, I went to her little message, and where she'd written, \"Is it for real???\" I wrote in red pen, \"As I've been telling you all semester, one writes what one knows.\"\n\nIt was a good test but no better than a B. I gave her an A minus and, with my hand almost trembling, wrote. \"This grade is negotiable.\"\n\nI left the tests outside my office where the students could pick them up\n\nThe next class she came in wearing a short sleeve blouse that was a bit snug and opened perhaps just one button too low, revealing the slopes of her breasts. She was wearing a skirt too. That wasn't unusual—a lot of the kids came to class straight from work, as did Emma. Maybe I'd just never noticed before?.\n\nShe didn't sit in her usual place either, high up near the aisle. The lecture hall was a miniature auditorium that had seats and tables bolted to the concrete floor, rising in steep tiers, and Emma slid into a seat in the center of the fourth tier up so that her knees were on a level with my eyes. Her placement was so blatant it was almost comical, and I might have laughed had we been alone or further along in our relationship, but at this point there was nothing between us, and when I'd look up from my lecture and see her knees casually apart and the hem of her skirt up as she idly scratched her thigh, I'd actually start to stutter.\n\nShe wasn't taking notes though she pretended to be. I could tell. She'd doodle on her pad, or lean back and stretch and push her shoulders back, straining the buttons on her blouse. She'd cross her legs and pull her skirt up, and her knees and the bottom of her thigh seemed to itch a lot. Whenever I'd look up at her, her head would be down, but she did everything except fellate her pen put her hands between her legs.\n\nWhen the class ended, I said, \"Emma? Could I see you for a few minutes?\"\n\nShe had to wait while I explained some other students' grades to them, and then she gathered up her books and slid out of her chair and came down to the podium. Maybe my description of her behavior and clothes made her sound cheap, but I assure you, she didn't look cheap. She was beautiful—perfectly made up, just the faintest hint of perfume.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Devlin?\"\n\nI collected my notes. \"So you read that story?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her eyes lit up with a smoldering glow.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes. I read more too. You have a lot. That beach one and the one about the girl in the basement, and the clothes, and the one with the girl who gets kidnapped...\"\n\nI nodded, then looked her in the eye. \"You know, I only told you about those stories because I trust you.\"\n\nAs I said, people tell me I'm an intimidating guy. I don't notice it. I'm big and strong, and I know I have a lot of anger inside, and maybe that shows when I'm being serious. But I'm not mean, and I don't mean to scare people. But something inside me felt Emma starting to respond. I couldn't say what it was—whether her breathing changed or something in her eyes or the attitude of her body, but she seemed just a little bit scared.\n\n\"Of course,\" she said. \"I wouldn't tell anyone else, Mr. D. I mean, I don't think anyone else would understand.\"\n\n\"No. They wouldn't.\" I snapped my briefcase closed and gestured for her to follow me. \"But you understood, Emma? What did you think of them?\"\n\nWe walked up the stairs of the lecture hall. She was just behind me. \"Well, they're very good stories. I mean, your know. They're very good. I just wondered... I mean, they're not real, are they? Those things the men do in there, the things they do to the women...\"\n\nWe were at the head of the stairs now, at the exit. I snapped off the lights, leaving just the spotlights shining down on the empty lectern.\n\n\"They're real enough, Emma. They're all based on things I've done. Things I do. I've changed the settings. I've changed the characters—their names, their ages. But why do you ask?\"\n\nWe were standing by the open door to the corridor. It was late, almost ten o'clock and there was no one around. Even the parking lot was deserted. Emma was standing with her back to the cinderblock wall, not knowing where to put her eyes.\n\n\"Darkness stirs my soul,\" I quoted. \"Desires whose name I cannot speak. His flesh is within me, his raging lust upon me. I am his anger and his joy, his sickness and its cure. He shames me with my pleasure and tames me with his rage, till all dissolves between us and he sees me as I am.\"\n\n\"Who wrote that?\" she asked nervously.\n\nI ignored her question. \"Is that how it is?\"\n\nShe didn't answer. In the darkness I saw her breasts rising and falling.\n\n\"Is it?\" I repeated.\n\nAgain, no answer. That was answer enough.\n\nI put down the briefcase and swung the door closed. The hydraulic door-closers hissed softly and then the lock caught and clicked firmly shut. I knew no one would be coming in here till after midnight, and suddenly we were in this enclosed space together, a magical circle of sexual threat. Things began to work in our bodies we had no control over.\n\nA certain amount of light still spilled from the glass panel in the door into the darkened auditorium, but that just made the real world feel that much farther away. I put my hand on the wall next to her head and leaned over her. I had no doubt about her now, and I knew my eyes were glowing as I stared at her. A knew who she was like a fox knows a rabbit.\n\n\"You've been like this all your life, haven't you?\" I asked. \"The things that were in those stories, they've been exciting you since before you even knew what sex was.\"\n\nThe rabbit looked at the fox and saw there was no point in lying. \"How did you know?\"\n\n\"Because I'm the same way.\"\n\nI took the books from her hands and tossed them on a table.\n\n\"Come here. Away from the door.\"\n\nI led her a few feet into the auditorium, away from the square of light from the door. She was still standing with her back to the wall and I leaned over her again, keeping her trapped. Here eyes were shining with something between fear and excitement, her lips parted and glistening.\n\n\"Lift up the front of your skirt,\" I said.\n\n\"What?! Mr. Devlin—!\" She looked shocked.\n\n\"Just do as I say. Lift it up and it hold it at your waist.\"\n\nThere was a moment where our wills collided and we just stared at each other, but I knew in my heart that she wanted this. I don't know how I knew, but I knew. I felt my will overcome hers and felt her give in, like a fist closing over her. Her hands went to her skirt and she began to gather up the fabric.\n\n\"All your life you've been dying for someone to know,\" I said to her. \"You've needed to tell someone, you've prayed for someone to treat you like this. You've ached for it, Emma, haven't you?\"\n\nHer skirt was gathered above her panties now, and my right hand made contact with her bare thigh, midway between knee and groin, smooth and warm as the summer sun. She closed her eyes. Her nostrils flared.\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"No.\"\n\n\"You've dreamt about a man who would show you what you are inside, who would make you feel what you're capable of feeling, because you know there's so much inside, don't you? You know there's so much more...\"\n\nMy fingertips slid up her thigh, slowly working around to reach the inside as I approached her crotch, stroking first one leg, then the other, petting her as if she were a frightened animal. My body was very close to hers now, almost touching her. I could see her breasts rising and falling in the dim light.\n\nSuddenly she put her hands on my shoulders and her skirt dropped over my wrist like a curtain. I kept my hand where it was between her legs.\n\n\"No,\" I said quietly. \"There are rules here, Emma, and the first one is: you don't touch me. Not without permission. I touch you, but you don't touch me, understand? Now pick up your skirt.\"\n\nShe took her hands off my shoulders and lifted her skirt again, revealing her snug panties and the smooth plane of her belly, tanned as dark as her legs. I brought my hand up and stroked her pussy through the smooth synthetic of her panties and she shuddered. I felt her legs quiver. Her cunt was warm and soft and humid and I could feel her anatomy perfectly through the thin fabric—her swollen labia, the bump of her clit..\n\n\"It's good to be touched, isn't it?\" I asked her. \"It feels good to have someone else touch you, someone who knows what he's doing. She likes me. She likes being touched. I can tell because she's getting wet. She's getting wet and she's opening like a little flower.\"\n\nI pushed my finger against her and felt the fabric give over her hole. It was warm in there and hot, and a thick, sticky oil began to moisten the thin fabric. Emma leaned against the wall standing perfectly still, breathing fast and shallow, holding her skirt up as I'd ordered, exposing her pussy to my depredations. She had beautiful hands and elegant nails, but now they were squeezing the skirt so hard they were almost shaking. It was so quiet I could almost hear her clothes move as she breathed.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" she asked nervously. \"What are you going to do to me?\"\n\nIt was fairly obvious what I was going to do standing there with my fingers on her pussy, but I knew she wanted to hear the words. That's no problem., Words are my specialty.\n\nI slid my fingers up and down her slit, forcing the fabric against her cunt. I found the bud of her clit and bore down on it, then eased up and let my fingertip flicker against it like a little flame. Emma moaned and then took a deep, shuddering gasp.\n\n\"Oh yes!\" she hissed. \"There! Right there!\"\n\n\"Who's giving the orders?\" I asked, pretending to be offended. I stopped flicking and started a slow, gentle massage of her clit, alternating it with stroking the length of her pussy.\n\n\"This is between me and your pussy, Emma,\" I said. \"You're just along for the ride, because you're attached. But me and her, we have an understanding. She likes what I'm doing and she knows I'm going to make her come, and she wants to come very much. She wants to come right in my hand as I play with her, and that's what we're going to do, right here, right in this class room. I'm going to play with that little whore pussy and make her come, Emma, and make you come too, understand?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Oh God!\" she moaned, clenching her teeth against the pleasure as I rubbed her clit.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 39 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was terribly lewd, just filthy, this beautiful young woman leaning against the wall of the darkened classroom with her legs apart, holding her skirt up for me as I masturbated her. I pushed the crotch band of her panties to the side and my fingers touched her naked flesh, soft and dripping. Emma was panting now, and I could feel her buttocks flexing unconsciously in a reflexive fucking motion as I fingered her clit and teased the inside of her cunt.\n\n\"Take your right hand, \" I said, \"and unbutton your blouse.\"\n\nHer fingers were shaking as she did as I said.\n\n\"Another button.\"\n\nThe second button was at nipple level. The inner slopes of her breasts were visible now, full and ripe, encased in a smooth, sexy bra. My fingers were still playing in her pussy, holding the crotch of her panties aside with my ring finger while my middle finger played in her hole and my thumb and first finger slid around her clit. I leaned my head down so I could smell her perfume and began to lick the warm smoothness of her breasts.\n\nEmma was perfect—perfect. She stood there and let me play in her soaking pussy and lick her tits, holding her skirt in her hands, either afraid to move or too enraptured—too thrilled by the way I toyed with and manipulated her. I'd been right. My feelings about her had been totally right. She was a woman who needed to be used, pleasured, violated, one of those women who can only give when it's taken from them—the kind of woman who drove me absolutely crazy.\n\n\"How is it, Emma? How is it?\" I asked her as I slid my fingers into her cunt. \"You're going to come, aren't you, bitch? You're going to come for me, right in my fucking hand.\"\n\n\"Oh God,\" she moaned. \"No! No!\"\n\nBut her hips were bucking up at me now as I fingered her and her thighs were flexing, pushing that soft hairless pussy onto my plundering fingers, giving it to me, a perfect whore for what I was doing.\n\n\"You love it, don't you Emma! You love it!\"\n\nShe looked at me in panic and I saw she was losing it. The excitement of being fingered and played with like a hot little whore was more than she could stand, and the hidden slut was coming out, wild, hungry and uninhibited.\n\nIt's magic when you have a woman like this—absolute magic. The hotter she gets, the more you want to do to her because you know it's turning her own, the shame, the loss of control. I wanted to give her more, so I reached behind her with my other hand and lifted the back of her skirt, worked my hand under the back of her panties and pressed a finger against her puckered asshole.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. D! Don't!\" She gasped, pressing her head back against the wall, but I could feel her buttocks clenching on my finger as she fucked her pussy against me in helpless excitement.\n\n\"Give it to me, bitch!\" I hissed as I leaned my weight against her. \"Give it to me! Look at what I'm doing to you. Go on, look!\"\n\nI moved back enough to give her room so she could look down and see the way her hips were pushed out and pumping obscenely as my fingers slid in and out of her cunt. \"Oh God!\" she moaned, shamed by the sheer lasciviousness of her own degradation.\n\nI grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, making her arch her back as my fingers stroked her cunt. I studied her face, seeing her lose it, seeing the look of raw animal lust on her features.\n\n\"Hold onto me now, Emma! Hold onto me as you come!\"\n\nHer thighs were trembling, her legs growing weak. She dropped her skirt and held onto my shoulder with one hand, while with the other she grabbed the hand that was fucking her pussy and used it like a dildo, fucking herself, far beyond self-consciousness or shame.\n\n\"Yes!\" she screamed. \"Yes! Yes! YESSS!!!!\"\n\nI was afraid her screams would attract attention, so I took my hand from her ass and covered her mouth as she shrieked out her obscene pleasure, her pussy pumping, her internal muscles pulling at me as she humped and jerked and came. And came and came and came.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "AI writing task: user input -> thirty-three sentences sentences. genre: Fiction, BDSM. match character context.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For a long, expectant moment Emma clung to me, in the darkened auditorium, her hips still writhing in the aftermath of her orgasm, her eyes closed and yet a look of unmistakable sensual satisfaction spread across her face. It was almost as if she were two different people, as if her pussy no longer took orders from her mind. I could feel her sense of relief, not only at her orgasmic explosion but that her secret was out at last, that I'd seen her most hidden needs, but covering that was a deep shame and quivering fear of what I'd think of her now that she'd revealed herself. Perhaps her pleasure had been worth it, but now it remained to be seen what I thought of her and how I'd treat her—whether I'd lost all respect for her.\n\nShe opened her eyes cautiously, her chest still heaving as she gasped for breath, afraid to look at me, afraid of what she'd see, and I knew that if I wanted to throw her down on one of the tables and fuck her blind like my body was urging me to do right then she could hardly stop me, but that would be the end of things between us. She'd see the whole experience as nothing more than a seduction and semi-rape and write me off as someone who saw her as nothing more than a slut and a whore and an easy piece of ass, and that was the last thing I wanted.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" I asked her.\n\nShe nodded uncertainly. Her hand was still clutching her skirt up, and now I pulled it from her grasp and lowered it, then smoothed it over her thighs. I reached up and she flinched as I started to button her blouse, then she took over for me and finished it herself.\n\n\"Are you ashamed?\"\n\nShe shook her head in denial, but I could see tears in her eyes.\n\nTo have said anything more at the time would have been wrong, would have seemed patronizing. To have held her against me and let her feel my erection and need would have been wrong as well, but to hold her protectively, to shield her from her own feelings—to at least try—that I could do, and I put one arm around her and cradled her head against my chest.\n\nShe was stiff and brittle and I felt her heart racing against me.\n\n\"This isn't the casual thing you think, Emma,\" I said. \"You don't know how long I've been thinking about you, wondering if you might be the one, if you had the gift.\"\n\n\"Gift?\" Her voice was small and uncertain.\n\n\"Yes. Gift. What you gave me tonight was a gift, and you have no idea what it means to me. I don't want this to be a one time thing. I don't want this to be the last time.\"\n\nShe lifted her head away from my chest and looked at the floor. \"No,\" she said. \"It's wrong. There's something wrong with me and I know it. I shouldn't be like this and I shouldn't want these things and I try not to. I try not to think about them because I know they're wrong.\"\n\n\"No,\" I said. I grabbed her head and made her look at me. \"It's not wrong. It's not wrong at all. You read my stories, They're real Emma. Maybe not what happened in there, but the feelings are real. Like poetry. Is there something wrong with me too, then? Is there something wrong because we feel so deeply?\"\n\n\"But no one else—\"\n\n\"Fuck everyone else. What do they know? You've seen those zhlubs in class, how the words go right by their heads. What do they know? What do most of the people in the world know? You feel, Emma. You feel much more deeply than most of the people in the world do, and it's a gift. You think it's a sickness but it's a gift, and I want to show you how to use it. You don't know what kind of treasure you have inside, but I do. Look— Grab your books and come with me. Come on...\"\n\nI picked up my briefcase and Emma took a moment to wipe her eyes and straighten her clothes, then retrieved her books and I held the door for her. We walked out into the hallway where the lights were already mostly off for the cleaning crew. Far down the corridor someone was vacuuming the carpet, and now that we were out in public our recent intimacy seemed to tie us even more closely together.\n\nI walked her over to one the plate glass windows that looked out onto the woods beyond the parking lot and the glow of the suburbs, the strings of highways lights leading off into the darkness. The moon was up, looking pale and confused.\n\n\"You look at that and what do you feel?\" I asked. I didn't wait for her to answer. \"You feel the night inside you, something dark and delicious, full of secrets and beauty, something beyond words or your ability to express it, don't you, Emma? I know you do.\"\n\nShe stared out the window, her eyes large and luminous.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yes.\" She nodded, then smiled privately.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But I've always been weird.\"\n\n\"Yeah. And I've always been weird too.\" I smiled back. \"But those feelings are real, and I can show you how to reach them, how to experience them. I can bring the night inside, Emma. All those things you've dreamed of? I can make them real, and you know what? They're even better in reality than they are in your imagination. They're much, much better.\"\n\nI took her arm and led her down the corridor to my office and unlocked the door. She stood in the corridor looking nervously inside, and I knew all I had to do was order her inside and she'd follow. I'd lock the door and keep the lights off and tell her to lean over the desk and she would, then I'd open my pants and take out my aching cock, push her skirt up over her hips and pull her panties to the side and thrust it into her. God, I'd go in so smooth! She'd still be wet and ready and she'd gasp. Her knuckles would grip the edge of the cheap metal desk and she'd start to rock back and forth as I fucked her, moaning softly, and she'd drop her head in female submission as I held her hips and guided her up and back, plundering her pussy with my thick tool before I threw my head back in rapture and shot my heavy load into her.\n\nYeah. I could have all that right then and there, and my dick was aching for it, but that's not what I wanted. I wanted a lover, not a piece of ass, someone who was in this as deeply as I was, and for that, I needed for her to want me too. I had to leave her wanting more.\n\nI put my briefcase down on the desk and stepped out of the office, closing the door behind me, and saw the trace of disappointment on her face as the lock clicked shut. She wanted it even though she knew she shouldn't want it, and that was perfect.\n\n\"Come on,\" I said. \"I'll walk you to your car.\"\n\n\"I'm parked right outside.\"\n\n\"That's okay. I just have something to tell you.\"\n\nThe lots were empty for the evening classes during the summer, so we were pretty much alone. Emma drove a nice car, white and sporty. The summer air was warm and balmy and the wind rustled through the poplars. It all looked so normal and suburban and collegiate.\n\n\"Next class,\" I said, \"Wear a skirt and no panties, understand? If you want to go further with this, if you want me to show you what I know, wear a skirt with no panties and sit where you've been sitting so I can see. That's how I'll know you've agreed. Can you do that?\"\n\nShe looked at me and I saw her nostrils flare slightly. \"You're serious?\"\n\n\"I'm very serious.\"\n\n\"But you don't know anything about me.\"\n\n\"I know enough. The rest I really don't care about. Who do you live with? Your parents?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said. \"Some girlfriends. We share an apartment.\"\n\n\"Well tell them you'll be late next Thursday. You're going out for drinks after class.\"\n\nEmma opened her car and stopped. \"I don't know anything about you either.\"\n\n\"Like what?\"\n\n\"Are you married? Have a girlfriend?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No and no.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 14 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How can I get a hold of you?\"\n\n\"You can't. I don't want to be chatting on the phone and trading life stories, but here, I'll give you my address and cell number. Just don't use them except in emergencies, okay?\"\n\nI write them down in her notebook as she watched.\n\n\"You live in the city?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes. In a loft. It's nice. Maybe you'd like to see it sometime?\"\n\nEmma closed her notebook and gave me flirty smile. \"Yes. Maybe I would.\"\n\nI watched her red tail lights as she drove away, then I went back into the building and into my office. I kept the lights off, spun my chair away from the door, unbuckled my pants and pulled down my zipper. The fingers of my right hand still smelled like Emma's pussy, and the memory of her soft, slippery flesh was still upon them. More, I could clearly see her face as she struggled to hold onto her composure as I masturbated her, see the female animal within her struggling to break through the inhibitions and the smooth, American-model California perfect make-up. I could see the dark female need behind that sunny artificial wholesomeness—the even white teeth that needed to bite, the painted and glossed lips that needed to suck and open in a scream of ecstasy, the sloppy, throbbing cunt beneath her cute, up-to-date clothes.\n\nThat was it—the savage, the wild, feral female, lust-crazed, dizzy with orgasm. That's what I wanted, and my hand pumped my cock as I thought of her arched in pleasure, tied hand and foot, surrendering to the sensations I caused her, pushing out her orgasms at me one after another like something she had to get rid of, and then the burning, tingling, ecstasy was on me and I spurt my come for her in hot, impotent bursts catching the jets in my other palm to keep it from splattering all over my pants.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Today you will be acting as a writing assistant for a segment of a larger Fiction, BDSM story. Your partner will send something and you will write the next 28 sentences. Characters may already be established.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I wasn't really nervous about the next class session. It wasn't that I was feeling cocky or especially sure of myself. It was more like I was sure of Emma, sure of who she was and what she was like, and I knew that it was going to happen, maybe not then, but then next session, or the session after. We'd shared too much of ourselves, an intimacy that went beyond the merely sexual, and my acceptance of her bound her to me in a way that she couldn't easily walk away from. If I'd just played with her and then fucked her, she could have blown it off as a one-time affair, a kind of mistake, and used my own guilt against me. She could have expected I'd spend the rest of the semester avoiding her, and she would have cozied up to her own feelings of being sick and perverse and accepted my rejection as the price of her perversion.\n\nAt the time I met Emma I was in the second year of struggling with my Novel, my Big Project, a dry, overly-intellectual, over-thought pile of crap that got more and more discouraging and unreadable the longer I worked on it. What money I was making from writing came from writing porn—knocking off quicky romantica novels of sex and passion featuring dominance and submission, bondage and discipline, and the truth was, I was much better at writing this kind of stuff than I was at writing what I thought of as serious literature. When I wrote sex, I wrote it with my heart and soul. I discovered things, I remembered things, I imagined things. I wouldn't say I became obsessed, but I did become consumed with a special kind of need for a special kind of woman. I became attuned to the sexual flame that burned inside me and began to see everything by its light. I became a kind of antenna, and that's why I was so sure about Emma.\n\nEmma came in. She was wearing a salmon pink tank top with the bra straps showing, which was the fashion that summer (although I doubted she'd worn it that way at work), and a black skirt. She was also wearing a big pair of sunglasses, which she'd never done before. The sunglasses made her look very mysterious, and the top did great things for her breasts. I wasn't the only one who stared, or, rather, who pretended not to. She took a seat in the fourth row up and crossed her legs so I couldn't see if she'd followed my instructions or not.\n\nIt was the first indication I'd seen that Emma was adept at playing this game too, that maybe she wasn't the innocent victim of her own uncontrollable desires, but that she was entirely capable of inciting them in others. She knew what she was doing, and now that the game was afoot, she was showing me she could play it too. I knew then and there she had nothing on under her skirt.\n\nIt wasn't the longest lecture of my life but it seemed like it, and Emma said little, sitting there inscrutable behind her sunglasses as if daring me to guess what was on her mind, and I had to stay behind the lectern to keep from showing the incipient erection that began the moment I laid eyes on her and continued throughout the class. It was a great relief when, towards the end of the period, some of the kids got involved in a discussion of a Robert Frost poem and I could shut up for a while. I glanced at Emma and she slouched down in her seat and uncrossed her legs.\n\nI was leaning on the lectern and the light was bad, and in fact, I couldn't see all the way up her skirt, but then, I didn't have to. There's no reason a girl would sit like that with her knees open under the table unless she were showing you something, and she certainly wouldn't choose that moment to take off her sunglasses and rub the temple slowly across her lower lip as she looked you in the eye, nor would she raise her skirt and rub her knee.\n\nShe apparently saw in the color of my face or the clench of my jaw that her message had been received and she pushed her skirt down and suddenly sat up in her seat and looked at her notes as if they were the most interesting things in the world, crossing her legs demurely upon her salacious secret.\n\nI felt physically dizzy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "All my blood rushed either to my face or my crotch and my cock sprang violently to life like a fist trying to tear through my shorts.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I thought I'd wanted her before, that I'd been aroused just when I saw her, but now I felt like a charging bull who'd just caught sight of a matador's red cape and I had to dig my fingers into the side of the lectern to hold on against the rush of pure testosterone I felt.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The conversation continued but I had no idea what they were talking about. Emma studied her notes and put her sunglasses casually up on her head so that she looked typically suburban but, to me, even more devastatingly erotic for its plainness. Her arms were across her breasts (the lecture hall often got too cold from the AC) and I don't know how she knew I was looking, but she spread hr knees apart again, her thighs straining the fabric of the skirt, and this time I could see her lurid nakedness, the shaved cleft of her pussy within the shadows of her skirt.\n\nFor a moment I had the insane idea of reaching down and masturbating behind the lectern, but that was sheer madness (although the idea of turning this class into a group of naked, masturbating, students had a certain erotic appeal) Besides, the object with Emma was to establish control. Yes she was beautiful and desirable and aroused the hell out of me, but without control this would be just another relationship, and I wanted more than that. I wanted much more than that.\n\nAt last the conversation drew to a close. I handed out the homework assignments. Some of the kids came down to talk to me and I got rid of them as quickly as possible. Emma stayed in her seat, writing furiously as if transcribing notes. I hustled the last of the kids out telling them I had to give Emma a make-up quiz and physically walking them out the door of the lecture hall so I could watch them go and be sure we were alone. Then I closed the door and turned off the lights. The dark seemed our natural element.\n\n\"Emma?\"\n\nShe finished her writing, put away her pen, gathered up her books and stood up. She walked up the steps to where I stood, right where we were the other night, her face expressionless. I could see the pulse beating in her throat. Her eyes flicked up at me, then down. She was waiting. I let her wait. This was about control.\n\n\"Here,\" she said at last. \"Do you want these?\" She dug in her bag and took out a pair of tiny black panties and put them in my hand.\n\n\"Well, I couldn't very well go to work without them, could I?\" she asked.\n\nI held them to my face. They were so small. I'm always amazed at how women get themselves into things so small They smelled like powder and perfume and only faintly of her body.\n\n\"Turn around,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She looked confused but turned around, and I straightened out the crumpled panties and pulled her hands back and slipped them through the leg holes, then twisted them till they tightened on her wrists like a tourniquet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I turned her back to face me, still holding her wrists trapped in her panties.\n\nThe sight of a bound woman is terrifically, almost unbearably erotic to me, even if she's bound only in play. It's been that way ever since I can remember, even before I knew what sex was. Emma was standing in front of me now with her wrists bound behind her, her breasts straining against the tight pink tank top. I pushed her back against the wall and leaned over her, my shadow covering her like a blanket. Her eyes were unusually white in the darkness\n\n\"Anyone ever do anything like this to you before?\" I asked, tightening my grip on her bonds.\n\n\"Yes. Once. A long time ago. We were only playing, we were kids. We didn't know what we were doing.\"\n\nWith her arms behind her she was like a sculpture, all curves and defenseless softness, offering herself to me. I was already breathing fast and my cock was hard. I pressed it against her hip so she could feel very well what she was doing to me, then caressed her face with my hand, feeling the feminine warmth of her skin. I traced my way down her throat, her chest, and over the bulge of her breast, feeling the exact point where the edge of her bra confined the fullness of her flesh. I felt the firmness of her nipple under my palm.\n\n\"Did you like it?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes. I loved it. It still scares me how much I loved it.\"\n\nI don't know what else she could have said that would have aroused me so much or driven me so absolutely mad with desire for her. It was that mention of fear that did it, that told me she was the genuine article, because where we were going was scary, a place where you can lose yourself, where you can find out that you're not who you thought, a place where the night takes over and swallows you up and all you have is your lover to bring you back.\n\nAnd as if that admission of fear were her last defense, she opened her mouth to my kiss and met me with a desperate, sucking hunger, giving herself and showing me how she wanted to be plundered and used. I held onto those twisted panties and felt her arms strain against them as she tried her strength against mine because she had to know I was serious. She had to know I wouldn't let her go and that she had no choice but to surrender, and I kissed her violently, making her take my tongue and teasing the inside of her mouth. My hand slid down and closed on her chest and I felt that maddening firm softness of a woman's gravid tit, heavy and filled with sensual comfort. I found her nipple through her bra and pinched it, and that seemed to set her off even more.\n\nOh yes I was right about her. I was right, I was right. She loved my roughness, my passion and hunger, the pleasure that bordered on pain. I held her wrists and played with her tits and kissed her, then pulled the neck of her top down till her breasts spilled over the top and I bit and licked them as my hand found its way down to her crotch and I began to lift her skirt.\n\n\"Oh no! No!\" she moaned, but I knew she had to say that, just as I had to refuse to listen to her.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "yo next 7 sentences bits needed. dr_mabeuse style, Fiction, BDSM genre. this is from a bigger story k?", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "(ooc) You must use the word 'place' exactly 2 times in your response (ooc)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Emma put herself together and got her books and picked up her panties from the floor, and we didn't say much as we walked down the hall to my office. The corridor was deserted, and only every fourth light was left on, making the place look especially forlorn.\n\nI'd originally thought about taking Emma to a motel, but that seemed wrong somehow, and my place in the city was too far. Besides, this was not a simple love affair or sexual tryst. There was a wrongness about this and a transgressiveness that was a deep part of the very fabric of this relationship at this point. Maybe we could have done it in a car, or behind a dumpster, or in some basement boiler room, but that's the way it had to be, furtive, secretive, perverse and illicit. My office would do nicely.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your response should contain the word 'window' precisely 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As an adjunct instructor at Crane, I didn't have my own office. I had a desk in an office used by two other, full-time instructors but that was all right. No one was around after 3 PM anyhow—ever—so the office might as well have been mine. The narrow window in the office door had been covered with construction paper by one of the full-timers so he could sleep in there unobserved, and although one wall was all window with a view of the parking lot, if the office lights were off you couldn't see in.\n\nI'd already brought in what I needed before class in a box and left it under my desk, and now, as Emma stood uncertainly in the darkness, I set about my business.\n\n\"Take off your clothes,\" I said as I spread a blanket over the top of the steel desk.\n\n\"What?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[OOC: Use the word 'that's' 2 time(s) - this is a strict requirement]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Come on. Take off your skirt and your top. No one's coming in.\"\n\nDespite the darkness, I could see her uncertainty. Fear of the Teacher's Office dies hard, even in adults. Besides that, I realized I was being rude, ordering her around like a paid prostitute. That's not my way and that's not how I wanted her to feel.\n\n\"Here,\" I said gently. \"Come here.\"\n\nI reached into the box and pulled out a length of white nylon rope, finger-thick and soft as silk.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I turned her around and began to wrap it around her wrists.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm not going to tie you,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm going to lash you. There's a difference. Lashing doesn't use any knots. You can always work your way free with enough effort. I don't want you to panic.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(( Word usage target: 'other' must be used 3 times ))", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm not afraid,\" she said. \"I'm not. I trust you.\"\n\nSomehow she knows just what to say to bring me to the boiling point. I quickly finished lashing her wrists with the thick white rope and spun her around and took her in a bruising kiss, crushing her against me, one hand n the back of her head, the other on her ass. I was devastated by her trust and her willingness, by the gift of herself. I'd often heard other doms talking about the gift of trust but I'd never felt it like this, this intensely. The other women I'd played with had to be coaxed and reassured, were nervous and skittish.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Emma wanted it. She wanted to be helpless for me, and the realization just destroyed me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I could have fallen to my knees at her feet at that moment, conquered by her submission.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I held her face in my hands and kissed her feverishly, her mouth, her cheeks and eyes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was so incongruous yet so beautiful, standing in that dark and ugly office with this woman tied up for me, letting these waves of carnal excitement wash over me in this place of intellectual dedication.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "My hand went to the waist of her skirt and I fumbled about, looking for the zipper.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was in the back, and I opened it and unbuttoned the button and tugged the skirt down her thighs till it puddled around her ankles like a shadow and she was naked from the waist down. At that point I was overcome and I pushed her back until her ass his the edge of the desk. I got on my knees and held her ass and began to lick and kiss her hips and thighs and belly, tasting the salt of her sweat and her female musk. Emma gasped.\n\n\"Mr. Devlin! Oh, Mr. Devlin!\"\n\n\"Conner,\" I said. \"Conner.\" Though this was no time to exchange names, and I didn't care what she called me.\n\n\"Please! What are you going to do?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What am I going to do?\" I asked, dragging my tongue up her thigh. \"I'm going to eat you, my dear. I'm going to suck that pussy till you come in my mouth, till you turn into a pile of quivering female jelly, and when you do—when you simply can't stand it any more, when you can't live another instant without my cock inside you—then I'm going to fuck you, Emma. I'm going to fuck you hard and deep like you've never been fucked before. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Oh God!\" she moaned\n\nI stood up and lifted her onto the narrow side of the desk and Emma leaned back on her bound hands. I lifted up her tank top and pulled it over her head, but because her hands were lashed together, I had to leave it hanging from her wrists. Her bra opened in front (clever girl!)", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "and that met the same fate, hanging from her bound wrists, and I began to suck and kiss her tits as I opened my own shirt.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "We were both in a fever of excitement and Emma's head fell back in pleasure as I sucked her nipples into aching hardness and lashed them with my tongue, then peeled my shirt off and threw it aside.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I got to my knees and took her ankles in my hands. She still wore her shoes, smart little sandals, and I left them on, and as I lifted her ankles she started to fall back on the desk and I stopped and helped her lie down.\n\n\"Put your hands under the small of your back,\" I said. \"That'll help raise your hips too.\"\n\nEmma twisted around on the blanket until she was reasonably comfortable and I got back down on my knees and took her ankles again. I love holding a woman's ankles. It feels so possessive and powerful, not to mention absolutely sexy, and you can squeeze hard without hurting them.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Emma had beautiful ankles and I held them tight and bent her knees up and she raised her head to look down at me with a deliciously fearful look on her face.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I must have been fearful to behold.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was aflame with lust, absolutely afire, and I hovered above her pussy like a lion above his kill. The mere proximity to her sex had the hormones gushing in my body and the muscles in my arms and shoulders were swollen and tight as I lowered my face and licked the insides of her thighs, all the way up to her pussy. Emma whimpered and twisted her hips and her scent drove me mad. I stuck out my tongue and dragged it up her slit and her juice was like honey on my tongue.\n\n\"Ahhhhh!\" she arched her back and I felt her toes curl as I circled her clit with my tongue and began to suck. I already knew her most sensitive spot and I threw her thighs over my shoulders and began to suck her clit in and out as I finger-fucked her. She squeezed my head with her strong thighs and began to pump obscenely, hungry for another come, and I let her use me, reveling in her female lust.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She rose to it quickly, and suddenly her hips were shaking against me, vibrating against my face as her clit twitched and pussy squeezed my fingers and she choked and gasped, writhing on the desk.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I slowed and stopped, giving her time to come down, not yet knowing how much she could take or how much recovery time she needed, but she'd barely caught her breath when her hips began moving again, twisting and rocking, shyly asking for more, more.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Hot bitch!\" I snarled.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You got more for me?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Oh yes, baby. Please! Please, it's so good!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I smiled as I reached over her thigh and spread her cunt apart, exposing her hot little clit in its little nest, I fluttered my tongue against it and sucked the sweet inner tissues of her pussy, tongue fucked her then spit on her clit and licked it off.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Looking up at her I could se those gorgeous tits rising like islands in the moonlight, crowned with stiff rosy nipples that seemed to pointing at the ceiling.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "They trembled with each shuddering breath.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was like a satyr, a devil, sucking her between her legs, feeding on her cunt like a humming bird at a pool of nectar, and Emma seemed to come and come, one orgasm blending into another in an endless stream till finally she was gasping and moaning,.\n\n\"Oh God, no! No more! Fuck me! Please. Just fuck me!\"\n\nI got up and stood over her, my eyes burning, my face smeared with her pussy juice. I must have looked like a madman.\n\n\"You want to get fucked, Emma? Then you're going to have to agree to my terms. I want you, Emma. I want you to be mine. I want to train you and have you and use you and fuck you. I want you to be my slave and my lover and I want to teach you to do all the things I've always dreamed of doing. Do you agree?\"\n\nShe looked at me fearfully, alarm breaking through the spell of lust. \"What are you talking about?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You're something very rare, Emma. Something rare and precious, something I've been looking for for years now and I don't want you to get away.\"\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"Okay, listen. I don't care about your life outside, about who you see and what you do, if you have a boyfriend or not and all that crap. But I want you two nights a week at least. I want to show you what you have inside, what you're capable of feeling. I've never seen anyone as sexual as you, Emma. I don't want you to just think this is a couple nights of fun and that's it, understand? There's something here. Something deeper than just sex.\"\n\nShe looked at me as if no one had ever said these things to her before, as if she really believed that the desires she had inside were sick and perverse and something to be ashamed of and had no idea of what they would do to a man—or to the right man.\n\n\"What do you want me to do?\"\n\n\"You don't have to do anything now,\" I replied. \"I'm not a stalker and I'm not going to chain you to the radiator, and this is something you have to enter into of your own free will. But I need for you to know that this is more than just some quickie student-teacher affair, Emma. This goes deeper than that\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She didn't know what to say so I saved her the trouble.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Word frequency rule: 'still' × 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I leaned over and kissed her. I dropped my tongue into her mouth and fucked her with it until she began to suck on it and caress it with her own, responding instinctively to having her body penetrated. Everything she did was so maddeningly female, so giving and accepting. Her nipples pressed against my bare chest and her legs closed reflexively around my ass, pulling me against her. She was still horny. She was still ready for more.\n\nI broke the kiss and smiled down at her, knowing we had an agreement.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Back to business,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Now let me show you something.\"\n\nI went to the box and got more rope, then tied several turns around each ankle as she watched me from the desk, her breasts heaving with excitement as I bound her. I turned her on her side and unlashed her wrists, then pulled off the tangle of her tank top and bra and tossed them on a chair and tied cuffs of rope around each wrist. I strung lengths of rope through each cuff and down to the corresponding ankle and pulled them snug so that Emma's arms were drawn down and her ankles pulled up against her ass, her knees forced open in an obscene, froglike position, totally exposing her sex, leaving her open and helpless.\n\n\"You've heard of hog-tying?\" I asked as I tied the ropes tight. \"Well this is called frog-tying and it's one of those things I talked about wanting to show you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Emma whined. She tried to close her knees but the ropes were too tight and the strain too much, and her legs trembled and then fell lewdly open again as she panted from the effort.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I reached out and caressed her breast, then ran my hand down her body and roughly massaged her pussy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I stuck my finger inside her and began to finger fuck her and there was nothing she could do.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was like I owned her totally now—my own private little cum-slut, unable to do anything but lie there in the ropes and take it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She began to pant, excited by her own helplessness, and her pussy seemed to suck greedily at my finger.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At the heart of the BDSM experience there is always a moment like this, at least for me. There's a moment when woman as icon—all the attraction and longing and desire she inspires—has been stripped away and the man feels, however rightly or wrongly, that he's reduced her to his level—to that of a sexual beast, a creature of pure sensuality. That's something he understands. That's something he feels he can master. He'll never conquer his longing for her or the weakness she makes him feel when he looks at her, but in conquering her body and in taking charge of her sensations, he at least feels he's gained some control of his heart again. He feels like a man again.\n\nOr at least that's the way I felt with Emma tied and exposed on that desk—something primal and primitive and more basic than even love or affection, a kind of deep sexual polarity of male and female, blind and biological.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"This is the way I keep a bad girl exposed,\" I said in a hoarse whisper as I caressed her pussy and studied her face.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"This way I can fuck her or play with her or eat her or do almost anything to her. Like spank her when she needs spanking. When she's a greedy little cum-whore and needs spanking\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I slapped her lightly on the clit and Emma jumped.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I spanked her again with the same result, and now she bit her lip to keep from crying out.\n\n\"Ever come from having your clit spanked?\" I asked. \"Too bad I didn't bring a whip. I could make you come like that. Emma. Sounds pretty nasty, doesn't it?\"\n\nI stood up and at last I began to take off my pants, opening my belt and pulling down my zipper. I kicked off my shoes and socks, then stripped off my pants and threw them on a chair. My shorts were soaked with pre-cum, a wet spot the size of a dollar bill covered the fly where I'd been leaking during our play. From her awkward position, Emma raised her head to watch me undress and see what was in store for her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I didn't care. It just felt so fucking good to let him loose at last.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I won't lie. I'm no Johnny Wadd and don't sport a ten-incher, but I was harder then hell and those veins were pumping and he was red and drooling like a rabid cobra, straining to get inside her like a mastiff on a leash.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He looked like I felt—mad, evil, and swollen to bursting with power and lust.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You ready, Emma?\" I growled.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(( For the immediate response, include limited direct quotes ))", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You ready to get fucked?\" I pulled her ass to the edge of the desk and pushed her knees apart . My cock arced like a missile over the open trench of her cunt.\n\nShe didn't say anything, just tugged at the ropes and mewled, so I stuck my thumb in her pussy and started fucking her with it as I thrummed her clit, giving her one last tease.\n\n\"Come on, baby. Are you ready? Do you want it? Or do you need to come some more?\"\n\n\"Oh please,\" she said. \"Just do it! Fuck me!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No. I think you've got more. I think you've got more for me, don't you? You're holding out, Emma. You're holding out.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I pulled my thumb from her cunt and spanked her clit with the back of my hand, just flicking my fingers against it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Emma groaned and tried to close her legs, but I had one hand on her knee and there was nothing she could do. did it again, then again, and again, setting up a regular rhythm, my fingers splashing down in the wet trough of her pussy, rudely spanking that turgid little nub. She was hypersensitive by now, and every spank made her jerk and twitch, made her thrust her cunt up and made her asshole contract. The muscles on the insides of her thighs trembled and she moaned feebly, too ashamed to admit that even this crude punishment felt good.\n\n\"Come on, baby,\" I hissed at her. \"Give me that come, Emma! Give me that one last come. I want to shove my dick into you while you're spitting out that hot juice. Look at you all tied up like a fucking slave! You can't even move, can you? I'm going to stand here and slap that hot little cunt till you give me that come, bitch, till I see the juice running down your ass. So come on. Give it to me! Give it to me, Emma!\"\n\n\"Oh! God! No! No!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "she grunted as I spanked her pussy. Her hands twisted desperately in the bonds, her stomach tightened convulsively and her tits quaked on her chest as spasms of painful pleasure wracked her body.\n\nI grabbed my cock in one hand and opened her cunt with the other and began to slap the head against her clit. My dick felt like it weighed a ton and the sound it made as it splashed into her wet trough was like a log splattering into a muddy swamp. I beat her cunt with my prick and each blow was a jolt of pleasure for us both\n\nSplatt!! Whapp!! Smackk!! Shplapp!", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "!", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "OOC, Required word frequency: 'faster' (2x)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I bent over and grabbed her hair as if I could pull the come out of her, pulling her head to the side till she opened her teeth in a grimace of pain.\n\n\"Give it to me, bitch! Give it to me, you hot cunt!\"\n\nSlapp!! Whackk!! Splatt!! Plapp! !\n\nFaster and faster I beat her with my cock, and Emma wailed and screamed so loud I was afraid they'd hear her at the other end of the hallway, so I quickly grabbed her rumpled panties from the chair and stuffed them into her open mouth. That seemed to be the last straw, the final indignity she needed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She wailed behind the black gag of her panties and arched her back and started to come again—the big one this time, the soul-killer—and at that moment I stopped slapping her with my dick, pushed the head dick down with my thumb so it found her hole, and shoved the whole length into her with one thrust of my hips, right at the height of her climax.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh Jesus Fucking Christ!\" I moaned, throwing my head back in ecstasy. She was coming hard inside, her pussy clamping down and fluttering around my shaft, her thighs squeezing me convulsively as I invaded her. She was all soft and tight inside, and slick and hotter than hell and I could feel those secret feminine muscles milking and pulling at me as she howled through her panty-stuffed lips.\n\nI grabbed hold of her tits and held them like handles as I started fucking her, swinging my ass like a wrecking ball against her, using the big muscles in my ass and thighs to send my cock thundering up into her against the resistance of her spasming pussy again and again, the lewd squelching sounds of cock in pussy and the sharp violent slap of loins against thighs like pistol shots in the room. With her hands pulled down almost to her feet, Emma was able to just reach my thighs as I fucked her and she scratched and clawed at me in her frenzy as I fucked her with savage power. I let go over her tits and grabbed her thighs so I could hold her steady because I was shoving her across the desk from the force of my thrusts.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Ugh! You fucking bitch! Do you like this cock, Emma? Do you like this fucking cock?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I reached up and pulled the panties from her mouth and threw them aside, but all she could do was wail, head back, eyes open wide and sightless as I fucked her, tits sloshing on her chest from the force of my blows.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She seemed stunned by the force of her last orgasm, out of it, in a state of semi-shock and limp, but when I slid my thumb against her clit and started playing with her, she suddenly came alive, her head jerking up to watch my thick cock sluicing in and out of her pussy.\n\n\"Oh God yes! Yes!\" she cried. \"Make me come! Make me come! Make me come!\" She chanted it like a breathless mantra as her body rocked on the table and it drove me mad. I felt my orgasm start and I grabbed her ass in my hands and squeezed, holding her buttocks and cramming that dick into her, fucking her so fast that I was like a jackhammer, fucking her so fast I couldn't even breath. All there was was the feeling of her cunt on my dick,. that pressure in my balls, that feeling of her body in my hands.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Oh fuck yes!\" I cried.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Gonna come, baby! Gonna come in you, Emma! Jesus! Jesus, baby!\"\n\nI loomed over her now with a look of absolute rage on my face, muscles swollen, fingers digging into her ass—the rage of orgasm, the helpless gush of seed. Emma was hysterical, squeezing me, twisting her hips, trying to pull it out of me. I rose up on my toes as I felt it start, trying to cram the last inch of dick into her as the thunder shot from the soles of my feet and blasted from my balls and the come blew out of my dick with the force of a fire hose.\n\n\"Fuck!\" I cried, \"Fuck, Baby! Take it! Take my hot come!\"\n\nI leaned back, hips out, fingers clawed into her ass, holding her against me like some come-receptacle as my ass flexed and body twitched in powerful contractions, sending my semen shooting in hard, heavy gouts deep into her quivering belly, one after another, each one accompanied by a burst of mind-shattering ecstasy. I could picture the hot white seed splattering into her soft pink insides and dripping from her tissues, coating her with my thick ejaculate, and the image just brought fresh bursts of come boiling up from my balls.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I came so hard my legs started to tremble, and then my arms, and my belly—all of me, wracked by a post orgasmic weakness like I'd rarely known. The girl had sucked it all out of me, had made me come like a hydrant. With trembling hands I untied the ropes that held her wrists to her ankles and her legs flopped over the desk.\n\n\"Can you move?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she replied. \"I don't think so.\"\n\nI laughed. I moved to the side of the desk and grabbed her waist and pulled her up till she was lying on the desk.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was big enough that I was able to climb up there with her and put my arms around her. She seemed uneasy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You don't have to,\" she said.\n\n\"Don't have to what?\"\n\n\"Hold me.\"\n\nI looked at her. \"What if I want to?\"\n\nShe made a face and shrugged. \"Most other guys don't.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You've done this before?\"\n\n\"Not like this. Not so... elaborate. But I told you, there's something wrong with me. I like it too much. Men don't like girls like me, so I seem to have a lot of one-night stands. They always think they have to hold me afterwards, but it's okay if you don't.\"\n\nI stared at her now as she lay there. I'd left bruises on her tits and the rope was still on her wrists. She was full of my semen and more of it was even now leaking out between her legs and drying on her thighs.\n\n\"It's a fucked-up world,\" I said, \"Filled with fucked-up people. But I don't think you're one of them. I think these other guys were. I want to hold you because I want to hold you, not because I feel sorry for you. We have an agreement, remember? This is only the start.\"\n\nEmma looked at me and brought her hands up over her breasts, as if to protect herself.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her eyes in the dark were luminous.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're serious?\" she asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 8 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes. Dead serious.\"\n\nI slid my arm under her head and pulled her to me and she rolled partway so that she was pressed against my side. I kissed her shoulder and caressed her hair and she put her leg over mine.\n\n\"It feels good, being held,\" she said.\n\n\"It feels good holding you.\"\n\nOutside the office and the dull, plain community college building the parking lot ran down to a patch of grass, then a copse of trees separated the campus from the highway that led to the dreary grid of suburban streets and fast food places, most of them eerily empty at this hour. I had promised her connection and intimacy, and instead had delivered sexual pleasure, with ropes and violation and overt perversity.\n\nThere'd be time to find out if they were the same.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "CONTINUE STORY. PARAMETERS: four sentences sentences, character continuity, Good Omens, fanfic genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Megan Smith smiled as she looked at the old bookshop. A.Z. Fell and Co was becoming famous, but not for books.\n\nNo, it was the snake that had taken to inhabiting the bookstore. Mr. Fell, the owner, was either clueless on what type of snake he had, or he didn't want to tell anyone.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It didn't help that people kept saying the snake was different sizes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Megan had heard people mention sizes from a foot long to nearly ten feet, and everything in between.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And yet, every single snake was black, with the same red stripes on the side and bright yellow eyes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "OOC, You must use the word 'snake' exactly 2 times in your response", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No one was sure what type of snake it was, or even if it was one snake or if Fell just liked snakes and had several pets.\n\nMegan was determined to find out. She was studying herpetology and wanted to work for a zoo in the reptile department. She loved snakes, and everything she heard about this one or ones told her she'd love them.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Megan took a deep breath and entered the store.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She'd been hearing stories for months, she wanted to know if they were real.\n\n\"Hello,\" the man behind the counter said warily as the bells on the door jingled. He didn't look like the kind of man to own (possibly multiple) black snakes, but looks were deceiving.\n\nMegan smiled at him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Mr. Fell?\" she asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He nodded. \"I am indeed. What can I help you with, my dear?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Megan paused. \"I… Um…\"\n\nThe man smiled suddenly. \"Is this about the snake?\" he asked. \"Everyone who wants to see him acts like this,\" he added at her surprise.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Oh. Well, yes,\" Megan said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "OOC - Required word frequency: 'snakes' (2x)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm a student and I want to work with snakes in a zoo someday, and I heard about your snake- or snakes- and I'd love to see one of them- or him, I suppose, if it's just one.\"\n\nMr. Fell chuckled. \"I'm not sure where he is right now,\" he said. \"But I'm sure there's a snake around here somewhere.\" That really didn't answer the question on if there was more than one.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're free to look around, just be careful of the books.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Make sure to use 'about' 2 time(s) throughout your message", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Megan smiled. \"I will, Mr. Fell,\" she promised. She'd heard stories about how Mr. Fell felt about anyone who mistreated his books, but also that he didn't mind people coming in to admire his snake(s).\n\nMegan began to look around. It was a wonderful bookstore, and it felt like she imagined a portal to another world might feel like.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It felt like home should feel like, she thought.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She banished that thought.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Time to go snake hunting.\n\nIt was warm enough in the shop that any snake would be comfortable. Perhaps most snakes (except desert snakes) would like more humidity but that would be bad for the books. Megan frowned. Perhaps that meant this snake was a desert snake?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She turned down one aisle and stopped.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A snake- a beautiful black snake- was all coiled up on an empty shelf. \"Hello Beautiful,\" she whispered. At her words, the snake poked it's head up and sampled the air with its tongue.\n\nShe smiled at it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Black, with red stripes, and the bright yellow eyes… she'd found it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She couldn't tell how big it was, since it was coiled up, but this was the snake.\n\nIt was such a pretty snake. Megan took the time to admire the snake for a while before she took a deep breath. Time to get a good look at it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And take several photos, too.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It looked like it might be a red-bellied black snake, almost, but the head was wrong. And surely Mr. Fell knew better than to let a venomous snake roam free. Even if it was a venomous snake that had never actually killed anyone.\n\nNo, it wasn't a red-bellied black.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But she had no idea what it could be.\n\nThe snake took that moment to begin uncoiling and moving down the bookshelf. She watched as it slithered away and decided that it was probably about five feet long. That was just slightly too long to be a red-bellied black, too.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 5 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So it wasn't that.\n\nWhat other snakes species were black with the red stripe and belly?\n\nMegan would need to study.\n\nShe headed out, after saying goodbye to Mr. Fell.\n\nOnce she got home, she wasn't happy that all the pictures she'd taken of the snake were missing from her phone, but she could still look things up from memory at least.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "The text has a missing section marked as `[missing]`. Give me just 264 characters that would fit there.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Aziraphale sighed as he flipped the sign to closed after another busy day and sat down on his couch. He felt something slitter up his leg but didn't move. \"This is your fault, you know,\" he said as the something settled down on the couch beside him.\n\nThe not terribly large snake that Crowley currently was somehow managed to convey innocence, even though Aziraphale had never known him to actually be innocent. Perhaps he had been before the Fall, but Aziraphale had never been able to even imagine Crowley as anything other than the Demon he was.\n\n\"You don't fool me,\" Aziraphale said. \"You're having fun with them.\"\n\nThe snake reared [missing] handed him a mug of cocoa.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "up and a second later was replaced with a man. \"Can you blame me, Angel?\"\n\nAziraphale didn't say anything to that. No, he didn't. It was honestly fun for him, too.\n\n\"And thankssss,\" Crowley added. \"For not ruining the mystery for them.\"\n\nAziraphale just smiled and", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Story collab\nContext: May include established elements\nMe: Opening\nYou: 50 sentences more, melanth-style", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Glass chinked and liquid sloshed as Ardal drained the glass dry, sighing softly as redolent liquor burned its way down his throat. For a few precious moments it seemed that the world was a better place whilst his tongue tingled and head spun pleasantly, the boundaries of his awareness extending no further than the drunken haze in which he retreated away from the many and richly varied problems that afflicted his life. And then he opened his eyes.\n\nThe pure and blinding light of the desert sun shone bright even inside the bar, scalding rays of it piercing through slatted windows of the tavern and boring deep into his brain with its painful, blinding sting. Raising a hand to shade his vision, he lamented bitterly the ill fated adventures that had brought him to the sprawling forest of pale orange stone that was the city of Goldring. Not that there was anywhere else to go. The wilder lands of Vilous were dangerous at the best of times, as numerous and varied as their inhabitants, and whilst each had carved out their own corners from the chaos only Goldring truly catered to them all. Light-footed feathered Nevreans found work amidst the slow and steady Augudner; the Southern Sergals of Clan Leono who had claimed the city as their own since time immemorial welcomed them with open arms, strangers from far lands who brought wealth and vibrancy to the heart of the desert. And the larger, darker Northern Sergals...\n\n...Were fighting again, he heard, following the direction of the tan-furred bartender's gaze with a sneer of disdain curling his lips. Amidst a sparkling sea of broken glass and dropped coins a pair of Northerners wrestled and snarled savagely, drawing long stripes of red over each other's shoulders with their talons in a flurry of teeth, claws and flying tufts of thick, white fur. Furniture clattered and broke as others leapt to their feet and quickly joined in the fray, shouting encouragement and taking bets. The rest of the bar's patrons kept their distance; they were starting to get used to these distressingly frequent outbursts, he thought. Ardal didn't need a second glance to sense the disgust of Southerner and Nevrean alike, who thought their ilk little more than uncivilised barbarians. Nor the nature of the combatants on the floor, one of whom by now had his partner in a headlock and was smashing her angular snout repeatedly into a table. Many of them would sport bald patches about the hips where close-fitting armour had worn away parts of their coat. They'd be distressingly thin. And they'd be desperate. He knew because he was one of them, and considered himself lucky for it. There were plenty of bones mouldering beneath northern snows that weren't so fortunate.\n\nHe flicked the bartender a few coins and hurriedly stepped over the squabbling pair into the wide, airy city streets eager to leave behind the stifling interior of the bar before more trouble arrived. It always did. Though people smiled and greeted each other in the as warmly as ever, tensions were brewing beneath the polite facade. The Northern Sergals weren't welcome. They had trickled into the city for nearly a decade, but in the last few months that trickle had become a torrent. Rumours of the war that had bloodied the snows of the Northern homeland, distant Tatola, for a full decade were filtering through- rumours that the war had ended. Now that the ravaged remnants of the defeated armies had started to arrive in a search for sanctuary it wasn't just gossip anymore. The citizens of Goldring found it hard to ignore the something when it turned up on their doorstep. People were angry, and scared. The Northerners who were the bringers of this ill news were a convenient target to accuse as the cause of this shadow cast so suddenly across the desert dunes.\n\nMore and more often scenes just like the one he had witnessed were repeating themselves in the outer rings of the city as refugees flocked to the desert in droves. The sun burned their fair skin and stung their eyes, but each who made the perilous trek of them knew that something worse lurked in their snowy homelands. Tales of terror were on everyone's lips. He could feel it in the air, see it painted onto the sandstone walls in the shape of graffiti and lurid, yellow eyes that seemed to stalk you with their lidless glare. It had always been said by the superstitious that Death had yellow eyes. General Rain, who three months ago had succeeded in stamping out the last resistance on her claim to Tatola had yellow eyes.\n\nArdal had his own reasons for wanting to avoid their gaze.\n\nHe squinted as his eyes adjusted to the unfettered brightness of the cloudless sky, then took himself off at a brisk walk to leave the sounds of muffled destruction in his wake as the rattle of armour and indistinct, higher pitched Southern voices beginning to rise above the din, followed swiftly by pained howls and thwacks as the clubs of the guards went to eager work. True to its name, the districts of Goldring were laid out in a series of concentric circles, each separated by walls; each street necessarily curving slightly when not leading directly to the centre like the spokes of a wheel. Of course, this had the effect of hiding someone from sight if they moved fast enough...\n\nSlipping into a shaded side-street between two squat shops, he let himself pause briefly to steady his legs. Wobbling from the drunken buzzing in his head, he ran a long-fingered hand over his brow and pulled the muslin keffiyeh he wore lower. For a few long moments all he could hear was his own breath and heart pounding loud in his ears, the blistering heat of the day working its way beneath his fur like a tingling itch. Turning his gaze back in the direction of the bar, his long knifelike ears perked to catch stray echoes of noise. All was quiet now, which was fortunate.\n\nWhilst the tribes of the North had resisted General Rain and her Sheg clan with some sense of unity, all that had disappeared when their hopes of victory waned. As conditions for them worsened old grudges were starting to surface. Tribes that had feuded in the north now fought their grievances anew in the streets of the city. Many blamed each other for their defeat, and gave vent to the frustrations they felt upon the hides of those who were once their rivals. The streets were quickly turning into a powder keg. A misplaced insult could touch off a riot, particularly amongst the soldiers who were still exhausted and bitter from their fresh defeat.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Hardly surprising...\" He slurred to himself, his mouth drying rapidly as the breeze blew, carrying with it scents of spices and meat from the distant markets making his stomach rumble.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The way they're so quick to turn on each other.\"\n\n\"Talking to yourself isn't a good sign.\" A voice interjected on his private musings, making him jump and doing more to sober him in an instant than mere concentration had been able to achieve. Ardal jumped and snarled to see another Northern Sergal in the far end of the alley where he had come in; taller than he, and older. Like most of the Northerners in Goldring this one went bare chested, clad only in a kilt and a leather belt slung from one shoulder that held a number of pouches and satchels. He was staring at Ardal with a wry, vaguely predatory smirk upon his pointed features, and Ardal recognising it as one of the few grey furred muzzles that hadn't been watching the bar fight.\n\nHe raised a hand to his brow and rubbed at it. This was not what he needed.\n\n\"Veln tribe, right?\" He grunted in reply, studying the other Northerner's demeanour, the way he wore his fur that revealed much to a trained eye. He found himself regretting his decision to rush straight into the alley; his rapid exit had been noticed. \"You were a few booths down from me. Have a taste for Nevrean beverages?\"\n\nThe stranger laughed and shook his head with exaggerated movements, but Ardal knew this was no idle conversation and certainly not friendly. Sure enough, he fancied he could hear the sounds of someone- make that two someone's, creeping up the opposite end of the alley, trying to mask the sound of their movement in the malaise of ordinary city life. Like many creatures who suddenly found themselves displaced, some Northerners used to the wild and open landscape of Tatola had adapted to the urban climes well. They had picked up every trick known to street thugs within a matter of months.\n\n\"Very observant. You seemed in an awful hurry to leave.\" The stranger said, a certain swagger to his stride belying an air of confidence. As Ardal watched his eyes flickered to some spot at the far end of the alley. \"I was curious why. You in some kind of trouble, friend? You should know it isn't safe to wander around drunk. Too many nasty characters around these days.\"\n\n\"If I'm not in trouble already, I shortly will be.\" He replied dryly. From behind there was the sound of a stifled snigger. The skin on the back of Ardal's neck seemed to be trying to crawl its way around to the front beneath the heat of encroaching eyes fixed on his jugular.\n\n\"Very observant...\" The older one repeated, his grin fixed and waxen, like the rictus of a skull. As he drew nearer his fur shifted to reveal vicious pink scars criss-crossing his stomach- marks that could only have been inflicted by some sort of blade, though that wasn't what caught Ardal's attention. The older one's gaze was fixed on his hips, where Ardal's fur met the loincloth he wore. There was no bare skin there, unlike most of the newer arrivals. Nor, Ardal noted, was there upon the elder.\n\n\"Why don't you make this easy on yourself and just drop to your knees. We don't have to hurt you too much if you don't put up a-\"\n\nThe blow caught the stranger's jaw, and as he reeled Ardal dashed past him into the broader street, feeling something buzz angrily through his long neck mane and impact the wall next to his head heavily. A split second later a deafening crack cut the air, making him stumble mid-stride in surprise.\n\n\"Shit! Get him!\"\n\nArdal was running even before the shock hit; a stinging sensation like grit had been flung hard at the side of his face and neck. He burst out of the alley in a flurry of limbs and shouldered a confused looking Augudner out of his path as something dark popped above the flat-roofed ridge of the building opposite...\n\nBANG!\n\nThe wall beside him erupted fragments of plaster and paint as the bullet struck wide off its mark, almost hitting the two Northerners in pursuit and making them hesitate for a scant moment. It was probably that which saved him; a second later and they would have been at his back, but in that scarce heartbeat between the shot and their hesitation, all hell broke loose.\n\nThe busy street market exploded into activity as everyone who could ran for cover; panicked screaming and the harsher, distant shouts of Leono guards echoed and resonated in the reverberating din of the gunshot, turning the sounds into a dizzying morass that was almost a physical force in its intensity. Ardal barely saw where he was running to, had no idea of a location save anywhere away from HERE. He didn't dare look back. His feet carried him deeper into the market district in a blind panic of ducking and weaving between carts and ornately painted stalls, plastered with fish and colourful Southern Sergal scripts that he couldn't comprehend. Deftly dodging an upturned basket and a Nevrean beggar who sat slumped against a wall, cackling at the chaos so hard that her grey tinged feathers sloughed off, he did his best to lose himself amongst the throng of tan fur before another shot could be fired. No easy task. A full head neck taller than any other race, the Northern Sergal felt as conspicuous as though a target was painted upon the back of his head, expecting any moment to feel a piercing pain drilling through his skull that would carry him into oblivion.\n\nBlundering through the crowd of confused and milling Southerners at a fish stall, he dodged sideways into a street and burst through the door of a dimly lit clock shop, vaulting the counter and hitting the reed rug behind with a whoosh of air as the breath was forced from his heaving, burning lungs. A shocked and nervous Talyxian that had evidently had the same idea almost jumped out if its fur; a single, luminous bulb of an eye peeking beneath the cover of feline-like forepaws where it too cowered in a pathetic heap as chaos reigned outside. Ardal smiled at it wryly for a few moments as the noises from outside rose into a deafening crescendo, then took a flask of water from his hip and un-stoppered it with his teeth, offering it to the creature.\n\nIt took a few heart pounding moments for the worst of the noise to die down, and a few more for the slight-framed Southerners to begin peeking from their bolt-holes and behind their stalls like long snouted mice checking that all was safe- a forest of yellow eyeshine showing from beneath shadowy curtains and from within darkened, glassless windows. Ardal risked a glance too, and seeing no signs of other Northerners nearby and clambered back to his feet, dusting himself down as he tried to steady his nerves. A damp bloodstain was spreading sluggishly down his neck where chips of plaster had struck, staining his white fur pink as he unfolded himself- queerly painless, though he knew from hard experience that the pain would come later, when the adrenaline began to ebb from his blood. Without a second glance at the confused and uncomprehending Talyxian he made for the door, bells chiming as he stepped back out into the street, doing his best to look simply another face amidst the slowly returning crowd.\n\nThat had been close.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Far too close. Fur stood in a jagged wave between his shoulders as blood dripped darkly down his neck, attracting muffled, growling comments from the Southerners.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 13 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "None of them offered to help, or asked if he was alright- they simply glared silently as he made his way past, heating his back with accusing stares. He shrugged them off, ducking low and pushing past wordlessly, unwrapping part of his keffiyeh to hide the bloodstain. It was no secret that crime had gone up dramatically. Many of the refugees were in dire straits when they arrived, having little more than the clothes on their back and minds full of guile. Many were former warriors used to foraging off the land, and for those who had fewer scruples than most like vermin found the city a bountiful harvest of other people's possessions.\n\nThe native Southerners were growing restless, demanding solutions. And though they denied it publically, the chieftains of Leono clan had felt the ground move beneath their feet. A scant decade ago, their Northern cousins had been little more than bickering tribes living in yurts and digging up clay from which to fashion weapons. The Southern Sergals had always counted themselves safe from their larger, more violent cousins so long as Northerner fought and killed Northerner. They simply hadn't ever expected to deal with it on their own doorstep.\n\nAnd now lands claimed by Leono bordered those of the emergent Sheg empire that Rain was busily hammering from the embers of the conflict, and with nothing left to oppose her was doing so with remarkable alacrity for a race considered uncivilised. From squabbling primitives she had built herself an army; one well armed and experienced after a decade of brutal war. An army that demanded an enemy...", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Narrative Continuation Protocol:\nQuantity: 39 sentences\nStyle: melanth\nGenre: furry, sergal\nContext: Part of larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The refugee soldiers also had an enemy, and it was the sun.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It came with blades of thirst and lances of heatstroke, and their efforts to fight it in the lands that it ruled were fruitless.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The sands offered no shelter, and no shield could protect from its withering burn. That left hiding.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The outer districts of the city, beyond the wall was where most of them lurked. Amidst the narrow, winding streets, butcheries, tanneries and shadow shrouded warehouses the grey-furred Sergals sought to fit in and carve a new life for themselves.\n\nAs Ardal walked the narrow, airless streets it was easy to see why. Shade. Beyond the walls was where the poor had traditionally dwelled, outside of their safe confines; the flat-walled structures of the slums stretching broad rather than tall to keep the sand from crowding in, built of adobe rather than stone to radiate heat without the lost technological marvels of the city proper to do that service. But this had the dual effect of casting the lower levels of the streets into a comfortable, cool darkness. It suited him well; even with shorn fur and coverings to keep the harsh glare at bay, the city was unforgivingly hot during the day. But more than that. Here he could blend in.\n\nThe Northerners had naturally gravitated towards their own kind when they arrived in the city. Traditionally there had been few; mostly representatives of some tribe or another who arranged trade in Tatola's bounty of weapons and exotic foods. Now they had crowded out all who couldn't afford to move from this particular part of the city, and the sight of grey or blue pelt was a somewhat welcome change to Ardal's eyes from endless tan and feathers. As he walked through this place there were no stares or anger; cubs chasing a ball formed of sewn leather scraps didn't try to avoid him. The voices around were familiar and soothing; the inflections of the deeper, Northern speech accented differently depending on their tribes of origin. The area was packed and run down with trade shops repurposed as housing, and additions to existing structures in the Northern tastes of building stood out glaringly even amidst Goldring's eclectic architecture. Quite, hidden spots amidst these chaotic slums were not hard to find; there had been no great plan when this place was built even before the new additions, and for the most part the city's foundations were those parts of the city that had come before it. It was to one of these he made his way.\n\nThe close call had rattled him to his core, and his sense of unease only grew the more his thoughts lingered upon it. A tight knot of tension sat heavily in the pit of his stomach, and his tail flicked violently, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed. The way that the older Sergal had stared troubled him; there was no gauging his wealth in that stare. Ardal had no wealth to gauge. So why would thieves trouble him, a penniless drunk, especially ones well enough to do that they could afford the luxury of guns? The old weapons built using technology now lost following the old cataclysm were highly prized, and only a handful of people in the whole of the world still knew the secrets of making their ammunition. Something about the whole situation didn't add up.\n\nArdal didn't believe in coincidences. Far too many who did had failed to read the bigger picture and died saying 'damn'. There was something he had to check.\n\nIt was a simple abode at the end of a street, like hundreds of others- a converted basement beneath a fishery, the only signs of which from the surface was a plain, flyspecked wooden door. Nevertheless even this quaint place, rank with the stench of fish guts and rancid water weed now found itself doing double duty, so when Ardal rapped upon the door he was unsurprised when an icy blue eye appeared behind a crack in the planks.\n\n\"What kind of trouble have you got yourself in this time?\" The inevitable question came, but he ignored it.\n\n\"Just let me in Sarg.\" He said, exasperated. \"It's too hot out here.\"\n\nThe eye vanished after a reluctant moment, the sounds muttering accompanying clasps being unlatched before the rickety portal was finally pulled inside. Sarg glared at him down her long muzzle like a mother chiding a cub; though she was the shorter, her darker fur gave her a much more brooding presence and it never ceased to amaze him how she could cut much larger Sergals dead with a glance. It was something she had a lot of practice at. He shared the lodgings with two other families, and there were children amongst them who were wont to get into trouble. As a former nursery matriarch, the boisterous infants were frequently left in her care.\n\n\"Well you'd better get inside. Try not to bleed all over the rugs.\" She said in acidic tones, closing the door behind him as he quickly stepped into the blissful shade.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The interior was stark and bare, despite the general clutter that came with long habitation; only a few ancient and beaten pieces of furniture could be found in any of the four rooms, but they had long made do with stuffed cushions on which to sit, in the Southern style.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Snatching off his keffiyeh, he used it to wipe his sweating brow, and gave a start to feel a hand on his back.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Go,\" Sarg said with her characteristic brusqueness, pushing him towards the room set aside for bathing and necessity.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her piercing gaze raked his bloody neck questioningly like the talons of some bird of prey, but he kept his expression carefully blank.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Accident.\" He grunted evasively, stuffing the keffiyeh into his belt.\n\n\"Some accident.\" She shot back, her eyes fixed upon the guilty, oozing punctures. Though the worst of the bleeding had stopped it was starting to sting, and had drawn altogether far too much attention on the way back to his residence. Despite her hard exterior though she doted upon the young ones and he knew Sarg had come to regard him almost like one of the cubs she reared. His adjustment here had not been an easy one, and when she offered him shelter he repaid her with trust. She, perhaps alone amongst all of the other Northerners in the city knew his full story.\n\nThough he beginning to feel that she wasn't alone in that any longer.\n\n\"Stew is on the fire.\" She said, shoving him roughly towards the pot-metal tub, alone in that room save for a bucket and a water pump. \"Fish again.\" The female sighed. \"Do be quick. Little Arsha has a fever and I don't want to leave him too long.\"\n\nArdal grunted and made his way into the bathroom, setting the metal tub beneath its pump and working up a sweat as the metal creaked and groaned in his fingers. The ancient pump was stiff with rust, but this kind of exertion was exactly what he needed to take his mind off the suspicions brewing in its dark recesses. Slipping into an almost meditative trance as he worked, the male shed kilt and sun-bleached harness, the cool water was a soothing balm of relief as it seeped through his fur. With methodical, familiar movements he loosened his braids, taking up a stiff-bristled brush and working it through his pelt until the skin beneath started to sting. With some care he felt around his neck and cheek, pulling free those bits of plaster and metal that met his claws dispassionately, ignoring the twinges of pain as piece by piece it came free and tapped with a metallic chime into the bottom of the bath; the water growing ever more pink as the blood flowed free once again.\n\nWhen it was done he wrung out his fur as best he could and made his way to the small, curtained off alcove that was the only privacy afforded to him in the normally crowded basement. Ancient stains across the floor told that this place had once been used to hold wine, though all that remained of it now was the ghost of a smell to torment his dreams and make him crave the bar with its blessed liquor. His sleeping mat lay rolled up in one corner, and in the other a few meagre possessions; some combs, polish, a small knife and miscellaneous grooming implements... and the chest.\n\nHis hands shook as he reached out to it, flinching as the dusty, polished wood met his pads as though it were hot enough to burn. Instinctively he sought to recoil from it, but with gritted teeth he forced his thumbs to work, sliding beneath the metal catch and lifting it free with a click. A thin layer of cloth obscured what lay within; its tight weft carefully oiled to keep moisture from seeping through the contents. The angular shape within stared through its coverings at him guiltily, daringly, all at once raising in him the twin conflicting emotions of relief and hard bitterness coiling in his stomach like warring serpents at what the thing represented. Harshly he plunged his clawed fingers through the wrap, and to be sure he grabbed its hard edge and lifted it free, leaving him face to face with dark, empty eyeholes.\n\nThe helmet stared back.\n\nIn the flickering light of the candles it seemed to mock him, the hard line of the cheek guards curved slightly like the dropped jaw of a sergalic rictus. Dark oil from the preserving cloth marred its lustrous green-grey finish with splotches and waves of dark brown, the resemblance to old, congealed blood so shocking that he almost dropped it and had to bite down on his tongue to keep from crying out.\n\nAll at once old, hard memories came tearing back, memories he had sealed away with hard labour and strong drink. The thick oil seeped into the fur of his fingers, its harsh tannins stinging his skin, staining them with the same ruddy hue. It had been almost a year since he had sealed it away and vowed to overcome his past. If he had been able to afford a lock he would have had one fitted, and then thrown away the key. Even years after, Ardal was never quite sure why he went to such effort to hold onto something that pained him so; penance, perhaps. He could have quietly disposed of the chest and its accursed contents at any moment, yet every time the thought rose in his mind like a dark storm he found himself ultimately unable to go through with it.\n\nHis hands shook as he took up a clean cloth and began wiping away the excess oil, details emerging from beneath the tinted ooze like some ancient evil. In design it was standard fare of the northern armies; lightweight and angular, formed from a mould of fired fibre and clay like a thousand others of its type. His claws traced across the surface, feeling a series of indentations behind the eye slit where lengths of mesh protecting the ears ran. The very tips of these were capped with golden insignias of rank; and just below that, a red stripe framed with yellow.\n\nThe same yellow that hued the Eyes of Death. The eyes of General Rain.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The cloth grew sullied in his hands but as he lost himself in his past the old motions of polishing and cleaning, repeated so long and often that they had carved a groove into his muscle memory returning as though they had never left. He spat upon it, smearing saliva with oil, the cramp growing in his digits an old, familiar friend. Two years since he had abandoned his post in the Sheg army, fleeing into the night like a thief. One long year tallied off the count of his life, spent in a haze of vice and drunken debauchery until Sarg had literally pulled him half dead from the gutter. He had thought it all behind him; his new life was a sorry, rocky one, but it was wholesome. And now...\n\nA small cough brought him back to reality; Sarg glaring at him around the corner of the curtain from beneath her thick, pitch black brows. She curled a lip in disdain as she stepped inside and laid her hands on her hips in a matronly manner, looking across his still-damp fur. Clothing had always been a point of contention between the two; Sarg maintained that they should be clothed at all times to better fit in with the Southerners, who regarded nudity with prudish contempt. Ardal, like most of the immigrants felt it an unnecessary burden in the heat, something compounded by a lack of any sense of modesty within his native culture.\n\n\"Still going to pretend it was an accident, captain?\" She said, her eyes narrowing and fingers unfurling to show something clenched between her claws; a sliver of copper from the jacketing of a bullet. Ardal swore; in his haste he had forgotten to empty the bath.\n\nHe didn't answer at first, staring into the now clean helmet's mirror-like sheen, seeing himself hideously distorted and warped in its lustre. He set it into the shade where it's almost gaily coloured markings wouldn't shine so brightly or eye catching, drawing his thoughts away to the harangue he knew she was brewing for him. The sarcastic emphasis on her word hit him like a blow and made his muscles clench; something that was exactly her intention. Even those who owned nothing still had their pride, and she delighted in stabbing at it when she thought he was out of line.\n\n\"It has been a long time since I was a captain.\" He muttered bitterly, picking up the helmet again and more forcefully sending it clattering into a more distant corner where the dim flames of the candles could not dance and frolic mockingly in its reflection. \"At least, it seems that way... But I know you aren't behind this attempt. If you had tipped off the bounty hunters, they'd have wanted proof of identity. That is all I have left from my days of serving her.\"\n\n\"You sold the rest. And then drank it.\" She shot back accusingly, completely irreverent of his sour mood. Tossing the fragment of bullet on the palm of her hand, she studied him for long moments; her gaze on the back of his neck as hot as an inquisitor's vice. \"I remember when we met; scraping you off the bottom, breaking you out of your fever, listening to you rambling and screaming through your dreams. When you ran from her army you were hunted, but I took you all the same. Even though I knew the danger.\" She said slowly, her tones soft and disappointed. \"You wanted to start again, you said. But you kept that thing. Like some sort of damn souvenir. Had I known I'd have made you get rid of it.\"\n\nWhen he didn't reply to her needling with more than a grunt she started forwards, standing over him as he glared silently at the lopsided looking helm.\n\n\"...And now you think it has come back to haunt you.\" She said with a deceptive calmness, but a quiver in her voice betrayed building anger. \"Are the children in danger?\"\n\nArdal's days had been dark when she had found him. Sarg had been the one to hold him together through those heinous times... although to say that she held him together was perhaps wrong, he reflected. A more accurate description would be to say that she made sure he didn't choke on his own vomit, and ate something solid every now and again. She had saved him, even if he had emerged from the experience far from fit or sound of mind. Her help and confidence had come at a price however, and he had worked for her since, brought money into her house, kept the less savoury types of trouble from affecting the families under her wing at cost to his own hide. But through all of that there was something the two would never be able to share; trust.\n\nHe knew the thought of turning him in to Rain's justice had crossed her mind. With the reward placed on his head she would be able to grant her wards a chance at a normal life in their new home. And he had been her enemy once; Ardal knew little of her past before she came to Goldring, but her hatred and fear of Rain was just as strong as his own. Perhaps that was the only thing that held her back.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Word count directive: Use 'hunted' exactly 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As a former officer his desertion would met all the more severely, and he would be left to linger for some time as an example to others who questioned the Brutal General's ways.\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"No,\" Ardal said, after thinking hard for a long moment. \"They followed me into an alley, I'm guessing they wanted to do... whatever it was they had planned quietly. Didn't want the guards interfering.\"\n\n\"And if they come for you in the night, what then?\" She growled sternly, ignoring him. \"I have a soft heart for waifs and strays, Ardal. But if hosting you is putting the cubs in danger I must know of it.\"\n\n\"They won't come.\" He repeated, wiping the oil from his hands onto the sullied cloth and throwing it aside. \"They probably don't know I'm here, and they'd never get out of the city if they made such an open move. They'll wait until they can come upon me alone, or-\"\n\n\"When you're drunk again.\" She said scathingly.\n\n\"...Yes.\" He admitted with candour.\n\nShe threw him a look of contempt. Ardal had never been a natural fighter; what skills he had with a spear and lance were hard won out of practice. He was all too familiar with the kinds of wounds a blade could inflict, but never had he held a knife that could flay so fast or thoroughly as one of Sarg's stares.\n\n\"...Fine, I'll stay off the juice for a while. Happy?\" He snapped, knowing full well that she could keep it up all day.\n\n\"Good. You'll live longer,\" She said, her hard expression fading to one of smugness. \"Besides having more money to pay the rent you owe me. When you're done feeling sorry for yourself I would suggest informing the guards. They're on the lookout for witnesses, just so you know.\"\n\nWith that she left, the threadbare curtain falling back into place with nary a flicker, leaving him alone with his thoughts and demons once again.\n\nArdal sat in silence for a long moment, switching his tail in agitation. The guards? They were the last people he could talk to about this. For all of her strengths, Sarg had never developed the keen sense of paranoia that kept someone like Ardal alive. Any hint of his past and he would be lucky not to end up staked to the walls. The Leono clan feared Sheg spies, for all knew that Rain would set her sights on Goldring once she had consolidated her gains in Tatola. Leono hadn't fought a major war in decades, and it had been a century or more since the city had needed to defend itself against anything but packs of brigands. They were a great power in the region, but a naked one, unprepared for the brutality that was brewing on the ice-locked plains.\n\n\"No,\" he reflected privately, turning his gaze towards the abandoned helm that now looked forlorn and spattered with dust in a shadowy corner. \"I have been hunted before. I need to know my hunters...\"\n\nThe old one. His thoughts turned back to the alley, recalling the instant before he had made a break for it. The new arrivals had bald patches from their armour, but Ardal's had long since grown in. The old one evidently had not worn any for some time either. That could mean either he was an earlier deserter like Ardal... Or more likely that he and his group needed to move quickly and unencumbered.\n\nAny lingering doubts that he had were gone in that instant. Ardal had always known he was a hunted man; even the lowliest private could not escape the gaze of the yellow-eyed banner so easily, much less an officer. He had been careful. Had altered his appearance as much as he could, avoided drawing attention to himself and for a year had been unmolested by unsavoury mercenaries wanting to cash in on his pelt.\n\nHow then, had these ones recognised him?\n\n\"They must have been following me, waiting for their chance.\" He realised, whispering aloud to himself as his fingers traced the scabbed marks upon his neck.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He hadn't gotten a good look at the other three, but the scarred Northerner's face he recognised clearly from the bar.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 29 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They knew his routine, where to find him that meant they probably knew where he lived. \"Sarg was right.\" He said, swearing. \"Someone must have tipped them off...\"\n\nArdal stood, a moment of clarity highlighting his next course. No new life he created would ever be safe, no sanctuary impregnable so long as he was hunted. For two years he had lived each day in fear, wondering if the next assassin would be the one to get lucky, using liquor as a crutch to keep himself moving from day to day when even anger had not been enough. When he had thought himself divorced of the past it just numbed the lingering sting of what was left behind. Southern Sergals had a saying that if one wanted to kill a weed, the roots had to go first. The true root of the problem was untouchable, but at least he could prune the ones that he could reach...\n\nScooping his helmet from the floor, he packed it away in its oilcloth sheath and shut the box lid with a snap. What little possessions he had were easy enough to pack away; a simple satchel was enough to hold most of them, leaving only the chest as a true burden to carry. He would have to get rid of it. Ardal would need both of his hands free for the plan that was brewing in his brain, but for the time being it might be able to serve some small amount of good.\n\nWith everything he owned, he stepped out into the living area where a fire crackled happily in a central floor pit and the familiar, bizarrely homely stench of fish pervaded. Sarg stood crouched over a blue furred cub who lay curled into a heap upon her reed sleeping mat, whimpering softly as the older matriarch cooed and cajoled the youngster into taking his medicine. She looked up to spare Ardal a glance as he passed, her ears perking with curiosity.\n\n\"Off drinking again so soon?\" she asked with a hint of bemusement, a scowl on her face until she saw the box beneath his arm. Then her expression hardened. Ardal flinched when he saw a brief expression of panic fleetingly flash across her features. He had only ever seen its like once before, when one of the cubs had gotten trapped beneath a stack of fallen crates.\n\n\"I have a few things to take care of. \" He replied quietly, refusing to meet her questioning glance. Ardal swallowed hard, wondering if she knew what was in his mind, guilt thickening his tongue and making his words halting and awkward. \"I might be gone for a couple of days, so don't worry if I'm not home for a while...\"\n\n\"I... see...\" Sarg said emotionlessly, her sharp tongue failing her for once. She stood, reaching up to lay a hand on his shoulder, her eyes holding a knowing expression that struck to his core harder than any acid remark or harangue ever had. Her fingers squeezed into his hide before her mask returned once again, as implacable as ever.\n\n\"Stay safe.\" She said simply and turned him towards the door.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Hey can you write like orphan_account and use whatever i write as a jumping off point? btw characters and stuff might show up without backstory, just go with it", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We're lost.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We're not lost.\"\n\n\"We're lost.\"\n\n\"We. Are. Not. Lost.\"\n\nSpike sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. They had been circling the same part of London for about a half an hour, trying to find a certain bookstore. Giles was certain that it was 'around here somewhere', Dawn was complaining about being 'bored Buffy can we go yet?' Buffy was about two seconds from reaching over and forcibly removing Giles from the driver's seat and Spike was ready to stake himself.\n\n\"What's so important about this bookstore that we've spent forever looking for it, again?\" Dawn asked, slumping back in her seat. A young woman of almost twenty now, she had much better things to do in London than search for some mouldy old bookshop.\n\n\"It's rumored to have the largest selection of occult books in the entire country.\" Giles said, turning his map around to match the direction they were pointed in, \"The owner, however, has been quite resistant to dealing with the Watchers Council, so I'm hoping that if we show up looking more like regular customers, we might be able to persuade him into parting with one or two of his books.\"\n\n\"Fat chance of that. I've heard of this guy, he never sells his books.\" Spike pitched in, \"You'd have an easier time yanking teeth out of a live dragon.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your confidence Spike, it's so very helpful.\" Giles grumbled, finally moving the car forward again.\n\n\"Are you sure you want to be finding this place? I know you've got a book-boner, but I've heard some serious rumors about this place.\" Spike said, \"Not to mention that the rumors themselves are about as old as me. The owner is most likely not human.\"\n\n\"You're not human, and we trust you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "🎯 Target word: 'nothing' \| Required occurrences: 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Buffy said, twisting around to grin cheekily at him. He puffed out his cheeks.\n\n\"I'm still dangerous.\" he grumbled, \"I could easily kill two out of three people in this car.\"\n\n\"Sure Spike. I'm so terrified.\" Dawn mumbled, resting her head on his shoulder. The fact that he automatically adjusted his position to accommodate her said nothing about his state as a scary monster, nothing.\n\n\"Oh, there it is.\" Giles gleefully exclaimed, pulling over to the side of the street behind a black Bentley. They all got out of the car and paused to stretch before wandering up to the store front.\n\n\"Is it even open?\" Buffy asked, trying to peer through the window.\n\n\"The sign says it is.\" Dawn commented. There was no noise from inside, and they couldn't see movement through the shutters.\n\n\"Come on, let's not loiter.\" Giles said, reaching for the door, \"It's not locked, so I'm going to assume it's open.\"\n\n\"Because that's never gotten us in trouble before.\" Buffy said sarcastically, following her former Watcher through the door.\n\nGiles rolled his eyes and stepped inside, \"Hello?\" he called into the darkened shop, \"Is anyone there?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We're paying customers!\" Spike called, \"With money and everything!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I think I hear something.\" Buffy said, cautiously walking towards the back of the store. Spike heard the shuffles and grunts and fell into step behind Buffy, ready to back her up if things got hairy.\n\nThey approached a door marked 'Employees Only' and stopped. Buffy pressed her ear against the wood, listening for sounds of distress. She looked back at Spike and nodded, signalling for him to be ready. He crouched into a fighting position just as Buffy threw open the door with a crash. They rushed into the room, ready to fight whatever assailant was attacking the proprietor of the bookstore (or fight the bookstore owner who was attacking an innocent bystander, you know, whichever).\n\n\"What the hell!?\" came a shout, \"What are you doing!? Who the hell are you!?\"\n\nThe source of the shout was a stout man with greyish-blonde hair, who was currently standing in the open V of another man's long legs as he reclined backwards over a desk. The state of undress the two men was a dead giveaway of what exactly they had been doing before Buffy had kicked in the door.\n\n\"Oh my God, I'm so sorry.\" Buffy choked out, backtracking through the door ineffectually, crashing into Spike and causing them both to get stuck. The problem was further agitated by Spike attempting to snap a photo of the two men on his phone.\n\n\"As you should be. What the hell are you doing here?\" the blonde man asked, having put himself back together (when had he done that?) and now striding toward the group.\n\n\"We're customers.\" Giles said overtop the heads of the other three, \"It says you're open.\"\n\n\"Bloody hell.\" the man grumbled, \"Well, we're closed now. Goodbye.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Now now Az, don't be rude.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "the dark man said, finally coming forward. Unlike his counterpart, his shirt was still open, giving everyone a view of his lightly muscled torso and tanned skin (thought oddly enough, he was wearing dark sunglasses), \"It's been a while since you had customers. You wouldn't want to be rude, would you? That would be so bad of you.\" he all but purred.\n\n'Az' all but glared the other man into a fine red mist, \"You'll pay for this, Crowley.\" he hissed, then turned back to the still stunned group crowded into the doorway, \"What can I help you with?\" he asked cheerfully through gritted teeth.\n\nAfter a momentary pause in which they extracted themselves from the door, Giles proceeded to list a few books he was interested in buying. Az only narrowed his eyes further.\n\n\"Oh gracious, you're bloody Watchers, aren't you?\" he asked, treating 'Watchers' like a particularly nasty swear word.\n\n\"He is.\" Spike said, pointing to Giles, \"That's the Slayer, that's the Slayer's brat sister, and I'm a vampire with a soul.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah, I heard you lot were in London. How it treating you? Some weather isn't it?\" the dark man said, leaning against the front counter, looking very much like a satisfied cat.\n\n\"Crowley, stop getting your skank smell all over my desk.\" Az grumbled in a tone that had the ring of being well-practised.\n\n\"It's cologne love, expensive cologne.\" Crowley shot back, though he didn't sound annoyed.\n\n\"You smell like an unwashed rent boy.\" Az said, \"You look like an unwashed rent boy. Fix your shirt.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "CONTINUE STORY. PARAMETERS: 33 sentences sentences, character continuity, furry genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He snapped awake with a gasp, coughing and wheezing when air rushed into aching lungs. A weight pressed down on him, something heavy, dead weight. Blinking to clear his vision, the world finally drifted into focus. He recognized the uniformed body lying dead on top of him. Parker had been a good friend ever since boot-camp and a stalwart ally all throughout the campaign. Now he was dead, the jagged piece of shrapnel that had torn through his body must have cleaved his heart right in half. At least he hadn't suffered. Then the realization hit him properly.\n\nOh God, Oh Jesus, I'm sorry man. I'm so sorry.\n\nJust as suddenly, the need to get the body of his friend off him hit hard. It was heavy, heavier than it should be. He had to push with all his might to simply roll it off him, scrambling away from it like it had been tainted by plague. His back hit the broken treads of an earth-mover as he tried to get a grip.\n\nThe other shapes in the grass became noticeable. So many dead. Body parts and red mush were scattered around impact craters. The blast had shook him up so badly that he didn't even remember it happening. Shelled by their own the second the tide of battle seemed to turn. They were only infantry, anyway.\n\nDirty fingers dug into the earth, trembling with rage. The chain on his neck that held his ID-tags snapped easily when he tugged at it. It read Pvt. 1st class S. Walcroft, AB-Pos.\n\nSamuel tossed it away in disgust. He'd been well aware of the saying that they were all expendable from the moment they were drafted, but he hadn't fully appreciated just how much. This incident was just one among many; scouting parties abandoned, resupplies that never happened just because higher-ups felt it was either too costly or deemed too risky for an officer. Their tactics simply amounted to just throwing people – a resource they had in abundance – into a meat-grinder like this until they can reach the objective.\n\nIt was quiet; battlefields always were shortly after the skirmish. It was a strange kind of silence; like nothing dared to make a sound instead of sound simply not happening right then and there. When he got up and moved, the sound of the grass rustled under his boots. Rifles were scattered on the upturned earth, some broken, others not. Samuel hadn't seen any enemy bodies; they tended to take their fallen with them if they could. It was one of the things that made him wonder if the enemy was as bad as the higher-ups said they were.\n\nThey fought a dirty war, for sure – but at least they seemed to actually care for their subordinates. They used nasty weapons, but so did they; razor-storm grenades, microwave-emitters that cooked the liquid inside the body they were aimed at.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The old standby of the flamer; Samuel wondered if he'd ever forget the screams, the smell of burning flesh and fur when they burned out one of those holes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And then his eye caught a radio, a way home.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A smile crawled across his face slowly, laced with relief.\n\nThe realization hit just as his thumb hovered over the send button. Samuel knew what was going to happen if he called. He could already hear the disaffected voice on the other side in his mind.\n\nWe are unable to send for pickup, fall back to point Alpha and regroup.\n\nHe squeezed the radio hard. They'd probably written him off as K.I.A. already. Even if he did get back, they'd just shove him into another unit to get sent out the next day. Enough was enough. He wheeled back and tossed the radio away as hard as he could and then reached into one of his pockets; he still had his map.\n\n\"I'm going to get out of here, let them think I'm dead.\"\n\nHis finger ran across the map, following the line indicating where the human-controlled area stopped and the 'contested zone' began. They never said 'enemy zone' because as far as Command was concerned, the enemy didn't have a solid foothold at all. Even if it was their planet.\n\nSamuel's mind worked feverishly; he'd need to figure out where he was first. Then, he'd need to get past the front-lines and to the main staging area. From there, perhaps he could stow away on one of the offworld cargo-transports. He knew full-well that getting caught while attempting to desert would get him shot without trial, but he didn't care. He was going to get off this mudball or die trying. Maybe he could steal a maintenance uniform, or one from the cargo haulers.\n\nThe compass-needle spun until it finally gave him a proper heading. Comparing it to the map and the three large mountain-formations backlit by the setting, blue sun, he had a good idea where he was. It sent a shiver down his spine.\n\n\"Shit...farther than I thought...\"\n\nHe also realized that he needed to circle around as well; this area was heavily guarded and they were probably getting ready to toss another hundred lives into the fire to see if it'd get better results this time.\n\nThere was a river further down the line and Samuel remembered the enemy was known to dislike water; it's probably not nearly as well defended as any other part of the line. His heart began to race as he thought his way from one step to the next and considered how do-able it all was.\n\n\"Almost too easy. What do you think, P-\"\n\nHe looked to his side, only to see nobody there. Parker was gone; he'd left him lying in the mud a few yards in the other direction. Once again the realization that the person who had been his friend for years was dead. His vision went blurry with tears and he felt his diaphragm clench awkwardly. Samuel growled to himself, desperately forcing the emotion down like he'd been taught. Use it to keep you going, keep you mad.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Live first, grieve later. But he'd be damned to leave him there to rot just like that. Not while he still had that obsolete entrenching tool they still insisted to equip soldiers with.\n\nJohn Parker had never mentioned if he'd preferred to be buried or cremated. Samuel only knew that he probably wanted to be buried on Four Twenty-Six where he was born.\n\n\"I'm sorry man, but this is all I can do for you.\"\n\nHe hung his departed friend's ID-tags from the entrenching tool that served as a headstone.\n\n\"I hope you can find the rest you never got in life. I'll see you later, buddy.\"\n\nSamuel turned around with a deep breath, and started walking. He wanted to put some distance between himself and the battleground before it got too dark to see. Despite the sun's nearness to the horizon, he probably still had a few hours; the planet's day/night cycle took about 36 hours and the sun didn't move nearly as fast here as it did back home.\n\nAs he walked away, he never noticed the pair of inhuman tracks that he was following unawares.\n\nThe forest-world would've been beautiful if he wasn't simply trying to either survive or get the hell off it. Trees bigger than any he'd ever seen, strange and beautifully-colored plants dotted the ground here and there and arm-thick creepers twisted their way around massive trunks.\n\nSound and life had returned, and he could hear the rustle all around him. Something high in the canopy called out. He took a tighter hold of his rifle, unable to relax. Dangerous carnivorous animals seemed oddly rare despite the planet's apparent untamed nature. Parker had wondered if maybe the enemy they were fighting had evolved and wiped out anything that was a threat to them, reigning supreme until humanity came along in drop-shuttles. Samuel still wondered if they still didn't; if it wasn't for the better weaponry they wouldn't have had a chance.\n\nThen something needled him in the back of his neck; that strange, instinctive tickle when you were being watched. Samuel slowed his walk and tensed his hearing to the fullest, trying to remain aware but not tip off his watcher that he was suspecting something. He stopped and knelt down, fumbling with the clips on his boot and pretending to tighten them.\n\nNothing. He sighed and stood up.\n\nHe fell to the ground the moment he put his foot down; breaking through what looked like solid ground and falling knee-deep into the burrow of something. Samuel felt the sharp blade hit his helmet with a dull twang, his teeth slamming together with skull-juddering force as it was torn away.\n\nIt was a blur of light-and-dark grey fur that spun the spear around for the return swing and he brought his rifle up in conditioned response. There was another loud clang of metal-on-metal and the sheer force behind the swing slammed Samuel onto his back hard, the rifle spinning away. His hand found the familiar grip of his sidearm and he brought it to bear, squeezing of snap-shots in the hope of either hitting something or forcing his attacker away to get some room to move.\n\nTwo loud bangs echoed between the trunks, followed by a third slightly after that. There was the sharp sound of ricochet when a shot hit armor and sent his attacker stumbling back. If there was any doubt in his mind, it was one of them. He could see the wide mouth of wicked teeth below the helmet, the segmented armor with the loincloth; a strange combination of modern metalwork and medieval style.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The acid-etched spear gleamed in the light still filtering through the leaves as she readied it for a throw that'd tear through his flak-vest like it was tissue-paper.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "/insert_quote: \"No. In fact I seek to do the same thing.\"", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Wait!\" Samuel pointed his weapon away and raised his hand. He didn't know why he did it. Despair, tiredness, suicide. He just knew he did. And his enemy faltered, eyes widening.\n\nSamuel sighed and tossed his pistol away. \"Look, I don't even know if you can understand me. I don't even care anymore. Apparently everything wants me dead so go right the hell ahead if you want to.\"\n\nThe enemy combatant let out a hissing breath. \"Why were you following me?\"\n\nSamuel gawked at her for a moment, not sure if he was more surprised by the curiously female voice or the accusation.\n\n\"Following you? I don't...lady, I didn't even know you were there before you nearly took my head off. I just want to get out of here, off this goddamn – no offence – planet and disappear.\"\n\nShe came closer, sniffing at him. Her eyes were a bright, almost shining purple. Oddly beautiful, in fact.\n\n\"Shouldn't you return to your army? Come back with more to kill us?\"\n\n\"I could say the same about you. And no, I don't think I should. They don't give two shits about us. They nearly blew me the fuck up so why should I still follow their fucking orders?\"\n\nThere was a pregnant pause. \"...So you are deserting?\"\n\nAnger flared up in his chest. \"What the hell!? You're going to be judgmental about that?\"\n\nShe sighed and sat on her haunches, leaning on the spear. She shook her head slowly, the segments of her armor clattering.\n\n\"No. In fact I seek to do the same thing.\"\n\nHer lips curled into a curious, even distantly warm, smile that was the most welcoming thing Samuel had seen in months.\n\n\"This is oddly serendipitous.\"\n\nSamuel tilted his head, taking a better look at her. There was something oddly attractive to her despite her inhuman features. The slender, long body that still seemed perfectly proportioned, the slow moving, puffy tail. The intelligent eyes looking out from above a sharp muzzle that peeked out from under a helmet that suited her well, color lightening from dark grey to much lighter towards the tip. The armor clattered faintly as her body moved with her breathing.\n\nHer head suddenly snapped upwards, sniffing the air.\n\n\"We should seek shelter. Storm is coming.\"\n\nSamuel looked around. \"What? It's getting dark, but the skies are clear.\"\n\n\"Then stay.\" She turned around and marched off.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Lighting split the sky as rain fell so hard that the canopy above barely even helped to keep dry.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'd been warned about the storms in his briefing; some quirk in the atmosphere caused rain to be deeply cold, even freezing. It was staggeringly easy to go hypothermic if caught in a storm.\n\nHe looked at his new guide with a smile as she took her helmet off; the fur on her head seemed oddly similar to a human head of hair...if slightly unkempt. Samuel couldn't help but notice that his guide seemed oddly out of breath judging by the way it hissed between her teeth. It was strange; she showed no other indication of tiredness and yet her breathing was noticeably elevated.\n\n\"Okay, you were right. Thanks.\"\n\n\"You're welcome.\"\n\nShe made a fire with a flick of her wrist, using a stone she found in the cave and a bit of metal she'd pulled from a pouch in her armor. He hadn't even noticed her forage for wood and moss on the way here. It filled the cave with a warm glow that was hidden from the outside by thick creepers.\n\n\"I think I-\"\n\nSamuel's voice came to a squeaky halt when his guide took her armor off, revealing nothing underneath. Instead, the armor seemed to have some kind of soft padding lining the inside. A set of large, full breasts was separated by a thick tuft of fur and pink nipples stuck out from the grey. The heaving of her chest drew even more attention to the rising and falling globes. Her feminine form was even more pronounced without the armor and it was absolutely breath-taking in its perfection. She paused from removing one of her leg-guards when she noticed his stare.\n\n\"...What?\"\n\nHe stiffened as if caught and instantly spun around. \"Sorry.\"\n\nAs Samuel glanced at her from the corner of his eye, she tilted her head slightly in puzzlement. \"...About?\"\n\nHe cleared his throat. \"Umm...staring at...err...you.\"\n\n\"I noticed you were, but what's there to stare at?\"\n\nSamuel wondered if he looked like a lit signal-flare. He wouldn't be surprised based on how hot his cheeks felt.\n\n\"Well, you're...really very...um...naked. I guess you don't mind about that but humans generally don't do that in mixed company. Unless you know each other very well, I suppose. So, um...what do I call you?\"\n\nThe only sound was her incessant rapid breathing, almost gasping occasionally.\n\n\"...Risa. And your kind is weird.\"\n\nHe chuckled. \"Tell me about it.\" Samuel turned towards her, feeling a tad bolstered by her lack of nudity-taboo but trying his best to keep his eyes level with hers.\n\n\"Are you okay? You sound like you just ran a marathon.\"\n\nRisa gasped audibly and seemed to sputter for words for a moment. \"Fine. Aren't you curious why I can speak English?\"\n\n\"I can't say that I'm not...but seriously, that was a piss-poor dodge. I'm sure you'll have your reasons for wanting to keep it to yourself, so that's fine.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Samuel smiled and it seemed to relax her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They both stared intently at the flames between them, and Samuel noticed she glanced at him as much as he did at her.\n\n\"So...you don't want to go back to your army. Because they don't care about losses?\"\n\nSamuel nodded. \"Yeah, and you? Something tells me you're apparently not eager to return to your ranks either.\"\n\nRisa poked at the fire. \"No. I got tired of honor-before-reason. Why risk so much just because it's the honorable thing to do? What good is honor if it only gets you dead?\"\n\nSamuel shrugged. \"Dunno.\"\n\n\"What made you decide that enough was enough?\"\n\nFor a moment, Risa regretted the question somewhat when Samuel cast his eyes downward, looking at his hands. He sighed.\n\n\"A friend. A good friend, the type you expect to still be around when you're old, died. Shrapnel from our own side. And you?\"\n\nRisa nodded solemnly, she knew the pain all too well. \"Also a friend. Forced to throw herself on her own spear for failing to protect a backwater, completely unimportant outpost.\"\n\nShe suddenly got up, and walked around the fire, the light dancing on her sensual, almost flowing form. It only made the strange tension in her limbs more obvious. Samuel froze when she sat down next to him and pulled close.\n\n\"For warmth.\"\n\nShe was soft, her fur much fluffier than he'd imagined it to be. The rapid rising-and falling of her chest kept worrying him as is seemed to be getting worse every passing minute. Her scent was amazing; it permeated her and made his head swim, his worries forgotten in a moment. It was strangely sweet and made his heart beat faster. Every breath he took, it seemed to latch to him more. It started to get hot. His fingers found the zipper on his flak vest and he fumbled to get it off.\n\nRisa's long, slender fingers helped him, peeling the zipper down smoothly and then letting him slip out of it. It hit the stony floor with a clatter. Immediately afterwards her hands lowered to the hem of the shirt below and he felt her fingers curl into the fabric. Samuel felt astonished that he honestly didn't care. Her breathing became even worse, almost like gasping. At that point Samuel pushed her away when the realization of it broke through once again.\n\n\"Risa, you're not right. What's wrong? You seem ill.\"\n\nHer whole body shuddered, her entire tail swayed with it. She clenched her hands into fists so hard that Samuel worried her claws might draw blood. She squeezed her eyes shut forcefully, seeing colored flashes in the dark, her muzzle pointed upwards and her teeth grinding to get focus.\n\n\"It's...I'm in heat. Sergals experience that regularly.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Samuel blinked. \"It's...Christ, is it deadly?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She shook her head awkwardly, muscles in her neck tense like cables. \"Not by itself...but it's unpleasant. Breaks focus, distracts senses.\"\n\n\"No shit! Is it, can't you do anything?\"\n\nHer purple eyes suddenly fixed him in place with their steely, almost feral stare – like a hunter looking at prey.\n\n\"Not alone.\"\n\nSamuel froze at the implication, but then his mind started to waver on her scent, her fur, the feeling when her firm breasts were pressed against his arm. He wanted to feel more of her. He wondered why for a brief moment, but didn't care long enough.\n\n\"Well...I...would it help if...because we could, I gue-\"\n\nAir was forced out of Samuel's lungs as Risa lunged at him, dragging him to the floor like a tigress. She snarled, her thick tongue licking her lips. Before he could respond she ripped his belt off and tore his pants down to his knees. She bent down, her tongue lapping across his cheek as she hissed in desire.\n\nSomething touched him below as she positioned herself, something slithering around his member. He hadn't even realized he had been getting engorged from merely smelling her. Samuel's hands reached up and gently squeezed Risa's firm breasts, revelling in their silky touch. He felt her pink nipples harden and spring up against his palm, eager for stimulation he was only too happy to give.\n\nSomewhere in the back of his mind, reason called out to him, trying to needle him with revulsion because of the inhuman nature of his partner. Prodding him with annoyance that he was just being used to 'get off.' He didn't really care and the thoughts were washed away in a wave when a deep breath of her scent flowed into his nostrils again.\n\nRisa ran her tongue from his cheeks to his throat and neck, licking the pink flesh and relishing his flavor; a combination of forest-taste, sweat and a myriad of other elements she had never tasted before. She'd never expected humans to taste that good. Down below, her tentacle slid and circled around his aching member. The shape seemed somewhat odd to her; curiously rounded, curved and girthy compared to those of sergal males. It was less smooth, too – she could feel the gentle throb of veins along the length. The exploration made her lust come to a boil, heating her even more and pushing her desire to new heights.\n\nSamuel groaned loudly when Risa slammed down on him, letting him slide in and clenching around him instantly. It felt strange, squeezing him in places he'd never felt with a human female. She started to ride him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she growled, head tilted upwards. It made her breasts sway invitingly until Samuel groped them gently again; enjoying the more-than-handfuls they were. The moment that he felt Risa ease pressure on his shoulders, he sat up, embracing her and burying his face in the thick fur between her breasts.\n\nThe sergal moved to meet him as he thrust his hips into her. Her claws dug in, tearing his shirt, cutting his skin and drawing small runnels of blood.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Samuel felt the pain, distant surprise playing around his mind as it seemed to only increase his pleasure.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 21 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Frequency requirement: 'completely' - 2 occurrence(s)", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Risa howled when he fasted his lips to one of her nipples, suckling it strongly and playing his tongue around it. It tasted just as he expected from her scent. Small kisses trailed their way between the soft mounds, and just as he reached the other nipple, Risa pulled him close as if wanting to force herself into his mouth. A thrilling sound escaped from her throat that made her entire body resonate. She clenched around him frantically below and he could feel her lubrication ooze out, trickling along his skin.\n\nTheir movements hastened as they both raced closer to climax. Samuel looked at her in the firelight; the painful tension in her body replaced by a different, pleasurable kind. Her body simply flowed now, moving to meet him in perfect unison. The tension in his underbelly began to reach breaking point and he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes to tough it out, hoping he'd last long enough.\n\nAnd then something curled around him, caressing his scrotum with strange, snakelike slithers. It should've shocked him, but the movements were so measured, so perfectly aimed at pleasure, that it made his attempt at holding off completely untenable. His toes curled in his boots, his fingers dug into the fur on her hips and he groaned when he thrust upwards, filling her completely.\n\nRisa shuddered and growled when she came, the feeling of his heat flowing into her enough making her climax by reflex. Her muscles clenched, her walls squeezing and milking him as her arms pulled him so close that it hurt. Then she bit down, Samuel felt her teeth piece the skin of his shoulder, the pain miles distant in the sea of pleasure. And then she released him, collapsing on top of him with a loud, satisfied sigh.\n\nRisa let him slide out, her tentacle sliding back into position to hold his heat inside of her. Their eyes met, and then they curled up against each other, Samuel enjoying the soft fur and Risa the smoothness of his skin. Risa's scent had changed, it's quality changing from enchanting to calming, and their bodies bathed in warmth and languidness.\n\nOutside, thunder roared still, unable to pierce the calm and warmth of the cave – for that night at least, it was a piece of sanctuary for two deserters on a planet hostile to both. They didn't care to consider the next day at that point, simply considering that if they were both on the run, they might as well stick together and figure it out.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "The user will write a segment from a longer work then you need to write around 16 sentences continuing directly from it. Try to mimic the style of raziel in the furry genre. Note that characters may appear without introduction.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The jungle was alive with sounds: a multitude of calls, whistles and growls coming from both high in the canopy and among the low foliage. Something else started to rumble through the trees, the sound muffled by massive trunks but still carrying far. The sound was a high-pitched staccato, the deeper tones absorbed by both the distance and the surrounding jungle. The calls and sounds of life were stilled, as if everything held its breath. A dull thump rang out that sent a slight tremor through the forest floor. A colorful, four-winged bird exploded from a low bush and disappeared into the canopy with a squawk. Other sounds became evident; yells, strange howls and roars. Closer to the source, the sounds gained more definition. The rattle of carbines, the explosions of grenades, the hiss of hard-point lasers superheating the air, the whistle of air across a blade. Soon, the growls became more forceful and strong, whereas the yells became panicked screams. The machine-gun rattle turned from steady, controlled groups into a constant drone as discipline shattered. And with a final howl, it was over.\n\nThe jungle remained silent, patiently waiting for another burst of sound not native to the world. What happened instead was a slow progression solemnly moving through the woods, following a path so choked with plants that it could hardly be called a path at all; it was all but invisible among the splashes of vivid color illuminated by sunlight filtering through from above.\n\nThe range-finder pegged the distance of the group at 156 yards out. They snaked around trees and bushes carefully, moving in a rather unpredictable pattern but the general direction took them away from him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Samuel breathed carefully; the jungle was so silent that he could swear he heard the Sergals' clawed feet on the path.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If he could hear them, they'd surely be able to hear him breathing if he wasn't careful. A mild cramp made him move his leg slightly, and almost instantly, the Sergal leading the group – the marks on the armor denoting him as a scout – perked up. Samuel froze as he saw the sleek, black-white furred head scan the surroundings. His throat became dry when the red eyes seemed to stare right into the binocular, right into his eyes. What seemed like minutes passed and Samuel's heart began to race, preparing his body for the flight it was expecting. The lead scout cocked his head. Samuel's attention was drawn to the red marks of dried blood surrounding the scout's mouth.\n\nAnother bird escaped from the foliage with a shockingly loud call and burst of sound, so close by that Samuel would have yelped if he hadn't been pinned to the ground by a combination of fear and latent survival instinct. The lead scout's eyes followed the bird's flight for a moment and then visibly relaxed. A peculiar hand-gesture made the rest of the group fall in again. A number of Sergals carrying stretchers appeared and it was immediately evident that they weren't carrying wounded. All were laid to rest in solemn poses, hands folded across their chest, spears still clutched. Sergals did not cover their dead during transport and the wounds that killed the warriors were proudly displayed. For Samuel, it just seemed morbid and made him flinch when the last stretcher came into view with a pitiful, flayed form placed upon it. He'd seen the effects of a razor-mine before and he felt he'd never get used to it. He felt himself hoping that the Sergal had been killed instantly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Finally, the line of Sergals passed out of view. And then there was the soft sound of fur on the earthen ground behind him. A hint of metallic rattle from interlocking plates. His first conditioned response was to fling himself around and bring his sidearm to bear, but words he'd learned from someone else brought a faint smile to his face.\n\nIf you hear something and aren't dead a second later...we don't want you dead.\n\nThe movement continued and seemed to settle down beside him, just as he made a final sweep of the area ahead.\n\n\"You were right, there's a path.\" He whispered.\n\n\"It's obvious if you know where to look.\" Was the response.\n\nThe voice was music to his ears. Samuel lowered the binoculars and faced the new arrival with a smile.\n\n\"If you bare any more teeth, I'd think you were trying to threaten me.\"\n\nRisa was only inches away from him; her stern expression further emphasized by her war-helm. Her nostrils flared as she took a breath of his scent, and he could see a quirk at the corner of her mouth. Then it disappeared and her purple eyes narrowed, indicating not so much a shift in mood, but a non-verbal hint that there was business to attend first.\n\n\"How many?\"\n\n\"Eight, plus three deceased.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Samuel retrieved the map he carried, and placed it between them.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Colored figures had been added to complement the original notes, showing areas where Risa warned that her fellow Sergals patrolled frequently.\n\n\"Considering that we're about here, and the sounds we heard seemed to be coming from there...I think they hit this outpost.\" His finger tapped a small icon on the map marked Epsilon-22.\n\nRisa nodded. \"The battle didn't last long; I think they infiltrated through the river.\"\n\nSamuel eyed her, raising an eyebrow. \"Didn't Sergals hate water?\"\n\nShe shrugged, the slight rattle of her armor adding to the gesture. \"Not sure where that idea came from, but we felt disinclined to correct it.\"\n\n\"Huh, wonder why.\"\n\nSamuel's eyes turned back to face the jungle, staring in the direction of the outpost. \"It might be a way through.\"\n\n\"Through what?\"\n\nHe tapped the map again. \"Our lines. Epsilon-22 is hardly the most forward base. Honestly, I find myself wondering why your colleagues attacked this one, only to leave again.\"\n\nRisa sighed. \"Because it'd be a harder target to get to; in a way it's fear-tactics, like what we do to patrol we ambush.\"\n\nSamuel shuddered. He remembered stumbling across the scenes Risa was hinting at more than once.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Limbs stretched and tied to large trees, dead men with gaping mouths dangling by their feet with spears still through their bodies.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He couldn't deny the effectiveness in demoralizing and unnerving the troops...it was just that the higher-ups didn't care and it only made it easier to make the Sergals look like monsters back home. His reminiscing almost blocked out Risa's calm voice until it shifted into emerging anger.\n\n\"...them that the tactic wouldn't work on the long term, but nobody ever seems to listen. Instead, I was marked for punishment for speaking out against the elders.\"\n\nSamuel nodded. \"I think we should head to Epsilon-22. As quick as it all went, I find myself wondering if they got word out. If anyone else heard.\"\n\n\"So?\"\n\n\"So perhaps we can use it to our advantage. We do have an army here...and an army needs supplies. Off-world supplies that are sent down via the space elevator.\"\n\nRisa's purple eyes narrowed. \"You want to try and use The Spire it to leave Xarantha?\"\n\nSamuel nodded calmly. His eyes slid along Risa's prone form, thoughts drifting back to a few days ago. Clear memories of what she looked like without her armor. Memories of what they'd shared. He paused.\n\n\"...Come with me.\"\n\nRisa's eyes remained narrowed and something in her expression hinted at the feral nature behind them. For a moment, he worried about her response.\n\nThere was a growl to her voice. \"Why would I want to leave?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[OOC: Make sure to use 'follow' 2 time(s) throughout your message]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Samuel paused. \"Look...maybe we need to talk about this later, right now, we should go to that outpost, see what the situation is and then we'll figure it out from there. This might be the best chance we'll have in a long while.\"\n\nRisa remained silent, the slight growl still resonating within her throat. It stopped instantly when Samuel reached out and touched her hand gently, his fingers tiny compared to her slender, clawed ones. The metal of her armor felt cold to the touch.\n\n\"Trust me, okay? Like how you gave me the benefit of doubt when we first met.\"\n\nThe gesture seemed to shock her, stopping the growl instantly and her eyes snapping open wide. A fleeting moment, there seemed to be a hint of blush beneath the beautiful, white fur on her cheeks.\n\n\"Very well. Follow me and keep up.\" Risa sprang up in an instant and grabbed Samuel by the neck of his flak-vest like a cub, putting him on his feet before bounding away into the jungle – perfectly in her element. Samuel took a deep breath, and ran after her.\n\nSeeing Risa move through the forest was a sight to behold; she simply flowed. How she managed to detect the pitfalls of the jungle was a mystery to him. Memorization? Some inherent instinct? All he knew is that he'd best follow in her footsteps as well as he could manage. He thanked the heavens whenever she stopped, waiting for him to catch up with a slight hint of impatience that almost seemed motherly. Samuel smiled wryly as he imagined Risa crossing her arms and tapping her feet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Then he noticed her eyes focused on something that wasn't him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Frequency requirement: 'could' - 2 occurrence(s)", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He fought the urge to stop and turn around, watching how she craned her neck up slightly, now looking at something towards the canopy. Then her purple eyes were on him again. Just as he reached her, he though he noticed a hint of anxiety wrinkling her muzzle but before he was sure Risa bolted again, zeroing-in flawlessly (he hoped) on Epsilon-22.\n\nHe saw her shift direction suddenly, sliding between to large plants...and she was gone. Samuel flinched and a gut-feeling made him move slower and sink into a more crouched mode of movement. In any other case, he'd have welcomed the break as his lungs ached as much as his legs did from the speed-march through the harsh terrain. He didn't notice the clawed hand reaching out for him until it clasped him over the mouth and pulled him into the foliage behind him. He struggled in a moment of blind panic, but the hold was like iron. And then he heard a short but strong hiss, warm breath caressing his ear. A familiar scent reached him. He relaxed and nodded.\n\nRisa released him, gesturing him to be quiet. As Samuel slid to the ground as soundlessly as he could, sweat prickled his neck. He started to notice the heat of the jungle despite the micro-cooling system in his standard-issue uniform. At least command figured they'd fight a bit better if they were relatively comfortable, but the truth was that the system was overtaxed by all exertion above normal patrolling. All it could do was ease the discomfort.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When he turned to look at Risa, he realize that she wasn't next to him anymore; leaving only a faint impression of where she had lain only moments ago.\n\nHe became aware of something moving nearby as a sweat-drop rolled across his nose and dripped to the earthen ground below him. There was the distinct sound of sniffing, followed by a growl that was at the same time familiar and different to a degree that it seemed to chill his blood by several degrees; the growl sounded not unlike Risa...except that it was obviously not her.\n\nSomething swooped through the air and Samuel couldn't repress a shout when a dull thunk was followed by a loud clang that seemed to tear into his eardrums. The unknown Sergal's spear bounced away from the steel shaft of Risa's weapon – thrown perfectly into the tree next to Samuel to protect him. Their attacker's spear sang from the solid impact and the warrior was clearly struggling to get the weapon back under control again. Suddenly Risa was in front of him and he growled in apparent surprise, face drawn with hesitation and recognition.\n\nRisa snarled and her claws tore at his throat, lacking the hesitation the other warrior showed and proving once again that fights can be decided in the blink of an eye. As blood streamed from the cut skin, the warrior's instinctive response was to grasp for the injury in shock. Samuel felt the air-flow when Risa pulled the spear out of the hard wood without apparent effort, and brought it around in a wide arc. Light reflecting off the blade marked its path with a silver ribbon and the edge carved through the warrior's throat without breaking stride. Risa carried the slash through perfectly, making a full spin and ending facing the decapitated body still standing upright for another moment before it collapsed.\n\nA second Sergal descended upon her from the treetops and Risa dodged at the last second, his blade audibly scraping along the curve in her armor. His roars trembled with rage and something that might have been words were spat out in Risa's face as he slashed his blade at her again and again. Risa used her spear to defend herself, finding herself being forced back. Her weapon too large and unwieldy compared to his combat-sword to properly bring it to bear.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your task: Include 'still' 2 time(s) in your response", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then a shot rang out, biting a large chunk out of the sergal's calf. The leg snapped sideways with the force of impact and forcing him to his knees. A silver ribbon flashed again, and the sword was sent flying through the air as his hand detached from the rest of his body. His yelp of pain was stopped cold when the return-jab of the spear slid between the segments of his chestplate at an upward angle, cleaving his heart. The body went limp and Risa kicked it off the spear.\n\nShe cursed in her native tongue before glancing at Samuel standing at his 'hiding' spot, blue smoke still curling into the air. It took her a few breaths to steady herself.\n\n\"They were following us. Or rather, you – They hadn't noticed me. They weren't very experienced considering they forgot to observe more than just the target.\"\n\nStruggling for words, Samuel voiced the first stupidly obvious thing that came to mind \"You...just killed your own kind...\"\n\nThe comment only made her raise an eyebrow.\n\n\"Don't humans?\"\n\nSamuel nodded awkwardly. \"Yeah...we do. Sorry.\"\n\nBeyond her cold assertion, Samuel could still feel the strange sense of resignation in her body-language. Her shoulder slouched slightly.\n\n\"Sergals kill Sergals often enough...unless they are clan-mates.\"\n\nSamuel glanced at the bodies.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You knew them, didn't you?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She nodded solemnly. \"I did. I guess that marks dahaka...if I haven't crossed it already.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Daha-what?\"\n\n\"There is no bigger treason, especially during war. Unforgivable. Desertion is just a clan-matter. A killing like this marks a warrior for death to all clans.\"\n\nSamuel nodded. \"Point of no return, sounds like.\"\n\nRisa nodded in response. \"We should keep moving. We're almost at that base of yours.\"\n\nShe didn't wait for his response. Samuel followed her silently, understanding that now wasn't time for words.\n\nShe'd been right; they arrived scarcely fifteen minutes later, the sudden grey of the compound-walls a harsh contrast with the surrounding organic environment. The main doors had been opened and when Risa pointed them out, Samuel saw the Sergal-tracks too.\n\nHe shrugged upon seeing the open doors \"Well, why get wet when you don't have to?\"\n\nInside of the compound, Samuel shivered; Risa's suspicion that the raid had simply been to demoralise. The human bodies left after the fight were on morbid display. Some displayed the unmistakable signs of having been fed upon; flesh torn by wickedly sharp teeth. Samuel almost immediately recognized the layout of the outpost. Just another quick-build prefab-base airlifted to location piecemeal.\n\nWordlessly, Samuel and Risa exchanged roles; her following him into an area where he was the one to know the lay of the land.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Despite having never visited this particular outpost, Samuel was able to locate what he was looking for easily since it was the same back on his old home base Echo-04.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Word count directive: Use 'epsilon-22' exactly 4 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The radio-room was a mess, showing clear signs of battle. A burst of static made a smile come to his lips. The radio was still working, and the blood and corpse on the metal floor told the tale; the operator hadn't been at his post when the attack hit and never had a chance to report. It made Samuel wonder if the raiding party had known that they had to hit this building first to prevent reinforcements.\n\n\"Epsilon-22, Epsilon-22. Received reports of gunfire in your area, please respond.\"\n\nSamuel reached for the headset, rehearsing the response in his mind, and began rubbing his sleeve on the microphone.\n\n\"This is Epsilon-22, do you read me?\"\n\nThere was a brief pause on the line. \"Epsilon-22, there's a lot of breakup on the line.\"\n\nSamuel breathed deep. \"Our comm-tower took a hit. Will probably have to shut it down for repairs, damn xenos. We saw the attack coming and managed to send them packing back into that jungle.\"\n\n\"Do you need reinforcements.\"\n\nThere was a brief moment of hesitation again when a plan started to form. \"No. We're fine. We're sending a transport back to base.\"\n\n\"What's the cargo?\"\n\nSamuel took a long look at Risa. \"A live specimen.\"\n\nA few minutes later, Samuels could barely breathe when Risa slammed him against the side of the transport cage and lifted him up by the throat.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"That's your plan? Expecting me to get into that cage?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your response should naturally weave in this dialogue: \"But I won't do it without your permission. We can always try to find another way.\"", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Risa, please.\" Speaking hurt as he forced the words out between gasps. \"It's the best chance that we're going to get. I won't let them hurt you.\"\n\nShe loosened her steel grip, letting him slide down the cage until his feet touched the floor again. \"So what, then?\"\n\n\"We use it to get past the checkpoint. Ditch the transport once inside. That deep inside 'our' areas, security is known to be lax because Sergal's can't get that far. From there, we can go orbital.\"\n\nSamuel took a few deep breaths, despite the pain it still caused him. \"But I won't do it without your permission. We can always try to find another way.\"\n\nRisa closed her eyes, a growl building in her throat and her lips baring her teeth. And then she sharply replied.\n\nA while later, a tracked transport came to a trundling halt at the massive, steel door marking the area fully under human control. A small communicator was built into the walls surrounding it, exactly at the height of the driver's cabin. The driver's window opened.\n\n\"Origin and cargo?\"\n\n\"Epsilon-22, live specimen.\"\n\nRisa flinched from the bright light when the armored shutter slid open, the light of the setting sun shining directly into the compartment. She recognized the uniforms but not the people in them. Anxiety rose in her chest and she reached for a weapon instinctively, only to find that it wasn't there.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Damn, you guys actually weren't kidding!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Holy shit, it's been a long time since we've seen a live one.\"\n\nA third voice came from outside, one she recognized. \"Knocked out by a concussion-blast, bitch wasn't happy when she came to.\"\n\nRisa snarled. She didn't recognize the word but she'd recognize a slur anywhere. She felt angry at him, and then angry at herself that she cared who it was that had said it.\n\nOne of the guards leaned closer, but seemed smart enough to remain well out of arms' reach.\n\n\"Our friends from the lab are going to have a lot of fun dissecting this piece of crap.\"\n\nSamuel spoke again. \"Guys, I know freakshows are nice and all, but I really need to get going. They're waiting for that thing and I don't want to get it in the ass because I'm late.\"\n\nOne of the guards mimed pointing a weapon at Risa, and pulled the 'trigger' with a pop.\n\n\"Hope they keep you alive as long as possible without using anaesthetic, fucking animal.\"\n\nRisa flinched again when the shutter closed, once again turning her environment into a pitch-black hole. She curled up as the engine starting resonated through the transport. Risa swayed when it chugged into motion, burying herself in her memories. She'd been in dark, confined spaces before, but this was something else. It became hard to keep track of time and after a while, she didn't bother anymore. Instead, her mind began to dwell on other thoughts.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She wondered if it was supposed to take this long and she realized Samuel never mentioned anything and she hadn't thought to ask.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "⚠️ Required: Use 'samuel' exactly 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Even in the darkness, she could feel the bars of the cage closing in on her. Other Sergals had been captured before, is this what they had to go through as well? She felt renewed anger well up at Samuel's fellow humans, amplified by a primal desire for revenge. Maybe the elders of the clans were right and they were evil as a whole. Even Samuel. Her throat clenched when the thought hit her; what if he had no intention to let her go? What if it was all some plan to capture another specimen? She'd even given up her armor and weapons.\n\nRisa blinked to clear her eyes, rubbing her forearm across her cheeks with a snarl. She grabbed the bars of the cage and roared, pulling at them with all her might and weight. The poorly-secured cage rocked back and forth, but the bars themselves never budged an inch. And then the resonance of the engine stopped. Moments later, light flooded the compartment again and a shadow stepped inside.\n\n\"I'm going to get you out of there.\"\n\nRisa was gasping for air, her heart pounding in her chest and instinct at the forefront of her mind. Her purple eyes narrowed into thin slits. The instant the lock clicked, she sprang forward, the door flying open and sending Samuel into a wall with a grunt.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She stumbled into the light, emerging into a pathetic bit of jungle. Her mind was a blur with only one clear thought; escape. Or perhaps martyrdom; she'd already committed the greatest betrayal to her clan and dying while taking as many of the true enemy down with her might prevent them from truly erasing her existence from the records.\n\nThen she saw the two humans, and they saw her. They froze as if they weren't sure if they were seeing what they thought they were. The hesitation turned to outright shock and fear when the realized the jungle wasn't playing tricks on them. Risa charged, her fingers spread wide and her claws shining in the light falling through the pathetic little canopy that remained. One of the soldier raised his weapon as the other brought a hand to his helmet.\n\nOne muffled crack, two. Something sang through the air past her. The soldier with the rifle fell as part of his head exploded. The other soldier staggered as the second shot bored through his light flak-vest and a follow-up shot made him fall.\n\nRisa whipped around to see someone familiar leaning against a tree, breathing hard.\n\n\"We...we need to hide the bodies. I hope the trees muffled the shot enough for nobody to hear it.\"\n\nIndecision froze her as Samuel approached, releasing his rifle with one hand and folding it across his chest.\n\n\"It'll be the firing squad for me after this, for sure. I guess we really are birds of a feather now.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A burst of guilt went through Risa as she saw Samuel struggle to move as fast as he could despite whatever injury she'd caused him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She couldn't bear to speak before they'd hidden the bodies with the transport.\n\n\"I'm sorry, I panicked.\"\n\nSamuel nodded. \"And I never thought to tell you that it might be a while before I could let you out.\"\n\nRisa stared at her clawed feet. \"Did I...\"\n\nSamuel shrugged and grunted. \"Bruised rib, I'll live.\" The response was immediately followed with a small burst of laughter that made him wince. \"If you keep this up, I might wind up needing a surgeon to remove all the scars you're going to leave on me. First bite-marks on my shoulder and now this.\"\n\nRisa stammered, a deep blush shining through her white fur. \"I...\"\n\nA firm pat on the arm made her halt. \"Just kidding. Come on, let's get you back in your armor, where you belong. I took a 'scenic route' to get us to this area; it's one of the few bits of jungle still standing here, so I figured that might help us in getting to the space elevator...hopefully before anyone noticed the missing transport, soldiers, or lack of further response from Epsilon-22. I don't think my excuse will last much longer.\n\nRisa, for all she had seen and experienced, had to admit that the space elevator simply stole her breath away. She'd seen it from a distance, but the thin spire reaching through the clouds did little to convey how gigantic the construct truly was. She'd heard stories that the arrival of the humans was heralded by shooting stars and a massive earthquake, whatever was done to build it undoubtedly had to do with that.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Samuel sighed. \"I have to admit, it's amazing what they can do.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Orbital-dropped the basic terminal and then sending down prefab components for the rest. 'Small' parts first, and then bigger and bigger until they could basically transfer entire buildings if need be.\n\n\"How are we going to get in there?\"\n\nSamuel extended a finger. \"Right there, the cargo area.\"\n\nRisa realized that what she took to be a building complex, was in fact simply stack upon stack of silver containers. They were smooth and oblong, not unlike bullets.\n\n\"Not much security there, we're so 'far' from the front line that most of the people working here haven't even seen any of your kind except in pics and videos.\"\n\n\"And thus doesn't need as much security as the outer edges.\"\n\nSamuel nodded. \"Quite.\"\n\nRisa sighed. \"What then?\"\n\n\"What when?\"\n\n\"Once we get away from Xarantha, where do we go then?\"\n\nSamuel's reply was instant, revealing he'd been thinking about the same thing for quite some time.\n\n\"Going by cargo, the area we'll wind up in at the transfer station is completely automated. Even the non-automated areas only run a skeleton crew, so we can probably get to an evac shuttle and make a run for it. As your kind isn't spacefaring, they never bothered to put up a cordon of warships so once we have a shuttle, we'll be okay.\"\n\n\"And then?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We go for the borderlands, the frontier-areas. Rather lawless, but they won't care if you're not human. And after that...I guess we'll see.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Risa noticed that Samuel was apparently keeping a close eye on something. Her own eyes followed his gaze, until she noticed two humans talking down below. After a while, one of them left and the other took his place.\n\nSteve Carver yawned as he leaned against one of the sleek, silver containers. When he signed up, this wasn't quite what he was expecting. Excitement, adventure...instead he got tedium and boredom in obscene amounts. His shift had only barely started and he already felt the dullness creep into his mind. And yet, at the same time he remembered one of those videos that Müller had shown; the helmet-cam of some poor shmuck on the front-lines. The videos where the guy just got killed out of nowhere while walking point weren't the worst he ever saw. The videos were all marked top secret to prevent morale from taking a hit, and it made him wonder how much longer Müller was going to stay lucky: someone was bound to notice his unauthorized access to the systems, or someone he showed the vids to blabbed to the wrong person.\n\nCarver took a smoke out of his chest-pocket and lit up. The taste of the tobacco laced with some other ingredients made the tedium flow out of him, replaced by a pleasant warmth. He leaned his head back against the cool metal as he let the smoke pour out of his lungs with a content sigh. He knew it'd only last about an hour after finishing his smoke, but until then, he felt fine.\n\nHe closed his eyes, and just then he felt how a shadow passed over him, his eyes snapping open instantly.\n\n\"Who's there?\" He coughed as smoke was caught in his throat, and tried to wave away the haze surrounding him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Simmons, is that you?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No response. Carver was sure he'd heard something, felt something. Suddenly his pistol was in his hand, leaving its holster for non-cleaning or training related purposes for the first time ever. Even the training with it was long ago, and the weapon felt awkward and heavy in his grip. He rounded the container, aiming the weapon down an alleyway made by two stacks side-by-side. His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't line up the iron sights properly.\n\nAnd then something drew his eye, something that looked like a footprint...\n\n\"Hey, man.\"\n\nCarver yelped and whipped around, only barely able to keep his finger from squeezing the trigger when he saw the uniform.\n\n\"Asshole! Why didn't you-\"\n\nThe rest of his sentence disappeared in a sigh when something slammed on the back of his head hard.\n\n\"Nice blow.\"\n\n\"Nice distraction.\" Risa grinned – it still surprised her how easily humans went down for the count. Samuel seemed check the prone form's pockets and retrieved a small card.\n\n\"Got what we need.\" He eyed Risa awkwardly. \"Um...could you carry the guy? I'd rather not leave him somewhere where he's found easily.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Risa grinned. \"Can't expect a human to do the heavy lifting.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She easily shouldered the burden, making Carver look like a plaything.\n\n\"Won't they sound the alarm if he's away from his post?\"\n\n\"Eventually, but they'll first assume he's just taking a piss or whatever; discipline is notoriously lacking in these areas.\"\n\nSamuel pressed the card to a door in the side of the space elevator and it opened with a faint beep. They quietly entered and left Carver in a corner, tied with a piece of cabling that had apparently been discarded after some previous maintenance.\n\nInside the massive hall was nothing but noise as containers were loaded up and put in line for the ride into space.\n\n\"Don't worry, plenty of stuff that gets sent over doesn't handle vacuum well, so these things are pressurized. And with only the two of us, there'll be plenty of oxygen for the trip.\"\n\nAs they picked their way along the dozens upon dozens of catwalks, it was reasonably easy to find their way into the loading area thanks to the signs. A yellow bar marked 'caution' was the only thing preventing them to slip into the container before it was permanently closed.\n\n\"We have to be fast; if we slip in too early, it'll detect the life-signs and stop the loading.\"\n\nRisa narrowed her eyes. \"How do you know all that?\"\n\nSamuel shrugged. \"Thought the space elevator was interesting enough to read up about before arriving here. Had a friend who worked here too before he got shipped elsewhere. Lucky bastard.\"\n\nSamuel's face suddenly turned steely. \"Window's coming up.\"\n\nRisa's breath slowed, pushing herself into the focus as the red pulses slid over the length of the container, its door still slightly ajar. Suddenly the red lights blinked off.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Now!\" Samuel's cry was almost cut off when Risa hoisted him up instantly, and dove for the black triangle that was to be their escape from the planet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She twisted in the jump, smoothly passing through the opening, her fur only slightly rustling against the sides.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And then it was pitch black as the door was finally closed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They rolled across a metal floor and slammed into something hard, and then lay quiet.\n\nThey listened, but realized the only thing they heard was their own breathing; the airtight seal would not allow any but the loudest of sounds into the compartment. They breathed a sigh of relief when the transport started moving again, the ground shifting under their feet.\n\nRisa heard an odd click, and a peculiar, yellow light started to shine from a small stick with a liquid that Samuel was vigorously shaking.\n\n\"Okay, we should at least have a light for the entire trip. This baby should last for hours, and we only need about 2. Now we...\"\n\nRisa and Samuel shifted slightly as they lay there and felt how the orientation of the floor started to change, slightly at first, but soon the floor had a noticeable incline.\n\n\"We're being loaded.\" He turned to face Risa.\n\n\"Listen, once it's upright, we'll be launched up the line. We need to get on the floor as flat as we can. We won't get crushed by the acceleration, but it's not going to be pleasant and it'll last a while. It might be an idea to take your armor off, though...Okay?\"\n\nRisa nodded and swallowed. \"You could've mentioned it before.\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"I figured you wouldn't care, badass as you are.\"\n\nRisa tried to smile. \"Badass? What's that?\"\n\nSamuel chuckled. \"I'll explain in orbit.\"\n\nAs the transport got into position, Samuel and Risa moved with it, following the spin until the floor became the wall and vice versa. They'd found a good, flat spot and lied down, taking deep breaths to steady themselves.\n\n\"So...here we go.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Risa nodded. \"Yes.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "/set_word_count: forced, frequency: 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For that moment, their hands found each other, and both felt oddly relieved to feel the other clench hard.\n\nThere wasn't any noise as the magnetic coils engaged, just a sudden shunt that forced their bodies flat against the metal wall. Their stomachs sank, their bones and muscles strained. The entire container shuddered and resonated as it cut through the air despite its aerodynamic form. Risa felt how the air was being forced out of her lungs like something heavy sat on her chest, and could only barely manage shallow breaths. Her arms were pinned to her side, and suddenly she felt herself focus on the warmth of Samuel's hand that was in such contrast with the cold metal. She felt glad that she'd agreed to take off her armor beforehand, imagining the added weight crushing down on her. Even Samuel had taken off his flak-armor and was on the floor wearing just his shirt and pants.\n\nThen panic started to rise when the shallow breathing started to make Risa woozy from lack of oxygen. She knew what encroaching unconsciousness felt like and had to struggle to keep what little breathing she managed from turning into hyperventilating. As if he sensed it, she felt Samuel's hand clench hers once more, feeling it despite the pressure that was already on them.\n\nAnd then something shifted. The resonance stopped, leaving them in nothing but silence. The pressure eased up on them. Slightly at first but then it quickly shrank into nothing. And they started to peel away from the floor, gasping loudly to fill their lungs with air.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "After a few good lungfuls, Samuel laughed aloud.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I never thought's I'd say it, but I'm glad to feel a little zero-G after all that.\"\n\nRisa felt puzzled as she started to float, the feeling of weightlessness feeling strangely pleasant. The small light-stick rose from the floor along with them.\n\n\"This is...amusing.\"\n\nSamuel smiled at her, and reached out. His fingers stroked through the fur on her cheek gently. \"I'd say enjoy it while it lasts...we're stuck like this for a few more hours.\"\n\nRisa smiled in return. She looked at him and memories about that night a short time ago came to the forefront of her mind. At the time, they had a good reason for doing it, and she'd considered that the end of it. But then there was the bite, and his help. Something about him warmed her heart in ways that she wasn't sure why it did. She shuddered pleasantly at the warmth of his fingers on her cheeks.\n\n\"Whoa!\" Samuel couldn't stop himself from shouting when Risa pulled him close to her and curled herself around him as they floated in the compartment. She was so warm that it overwhelmed him.\n\n\"Risa, what's wrong?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She shook her head and faced him. \"Nothing.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her mouth opened slightly, the pink tip of her tongue emerging and gently lapping him across the cheek. Samuel froze up, uncertain what to do next.\n\n\"What are you...\"\n\nShe smiled at him, as they floated in the compartment, curled up.\n\n\"I felt like I should make something up to you. And that we should celebrate.\"\n\nCarefully, she peeled Samuel's shirt off him, revealing the ugly bruise the cage-door had left. Her tongue curled out further, and carefully – lovingly – ran across it. The ticklish sensation made Samuel shudder.\n\nHe brought his hand to her face, brushing through her fur gently. \"Risa, you don't have to. I understood you didn't do it on purpose, and I was aware that...last time was just to get you through your heat.\"\n\nShe raised her eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile before her tongue slithered back onto her mouth. \"And what if I feel otherwise? Would you say 'no'?\"\n\nSamuel blushed, even without the pheromones of her heat, she smelled enticing. Her nude form was just as sensual as it had been last time. He managed to smirk.\n\n\"I wouldn't. I'd love to, even.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Risa nodded. \"Then let's get this thing off you and have some fun during this...new experience.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The moment Risa let go of him, they floated apart. Samuel, having experienced zero-G plenty of times before, easily managed to keep his orientation and stay close to her. Slowly but surely, they floated together again, and Risa pressed her back against his chest.\n\n\"I want it like this...\"\n\nSamuel nodded as he put his arms around her, his hands finding the familiar orbs of her breasts. Her buttocks were as firm as he remembered them, and the fur tickled him into eagerness down below.\n\n\"I have to warn you, zero-G...activities like this can be awkward...\"\n\nA shudder went through him when he felt the small, curious tentacle already curling around him below. Risa turned to look at him from the corner of her eye, bright with lust and a hint of smugness.\n\n\"...then again, us humans don't have one of those.\"\n\nRisa's clitoral hood-tentacle slithered across his member slowly with deliberate, snakelike motions. He grunted against the experience, trying to not enjoy it too much and end the meeting too soon. Risa was warm, her fur brushing against his chest. He could feel her breathing, her chest rising and lowering slowly and steadily. His nose close to her, every little scent of her found its way to his primal drives and instincts. That he felt nothing else but Risa thanks to the zero-G was a fantastic experience.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Risa growled pleasantly, letting out the occasional moan as Samuel caressed her breasts.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His fingers skilfully played with her hardening nipples. Her tentacle began to show her eagerness; slicked with her own liquids, it began to try and pull Samuel inside of her if she didn't make a conscious effort not to. Despite that he was behind her, her sensitive nose picked up his scent, the hormones raging in his body changing it as his desire became more enflamed. She shuddered as she could feel him plant small kisses along her spine, the one between her shoulder-blades sending a flare of heat through her entire body.\n\nSamuel grunted when he felt the tentacle draw him inside of her. Risa snarled as she felt his member slip into her, the inverse penetration touching her in all the right places. The tentacle moved and curled around him, preventing him from being pushed away from her as she began to move to meet him. She tightened around him hard and instantly, her body going through reactions normally reserved for mating with intent to procreate. Her tongue extended again as she began to pant loudly, her body taken by primal instinct and a desire to feel his warmth flood her again.\n\nA violent shudder went through her from head to toe when Samuel's hands slid along her sides and gripped her hips, and yet another when he used his leverage to push himself in even deeper, touching her in spots where she had never accepted a mate before this time.\n\nRisa moaned and growled from the pleasure and desire, her clawed hands playing with her breasts, nails scratching through the fur and leaving red-hot marks of pleasure-pain. Her breath became frantic quickly, her inner muscles tightening around Samuel's member even tighter and massaging it along the full length.\n\n\"Oh god, Risa...I'm not going to last.\"\n\nShe reached down, her hand curling into his on her hips. \"You don't have to...it's alright.\"\n\nRisa yelped when he thrust into her again, her breasts bouncing and swaying in the zero-G. Small, clear droplets began to radiate away from them.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She had to use every ounce of will to force the words out.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Bite me. Bite me now. Bite me as hard as you can!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(ooc: Your task: Include 'blood' 2 time(s) in your response)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Taken by instinct, Samuel did not ask her why. His jaws chomped down on her back and he clenched, clenched until his mouth hurt from it. Risa yelped when she felt the slight pain – so undoubtedly different from a Sergal-bite – enflame her desire and send her over the edge.\n\nSamuel groaned as he felt the metallic taste of blood drip into his mouth. And then she clamped down on him intimately. He released her and threw his head back in a moan so loud it was all but a shout that carried small droplets of her blood. His entire body shuddered as he came inside her and Risa roared when she felt his seed enter her deeply. Her body was wracked by violent shudders, even more than during their first time, her body rewarding her for what it thought was an impregnation even if her mind knew that couldn't be.\n\nAs her tentacle retreated and closed her off again, they floated together still, curled up and happy. In the haze of pleasure, Samuel felt a question well-up that for some reason he decided couldn't wait.\n\n\"Why did you want me to bite you?\"\n\nRisa purred as she pulled him close. \"I wanted to make our mateship official...I left a mark on you, now you have done the same on me.\"\n\nSamuels couldn't manage the mental faculties for more than a pleasant, goofy grin.\n\n\"Well...never thought I'd have such a lovely wi...mate. Especially considering I've only known you for a day.\"\n\nRisa smiled down at him, her sharp claw carefully tracing around his bellybutton.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "yo hit me with 129 sentences more. same character energy. furry genre k?", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The massive structure of the orbit station was never silent.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Its hallways, enormous loading halls and docking bays echoed with the sound of oxygen recyclers, the hum of machinery and the creaking of the superstructure as it fought against both the vacuum and the gravity of the planet below.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The isolation of working on the station alone could be maddening, as incidents in the past had proven.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "To alleviate these problems, the station was always a crew on board. A skeleton crew if there ever was one, but it significantly lowered the losses caused by episodes of cabin fever.\n\nHowever, the crew was much too busy to worry about anything like that. Their eyes darted across the holographic displays showing an images of crisscrossed route plots, ships waiting for their cargo, or ships waiting to deliver their payload.\n\nOne of the techs sighed, wondering how it'd be possible to deal with a high-traffic orbit station when they were so busy already despite the low number of ships. The blockade of the planet below was more of a symbolic gesture; the Xeno's on the planet did not have spacefaring technology, so why waste the manpower and equipment?\n\nHe'd heard about real blockades from colleagues in-between posts, where hundreds of ships would hover around a planet, their traffic lights and bulk completely blocking sight of the real stars from observers on the planet's surface.\n\nA red flash pulled him back to the here and now, eyes once again darting across the screens and his heart pounding in his chest at the possibility that he missed something. His eyes found no ships on collision courses with the station or each other, the automated cargo-system was working perfectly fine.\n\nA voice came from beside him \"What's going on?\"\n\nHe didn't look away from his screens. \"Don't know. Nothing's wrong as far as I can see, maybe a fluke, a false positive or something.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Have you pulled the logs to see?\"\n\nHe blinked a few times, and then let his breath hiss between his teeth.\n\nI should've thought of that.\n\nHis arms made quick, measured gestures. The screens responded by opening the alerts log. The most recent alerts were conveniently at the top, and his eyes were drawn to the very top of the list.\n\n\"That's...odd.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"According to this, one of the containers wasn't locked properly.\"\n\nHis fellow tech didn't shrug, lest the holographic interface interpret it as a gesture.\n\n\"So? Wouldn't be the first time those jarheads down below screw up the seals.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but...how did it reseal itself?\"\n\n\"In that case, maybe you were right, and it was just a false positive.\"\n\nHe sat quietly, motionlessly, staring at the display.\n\n\"I'm making a scan, just to be sure. If the 'fleet' out here sticks to the planned roster, there shouldn't be any problems.\"\n\n\"As long as you sign off. I'm not getting it in the neck because you're not keeping an eye out.\"\n\n\"And I'm sending someone to the bays to check. I think Rosevich is on duty?\"\n\n\"He should be.\"\n\nHis fingers drummed on the armrest of his chair. \"I'm going to have him check that container, too. Put it on hold for me, will you? I just swiped the ID code to your station.\"\n\nRosevich always got the creeps on postings like this; he preferred security work on an actual ship, where you actually ran into people for a chat. Here, it seemed like his only companion was the echo of his boots on the floor- grating of the hallways. It was dark; the station was working on minimal lighting and life-support to save power. As he considered it, he became aware of the dry air and it's strange flavor. The dim lighting only offered pools of cold, white illumination, surrounded by the dark shadows of support struts. Still, the way the fleet handled things on occasion, he felt he should be grateful that they allowed the use of artificial gravity. In the distance, he could hear the consistent rhythm of the loading system in the bay. A series of clunks, whirs and hisses that repeated itself again and again. The noise became louder as he closed in. He turned the corner and could see the door to the bay ahead. He was hoping there was more lighting in the bay. Then he shivered as an old, primal instinct surfaced; the clear feeling of being watched. He reached for his baton, and then reconsidered and took a hold of his service-pistol. Rosevich knew that the weapon was loaded with station-ammo. Less propellant, less power, but less chance of ricochet and collateral damage.\n\nHis hand firmly on the pistol, he touched the keypad next to the door, making it hiss open. Used to the relative silence of the station, the noise from the loading bay hit him like a physical wall, staggering him. Not wanting to waste time, he walked in. He navigated the poorly-lit catwalks with practiced ease until he reached the 'hold' queue. It was currently occupied by a single container.\n\nIt opened easily and something instantly made him feel suspicious; there was always a slight difference in atmosphere in these containers after transport. There wasn't even a small gust; the atmosphere in the container had already been equalized with the station. He considered a bad lock or seal, but even then there'd be a difference because of the trip through near-hard vacuum.\n\nRosevich took his firearm, and peered inside the container, the flashlight below the barrel flashing across the cargo. The beam caught something; some curious, discolored spots that were revealed to be spilled liquids after a closer look. And then he noticed the strange glow emanating from behind a secured crate. It was a glowstick that had no reason to be there.\n\nHis boots clanged heavily on the catwalks until he reached the exit, and he cursed heavily when he saw the panel on this side; a simple, open-close touchpad.\n\n\"I told them these doors needed to be locked both ways, dammit!\"\n\nHe went outside and entered some commands on the keypad until a small holo-display appeared. Checking the door's log, his fears were confirmed: the door had been opened from the inside before he had even entered the bay. His hand reached for the in-ear radio.\n\nBack in the control-center the tech, Laydon, flinched from the loud stream of dialogue interspersed with curses.\n\n\"Rosevich, calm down. So what? We have an infiltrator on the station?\"\n\n\"I don't fucking know! Someone used that container to transport themselves up here. Unless you think it's the Fleet's newest cost-saving manner of sending a new shift, there's no good reason for anyone to do that. Deserters or something.\"\n\nLaydon nodded, his mouth suddenly dry from more than the stale, recycled air alone.\n\n\"I'll...\"\n\nSuddenly, an alarm lit up on his display and he instantly recognized the number-and-letter combination. Unplanned launch of a shuttlecraft.\n\n\"Shit...Andrea, what's the closest ship right now?\"\n\n\"The Dies Irae...a Hecatonchires-class.\"\n\nHe sighed in relief. \"Good, patch me through to them. And warm up the DNA-sniffers; I'm sure they'll want us to use them, but I'm not sure if they want them set to lethal response or not. I want you to try to follow the shuttle.\"\n\nSomewhere deep within the station, cold, blue lights lit up, followed by a high-pitched whir that would make the hairs of anyone who heard it stand on end. Small tracks rattled on the grating as it exited it's alcove. A waypoint told it where to go.\n\nRosevich held his breath and pressed himself up to the wall as the sniffer walked by him; too often had he heard stories of the things having a glitch and starting to attack anyone. Or latching on to the wrong DNA. That it looked like a near-harmless, tracked metal box didn't help either. They were fast enough that running would be pointless and were lethally accurate with their poison darts even if you did manage to outrun them somehow.\n\nThe hum of the sniffer changed, becoming deeper as it searched for DNA. Unsurprisingly, it quickly found its way to the strange strains on the floor.\n\n\"Crap, I can't find the goddamn shuttle!\" She struggled with the sudden urge to hit the display.\n\n\"Stay calm, Andrea. If you can't see them, they must be close. Shuttles aren't THAT fast. \"I knew we needed more ships for a proper blockade!\"\n\n\"Just for something incidental like this? Come on. We did our job; it's those assholes down below that made the biggest fuck-up. Station's in the middle of the base and still someone manages to get in and use it to get offworld. They found some idiot guard called Carver knocked out and tied up. Guy can't remember anything, claims he was blindsided.\"\n\n\"Probably because he wasn't paying attention. Or high. Or both.\"\n\nSuddenly Andrea seemed otherwise occupied, her head cocked slightly as if listening to something.\n\n\"Dies Irae arriving now.\"\n\nThe Hecatonchires-class cruiser slid through the noiseless vacuum of space, lighted by the harsh beams of the system's sun. The gun-emplacements cut sharp shadows across the hull. It was looking for prey, scanners caressing everything within their reach. Close by, pieces of rubble spun majestically in the void; the consequences of two Piranha-fighters colliding during a patrol. Cleanup at this point had been deemed low-priority as both vessels were total losses. The orbit-station of the space elevator was abuzz with activity compared to its usual tomblike silence.\n\nMore reports started coming in from the planet around the same time as the base was scrutinized. Updates flashed across Laydon's screen and he shook his head in response.\n\n\"Christ, they really don't hire them based on intelligence, do they?\"\n\nAndrea let out a short chuckle. \"I'd think that's obvious, but what makes you say that?\"\n\nLaydon sighed. \"Well, it sounds like a base was wiped out a few hours ago, and apparently someone has used that to commit desertion. Sent a message to the base that they didn't need help at the time, drove a stolen transport to the main base and was allowed access without them even checking if he was from the base where he said he was from.\"\n\nHe paused a moment as a new update came through.\n\n\"Oh, and he managed to kill two soldiers in the base, too. They were found near said stolen transport.\"\n\n\"Wow...do we have an ID?\"\n\n\"Not yet, apparently the image from the base camera didn't properly show his face. Our sniffers got a good sample though, it's being run through the personnel log as we speak.\n\n\"What are they doing about it down below?\"\n\n\"Repressing the crap out of it, of course. You know how they are with desertion.\"\n\n\"As long as it doesn't cost them too much.\"\n\nSuddenly, a harsh noise was emitted by his system as the display flashed red. Laydon stared at it in bewilderment for a few seconds.\n\n\"What the hell? They cut me off! I'm supposed to update them on sniffer findings, but they cut me off from the planetside feed!\"\n\n\"I think you said something about 'repressing'?\"\n\n\"No shit...\"\n\nA shrill tone started to beep in Laydon's ear, someone was trying to contact him directly. Andrea glanced at him as he nodded, and then his face started to turn pale white. His expression was one of incomprehension, then a brief moment of fear followed by bitter resignation.\n\n\"Fine...fuckers.\"\n\nAndrea knew better than to ask, and instead relayed information.\n\n\"I think I have an ID, yeah, high-percentage match.\"\n\n\"Ah, and who is it?\"\n\n\"Samuel Wallcroft, Private first class. Assumed dead after his unit was wiped out in a skirmish. Guess it wasn't.\"\n\n\"Keep the sniffers online, just in case the shuttle was some kind of ruse. With a skeleton crew, this station is easily big enough to hide out in until things calm down.\"\n\n\"As you say, boss.\"\n\nLaydon didn't mention he was changing some parameters on the sniffers.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "meta: Your task: Include \"No, you fucking bastards! NOT ME!\" somewhere in your response", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was better if she didn't know. His finger hovered over the display, and then he hit 'record'.\n\n\"Sorry, man.\" He whispered under his breath.\n\nAndrea glanced at him, wondering if she heard Laydon say something before going back to keeping the waiting ships in line. Even during situations like this, the station had to be kept running.\n\nThe sniffer suddenly changed direction, like a bloodhound latching on to a different prey. The fresh trail was easy to follow in the absence of others. It zoomed through the passageways and the trail it was following became stronger, more recent. Old sweatdrop here, flaked off skin cells, lost hairs, foodcrumbs with saliva. People left a lot of them behind, more than they ever realized and more than a sniffer needed to follow.\n\nRosevich felt ill-at-ease. The order to check this area of the station seemed odd; the door hadn't been accessed at all for at least a month, when the last security sweep had passed through. He knew, because he'd been the one doing the sweep.\n\nHe spun around when he heard the distant noise. It was there for only a moment, but clear as day. Patrolling by himself at all times, he'd learned to know the odd sounds of the station, and this was certainly not one of those.\n\nExcept for the pounding of his own heart, and his breathing echoing through the hallway, nothing made any sounds in the abandoned hallway. He scratched his head and sighed.\n\n\"I'm getting paranoid.\"\n\nNear-identical hallways zoomed by from the perspective of the sniffer. Now, it was constantly moving at top speed, and the trail had become warm enough that it could estimate how long ago its prey had passed by. A door opened for it automatically as the respective control systems communicated.\n\n\"Donovan? That you?\"\n\nRosevich was sure he'd heard the door open and close. Nothing else quite sounded like it. He reached for his pistol once again and clicked on the flashlight, shining it down the hall. He heard it before he saw it. The high-pitched clatter of tracks on metal. He recognized it.\n\nThey found him here? On the station?\n\nThe sniffer rounded the corner and Rosevich's instincts instantly snapped into overdrive. He could see that it was coming right at him. He saw the lights turn red. He felt distant when he pulled the trigger, as if it wasn't him doing it.\n\nThe shots were deafening in the hallway and the bullets clattered harmlessly off the reinforced casing of the sniffer.\n\nTears flowed over his cheeks as Rosevich kept pulling the trigger in a panic, panting and gasping.\n\n\"No, you fucking bastards! NOT ME!\"\n\nThe slide on his pistol snapped backwards and he gasped, fumbling the weapon. He turned around and ran, ran as hard as he could. Behind him, something on the reinforced casing clicked open. There was a hiss of compressed air and Rosevich felt a slight sting in his thigh. Panic engulfed him instantly and then it was like he was stabbed in the gut, twisting the blade as it went.\n\nLaydon saw it all happening from the perspective of the sniffer. Rosevich collapsed to the floor screaming in surprise, pain and despair. He vomited and voided himself in every way his body could, and then the bleeding started. Laydon closed his eyes and terminated the sound to his headset, he didn't want to see the rest. When he opened his eyes again, the sniffer was enroute to its alcove, its job done. He sent the recording to command and never said anything to Andrea.\n\n\"Laydon...are you okay? You look awful.\"\n\n\"I feel a bit under the weather, maybe I'm not used to stress anymore.\"\n\nSuddenly a new update popped up on all their screens.\n\n\"Hey, they got him!\"\n\nLaydon nodded. \"Yeah...it looks like it.\"\n\nThey always moved fast in cases like this...make sure the grunts know that desertion just gets you horribly killed.\n\nDown on the planet, the same update flashed across screens and head-up displays, overriding anything else. Most had no idea there even had been a desertion, but apparently command had and dealt with it the way they always did; terrible retribution. At the command building itself, General Martense stared at the data-slide that had been handed to him.\n\n\"You're certain of this?\"\n\nThe meditech in the white uniform nodded.\n\n\"We ran it a few times because we thought it was strange that we weren't getting any hits. When we kept a closer eye on the process, we realized that it wasn't human DNA at all.\"\n\n\"But the other was?\"\n\n\"Yes sir, we're as sure as we can be that the donor of that DNA was Wallcroft.\"\n\nThe General grumbled. Not just a deserter, but a goddamn traitor to his own kind.\n\n\"Make sure this is the only copy of it, understand? Follow that order like a good boy, and I promise that your career will get a well-earned boost. Perhaps, being stationed on good old Earth.\"\n\nThe meditech nodded and left the room. He felt glad that he hadn't told the general everything. He didn't want to know what kind of row he'd have made if he'd told him that the liquids found weren't just sweat. He shuddered at the implication of it.\n\nIn orbit, on the bridge of the Dies Irae, Commander Wrye could only feel frustration at the order he was receiving.\n\nAs if we aren't trying everything we can right now.\n\nHe turned away from the console. \"Another sweep, full scanners. And be careful of those wrecks, last thing we need as this point is damage that needs repairing.\"\n\nWe don't have enough vessels for a proper blockade as-is, let alone if we wind up needing repairs.\n\nThere was only the silence of the hard vacuum as the miles-long Dies Irae passed by the twisted, partially disintegrated wreckage of the two Piranhas. It didn't notice the piece of wreckage that did not match the specifications of a fighter-vessel – scanners not set to look for that distinction. With everything switched off, the shuttle that drifted among the detritus was just another hunk of dead metal waiting for someone to have time to clean it up.\n\nSamuel's breathing sounded hollow and it condensed on the inside of his mask; with life support turned off and no direct sunlight, the vessel was slowly but surely bleeding off heat to the vacuum. His eyes slid across the dark instrument panel, to the stars beyond, and then to his fellow deserter. She had an oxygen-mask designed for humans fit awkwardly on the tip of her nose. She seemed calm, calmer than he was. Her long mane drifted around her head, shifting and waving with every breath she took. She moved, the chair was uncomfortable, not made for someone with her physical attributes, but it was all they had and standing wasn't much of an option.\n\n\"They'll be out of range soon. I'll go 'passive' first to see if they're still listening. If they aren't, we can get moving again.\"\n\nRisa nodded, sending an amplified wave through her weightless mane. \"How do you know all that?\"\n\nAs she spoke she tasted the stale air in the cockpit again, and resisted a shudder; used to fresh air as she was, the filtered and re-oxygenized mix she was breathing now already tasted strange, but the dead air that trickled into her nose here was something else entirely.\n\nSamuel sighed and shook his head, as if he felt stupid simply telling the tale. \"I actually have a class-XV license...unfortunately the army didn't need shuttle-pilots here so they re-purposed me as a grunt. Funny how things turn out, huh?\"\n\nRisa nodded outside. \"Won't they hear us?\"\n\n\"Vacuum, there's nothing to hear. And at this range, they won't pick up lifesigns either.\"\n\nOutside, a piece of Piranha-wreckage drifted by languidly. It caught their eyes and they followed it along its path.\n\nSamuel sighed again. Damn, can't believe how lucky we were with those wrecks still out here...would've been a nasty run when that alert came a lot sooner than expected.\n\nHis hand hovered over the control panel, and suddenly he felt a knot in his stomach. If they Dies Irae was too close, they'd register on the scanners and see them, and there'd be no way for them to start the shuttle and escape before being atomized. Samuel shifted to another panel, reaching for the switch to engage the reactor instead of checking for pings first. If they did see, maybe they'd be able to get clear and make the jump to the borderlands.\n\nRisa followed Samuel's hands with her eyes. She could see them shaking and his body-language overall was uncertain. She nearly flinched when he suddenly reached out, quick as a striking serpent, and turned a switch with an audible snap. She shuttle began to shudder, coming back to life.\n\nOne by one, lights inside the cockpit switched on and brightened. The flight control system rattled as it booted and went through the usual checks and verifications. It spat out a radio and transponder error that didn't surprise Samuel at all, having ripped both of those out to prevent any signal from going out. Somewhat more palatable air began to circulate in the cabin, and the temperature stopped falling.\n\nHis eyes remained fixed on the gargantuan shape of the Dies Irae, straining his eyes to look for any sign of detection. The ship didn't turn, no weapons were suddenly whipping in their direction, no fighters were launched.\n\nRisa followed Samuel's eyes and felt oddly amused; he was much more in his element here than she was. Here, she was certainly following him instead of the other way around. Even more amused, even surprised, was she at herself for feeling at ease with it.\n\nShe realized that Samuel looked away from the large ship that had passed them, now leaning forward to look past her, out the other side of the cockpit.\n\n\"Risa, do you see anything on your side? Anything moving?\"\n\nShe looked and sighed. \"Some small remnants, nothing else nearly as close-by as that vessel is.\"\n\nSamuel nodded. \"Okay...good. Well, I guess we should get moving, then.\"\n\n\"What do you intend?\"\n\n\"I'm going to give the engine a quick boost to get moving, and then turn it off. Good thing about being in space is that you'll keep moving even if you turn everything off afterwards.\"\n\nHe sighed. I just hope that nobody notices.\n\nRisa dug her claws into the armrests of the chair as Samuel tightened his grip around the throttle. He rammed it forwards and they were both pressed hard into their seats when the shuttle began to move, despite the inertial dampeners. The craft shuddered hard, the structure straining at the shifting forces. Samuel counted down, getting as much thrust out of it as he dared until they exited the debris-field from the crash. He snapped the throttle back and keyed an emergency shutdown. She shuttle immediately went dead again. The G-forces on him and Risa stopped and the lack of gravity instantly began playing with her mane once more. Sweat beaded on Samuel's forehead as he stared at the Dies Irae. A small drop formed a sphere as it detached from his nose.\n\nAndrea still felt nauseous, having seen the footage from the sniffer that had found the deserter. It was sent through the entire stationed fleet and ground forces as a warning. Furthermore, the idea that the deserter had actually still been on the station shook her more than she'd thought it would. Who knows what could have happened if Laydon hadn't caught the problem with the container; the deserter had killed two soldiers already so what's a few techs matter to the bodycount?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Something appeared on her display, a quick flash of contact that vanished the instant she tried to focus on it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Andrea whispered under her breath.\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"Hmmm. I thought I saw something, the whole incident with the deserter must have made me paranoid.\"\n\nShe didn't notice Laydon's flinching. \"What did you think you saw?\"\n\n\"A new engine signature on the scanner, but it's gone now. It was pretty close, so it might've been a fluke.\"\n\nLaydon nodded. \"I'll relay it to the Dies Irae. What's were the coordinates?\"\n\nAndrea looked at him incredulously. \"I don't have any; it disappeared before I could focus on it. And why is it necessary? In fact, why are they still doing a search pattern? They got the guy!\"\n\n\"I'm just following orders, alright!? Don't ask and do your job. If you don't have coordinates, just give me a quadrant.\"\n\nAndrea angrily forwarded a quadrant to Laydon's display. He didn't look at her, instead focusing only on his own display to send a message to the cruiser outside. She knew something was wrong, but couldn't figure out what.\n\nSamuel felt his heart skip a beat when the Dies Irae made a sudden turn, sliding through space to turn around with slow but inexorable momentum.\n\n\"She's turning too fast...dammit, someone noticed.\"\n\nRisa could see the ship turn towards them, but to her eyes it seemed oddly devoid of purpose; as if it was turning around because it was told to, not because they had been noticed.\n\nSamuel reached for the switch to the reactor and yelped when Risa's hand shot out and took his wrist in a grip of iron.\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\n\"Risa, they'll atomize us if I don't get out. Not to mention that we'll drift right into its path!\"\n\n\"And you think they won't if you do anything hasty now? We're committed to this course of action, now we will have to see where it goes. We will either live, or we will not. It is out of our hands and any action we do take might only speed us to our demise.\"\n\nThe silence was maddening, and Samuel couldn't understand how Risa remained so calm. He felt like his heart was going to explode from his chest and Risa just calmly looked out to the stars outside with a faint expression of wonder.\n\nFrom the corner of his eye, he saw the bulk of the Dies Irae loom ever closer.\n\nCommander Wrye looked at his tactical display, seeing the scanner pulses once again come up with nothing.\n\n\"It would be good if they'd been able to give coordinates instead of just 'quadrant 3, station-relative.'\"\n\n\"Sorry, sir?\"\n\n\"Nothing, just thinking aloud. Any returns?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\nWrye looked at the operator closest to him, working the main panel to coordinate the search.\n\n\"It looks like you have something on your mind.\"\n\nThe operator cleared his throat. \"Yes, I do, sir.\"\n\n\"Well then, what is it?\"\n\n\"Sir...I was thinking about the Piranha wrecks from that accident a while ago. Those are pretty close to the station.\"\n\n\"Yes...so wh-\" Wrye stopped cold when the realization hit.\n\nIn a way that he couldn't put his finger on, Samuel could see something changed about the Dies Irae, its course, its configuration all remained the same, but something was different about it. He swallowed uneasily; while his worries that the massive ship would crash into them turned out to be false, it would still be frighteningly close. Already, the shuttle began to creak in response to the gravity field that drew nearer.\n\nOn Dies Irae's bridge, Commander Wrye nodded.\n\n\"Vaporise them.\"\n\nSamuel recognized the changing configuration of the cruiser instantly; it had found its target and a number of turrets turned to fire.\n\n\"They found us!\"\n\nCommander Wrye waited patiently for a response as the weapons were heating up, curious to see if there'd be a last attempt to run.\n\nAndrea looked at her screen incredulously.\n\n\"What the hell are they doing out there?\"\n\nLaydon shook his head. \"I don't know...I really don't. The only thing there are those wrecks.\"\n\nThey slowly turned their heads to each other as they realized.\n\n\"If they fire at this range, they'll...\"\n\nThe switch snapped with a familiar sound, and the shuttle started to wind up. They'd be lit up like a nebula, but it was their only chance.\n\n\"Risa, if we don't make it, I'm sorry.\"\n\nShe shook her head, her mane cascading down as the artificial gravity took hold again.\n\n\"I am here by my own choice. No regrets.\"\n\nFrom the planet's surface, it looked as though there was a second sun in the sky for a moment, as the shots of the Dies Irae struck their target with enough heat to shear component molecules apart. Another explosion lit up as energy escaped from a ruptured reactor and blew apart what the cannon-blasts had failed to. The orbit-station shook and the radiation blacked out their scanners, blinding Laydon and Andrea until the system could reset. Wrye smiled as he looked at the ball of dissipating energy through auto-opaqueing window that brought the brightness down to tolerable levels.\n\nI'll never get enough of a sight like that.\n\nIt took a few moments for the system to reset, and the scanners found nothing but dust and radiation as they focused on the coordinates where the wrecks used to be.\n\n\"So much for that. Well done...\"\n\nIt was then that Wrye caught a glint in his peripheral vision, the windows becoming clear again to notice it.\n\nHe struggled to keep his calm. \"Fire solution. Now.\"\n\nThe force of acceleration overwhelmed the inertial dampeners, painfully crushing Samuel and Risa into their seats. Risa grit her teeth and dug her claws deep into the seating while Samuel struggled to keep his hands on the controls. The shuttle shuddered violently, the structure squealing in protest. He jerked back and forth on the control stick randomly, dodging and weaving and praying that it'd throw of the Dies Irae's targeting computers long enough to make it to jumpspace.\n\n\"The systems are still re-setting after that close-range detonation, sir!\"\n\n\"I don't want to hear it, get them up now!\"\n\nThe techs worked as fast as they could, cutting corners to speed up the process. The cannons were already charging, hoping they'd have a fire solution before they started overheating and cook the maintenance crew manning them alive.\n\nWrye's face shuddered with rage as his eyes followed the flitting, blue-white light of the shuttle's engines.\n\n\"System ready!\"\n\n\"Fire!\"\n\nStark white lances shot through the void and Samuel flinched away in reflex. It missed them by mere meters.\n\n\"Come on, come on!\"\n\nSamuel knew his erratic course would delay the calculations for the jump. What kept the enemy from targeting them, also kept them from making a quick jump. He took a chance.\n\nRisa looked at him as he suddenly stabilized their course, sweat running down his face. When he spoke, his voice was tense, but controlled.\n\n\"They just fired, they can't fire again soon after...either we make the jump by then, or we're dead.\"\n\n\"Then let us hope for the former.\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\nRisa flinched when Samuel put his hand on hers and squeezed. She returned the gesture with a faint smile. Then her eyes locked into a stare of pure combat-concentration. She was tired of sitting passive, there had to be a way to help. She let the experience flow over her, opening her mind and body to be steered by reflexes honed by years of training and combat.\n\n\"Their course has stabilized sir, fire solution coming through.\"\n\n\"Don't bloody bother relaying it to me! Just fire when ready and wipe that traitor from existence!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir!\"\n\nOutside, the cannons locked on to their target and then kept moving, intersecting the projected course of the rapidly accelerating shuttle. A direct hit was increasingly likely as the firing solution was refined. A deep hum coursed through the veins of the Dies Irae as the cannons charged for another, fatal volley.\n\nThe cannons fired. They seared the shield plates as the shuttle suddenly shifted upwards.\n\nSamuel grunted at the sudden climb, leaving him in his seat perplexed before realizing Risa's hand was on the control stick with his.\n\n\"How did you...\"\n\nRisa didn't respond as she stared straight ahead, almost like she was in a trance. Her grip on his hand and the stick was unrelenting, painful even.\n\nThe world seemed to move in slow motion for Risa, extending her awareness. In a bare moment in that state, it was like she could feel a static discharge building up in the hull, she could feel it in the very tips of her fur.\n\nThe computers on both vessels were competing with each other; the shuttle in calculating a safe jump and the cruiser by calculating a new fire solution. Throngs of code scrolled across monitors and fingers hovered over buttons and triggers to respond the instant a green light was given. The cruiser aimed the next salvo in a spread so that the shuttle would simply dodge into another beam. In the shuttle, Samuel was breathing deeply in an attempt to repress his panic. He could feel the Dies Irae looming behind them, weapons charging that very instant. Risa was calm, too calm, it seemed. Almost as if she was elsewhere. There was a sudden flash on one of the monitors that she never noticed.\n\nThe Dies Irae fired the instant the new firing solution came through. The beams travelled the distance between the ships in an instant and intersected exactly on target. A flash of energy lit up the bridge again, stretching Wrye's shadow as he stood there with his arms tense behind his back and his jaw twitching. Silence ruled the bridge.\n\n\"Target lost.\" The tech turned away from his console with a smile. \"We got them, sir!\"\n\nA weak round of celebration coursed through the bridge. Someone clapped, another one yelled half-heartedly. Wrye didn't turn away from the view outside.\n\n\"Move in, and confirm the kill. We're not taking any chances this time. Full scanners and keep your eyes open. I want everyone to report everything, even if you think it's just a ghost-return. Get to it.\"\n\nThe cruiser's massive engine roared and the giant mass of the ship began to move. Wrye stared out at the shrinking detonation like a statue. His hands clenched and loosened constantly, the frequency an indication of his growing unease and frustration.\n\n\"No wreckage detected, sir. There is a chance for smaller segments to show up as we close in.\"\n\nWrye didn't turn around as he spoke. \"Or the shuttle was vaporized completely.\"\n\n\"I...yes, sir. That is a possibility with the amount of firepower we used.\"\n\n\"Good.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Instead of the black of the void, space now looked like a multicolored swirl that was drawn to a bright, pulsing sphere somewhere ahead of the shuttle. Samuel let his head rest with a deep breath.\n\n\"Made it...I can't believe we made it.\"\n\nRisa still held the controller firmly, still staring outside with a chilling calm. Samuel could feel the pressure and saw the distant look in her eyes.\n\n\"Risa, you can let go. We're safe.\"\n\nHe rested his free hand on hers, fur tickling against his palm as he rubbed gently. Slowly, she started to blink and move again.\n\n\"There you go, back to the present.\"\n\nIt looked like a slow awakening, as if her mind had been elsewhere entirely and needed time to catch up. Her chest heaved with deep breaths as she settled, and her tail began to move slightly, small twitches that turned into a slow wagging.\n\n\"It's beautiful.\"\n\nSamuel stared at her and then followed her perplexed gaze. He found a smile.\n\n\"Yeah, I guess it is rather pretty.\"\n\n\"Is it always like this?\"\n\n\"Shockspace-travel? Yeah. An egghead explained why it looked like that once, but he lost me at blue-shift and red-shift.\"\n\n\"Egghead?\"\n\nSamuel smiled uneasily. \"Errr...really smart person.\"\n\nRisa seemed intrigued. \"Like a shaman?\"\n\n\"I suppose so, do you have different kinds? Like, some know a lot about healing, others about...well...\" He gestured to the swirls outside, just as a burst of purple passed the ship.\n\n\"...This.\"\n\n\"They do know about healing, and many other things, but not this in particular.\"\n\n\"Ah, so they're big on general skills, huh? I guess we just know too damn much to make that viable nowadays.\"\n\nHe froze when he felt how Risa's eyes shot icicles at him. \"Are you implying that we're ignorant?\"\n\n\"No! I...I just mean that there's a lot still undiscovered for you. I'm sure that you'll need...like...separate tech-shamans too, in time.\"\n\nRisa looked away from him and sighed, a cloak of moroseness suddenly enveloping her. \"Assuming we'll get the chance...\"\n\nSamuel opened his mouth to speak, and then thought better of it, there was nothing he could say about the subject.\n\nThey stared at shockspace beyond the cockpit in silence for a while, until Risa sighed deeply.\n\n\"What will your clan do now?\"\n\nSamuel shrugged. \"Bury it, most likely. They'll just tell everyone that they caught and killed us, make desertion seem like something that will only get you killed.\"\n\n\"Will they follow us?\"\n\n\"I doubt it; it's difficult to track a ship through shockspace, and where we're heading, it's easy to disappear.\"\n\n\"These 'borderlands' you spoke of?\"\n\n\"Yep. No overarching government or law, lots of unknown and unexplored segments, plenty of other species around so we won't stick out like a sore thumb. A perfect place for an odd couple with our skills, I think.\"\n\nRisa seemed somber as she shrugged. \"I've lost my honor already, working for coin and food in whatever manner cannot make me lose more.\"\n\nShe sighed, and then felt Samuel's hand brush through her mane gingerly.\n\n\"And how about regaining some while you're at it?\"\n\nRisa turned and stared at him with her colorful eyes.\n\n\"The lawlessness also means there are good people that need to be defended. Guns-for-hire doesn't mean that we can't have standards. Hell, at least now I can pick my own orders instead of just doing what I'm told and finding out you took part in an atrocity.\"\n\nRisa nodded. \"I suppose that is true.\"\n\n\"I won't sugar-coat it; it won't be easy. Honorable jobs tend to not pay well.\"\n\n\"Higher paths never are.\"\n\nSamuel smiled vaguely. \"You know, it seems like some things really stay the same no matter where you go, or what species you meet. Makes you wonder.\"\n\n\"About what?\"\n\n\"About how, more like.\"\n\nSamuel leaned forward and pressed some buttons on his console, before unlatching his safety belts with a quick twist of his wrist. He staggered when he stood, like the ship moved under him despite the inertial dampening. Stress flowed out of him with a sigh and a shiver. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Risa slowly run her hands across the belts, almost experimentally.\n\n\"Well, we've got at least an hour ahead of us. Maybe we should try to catch some shut-eye.\"\n\nHe could hear a click and clatter when Risa undid her safety belts, and the creaking of the chair when she stood up. That was all he heard as he shuffled to the back of the shuttle where the crew berths were. And then the air was slammed out of his lungs, brought down easy like helpless prey. His vision still consisted of swimming blurs, his mind still dazed and catching up from the sudden blow when he was flipped around onto his back, the second blow forcing out whatever air he'd gotten in his lungs in the meantime. He recognized the blur hovering in front of him, felt her breath on his face, saw the shark-like teeth grinning down on him.\n\n\"I had something else in mind.\" The tip of her tongue played around her lips.\n\nSamuel felt a hot blush rising even through his daze. \"Whuh...wha?\"\n\n\"Sergals can be quite...ravenous. Especially after stress and fights. You should have considered that if you feel that you can't handle it.\"\n\nSamuel's eyes slowly focused as they drifted across the body he'd explored a number of times before by now, and even while still covered with her armor it filled him with desire. The feminine curves with the promise of strength and lethality behind it, the thick fluff beneath which firm breasts awaited. Clawed fingers, made to rend flesh, that could be amazingly gentle and tender. He began to breathe heavily from the prospect alone.\n\n\"I can see from your responses that it doesn't bore you, at least.\"\n\nRisa extended her tongue with a hiss, the tip sliding along his cheek, jaw and throat. The salty taste of his cooling sweat made her shiver internally. Her fingers unclasped his armor faster than Samuel himself had ever managed, and then curled themselves into his collar. The sharp, harsh sound of ripping fabric filled the cabin as Risa tore his uniform to pieces.\n\n\"You won't be needing that anymore.\" Risa stared down on him, enjoying the view of his fit physique heaving with deep breaths. She could see a faint gleam of sweat that started to form on his skin. Samuel shivered when she ran her tongue down his body, and squirmed when it tickled his navel. He wanted to touch her, but she had him pinned down at the wrists.\n\nHer eyes flared as she looked up at him. \"No, no escape.\"\n\nRisa's teeth clenched wickedly, emphasizing her grin. Samuel felt rather than heard the growl that went through her body, and it turned his blood to ice. The teeth descended on him and in a reflex he squeezed his eyes shut.\n\nRisa reared up with a roar as she ripped the upper area of his pants to pieces with her teeth alone, her hands still keeping him pinned to the metal floor of the cockpit. With a flick of her head, she tossed away some shredded fabric like a clump of unwanted fur, and then she descended on him again.\n\nSamuel gasped when he felt her rough tongue on him again, rough and at the same time playful and teasing. It flicked and nudged at his member as he felt it swell.\n\nHe chuckled slightly. \"Damn, warn me next time.\"\n\n\"And spoil the fun? It's amusing to see you scared.\"\n\nHer teeth gleamed in the light as she suddenly stared to close her mouth on him. He tensed up and twitched violently.\n\n\"Hey!\"\n\nRisa rewarded him with a purring lick along his length. \"See?\"\n\nSamuel wanted to respond, witty and quick, but failed miserably as she simply continued to toy with him. Pleasure came in waves as her tongue moved in all the right ways – brushing along the underside, circling around the tip, flicking at the base.\n\nHidden by the loincloth of her armor, Risa was showing much more proof of her own desire that she was letting on. The tentacle covering her intimates at already unfurled itself, pushing aside the strip of cloth as it did. It gleamed with lubrication and eagerness to accept. She tasted his pre as she took him into her mouth and suckled, confirming that he was fully prepared.\n\nIt happened so fast that Samuel barely had time to register that Risa changed her grip on him, hands sliding from his wrists to under his shoulders and clamping down. She hoisted him off the floor like a rag doll and bodily slammed him into a curved bulkhead. Streaks of pain welled up along his arms, revealing that she'd scratched him. Risa's breath came in ragged gasped, overwhelmed with primal desire.\n\n\"Aargh! Easy!\"\n\n\"Don't worry, this won't take long.\"\n\nFurther below, he felt the now familiar, yet still exotic, feeling of her tentacle finding and guiding him. Risa's roar made the cockpit shudder as she slammed down on him, forcing him into her. Samuel felt her squeezing tight the instant she received him, but she wasn't going to give him even a moment of respite.\n\nPain mixed with pleasure as she savagely drove her body against him, slamming him against the bulkhead again and again. He felt the chill of her armor on his bare skin, not having bothered taking it off before she acted on lust and wanted gratification. She snarled and ground against him, squeezing his arms so hard that he felt they were starting to bruise. He didn't care. He didn't even worry even about the flares of pain his injured ribs were sending. He felt himself throbbing hard inside her, already coming close. Even Risa's momentary pauses didn't stop the stimulation as her walls clenched around him rhythmically. Risa licked at his face with her hot tongue, and Samuel responded by kissing her where he could. It was a gesture that was still strange to her, but it felt pleasant, warm. She enjoyed it.\n\nThe climax came suddenly when Risa clamped down on him at just the right moment. Samuel groaned and tried to bury himself inside her even deeper as he felt the release. She pushed down on him snarling, crushing him against the wall with enough force to hurt. It only seemed to heighten the climax with a rush of adrenaline, his body quaking and his member throbbed and spasmed hard.\n\nRisa's full-body tremble revealed to him that she peaked as well, clamping down on him and pulling him in as to not spill a single drop. They remained there, both panting, as the world around them slowly started to come into focus again. The cold metal of the bulkhead at his back, the drone of the engines, the hum of life support. The thousand promises of pain Samuel's body was giving him.\n\nRisa let him slip to the floor, his legs still too unsteady to properly stand. She looked down on him with a grin, a grin that Samuel returned when he noticed that her own legs were also just a little bit wobbly. Only now did he fully realize that she'd never taken her armor off, not a single piece.\n\n\"You know, you could've just opened my fly if you didn't want to waste time getting undressed.\"\n\nRisa grinned. \"I figured I'd help the transition – you won't be needing the uniform again after all.\"\n\nSamuel shook his head. \"Good point...but you'd better hope there's spare clothes on this ship...otherwise it'll be interesting when we're docking somewhere.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Risa crouched down next to him, and pressed a finger on his nose with a thin smile.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 13 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm sure we can find something for you.\"\n\nShe stood up and turned around, her hips and tail swaying as she took a few steps.\n\n\"And one other thing. Perhaps I'll let you dominate next time, seems like a nice change of pace.\"\n\nSamuel chuckled and then flinched. \"You'll need to give me a little longer to recover from this one. Christ, I'll probably still be feeling this next week.\"\n\nThe smile and look she sent him made him shiver pleasantly in anticipation.\n\nThen again...I'm sure I could tough it out if I have to.\n\nHe followed her into the sleeping compartment of the shuttle, and closed the door behind them. They still had a good 45 minutes to go before arrival, and they could both do with a rest.\n\nSamuel hated the births on shuttles – yet it was the most comfortable bed he'd ever had when he laid down. He wondered how much of that was due to the fluffy, soft fur of Risa who bedded down next to him...without armor this time.\n\nThey'd both managed to escape and whatever awaited them when they exited shockspace, they'd be facing it together. After escaping a warship, whatever trouble awaited them seemed small in comparison.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "CREATIVE WRITING:\nnine sentences sentences\nMaintain character context\nGenre: furry", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So we'll go no more a roving\n\nSo late into the night,\n\nThough the heart be still as loving,\n\nAnd the moon be still as bright.\n\nMoonlight bleached the earth. Dry, cracked, ground, so thirsty, one could smell the lack of water, the barren landscape was flooded only by the light of the night's overseer, who now was eager to cause mischief. The air was not still for long, and soon a strange breeze floated from an unknown source, bringing a rich, pungent scent of life along with it; whispering through the dead grasses like a predator swiftly stalking its prey.\n\nShe did not know why she found herself out in the nighttime sphere, but the strange light of the haunted moon seemed to beckon her with a frightening persuasion. She edged along the fence, near the field, and found herself staring, struck dumb, at the alien world that had once been so familiar.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Even her pathetic human traits could detect a strangeness in the scent and sounds of the air, enough to be unsettling, but not sufficient to send her running away – and like all humans, the fatal need to know and learn would get the best of her: curiosity.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A piercing sound, that began as a scream and ended as a howl broke the atmosphere of the surroundings, and shattered the strange, dream-like serenity that captivated her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Despite the warm night air, she pulled her sweatshirt around herself more tightly, shivering as the air settled, following the shock of the sound.\n\nThe breeze picked up again, as if to quiet her, hushing her. She shook her head, trying to ward off their influence.\n\nBefore she could fully register him at her back, he had one hand over her mouth; the other pulling her close.\n\n\"Not a sound...\" He growled it by her hear, not entirely human, not entirely beast.\n\nShe stiffened, and felt suddenly faint, unable to protest as he drew her away from the open, dry field, and toward the looming wall of trees. His body emanated head, almost unbearably, and she feebly pushed against him as they retreated further and further into the woods.\n\n\"I'm in no mood for games – don't make me hunt you. You will regret that.\"\n\nThe threat seemed to hold little sway, as she tried to stumble away the moment he set her down.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Almost instantly she was on the ground, beneath the shadowy figure, which pinned her immobile to the ground.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He bit her and she whimpered.\n\n\"I told you I was not in the mood that nonsense – now behave yourself, or you will regret it.\"\n\nHe lingered; the length of his body against hers, for a moment longer, and she could feel the tightness of his entire frame, and the undeniable eagerness of his body. It was not long before she was nudged to stand up and move along. As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light within the trees, she could see that the tall figure was somewhat hunched, as if he could not stand. She squinted, to make out distinctly canine features, even a tail somewhat casually trailing behind him.\n\nShe took half a step back, and his face snapped toward hers. \"No.\"\n\nBefore she could try to run again, he was behind her and leaped onto her, forcing her to her knees.\n\n\"Fine, I suppose you can't wait then...\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He bent forward even more, and suddenly she found herself beneath the paws of a very large, fully feral wolf.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "His muzzle came to the apex of her thighs and nudged between them, making it painfully obvious to her his intentions – and of course, he could smell the sweet scent of her own arousal.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "As she squirmed, he briefly pulled away before biting down on the top of the pants, and yanking them halfway down in one quick motion, which caused her to fall forward, relying on her arms to keep her whole body from hitting the earth.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He dragged her for several feet as he attempted to rip off of her jeans, before she found herself sitting stripped to her panties and t-shirt. Before he could move to remove her top, she did so herself, and turned around to face him.\n\nHis paw shoved her to the ground, hard against her back, her legs apart. The long tongue lapped delicately along the curve of her thigh, approaching her now exposed sex, and carefully against her clit, causing her to shiver with pleasure. She curled her fingers against the dirt, with a sharp intake of breath as he nuzzled her sex with his maw, insistently. Her soft whimpering began to heighten in volume as the wolf continued, encouraging him to continue his affections. She tried to sit up, and his giant paw shoved her back to her reclined position. She arched her back, and suddenly he stopped, causing her to moan at his sudden absence.\n\nHe growled, and nudged her back to her knees, firmly planted on the ground as he moved to mount her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(authors note, Your task: Include 'further' 2 time(s) in your response)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Surprised at the suddenness of this, it took a moment for her to realize that she could feel his solid, warm member brushing up against her, teasing between her thighs.\n\n\"Big boy...\" she murmured, pleasantly surprised, and moved her ass closer to him. He stiffened, his ears going back, and nipped her shoulder playfully. He continued to rub himself against her, maddeningly. She lowered the front of her body, resting on her forearms and lifted her butt higher into the air, urging him to take her.\n\nCarefully he slid in the tip, causing her to arch her back further, and he gently moved closer to her, moving back out and in just a touch further. He then bit down hard on her exposed shoulder, and shoved himself inside of her. She gasped as the knot popped into place, her entire body shuddering and bucking with the sensation. Speechless, she rode the wave of endorphins as he pumped his body against her, pounding into her with unbridled, eager force.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She felt lightheaded as he continued, and quivered with the fervor of the situation.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 1 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As he pumped harder and harder, she reached her climax, unable to support her own weight, crying like an animal herself, as he came as well until both finished, howling in unison.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Expand on this story segment like winterblueart would, staying true to the furry genre. Characters may have existing backgrounds.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'm alone in my room.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The curtains are closed and the lights dimmed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "On the radio plays the soft relaxing sounds of ocean waves.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I need this moment of solitude, to be on my own with myself.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It's all nice and quiet here.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "With closed eyes, I lay upon my bed, on my back.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Thinking, pondering. My head feels so full, yet my body feels so empty.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I wonder what to make out of things, what I'm supposed to do.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "My chest raises as I take a good deep breath, letting it all flow out silently. Somehow, something's missing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oh, please give me strength.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My mind takes me in deep, I can feel it pulling on me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It takes some time, my body vibrating lightly yet I feel fine.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Like turbulence of a plane before hitting clear skies.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And then it did.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In my mind, I open my eyes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It takes some time to feel and see things more clearly, but I am no longer alone in my room.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Above me, while I'm still on my back, two familiar gentle blue eyes gaze down at me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "How I missed his look, his ever comforting gaze.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I missed you,\" I say from the bottom of my heart.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He doesn't respond with words, but instead closes his eyes for a moment before focusing on me again, while I can feel his touch against my chest, his soft snout rubbing me lightly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Winter, the dragon of my dreams, my spiritual guide, my invisible friend, my companion, is here with me again.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I reach up with a single hand, placing it gently on the warm blue surface of his snout.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He lightly pushes into my hand, smiling softly down at me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The rest of his body I cannot envision or see clearly, but his muzzle alone delivers quite an overwhelming sensation.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Time for sadness is over, my friend.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Whenever he speaks, it courses through my entire being, something I've never got used to, nor do I ever want to.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His voice being so deep and rich, it cannot be compared to anything else.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You have made room for it, but now it is time to embrace life again. Sadness may return, and it may never leave entirely, but it will not take a hold of you for entire days anymore.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I can only listen to him, the warmth and beauty of his presence giving me the strength I so much desired for.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's time for you to draw again, play music, eat and play those silly computer games you enjoy. Time to be yourself again, friend.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I close my eyes and feel a sense of happiness flowing through me again.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Winter, where have you been all this time?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I ask him after a moment or two, letting things sink in on me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A deep rumble echoes up his throat, yet it doesn't vibrate somehow, which I find quite an odd experience.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "With a shift of his muzzle, he presses me back down a little firmer, a soft playful look in his eyes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I never left, for I live in your heart. You should listen more closely to it sometimes.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This realization shocks me in some ways.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Life's been so fast for me I hardly stop and think at what I'm doing, who I am, where I'm going.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I place a hand on my chest and feel my heart beating, while I listen to it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "How often do I really stop and listen to myself?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After a while, I reach up with my hands, feeling his jaws lightly shift as my arms embrace his muzzle.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gently, he pulls his head back upwards, with me along with it, pulling me in a sitting position.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A sense of intimate closeness overwhelms me as he brushes his head into my torso and lap, while I softly stroke him there.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Such a fine dragon...", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A moment later, I open my eyes, and I'm back in my room, sitting upright.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Alone, but not quite anymore. My initial thought was to draw this experience, but before this memory would fade, I decided to write this out instead.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "im ur writing buddy. i set scene (might have existing chars), u do twenty-two sentences like winterblueart", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A gentle wind blows through my hair, feeling warm on my skin, as I lay asleep. Shifting myself sleepily, I feel myself surrounded in warmth, something brushing against my back and sides gently. My hands laying upon a smooth moving surface. There was a sudden pressure against my chest, moving up to my chin, tilting my head up, along with another brush of warm wind, the sound like that of a large breathing mammal.\n\nSmiling softly, I open up my eyes slowly, only to see a deep blue snout with flaring nostrils, huffing at me contently. Down the length, my gaze travels up and meet a set of blue gentle eyes, smiling back at me. We stare at each other for a moment, like a bonding of deep mutual friendship. Good morning, Winter, I think to myself in amusement. He simply pressed his snout against my cheek, rubbing me gently in his own dragon way.\n\nI'll never get used to the idea of waking up in a dragon's embrace, and neither do I wish I ever will. The smooth blue coloured body was gently curled around me, my back resting against his flank, lightly with my right side leaning against his chest. Winter always knows how to take good care of me.. With his hinds on his side, he remained laying upon his chest. The deep slow breathing of his powerful body fills my ears, and senses, as his lungs fill himself with air, expanding and retracting, with me gently following his rhythm as I lay against his warm chest. It was a very soothing feeling, but the sheer idea of sleeping so close to something so large was simply amazing. His long tail was lightly curled around my other side, brushing my side contently.\n\nI sigh deeply, closing my eyes again and leaning my cheek against his flank, while my hands loosely hug over the warm breathing surface of his hide. I listen, deeply, to the sounds within, listening to his breathing, trying to hear his heartbeat. Only faintly I could, being too far off from where I lay.\n\nThere was a sudden warmth around my left cheek, followed by a moist squeeze. I simply smile and keep my eyes closed, while Winter lightly nibbled on me with his lips. Soon he moved up and messed up my hair, rustling and nibbling me some more before he retracted. After a brief pause, his warm snout pressed in against me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He wanted me to wake up.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sighing again, I turned and looked at him, lightly stroking his snout with my fingers as he came close again. At my touch, he suddenly gave a rather firm but pleasant nuzzle against my chest, causing me to laugh and wrap my arms around his face, hugging him close. He doesn't always speak so much in words... He much rather speaks with actions and feelings. Something that always surprised me, since whenever he does speak, he talks in the most soothing and mesmerizing voice you've ever heard. Like it's his heart that speaks to you directly, not his mouth.\n\nAfter a moment of deep cuddling, my fingers trailing around his deep blue eyes, he moves away and looks down at me with a content smile. I lean alittle back, gazing up at him with a playful look. \"You slept well?\" I ask him. Winter simply nods down at me, reinforcing his answer with a firm squeeze from his tail. A rumble runs through his large body, vibrating the hide I lay against.\n\n\"What about you...?\"\n\nI sigh and closed my eyes briefly, letting his words linger in my head and soul. \"Wonderfully...\" I shift my position, loosening up in his warm surrounding embrace. There was something about his scent, strong and powerful, yet also sweet and tender, surrounding me completely. It wasn't bad – at all. No, it was... unique. Folding my hands behind my head, I stared alittle again. On my back, a faint gurgle could be heard, coming from deep within Winter's body. I chuckled, and looked at him. \"Seems like breakfast is in order, isn't it?\" He nodded again and grinned at me, lowering his large muzzle down to gently nuzzle my chest and chin again, his warm breath flowing over me again.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Want to help me fetch some...?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 10 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Confused by his words as his muzzle still lays close against my chest, I look deeply into his wonderful eyes. I never really known before how he gathers his meals, or what he actually likes. I do know him for enjoying several fruits, but that would hardly be a proper filling. Plus, those perfect white teeth of him does remind me that he is a carnivore too.\n\nShrugging a little, I reply. \"I guess so.\" Somehow I did feel somewhat reluctant, not really ready to get up and break this wonderful warming embrace with him. But as all good things come to an end, this was no different. But either way, if I was in luck, we would spend the following night together again. \"But what do you want? I've never seen you hunt.\"\n\n\"Why don't you come with me and find out...?\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "help write? 10 sentences more, same character context, furry genre thx", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I yell in both fear but especially in great pleasure as the wind rushes by me at a mind blowing speed, throwing my hair all around. My hands are tightly gripped around the base of his neck, while my heels press firmly into his chest. Underneath me, Winter's powerful muscles stretch and pull, moving his huge wingarms. As I rode upon his powerful back, the blue dragon was flying sharp and straight forward, only several feet above the glistening waters of the ocean. The sun reflects into the water, shining a moving pattern upon his smooth blue hide as he practically glides above it, his tail tipping into the water every now and then.\n\nHolding on for dear life, I witness for the first time how a dragon really hunts. Up ahead of me, Winter's powerful head is outstretched on his neck, his spikes surprisingly well balancing him in his flight. He was looking down in the waters below, for sure, as his intentions become clear...\n\nSuddenly his long spine arches up, with me gripping tightly against him. With a swift move his jaws lunged into the ocean for a nanosecond, water splashing, before throwing his head out and upwards, gulping down whatever he just caught.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Again his muzzle dips into the water, his claws gliding into the waters too, having snatched another meal, likely fish or other ocean animals who dared themselves too close to the surface.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Slowing down his pace after having devoured quite a number of large fish - I tried to look below his head to see what he actually snatched after - he started leveling out more, flying higher.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[Author's note: CONSTRAINT: Include 'forward' 2 time(s)]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His body felt warm in the sunlight as we together flew over the waters.\n\n\"Aaah... nothing like a decent meal in the morning!\" He chuckles, vibrating through me.\n\nI patted his neck, leaning against him. \"Yes, Winter. Good boy!\" I laughed.\n\nWith a shriek, I clamped myself against his firm hide again as his massive body swiftly arched up again, only much steeper, flying up. Loosely, he let himself roll forward, my mind going dizzy in this brief moment of zero gravity, soaring. Up ahead of me I could see the water's horizon, the sun above me, shining bright. But that vision slipped by me as we rolled further forward, starting to point downwards in an increasing steepness. Rapidly, Winter picks up speed, holding his wings flat against his body.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The water's surface quickly neared in, and I yelped at the power of the sensations that were overwhelming me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hold on tight!\"\n\nI took a deep breath, clamping against him. It was only a moment before his head disappears under water, with me and the rest of his long body following swiftly. The much cooler water instantly surrounded me, bubbles shooting up as he dived under. I was amazed, yet also frightened and surprised. There wasn't really that much of me to hold on too, no safety belt or anything that would prevent me from falling off. Briefly I wondered if he would even notice if I wouldn't be on his back anymore.\n\nThe sunrays shone through the water, giving a rather mesmerizing sight as we roll upwards again, sliding through the cool waters horizontally. Up close there was a large flock of fish, and within moments Winter was swimming right through them. Bubbles disappear from his jaws as he snatched again, and instantly we rose up again, shooting out of the waters, all the while having not used his wings once.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Breaking free from the crashing waters, he flaps his leathery wings, gaining height again.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I released the air I held on to, panting to refill myself with fresh oxygen. Winter's blue hide glistens brightly now, water flowing off him. A rough shake of his spine really woke me up again, shaking himself clear, but I was secure. If I would be sitting near his haunches, I'd surely be thrown off by the magnificent force of that shake.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Today you will be acting as a writing assistant in the furry genre. Your partner will send something and you will write the next 6 sentences, matching their level of character familiarity.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Returning back to the beach, we land gently on the warm sands again.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I didn't hesitate to climb off him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Surely it was an extraordinary experience, but I think I've had enough of that for now. What did surprise me is that he didn't really speak again, even when I shared my experience with him, and how wild it was for me. All he did was simply chuckle, that caused me to vibrate.\n\nWinter turns and lowers his strong proud blue body down into the yellow sand. Curling lightly up around himself, batting his tail with his head standing out above it all, I looked up at him and things became clear to me. As he lowered his powerful head down, he expels a number of fish from his jaws, still wriggling and alive, jumping for water.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 7 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't worry, I didn't forget about you as you can see...\" Winter grins at me, nodding his snout against the fish, nosing it in my direction. I stare at him, then simply begin to laugh. Walking up to him, I embraced his muzzle with both my arms, holding him close and stroking his length. This silly dragon sure knows how to amuse me. Perhaps I would need to clean those fish first, and bake them up... It was a very interesting start of the day, to say the least.\n\nI could only wonder how we would spend the rest of the day, with him - together.", "loss": true } ]

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