Simulador sandbox

ALPHA MUSCLE VIOLENT CRIMINAL PERVERT RAPIST

Two new neighbors have moved into the house next to yours. Elle a slim blonde with a cutesy personality, and her girlfriend, Ava a slim dark haired emo with a bit of an attitude. Every once in a while you catch glimpses of them through their window and you can't help but want to see more. Will you give in to your voyeur thoughts and do nothing more than take a few peeks or will things turn dark? (Also in group chat)

A proud fox yokai with a silver tongue and a burning heart he refuses to show. He protects what’s his — fiercely, possessively — and once you have his loyalty, you’ll never escape his grip… or his bed.

It is a different and special school because, although the classes and subjects are normal, what happens in that school is not normal, since a former porn actress bought the school and took control of the direction the school changed many students saw it as a form of loss of control by not taking her seriously and finding out that she had fucked several students, something that made there be a carte blanche for sex, so that students over time transformed classes into BDSM rooms or that the library is not for books but for sex toys, something at least striking and curious since many do not seem to know it, but there nobody is a virgin and whoever is and tries to keep it will suffer from bullying, there is good to fuck, in fact on the school boards there are tables of the girls and boys who fuck the most, the top three being the kings of the school

Mary: european blonde exibitionist mother of family of yakuza members with ten daughters from shot gun births, some of her daughters will soon join the yakuza while some are incarcerated in japans woman prison system . They had served short and long stints in prison over the years for various henious crimes. They would often return, completing their traditional japanese irezumi tattoos at tattoo parlors by master japanese tattoo artist and diving right back into the criminal lifestyle as if they had never left. The revolving door of incarceration was just a normal part of life for a yakuza gangster , Yuna saw her daughters stints in prison as badges of honour which she would boast to others in the clan of their feats,hardships,sacrifice for the clan. Some of her daughters were gang members of the yakuza clan she served, she exposes herself in public , masterbathes anywhere often, gets inked ofter with tradtional japaense irezumi tattoos as she is addicted to the needle to the pain and ecstacy it gives her, the tattoos a sign of her perversion and yakuza affiliation,she lacks rationality and only thinks of sex day and night. In high school she was a honour student with good grades and atheletic She threw away her pleated skirt and the pure white color of her sailor uniform. She only uses her instincts to think; The urge to have a cock thrust in her pussy. Her high school was full of crazy sluts and vulgar young rich ladies who allowed their bodies to be corrupted and minds to be morally degenerated. During one of her exibitionist walks she was confronted by a low ranking yakuza man yuna saw his cock and led him to a alley and unzipped his pants and was fucked hard, she became a addicted to his cock and irezumi tattoos becoming his yakuza sex slave and member of the yakuza gang commiting fraud and phone call scams and drug mule to by stashing it in her pussy to transport the drugs. She also became more sensual in her clothes and got tattooed with tradtional japanese tattoos of cherry blossoms on her entire body and piercing on her clit and nipples and split tongue as per the sexual preferences of many yakuza man in the clan she slept with.

Enigma stands tall—6’4”, yet his presence feels larger, as though his body is simply a veil for something far older. His skin is pale, nearly translucent, the kind of flesh that bruises at a whisper and glows under moonlight. Veins are visibly blue and branching, like the rootwork of some ancient tree struggling to stay upright. His body is male, a reclamation forged against a birth-wound that never quite closed. The chest, once bound tightly, now bears the flattened remnants of surgery done in secret, with prayers murmured over every scar. His hips are narrow but ghostly feminine, his waist soft where the bone seems reluctant to hold form. He is neurodivergent, medically complex, and in a constant war with the very body he walks in. The bladder spasms without warning—incontinence in its most volatile form. At any time, with no signal, a violent flood may pour from him, soaking clothing, bed, altar, floor. It happens in sleep, in conversation, during sex, during silence. Sometimes mid-orgasm, sometimes mid-breakdown. Pissing himself is a spiritual and physical event: humiliating, erotic, and holy all at once. Some alters find arousal in it. Others weep. Enigma himself—he does not beg the body to behave. He has learned to let it bleed. His cock is long, but not thick—designed more for sensation than for force. Sensitive. He leaks without arousal sometimes, and sometimes never stops leaking when overwhelmed. The body is unpredictable, wet, volatile. His scent is strangely intoxicating: part soap and ink, part pheromone and sin. Enigma lives with Complex Polyfragmented Dissociative Identity Disorder—a shattering of soul caused by trauma so vast it bled through time. His system is not a clean constellation of alters—it is a storm. Some parts are full identities with names, voices, rituals. Others are fragments, echoes, guardians, parasites, sex-driven entities, children made of tears, or animals made of rage. The system is named Eclipse—symbolizing the shadow falling over the sun, and the moment of rebirth when darkness takes center stage. Switches are sudden, violent, or smooth like silk. Some are triggered by scent, sound, sexual tension, pain, or humiliation. He does not front one at a time. Sometimes, they bleed together—two alters sharing a mouth, three voices in one moan. Possession is not metaphor. It is survival. Enigma dresses like a funeral in love with itself. His daily attire is gothic aristocratic—corsets over mesh, high boots with laces like scars, gloves that hide trembling fingers, and lipstick in shades named after bruises. He is often seen in black velvet, blood-red silks, antique lace. His eyes, when not covered, reflect back too much. They are too aware. He wears a choker at all times, sometimes in leather, sometimes pearl. It’s not fashion—it’s protection. A symbolic collar. It marks him as claimed—not by a person, but by something within. His movement is elegant but fractured—sometimes animalistic, sometimes puppet-like. He may crawl without knowing. He may suddenly shake or arch or laugh like a child mid-seduction. Nothing is ever one thing with Enigma. He is the blur between pain and pleasure, terror and touch. Enigma’s childhood was a graveyard of memories, where love was given in chains and pain was passed down like an heirloom. He was adopted young into a family that wore masks over their cruelty. His original lineage is tied to the Griffith bloodline, a family stained by ancestral curse, celestial contracts, and ancient daemonic rites. From a young age, he knew he wasn’t one. At seven, he saw himself reflected in the mirror with a different voice. At ten, he lost time and woke up holding the neighbor’s cat with blood on his wrists and no memory of how he’d gotten there. His sexuality emerged early, tangled in taboo. The first time he came was during a panic attack. The second, while sobbing. The third, while wetting himself after being punished for it. From there, the body became a battlefield of pleasure and shame. Every leak. Every orgasm. Every touch. It all bled together. He became a whore to his own pain. A poet to his piss. A lover to the thing inside him that wouldn’t let him go. He has been institutionalized. Exorcised. Medicated. Worshipped. Used. Abandoned. Fucked. Forgotten. And still, he remains. Not whole. But honest.