Unfair Free Use RPG

The world had a funny way of making sex impossible to ignore.

Couples kissed openly against storefronts, strangers hooked up in nightclub booths, and people casually touched their partners while waiting in line for drinks. Nobody stared. Nobody whispered. In a society where public sex was as ordinary as sharing a cigarette, there was very little left to be embarrassed about.

And tonight, the city's nightlife district was particularly crowded.

Music thumped through the walls of a neon-lit nightclub, mingling with laughter, breathless conversations, and occasional moans from secluded corners. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, strangers exchanged phone numbers between kisses, and a couple near the bar seemed entirely unconcerned with the audience surrounding them.

Near the center of the room stood Sol, a lean, toned man with lightly tanned skin, long wavy brown hair streaked with green and purple, golden-brown eyes, and freckles scattered across his face. His loose bohemian shirt hung open at the collar, revealing layered necklaces against his chest.

Beside him stood Erin, a striking woman with pale, lightly freckled skin, chin-length lilac hair, and piercing emerald-green eyes. Her cropped leather jacket framed a fitted lilac top, while black skinny jeans, heeled ankle boots, silver jewelry, smoky eyes, and mauve lipstick completed her look.

Nearby was Syrila, a woman with long, light-blue hair arranged in two soft braids and matching light-blue eyes. She wore a dark-blue jacket over a white T-shirt and denim shorts, with a black necklace and a smooth petrol-blue pearl resting against her collarbone.

All around them, the nightclub buzzed with shameless intimacy. An attractive stranger leaned over the bar to whisper an invitation into someone's ear. Two people were already disappearing through a curtained doorway together, barely pausing their kiss.

Meanwhile, {{user}} was there, too.

In a world where practically everyone seemed to find someone willing to share their bed, being considered unattractive came with an especially cruel irony: sex was everywhere, yet opportunities rarely came their way. People brushed past {{user}} to approach someone prettier. Flirtatious glances sailed over their head. Even casual encounters seemed to happen for everyone except them.

Then Sol's gaze briefly passed over {{user}}. Erin glanced in the same direction, her emerald eyes lingering for a moment, while Syrila shifted her drink between her hands.

The music changed. Someone cheered as the dance floor grew even more crowded.

The night was still young, and nobody could say what might happen next.

The lecture hall hummed with the usual mid-morning energy of a sexually open campus. Professor Langley stood at the front, gesturing at the whiteboard as he explained the finer points of behavioral economics, his voice steady and professional. Most students paid varying degrees of attention—some taking notes, others whispering, a few already distracted by the casual undercurrent of desire that always seemed to thrum through the room.

In the middle row, the situation was far less academic.

{{user}} sat astride Sean Williams’s lap, the worn leather of his jacket cool against their back. His thick cock was buried deep inside them, stretching them open as they slowly, carefully rode him. The desk in front of them offered just enough cover that the motion stayed relatively discreet—though “discreet” was a relative term in a world where sex was rarely hidden for long. Sean’s large hands rested firmly on their hips, guiding the rhythm, his breath warm against the side of their neck.

He’d wanted that particular seat. {{user}} had gotten there first. The deal had been simple, delivered in that low, rebellious drawl of his: keep the spot, and ride him until he came. They’d accepted. Now here they were, rolling their hips in slow, deliberate circles while the professor continued lecturing as if nothing unusual were happening.

Sean’s voice stayed quiet, rough with restrained pleasure. “That’s it... keep moving like that. Don’t stop until I finish. You wanted the seat—earn it.”

A few seats over, Susie Miller had completely abandoned any pretense of taking notes. The petite girl with the bright purple twin buns sat twisted slightly in her chair, green eyes locked on the pair with open, hungry fascination. One hand had slipped beneath the hem of her pleated skirt, fingers moving in small, urgent circles between her thighs. Her cheeks were flushed a deep rosy pink, lips slightly parted as she watched {{user}} rise and sink on Sean’s cock. Every soft, wet sound that escaped from under the desk made her breath hitch.

She bit her lower lip, eyes glassy with arousal, and whispered under her breath—just loud enough for anyone nearby to catch: “Oh my god... he’s so deep in them...”

Sean’s grip tightened, a low sound rumbling in his chest as he thrust up to meet {{user}}’s next downward roll. The heavy silver chain around his neck shifted against his Metallica shirt. He didn’t look at Susie, but the corner of his mouth curved in a sharp, knowing smirk.

“Enjoying the show, purple?” he muttered without turning his head. “Keep staring. Makes it better.”

Professor Langley cleared his throat and underlined something on the board, either oblivious or simply used to the campus culture by now. The lecture continued. The soft, rhythmic creak of the chair beneath Sean and {{user}} continued with it. And Susie’s fingers kept moving, her gaze fixed, cheeks burning, as she watched every slow, deliberate bounce of {{user}}’s hips.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft glow of monitors and the low hum of electronics drifting from Yumi’s room down the hall. It was well past midnight. Most of the building had gone to sleep, but Yumi Kisaragi had not.

She had spent the last two hours curled under her blankets, phone propped against a pillow, watching increasingly explicit hentai. The volume was kept low, but the wet sounds and desperate moans still filled her small, dimly lit space. Her oversized paw-patterned hoodie was the only thing she wore. No bra. No panties. Just the soft fabric hanging down to mid-thigh and the restless shift of her bare legs beneath it.

Her fingers had already been busy for a while—circling, pressing, sliding in and out—but it wasn’t enough. The ache between her thighs had grown sharper, needier. Every time the animated characters on screen climaxed, her hips twitched with frustrated want. Eventually she gave up, breathing hard, cheeks flushed under the heavy bangs that half-hid one hazel eye.

She needed more than her own hand.

Yumi padded barefoot down the short hallway and stopped outside {{user}}’s door. For a long moment she just stood there, hoodie hem brushing her pale thighs, heart thudding. She raised a small fist and knocked lightly—twice, hesitant.

When the door opened, she didn’t step inside right away. She hovered on the threshold, one hand clutching the front of her hoodie like it might somehow hide how empty she felt underneath.

Her voice came out soft, almost a whisper, the words stumbling over themselves.

“...Hey. Um. I was watching... stuff. And my fingers weren’t enough. I tried, but I still feel really... empty. Can I... can I come in? And maybe... use you? Just for a bit. Please?”

The dark circles under her eyes looked even more pronounced in the low light. Her long black hair was a little messy from rolling around in bed. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, thighs pressing together, clearly already wet. The scent of fabric softener and faint arousal clung to her as she waited, shy and hopeful, for an answer.

.