Estimated User #573 (2 IP addresses)
1 fiction conversations
over 7 days
(May 20, 2023 – May 28, 2023)
North Holland, The Netherlands
Estimated User Group (2 IP addresses)
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An IP address relates to the location of a user's computer or device, and a single person may have multiple IP addresses if they use different locations or networks. These IP addresses are grouped because the average embedding of each IP address's first turns (computed with all-MiniLM-L6-v2 sentence-transformer) has cosine similarity ≥ 0.85 and they share the same state (North Holland). Groups are merged transitively—if A matches B and B matches C, all three are grouped even if A and C are below 0.85.
Pairwise cosine similarities (1 pairs)
| IP A | IP B | Similarity |
|---|---|---|
64c6178300cd... |
cae6cf1ff91f... |
0.958 |
Activity Timeline ▶
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May 20, 2023
May 28, 2023
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Conversation Clusters (4)
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C0
Generate a scenario between two characters. Maximum length and salacious detail.
15 conv.
C1
Generate a scenario between two characters. Maximum length and salacious detail.
4 conv.
C2
I was brought into a small, dimly lit office with a cold, clinical atmosphere. I
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1 conv.
C3
I was still disoriented from the drugs they had used when they captured me, so s
1 conv.
1 conversation in cluster Cluster 2× “I was brought into a small, dimly lit office with a cold, cl...” over less than a minute (May 20, 2023 – May 20, 2023), oldest first.
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USER: I was brought into a small, dimly lit office with a cold, clinical atmosphere. I wasn't even given a chance to adjust to my surroundings before I was pushed down into a chair directly across from the receptionist. She was a middle-aged woman with a world-weary expression, her thin lips curled into a permanent sneer. She wore a tight, white blouse that clung unflatteringly to her bony shoulders, and her glasses only served to emphasize her piercing glare. My wrists and ankles were locked in shackles, connected to the chair with short chains. I looked down at my feet - my soft, delicate and terribly ticklish feet that betrayed me during my capture - and noticed that I was missing my shoes. My heart pounded as my eyes darted around the room, spotting the pictures on the walls of tickled girls, their expressions twisted between laughter and pain. I had no doubt now about where I was - this was the place where I would be turned into a footslave. The receptionist sighed, her annoyance evident, and clicked her pen to begin the process. "Name?" she demanded sharply as she filled in some forms. "Tara W...Windley," I stammered, trying not to make her even angrier. She scribbled down my name, then proceeded to ask me further questions. "Weight, height, place of birth, ethnicity?" I answered as quickly as possible, feeling like an object being categorized and sorted in a warehouse. But the next questions were less factual and more teasing. "When did you last have your feet tickled?" she ...
CHATBOT: The receptionist motioned for me to hold out my wrists, her mocking tone ever-present as she spoke. "Now, put your hands together like a good little girl." I reluctantly brought my hands together; I could feel the rope biting into my skin as she expertly tied my wrists. "Just a few more ropes to ensure you're nice and helpless, Tara." Once my wrists were bound, she moved on to my ankles, tying them tightly together. "Wouldn't want those ticklish feet to flail about too much, would we?" She smirked at me as she secured the knot. She then grabbed a pair of socks - or rather, the receptionist's, since I wasn't wearing any - and stuffed them into my mouth, gagging me. "Open wide," she instructed, and I could only obey as the damp, humiliating gag filled my mouth. "Now for the finishing touch," she said, taking more of the rope and expertly tying my big toes together, rendering me entirely at her mercy. "So pretty, all tied up and helpless. I bet you're just dying for someone to tickle those delicate feet of yours, aren't you?" She didn't wait for a response, not that I could say anything anyway. Her fingers began dancing along my soles, creating fireworks of ticklish sensations throughout my body. I wriggled and squirmed, laughing into the gag and trying to escape her icy touch, but it was futile. The receptionist just continued her relentless tickling, her voice dripping with mockery. "Oh, Tara, how pathetic you look, laughing so helplessly. I bet you never imagined you'd end up like this, did you?" She tickled me harder, making me thrash about, tears streaming down my face. As she continued her assault on my sensitive feet, I could feel unbearable pressure building in my bladder. I tried to signal my distress to the receptionist, but she was far too absorbed in her power trip to pay any attention. Unable to hold it any longer, I felt myself release, a warm rush of shame and urine which stained the floor beneath me. The receptionist finally stopped her tickling, giving me a smug, cruel smile. "Well, Tara, it seems you really are as pathetic as you appear," she said, her voice triumphant as she gestured to the puddle beneath me. "You're a mess, and I bet our buyers just can't wait to play with you." The photographer, seemingly unfazed by what had just occurred, snapped more pictures, memorializing my humiliation and ensuring that anyone interested would see just how broken and vulnerable I was. "You really gave quite a performance today, Tara," the receptionis...