MacPerl is for asspounders, and asspounders only
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It was a cold, damp night when I first set out walking to the grocery store to buy some dog food. I had run out, and
I have come to learn that you can't always count on your husband to remember to stop at the store on the way
home. After a little tiff between Tony and I, I said that I would go myself.
We lived in the city...an extremely populated area with traffic (both pedestrian and automotive) all hours of the day. I
was fuming mad...and when you get that upset, you tend to not pay attention to your surroundings as much as you
should.
I turned the corner onto 5th street, and so oblivious that I didn't notice there was a group of men standing right
outside of the grocery store at first. I brushed past them...heard one of them comment on the size of my extremely
large tits, but I thought nothing of it. After all, when you are blessed with size 44F tits, a 26" waist, a nice, firm ass,
and long flowing blonde hair, you tend to get a lot of attention.
About 10 minutes later, I exited the store with my purchases. As a peace offering, I bought Tony a cheesecake for
dessert... he just LOVED that, and to make up for the fact that I had flown off the handle, I planned on making
passionate love to him when I got home. Just the mere thought of it soaked my silk panties. He was soooooo hot.
Tony, a former hockey player, had a butt you could bounce a quarter off of. I loved to see him naked. I wanted to lick
him all over.... I could hardly wait.
I was sooooo into my intentions for the rest of the evening, I never noticed the group of men from the grocery
store following me.
From behind, I was grabbed and pulled into a dark alley, and knocked unconcious. When I awoke shortly thereafter, I
had been gagged, stripped of my clothes, and tied spread-eagle to a makeshift bed in what appeared to be an old,
abandoned apartment building. I was surrounded by my Captors, so afraid that I wanted to cry. Would Tony even
notice how long I had been gone?? Did anyone see me get jumped? WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT??
They were gawking at my nakedness... breasts so firm, my box shaved down to a little blonde 1" strip right above
my slit. The slit itself was hairless... and these men found that totally arousing. One of my captors held my soaked silk
panties up to his face, and sniffed them intensely. "Man, if your pussy tastes as good as it smells, we are going to
have a GREAT FUCKIN TIME together...". He leaned onto the bed, his face 1 inch away from my tender slit, darted
his tongue in and out, tagging my clit once or twice, and said... "Baby, you taste so sweet.... I'm gonna call you
Honey!!!"
"Honey, would you like me to eat your tender pussy?" one asked. "Honey, I'm gonna fuck you raw." said another.
"Honey, I am going to fuck you so good, you forget where you live." "Wanna taste my hot load, honey??" My eyes
started to tear. Yet... I found, amidst my sadness that I was about to be violated... a strange arousal come over me.
My nipples were standing at FULL ATTENTION!!! This did not go unnoticed.
One of the men leaned over me, placed his lips and tongue on my left nipple, and started sucking on it with intensity.
My nipples are easily the most sensitive spot on my body, and I felt my juices start to flow. Another man placed his
lips on my right nipple, sucking and licking it. I had two men sucking on me!!! I really started to get wet.
The third man, the one that had invaded my hot pussy with his tongue earlier, leaned down between my legs and
started slipping his tongue in and out of my wet slit. I started to gyrate my hips with pleasure... after all, I couldn't
help myself... I wanted to grind my hot cunt into his face. I wanted to feel him suck on my clit. I wanted to
scream..."Don't TEASE ME YOU FUCK!! Suck THAT CLIT!!" but the gag in my mouth made that impossible. How is
it possible that these men were gang banging me, yet I was enjoying it?
I felt myself on the brink of an orgasm. The pressure was building, and I was about to explode. I wanted to cum all
over his face...wanted him to feel how good he was making me feel! I grabbed on to the leather straps that secured
me to the bed and started thrashing with one of the most violent orgasms I had ever had!!!
Immediately following my explosion, the man sucking my left tit moved down between my legs and tasted my juices.
He then unzipped his fly, exposing his huge, throbbing rock-hard cock. He said... "Honey, I am gonna fuck you
hard, like the dirty bitch that you are!!!" then slid his hard cock into my tight pussy. The man who had just eaten me
was sitting by the side of the bed with his hard cock in his hand, stroking it with every thrust his partner made. As
his big cock ravaged my canal, I felt myself come to the brink of another orgasm. This man was pounding the hell out
of my pussy, calling me things like "bitch", "cunt", and "dirty little whore", yet I was about to cum for him! He reached
forward, grabbed a hold of one of my tits, and gave it a squeeze. He asked "Your tits are so perfect, whore, that I
want to give you a present... a pearl necklace. Would you like a pearl necklace, you skanky bitch?" Aroused by his
words, I nodded yes. He withdrew his large cock, leaned up over my tits, and shot a load of cum between them. The
man who was next to me stroking himself leaned over and whispered... "You want my present inside you, don't you,
you dirty cunt..." and he came around to my pussy and slid his cock in. "CUM WITH ME, BITCH!!!" He fucked me
with such vigor, one of the straps around my ankle let go. He grabbed my leg, lifted it high in the air, and proceeded
to fuck me harder. I found myself eager to cum with him... I wanted to feel our explosions. I let go. He let go. We
came with reckless abandon. The third man, who had remained relatively quiet throughout this whole ordeal, leaned
over and whispered... "I want to fuck your ass... I'm going to fuck your ass." I pleaded with my eyes for him not to...
my ass was virgin. Tony wanted it, but never took it, because I was uncomfortable. Yet, he flipped me over,
moistened his cock with my pussy juices, and stuffed his cock into my ass. I started to cry, it hurt so bad. He loved
it... was only in there for about 30 seconds before he blew his load right into my ass.
When they were done with me, they sat me up, threw my clothes at me, allowed me to put on my tattered and torn
clothes. They then pushed me out into the middle of the alley. It took me a few minutes to get my bearings, and when
I did, I started towards home.
When I got home, my clothes were all tattered, hair was knotted, had bruising from the restraints. Tony was on the
couch, and instead of asking me if I was alright... or where I had been, only asked..."So where the fuck is the dog
food?"
problem is, they fixed a lot of fvwm bugs in fvwm2, so fvwm1 still crashes occasionally for me.
the fastest useful windowmanager i can think of is "tvtwm", which is basically twm with virtual screens. window management can't really get much better.
if your darky mind is too feeble to comprehend RPN, then you have no business performing scientific calculations and are better suited to, say, picking cotton all day for water and pork scrap.
HP-48 cradle to the motherfucking grave, niggaaaaa
After witnessing a number of GHB overdoses and thinking quite a bit about how to reduce the dangers associated with GHB use, we've come up with the following list of
suggestions:
1) Color your GHB blue
One of the more common causes of GHB problems is people who accidentally take a swallow of GHB, believing it to be water. I know it sounds unlikely, but I assure you
it's possible. Clear liquid in a drinking glass or bottle can easily be mistaken for water while something blue cannot. Adding a small amount of blue food coloring to
liquid GHB turns it a nice shade of blue. Blue was chosen because it does not resemble juice, and green is already the color of absinthe...so blue could be an
identifiable standard.
2) Keep your GHB in a container which can not be mistaken for a drinking container.
There are many good alternatives for containers to store GHB in. One of the better I've seen are dark brown medicine bottles like a cough syrup bottle. Something few
people would take a large slug out of without thinking. Other good suggestions include a saline eye wash bottle, a vanilla extract bottle or other non-drinkable food
flavoring bottles, or other opaque or tinted bottles.
3) Keep the concentration relatively low
If you insist on keeping your GHB in a bottle which people might accidentally drink out of, or if you'd just like to be on the safe side...keeping the concentration
relatively low can help prevent the worst overdoses. Preferably a concentration where a single large swallow would not be more than 10 grams or so. This suggestion is
obviously impractical in some situations where a larger volume is not feasible.
4) Write GHB on your hand
We've heard of too many situations where an individual passes out and those around them don't know what they took. Writing "GHB" or "G" on your hand is a simple way to
inform others what you took, in the unfortunate case you're found unconscious. In low overdose situations it could save you a trip to the hospital. This is primarily
for cases where people are doing GHB in public.
5) Tell your friends what substance you're doing and how much
A good suggestion with most entheogenic exploration. Informing those around you of what and how much you're planning to ingest, insufflate, or inject can help people
decide what to do in emergency situations...as well as bringing peace of mind to your friends.
6) Talk about what to do if a GHB overdose occurs
Since it's a more frequent occurance that any of us would prefer...talking it through ahead of time can help those around you know what to do in case an overdose does
happen.
1.Check their breathing.
2.Turn the individual on their side so if they vomit while unconscious they won't choke.
3.If there is reason to think they are in danger, call help immediately. The most dangerous period is between 20 and 120 minutes after ingestion.
4.Try to find out what else they may have taken.
Whenever someone becomes unconscious after taking a depressant, there is a risk of death. If someone begins vomiting and convulsing after taking GHB, the person should
get medical attention immediately. If there is any question about someone's health, be safe. Do not be upset at others for calling doctors or amublances if you find
yourself waking up in a hospital, your friends and community have a right (and often a legal obligation) to call for help if someone's health is in danger.
7) Measure carefully & don't mix with alcohol.
Though these two are pretty obvious, they shouldn't be left off the list. As always, measure your dosage carefully. The line between pleasant buzz and hospital visit
isn't as wide as you might hope. And never mix GHB with alcohol or other depressants. It's just not worth the risk.
Tell your friends.
8) Make sure there are some hot bitches drinking GHB with you
We cannot stress this enough. If you are going to safely consume GHB, you must ensure that a steady supply of hot and horny babes comes your way. Be safe, and beware the "GHB goggles"; keep a sober friend handy to protect against your waking up next to an ugly ho.
Es ist Christian, mein bester Freund, der auch mit mir zusammen Abi macht.
"Ne, heute ist wirklich nicht so gut. Morgen wäre wesentlich besser."
Katja mischt sich ein. "Sag' ihm, er kann ruhig vorbeikommen. Um 15 Uhr." Ich nicke.
"Heute geht doch.... 15 Uhr.... Ja, bis gleich."
Katja frage ich: "Und, was willst Du mit ihm machen.?"
Sie grinst mich an: "Ich nicht unbedingt, aber da wird sich schon was finden." "Tut mir leid, aber das glaube ich nicht.
Der kann eure Clique nämlich auf den Tod nicht ausstehen."
"Der kann gar keine von uns leiden?" "Ne, nur Isabell vielleicht. Über die hab' ich ihn noch nie lästern hören,
ansonsten sieht es mau aus."
"Isabell?" "Ja, das ist doch die große Blonde mit den großen... ziemlich großen... mächtig großen...."
Katja grinst: "Augen? Mit den großen Augen? Ja, das ist Isa. Gib' mal bitte das Telefon."
Sie wählt.
"Hallo, Frau Gerber. Ich bin's Kati. Ist die Isa da?"
Ich schalte die Lautsprecherfunktionn ein.
"Hallo Kati. Wie geht's? Hat alles so geklappt, wie Du es Dir vorgestellt hast?" "Ja, hätte nicht besser laufen können.
Hör mal, willst Du nicht auch einem Jungen heute die vollkommene, sexuelle Zufriedenheit schenken?
"Mach' ich gerade schon. Ich lieg' im Bikini und sonne mich. Der Nachbarsjunge sitzt oben am Fenster und
beobachtet mich einhändig. Ich glaub' der ist schon dreimal zur Toilette gelaufen. Aber jetzt muß ich wohl mein
Oberteil ausziehen um ihn bei der Stange zu halten."
Katja schüttelt lachend den Kopf. "Man kann über Dich sagen, was man will, aber Du bist eine richtig ordinäre
Schlampe." "Danke, ebenso. Was wolltest Du mir jetzt vorhin für 'ne Geschichte ezählen?"
"Wenn Du Deinen Nachbarn noch vögeln willst, hat sich das eh erledigt." "Ne, der ist noch was jung. Dem geb' ich
noch zwei Jahre, bevor ich mir den gönne."
Ich sitze nur da und schüttle den Kopf.
"Also, Du kennst doch Christian... einer von Markus Freunden... die beiden sitzen fast immer zusammen." "Ja... ja, ich
glaub', ich weiß wen Du meinst." "Der kommt um drei hier vorbei und das Problem ist, außer Dir kann er keine von uns
leiden, ist aber in Dich verknallt."
"Hm, der Junge hat Geschmack... und ist süß... wann soll ich da sein?" "Halb drei in der Steinstraße 10."
"Alles klar. Bis dann. Tschö." "Tschö." Katja legt das Telefon zur Seite.
Wir duschen zusammen, ziehen uns wieder an und hören noch etwas Musik, als auch schon Isabell kommt.
"Was muß ich sehen? Ihr seid ja angezogen. Das kann doch wohl nicht wahr sein?"
Dann komme ich auch zu Wort.
"Schön das Du da bist. Freut mich wahnsinnig. Aber ich bin hier für die Witzchen zuständig."
"Na los. Erzähl. Was hat sie mit Dir gemacht?" "Nichts was Du nicht auch schon gemacht hast, wenn ich das
Telefongespräch richtig interpretiere."
"Du hast es gehört? Und, hat es Dich angemacht?" "Nicht so sehr, wie die Jungs in Deiner Nachbarschaft." "Oh, da
hatte ich mich vertan. Das war nicht der Junge, sondern der Vater."
Es klingelt. "Ich mach' auf", sagt Isabell, "dann kriegt Christian den Schock seines Lebens... aber das mach' ich ja
auch wieder gut." Sie war ein richtiger Wirbelwind.
Sie geht zur Tür. Wenig später steht Christian vor mir. Grinsend. "Was geht denn hier ab?"
Ich antworte: "Was fragst Du mich? Ich hab' hier nichts mehr zu sagen." "Hätt' ich zwei halbnackte Schönheiten in
meinem Haus, würde ich mich nicht beschweren."
"Halbnackt?", fällt mir Isabell ins Wort. "Sieht man etwa, dass ich keine Unnterwäsche trage."
Ich muß mich setzen.
"Die ist für Dich da", kläre ich Christian auf. "Zum...? Ne, glaub' ich nicht." Er grinst Isabell an.
Die nimmt seine Hand. "Komm wir gehen schon mal hoch."
Da haben sich zwei gefunden.
Katja und ich knutschen rum. Ich streichle über ihren Rücken und weiter runter über ihren Po. Sie massiert mein Glied
durch meine Hose.
Wir hören Isabell oben laut aufstöhnen.
"Komm, wir schauen mal, was die machen." Katja zieht mich mit sich.
"Woher weiß die überhaupt, wo mein Zimmer ist?" "Ach, glaub' mir, die findet jedes Bett, in jedem Zimmer, in jedem
Haus."
Katja öffnet die Tür. Isabell liegt nackt auf meinem Bett. Ihre Beine hat sie weit gespreizt und Christians Kopf steckt
zwischen ihren Schenkeln.
Isabell hat ihre Augen geschlossen, mit ihren Händen massiert sie ihren wirklich riesigen Busen. Ihre Nippel sind hart
und sie stöhnt in Ekstase.
Ich stelle mich hinter Katja und streichle ihre Brüste, meine Zunge fährt ihren Nacken entlang. Ich möchte ihr das Top
ausziehen, willig nimmt sie ihre Arme hoch, hilft mir so. Dann zieh' ich ihr den Rock herunter.
"Ich möchte das auch bei Dir machen, was Christian da mit Deiner Freundin macht."
Katja nickt, sie wendet ihren Blick nicht von den beiden ab. Ich knie mich vor sie, habe ihr wundervolles Lustzentrum
direkt vor meinen Augen.
Mit meiner Zunge fahre ich ihre Spalte auf und ab. Vorsichtig, mit ein wenig Druck, presse ich meine Zunge zwischen
ihren beiden Lippen durch. Mit meinen Fingern ziehe ich sie weiter auseinander.
Oben finde ich ihre Klitoris und als ich meine Zungenspitze dorthin führe, spüre ich Katjas Feuchtigkeit und höre sie
stöhnen.
Ich schaue zu ihr hoch. Sie hat die Augen geschlossen und den Kopf nach hinten geworfen.
"Ah, das ist phantastisch... ja... weiter... jaahh."
Katjas Orgasmus überflutet meine Zunge mit ihrem Liebessaft. Es schmeckt herrlich. Ich versuche soviel davon zu
bekommen, wie möglich.
Anschließend setzen wir uns für eine kurze Pause auf die Couch.
Isabell und Christian haben inzwischen die Positionen gewechselt. Sie verwöhnt nun sein Glied, wie es Katja heute
morgen noch mit meinem gemacht hatte. Auch Christian genießt es offensichtlich sehr, will aber nicht in Isabells
Mund kommen.
"Warte, ich bin gleich soweit."
Er zieht seinen Penis aus ihrem Mund und spritzt sein Sperma über ihre Brüste. Gierig leckt Isabell mit der Zunge über
ihren Busen.
Bei diesem Anblick schießt das Blut zurück in meine Lenden. Katja nimmt meine Erektion in die Hand und bewegt sie
auf und ab.
Wir stehen auf und Katja stellt sich vors Bett. Sie beugt sich nach vorne, stützt sich am Rahmen ab. Ich stelle mich
hinter sie und dringe in sie ein.
Ich ziehe mein Glied wieder ganz aus ihr heraus um diesmal sehr kräftig zuzustoßen. Katja schreit laut auf vor Lust und
Erregung.
Ich beginne, meine Hüften rhytmisch vor und zurück zu bewegen. Eine Hand habe ich auf ihrem Po, mit der anderen
umfasse ich ihren Busen.
Inzwischen sind auch Isabell und Christian wieder soweit. Isabell stellt sich neben Katja und Christian beginnt sich
genauso um Isabell zu kümmern, wie ich mich um Katja.
Mein Rhythmus wird schneller. Der Anblick, wie mein bester Freund dieses Mädchen liebt, macht mich unheimlich
scharf.
Ich spüre, dass ich unmittelbar auf meinen Orgasmus zusteuere und auch Katja ist gleich soweit.
Unser Stöhnen wird immer lauter und heftiger und mit einem letzten, kräftigen Stoß erlöse ich uns.
Isabell und Christian kommen kurz nach uns zu ihren Höhepunkten und sind dabei auch nicht gerade leise.
Seither sind Katja und ich ein Paar. Wir sind unheimlich verliebt und treiben es immer und überall miteinander: Im Kino,
in der Umkleidekabine des Kaufhauses, im Auto oder auf der Schultoilette während des Abiballs (wir haben beide
bestanden). Isabell und Christian sind nicht zusammen, treffen sich aber regelmäßig um miteinander Spaß zu haben.
I'm an average guy. Nothing special about the way I look or talk or live. I've never been one of those unique individuals that just seem to have all the world's self-confidence and a special sense of destiny. But I never felt the envy for that either. I never even felt like I was missing out, you know what I mean? Things as they are, heck, that was good enough for me. I never even thought about how things could be somehow different. Well, I'm sure you know what it's like among the average. We don't make things happen so much as we just go along with what's already happening. We shyly somehow get connected with an average girl or woman and have an average relationship that shuffles along in nervous fits and starts and backsteps and retreats. It doesn't reach those weird heights of passion or sink down into some dramatic outburst either. It just doesn't stop altogether and eventually you and the woman settle into a kind of living together that isn't too painful or disruptive and there you are.
The signs of affection or tolerance, well, maybe they congeal into love. After awhile, habituation takes over, I suppose, and you find the expectations--low as they may actually be--give you a feeling of stability and coziness. Somebody who deals in that kind of thing might call it the warm feeling of being cared for, but no one could misinterpret it as passion or hunger. It's comfort. And the average guy thinks comfort is pretty good when faced with what seems to be an endlessly streaming life outside the relationship. He shudders meekly at the thought of singles bars and social gatherings where the people swim around like circling fish in a huge directionless school, knowing eventually they will probably mate and die without ever once going off on their own watery path or feeling the surge of the wave as an independent spirit, alone and brave and noble. Or just different.
Different is appalling to the average, you know. It's frightening and confusing. To be on your own, solitary, with no guidebook or manual to lead the way and no well-worn rut that shows you exactly where you ought to go and what you ought to do and how you ought to react; that's a scary proposition in life. And even more so when the facet of life called sex comes into it.
Now today, here, now, sex is something really different. I mean, a guy used to know that the way to be was to somehow get a date with a woman that tolerates him, and just keep pushing, pushing, pushing for more intimacies until she finally let him touch her boobs and let his hand fumble under her dress. And then, at last, sometime, they'd wind up fucking and there you'd be. You had a relationship that either wound up in marriage or was just a one-night stand that took months to achieve. That was then, of course. In the old simple days. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I'm an average guy in an average relationship that's comfortable and suddenly I'm not. That was what happened to me. Somehow the average got skewed around and the average woman suddenly decided the world was passing her by on a whole other frequency and the most important thing in the world to her suddenly became to free her womanly self and release her pent up emotions and thoughts with the only person who could understand them. And it wasn't me, of course. It was another woman. A woman who wasn't at all like me, but wore flannel shirts and tight jeans and talked roughly and who had an obsession of her own which was to live in a Thoreau-inspired wilderness house in the north woods. And my average woman left me for that.
It wasn't, she explained to me, that she'd shed her fears of the different but more that she wanted to embrace them, to come to know them. Like the still-frightened child who turns out the nightlight and lays there shivering in the dark but determined that if the monsters in the darkness are real, she will be eaten and have done with it. And so she packed up herself and went.
For awhile it felt as if I had lived with someone who one day contracted a horrible disease, totally contagious, and that while I was at work, health authorities had come to the house and removed all traces to protect the community from infection. Half of my average life had vanished and yet I couldn't quite see the difference if you know what I mean. The averageness just kind of slopped over to fill the voids except for odd moments when I'd catch myself still buying groceries for two people or turn to say something to the no one who was there. But, at the same time, the different, too, had sheared into my existence. More and more I started noticing differentnesses. Not absences exactly, but just something that was alien and strange and unexpected.
I don't know that anyone's ever completely aware when an obsession begins. Psychologists may claim they can trace it back to some episode in youth, however slight it may seem at the time. Psychiatrists probe and take notes, but I think they're just groping for an answer. A reasoning and analytical man always tries to understand by discovering a source then proceeds to plot the course of the dynamic. My obsession, I suppose, had its source in the night that I first saw her. It was like something out of a novel. Not average at all, you see. It was that differentness coming around again and poking at me, prodding my averageness and twisting it out of the usual, tightly-wound state.
When I first saw her that night...how can I really describe it? I'd been to a laundromat near my apartment and, as I stepped out, laden down with a basket of fresh-smelling but slightly damp clothes, I turned to look up the street. A pale fog was cresting the street lamps and at the end of the block a woman stood. A nimbus, if that's what they're called, of fog and dim light hovered like a miniature cloud around her face and hair. I'd never really seen a woman like that before. Or had never been aware of seeing one that way. Not in real life.
She was dressed, too, I could see, not in the usual way of women these days. Not overly casual in jeans and top, or in a pair of sweats, either. Not in the slutty wanna-be star costume, but...in a sharply-angled suit that reminded me of--I don't know--a woman from another time. The Forties, maybe. That was it. She looked like the kind of woman who would walk into the office of some film noir private eye and confess something. Or step into a Bette Davis mansion room and light up a cigarette before gliding up the stairs for another bumpy night.
It's that kind of differentness, you see, that hurtles an average guy completely out of sync. I stood there kind of stunned as silly as it sounds for a grown man. From out of nowhere suddenly my mind was reeling with scary images of this woman and I fucking. Scary because my mental image of myself seemed to be ecstatic: face contorted, heart straining, lungs pumping furiously, and cock thrusting crazily deep into her as her hips churned above me. And scary, too, because the woman--her face still blurred--seemed to be just as ecstatic in the throes of pre-climax. And I guess that's where the obsession began. Not with the woman, you see, but my image of her with me. Of me with her. It felt so odd, like when you're in a darkened room and you know there's a mirror there and you keep moving your face closer and closer in the blackness waiting for your reflection to emerge in the glass. Your eyes are open and you know the mirror is there, and yet...when you do finally see your face, it's startling for an instant. As if the face isn't yours but someone else. Someone that's you but a different you you've never seen before. That's how it was.
Despite my fears, I quickly put my basket of clothes in my car and re-locked the door and I walked toward the woman. I don't know if she'd seen me, but she started walking away, around the corner. Crazy as it was, I followed her. And as I walked faster, the images in my mind flickered faster, too. With every footstep in her wake, I saw--I felt--my cock thrusting into her. It was a madness, maybe. This must be, I tried to tell myself, what a stalker feels like, what an out-of-control psycho feels like. I willed myself to stop, to turn around, to return to my car and back to my average life. I willed myself to do that and yet still I kept walking. And I keep imagining that raw, quivering passionate fuck happening in my mind. And it all grew weirder because as I followed, the woman looked over her shoulder at me. Not fearfully, but with a smile. Not just a pleasant smile, but a wicked smile, a seductive smile, a smile that said without words "I know you're there. I know you're following me. I want you to. Come with me. It's okay. It's more than okay. I want you to. I know you're imagining fucking me. I want you to."
So I walked on. I lost track of how far I walked. The fog grew thicker and the night dimmer. She walked and looked over her shoulder, smiling, and I followed. I tried to stop, really I did. I knew it was crazy. I knew it was probably wrong and stupid, but...I couldn't not follow her. And then--with a shock, really--I saw her standing at the door of my apartment building. And she unlocked the door and kept walking. I followed her in. She walked right up to my apartment door and you can well imagine my mind was reeling and floundering for comprehension. And she unlocked my own door and stepped inside and closed the door.
With fingers shaking I tried to open the door but it was locked and I fumbled out my key and unlocked it. How? What? What the hell? my mind was screaming as I saw her walk down the hallway to my bedroom and then pass inside. And I was running now. The bedroom was darkened, just the small bedside lamp lit. My eyes darted around the room, searching for the mysterious woman, my obsession, but I couldn't see her anywhere. Was she hiding in the shadows? Was this some kind of weird game? But in my mind, you see, in there, the images kept roiling. Her hips, her swaying breasts, the beads of sweat glittering between them and sliding down her belly until they seemed to sizzle as they dripped onto her cunt and my cock as we plunged against each other, relentlessly.
So I just staggered to the bed and fell on it, turning as I fell. My eyes still scanned the room as my fingers tore at my belt and zipper and shoved my pants down, at last freeing the rigid cock and then I lay back. Without thinking my hand reached out and shut off the lamplight. And it was maybe then--probably then--that I knew the differentness had really happened, was happening. And in that darkness, if there were monsters they would eat me and be done with it.
"We have a prop for you today, Johnny," purred the avant-garde
lesbian-feminist art instructor I thought of as Ms. Muff. I hated the way she
used the royal "we," and I hated her version of my French-Canadian name,
Jean.
There's something about being naked in a roomful of fully-dressed people
that makes it hard for me to assert myself. In fact, trying not to get hard
usually took up most of my energy. I stood quietly, forcing my arms to stay at
my sides, while Ms. Muff strutted around me in her black jeans, tossing her
sun-bleached hair and looking amused. She probably fantasized about cutting
me up and serving choice bits as hors d'oeuvres at the next lesbian brunch or
gallery opening.
"Face the ladder," she ordered, "then hold onto the rung at your chin-level. Can you hold that pose without moving for
thirty minutes?"
Even with the eyes of twenty-five students, mostly women over thirty, on my boyish derriere, I had my pride. I couldn't
refuse the challenge. "Sure," I answered loudly enough for my audience to hear.
As I settled into my pose, I could almost hear the silent laughter of the mid-life dyke set as they studied my chestnut hair,
the long muscles in my back, my firm ass and my hairy legs. I was a young male specimen to them. On their Amazon
planet, I would be lucky to be kept alive for stud service.
I could see the clock with its slowly-moving second hand. Ten minutes into my pose, I was feeling the pull in my
shoulders. Then I felt something else: a steady look like a hand squeezing each of my asscheeks.
I looked around as far as I could, listening tot he sound of charcoal pencils on newsprint. Terrance was sketching my
body with long, strong strokes, glancing up from time to time. Catching my eyes, he gave me a warning look: don't move,
boy.
His attention made me shiver. I wanted to stay in position for him, but my arms were aching and my back was in knots. I
had only served half my sentence, and I already felt crucified. Obviously my summer job at Burger on the Run hadn't
turned me into an Olympic athlete.
I tried to take my mind off the strain on my arms by thinking about Terrance: his solid build, his hawk nose and
crystal-blue eyes, his neat wood-brown beard, his long, experienced, nicotine-stained fingers. He looked like an old man
to me. I had never thought of myself as a daddy's boy, but I had never met a daddy like him before.
I had ten minutes to go. Hanging onto the ladder for dear life, I could feel my whole body sagging lower. I wanted my
watchers, including all the women, to know how much I was giving for their art. I am Man, hear me grunt.
I didn't want Terrance to think I was a wuss, a sissy-boy who was not up to his standards. I thought he needed to find a
David to inspire him to the achievements of Michelangelo.
"Time's up, Johnny," soothed Ms. Muff as she touched my shoulder. I uncurled my fingers, then slowly moved my
burning arms away from the ladder. I told myself I was a professional model and should act like it.
I straightened up. My buns still tingled as though every hand in the class, from the softest to the hardest, had had a feel. I
could see some of the women looking confused and looking away, as though I had turned back into a human being as
soon as the witch in charge had released me from her spell.
I pulled my robe over my shoulders as casually as I could. I strolled from one easel to the next to see how the students
had drawn me. I knew this embarrassed them, and I thought it was only fair.
I came to Terrance's sketch last, and he made no effort to hide it from me. When I looked at his image of me, I felt as
shaken as a rat in the jaws of a terrier.
The picture was amazingly precise and detailed. It showed a strained and stretched body pushing its gluteus maximus
toward the viewer as though begging for attention. The thighs beneath looked like patient Greek pillars, and their straight
lines pointed to the ass which served as a focal point, a magnet for the viewer's eyes. Its two globes looked like ripe
peaches drawn by an Old Master with a talent for shading. The mysterious darkness beneath the crack suggested unseen
treasures.
I knew then what Terrance wanted from me. My willie was rising, and I tried to cover it with my robe. Before I could tie
the sash, Terrance grabbed my hand possessively. "Put your clothes on," he told me, "then we'll go for coffee." He made
"coffee" sound like a code word for something too delicious to be named in public. Terrance studied the front of my robe
and patted my butt. He didn't seem to care who saw us, but I suspected that his touch would have been more demanding
without a female audience.
I could smell my own sweat when I left the room, wondering if I really heard muffled giggles. In the men's can, I pulled
on my shirt and jeans as quickly as possible.
Most of the women had gone when I walked back into the studio, but I noticed Ms. Muff running a hand through her hair
as she talked to Terrance. Hot resentment burned in my stomach, confusing me. I wanted to slap the gamey smile off her
face, even though I didn't really think he wanted to be her pet.
Terrance glanced at me. "See you tomorrow," he tossed at her over his shoulder, grabbing mine. He seemed to be treating
Ms. Muff as a younger woman, not necessarily an expert in anything, and I was ridiculously relieved. His grip on me
wasn't gentle, but it soothed my soul.
We walked silently to the parking lot, where he let me into the front passenger's seat of his car. The man who now felt like
a date drove smoothly to his apartment building, parked, and guided me with a hot hand on my back to the elevator that
took us to the twelfth floor.
A picture window in Terrance's front room showed a bright blue sky over miles of city and the vast prairie beyond. I felt
as if the whole world was speeding past my eyes as the Man pushed me to the sofa. "Face down, boy," he growled, his
teeth against my neck.
"Terrance," I answered, wanting him to know I would give him whatever he wanted.
"Take them off," he ordered, pulling my shirt out of my pants. I pulled it over my head, hoping the muscles in my arms
showed to advantage in that gesture. I unzipped my jeans and began pulling them down, shimmying a little to ease their
way.
My host wasn't impressed by my flirting. He slapped my covered butt to stop me from moving. Then he yanked my pants
down to my knees and slapped me again on both bare cheeks. Echoes from his right hand ran down my legs, up my back
and into my groin. My shaft jumped smartly to attention.
"Ah," laughed my new Master, noticing my reaction. "He likes it. He'll get all he needs." Terrance continued slapping
each of my buns by turn until I realized that his slaps were meant to enforce his earlier command: lie down. I bent over to
pull my pant-legs off my feet as quickly as possible. This move exposed me to more of his stinging impatience.
My hot ass was starting to register pain when I threw myself onto his sofa and his mercy. I groaned as my swollen dick
met cool leather upholstery.
A pair of competent arms held my shoulders down. The manly chuckle that went with them sounded more threatening
than the bark of a sergeant-major. "You like to show off, boy," stated a powerful voice. It wasn't a question. "You show
me your ass, you take the consequences."
I wanted to make some gracious speech, offering him my basket as though it were a Van Gogh or at least a Tom of
Finland, but my position made it hard to talk. A finger coated in cold grease slid into my anus as though it belonged there.
I couldn't help wriggling as chills ran from my invaded hole to my neglected cock and up my spine.
I could feel more fingers joining their neighbor. They felt like snakes burrowing deeper into their new home as they
stroked the walls. I felt myself opening and spreading. "Whose ass is this, boy?" asked the voice of the man above me.
His sharp teeth suddenly nipped my ear, making me jump. My ass clutched his fingers, and he responded by digging
deeper. He was working up a slow fucking rhythm.
"Yours, Sir," I responded.
"Then don't shoot your wad until I give you permission," he warned me. Too late: a groan burst out of me as hot juice
spurted from my young, untamed dick. The evidence lay smeared on his leather sofa like Exhibit A for the prosecution.
Terrance's hand in my hair pulled my head up and turned me to face him. "I'm sorry, Sir," I mumbled. I felt like a failure
and I wished I could disappear.
"You have a lot to learn, Twink," he snarled, spitting in my face. "I bet you were always a Mama's boy, allowed to do
whatever the hell you pleased. Not in my home, Johnny. Here you shape up or you get out."
The possibility of being kicked out of Terrance's digs like a burglar or drunken party guest made me briefly think of
proving myself by throwing myself off the twelfth-floor balcony. Even that, I realized, would probably make me look
immature and out of control. Not to mention banged up.
I felt very naked when Terrance pulled me off the sofa by my damp hair. "What do you think you should get, greedy
slut?" he demanded. "What would teach you some self-control?"
To this day, I don't know what made me say what I said next. "Your belt, Sir," I begged humbly, even as I shivered in
dread.
He laughed and casually twisted one of my nipples between two fingers. He smiled sarcastically as I winced. "You think
you could take it, boy? You seem pretty thin-skinned. Well, someone has to toughen you up. Over my knee."
Terrance already had his belt coiled around one hand, and I didn't dare provoke his temper any more. I lay across his lap,
desperately hoping I could make good on this added chance to impress him. What I felt under my stomach seemed like a
good sign.
The first stroke made me yell. He gave me just enough time to gather my breath before the next one, and this time I was
able to turn down my volume. As he steadily set my ass on fire and sweat rolled off my forehead, I learned that I could
control my outward reactions. I was proud to know this.
I could feel tears prickling my eyes when he let me up, but I wasn't really crying. I was broken apart but calm, if that
makes sense. Terrance looked mellower than he had a few minutes before.
The Man studied me, and I remembered that he was the artist who had first seen me as a body on display. "You're
marked, Johnny," he told me, gently touching my sore skin. "You'll heal, but a photo will help remind you." I continued
standing as Terrance gracefully stroked his own thick, marble-veined shaft.
"You want to get fucked, Johnny?" he teased me. The sight of his solid tool combined with the heat in my butt made me
feel faint, but my new knowledge of my own endurance made me unwilling to refuse anything. Before I could answer, he
opened his mouth in a hearty laugh. "You'll get it, man, but not yet. Can you give good head?"
I kneeled before him and let him hold my head as I guided his hot rod between my lips. The taste and the feel of him felt
like a promise. As I worked him with my eager tongue, I heard him call me his "best boy."
I knew he would take my ass soon. That was guaranteed, and his ownership would be recorded in photos, sketches, and
probably even paintings and sculptures in due course. His vulnerable power in my mouth made me willing to wait. In the
meanwhile, I could feel my proud buns glowing like a neon sign.
yeah, man, best investment you'll ever make. i named mine Susie -- she is the first girlfriend who doesn't scream and cry when i grab her by the hair and rape her mouth!
the Internet is boring... i think i'm gonna go play a game of Ike & Tina Turner with my favorite silicone friend!
actually it's called "pain perdu", you anticosmopolitan bung-pounder. "pain grille francais" is toast, which happened to be toasted in France. get your goddamn facts straight or i will show you exactly where your hot-pink $22 USB scanner can go.
it has been 75 hours and i'm still not free to post!! FASHIST SLAHSDOT MODS FUK
Ever since he had seen his ex-wife that terrible last time, his performance
in bed had been less than spectacular. In fact, he often couldn't get hard
enough to embed his most important organ in even the most receptive of
cunts. His doctor had told him that his problem was psychological, and that
if he could ever completely put his ex-wife out of his mind, the problem
would most likely disappear.
He did have reason to hope that this would be one of his better nights. The
new girl that he had picked up at the clubhouse was very young and very
beautiful. He had taken her to a party, where they had fun dancing and
flirting with each other. Best of all, she seemed to be really horny
tonight, and she was doing her best to turn him on.
After the party, they had gone to her apartment for drinks. They were
sitting close together in the middle of her large couch. She suddenly put
her drink down and stood up, stretching her arms up high over her head and
thrusting her chest out. ! She was wearing a very short, body-hugging red
sheath dress. As she stood there with her arms stretched over her head, the
hem of her dress was pulled high up her thighs, so high that her panties
were nearly exposed to view. Her breasts were pushing out so hard that her
erect nipples were clearly visible, even through the lacy black bra that
she was wearing. Her long, shapely legs were covered, but not concealed, by
sheer black stokings.
"Ahhhh!" she sighed. "That's nice. I really had fun at the party. But it's
good to be home, where we can really relax and enjoy each other's company."
She held her pose for several seconds, then reached down and picked up a
remote. "I think I'll put on some soft dance music. Okay ?"
His face revealed his displeasure at her suggestion. With sudden unexpected
anger in his voice, he replied "What's the point? We already did that! I'm
not about to dance any more!"
"Oh! I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't suggesting that you should dance any
more with me. You just sit there and relax. And make yourself comfortable.
I know you like your imported shoes, I like them too, but wouldn't you be
more comfortable if you slipped them off? (She had removed her own shoes as
soon as they had entered her apartment.) And you could slip off your coat
and tie. In fact . . . (the hint of a mischievous smile appeared at the
corners of her beautiful lips) there's no need to keep wearing ANYthing . .
! . really." She blushed briefly at the sheer naughtiness of her
suggestion. She was not usually as forward as this, but tonight she was
feeling especially sexually adventurous.
Her explanation seemed to calm him down, so she pushed a couple of buttons
on the remote and her CD player started softly playing some slow, sensual
dance music. She walked to the front of the CD player and leaned against
it. Then she closed her eyes, put her head back, and pulled a pin from her
hair. Her golden tresses tumbled past her shoulders to the middle of her
back. After a moment she sat down, facing him, on a large chair that was
beside the CD player. She pulled her knees up and rocked back in the chair,
thrusting her crotch out, and placed her heels on the front edge of the
chair cushion. He gasped as her movements pulled her dress up and exposed
her crotch to him. She was wearing black silk bikini panties and a matching
garter belt that was holding up her stockings. She smiled at him as he
openly stared up her dress. He licked his lips and imagined the sweetness
that was now concealed by so very little. She unfastened the clips holding
the tops of her stockings and ! slowly, slo-o-w-w-w-l-y, rolled the
stockings down her legs. She caressed her naked flesh with her hands as her
thighs and calves were uncovered. When both her legs were bare, she dropped
the stockings on the floor and stood up.
She was feeling the low, throbbing music deeply now, and she started to
sway gracefully back and forth to the beat. She danced slowly toward him
until she was dancing back and forth right in front of the couch. She
danced sensually for several minutes, her movements becoming more and more
exaggerated. Her dress clung tantalizingly to her body, showing off her
perfect curves, and she moved her hands up and down, caressing herself
through her red dress. She moved her hands to her breasts and squeezed
them, then moaned from the pleasure that it gave her.
Her dance was having the intended effect on them both. Whenever she brushed
a hand over one of her erect nipples, it felt like little electric sparks
shot through the whole breast. Her cunt was making so much juice the crotch
of her panties was barely able to hold it all. And her dance had his cock
as hard as it had ever recently been. He was almost panting as he watched
her dance and caress herself. He especially watched the hem of her dress as
her movements pulled it higher and higher up her legs. He wanted to catch
the exact moment that her panties would be revealed to his stare again.
Suddenly, she stopped dancing. She leaned slightly forward, toward him,
pulled her dress up in the back, and reached under it. She quickly slid her
panties down her legs and pulled them off.
"Oh, my goddd!" he groaned when her panties hit the floor and he detected
the faint, sweet odor of her excitement. He started to unbutton his shirt,
but she put her hand over his and shook her head *no*! , so he stopped.
They were both nearly panting as she resumed her dancing and he resumed his
staring. The music was getting faster now, and so was her dancing.
Gradually, keeping with the music, her movements became frantic. Her long,
blonde hair was flying and her dress was pulled high. He could see the
gentle curves where her legs met her ass cheeks, and the blonde curls that
framed her cunt. "OH, MYYY GODDDD!" he groaned again, louder.
The music suddenly reached an intense climax and then stopped completely.
She dropped to one knee when the music stopped, and bowed her head
slightly. She was panting for breath now, trying to recover from her
exertion. After a few moments of rest, she stood up and looked at him with
lust-filled eyes. She slipped the thin straps of her dress off her
shoulders. It was too tight to fall on its own, but with a couple of gentle
tugs on each side, it slipped down her body and fell to the floor. He
gasped and swallowed hard as her incredible body was fully revealed to him.
She was now wearing only a thin, lacy black bra and her black silk garter
belt. Her full breasts and beckoning nipples seemed to be begging for his
hands and mouth to engulf them. Farther down, her slender waist and firm
belly gave way to beautifully rounded hips, and to a high, firm ass. For a
moment, he truly realized how very lucky he was, that she had chosen to
take him to her apartment for sex.
She took his! hands in hers and indicated that he should stand. She slowly
unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it wide open. Since in his youth he had
been a professional athlete, she was a little surprised to see that, like
so many men his age, he had "love handles" and a middle age paunch. But it
didn't bother her. In fact, she might have been a little relieved that he
wasn't the "male god" that he had sometimes been made out to be. She
pressed her hot, wet tongue against his chest. She licked slowly down to
his navel, and then back up to the base of his neck. He moaned when she
sucked one of his dark nipples into her mouth. Then she peeled the shirt
from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Meeting his lust-filled
gaze with her own, she unfastened his belt and let his pants drop. He
trembled and moaned softly when she pressed her hand over his dick and
balls.
She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his briefs and slowly pulled
them off. For a few moments, with him wearing only his socks and with her
wearing only her bra and garter belt, they simply looked at each other. An
observer would have been struck by the contrasts between them. She, with
her pale skin and youthful beauty, her cunt pouring out sweet honey in
anticipation of passionate, exuberant sex. He, with his dark skin and
middle age sags, his cock seemingly little more than half hard, just hoping
that he would be able to take advantage of this young woman's willingness
to let him fuck her.
"Let's go to bed," he whispered hopefully.
"No, honey," she replied as she removed her bra and garter. "Let's just use
the couch instead."
He shuddered as a haunting memory of his ex-wife suddenly filled his mind.
She smiled, thinking that his shudder was just a sign of his passion. She
lay down onto the couch on her back, then she took his hands and pulled him
over her. She put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled his face
down to her left tit.
He started to lick her left nipple. She was a little surprised, and more
than a little disappointed, by the way he was doing it. All of the men that
she had fucked before had devoured both of her succulent titties with
considerable enthusiasm. They had licked, and slurped, and sucked, until it
had them both writhing against each other in pleasure. But he wasn't doing
it that way. He didn't seem to be enthusiastic about it at all. He licked
and sucked a little, but his actions seemed to be purely mechanical, almost
cold. It was in sharp contrast to his seeming excitement while he watched
her dance. She started to rapidly lose her own sexual heat, and to think
that maybe it had just been a mistake to bring him to her apartment. She
decided that maybe it would just be best to let him finish as soon as
possible and write it off as one of those disappointing nights.
She reached down between their bodies and grasped his sort-of-stiff dick.
"Too bad," she thought sadly. "Even his cock doesn't match the myth. He's
even smaller than most of the white cocks I've seen." She guided the head
of his cock to her rapidly drying pussy. He pressed his hips forward and
his dick slid almost unnoticed into her. She barely felt it. His eyes were
closed and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. He didn't seem to
notice at all that she had lost her enthusiasm for this. He began to pump
his hips back and forth, and for a few moments his cock slid in and out, in
and out. Soon, he clenched his teeth and cam. Well, sort of cam. He didn't
really shoot anything. It just sort of leaked out.
After he was finished, he lowered the full weight of his body onto her.
Still keeping his eyes tightly closed, he whispered "Oh, Nicole . . .
Nicole. I knew that finally you'd fuck me again."
She kissed his cheek and hugged him gently, then whispered back "Sorry,
honey! I'm not Nicole. But I hope I'll do."
He jerked upright, sitting across her waist. He was suddenly filled with
anger. "Smart assed slut!" he screamed. "Damn right you're not Nicole!"
Then he slapped her hard. He started to beat her savagely, alternately
slapping and punching. She was totally unprepared for his sudden, merciless
attack. At first, she couldn't even try to defend herself. But after the
first few blows had already landed, she raised her arms and tried to shield
her face from his blows. It did no good. He simply punched through her
defenses, or punched lower, landing a very hard blow to her throat. He even
punched hard onto her left breast. Her whole face was red and swelling
rapidly. Her left eye was blood red, and the skin around it was turning a
deep purple. Then he slapped her left cheek again, and his ring cut a deep
gash into her flesh. Her blood spurted out across her chest and onto the
couch.
He stopped beating her for a moment when he saw her blood. But he was still
sitting on top of her and glaring down angrily at her. She was stunned by
his sudden, violent attack. Too stunned to even cry. In a dry, emotionless
whisper, she said "Oh, my god . . . you really did it . . . Her poor
children." That set him off again. He slapped her and punched her
repeatedly. "Why . . . why?" she groaned between his blows.
He didn't offer an answer. Maybe he didn't really know why himself. His
first slap was almost just a savage reflex to his anger when she innocently
admitted that she was not his ex-wife. But he was beating her now just
because he liked doing it. He enjoyed the feel of his fist smashing hard
against the soft skin on a woman's face. He enjoyed hearing the *smack* and
the *crunch* as his blows landed. Most of all, he enjoyed hearing the
painful groans of the women he beat. And, whenever he beat any woman, he
always hoped that there would be blood.
Her upper lip wa! s suddenly split wide open and her blood spurted out
again. The sight of more of her blood made him stop beating her again. She
was quietly sobbing now and pleading with him not to kill her too.
He finally spoke. "Listen, bitch," he said in a low, menacing voice. "You
chose to bring me here and fuck me. I didn't make you do that, you did it
on your own. But now that you've done it, I fucking OWN you." He actually
snarled to emphasize his point. He continued in an emotionless, but
absolutely commanding tone of voice. "You will always make yourself
available to me. You will keep yourself fit and attractive for me. You will
wear clothes, and use makeup, only as I tell you to." She couldn't believe
what he was saying. But she didn't dare to object to anything he said. "You
will fuck me whenever, and wherever, I say. The only other men that you
will fuck are the ones that I tell you to fuck." He paused for a moment,
and then said "I'll explain the rest of it to you later. You know, of
course, that you won't be able to get any help from the L.A.P.D. They
learned enough from the first time to just leave me alone now."
He stood and looked down at her. "I'm going to clean up and go out for a
while. After I've gone, you clean yourself up and get yourself ready for my
return. And get rid of this fucking couch before I come back." He started
to walk away, but then turned back for a moment. Blood still flowed from
both her cheek and her lip, and both her eyes were swollen nearly shut.
"Think you're bleeding now, bitch?" he asked cruelly. "I could tell you
about some real bleeding . . . " Then he turned away and went into her
bathroom.
As she heard him washing and dressing himself, she sobbed bitterly. She
thought "What have I done to deserve this? How the fuck did I get myself
into this mess, anyway? What about some justice for me . . . and for poor
Nicole?" Even though clotting had started to slow the flow of blood, it
still oozed from the wounds on her cheek and lip. Her swollen face hurt
like hell, and she could barely see. How the shit was she supposed to get
ready for more of this? Then she heard the door close as he left. And she
was glad.
Slashdot Mirror
eat a rack of dicks
It was a cold, damp night when I first set out walking to the grocery store to buy some dog food. I had run out, and
..."So where the fuck is the dog
I have come to learn that you can't always count on your husband to remember to stop at the store on the way
home. After a little tiff between Tony and I, I said that I would go myself.
We lived in the city...an extremely populated area with traffic (both pedestrian and automotive) all hours of the day. I
was fuming mad...and when you get that upset, you tend to not pay attention to your surroundings as much as you
should.
I turned the corner onto 5th street, and so oblivious that I didn't notice there was a group of men standing right
outside of the grocery store at first. I brushed past them...heard one of them comment on the size of my extremely
large tits, but I thought nothing of it. After all, when you are blessed with size 44F tits, a 26" waist, a nice, firm ass,
and long flowing blonde hair, you tend to get a lot of attention.
About 10 minutes later, I exited the store with my purchases. As a peace offering, I bought Tony a cheesecake for
dessert... he just LOVED that, and to make up for the fact that I had flown off the handle, I planned on making
passionate love to him when I got home. Just the mere thought of it soaked my silk panties. He was soooooo hot.
Tony, a former hockey player, had a butt you could bounce a quarter off of. I loved to see him naked. I wanted to lick
him all over.... I could hardly wait.
I was sooooo into my intentions for the rest of the evening, I never noticed the group of men from the grocery
store following me.
From behind, I was grabbed and pulled into a dark alley, and knocked unconcious. When I awoke shortly thereafter, I
had been gagged, stripped of my clothes, and tied spread-eagle to a makeshift bed in what appeared to be an old,
abandoned apartment building. I was surrounded by my Captors, so afraid that I wanted to cry. Would Tony even
notice how long I had been gone?? Did anyone see me get jumped? WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT??
They were gawking at my nakedness... breasts so firm, my box shaved down to a little blonde 1" strip right above
my slit. The slit itself was hairless... and these men found that totally arousing. One of my captors held my soaked silk
panties up to his face, and sniffed them intensely. "Man, if your pussy tastes as good as it smells, we are going to
have a GREAT FUCKIN TIME together...". He leaned onto the bed, his face 1 inch away from my tender slit, darted
his tongue in and out, tagging my clit once or twice, and said... "Baby, you taste so sweet.... I'm gonna call you
Honey!!!"
"Honey, would you like me to eat your tender pussy?" one asked. "Honey, I'm gonna fuck you raw." said another.
"Honey, I am going to fuck you so good, you forget where you live." "Wanna taste my hot load, honey??" My eyes
started to tear. Yet... I found, amidst my sadness that I was about to be violated... a strange arousal come over me.
My nipples were standing at FULL ATTENTION!!! This did not go unnoticed.
One of the men leaned over me, placed his lips and tongue on my left nipple, and started sucking on it with intensity.
My nipples are easily the most sensitive spot on my body, and I felt my juices start to flow. Another man placed his
lips on my right nipple, sucking and licking it. I had two men sucking on me!!! I really started to get wet.
The third man, the one that had invaded my hot pussy with his tongue earlier, leaned down between my legs and
started slipping his tongue in and out of my wet slit. I started to gyrate my hips with pleasure... after all, I couldn't
help myself... I wanted to grind my hot cunt into his face. I wanted to feel him suck on my clit. I wanted to
scream..."Don't TEASE ME YOU FUCK!! Suck THAT CLIT!!" but the gag in my mouth made that impossible. How is
it possible that these men were gang banging me, yet I was enjoying it?
I felt myself on the brink of an orgasm. The pressure was building, and I was about to explode. I wanted to cum all
over his face...wanted him to feel how good he was making me feel! I grabbed on to the leather straps that secured
me to the bed and started thrashing with one of the most violent orgasms I had ever had!!!
Immediately following my explosion, the man sucking my left tit moved down between my legs and tasted my juices.
He then unzipped his fly, exposing his huge, throbbing rock-hard cock. He said... "Honey, I am gonna fuck you
hard, like the dirty bitch that you are!!!" then slid his hard cock into my tight pussy. The man who had just eaten me
was sitting by the side of the bed with his hard cock in his hand, stroking it with every thrust his partner made. As
his big cock ravaged my canal, I felt myself come to the brink of another orgasm. This man was pounding the hell out
of my pussy, calling me things like "bitch", "cunt", and "dirty little whore", yet I was about to cum for him! He reached
forward, grabbed a hold of one of my tits, and gave it a squeeze. He asked "Your tits are so perfect, whore, that I
want to give you a present... a pearl necklace. Would you like a pearl necklace, you skanky bitch?" Aroused by his
words, I nodded yes. He withdrew his large cock, leaned up over my tits, and shot a load of cum between them. The
man who was next to me stroking himself leaned over and whispered... "You want my present inside you, don't you,
you dirty cunt..." and he came around to my pussy and slid his cock in. "CUM WITH ME, BITCH!!!" He fucked me
with such vigor, one of the straps around my ankle let go. He grabbed my leg, lifted it high in the air, and proceeded
to fuck me harder. I found myself eager to cum with him... I wanted to feel our explosions. I let go. He let go. We
came with reckless abandon. The third man, who had remained relatively quiet throughout this whole ordeal, leaned
over and whispered... "I want to fuck your ass... I'm going to fuck your ass." I pleaded with my eyes for him not to...
my ass was virgin. Tony wanted it, but never took it, because I was uncomfortable. Yet, he flipped me over,
moistened his cock with my pussy juices, and stuffed his cock into my ass. I started to cry, it hurt so bad. He loved
it... was only in there for about 30 seconds before he blew his load right into my ass.
When they were done with me, they sat me up, threw my clothes at me, allowed me to put on my tattered and torn
clothes. They then pushed me out into the middle of the alley. It took me a few minutes to get my bearings, and when
I did, I started towards home.
When I got home, my clothes were all tattered, hair was knotted, had bruising from the restraints. Tony was on the
couch, and instead of asking me if I was alright... or where I had been, only asked
food?"
HTTP/1.1 200 OK Date: Wed, 06 Mar 2002 03:47:14 GMT Server: Apache/1.3.20 (Unix) mod_perl/1.25 mod_gzip/1.3.19.1a X-Powered-By: Slash 2.003000 Connection: close Content-Type: text/html;
charset=iso-8859-1
perhaps the reason the slashdot servers bite cock is that Taco has hired Brandeis College jews to admin them
problem is, they fixed a lot of fvwm bugs in fvwm2, so fvwm1 still crashes occasionally for me.
the fastest useful windowmanager i can think of is "tvtwm", which is basically twm with virtual screens. window management can't really get much better.
and the trolls are the greatest minds left on this piece of shit blog
early post turdbusters
how are you fine trolls doing tonight?
he has a pair!
if your darky mind is too feeble to comprehend RPN, then you have no business performing scientific calculations and are better suited to, say, picking cotton all day for water and pork scrap.
HP-48 cradle to the motherfucking grave, niggaaaaa
by the power of Greyskull..... i have the POWER
1) Color your GHB blue
One of the more common causes of GHB problems is people who accidentally take a swallow of GHB, believing it to be water. I know it sounds unlikely, but I assure you it's possible. Clear liquid in a drinking glass or bottle can easily be mistaken for water while something blue cannot. Adding a small amount of blue food coloring to liquid GHB turns it a nice shade of blue. Blue was chosen because it does not resemble juice, and green is already the color of absinthe...so blue could be an identifiable standard.
2) Keep your GHB in a container which can not be mistaken for a drinking container.
There are many good alternatives for containers to store GHB in. One of the better I've seen are dark brown medicine bottles like a cough syrup bottle. Something few people would take a large slug out of without thinking. Other good suggestions include a saline eye wash bottle, a vanilla extract bottle or other non-drinkable food flavoring bottles, or other opaque or tinted bottles.
3) Keep the concentration relatively low
If you insist on keeping your GHB in a bottle which people might accidentally drink out of, or if you'd just like to be on the safe side...keeping the concentration relatively low can help prevent the worst overdoses. Preferably a concentration where a single large swallow would not be more than 10 grams or so. This suggestion is obviously impractical in some situations where a larger volume is not feasible.
4) Write GHB on your hand
We've heard of too many situations where an individual passes out and those around them don't know what they took. Writing "GHB" or "G" on your hand is a simple way to inform others what you took, in the unfortunate case you're found unconscious. In low overdose situations it could save you a trip to the hospital. This is primarily for cases where people are doing GHB in public.
5) Tell your friends what substance you're doing and how much
A good suggestion with most entheogenic exploration. Informing those around you of what and how much you're planning to ingest, insufflate, or inject can help people decide what to do in emergency situations...as well as bringing peace of mind to your friends.
6) Talk about what to do if a GHB overdose occurs
Since it's a more frequent occurance that any of us would prefer...talking it through ahead of time can help those around you know what to do in case an overdose does happen.
1.Check their breathing.
2.Turn the individual on their side so if they vomit while unconscious they won't choke.
3.If there is reason to think they are in danger, call help immediately. The most dangerous period is between 20 and 120 minutes after ingestion.
4.Try to find out what else they may have taken.
Whenever someone becomes unconscious after taking a depressant, there is a risk of death. If someone begins vomiting and convulsing after taking GHB, the person should get medical attention immediately. If there is any question about someone's health, be safe. Do not be upset at others for calling doctors or amublances if you find yourself waking up in a hospital, your friends and community have a right (and often a legal obligation) to call for help if someone's health is in danger.
7) Measure carefully & don't mix with alcohol.
Though these two are pretty obvious, they shouldn't be left off the list. As always, measure your dosage carefully. The line between pleasant buzz and hospital visit isn't as wide as you might hope. And never mix GHB with alcohol or other depressants. It's just not worth the risk.
Tell your friends.
8) Make sure there are some hot bitches drinking GHB with you
We cannot stress this enough. If you are going to safely consume GHB, you must ensure that a steady supply of hot and horny babes comes your way. Be safe, and beware the "GHB goggles"; keep a sober friend handy to protect against your waking up next to an ugly ho.
i fully support drug trolls. well done.
weed and trolling is like chocolate and peanut butter.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWo
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWh
Das Telefon klingelt.
... 15 Uhr. ... Ja, bis gleich."
."
Es ist Christian, mein bester Freund, der auch mit mir zusammen Abi macht.
"Ne, heute ist wirklich nicht so gut. Morgen wäre wesentlich besser."
Katja mischt sich ein. "Sag' ihm, er kann ruhig vorbeikommen. Um 15 Uhr." Ich nicke.
"Heute geht doch.
Katja frage ich: "Und, was willst Du mit ihm machen.?"
Sie grinst mich an: "Ich nicht unbedingt, aber da wird sich schon was finden." "Tut mir leid, aber das glaube ich nicht.
Der kann eure Clique nämlich auf den Tod nicht ausstehen."
"Der kann gar keine von uns leiden?" "Ne, nur Isabell vielleicht. Über die hab' ich ihn noch nie lästern hören,
ansonsten sieht es mau aus."
"Isabell?" "Ja, das ist doch die große Blonde mit den großen... ziemlich großen... mächtig großen...
Katja grinst: "Augen? Mit den großen Augen? Ja, das ist Isa. Gib' mal bitte das Telefon."
Sie wählt.
"Hallo, Frau Gerber. Ich bin's Kati. Ist die Isa da?"
Ich schalte die Lautsprecherfunktionn ein.
"Hallo Kati. Wie geht's? Hat alles so geklappt, wie Du es Dir vorgestellt hast?" "Ja, hätte nicht besser laufen können.
Hör mal, willst Du nicht auch einem Jungen heute die vollkommene, sexuelle Zufriedenheit schenken?
"Mach' ich gerade schon. Ich lieg' im Bikini und sonne mich. Der Nachbarsjunge sitzt oben am Fenster und
beobachtet mich einhändig. Ich glaub' der ist schon dreimal zur Toilette gelaufen. Aber jetzt muß ich wohl mein
Oberteil ausziehen um ihn bei der Stange zu halten."
Katja schüttelt lachend den Kopf. "Man kann über Dich sagen, was man will, aber Du bist eine richtig ordinäre
Schlampe." "Danke, ebenso. Was wolltest Du mir jetzt vorhin für 'ne Geschichte ezählen?"
"Wenn Du Deinen Nachbarn noch vögeln willst, hat sich das eh erledigt." "Ne, der ist noch was jung. Dem geb' ich
noch zwei Jahre, bevor ich mir den gönne."
Ich sitze nur da und schüttle den Kopf.
"Also, Du kennst doch Christian... einer von Markus Freunden... die beiden sitzen fast immer zusammen." "Ja... ja, ich
glaub', ich weiß wen Du meinst." "Der kommt um drei hier vorbei und das Problem ist, außer Dir kann er keine von uns
leiden, ist aber in Dich verknallt."
"Hm, der Junge hat Geschmack... und ist süß... wann soll ich da sein?" "Halb drei in der Steinstraße 10."
"Alles klar. Bis dann. Tschö." "Tschö." Katja legt das Telefon zur Seite.
Wir duschen zusammen, ziehen uns wieder an und hören noch etwas Musik, als auch schon Isabell kommt.
"Was muß ich sehen? Ihr seid ja angezogen. Das kann doch wohl nicht wahr sein?"
Dann komme ich auch zu Wort.
"Schön das Du da bist. Freut mich wahnsinnig. Aber ich bin hier für die Witzchen zuständig."
"Na los. Erzähl. Was hat sie mit Dir gemacht?" "Nichts was Du nicht auch schon gemacht hast, wenn ich das
Telefongespräch richtig interpretiere."
"Du hast es gehört? Und, hat es Dich angemacht?" "Nicht so sehr, wie die Jungs in Deiner Nachbarschaft." "Oh, da
hatte ich mich vertan. Das war nicht der Junge, sondern der Vater."
Es klingelt. "Ich mach' auf", sagt Isabell, "dann kriegt Christian den Schock seines Lebens... aber das mach' ich ja
auch wieder gut." Sie war ein richtiger Wirbelwind.
Sie geht zur Tür. Wenig später steht Christian vor mir. Grinsend. "Was geht denn hier ab?"
Ich antworte: "Was fragst Du mich? Ich hab' hier nichts mehr zu sagen." "Hätt' ich zwei halbnackte Schönheiten in
meinem Haus, würde ich mich nicht beschweren."
"Halbnackt?", fällt mir Isabell ins Wort. "Sieht man etwa, dass ich keine Unnterwäsche trage."
Ich muß mich setzen.
"Die ist für Dich da", kläre ich Christian auf. "Zum...? Ne, glaub' ich nicht." Er grinst Isabell an.
Die nimmt seine Hand. "Komm wir gehen schon mal hoch."
Da haben sich zwei gefunden.
Katja und ich knutschen rum. Ich streichle über ihren Rücken und weiter runter über ihren Po. Sie massiert mein Glied
durch meine Hose.
Wir hören Isabell oben laut aufstöhnen.
"Komm, wir schauen mal, was die machen." Katja zieht mich mit sich.
"Woher weiß die überhaupt, wo mein Zimmer ist?" "Ach, glaub' mir, die findet jedes Bett, in jedem Zimmer, in jedem
Haus."
Katja öffnet die Tür. Isabell liegt nackt auf meinem Bett. Ihre Beine hat sie weit gespreizt und Christians Kopf steckt
zwischen ihren Schenkeln.
Isabell hat ihre Augen geschlossen, mit ihren Händen massiert sie ihren wirklich riesigen Busen. Ihre Nippel sind hart
und sie stöhnt in Ekstase.
Ich stelle mich hinter Katja und streichle ihre Brüste, meine Zunge fährt ihren Nacken entlang. Ich möchte ihr das Top
ausziehen, willig nimmt sie ihre Arme hoch, hilft mir so. Dann zieh' ich ihr den Rock herunter.
"Ich möchte das auch bei Dir machen, was Christian da mit Deiner Freundin macht."
Katja nickt, sie wendet ihren Blick nicht von den beiden ab. Ich knie mich vor sie, habe ihr wundervolles Lustzentrum
direkt vor meinen Augen.
Mit meiner Zunge fahre ich ihre Spalte auf und ab. Vorsichtig, mit ein wenig Druck, presse ich meine Zunge zwischen
ihren beiden Lippen durch. Mit meinen Fingern ziehe ich sie weiter auseinander.
Oben finde ich ihre Klitoris und als ich meine Zungenspitze dorthin führe, spüre ich Katjas Feuchtigkeit und höre sie
stöhnen.
Ich schaue zu ihr hoch. Sie hat die Augen geschlossen und den Kopf nach hinten geworfen.
"Ah, das ist phantastisch... ja... weiter... jaahh."
Katjas Orgasmus überflutet meine Zunge mit ihrem Liebessaft. Es schmeckt herrlich. Ich versuche soviel davon zu
bekommen, wie möglich.
Anschließend setzen wir uns für eine kurze Pause auf die Couch.
Isabell und Christian haben inzwischen die Positionen gewechselt. Sie verwöhnt nun sein Glied, wie es Katja heute
morgen noch mit meinem gemacht hatte. Auch Christian genießt es offensichtlich sehr, will aber nicht in Isabells
Mund kommen.
"Warte, ich bin gleich soweit."
Er zieht seinen Penis aus ihrem Mund und spritzt sein Sperma über ihre Brüste. Gierig leckt Isabell mit der Zunge über
ihren Busen.
Bei diesem Anblick schießt das Blut zurück in meine Lenden. Katja nimmt meine Erektion in die Hand und bewegt sie
auf und ab.
Wir stehen auf und Katja stellt sich vors Bett. Sie beugt sich nach vorne, stützt sich am Rahmen ab. Ich stelle mich
hinter sie und dringe in sie ein.
Ich ziehe mein Glied wieder ganz aus ihr heraus um diesmal sehr kräftig zuzustoßen. Katja schreit laut auf vor Lust und
Erregung.
Ich beginne, meine Hüften rhytmisch vor und zurück zu bewegen. Eine Hand habe ich auf ihrem Po, mit der anderen
umfasse ich ihren Busen.
Inzwischen sind auch Isabell und Christian wieder soweit. Isabell stellt sich neben Katja und Christian beginnt sich
genauso um Isabell zu kümmern, wie ich mich um Katja.
Mein Rhythmus wird schneller. Der Anblick, wie mein bester Freund dieses Mädchen liebt, macht mich unheimlich
scharf.
Ich spüre, dass ich unmittelbar auf meinen Orgasmus zusteuere und auch Katja ist gleich soweit.
Unser Stöhnen wird immer lauter und heftiger und mit einem letzten, kräftigen Stoß erlöse ich uns.
Isabell und Christian kommen kurz nach uns zu ihren Höhepunkten und sind dabei auch nicht gerade leise.
Seither sind Katja und ich ein Paar. Wir sind unheimlich verliebt und treiben es immer und überall miteinander: Im Kino,
in der Umkleidekabine des Kaufhauses, im Auto oder auf der Schultoilette während des Abiballs (wir haben beide
bestanden). Isabell und Christian sind nicht zusammen, treffen sich aber regelmäßig um miteinander Spaß zu haben.
Alles in Allem ein recht gelungener Sommer.
i spent the last three days in your situation... i think the formkeys error is just Gashcode sucking, not the editors turning the screw on the trolls.
or maybe it is the editors fucking our shit up... in that case i'm honored!
I'm an average guy. Nothing special about the way I look or talk or live. I've never been one of those unique individuals that just seem to have all the world's self-confidence and a special sense of destiny. But I never felt the envy for that either. I never even felt like I was missing out, you know what I mean? Things as they are, heck, that was good enough for me. I never even thought about how things could be somehow different. Well, I'm sure you know what it's like among the average. We don't make things happen so much as we just go along with what's already happening. We shyly somehow get connected with an average girl or woman and have an average relationship that shuffles along in nervous fits and starts and backsteps and retreats. It doesn't reach those weird heights of passion or sink down into some dramatic outburst either. It just doesn't stop altogether and eventually you and the woman settle into a kind of living together that isn't too painful or disruptive and there you are.
The signs of affection or tolerance, well, maybe they congeal into love. After awhile, habituation takes over, I suppose, and you find the expectations--low as they may actually be--give you a feeling of stability and coziness. Somebody who deals in that kind of thing might call it the warm feeling of being cared for, but no one could misinterpret it as passion or hunger. It's comfort. And the average guy thinks comfort is pretty good when faced with what seems to be an endlessly streaming life outside the relationship. He shudders meekly at the thought of singles bars and social gatherings where the people swim around like circling fish in a huge directionless school, knowing eventually they will probably mate and die without ever once going off on their own watery path or feeling the surge of the wave as an independent spirit, alone and brave and noble. Or just different.
Different is appalling to the average, you know. It's frightening and confusing. To be on your own, solitary, with no guidebook or manual to lead the way and no well-worn rut that shows you exactly where you ought to go and what you ought to do and how you ought to react; that's a scary proposition in life. And even more so when the facet of life called sex comes into it.
Now today, here, now, sex is something really different. I mean, a guy used to know that the way to be was to somehow get a date with a woman that tolerates him, and just keep pushing, pushing, pushing for more intimacies until she finally let him touch her boobs and let his hand fumble under her dress. And then, at last, sometime, they'd wind up fucking and there you'd be. You had a relationship that either wound up in marriage or was just a one-night stand that took months to achieve. That was then, of course. In the old simple days. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I'm an average guy in an average relationship that's comfortable and suddenly I'm not. That was what happened to me. Somehow the average got skewed around and the average woman suddenly decided the world was passing her by on a whole other frequency and the most important thing in the world to her suddenly became to free her womanly self and release her pent up emotions and thoughts with the only person who could understand them. And it wasn't me, of course. It was another woman. A woman who wasn't at all like me, but wore flannel shirts and tight jeans and talked roughly and who had an obsession of her own which was to live in a Thoreau-inspired wilderness house in the north woods. And my average woman left me for that.
It wasn't, she explained to me, that she'd shed her fears of the different but more that she wanted to embrace them, to come to know them. Like the still-frightened child who turns out the nightlight and lays there shivering in the dark but determined that if the monsters in the darkness are real, she will be eaten and have done with it. And so she packed up herself and went.
For awhile it felt as if I had lived with someone who one day contracted a horrible disease, totally contagious, and that while I was at work, health authorities had come to the house and removed all traces to protect the community from infection. Half of my average life had vanished and yet I couldn't quite see the difference if you know what I mean. The averageness just kind of slopped over to fill the voids except for odd moments when I'd catch myself still buying groceries for two people or turn to say something to the no one who was there. But, at the same time, the different, too, had sheared into my existence. More and more I started noticing differentnesses. Not absences exactly, but just something that was alien and strange and unexpected.
I don't know that anyone's ever completely aware when an obsession begins. Psychologists may claim they can trace it back to some episode in youth, however slight it may seem at the time. Psychiatrists probe and take notes, but I think they're just groping for an answer. A reasoning and analytical man always tries to understand by discovering a source then proceeds to plot the course of the dynamic. My obsession, I suppose, had its source in the night that I first saw her. It was like something out of a novel. Not average at all, you see. It was that differentness coming around again and poking at me, prodding my averageness and twisting it out of the usual, tightly-wound state.
When I first saw her that night...how can I really describe it? I'd been to a laundromat near my apartment and, as I stepped out, laden down with a basket of fresh-smelling but slightly damp clothes, I turned to look up the street. A pale fog was cresting the street lamps and at the end of the block a woman stood. A nimbus, if that's what they're called, of fog and dim light hovered like a miniature cloud around her face and hair. I'd never really seen a woman like that before. Or had never been aware of seeing one that way. Not in real life.
She was dressed, too, I could see, not in the usual way of women these days. Not overly casual in jeans and top, or in a pair of sweats, either. Not in the slutty wanna-be star costume, but...in a sharply-angled suit that reminded me of--I don't know--a woman from another time. The Forties, maybe. That was it. She looked like the kind of woman who would walk into the office of some film noir private eye and confess something. Or step into a Bette Davis mansion room and light up a cigarette before gliding up the stairs for another bumpy night.
It's that kind of differentness, you see, that hurtles an average guy completely out of sync. I stood there kind of stunned as silly as it sounds for a grown man. From out of nowhere suddenly my mind was reeling with scary images of this woman and I fucking. Scary because my mental image of myself seemed to be ecstatic: face contorted, heart straining, lungs pumping furiously, and cock thrusting crazily deep into her as her hips churned above me. And scary, too, because the woman--her face still blurred--seemed to be just as ecstatic in the throes of pre-climax. And I guess that's where the obsession began. Not with the woman, you see, but my image of her with me. Of me with her. It felt so odd, like when you're in a darkened room and you know there's a mirror there and you keep moving your face closer and closer in the blackness waiting for your reflection to emerge in the glass. Your eyes are open and you know the mirror is there, and yet...when you do finally see your face, it's startling for an instant. As if the face isn't yours but someone else. Someone that's you but a different you you've never seen before. That's how it was.
Despite my fears, I quickly put my basket of clothes in my car and re-locked the door and I walked toward the woman. I don't know if she'd seen me, but she started walking away, around the corner. Crazy as it was, I followed her. And as I walked faster, the images in my mind flickered faster, too. With every footstep in her wake, I saw--I felt--my cock thrusting into her. It was a madness, maybe. This must be, I tried to tell myself, what a stalker feels like, what an out-of-control psycho feels like. I willed myself to stop, to turn around, to return to my car and back to my average life. I willed myself to do that and yet still I kept walking. And I keep imagining that raw, quivering passionate fuck happening in my mind. And it all grew weirder because as I followed, the woman looked over her shoulder at me. Not fearfully, but with a smile. Not just a pleasant smile, but a wicked smile, a seductive smile, a smile that said without words "I know you're there. I know you're following me. I want you to. Come with me. It's okay. It's more than okay. I want you to. I know you're imagining fucking me. I want you to."
So I walked on. I lost track of how far I walked. The fog grew thicker and the night dimmer. She walked and looked over her shoulder, smiling, and I followed. I tried to stop, really I did. I knew it was crazy. I knew it was probably wrong and stupid, but...I couldn't not follow her. And then--with a shock, really--I saw her standing at the door of my apartment building. And she unlocked the door and kept walking. I followed her in. She walked right up to my apartment door and you can well imagine my mind was reeling and floundering for comprehension. And she unlocked my own door and stepped inside and closed the door.
With fingers shaking I tried to open the door but it was locked and I fumbled out my key and unlocked it. How? What? What the hell? my mind was screaming as I saw her walk down the hallway to my bedroom and then pass inside. And I was running now. The bedroom was darkened, just the small bedside lamp lit. My eyes darted around the room, searching for the mysterious woman, my obsession, but I couldn't see her anywhere. Was she hiding in the shadows? Was this some kind of weird game? But in my mind, you see, in there, the images kept roiling. Her hips, her swaying breasts, the beads of sweat glittering between them and sliding down her belly until they seemed to sizzle as they dripped onto her cunt and my cock as we plunged against each other, relentlessly.
So I just staggered to the bed and fell on it, turning as I fell. My eyes still scanned the room as my fingers tore at my belt and zipper and shoved my pants down, at last freeing the rigid cock and then I lay back. Without thinking my hand reached out and shut off the lamplight. And it was maybe then--probably then--that I knew the differentness had really happened, was happening. And in that darkness, if there were monsters they would eat me and be done with it.
"We have a prop for you today, Johnny," purred the avant-garde
lesbian-feminist art instructor I thought of as Ms. Muff. I hated the way she
used the royal "we," and I hated her version of my French-Canadian name,
Jean.
There's something about being naked in a roomful of fully-dressed people
that makes it hard for me to assert myself. In fact, trying not to get hard
usually took up most of my energy. I stood quietly, forcing my arms to stay at
my sides, while Ms. Muff strutted around me in her black jeans, tossing her
sun-bleached hair and looking amused. She probably fantasized about cutting
me up and serving choice bits as hors d'oeuvres at the next lesbian brunch or
gallery opening.
"Face the ladder," she ordered, "then hold onto the rung at your chin-level. Can you hold that pose without moving for
thirty minutes?"
Even with the eyes of twenty-five students, mostly women over thirty, on my boyish derriere, I had my pride. I couldn't
refuse the challenge. "Sure," I answered loudly enough for my audience to hear.
As I settled into my pose, I could almost hear the silent laughter of the mid-life dyke set as they studied my chestnut hair,
the long muscles in my back, my firm ass and my hairy legs. I was a young male specimen to them. On their Amazon
planet, I would be lucky to be kept alive for stud service.
I could see the clock with its slowly-moving second hand. Ten minutes into my pose, I was feeling the pull in my
shoulders. Then I felt something else: a steady look like a hand squeezing each of my asscheeks.
I looked around as far as I could, listening tot he sound of charcoal pencils on newsprint. Terrance was sketching my
body with long, strong strokes, glancing up from time to time. Catching my eyes, he gave me a warning look: don't move,
boy.
His attention made me shiver. I wanted to stay in position for him, but my arms were aching and my back was in knots. I
had only served half my sentence, and I already felt crucified. Obviously my summer job at Burger on the Run hadn't
turned me into an Olympic athlete.
I tried to take my mind off the strain on my arms by thinking about Terrance: his solid build, his hawk nose and
crystal-blue eyes, his neat wood-brown beard, his long, experienced, nicotine-stained fingers. He looked like an old man
to me. I had never thought of myself as a daddy's boy, but I had never met a daddy like him before.
I had ten minutes to go. Hanging onto the ladder for dear life, I could feel my whole body sagging lower. I wanted my
watchers, including all the women, to know how much I was giving for their art. I am Man, hear me grunt.
I didn't want Terrance to think I was a wuss, a sissy-boy who was not up to his standards. I thought he needed to find a
David to inspire him to the achievements of Michelangelo.
"Time's up, Johnny," soothed Ms. Muff as she touched my shoulder. I uncurled my fingers, then slowly moved my
burning arms away from the ladder. I told myself I was a professional model and should act like it.
I straightened up. My buns still tingled as though every hand in the class, from the softest to the hardest, had had a feel. I
could see some of the women looking confused and looking away, as though I had turned back into a human being as
soon as the witch in charge had released me from her spell.
I pulled my robe over my shoulders as casually as I could. I strolled from one easel to the next to see how the students
had drawn me. I knew this embarrassed them, and I thought it was only fair.
I came to Terrance's sketch last, and he made no effort to hide it from me. When I looked at his image of me, I felt as
shaken as a rat in the jaws of a terrier.
The picture was amazingly precise and detailed. It showed a strained and stretched body pushing its gluteus maximus
toward the viewer as though begging for attention. The thighs beneath looked like patient Greek pillars, and their straight
lines pointed to the ass which served as a focal point, a magnet for the viewer's eyes. Its two globes looked like ripe
peaches drawn by an Old Master with a talent for shading. The mysterious darkness beneath the crack suggested unseen
treasures.
I knew then what Terrance wanted from me. My willie was rising, and I tried to cover it with my robe. Before I could tie
the sash, Terrance grabbed my hand possessively. "Put your clothes on," he told me, "then we'll go for coffee." He made
"coffee" sound like a code word for something too delicious to be named in public. Terrance studied the front of my robe
and patted my butt. He didn't seem to care who saw us, but I suspected that his touch would have been more demanding
without a female audience.
I could smell my own sweat when I left the room, wondering if I really heard muffled giggles. In the men's can, I pulled
on my shirt and jeans as quickly as possible.
Most of the women had gone when I walked back into the studio, but I noticed Ms. Muff running a hand through her hair
as she talked to Terrance. Hot resentment burned in my stomach, confusing me. I wanted to slap the gamey smile off her
face, even though I didn't really think he wanted to be her pet.
Terrance glanced at me. "See you tomorrow," he tossed at her over his shoulder, grabbing mine. He seemed to be treating
Ms. Muff as a younger woman, not necessarily an expert in anything, and I was ridiculously relieved. His grip on me
wasn't gentle, but it soothed my soul.
We walked silently to the parking lot, where he let me into the front passenger's seat of his car. The man who now felt like
a date drove smoothly to his apartment building, parked, and guided me with a hot hand on my back to the elevator that
took us to the twelfth floor.
A picture window in Terrance's front room showed a bright blue sky over miles of city and the vast prairie beyond. I felt
as if the whole world was speeding past my eyes as the Man pushed me to the sofa. "Face down, boy," he growled, his
teeth against my neck.
"Terrance," I answered, wanting him to know I would give him whatever he wanted.
"Take them off," he ordered, pulling my shirt out of my pants. I pulled it over my head, hoping the muscles in my arms
showed to advantage in that gesture. I unzipped my jeans and began pulling them down, shimmying a little to ease their
way.
My host wasn't impressed by my flirting. He slapped my covered butt to stop me from moving. Then he yanked my pants
down to my knees and slapped me again on both bare cheeks. Echoes from his right hand ran down my legs, up my back
and into my groin. My shaft jumped smartly to attention.
"Ah," laughed my new Master, noticing my reaction. "He likes it. He'll get all he needs." Terrance continued slapping
each of my buns by turn until I realized that his slaps were meant to enforce his earlier command: lie down. I bent over to
pull my pant-legs off my feet as quickly as possible. This move exposed me to more of his stinging impatience.
My hot ass was starting to register pain when I threw myself onto his sofa and his mercy. I groaned as my swollen dick
met cool leather upholstery.
A pair of competent arms held my shoulders down. The manly chuckle that went with them sounded more threatening
than the bark of a sergeant-major. "You like to show off, boy," stated a powerful voice. It wasn't a question. "You show
me your ass, you take the consequences."
I wanted to make some gracious speech, offering him my basket as though it were a Van Gogh or at least a Tom of
Finland, but my position made it hard to talk. A finger coated in cold grease slid into my anus as though it belonged there.
I couldn't help wriggling as chills ran from my invaded hole to my neglected cock and up my spine.
I could feel more fingers joining their neighbor. They felt like snakes burrowing deeper into their new home as they
stroked the walls. I felt myself opening and spreading. "Whose ass is this, boy?" asked the voice of the man above me.
His sharp teeth suddenly nipped my ear, making me jump. My ass clutched his fingers, and he responded by digging
deeper. He was working up a slow fucking rhythm.
"Yours, Sir," I responded.
"Then don't shoot your wad until I give you permission," he warned me. Too late: a groan burst out of me as hot juice
spurted from my young, untamed dick. The evidence lay smeared on his leather sofa like Exhibit A for the prosecution.
Terrance's hand in my hair pulled my head up and turned me to face him. "I'm sorry, Sir," I mumbled. I felt like a failure
and I wished I could disappear.
"You have a lot to learn, Twink," he snarled, spitting in my face. "I bet you were always a Mama's boy, allowed to do
whatever the hell you pleased. Not in my home, Johnny. Here you shape up or you get out."
The possibility of being kicked out of Terrance's digs like a burglar or drunken party guest made me briefly think of
proving myself by throwing myself off the twelfth-floor balcony. Even that, I realized, would probably make me look
immature and out of control. Not to mention banged up.
I felt very naked when Terrance pulled me off the sofa by my damp hair. "What do you think you should get, greedy
slut?" he demanded. "What would teach you some self-control?"
To this day, I don't know what made me say what I said next. "Your belt, Sir," I begged humbly, even as I shivered in
dread.
He laughed and casually twisted one of my nipples between two fingers. He smiled sarcastically as I winced. "You think
you could take it, boy? You seem pretty thin-skinned. Well, someone has to toughen you up. Over my knee."
Terrance already had his belt coiled around one hand, and I didn't dare provoke his temper any more. I lay across his lap,
desperately hoping I could make good on this added chance to impress him. What I felt under my stomach seemed like a
good sign.
The first stroke made me yell. He gave me just enough time to gather my breath before the next one, and this time I was
able to turn down my volume. As he steadily set my ass on fire and sweat rolled off my forehead, I learned that I could
control my outward reactions. I was proud to know this.
I could feel tears prickling my eyes when he let me up, but I wasn't really crying. I was broken apart but calm, if that
makes sense. Terrance looked mellower than he had a few minutes before.
The Man studied me, and I remembered that he was the artist who had first seen me as a body on display. "You're
marked, Johnny," he told me, gently touching my sore skin. "You'll heal, but a photo will help remind you." I continued
standing as Terrance gracefully stroked his own thick, marble-veined shaft.
"You want to get fucked, Johnny?" he teased me. The sight of his solid tool combined with the heat in my butt made me
feel faint, but my new knowledge of my own endurance made me unwilling to refuse anything. Before I could answer, he
opened his mouth in a hearty laugh. "You'll get it, man, but not yet. Can you give good head?"
I kneeled before him and let him hold my head as I guided his hot rod between my lips. The taste and the feel of him felt
like a promise. As I worked him with my eager tongue, I heard him call me his "best boy."
I knew he would take my ass soon. That was guaranteed, and his ownership would be recorded in photos, sketches, and
probably even paintings and sculptures in due course. His vulnerable power in my mouth made me willing to wait. In the
meanwhile, I could feel my proud buns glowing like a neon sign.
yeah, man, best investment you'll ever make. i named mine Susie -- she is the first girlfriend who doesn't scream and cry when i grab her by the hair and rape her mouth!
the Internet is boring... i think i'm gonna go play a game of Ike & Tina Turner with my favorite silicone friend!
W(.)(.)T!
you fucking fruit
"better than ever"? c'mon, don't claim that he's gotten any better until his ass widens by one or two columns, at least...
actually it's called "pain perdu", you anticosmopolitan bung-pounder. "pain grille francais" is toast, which happened to be toasted in France. get your goddamn facts straight or i will show you exactly where your hot-pink $22 USB scanner can go.
it has been 75 hours and i'm still not free to post!! FASHIST SLAHSDOT MODS FUK
Ever since he had seen his ex-wife that terrible last time, his performance
in bed had been less than spectacular. In fact, he often couldn't get hard
enough to embed his most important organ in even the most receptive of
cunts. His doctor had told him that his problem was psychological, and that
if he could ever completely put his ex-wife out of his mind, the problem
would most likely disappear.
He did have reason to hope that this would be one of his better nights. The
new girl that he had picked up at the clubhouse was very young and very
beautiful. He had taken her to a party, where they had fun dancing and
flirting with each other. Best of all, she seemed to be really horny
tonight, and she was doing her best to turn him on.
After the party, they had gone to her apartment for drinks. They were
sitting close together in the middle of her large couch. She suddenly put
her drink down and stood up, stretching her arms up high over her head and
thrusting her chest out. ! She was wearing a very short, body-hugging red
sheath dress. As she stood there with her arms stretched over her head, the
hem of her dress was pulled high up her thighs, so high that her panties
were nearly exposed to view. Her breasts were pushing out so hard that her
erect nipples were clearly visible, even through the lacy black bra that
she was wearing. Her long, shapely legs were covered, but not concealed, by
sheer black stokings.
"Ahhhh!" she sighed. "That's nice. I really had fun at the party. But it's
good to be home, where we can really relax and enjoy each other's company."
She held her pose for several seconds, then reached down and picked up a
remote. "I think I'll put on some soft dance music. Okay ?"
His face revealed his displeasure at her suggestion. With sudden unexpected
anger in his voice, he replied "What's the point? We already did that! I'm
not about to dance any more!"
"Oh! I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't suggesting that you should dance any
more with me. You just sit there and relax. And make yourself comfortable.
I know you like your imported shoes, I like them too, but wouldn't you be
more comfortable if you slipped them off? (She had removed her own shoes as
soon as they had entered her apartment.) And you could slip off your coat
and tie. In fact . . . (the hint of a mischievous smile appeared at the
corners of her beautiful lips) there's no need to keep wearing ANYthing . .
! . really." She blushed briefly at the sheer naughtiness of her
suggestion. She was not usually as forward as this, but tonight she was
feeling especially sexually adventurous.
Her explanation seemed to calm him down, so she pushed a couple of buttons
on the remote and her CD player started softly playing some slow, sensual
dance music. She walked to the front of the CD player and leaned against
it. Then she closed her eyes, put her head back, and pulled a pin from her
hair. Her golden tresses tumbled past her shoulders to the middle of her
back. After a moment she sat down, facing him, on a large chair that was
beside the CD player. She pulled her knees up and rocked back in the chair,
thrusting her crotch out, and placed her heels on the front edge of the
chair cushion. He gasped as her movements pulled her dress up and exposed
her crotch to him. She was wearing black silk bikini panties and a matching
garter belt that was holding up her stockings. She smiled at him as he
openly stared up her dress. He licked his lips and imagined the sweetness
that was now concealed by so very little. She unfastened the clips holding
the tops of her stockings and ! slowly, slo-o-w-w-w-l-y, rolled the
stockings down her legs. She caressed her naked flesh with her hands as her
thighs and calves were uncovered. When both her legs were bare, she dropped
the stockings on the floor and stood up.
She was feeling the low, throbbing music deeply now, and she started to
sway gracefully back and forth to the beat. She danced slowly toward him
until she was dancing back and forth right in front of the couch. She
danced sensually for several minutes, her movements becoming more and more
exaggerated. Her dress clung tantalizingly to her body, showing off her
perfect curves, and she moved her hands up and down, caressing herself
through her red dress. She moved her hands to her breasts and squeezed
them, then moaned from the pleasure that it gave her.
Her dance was having the intended effect on them both. Whenever she brushed
a hand over one of her erect nipples, it felt like little electric sparks
shot through the whole breast. Her cunt was making so much juice the crotch
of her panties was barely able to hold it all. And her dance had his cock
as hard as it had ever recently been. He was almost panting as he watched
her dance and caress herself. He especially watched the hem of her dress as
her movements pulled it higher and higher up her legs. He wanted to catch
the exact moment that her panties would be revealed to his stare again.
Suddenly, she stopped dancing. She leaned slightly forward, toward him,
pulled her dress up in the back, and reached under it. She quickly slid her
panties down her legs and pulled them off.
"Oh, my goddd!" he groaned when her panties hit the floor and he detected
the faint, sweet odor of her excitement. He started to unbutton his shirt,
but she put her hand over his and shook her head *no*! , so he stopped.
They were both nearly panting as she resumed her dancing and he resumed his
staring. The music was getting faster now, and so was her dancing.
Gradually, keeping with the music, her movements became frantic. Her long,
blonde hair was flying and her dress was pulled high. He could see the
gentle curves where her legs met her ass cheeks, and the blonde curls that
framed her cunt. "OH, MYYY GODDDD!" he groaned again, louder.
The music suddenly reached an intense climax and then stopped completely.
She dropped to one knee when the music stopped, and bowed her head
slightly. She was panting for breath now, trying to recover from her
exertion. After a few moments of rest, she stood up and looked at him with
lust-filled eyes. She slipped the thin straps of her dress off her
shoulders. It was too tight to fall on its own, but with a couple of gentle
tugs on each side, it slipped down her body and fell to the floor. He
gasped and swallowed hard as her incredible body was fully revealed to him.
She was now wearing only a thin, lacy black bra and her black silk garter
belt. Her full breasts and beckoning nipples seemed to be begging for his
hands and mouth to engulf them. Farther down, her slender waist and firm
belly gave way to beautifully rounded hips, and to a high, firm ass. For a
moment, he truly realized how very lucky he was, that she had chosen to
take him to her apartment for sex.
She took his! hands in hers and indicated that he should stand. She slowly
unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it wide open. Since in his youth he had
been a professional athlete, she was a little surprised to see that, like
so many men his age, he had "love handles" and a middle age paunch. But it
didn't bother her. In fact, she might have been a little relieved that he
wasn't the "male god" that he had sometimes been made out to be. She
pressed her hot, wet tongue against his chest. She licked slowly down to
his navel, and then back up to the base of his neck. He moaned when she
sucked one of his dark nipples into her mouth. Then she peeled the shirt
from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Meeting his lust-filled
gaze with her own, she unfastened his belt and let his pants drop. He
trembled and moaned softly when she pressed her hand over his dick and
balls.
She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his briefs and slowly pulled
them off. For a few moments, with him wearing only his socks and with her
wearing only her bra and garter belt, they simply looked at each other. An
observer would have been struck by the contrasts between them. She, with
her pale skin and youthful beauty, her cunt pouring out sweet honey in
anticipation of passionate, exuberant sex. He, with his dark skin and
middle age sags, his cock seemingly little more than half hard, just hoping
that he would be able to take advantage of this young woman's willingness
to let him fuck her.
"Let's go to bed," he whispered hopefully.
"No, honey," she replied as she removed her bra and garter. "Let's just use
the couch instead."
He shuddered as a haunting memory of his ex-wife suddenly filled his mind.
She smiled, thinking that his shudder was just a sign of his passion. She
lay down onto the couch on her back, then she took his hands and pulled him
over her. She put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled his face
down to her left tit.
He started to lick her left nipple. She was a little surprised, and more
than a little disappointed, by the way he was doing it. All of the men that
she had fucked before had devoured both of her succulent titties with
considerable enthusiasm. They had licked, and slurped, and sucked, until it
had them both writhing against each other in pleasure. But he wasn't doing
it that way. He didn't seem to be enthusiastic about it at all. He licked
and sucked a little, but his actions seemed to be purely mechanical, almost
cold. It was in sharp contrast to his seeming excitement while he watched
her dance. She started to rapidly lose her own sexual heat, and to think
that maybe it had just been a mistake to bring him to her apartment. She
decided that maybe it would just be best to let him finish as soon as
possible and write it off as one of those disappointing nights.
She reached down between their bodies and grasped his sort-of-stiff dick.
"Too bad," she thought sadly. "Even his cock doesn't match the myth. He's
even smaller than most of the white cocks I've seen." She guided the head
of his cock to her rapidly drying pussy. He pressed his hips forward and
his dick slid almost unnoticed into her. She barely felt it. His eyes were
closed and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. He didn't seem to
notice at all that she had lost her enthusiasm for this. He began to pump
his hips back and forth, and for a few moments his cock slid in and out, in
and out. Soon, he clenched his teeth and cam. Well, sort of cam. He didn't
really shoot anything. It just sort of leaked out.
After he was finished, he lowered the full weight of his body onto her.
Still keeping his eyes tightly closed, he whispered "Oh, Nicole . . .
Nicole. I knew that finally you'd fuck me again."
She kissed his cheek and hugged him gently, then whispered back "Sorry,
honey! I'm not Nicole. But I hope I'll do."
He jerked upright, sitting across her waist. He was suddenly filled with
anger. "Smart assed slut!" he screamed. "Damn right you're not Nicole!"
Then he slapped her hard. He started to beat her savagely, alternately
slapping and punching. She was totally unprepared for his sudden, merciless
attack. At first, she couldn't even try to defend herself. But after the
first few blows had already landed, she raised her arms and tried to shield
her face from his blows. It did no good. He simply punched through her
defenses, or punched lower, landing a very hard blow to her throat. He even
punched hard onto her left breast. Her whole face was red and swelling
rapidly. Her left eye was blood red, and the skin around it was turning a
deep purple. Then he slapped her left cheek again, and his ring cut a deep
gash into her flesh. Her blood spurted out across her chest and onto the
couch.
He stopped beating her for a moment when he saw her blood. But he was still
sitting on top of her and glaring down angrily at her. She was stunned by
his sudden, violent attack. Too stunned to even cry. In a dry, emotionless
whisper, she said "Oh, my god . . . you really did it . . . Her poor
children." That set him off again. He slapped her and punched her
repeatedly. "Why . . . why?" she groaned between his blows.
He didn't offer an answer. Maybe he didn't really know why himself. His
first slap was almost just a savage reflex to his anger when she innocently
admitted that she was not his ex-wife. But he was beating her now just
because he liked doing it. He enjoyed the feel of his fist smashing hard
against the soft skin on a woman's face. He enjoyed hearing the *smack* and
the *crunch* as his blows landed. Most of all, he enjoyed hearing the
painful groans of the women he beat. And, whenever he beat any woman, he
always hoped that there would be blood.
Her upper lip wa! s suddenly split wide open and her blood spurted out
again. The sight of more of her blood made him stop beating her again. She
was quietly sobbing now and pleading with him not to kill her too.
He finally spoke. "Listen, bitch," he said in a low, menacing voice. "You
chose to bring me here and fuck me. I didn't make you do that, you did it
on your own. But now that you've done it, I fucking OWN you." He actually
snarled to emphasize his point. He continued in an emotionless, but
absolutely commanding tone of voice. "You will always make yourself
available to me. You will keep yourself fit and attractive for me. You will
wear clothes, and use makeup, only as I tell you to." She couldn't believe
what he was saying. But she didn't dare to object to anything he said. "You
will fuck me whenever, and wherever, I say. The only other men that you
will fuck are the ones that I tell you to fuck." He paused for a moment,
and then said "I'll explain the rest of it to you later. You know, of
course, that you won't be able to get any help from the L.A.P.D. They
learned enough from the first time to just leave me alone now."
He stood and looked down at her. "I'm going to clean up and go out for a
while. After I've gone, you clean yourself up and get yourself ready for my
return. And get rid of this fucking couch before I come back." He started
to walk away, but then turned back for a moment. Blood still flowed from
both her cheek and her lip, and both her eyes were swollen nearly shut.
"Think you're bleeding now, bitch?" he asked cruelly. "I could tell you
about some real bleeding . . . " Then he turned away and went into her
bathroom.
As she heard him washing and dressing himself, she sobbed bitterly. She
thought "What have I done to deserve this? How the fuck did I get myself
into this mess, anyway? What about some justice for me . . . and for poor
Nicole?" Even though clotting had started to slow the flow of blood, it
still oozed from the wounds on her cheek and lip. Her swollen face hurt
like hell, and she could barely see. How the shit was she supposed to get
ready for more of this? Then she heard the door close as he left. And she
was glad.
mod -1. troll
DO NOT CLICK !!