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rant (rànt) verb
rant·ed, rant·ing, rants verb, intransitive
To speak or declaim in a violent, loud, or vehement manner; rave.
verb, transitive
To utter with violence or extravagance: a dictator who ranted his vitriol onto a captive audience.
noun
1. Violent, loud, or extravagant speech. See Synonyms at bombast.
2. Chiefly British. Wild or uproarious merriment.
3. To express an opinion
[Probably from obsolete Dutch
ranten.]
— rant¹er noun
The Severe Heritage Dictionary of the Rachael Language, Third Edition is licensed from Bound For Glory Productions.
Copyright © 2002-2007 by Severe Discipline Publishing. All rights reserved.
Selected Illustrations from the Encyclopedia of Modern Kama Sutra.
Copyright © 2008 by BFG International Press.
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The Day Clint Eastwood Killed My Boyfriend
By rache
The day Clint Eastwood killed my boyfriend, we were cruising Studio City. I was scrunched between him and Jimmy, his best friend, in the front seat, while Johnny was sharing the back with a big cooler of beer. We needed some ice, so we stopped at a Seven-Eleven to get some and there he was.
"Holy shit!" my boyfriend grinned. "You're Clint Eastwood."
"Yeah." Clint was coming out with a little plastic bag. I guess he wanted some Ding-Dongs or something.
"Goddamn!" All three of the boys were there, crowded by the door and Clint looked like he just wanted to get around them.
"Hey, say something cool!" my boyfriend said.
"You're so bad ass, dude!" Johnny was nodding.
"The man with no name, fuck!" Jimmy was jumping up and down cause he's short and couldn't see over his friends, even though Clint was like seven feet tall.
"Excuse me." Clint was being patient.
"What?" my boyfriend stared at him. "That wasn't cool! Come on, say something like..."
"I just want to go home, guys. Thanks." Clint made like he was going to get past them.
"Oh, no!" Johnny groaned.
"Yeah, you can't go dude!" my boyfriend said. "See my girlfriend? She's like your biggest fan, you gotta meet her."
That was true, I seriously thought Clint Eastwood was the coolest person on the planet.
"I appreciate that, kid, but I need to..."
"Kid?" my boyfriend shook his head. "Why you gotta be all that, man? Come on, just hang for a minute."
"Say some Dirty Harry shit, dude!" Johnny said.
"My girlfriend says you're the fastest gun ever...Hey, wanna draw against me?" my boyfriend was saying. "I'm pretty fast myself."
"I'm an actor, you asshole." Clint was getting a little pissed, having three punks in his face like that.
"What? You talking to me? You old has been fuck!" My boyfriend had a temper. "I oughta kick your wrinkled ass!"
"Yeah?" Clint gave him a look, like a real Clint look.
"He's laughing at you!" Jimmy grinned.
"Kick his ass!" Johnny laughed.
"How about it, no name dick wad motherfucker! Wanna do something..." My boyfriend was sticking out his tongue and shoving Clint in the chest.
"I'm seventy goddamn years old, shithead," Clint growled.
"So? What, you don't get it up no more?" My boyfriend poked him again.
"No, I just don't have time for assholes like you," Clint told him, and that made a lot of sense actually.
"Well, you got time for Mr. Smith?" My boyfriend pulled his revolver out of his waistband and pointed it up at Clint's face.
"Pop him!" Johnny giggled like his little sister does.
"Oh shit! You got the drop on Josey Wales!" Jimmy scratched his head and looked around like the world should stop and look, but there wasn't nobody else around really.
"Give him a gun," my boyfriend said and his two friends looked at him like he was crazy.
"What do you mean?" Jimmy asked.
"You can't give William Munny a gun! Fuck, he's killed women and kids!" Johnny exclaimed and his favorite movie was Unforgiven, so he'd know.
"I said give the bastard a gun! I wanna show Christy who's fastest," my boyfriend grinned at me and I realized I had to speak up.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Eastwood." I felt really bad. "I love your movies."
"Thanks." He gave me a little smile, but maybe that was because Jimmy was handing him a revolver of his own, his Colt Python .357 magnum and Clint hefted it a little, like he was weighing it against the Ding-Dongs in his other hand.
Everybody kind of moved to the parking lot then, real slowly, and spread out. Jimmy had another gun, his black 9mm semi-automatic, and Johnny had pulled out his pearl handled .45 semi too.
"Okay, everybody, just guns down...down...by our sides..." my boyfriend was grinning. "Time we gave Blondie here a little lesson in real gun fighting, eh?"
"You boys oughta clear out," Clint told them and his voice was soft and cutting and gritty like the Death Valley wind.
"Oh no! Ain't nobody going anywhere...Christy, you turn on that radio...Make it loud..." my boyfriend grinned. "When the music stops...we're gonna draw."
I turned on the CD player and it was the Gorillaz playing "Dare" which is a way cool song and at the end of it I only heard one shot, loud and long like thunder up close and far away, and then I heard the soft plastic smack of those Ding-Dongs hitting the pavement.
Clint had fanned that three fifty seven so fast, all three of those boys were still smiling, even though they were dead. My boyfriend and his two friends kinda looked at Clint for a second, then at each other, and then they fell down too. It was pretty amazing.
"That was amazing, Mr. Eastwood!" I clapped my hands and he was picking up his ding-dongs. "You must be the best gunfighter in the world."
"Yeah," Clint drew a breath and looked around, squinting like one of them might only be winged, but they weren't.
"Hey, um...Can I get a ride?" I asked, cause he was getting into his BMW and it was a nice convertible.
"Where are you going?" he asked me.
"Anywheres," I shrugged and smiled, and brushed a lock of blonde hair out of my blue eyes. "I could, um...I'd give you a blowjob, if you want one."
"Is that right?" He put his key in the ignition and turned the motor over.
"Uh-Huh." I licked my lips. "Can I get in?"
"Go ahead..." Clint gave me a crooked smile, that thin one of his, just the way I liked it. "Make my day."
I came in my panties when he said that.
The end
Amanda: A Dream Come True - Comic
Here's a classic tale of incestuous romance brought to life through the magic of Poser and a lot of Photoshop. Lots and lots of Photoshop, as they say. Twelve year old Amanda is our Lolita and her very own father is the ever popular Humbert Humbert in this modern remake of the Nabokov classic. As I've mentioned elsewhere, I'm pretty much into fiction and while the argument could be made that all porn is fictional, I like mine obvious and in my face. Artwork, you see? Imagined creations of people who don't really exist anywhere are much more interesting than glossy photos of people who do. I like this sort of thing a lot. Not to mention the incest! Yummy. Download the story here!
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Heya great site I like it lots. Here's one for ya, my girlfriends dead. yeah no shit. dead as hell but I love her cause she's my girlfriend. I'll tell you what's goin on then ask my questions cause I got a bunch.
She's buried and everything like that but I still like to go to see her and bring flowers and stuff. I like to think about her the way she looked at the funeral was cool she was hot. They dressed her nice and put a rose on her which was cool cause she's a rose freak she loved the stupid things and I never gave her any except once or twice.
But I was at the funeral parlor the day before she was gonna be buried and it was just me and I touched her a little just her boobs they were still kinda firm but I think it was cause her dress was kinda tight I think. I kissed her too but her mouth was closed and wouldn't open I don't know what those guys do there they glued it or something or is that like rigor mortis?
Anyway I kissed her a lot cause she smelled nice and I didn't know they put all they makeup on dead people I guess they have to I got it messed up a little but they fixed it. I wanted to do other stuff I think she looked so hot layin there I just wanted to jump in and give her some salomi for the trip you know? Can dead chicks get pregnant wow that's a rush! What if her little eggs are still alive I heard guys sperm lives for a month after he's dead like hair keeps growin is that true?
It'd be cool to think about gettin her pregnant and then burying her the next day cause it's not like the kid would live it'd be like part of me was sleepin with her you know? We always used a rubber though so I know she wasn't. But i think about it all the time gettin in that coffin with her and pullin her white dress up and slippin her panties to the side just shoving my hard cock inside and I know she'd be nice and warm even if she was dead cause she was always ready if you know what i mean?
She was juicy and sweet I love her a lot. I was thinkin all this when I was looking at her and it made my dick get really hard and I had my hand in my pocket you know kinda playin with it when her mom comes in sniffling and cried out mostly but she came right up next to me and started talkin about how much she liked me and how special she was and how at least she had a nice guy like me.
All the time I'm rubbin my dick and thinkin I want to do stuff with her while she's layin there and then Barb's mom [Barb was my gf] her mom puts her arms around me and she wants a hug so of course I gotta pull my hand out and start huggin this lady cause she started cryin and everything again and I know she could feel my dick cause its like lumber in my pants!! I could build a freakin house with it you know?
And so it feels nice huggin her and I'm lookin over my shoulder at her little girl wantin to jump her dead ass right then and I feel like you know pushin a little with my dick cause mom looks like Barb except older but still a hottie and I figured she'd slap me or somethin but she didn't she just pushed me away and she left she didn't say a word to me for like a month even though i see her every day almost.
But its ok now cause she told me she understood that some people cope with stress in different ways than other people. She said those exact words and I was like huh? Then i figured out cause her husbands a doc and he talked to me too sayin that it was ok I was feelin aroused at the funeral home cause my brain was trying to handle a difficult situation and nerves get confused like telephone wires getting switched to the wrong houses and he wanted to know if I was ok with that.
But hell yeah I was!! I was jackin off nearly every day thinking about Barbie doll bein dead and me bein in there with her plantin my love gun in her dead womb but I didn't say that cause he's a doc but he's got guns too ya know?
Instead I just said I felt a little guilty and I talked to Father Duncan and it was ok and I knew it was ok then too for him cause he'd never say anything to a priest and the priest couldn't say anything if I really did say something which I didn't.
So back at the funeral parlor after Barb's ma left I was alone again every now and then some guy would pop through the door and look and make sure everything was ok. But I stood by Barbie lookin at her and touching just a little. The bottom half was closed or else I'd have felt up her leg too cause she had super duper legs and I always liked the way she looked.
I just had to take out my dick so I did that and I was rubbin it a little and doin stuff. I figured if anybody came in I'd hear it and I could put it away really quick or fold my hands or do something but nobody did and I ended up cummin right there in the funeral home shootin off on my hand cause I didn't have anything else close by. I wiped it on Barb's dress between her boobs cause she had a white dress anyway I put a little on her lips too just like glaze for the lipstick I messed up. They really put way too much I think but I put the rose back right on top of my spunk and then I figured I best get out of there cause I could feel wood comin back and I didn't wanna get caught spankin on a dead chick even if she was hot like Barbie. But at least I know she got a little bit of me with her I just wish it was more like inside her ya know?
So now anyway I got a new girlfriend but when I do it with her I'm always thinkin bout Barb but not like when she was alive. I think about her dead. I tell my gf not to move so much and I tried to get her to shut up too cause she's a moaner I put a sheet over head so it looks like shes not even there. I just wish she was Barbie and be dead so its not the best for me anymore.
If I really wanna get off I go to the cemetary like early cause not so many people around well not a lot anytime but early is the best. The guy unlocks the gate and then he takes off cause he works down at Mels supermart.
I like to go to Barb's grave she has a nice headstone not real big but it has roses around it and an angel carved too and says ~Beloved daughter sept 4 1982 - april 16 2000~ which is cool cause I always used to forget her birthday now I don't.
I like to bring her a rose and stand by her headstone it's just the right height that I can pull out my dick and rub it on the top while I talk to her tellin her how hot she is I say 'Barbie you are so freakin hot, babe!' and I close my eyes and rub my dick all over that cold smooth rock until I shoot and I make sure I get some right on the ground and on the rose too if I can cause she loves roses. I do it every week and I know she likes it cause I dream about her all the time and she tells me it's ok cause she loves me.
So is this normal? or am I really all screwed up like beyond the beyond? Is it possible to dig a chick up and do her? How long til they really start goin bad? it's been almost a year but I still think about it cause I got a back hoe and everything. can a dead chick get pregnant? I mean like how long does it take the eggs or whatever to die? if she was like 3 minutes dead is it too late? I really like thinkin about getting a dead girl pregnant. i know that's not normal. but what the hell i'm not gonna go kavorkian on some chick just to do it either. and how do I get my girlfriend into it? I told her I like dead chicks but she thinks I'm joking with her even though I always tell her to shut the hell up and stop moving. I tried to get her to fuck me on Barb's grave but she won't go near it. She thinks we're gonna go to hell or somethin. I think she's kinda jealous. Ok thanks hope you guys can hook me up with some answers. keep the site goin man and no ad banners thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(signed) Bad Maxxx
The War on Blondes continues and this week we've taken two prisoners for your viewing pleasure! Shari (the PTA President up top) and Skyler, the mischievous Girl Scout gone bad you see below. Obviously they've come from Planet Platinum to conquer the Earth through the inherent weakness of our male companions and their spoiled testicles. Let's face it guys, you're not going to mate with these women, and even if you do...Nobody will ever believe you. Trust me. Earth's chances of survival are pretty dismal. Download the pictures here , before it's too late.
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Pretty soon I'm going home.
My real home too; not some other place where I pretend to be from and live and work and breathe.
I'm getting married on June 14th. That's a Saturday and I had no choice. I wanted it to be on a Thursday because nothing cool ever happens on Thursdays. I dreamt of it. Of calling my fiancé and telling him I changed my mind. Letting his mouth open and close silently for a long minute while he tried to fill his mind with comprehension. Then just as he speaks, letting him off the hook and saying I changed my mind about June 14th. About a Saturday. I want it to be Thursday the 12th. And our anniversary would forever be the second Thursday in June. Instead of some number it would be a real day.
But I chickened out. Well...Not really. I just didn't think it would be as much fun as I'd imagined laying in my bed sleepless at 2am. Lot's of weird thoughts at 2am. Sleepless or not.
I've been trying to cure myself of my disease. My unhappiness. My death fixated self-pity. Maybe marriage will help. But probably not. I stopped writing about myself and started writing fantasy. Which is a funny thing to say, some people will think, but at the heart of most of my words was the awfulness of truth. Confessions unbearable without the illusion of fiction to keep me safe. So I moved on and wrote about Wolves, and Faeries, and Nymphs, and assorted other things. I wrote bad Tolkienesque poetry - but no worse than his; I'll show you some later - And generally had a good time imagining myself as Thomasina Bullfinch.
But it doesn't satisfy.
I want to fuck in church.
I want to shoot a politician.
I want to sell drugs
I want to own slaves
I want to fight amnesty
I want to have an abortion
I want to dissect Thomas Mann
I want to yell fire in a theatre
I want to climb Mt. Everest
I want to see Armageddon
I wanna pull the switch when the last fuckin' star dies
I'll never do any of those things. And those are the things I could realistically do. There are a hundred more, which are completely wrong.
Like Soul Searching...
Wacky Japanese porn! I swear, I love that country! They have these incredibly serious coffee table books dedicated to pornography, like high quality supermodel porn chicks posing in everything from swimwear to fetish gear to bunny suits. They have a fetish for every occasion! You get on a train and chances are the guy standing next to you, trying to grab your ass while the train rocks and sways, is reading some Pedophile BDSM Comic Book! Right there on the train! What an awesome country! Nobody even notices, or if they do, they're much to polite to say anything. In Seattle...Shoot, they'd crucify a guy for reading Lolita on a bus. He must be a pervert! And if you're a girl, they give you really pretty pills! Heh! Anyway, here's a bunch of Bluebird Scans ...Whatever that means.
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I went to where my husband lies
upon that tired heath
reflecting cold and wintry skies
to lay with him beneath
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Soul Searching
by Rachael
I got the call about midnight; it was Randy, giving me a room number and a motel. I’d been doing escort work for about three months, it paid better than dancing, and it was cleaner too. I checked my face in the mirror, brushed my hair and put on some lipstick. The guy wanted me all night, 600 bucks worth, so I made sure I grabbed extra condoms and some KY, zipping it into my purse along with the mace. You never know in this town.
I knocked on the door and blinked at the guy who opened it. He was dressed as a priest. Well, it takes all kinds, don’t it? I smiled at him.
“Hi. My name’s, April.” I wasn’t sure he was going to let me in for a minute, but he finally stepped aside and let me by. He closed the door and locked it behind me.
“I’m Father, uh…Jones,” he said finally and looked me up and down. “How old are you, April?”
“I’m 19, Father.” I smiled again, a little self-consciously. Usually you can tell if a guy wants younger or older. Like if he’d said ‘How old are you, little girl?’ I might have said 16, or even 15. I look pretty young. But as it was, I wasn’t sure, so I told him the truth.
“I see, um…Do you want something to drink?” He had a little refrigerator and opened it. There was nothing alcoholic and I had a Diet Coke. He sipped a root beer and we sat down, him in the chair and me on the bed.
“I don’t, uh…” he looked uncomfortable so I smiled again.
“You’re new at this, huh Father?”
He nodded. “I…I guess I am.”
I nodded with him. “Me too.”
“How long have you been a…a...”
“An escort?” I giggled and lied. “Just a few weeks. I needed a job and I like guys, you know? So…I thought this might not be bad.”
“I see…” He took a swallow. “So you’re not really a, uh, a prostitute?”
I wondered if he was retarded. “Well, yeah. I am kinda. No green, no scene, right?” I laughed again.
“Oh,” he said and we sat there.
“Anyway, my boss said you wanted company all night? So, we can get business out of the way and I’m all yours, okay?” I smiled expectantly.
“Oh, I understand. Six hundred, right?”
I nodded. “I can take a credit card if you want, we bill as JB’s Catering in case your wife wonders or anything,” I offered helpfully. “And oh, there’s a 10% service charge though. Cash is really best.”
“I’m not married.” He stared at me.
“Oh sure, right, you’re a priest. I forgot, sorry.” I rolled my eyes when he looked away. Like he wasn’t the first guy dressed up like a priest that I’d fucked? Whatever.
“Here.” He counted out six hundred dollars in 5’s, 10’s and 20’s and put it on the desk in a crooked crumpled stack.
“Wow. Raiding the cookie jar, huh?” I laughed and counted it.
“No, I just borrowed it,” he said and then cleared his throat like he hadn’t meant to say that. “It’s from the collection box. I have…I have to put it back in the morning.”
“Uh-huh,” I shook my head and rolled it all up, grabbing a rubber band out of my purse to hold it. I tucked the money in my purse and zipped it up. “Okay, soooo…”
“Now you’re all mine?” he asked.
“Yep, all yours…What do you want to do, Father?” I sat back on the bed, lifting my legs up and digging my long stiletto heels into the mattress. I spread my knees and played with the hem of my skirt, a little peek-a-boo with my panties while he thought about it.
“I’d like to talk first. If it’s okay with you.” He lifted one corner of his mouth into an almost smile.
“Sure, I like to talk. What do you want to talk about?” I leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed my soda.
“Are you Catholic?”
“I used to be, growing up. Then, you know, I kinda got away from the church and, I don’t know.”
“I see,” he rubbed his chin. “And when was your last confession?”
“Hmmmm…” I thought about it. “Wow! That’s a toughie. I guess 3 years ago? Maybe…Yeah, when I was 16 I think.”
“That’s a long time.”
I nodded.
“Would you like to confess tonight? Make the act of contrition and receive absolution?”
“Oh boy.” Why did I get all the wackos? “That’s awfully tempting, Father, Lord knows I have a lot to confess. Do you think I should?” I thought I had him figured now. A little confession followed by some good old-fashioned penance. Some guys had a hard time just telling a pretty girl to get on her knees, although I never understood why.
“Oh yes, you need to be…clean.” He moved his chair closer to the bed and he had to lead me through it, since it had been so long for me.
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned…” I said softly. “It’s been, uh…Three years since my last confession.”
“God is listening my child, confess your sins that he may forgive you.” The priest had his eyes closed, holding a rosary and a bible while he listened to me.
“I, um…I swear. A lot. And I use the Lord’s name in, uh…vain. Sometimes. I’ve had sex…” I paused, “…a lot, Father. With um, married men too and girls, sometimes. I took drugs and got drunk. I lied to people.”
“Go on my child.”
“Uhhh…I tried…I tried to kill myself once and I…” I hadn’t planned on saying this stuff, but it did feel good in some strange way. Like I was finally almost free of some very bad memories that haunted me when I slept.
“Yes?”
“I…had an abortion, Father. I, ummm…” I felt like crying. “It was a boy and I killed it.”
“I see…”
We were quiet for a long time while I did cry just a little. He didn’t try to touch me, or talk to me, he just let me do it alone with God. When I finally looked up I could see he’d been praying. He stopped when he became of aware of me looking at him.
“These are truly grievous sins, my child. But the Lord our Father hears your voice and knows the grief in your heart. He is a God of Mercy and Love and He will forgive you. Let us pray now together, making the Act of Contrition and finding that forgiveness.”
We prayed for a long time. He prayed, I just listened mostly, saying the Amen parts, but it was enough, I think. I felt so much better. I went to the bathroom to wash my face. I looked terrible. And that was when I realized there was someone else in the hotel room. I caught just a glimpse of her in the bathroom mirror, a little flash from some jewelry or something that she was wearing, and when I turned to look she was gone.
“Who was that?” I asked the priest, stepping back into the room and drying my hands on a towel.
“Excuse me?” he said, looking up. But it was obvious there was nobody else there and I shrugged without saying anything more.
“Would you, uh…undress please?” he asked me.
I smiled. About time, I thought. “Of course, Father. I’d love to do anything you want.”
I started slowly undressing, trying to be sexy and provocative for him, but he wasn’t watching. He just read his Bible and that disappointed me, really. I took off my blouse and my bra, so my firm tits fell free, then I unzipped my skirt, stepping out of it. I took off my panties and stepped out of those as well, so I stood only in my black stockings and spiked high-heeled shoes.
“Everything, Father?” I asked coyly, making sure I was rubbing my pussy when he looked up at me.
He swallowed thickly and nodded. “Y-Yes please.” This time he didn’t look back down and I turned around so he could see my heart shaped ass when I bent over, pushing my stockings down slowly one at a time. They bunched around my ankles and I walked over to him, lifting one foot and putting it on the arm of the chair the priest was sitting in.
“Would you take off my shoes for me, Father? Those little buckles always give me a hard time.” I held up my fingers so he could see my long red fingernails.
I had my thighs spread apart and with one leg up he could clearly see my slit and the fullness of my labia as they were exposed. I thrust my hips out slightly and smiled as he took off my shoe with rather shaky fingers, then my stocking, pulling it off slowly as I lifted my foot. I presented him with the other shoe and giggled softly as he took that one off as well, then my stocking so I was completely naked.
“Now what, Father?” I stood with my hands on my hips, waiting for him.
“Please, uh…lie down…there…on the bed.” The man nodded while I did as he asked, lying on my back, with my knees bent and legs spread. I rubbed my sex slowly, feeling it damp already at the idea of fucking this priest. I didn’t know why, but the idea had suddenly made me incredibly horny.
I watched as he opened a little suitcase and removed some lengths of thin silky rope. “I would like to…to tie you to the bed, please.” It seemed as if he were almost asking me if that was okay.
“Mmmm…I don’t know, Father. Bondage costs extra,” I smiled apologetically.
“Ex…Extra?” he frowned. “I don’t have any more money.” He seemed genuinely sad and I shook my head.
“Are you sure, Father? Another hundred dollars is all it takes. You can tie me up, spank me, do all kinds of nasty things to this body.” I ran my hands up and down my warm skin, caressing my pussy and breasts and giving him a little moan.
“I don’t have any more.” He wasn’t lying, I could tell.
“It's okay, Father. Nothing extra then…just doesn’t tell anyone okay? Our little secret.” Randy would skin me alive if he found out, but this poor guy in the priest suit looked like someone had canceled Christmas.
“Thank you,” the man said, smiling gratefully. He started tying my hands to the headboard. He wasn’t very good with knots but they seemed pretty tight. I experimented a little and I wasn’t getting free, that was for sure. Normally I wouldn’t have done this with a new customer, but we’d just done a confession scene, this guy wouldn’t hurt a fly, I was sure. He tied my ankles next, not spreading my legs though, which seemed a little strange. But I shrugged mentally, he probably just wanted to fuck my tits, or maybe get a rim job or something.
“Make sure you use a condom, okay? I’m trusting you,” I decided to tell him, just in case. “I put some on top of the TV.”
“What? Oh, yes…of course.”
I smiled at him and then I saw her again. Peeking over his shoulder as he finished with my legs. She was dressed in black, like a nun, but without the funny hat. She looked young too, beautiful and French. I don’t know why, but I looked at her and thought she looked like a French girl, the way you’d expect one to look. With short black hair and bright blue eyes. Her nose was small and she had red, red lips that pouted, even though she appeared to be smiling. So innocent looking. I suddenly felt intense shame at being seen by her. By her knowing I was a prostitute. I had to close my eyes and look away. It was a real physical pain and when I looked again, she was gone.
I took several deep breaths. I was frightened by it. I pulled at the ropes binding me to the bed and they didn’t yield even slightly.
“Father, I’ve changed my mind. I really need to leave. I…I’ll refund your money, okay? But I need to go, please.” Randy was going to kill me, but I was so cold now. I couldn’t stay.
The priest looked down at me. “Not yet, my child. Soon, very soon.” He started reading his Bible, but it was like nothing I’d ever heard, I was sure.
“W-What are you doing, Father?” He was reaching into his bag and pulling out a large ornate knife. He laid it on my stomach, the blade pointing upward, between my breasts. It was cold and heavy and I was so afraid now. “Father…what…what are you doing?”
I held my breath, staring at that knife and feeling wetness fill my eyes. “Hey…Father! Talk to me! What are you doing?”
He lifted a vial of water, holy water I guessed and made the sign of the cross over me, getting both me and that terrible knife wet. He took another vial, of oil I think, spilling it just above the mound of my sex. He was chanting the whole time and my body shivered uncontrollably.
“Father!” I screamed. He ignored me, taking a third vial and dipping his thumb into it. It was ashes and he made the sign of the cross on my forehead. “Father!” I screamed again, yanking at the ropes, bouncing my hips and sobbing now. “You’re scaring me! Tell me what you’re doing!” I pleaded with him, but he refused to say anything to me. His voice was a soft droning whisper.
“He’s going to take your soul,” a soft feminine voice whispered in my ear and I jerked my head, turning to see the woman sitting beside me on the bed.
“Wha-What?”
“He’s reading from the Apocrypha. His order was charged over 900 years ago by Pope Benedict the Eighth to find a soul, to put it in that jar, and deliver it to me.”
I looked and he had indeed removed an old and dirty looking clay jar from his bag. He blessed that jar as well, or so it seemed to me.
“His order has never found one and he is the last. He’s dying. Once he has found yours, finally I can return home. I will be…Absolved.”
“Wh-Who are you?” I blinked at my tears. “Are you an…an angel?”
“I am the first among angels.” She smiled and my heart seemed to melt. I couldn’t breathe and my lungs paused of their own accord. “Do you know me?”
I nodded. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”
“No more so than I am. Or him,” she gestured at the priest as he kissed the jar. “Do you know what that ugly little pot is?”
“No,” I whispered.
“It’s the Holy Grail,” the beautiful girl laughed and my heart broke like glass. “It has the dust of Christ’s blood in it. Dried up like ashes. God…” she looked up as if He was listening, “…said that it was a sign of his mercy, that possessing it would ease the world of its misery.” She looked at me. “Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know.” I could barely speak the words, my heart was going so fast and I couldn't breathe.
“If that's true…Think how terrible the world would be without it!” She giggled and traced a finger across my lips and chin, down my neck.
I shivered uncontrollably.
“Shhhh…He comes.” She stroked my breast and smiled so that I thought I had never known love until that moment. “Be strong. It will be over soon.”
She sat there with me while the priest picked up the knife, holding it high with the tip of the blade pointed down. “Forgive me, my child,” he said and plunged that blade deep into the spot where he’d anointed me with oil.
I screamed and my whole body was tense, rigid with the shock of pain and fear. The injury itself felt like someone had poured a gallon of boiling water on me; wet and burning. The sharp pain had lasted only seconds, what followed was a terrible, general distress that spread through my body like a stain. It paralyzed me and anguish seized my heart. He used both hands to rip the blade through my flesh, rending me from my pelvis to my sternum. My teeth chattered and my body jerked and spasmed uncontrollably.
“Shhhh…” the girl whispered and her voice seemed to echo as if from far away, but the heat of her was in my ear. “Almost done, almost…”
The priest had dropped his knife and was pushing his hands inside my viscera, squishing and squeezing, pulling pieces of my intestines free as if looking for something horribly important that I had perchance swallowed. He was crying out, praying and his eyes looked wild and hungry. I couldn’t feel it anymore. I was awake, aware, but slipping away. Going quietly away.
“Wake up…” The girl kissed my lips and I screamed as a thunderous flash of pain exploded in my body. I was suddenly terribly awake to all of my senses. I could taste my fear. I could smell my pain. I could hear my body dying. I felt everything and saw the madness in the priest’s face. I sobbed and jerked and begged him to stop!
He cursed loudly, spitting at me like a rabid dog. “Where is it, you bitch! You filthy whore!” He picked his knife back up and cut the rope around my ankles, spreading my legs and stabbing into my sex. “In there? In there? You Jezebel bitch…It’s in there isn’t it?” He laughed maniacally and pushed his hand into my bloody torn womb, feeling around. “No? No? Little whore!” He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me. “Where is it? Where?”
I was going away again. I was dimly away of the priest cutting into my chest, clawing at my heart as it beat weakly. He pulled it free, turning it in his hands. “Where? Where?” He was crying and he threw my heart on the floor, shoving his hands into my chest and I felt it no more.
I was sitting with the woman, watching the priest and the dead girl on the bed. “He won’t find it,” I told her.
She looked at me and her eyes were those of a newborn. “You had an abortion.”
I nodded. “I gave it to him. To my child.”
“You’re denied Heaven, you know.” She looked at me, a smile playing across her lips.
“Like you are?” I smiled then also. “But my son isn't.”
The beautiful girl stood up and walked over to the priest, whispering in his ear and kissing his forehead. The old man slumped into the chair, next to the bed, holding the jar and weeping softly. I left them like that, giving my body one last lingering look.
end
Reno is awesome. His cartoons are sexy, funny, and a lot like Saturday morning cartoons complete with way too much sugar on my cereal. I love him and this is my entire (almost) complete collection. I'm missing a couple strips, but mostly I have them all. Everything from Dogs to Bears to Lions to Monsters to Insects having sex with willing or occasionally less than willing human females in heat! Insects? Ugh! But I'm serious and if you're into bestiality cartoons like I am, this is a must for your collection, as well as your peace of mind! Download it here!
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Choo-Choo Girls
by Rachael
The Burlington-Northern runs past my yard, up on the raised gravel bed. It goes slow here, west to east and the other way too. But especially up the long steep hill out of town, going east where the world is hungry for oil and cars and lumber. I listened to it rumbling past the night my father came into my room for the last time. Every time is the last, it has to be. I put myself on that train and watched my little house go by, dark and silent and meaningless, like all the other little homes. Swallowed up by that rush of wind and and deep-throated diesel roar; it carried me far away.
I couldn't get up. So after he was done I just curled up, I hugged myself and rocked myself until Emily got out of her bed and came over to mine. She got under the covers and put her little arms around me and let me cry. She brushed my hair and kissed it and tried to tell me it was okay. That he was gone. But we both knew he wasn't really gone. He was always with us, every minute. Like a ghost, I could still feel him inside me. And I ran to the bathroom to wash him out. But It wasn't any use, it never was, I couldn't wash him away with all the soap in the world.
Emily opened the door and pulled me out of the bathtub. She'd been crying too, I could tell. I stood there and let her dry me off, and we went back to our room, into her clean bed. I told her about the train, I whispered it as if he might hear us somehow. I told her that I'd been on it, that he hadn't touched me. Not really, not me. I was on the train and there was a wind, and a deep growl that filled the air and the soft click-clack of the rails beneath me. I was free, I was watching everything go past and nothing could catch me. Not even him.
Emily told me it was a nice dream. That trains were big and strong and went far away. She always understands and I hugged her tightly until we both fell asleep.
The next night he came again. I pushed myself against the wall, trying to be so little he couldn't see me. I pulled my blanket up and put my pillow over my head and made soft sleeping sounds. He wouldn't bother me, he wouldn't touch me if I was asleep, I told myself. I shivered and waited and I heard his feet and I wanted to cry and scream and run away. But I didn't. I just laid there.
It was Emily's turn. Little Emily who was so strong for me. So brave and strong. She called him Daddy and said she had a bad dream. Her voice was shaking and I felt the hot water in my eyes and I hated it. I couldn't move though I tried, I swear, I tried to get up and tell her to be quiet. But I didn't, I just laid there and cried and thanked God that it wasn't me again. And that made it worse.
I heard the bed moving, the little springs being squeezed when he got on Emily's bed. And I heard her muffled voice saying no daddy and please daddy and I had my eyes closed tight. I held my breath and listened for the train and it was coming. I heard the engines like thunder a long way off and I wanted it to hurry. To come soon, to take Emily with it, away from here. She was crying and I wanted to plug my ears, but I couldn't, I had to listen for the train. I had to help her find it.
Emily was screaming, he was bad tonight. He was angry because it was Emily and not me, because she'd been awake when she should have been sleeping. I heard him cursing her, telling her to keep quiet. But Emily wasn't listening, she isn't big like me, she's so small and he was hurting her. I had to say something. I told her to get on the train. Get on the train Emily, go away and don't look back.
end
Carli has one of those innocent, girl next door faces and for that reason she reminds me of Jodi Foster, whom I'm secretly in lust with. Don't tell my husband, but everytime he wants anal sex, which is just often enough to keep it kind of painful, I like to imagine it's Jodi doing me hard and deep and in my much too small anus! Of course, when my husband cums deep in my bowels, filling my bruised and tender ass with a hot load of thick sperm, it kind of ruins the illusion...But I'll forgive him for that. Usually. Anyway, Carli just reminds me of Jodi and that reminds me of being ass fucked. Strange how everything is all connected somehow, isn't it? Download the pictures here!
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Eleven Good Men (and one fucked up bitch)
01 “Okay, let’s get this started, huh? Maybe we should introduce ourselves just so we know. My name is Gene and I’m the jury foreman. I’m a retired school teacher.” The old man looked around the small jury room. “Let’s just go around the table here.”
02 “I’m Jim. I, uh, I work for the post office.”
03 “Hi, my name is Henry and I’m a plumber.”
04 “My name is Seth and I sell cars, down at Thompson Lincoln-Ford-Mercury-Hyundai-Rolls-VW-Audi-Plymouth-Chrysler -Ferrari-Bmw-Jag-Honda-Kia-Saturn. If you guys need a car, you know, just come by and I can really get you a sweet deal, like we got this little red…”
05 “Yeah yeah…I’m Fred and I’m a florist.”
06 “Hi there, I’m Joe and I own Boeing.”
07 “Really?”
06 “No, I’m uh, a pathological liar. But I stayed at a Holiday Inn last night.”
07 “Oh. Well, I’m Jerry and I’m a trash collector.”
08 “Hello. I’m Robert and I’m an alcoholic.”
01 “This isn’t AA…”
08 “Oh, right, I didn’t see any donuts. I’m a minister. Sorry.”
09 “Hi everyone, I’m Stanley and I’m an unemployed social satirist. But, uh, I brought copies of my resume if anyone’s interested, or knows anyone who might be…”
10 “Okay, my name is Wayne and I’m a horse breeder.”
11 “My name is…”
10 “I mean, I don’t breed with horses.”
11 “My, uh name is…”
10 “Personally.”
11 “Okay! I’m Bill and I manage a McDonalds.”
12 “I’m Rachael and I’m a pornographer.”
01 “Uhhh-huh. Well then, um, now that we know everybody, kind of, maybe we should take a quick vote just to see where we stand, huh? Everybody have paper and a pen? Good. Just write guilty or not guilty and pass it down.”
This is kind of a small set and I have no idea where it came from, but I like it. A girl who really looks like me for a change, except my face isn't that flat, is it? heh! Maybe it is, nah...Same body though and so perhaps you'll understand why I have so much personality! I'm just happy to be finishing up with these. It seemed like a good idea in the beginning, you know, steal some porn and give it away...But what a lot of work! No wonder people charge money for this stuff! Download Lin's moneymaker here!
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A few minutes
later...
01 “Okay, uh let’s see…Not Guilty, Not Guilty, etc…etc….okay that’s 11 not guilty’s and…the last one… ‘Guilty as fuck.’ Uhhh-huh. Okay hold it down, hold it down. Does the um, person who cast the ‘Guilty as, uh, fuck’ vote want to identify himself and maybe, er, maybe shed some light on the reason?”
12 “Why do you assume it was a himself?”
01 “What?”
12 “You said it was a himself, why not a herself? Are you sexist?”
01 “Er, no, of course not I just assumed…”
03 “When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”
11 “That’s clever.”
12 “You assumed that a female would never find a raping murderer guilty?”
01 “No, of course not, I mean…”
09 “What? You mean of course she never would?”
01 “No, I meant I wouldn’t assume anything!”
06 “But you just said you assumed a moment ago.”
01 “I know, but…I’m not on trial here!”
02 “Maybe you should be.”
10 “I wanna change my vote now.”
04 “You can’t do that!”
05 “What do you mean he can’t?”
08 “This is still a democracy, nimrod!”
03 “I think he’s guilty too now!”
12 “Let’s vote again.”
01 “No, wait a minute this isn’t right!”
05 “What do you mean? We can vote again.”
07 “Something’s fishy here. He’s guilty.”
09 “Yeah, let’s vote again.”
01 “Alright, alright…let’s vote again. Everybody just um, write your vote and uh, pass it up.”
Some minutes later…
01 “Okay uh, Guilty as Hell, Not Guilty, Guilty, Not Guilty, Not Guilty, Guilty as Kuck…oh, that’s an F…Guilty as Fuck…um Guilty, Not Guilty, Not Guilty, Guilty as a Girl, uh…Hmmm… ok…Guilty, Guilty, and um, Not Guilty. Let’s see that’s 6 Guilty and 6 Not Guilty.”
12 “Who the hell wrote Guilty as A Girl?”
03 “It wasn’t me.”
12 “Who did it? Come on chicken shit, what are you trying to say? It was you, wasn’t it?”
08 “Me? No, not me why…why would you think it was me?”
12 “Cause you’re a minister.”
04 “So?”
07 “So? Original sin? Eve? The Garden of Eden? Duh!”
11 “You blaming girls now? For what that prick did?”
08 “No, I’m not! I didn’t even…”
02 “So you think it was the girl’s fault she was raped and strangled?”
08 “No, I didn’t say that! Look it’s all a misunderstanding, it’s her fault that…”
12 “Oh! You’re blaming me now? Hmm…let me check! Nope no cock in here, gosh! I must have left it at the scene of the crime!”
01 “Why do you think she did it?”
03 “I think he did it!”
07 “You know why fish smell the way they do?”
10 “What’s the matter, no choir boys to castrate that day?”
06 “He was in on it, that’s for sure. Look at him, guilty as hell.”
05 “So how was it, raping a mother of two on her way back from a PTA meeting? Pretty tight?”
08 “What?”
09 “I wanna change my vote now.”
11 “How come this didn’t come out in the trial?”
12 “It was the lawyer.”
01 “Well, there ain’t no lawyer in here to cloud the issue. I’m changing my vote too.”
04 “Let’s vote!”
A bit later…
01 “Okay…Guilty, Guilty, Guilty, Guilty…etc etc…Not Guilty. That’s 11 for Guilty and um, 1 for Not Guilty. So, who’s the guy who still thinks he’s innocent?”
12 “What makes you think it’s a guy, you sexist bastard?”end
There's no nudity in this photoset. None. So don't go thinking you're going to see anything, cause you're not. This photoset is just weird. It kinda freaks me out actually, but what the hell. She's eighteen and one can only wonder what her boyfriend (or girlfriend) must think about when he fucks her every night. I bet they're really nasty in bed too. One look at that girl and you know she does everything and anything. You probably wouldn't even have to beat her too much either. Once or twice with a belt and she learned quick, I guaranfuckintee it, as my old boyfriend liked to say. Isn't life funny? Download the pictures here!
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