Vampire The Masquerade RPG
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The Kindred Chronicle
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THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



Index
Getting Started
General Information
Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

Camarilla
Anarchs
Other
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 5 (6)
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 7
Tremere: 2
Nosferatu: 3
Gangrel: 1
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 0
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 0
Nosferatu: 1
Gangrel: 1
Setites: 5
Sabbat: ???


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
Brujah: Thomas Krusen
Gangrel: Alexa Mallik
Malkavian: Ellora Reese
Tremere: Hannah Sundling
Toreador: Arsenio Pozzi
Nosferatu: Dogan Khojak



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

Baronets
Enfield: Leslie
Haringey & Barnet: Clarice Harris
Harrow: Jelena Korolenko

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Welcome To The Night

You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality.

This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories.

Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness.

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Little talks; Church
Topic Started: Thursday, 16. October 2014, 09:11 (3,014 Views)
Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
At some point her hand had managed to find his hair, somewhere in the agony of bliss it did occur to her that she's angered the beast to a dangerous level, and she needed to be careful not to let him gorge. She wasn't running on full, she rarely was with his voracious appetite. She could replenish with other fanger blood from cold storage and a straw, or go intravenously with bags of human juice... But there needed o be rationing, not a full plunge and exploitation of hard earned resources. He needed to feed elsewhere, even if that wasn't ideal for either of them. It sure wasn't.

Ideal would be simply having a never ending supply of Mac which he could sup from whenever he pleased, because she sure loved every moment of his unbreakable connection with her. With her hand in his hair, she doubted that if he was in a real frenzy she'd ever be able to pull him off. He was just too fucking strong, and somehow that softly thumping fear in the back of her mind twisted the moment and made his hunger for her that much more thrilling. The violent digging of tongue and teeth into her throat left a part of her wanting to race from her skin, while her skin itself shivered with a radiating neediness that made the rest of her want for more. More. More Church. There was never enough of his fangs, his hands, his cold body cooling her inferno. She was aware through the numbing and cloudy bliss that he wasn't where she wanted him, he was taking her in only his ways, kindred ways. The human parts of her felt empty, and she twisted and moaned as she sought to solve that aching barrenness. The pressure on her knee had been overwhelmed by the kiss, its presence had been washed under a dulling blanket of uncontrollable delight.

Her movements and his sudden docile relaxing shifted his knee. While he melted into her, relaxing as her blood sedated his beast, the burst of relief from the sudden releasing of bent bone and knotted flesh added another level of sparks to the storm of wonderful feels that thundered through her. She arched against him, never settling, always shifting in that way and she when lost in his kiss.

When his teeth withdrew she made an audible noise of near protesting relief. There was only so much one person could take, but she'd take as much of it as she could get, never quite able to handle her own addictions. He was sure an addiction, something she could easily die to have more of. Small sighs and heavy breaths as she tried to come back to herself more fully. The throbbing of a now purple and black work of Church art upon her thigh was becoming more and more present in her mind, feeling the heated swell pulse with each heart beat.

She'd let go of his hair at some point, and while he was grinning down at her she just cracked a slight smile at the worshipful green gaze. Then she giggled a little, chest popping up and down with a few shallow laughs as she shook her head. He was looking at her with all sorts of things in those eyes, all sorts of things that were both a power trip of delight and yet chaffed against her sense of reality and the horrible place she believed it to be. Nights with him took her terrible life and made it seem so much... Less terrible. He made her think these good things sometimes, these positive thoughts that were so unnatural to her she always felt a rubber band snap back against them. He made her believe that there was a reason to keep going on, that everything was worth it. Nights in heaven were worth the trudge through hell to get there. Then she was full out laughing, unable to stop the little stream of giggles from becoming an all encompassing hysterical fit while he was trying to ply her jiggling chest with sweet attentions.

She'd try and shove him off, both hands coming to push up against where she's crushed his chest, applying pressure to splintered rib cage and bones. She wanted to try and create a little distance between them and knock that sappy, soppy, love struck expression from his gorgeously lopsided face. They were getting far, far too deep into territory she didn't know how to manage. She needed to bring it back a step, and laugh at the sinful worship that passed between them. It was... So... Care Bears. They were turning into besotted teenagers. It was so counter to their roots in the depths of scum and depravity that was Sabbat, that it was hard to internalize it all. Sometimes she couldn't, sometimes it was so incredulous to try and comprehend that all she could manage was to laugh. So she did.
Edited by Mac, Thursday, 22. January 2015, 02:34.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
This bitch high? Nah. Just crazy. And while that ain't exactly news to me, I can still wonder what wickedness is going through that steel trap mind of hers and bring out the giggle-monster. Especially when they're brought out so...ferociously. Seriously, is she gonna cum? I don't though. Far too distracted by unbelievably (considering the Frankenstein like origins) great tits that need to get a lashing of this cool tongue and pricked at with wanting teeth. Cause you sure as shit better believe that even as my gaze shifts from her lit up face to those jiggling fun bags, I could still eat. Jebus, when could I not? Given the choice of being wrapped up with her, sliding into her in more ways than one. Eternal bliss. Do I think of anything but that these days? Of keeping that heat that fills me like a fire made of comfort...just keep that shit burning forever.

Those thick and unforgiving fingers of mine find their mark on the underside of the meaty handfuls that are her most obvious point of sale, and she see's it as an opportunity to respond...likewise? A split second later, I understand why, groan like the loving dead and arch my neck to the sky - the dirty dog does love getting petting on the chest. Especially when it's crushed to fuck. I'm perhaps a little disappointed that I ain't sucking on a nipple right now as my hands push her breasts together. Bet its magnificent. Not that I give a fuck right now, the extreme tenderness of my internal bits has reduced my to a trembling mass of 'Oh Fuck.' No borderline blacking out like when she made such a tremendous impact earlier, but just a reminder of how...fragile I can be. The short of blood was enough to get things knitting, enough to keep me actually dying, no need to worry about that. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't in a world of depravity when those hands, I dunno, it's like they flicked a fucking lever that sends me somewhere...different. It's blurry. The lights of the warehouse shift and become fuzzier. Gravity seems...off. My arms aren't so much mauling her tits as they are trembling beneath my weight, despite the fact that she's holding me off the ground. No, they're holding on. My legs sprawl, but I don't go off my knees. No matter how much the room feels like it's spinning.

Jebus...am I about to cum?

It's all in a few blinks of the eye, but such a simple thing for my baby equaled to something so unspeakably surreal and sublime. A merciless killer...who can make me feel so loved it's fucked up. And that's why I can fantasize all I want about keeping my gnashers in her neck and cock up her cunt for all of time...but I'd rather focus on the here and now settle for what it is, though settling feels like i'm coming off worse. I'm not. A joy that is more than just her body and blood. A desire to make someone happy and feel good. And have them do the same in kind, Jebus...I never knew it could happen. Dreamt of it...but it actually happened.

I know her too well. Understand the goal of her objective and pleasing touch...and as much as I enjoy her hands exploring the span of my smashed up chest...no. Just no. I try to tell her that, but I'm sure it's just more moans, something that she might perceive as 'Please, do it more.' I ain't going nowhere. She's gotta do better than that. I wonder if she's still laughing? I can only hear my own bones bend and break some more. Is that what it is? Sounds more like screaming. The internal screams, the nerves burning up in ecstasy and feeding my addiction. Dammit...the tits. My hands are grabbing her midriff and keeping me stable. If I had the choice, I'd have a forearm across that bitches throat, but as strong as I might be, I'm kind of a bitch to gravity at the moment. As in, she can just lift me...I can't make myself heavier and I'm pretty sure she could bench press two of me and then some. So I gotta counter...and that happens to be simple enough. A hand is off of her chest, balling up and brought down like a hammer on the thigh that I kindly softened up earlier. I'm dizzy enough that I could've whacked myself...but the vibrations up my arm accompanied with a heavy thud and the gorgeous noise that escapes her. Her hands are off, even if only for a second. Jebus

If I had breath, it'd catch in my throat right about now. My hand platforms are reduced to elbows as I lower myself down. Fucking hell...I love you baby. God damn if you ain't the best ever. I close my eyes as my head rolls down to see in what feels like the first time in at least an hour. This shit feels better than ever...cause I had to wait longer? Or does it just get better every time? My eyes crack open, I expect to see her beautiful mug twisted up in all kinds of gleeful victory. Instead, well, I guess I don't know quite where I am. I'm greeted by tits. Well, best get back to it. No fucking around this time; grab 'em, suck 'em, lick 'em.

Oh yeah, I'm back to it like that little trip to heaven was a normal tuesday night. It wasn't, well with her it was, but regardless: This train don't stop. The fuck train, that is.
Edited by Church, Friday, 6. February 2015, 01:16.
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
The noises he made were better than the best metal concert, his agonized moans and body shuddering yells of pain echoed through her pushing hands. The caving, bending splinters of his chest beneath her touch was beautiful in a way she'd never have the words to describe. That her destructive strength could become something so tenderly brutal never ceased to amaze her. It also never ceased to push her on, and she wanted to make him bend and break further. She wanted to hear those noises escape his lips in all their varied splendor. From the softest whisper, to a shivering, vibrating groan, to the most ear splitting, body shaking roar. God she loved to make him writhe, and her laugh had faded from humor to a dark sort of gleeful intent. The shifting of his hands on her form was like a miniature wrestling match, and she enjoyed the desperation of his touch to try and find a perch on her body.

That gleeful intent fell away when a fist came down on her already swollen, blue black thigh. Something cracked, she felt it, she heard it. A quick and elastic snap that shot up her leg, echoed through her ribs and rang through her ears like a single fire cracker exploding right next to her face. The sound, the pain, was blinding for a moment. Her pushing on his chest ceased, everything sensible ceased as she screamed a yelp of pain and the strength in her arms failed. His weight came down on her, it wasn't a true crashing as he'd let himself down easy, but she wasn't quite aware of small details.

“Mnnn..nnn... Fuck...” She was gasping, teeth grinding between trying to catch hard breaths of air to wash away the debilitating mind fuck that was the waves of pain that rolled out from her thigh. She needed to get a cap on it, sink her metaphorical teeth into the pain and push it down. It took time sometimes, to wrap herself around the ache and bring it from that place of agony to that place of burning brilliance instead. Her mind was already fuzzy from Churchs kindred style quickie on her throat earlier, and the shifting balance of pain and goodness left her twisting into the onsalught of a cold tongue licking its way across her chest.

She'd let him play a moment, adapting both to the feeling of a fractured femur, and to the cold machinations of his weight, tongue and teeth skipping along the heavily tattoo'd lines of her chest. Was it broken? Could she... move it? She flexed her fingers, finding her body again, lifting one hand to tangle into his shaggy hair all the way down to scrap against his skull and grip. The other hand braced on the ground, elbow out, trying to create a bit of stability to counteract what she was going to do. She twisted to the side, bucking her hips up against the hard naked form that topped her. A nausating wave swept her, followed by a full body shiver when she stopped the movement. Yeah, broken...

“Ah baby... You broke it...” Rather than sound angry, she sounded like she was swimming somewhere warm and melty.

She bent the leg at the knee, kicking it up with an all out scream to get it over one of his legs. She used his hair to help keep her up, gripping like a mad cat as she pulled into the movement and would most likely smash his face into those tits he was so bent on playing with. One the affected leg was wrapped over his, she relaxed in a heap that fell the few inches back to the floor panting, trying to tense the leg and keep his trapped by her broken one. It might seem crazy, but every time he moved she'd have a blissfully rough wave of all the right kinds of wrong come over her... and holy fuck, it was sensational.

She'd relaxed a little, but she hadn't let go of the hair she was gripping. Instead she yanked it hard, trying not to lift herself this time but she wanted to angle his face up to her.

“Kiss me fucker, and get your cock up where it belongs....” Namely, inside her. Every god damned movement, with broken bones wrapped around him, would be... god damned. If he didn't want to give her what she wanted? Well, she'd just hand to yank him sideways and try and smack that beautiful coconut against the concrete. Get him all dazed and dumb.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
No. Fucking. Breaks!

I let myself taste that shock and awe-gasm that shakes her core and leaves her somewhere warm and delicious. I grabbed me a hearty handful of tit and let my tongue dance aimlessly around a nipple before sucking on that puppy. The bucking of her body that came as a response to the broken femur - the daddy of all bones by the way, which Church fucked up like it was nothing - while delightful, only caused further jiggling. I got T-Rex vision I swear, cause I'm all to focused on licking her clean. I neglect to observe the fact that she already looked thoroughly rinsed down the moment I stepped through the front door. Guess that means I gotta lick till the Kraken comes off, right? Chuckles. Motherfucker. The only fucker I'll ever be willing to share her chest with, and no it ain't cause he's such a handsome devil, more like I can't imagine her body bare. Different. Pure. Ha!

I feel a cool and exhilarating rush go right through me as I digest the husky voice rendered dreamy with the ultimate sign of affection. Broke it huh? Clumsy me, I guess these gorilla hands are fucking trouble. Maybe that's why she digs me so much, huh? I'd like to see her face get all screwed up at that revelation of her lover being a little too rough with his favorite toy. I wonder if her brain can actually fucking work right now, what's it thinking? Hopefully it ain't, but there are some bips of information fading in and out that tell her to respond in kind. Cause I sure as shit wont, I'm still too busy letting teeth prickle at her tit and tease to unleash that beautiful wash of goodness all over her again. My lips do curl into a satisfied, maybe something a little off and sick, smile. "Could always balance that out for ya..." I rumble quietly. I don't think she hears my kind offer. Too busy screaming.

And what a shriek as she flings a lifeless leg around, almost in defiance of the very thing I tried to achieve here. Her legs are so used to being wrapped around my waist so tight, I've started to get a tolerance. So yeah, maybe I wanted something a little different tonight...the ability to not resist quite so fiercely. Gotta admire her determination, even when it is retarded. It affords me a brief pause of biting her boobs - cause fuck yeah am I biting. Guess I slipped from teethy to full on teeth. I could slip inside her so easily, but then the agony would be blocked out for a few perfect seconds. And this shit's too good not to savor.

Da fuck is this? A firm direction bought to the hand in my hair, bringing me north. It lacks the brutality of a woman who wants to get on top, though enough that I don't want a handful of these beautiful locks yanked free. It's her handle to guide me to all the sweet spots, and tits are fun, but giving her exactly what she wants is so much better. Sometimes. After the tormenting, and there's been too fucking much of that shit.

Kiss you? Fuck you? I laugh; a creeping murmur that evolves to something from the belly, were I not so utterly fucked,

"Heh...he...Oh honey. Where it belongs, huh? In my fuckin' cunt, righ?" I oblige her first wish and plant my lips on hers. It's not the usual deep, exploratory 'i'm-gonna-fuck-your-mouth-with-my-tongue' kiss, rather a peck. By our standards. It still holds all the savagery of a man denied his addiction, and promises he'll never be satisfied. I'll always want more. My body shifts. She groans. Ugh, I love it. My legs are preoccupied with finding a place between hers, and it only causes more delightful ripples to coerce wonderful whimpers. The only place our body is allowed to part is at the crotch, where a hand has slithered to in order to negotiate their mutually beneficial union. "Quitcher puppy dog eyes an' gimme a sec."

Thick and destructive fingers slide as gently as they can, parting the pink sea down below to get an appetizer of that warm, inviting place. Then it takes a hold of me, of every fucking magically hard inch that I will bludgeon her insides with until she's writhing like she's infected with bliss-rabies. By which I mean foaming at the mouth for more until sunrise. I think we both gasp when it finally happens, when I finally slide to fourth base. Glorious, awesome forth base. True to my unspoken word, I let the entirety of my manhood fill her up nice and good, and despite being a fucking corpse my medical standards...that shit feels amazing. Or maybe that's just the look she's giving me making me feel so damn mighty and God-like. Her pussy demands the best though, ain't got time to fuck with the small fries. The first thrust was a warning shot. Aiming. Calibrating. Whatever the fuck...something to make sure nothings amiss and this ain't some Tzimisce bitch after my magic cock. The second is much firmer, jangling that rag-doll leg of hers about down there and causing her teeth to grit. Oh she's a dirty bitch, ain't she? She's the best. I give her a real kiss to let her know just that, devour her face some while the hand that so helpfully merged us cups her knee to keep that mangled limb wrapped around me.

I'm sure I would say something witty. But I'm not interested in parting our lips, not while I can taste her again, so I give her an appreciative yummy sound. Did she split her lip, or did I? Things are just as blurry as before, things working purely on instinct doing this dance for the thousandth time, even better than the first time; we're quite the well oiled machine together. Or the fuck train, if you will...
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
The kiss was, well, shit. It wasn't what she wanted, it was a junior high dance peck, all chaste and pathetic. She wanted to taste him, feel his tongue battle against hers, pin it and bite at his lip near hard enough to make him bleed, but stopping just before that most satisfying yielding of flesh. He could bite her, rip her, drink her willy nilly as he was so joyfully reminding her with not so subtle nibbles on her perfect, stolen tits. She couldn't do it back to him, no matter the yearning, they'd done this song and dance and come out clean. She was his, in so many ways it was disgusting and gut wrenching to admit to herself; however, she was not his ghoul. She was his by her own choice, or he was hers by her choice? By her cravings for his company and tender attentions on a level miraculously cleaner than the soul shackling, damning vampire blood voodoo hoodoo bullshit. Somehow, the two dirtiest, most damned people had found something worth living for. Worth struggling for. They'd found something that could peel away the years of baggage and the wrong kind of pain that hung on their hearts and souls like nicotine stains the paint in the house of smokers.

It was moments like this though, when her mind was riding ever growing waves of torment, that he could easily get her to give in to that dark creature that lived in him. That one they'd fought against so many times way back when they'd first met, when he's tease with his blood and try and get her to take that second drink, that obsessive step. He'd worked himself so deep into the fibre of her existence she craved him in all sorts of ways, and that edge of a reformed junkie was always there whispering. She'd tasted him, and part of her craved that still. Would always crave it...

She bit her own lip, like she always did. A red current to help sooth away those debased desires, the taste of blood, any blood, helped confuse those instincts enough to derail them. The feeling of him shifting and sliding home helped that much more, both to distract through a lancing pain up her thigh and a sweet, much needed coolness filling her in all the right kind of human ways. Ways that felt so fucking good she couldn't help but sigh into the movement, still holding his hair like a lifeline, as if he was a carnival ride without safety belts and if she let go she'd fall off and she wasn't ready for that plunge. She wanted those eyes a moment, and she let her forehead roll forward to snap against his, a hard but short impact to force him to look at her with those green peepers.

There was no containing the hissing snarl between gritted teeth when he moved again, trying to remember to breath even and paced to endure the tide of warm agony. When his hand moved to cradle the knee and lift it higher, to guide that broken leg with his movements that much more effectively? She whimpered, a rather small cry compared to the throaty moans and groans. It was like being electrocuted, compared to stubbing your toe. The purposeful pressure was a blanket that sent her thoughts sputtering, and failing. She could clear her head if she tried, she could fight that goodness, but fuck... She didn't wanna. She wanted to take this ride, let go and crash hard and heavy.

"Please ..." Her favorite thing to say to him, not even knowing when their lips had become a wild mess. She'd learned to beg from Marco, but she'd never loved to do it like she did with Church, especially when she wasn't sure what she was begging for, other than for it not to stop. Keep going, keep pushing, keep making her brain melt in ways she'd never known before he picked her rotting ass up off the concrete so long ago.

Edited by TapestryofShame, Tuesday, 17. February 2015, 16:49.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *
"Hmm?"

She say it, or am I just imagining things? Kind of easy to loose track of things among the multitude of precious noises that squeak out of her, but in all fairness, there's so much more going on. A sensory overload each time I propel my hips into hers, not opposed to - or afraid of - the idea of breaking those too. She's a tough bitch...is an understatement. She's made of God damn iron! Just cause I can break that shit doesn't mean it don't hurt none doing it. Especially when you factor in a rib cage that's busted down to splinters, cutting me like razors every time those franken-tits mush into me. Like a sharp stabbing breath when your lungs are on their limit. Not that I'd fucking know, it's been some time since I've gotten out of breath, but this placebo here is as good as the real thing. And her cunt, Jebus. My second favorite meal these nights. It goes: Mac Blood, Mac Pussy, regular mundane shitty human blood...fuck other pussy. If there's a source of that crazy ass fucking inferno that rages inside her, it's the nympho inside her begging to get destroyed. And I get inside there, oh man, she lets me know just how much. I know actually getting balls deep in snatch was...different to this when I had a heartbeat. It's almost like my dicks a thermometer, gauging heat and wetness to determine just how much of a good time she's having. And it doubles as a handy tool for making those readings skyrocket. Jeez, this shit always gets back to doctors, don't it?

"Please..." I quietly murmur, suddenly able to comprehend human speech. Or at least my native language, not the tongue of Mac that I crash coursed the shit out of. I'm sure we could communicate purely in grunts, sounds of pleasure or frustration to let each other know how fucking good we are. But she did say that, right? My ears always perk up for that magic little word. But even so...the fact that I don't know what she's asking for throws me off my game. I readjust my grip that cradles her head off of the ground, a fist among the dreads - as per fucking usual. Kiss that bitch so she don't go saying anything else to fry my brain while it's busy trying to focus on the trembles that ripple all through her with each beautiful lunge that I drive deep. My knees shuffle up a little, get a better angle to pound her from and hike her thigh a few inches further up to keep wrapped up. Cause I'm a sweetheart like that, but she don't have to tell me that, I can see all I need in them gorgeous pools of puppy dog...oh and of course, our language that I shall refer to as Maclish.

Anyway...she said please, didn't she? Please...go harder, faster, deeper? All of those things and so much fucking more? Please stop, I can't take anymore? Fucking hell would it be a scary thing to hear her say that...immensely satisfying in one way, end of the world in another. I love that word, cause it's so fucked up. I'm pretty damn sure it's a rarity, maybe the odd Freudian slip let it out once or twice in her life? But me. I'm freaking spoiled with affection, I'm special enough to her that she might even give a shit and not cut my head off one day. What's more romantic than that, right? Though I'm sure my face is showing off this sweet torment she's left me swimming in, it undoubtedly...ticks over. The corners of my lips stretching a little as my thrusting motion building us up to the sort of rough pace I know is her heaven suddenly lulls.

"Say it again, baby." I ask, though I sure as shit am without humor in saying that. In fact, as I stare into her face, smell her blood, feel her ecstasy...well I can't fucking help myself. I can't play this game, not after last night. The intense stare I giver her, that mug of her still just too fucking cute for such a wild monster...I just need to fucking...I start driving back into her with all the ferocity and enthusiasm that she has grown to expect and cherish. Her eyes aren't rolling back into her skull enough and she's still has way too much control over her tongue. I yank her hair, even when it's got nowhere to go, make sure that she fucking answers me. I feel like I'm losing control, just wanting to lose myself to a beast with a different appetite. The madman inside that wants to make her bleed from being ravaged so properly. No...it's not that. I can't fuck her hard enough, and I do mean physically, which would be very dangerous to her chances of walking straight for the next few days. No. I just...

"I...wanna come for you. So...so fuckin' bad baby."
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Mac
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Goddess of Fuck and War
* * * * *
This was why she wasn't dead. This battling, craving, fucked up mess of savagery. Who the hell could give in to death, when they knew they'd miss out on moments like this? Church's meaty fists wrapped so tightly in her she had a fleeting thought that perhaps he'd just come away with a handful. The thought was driven quickly from her mind by another crashing of his hips, her thigh screaming it's tormented song of agony in a sizzling flash that ran like a current, the hot Zone of sparking wires the fractured bones beneath already swollen muscle.

Did he just say what she thought he did? The thought was absurd, and somehow gratifying. He was jealous, and she knew it. She'd known it all along really, he was all too pleased to make her world shake and shatter. He did it too often, pouring himself into her pleasure and riding the wave vicariously. She got to eat bacon, drink all the booze she felt like till the cows came home, and bake her ass in the sunshine for a perfect tan. She didn't have limits to the use of her 24 hours, besides a few hours sleep now and again she could do what she wanted whenever she wanted. She got to fuck and enjoy every aspect of her writhing mortality. Boy missed being alive, and she couldn't blame him. It was fucking awesome, so awesome she didn't want to imagine what being like Church would be like. Waking up without a heartbeat? Fuck no.

The thought was so unpleasant it sobered her, like being doused in a bucket of ice water right before you were about to hit that point of no return. Disappointing was an understatement, it was actually upsetting. She was spoiled, and she was fucking -fine- with that. She liked being worshipped, she liked not having to give a shit that he could come. Yeah, that sucked. Sucked to be him, but it didn't suck to be her. Even the next potence ridden pouring of his hips into hers didn't bring back that joyful jubilation she had been experiencing. She had wanted to give in, ride the awesome current of his tender offerings. Now she wanted to make him pay for denying her when she was so clearly ready to shake apart. Now she wanted to slap him, in a sense, and take revenge for that abrupt kibosh to the goodness. She endured the next few crashes of his body into her's, trying to catch alight again just enough to dull the agony in her thigh.

When she moved, it was after a bracing breath. Almost the way she tensed and held it just before she came, she tended and pulled in her breath to steel herself. Then she'd move, unable to -break- away because he was so tightly wrapped up in her, but able to leverage enough to move. She rolled her shoulders one way, while her hand came up to hook in his mouth. Either he went with her, or she'd rip through his cheek. The space she created by rolling her shoulder up was the exact space she was trying to yank his face down into, while the other hand tried to fill the space his shattered chest would come down on with a hard fist. It wasn't a comfortable move, it made her tense painfully against her broken bones and his thrusting hips, curled awkwardly. Hopefully however, it caused his face to crash into the ground hard enough to daze him. She needed out from beneath him, and she's use the precious moments the cement kiss would provide her to roll them.

She did scream, not from blissful joy but from a primal place she needed to tap to endure the near unbearable talons that rippled in her leg in the movement. It made her sob, a shaking breath that caused her bones to vibrate tightly in her chest. it might have been smoother, might have been less painful if she had been willing to let him free from the place their hips met. She hadn't been though, she'd squeezed after ahe'd pushed, to try them together in the roll. She needed to be on top, so that she could repeat the thrashing of his brain against the concrete but this time from the opposite side, make the back of his brain ring like the front. This is how you loved a Church, this is how she made him feel as close to alive as she could. Hurt him, and boy did she fucking love to bash him silly. She would use one hand in his hair to lift him up and send him reeling back towards the floor, while the other hand pushed from his chest, to add that much more strength to the shattered chest. She wouldn't stop her hips from rolling with the movement, because she was going to -enjoy- fucking his shit up. She was not an all giving goddess, this wasn't about him, she was far too selfish for that. They were just lucky that making him reel in beautiful agony made her feel so damn good. She intended to feel even better.

"Shut the fuck up."
Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 21. July 2015, 22:32.
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"You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows."
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Church
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
* * * *

Why ain't she screaming? Giggling? Those pretty peepers should be getting a good look at the colour of her own brain matter, right? I mean, I just said it. I can't get there, so she's gotta do it for the both of us. And twice as hard to boot, cause there ain't nothing soft about Church and Mac locking up, whether it be bumping uglies or just bumping cause we been doing that shit our whole lives, it's always nasty. Just how we like it. So when my crotch is meeting hers with such blunt force trauma I have to ease back a little to make sure I don't break my pelvis and, in turn, reduce us both to a pair of crippled nympho's rolling around like a big retarded pile of groping hands and snaking legs? Actually that don't sound too bad...

Certainly better than the look she gives me. Her eyes aint brimming and glistening with that usual glee of her Doc giving her precisely what she needs. Though, saying that, it ain't like she's burning a hole through me. I dunno what the fuck it is, but it's...serious for her. Not quite the look of last night, or the night she confessed about Mels but...well, that's just it. It's something outside these four walls and inside that whacko brain of hers. Something evil and psychotic that likes to play fuckery with her heart and head. The very thing I strive not to happen when her legs are wrapped around me. There ain't nothing but us in these moments and our need to make each other hurt in all the good ways. No thoughts - other than how I can make this bitch scream harder - are allowed.

Course, I make all these observations whilst continuing to get balls deep. I'm not sure if my face twitches a little, eyes narrow just that little extra something that she knows that I know that she's not all there. And whether or not she knows that I know this fact, the result is still the same. I suddenly no longer find my princess so ready and eager for Doc to give her a thorough physical. The bitch is squirming. Not away or wanting me off but...she's seriously trying to move me right now? I mean, my weight ain't exactly a whole lot to the likes of her but I make a fucking point of not letting her win shit. She thinks she can take me? I mean, I don't doubt her just cause she's mortal or a woman; nothing like that. I doubt her cause of her bust ass leg and, as I take a bracing hand from beneath us with every intention to prove just that. I left my other hand tangled, of course, so that when she fails I can make su-Jebus!?

I eat shit. Well, a few specs of dust on the concrete floor specifically. More like the floor eats me, gnaws up a nice patch of skin on my forehead as it slides across the rugged surface. I know what happened all too late, when fingers speckled with that sweet metallic honey of hers slide into my mouth and force me forward. I could've maybe bitten them off - as I have threated to do so many times - but the scream that accompanied the action made me wonder if I had already. Shouldn't my mouth be filling with that delicious taste that is, well, her? Some little Mac sticks to suckle on...though seeing as I somehow managed to fall on something hard and unpleasantly shaped coming down, I'd probably just hurl them back up. It feels like a dumbell crashes into my guts some, or at least that's what I assume what with fucking on the floor of a gymnasium. The scream is one of complete agony, and had far too few constanants in it to be her cursing me for being so, erm, for example? Big. But I'm rolling forward, or rather over, onto my back with the steaming mass of of muscle that is my Princess stuck to me like a freaking stag beetle.

I wanna ask what's up, going on in that whacky imagination of hers. I read my baby well, and though I might not know what's different, I know that it is different. That she isn't trying to hang on for dear life and let me send her to the fucking moon, either breathlessly clutching or screaming loud enough for us to hear her back on planet earth, it's...Not something I can do. Before I can ask what she wants as she takes her rightful place upon me, looking down on her dirty dog. It's a picture worth savouring, though I'm happy to not need to do that this time as she grabs my head to, presumably, balance upon and impale herself so magnifenctly at her own accord...well, neither happen. Instead there's just the flash of light filling my vision, the pounding beat something similar to dubstep filling my ears. And fire. Filling my everything.

"OH...fnnnuugh"

Is it irony that I prayed I could come, and a few moments later, I sound like I'm doing just that? That small, non-descript sound builds into something as I begin to arch, so as to better clear the airways and really let this moan come out unbound. I'm not able to do that though, a weight stops me. Hell, it seems to wanna push the jubilent noises out that much quicker, and I perhaps oblige as I sag into the overwhelming sensation. My fingers initially scramble at the floor hopelessly trying to dig in and give me an anchor so that I can ride this glorious wave out so fucking far and not worry that I wont make it back. Cause honestly, who the fuck knows if I will? They instead find an anchor in the weight that crushes me into the earth. The rock that attempts to greet the hard place behind me. The smooth length of my babies arm, that much comes to me before I let my head fall to the side and continue to make desperately pleasant noises. Or sound like I'm dying. Beauty in the eye of the beholder and what not.

And speaking of...

I peek an eye open, a strain to do so without making them flutter like a god damn cutie-pie. But somehow I manage, and somehow I can manage to show her my bloodied teeth in a failed attempt of a grin. I can't make it that far. I'm sluggish and unresponsive...God, she didn't break me did she?

"Y...yah-" I'm not sure if my jaw is being stupid and not moving enough to let me talk or...hell, frankly my brainbox has taken such a bashing, I don't know if I can remember how to talk. How to put words together to make a sentence...Cause believe me I understood her crystal clear telling me to shut the fuck up. I don't know why, all I know is I don't wanna listen. I just don't know when to quit, and she undoubtedly doesn't ever want me to. This time may have been different, but I can't seem to remember those eyes now. Not when I can barely open my own.

I tilt my head up, all to aware that she's still got a firm grip. She could just smash me back down but...isn't there more fun to be had if she yanks me up then down? Who knows. Who cares? Not fucking me. My show of defiance can't be verbalised, so I must show it through my actions. But as I attempt to straighten up, overwhelm her with my might and put her back on bottom...well, it doesn't happen like that. The hand that I cling to with what strength I have remaining doesn't wanna budge, and I don't even try to budge it. Rather I find myself further victim to it's machinations, crushing and grinding that little bit more. Instead I grit my teeth and growl. Then I part them in a cry. That inch or two I managed to take from her? They come crashing back to her as I lay flat.

Well, fuck.

"Mac...in' it." I wheeze out, so fucking thankful I don't have silly needs like 'breathing' anymore. "For me. Baby. 'Gain and...gain. "I don't even know what I said, but it doesn't matter. Just keep bouncing on my dick and don't eat me. The latter part is important...but not as important as the first.
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