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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. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Stay Hungry; (Private) Pervert radar, activated! WE CAN SEE YOU READING THIS! Naughty Minxes. | |
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| Topic Started: Wednesday, 23. October 2013, 22:32 (2,183 Views) | |
| Church | Friday, 8. November 2013, 00:56 Post #21 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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As my grin fades away, my face slowly mirrors the steely stare down contemplating her to the symphony of a filthy and warped brains music. Is someone feeling a little sex nuts right now? With a libido like hers it's no wonder she's in such incredible shape. Probably destroys a dude for ten minutes then goes nuts on the weights until said dude can get the pillow out his mouth and rest up. Till Church came along of course, Jebus, what's with this third person shit? Seriously. I'm getting big headed. Anyways, I successfully suppress giggling like a schoolboy, whatever the fuck that means, at the very...I don't even fucking. She made it sound so romantic. Cold and dark? Just like my insides! I take a few steps across the room, taking my eyes off her but not making for the door instantly. In fact, I figure I better search around for my pants, cause, y'know. I could pass off as a drunk ass just losing his pants for sure. I could run like greased lightning and get put down by the Cammies as somebody Youtube's "World's most coked up streaker." Would be a good way to go out, for sure. "I figured you'dve noticed I'm a moody motherfucker by now."I look at her again, with a slight shake of the hear; Ain't that the honest to god truth, don't fuck me around. You bitch you. I get pissed, angry, weird, snap to rage, back to weird, and in Macs case, aroused. But eh, I don't think I can really win with her right now. Cause I'm feeling fresh as a fucking daisy right now, moving about. I don't wanna shaft her so hard she coughs up her heart or something. And she sure as shit could use some blue balls for a change. On the other hand, I want to shaft her so hard she could potentially throw up a heart. So decisions, decisions. I'm sure she could just give me the eyes and I would melt like butter, but, I'm gonna make a mental note and be weary of such mind fuckery. God damned if I don't already want her crying my name like I'm murdering her. I turn away...look at the trampoline...and back. I smirk, melting away the stony expression, sure that my haggard eyes brighten with a twinkle of glee. "Say please." And with it I take a step closer, though my joyful expression does not match the passion in my voice. I want her to say it, almost hungry for those words to come out. And I can't disguise that, but I want her to know it anyway. "I mean, you said it last night. Plenty of times." Another step closer, looking delighted with the crisp memories of her words. "'Please Damon, please rock my world again and fuck my brains out again.' That's all you gotta say Princess, maybe something about how I made you scream like you were dying the best death ever or how I made you come over and over; listen, anything about how I am the man, feel free to throw it in there...but the original message has to stay the same." Some way through that request, my voice started to break, a raspy laughter starting to form within it. I don't know where the fuck that came from but damned if I can make myself laugh. And that's what's important right? So maybe despite how well I know her, I don't know how she'll react to it. Is she the kind of, fuck it he's just a jerkoff I'll pretend to be Jack if that gets him hot. Woah, don't think that has any meaning, I was just thinking of something weird. I imagine it would involve her in a fedora and nothing else, therefore making no difference to anything. Cept she would wear a hat for five seconds. Ok, odd segway there, moving on. Time to lay down the challenge you bitch. "Just one last trip to hell, darling? Punish you, like the naughty bitch you are?" The laughter died during a dumb ass thought, and replaced once again by a ravenous, husky tone full of promise. If she was a good girl, of course. Which will then in turn let her as bad as she wants. Maybe that's the reason why she rightfully refuses to take more of my blood, almost knowingly. Because I would exploit her like the first Fanger who got his hands on her? Nah. I understand this chick uncomfortably well already and we've barely talked since that first night I found her. And how boring would she be if she was no longer such a, I can only thing of the pathetic term, 'free spirit.' Ugh, shit. Do I really want a Mac who will do everything I want? You bet your ass! But should I? No. I most certainly shouldn't. She would revert back to a shittier person, and so would I. Fuck that noise. I'm forever unsatisfied. At least she can throw up some interesting distractions along the way. |
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| Mac | Friday, 8. November 2013, 18:32 Post #22 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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His response to her concession of humility was just to push further. What the fuck did he want really? Was he just pushing her buttons the way she liked to push his? This relationship, er, well, whatever you want to call it is going to be a long and drawn out process of them riling each other up and dropping them to get their sadistic jollies off wasn't it? They both liked doing that, pushing the other person around and watching them mentally flail in uncharted, or at least uncomfortable waters. He was looking at her with hungry eyes though, eyes that ripped up her walls and made her pool inside herself like a child. Green, hard, demanding eyes that were unnaturally impacting. Fucker. She wanted to claw them out of his face with her bare nails, and she wanted to lick the resulting rivers of slow dripping red off his cheeks. Why his eyes? Oh, she knew why. Eyes were always Marco's thing, if she ever told him no he'd just slip inside her head with his brown pools of chocolate, and begin digging and rearranging whatever was built up in his way, breaking her down and leaving her his willing mess. Church though, his eyes didn't have that punch... Not in the same way, so she knew that fear and desire to rip them out of his face was misplaced. She just didn't want to be a puppet, and she was translating her anxiety about that single step bond into something real and touchable, and rip able. That was the hunger and she knew it, this was all convoluted and messed up inside her head, inside her skin. In other places. Why was she so fucking obstinate? Why was him pushing for her to have common courtesy and say 'please' so fucking oppositional to her mind set right then? She sure had been saying please the night before, Christ, if he had asked her to say she was the fucking pope and put on a silly pope hat, she'd have done it and laughed. Something now was just rubbing it the wrong way, maybe because they were both attempting a power play instead of just fucking playing. "Actually, I'm pretty sure I was saying... Church, please fuck my brains out again. Doc, please rock my fucking cunt into another world...again..didn't know your name was Damon till tonight after all." Her hands were running along her skin, not in a sexy seduction routine as much as a way to remove filth and grime, sweat and blood from the night before. There sure had been a lot of -everything- flying around. Maybe if she would scrub it off her skin, she'd scrub out this fucking want and need that was left behind. Really, the only thing that would really calm the fire for more than a few hours was a decent meal, but... At the same time, it felt so fucking good to feel this way. Powerful, overwhelming want. Rather different from the quiet silence that came after a good feed, the numb contentment on a cellular level, she felt empty and boring inside. " Is that what you want... Damon? A good little Princess who will get down on her knee's, crawl across the floor..." She was real good at theatrics, that had been her forte in high school before she'd had it ripped away from her. May have been a decent little actress some day, or a porn star. Probably the latter, let's face it. She'd sink down to her knee's in the shower still, the roll of the hot fiery water drenching down her back as the front of her sank to the floor outside the water stream. She lifted her head, chin up, tipping it to the side so she had to look at him from the corner of her eyes. A slight grin crossed her features. " Tip her neck up obediently and ask with all the sex and fever of a girl on fire, for you to please, please, please slide your cock between her slippery thighs?" A hand went down to the place she was talking about, dropping between her legs to rub hard circles against herself." A princess to beg you? Please rock my wet little cunts world, because my skins crawling with need and I want -you- to be the one to beat my twat into a screaming orgasmic puddle? I want -your- fangs on my neck, I want to hear -your- groan and growl as you slide in and out while I buck beneath you, feeling the slow draw of my blood over your tongue and greedy mouth? Say that I don't think I've ever felt as good as when you're plowing between my legs, and sinking fangs into my flesh? That last night blew my mind, and I didn't know you could -feel- that good? Never want that feeling to end..." Yeah, her little story was getting to her. She sighed, having done absolutely nothing to turn herself off like she was intending. To bad, it really only got her rolling harder... So when she stopped, and stood up to laugh, she had to throw a hand out to the wall to catch herself and not fall over with the white cloud of dizziness that came with it. It actually made her giggle, as much as it stung. She didn't want to get up, and she didn't want him to leave... But fuck if she wasn't going to maintain herself a little here, and even herself know she wasn't going to be ruled over by a Fanger. She couldn't, wouldn't lose herself. Insides all tight and wound up like a kids toy, unfathomably knotted. Why? Because she was fucking weird, angry, wanting, and strangely... Excited. "Well fuck us both, cuz I ain't really the good little princess type... I get off on the same thing, but also, I'm the type that likes to say Fuck you, and good night. Cuz, I ain't no ones princess... Course, don't mean I don't want you to want me to be... How fucked up is that? Damned if I do, damned if I don't." Edited by Mac, Friday, 8. November 2013, 18:49.
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| Church | Sunday, 10. November 2013, 16:00 Post #23 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I watch. I long. Fuck. Maybe she is perfect. She sells it so well; In my heart I know it's not real but hell I sure fucking can buy into this idea. She sinks down low, I haven't seen this chick on her knees enough... though she adopts a familiar tilt and bends to all fours, tilts her face to peer at my side on, as if proudly parading a faded black eye with a cheeky grin that begged for another. Unbelievable, and enough to make me feel weak and pathetic. Because everything she says is on the money of what I wanted to hear, be damned if its genuine or not, and just the wording of her case speaks to me so very, very darkly. The narcissist inside shrugs with false modesty, and scoffs at her searching fingers sliding south. If masturbation was a substitute for the likes of my fucking dick, there'd be a hellovalotta less pregnancy going on. And Mac probably would get some food, water, blood and get in a box for the winter to keep herself warm. "...Never want that feeling to end..." And as much as what she said fed my ego, and libido, I can really get behind that final sentiment with some reluctance. Seems like a good plan...maybe instead of putting Mac in a box for winter, squeeze in a Church with some blood bags to keep him pumping, and leave to simmer. I'm guessing it'd end in a death, likely mine. And once again I'm finding it difficult to not go through with such a plan, to abandon every part of my life and just stay here, with her, unquestionably I could do it. But, again, is it smart? Is it workable? I know it's gonna feel so gorram good, but the eventually jading that would come with it is not gonna be easy to explain. So, take Mac in small doses...or infrequently...or just ensure we both are exploring new grounds of depraved desire with each other. "You're fuckin' right I wanna hear you say that, darlin'. Whatsmore, I wanya ta believe it. Cause seeing as my dick is as dead as the rest of me and my balls are dried up like a desert, I gotta wanna reason to fuck again." Never a truer word said. Cause, well, why do I do any of this shit really? Cause I'm bored, is usually the go to excuse, but in reality it's just part of the method. I cling to my emotions as desperately as I can, certain feelings have long slipped away but if I'm a good boy then maybe I can keep some. Even if they are Anger and Lust and everything else has died away, shit it's better than feeling the cold eternally. "An' I can't come, but I sure as shit can make you, can't I? Screaming. Writhing. Burning. 'Cause You're one tough bitch for sure, and no-one can fuck with you. You're a one-gal-fanger-wrecking-machine, and all we are to you is food. Immortality, right? But Church has seen your faced all twisted with orgasms, all desperate-eyed and pouty lipped for another dose of 'medicine.'" As amusing as all of this may seem, with the smile painted on my face, the feelings deep down are as serious as they come. When accompanied by the previous nights memories, there is a lot of strong evidence there that what we get up to is hardly a game. Its brutal and intense to the point of dangerous, and damn I want more of it. Damned if I do, damned if I don't... "Wanna little honesty? You scare the living shit out of me. I don't know what I expected last night, not something so good. So you're fucking right I want you to want me. Obedience be fucking damned, you already know what to do. But I want you to silently beg for it. Want me to be the one to beat that cunt into a perfect oblivion. Want my fangs sinking in. Want me working between those oh so unyielding thighs. If I wanted a good little bitch I would go find one. But I don't. I want you." A grin splits my face, though the sudden taste of my own blood has me silently confused. Possibly biting down a little too hard as I approach the slickened form of the sex goddess. I had taken a few steps forward, lumbering like a fucking zombie chasing down a necronomi-whatsit. Steps few and far between, lost in my incoherent rambles about how much I want to keep fucking her forever. I want you as you are. A Mac. Who can roll with the best of them. Who can make me think I got a pair of working balls, but more importantly, make me forget that I don't. Who won't take shit, even from the guy she's busy nailing. " I stop my slow pace just beyond the jetstreams of the shower, just beyond each other's reach. "So I'd appreciate it if you stopped being a silly fucking scamp and playing you're games. Cause most girls don't have that luxury, and you're gonna end up gettin' hurt." I don't know what that was, another challenge maybe? I'm interested to see what she can do. Jump my bones, or maybe she is strong enough to tell me to fuck off, leaving us both in a rut and having to finish ourselves off. Though I'm hoping either way having my stupid grinning mug within arm's reach will result in a smack. And that alone will likely cause the uncontrollable ripples and repercussions we're both oh so desperate to see...again |
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| Mac | Monday, 11. November 2013, 18:50 Post #24 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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She wondered if he was as good at pulling people's strings as she was? Everything that spilled from his mouth just twisted up inside her in pins and needles of juicy joyful goodness. It made her smile despite trying to keep a smooth and placid expression, cuz let's face it? That was like a god damned serenade with a stereo outside her bedroom window, except without all the stupid teenage whimsy and with all the lust and want that she could hope for. Pretty much the hottest and possibly nicest thing anyone's ever said to her, and it came from the mouth of her Doc. She liked it, despite not wanting to... She liked hearing it far, far to much. Her insides conflicted and confused. Ain't no one ever said they wanted her with all her defiant assery intact. Marco wanted her alright, but he wanted her broken like a good and obedient horse. Unquestioning and subservient. She'd been that for him, but when the spell of his fuckery and horror was done, she had promised I never be that way again. She'd hated that she'd ever been that way to begin with, and she'd hated the creatures that had broke her down and created that murderous whelp. Now she was listening to one of them and getting all butterflies and girlish inside, and she could feel her subconscious self flailing that it was a trap. Always a trap... But hot damn, if it wasn't laid so well she just wanted to walk into it to see what would happen. "Did you just... Call me a scamp? Jeeze, don't think anyone's used that term before..." She laughed at that, because the way he got lost in talking and went sideways in his rambles was hilarious. He could have called her a lot worse things than scamp and she wouldn't bat an eye, whore, bitch, cunt, twat, it was the simple innocence of the term that caught her off guard. What if he wasn't a fanger full of shit, and he was real about it all? About wanting a chick with a back bone and a lippy mouth? A girl who bends but won't break to someone's will, always snaps back like a punching bag to come back for more? "I wanna be that girl... Cuz man, if I don't want you inside me in all sorts of deviant ways. Can't have your blood, we both know that's a bad road... But damned if I don't want you inside me in all the other ways possible. My twats silently screaming for you right now..." Hazel eyes searched his face as he stood so close, yet so far. Just out of her excessively long arms reach, waiting for her to make a move of some kind. Stop playin games though? What was life, if not a game? How do you stop playing it? She sure hoped he just meant stopped playin games in his head space, because she wanted to play all sorta of games all over his naked, grimy body. Boy needed a shower, pretty badly... Well, better make him get in right? Couldn't let him go, not after that speech, getting her skin all jonesing for some Church love and her cunt slippery with a hungry need. Boy got her even more hot and bothered with his declaration of lust, and damned if she didn't need to start quenching that fire with some ice cold fanger body and teeth. "I don't mind gettin hurt Church, least not when it comes with the rest of ya... Infact, you know I crave the way you hurt me. Crave you in all sorts of ways..." Hazel eyes would give her away, sparkling like that first moment you catch the wick of a fire cracker ready to go off. She'd slip from the shower, knowing full well her feet were soaked and she'd need to go careful. She'd slide the distance across the tile, and aim a nice and easy shot at his face, then try and throw him to the ground. A Firemans carry and an Over shoulder dump would be easiest, grab the wrist and drive a shoulder into his gut, flip and flip him over her onto his back... Right into the showers stream. After all, boy said he wanted a shower. She was just being helpful right? "I wanna hurt you so bad, wanna hurt you and listen to the way you moan like sex when I do. Wanna feel you pushing my limits. Wanna listen to you groan when your fangs sink into me, wanna scream for you..." If that failed? Well, she'd try and drag him in. Fanger ain't leaving now... |
![]() "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 | Tuesday, 12. November 2013, 21:08 Post #25 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I dunno if she's lost in the same cloud I am, the perverted thoughts and intrusive searching with the eyes. I occasionally catch, now that I see her in perhaps the most clarifying light I ever will, the unusual soft features of her face before lowering back down to the silence of the twats. I say unusual, cause it is. Whatever beauty, innocence, spirit or 'compassion' (Ha! Ahahahahaha!) that wasn't knocked out of her seem to shine right through that mask, the only part of her flesh that hasn't been consumed by whatever hatred moulded her so or whatever hateful creature riddled her with scars. In fact, thanks to the shower, and a different set of circumstances, this is the first time she has really been clean, not tainted by the damned flesh wound from hell. I can wish the water was her blood of course, caressing every last crevice of her taut form slipping down to nothing. I return my gaze to her face with a smile, the things she's promising, dang they sure sound good. "Th-" I try to answer, before my vision is rocked and my teeth are stuck in my own tongue. A red burning across the crook of my jaw, I can't say I even managed to catch the move. I twist my head back, blood trickling from the corner of a pair of clamped lips. "Wh-Jeeaaaz" Am I slower this morning? Sloppier for sure. First I can't tell what part of her just clocked me, as I am damned sure it was her, but then turning back to her ducking figure, not feeling a comfortable tickle on my junk but rather a...lack of balance. A shoulder into my gut as I am hoisted up and over, and this certainly wasn't expected regardless of how horny the bitch may be. A brief spell of warm flowing water as the world twists and turns, cut short by the cold and harsh reality of gravity. I flip far and high enough so as not to land on and break my neck. There certainly is no fear of that happening, but I'd like to keep full functionality given how much my buckling bones instantly gives me the horn. My vision is blurred from the flow of water, and the fact that I try and perceive through the liquid defiantly with teeth clamped in a twisted and cruel smile. "Ha ha ha...good one." I chuckle, not able to see just how amused she is due to the wetness. And the way her chest is, she ain't built to see her toes. Which is where I can only figure I am. And while I'd like to get a good grip of that bitch, swing her down to my level and hopefully have her lose a few teeth in the process, can this really start again? Something about the mere fact that she has this capacity, and that she will go again, cause the worse it gets the better she feels...it just makes her that much hotter, alluring, GetinsidemyheadanddrivemefuckingNUTS...er. Instinct remains an integral part of my being, even in the hanky-panky department. I don't lash out like I want, instead plant my palms, sit myself up, spin on my bear ass before shuffling back against the wall. Already a surprising amount of grime seems to be spinning its way down the drain. At least once again able to look her in the eye, even though at eye level I lick my lips at the delicious and, well, primed and ready, pussy. She then reeled of further things she'd like to do to Church, and they are indeed things Church would like her to do. Moan like sex...jebus does she get me or what? "I'm gonna snap you into iddy-biddy fucking pieces." I bark at her, far too pleasant a tone in my voice and expression in my face to give off any illusion of meaning it. Which...I really do. Cause I know how much she'd like it. I extend my hands out, aiming for her hips but just out of their grasp. "C'mere girl." I croon. No Presence, no demand. Just a statement. 'Come here, and I'll give you exactly what you want.' That's my statement right here. I don't take those hips as I initially intended, instead I choose to entwine my fingers with hers, one hand at a time, drawing her into hovering over me more. Her legs positioned either side, ready to pounce and straddle no doubt. And having her looming over me, so powerful and dominating even to the likes of me. Jeez, I can only imagine what she would have done to a mortal Church. Chew him up and spit him out, for sure, but I wanna know the specifics. I smile at the thought. Then I snap her fingers. Only the useless ones. The pinky. The ring finger. I wrench my left wrist, pushing the fingers out of line and twisting them into brutal shapes. I could've bitten them off with more enjoyment, but seeing her reaction is all I need. And while she might wanna stand proud, defiant, enjoy the moment and savour the pain. Scream for me. I pull her down, into my lap. My rather hard lap. Close enough to tear and beat with every part of one another. She could fight, but would she want to? And if she does, doesn't matter too much...whatever side she faces me with is whatever side I'll fuck the hell out of her from. "Scream for me." |
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| Church | Tuesday, 12. November 2013, 21:10 Post #26 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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RESERVED. FOR ME. FAAACK. |
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| Mac | Tuesday, 12. November 2013, 22:44 Post #27 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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His cool body stretched across her shoulders as she lined him up, pulling and lifting, then heaving up and over? Felt fantastic. Boy was a heavy, cold mother fucker. the sound of him vaulting through the air and smacking down hard into the hot wet stream of water was delightful. Sounded almost like a belly flop, except he'd land on his back. Back flop? Was that a thing? Well, it was now. She'd turn and shrug a shoulder to watch his reaction, biting her lower lip jubiliantly as some of the grime began sliding drainward and off his body. "I'm gonna snap you into iddy-biddy fucking pieces." Well, now didn't that just sound like a hundred miles of heaven? She knew it should set her off, send her running the opposite way, or at him with a knife. Any other fanger made such a comment, it would be "mortal kombat: London Edition". Church though? Instead of setting off ringing bells of immediate conflict, it just made her skin raise in delighted goosebumps, his heavy tone of voice like a few savourful shots her favorite drink. It just got to her. She slipped forwards when he told her to, his gruff "C'mere girl." sliding just enough under the line of being a direct order, and enough as a pleasant request that she didn't immediately need to fight the impluse to do the opposite. Warm feet sliding on the now warmed tiles, the heat of the water a wonderful burning cocoon around her. Her skin still so fucking flaming, she was always like that, in a constant state of burning up. She thought his hands were going for her hips, all stretched out so fucking temptingly, like all she had to do was step into them. God she wanted that, step into his icy grip within the hot rain and sink down on his rather ready lap. Instead, his hands were slipping into her fingers? His cold palms against her burning heat, and she thought for a second maybe the Doc was going for something more romantic than the usual style. His cool grip locked in hers, pulling her so that she had to straddle over his legs as she looked down at him from the down pour above, throwing a shadow down over him from the false lights way above. Man, his pretty green eyes seemed so out of place on such a dirty asshole, pretty eyes that begged for something. Pretty eyes that gave away what he was going to do a moment before it happened, lighting up like christmas that she'd bought his little play. The snapping of her fingers took her off guard, she had excepted him to do something but break bones so simply, cleanly, and with a grin on his face? Well, mother fucker. God damned. Holy fucking shit. It made her head spin, and she had to lock her legs with the sudden sweep of nausea and pain that came with it. She didn't want to go the ground over something as simple as a few broken fingers, girl could take a whole lot more than a few broken fingers. She wanted to stand and bite down on a lip, scrunch her face back with wrinkled nose and furrowed brow, and just take it. He was twisting though, on top of just breaking the fingers. It made her mouth open in a hissed gasp as they deformed, and when he tugged and pulled downwards she found although her knee's were weak, she didn't want to go. She wanted to be defiant. Until he yanked all the harder, determined to get her to her knee's, and his lap. She let out somewhat of a yelp as she sank to her knee's, fighting her bodies reaction to want to close her eyes through the blinding hazz of pain. She was reeling, breathing heavy and hard already. She wouldn't scream though, she wanted to, she -loved- to scream... He knew that, he'd heard her the other night. Even in torture, she'd scream for whomever was beating her if she felt like it got her something she wanted. Sometimes she didn't scream because it got her something she wanted. It was quite dependent on the situation. The warm hard tiles met her knee's with a hard crack, body sliding down Church and into his lap with a twisted little groan. His cool hard body meeting hers was dizzying when coupled with the pain of her twisted hand, feeling the cool of him fill her did nothing to stop the want, it only made it worse. She didn't sag into him, although her forhead did come down to touch his shoulder briefly, she was biting her lip so hard to resist screaming that she'd bitten through it and tastes blood. Well, that was no good. She didn't need to tear herself apart, that was silly. He'd do it enough she was sure... Did the inside of her lip ever heal really? She was constantly biting it, a stress reliever. She should be biting him really. She lifted her forhead, deep and heavy breath through clenched teeth as she stared into those pretty green eyes. "Say please...." A breathless whisper of warmth against his cheek, she had to really, because as much as she wanted to scream for him she wanted him to beg for it the same way he wanted her to. She'd twist in his lap, hard and deep against him as she pressed into his iron grip of her fingers for a moment, the nerves firing so rapid and painful that she was unable to see through a moments black heat. She wanted to scream, holy shit if she didn't want to tip her head back, let her neck slide into full view, and beg him with ever fibre of her being. She was clutching onto the last moments she'd be able to do anything now, her more carnal and lascivious nature was going to take over. She needed her hands, she needed to be able to reach him back, and she'd fight to try and free at least the unbroken one. She needed hurt him in some way, get a shot or two back in, do something not to just take the Church train pleasure cruise. Get a hand up into his hair maybe? Yeah, but that was really... gentle... She'd get a hand into his hair if she could, and yank the fucker sideways and smash his head into the tile if possible, maybe that would get her fucking hand free? She shifted, trying to scoop her legs out and around his waist, she could squeeze him like a python if she didn't get her hand free. Whatever she did though, she didnt want to detach from where they met, hips slowly undulating in a rather terribly distracting rhythm, making little shivers run up her spine. Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 12. November 2013, 22:55.
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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 | Sunday, 17. November 2013, 17:10 Post #28 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Please? Damn that's one word that has the littlest amount of meaning to me. Much like sorry, it's something of an empty word. I can't remember the last time I ever deemed it appropriate to use such a out of character word, but if ever there was a time and a place...and my senses to be completely raped does warrant a please and thank you, for sure. Something that I will have the utmost difficulty in experiencing though if I am so determined to keep her fingers tied up and locked in place, unable to do wicked deeds and wreak havoc across this flesh and blood body. The warmth begins to be leech the instant our, for lack of a less romantic sounding cliché, bodies become one. Even in the hot flow of water, her form provides a heat and comfort that transcends what is simply physical. A comforting warmth that makes my gripping fingers tingle and my toes curl on the sleek ceramic floor. It's not enough to bring me back to the land of the living, but it comforts me in ways I can't explain. This relationship, this connection, It could be good. Or bad. Ordinarily I see this need and want to fuck, to bring something loving into a cold and dead heart. I fear Mac may have the opposite effect, and while it could certainly keep me cleaner, would it not also make me a slave to whim and desire? A slave to her? Heh, I can appreciate not wanting to imbibe my blood when I'm feeling so weak in the knees...and I can't even come. I stare deeply into those bobbing brown peepers, contemplating snapping more fingers were it not for the dark intent staring back at me. Malice doesn't quite comprehend what we do for one another, because as much a need we have to mutilate one another, it's done with only the sweetest of intents. I enjoy both sides of the coin, and Mac is one of the few people I can tear into without feeling any regret or remorse. All the same, as we begin our steady duel of the crotches, I can't feel a little...selfish. Give and take, I just wanna take. Take all she can dish out, well, cause she's getting her hunger satisfied already no? A big hard cock filling a void like no other. She's on top y'know, and I like it that way. If ever there was a word to let her know that I'm ready, willing, begging for her to keep promises that she's made, implied through her actions or not. So, maybe Church should just be a good little boy and speak his piece, cause he's dying to spit it out. "Please..." I quietly moan, letting my fingers finally slip away in substitute of a tight grip on her hips. It seems to trigger a reaction, or at least my relinquished grip did, as her legs lift from the ground to bind me tight. I plant my feet firmly on the floor, spreading my legs to better positioning to fuck her brains out. A hand works into my hair as I bring my lips to hers, snatching another taste of bloody goodness. Though I lack the control to state that this tasting is over, as I try to suck on her bleeding lips, the hand in my hair balls right, ragging my head back to a sudden stop with a crack of bone and tile. The dizzying and sick pain that floods from the small of my skull and creeps out in fiery tendrils spreads to fill the entirety of my dome with agonising ringing and thumping. "That'a girl." I growl through clamped teeth, eyes closed in a wince of torment. A tickle in my nostrils as blood attempts to pour out slowly, an aftermath of the impact. I keep my eyes closed, my hands sliding to the top of her thighs and, combined with her anaconda legs, keep her steady. And I proceed to pound the living fuck out of that ass. I drive into her as deep, hard and fast as is humanly possible, with the exception that I'm doing it a damn side harder of course. Not rough sex, beyond that. Beyond Sado-masochism. Fucking so hard that I might tear both sets of our junk to pieces. I certainly plan on reducing that pussy to rubble, though I have no doubt she can take it like an absolute champ. "Gotta do better than that girl." Narcissism? Maybe I do have a little bit. But when you can annihilate women parts like Church, it's all justified. "If anyone can do it...i's you bitch." Coming of course, it always comes back to that and despite whatever I may know of my biology...I won't think it ain't possible. I look at her through one eye, face twisted in exquisite tender-soreness. "Take me back to hell again. I wanna burn. Please" |
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| Mac | Wednesday, 20. November 2013, 17:12 Post #29 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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Her hand hand free of his when he sought out her hips instead, a numb burn caused by the fluids she could feel building around the broken, twisted bones. A hard whimper came from her lips when he let go, a sound like someone on the edge of tears. Not because it hurt no, because it felt so fucking good coupled with the feeling of him within. His head smashing to the ground brought a snarl of a happy squee, like a chuckle at the blissful pained expression on his fucking beautiful face, the bruising of her punch from before beginning to pepper his skin visibly now. She loved those marks, as temporary as they were, because at that moment it was her name on his skin, her blood in his veins from the night before. The blushing bruise flushing his skin, swelling around his eye, that was her artistry and she fucking loved it, what small and fleeting claim she could have to him. His crushing thrust was painfully deep, his begging whisper of please was beyond gratifying. She could torture a victim for days, slice their skin apart and dig around inside them with her hands, and it wasn't anything compared to the way his simple "Please" pleased her. God damnit, what wouldn't she do at that moment for that fanger? There was a line, somewhere maybe... But she didn't know where anymore, she didn't know anything beyond how awesome her aching body felt under the breaking blows of church's hips. God, fuck, she needed him to slow down or she'd simply break against him, break in the best and most powerful ways. She didn't scream, but she sure cried out something hard and ragged with his movements. "Slow the fuck down, I'll take you anywhere you wanna go..." Her legs tightened around him, painfully, and she sought to control the tidal wave of poundings. She'd locked him tight, trying to squeeze her thighs around him to the point of crushing him in return, to try and stop his hips from shuddering into her so fast. She'd lock them, snake like in her gripping, constricting and controlling. If he was going to slam into her so hard she'd fall apart, he was going to have to fucking work for each god damned thrust as she resisted, flexed, and tried to keep him slow him. She also flexed with all the muscles of her abdomen, tightening her hold with a vicious grunt. She normally didn't fuck Fangers, well, not to say she ain't never done it but it wasn't her usual style. Normally she just fucker ghouls that could live through it, or some humans who had near death wishes. Having something like church, alright, some-one- like Church to grapple with? Jesus, ain't no better reason to live than to sin hard and plenty with a creature that understood the need to maim and be maimed? To feel, pain and pleasure, simply to feel something so intense and satisfying, because when you had a monster behind your eyes you gotta kill the emotion switch or it'd eat you up. She wanted to eat him as he slipped between slippery thighs, because god damned if this here wasn't the best she'd felt in forever. She was on top of the world, well, if you considered Church the world. Perhaps at that moment he was, because anything beyond the hot stream of water falling from above and his cool body beneath? Didn't matter. Whatever worries were hanging in the air were gone, all there was was need, and want. She wanted to hurt him. Her hand left his hair, to slide down the side of his face and press into the swelling and bruises of the place she'd smashed earlier. She leaned in to kiss him, still trying to squeeze him into stillness, it was the struggle that was the fun part. She let go of his face in the kiss, good hand moving to slide fingers into his, peeling them up off her thigh. Was she asking him to break more? Maybe for half a second, what she was really trying to do? Get a good grip, then twist and jam it upwards. He left her one handed? She'd do the same, by dislocating his shoulder. If she managed to dislocate it good and proper, then she'd twist it across his body and choke him with it. Not that he could be choked proper, but would hurt to holy hell to have your dislocated arm bent about like a rah doll. She sounded like an animal when she did it, a growl and Hiss between heavy, free breathes. |
![]() "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 | Thursday, 21. November 2013, 22:53 Post #30 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Those sounds. Even when I'm not gratifying myself just watching her face twist and contort to every heavy thrust, such as when my eyes explore her form with a feral glint of hunger, every groan, hiss, whimper...it all increases my appetite. Gets my chops salivating once more with visions of her laid out flat, patient and willing for me to slowly and surely devour her to nothingness. A vision that is likely never to be, her volatile nature almost overwhelming even without my blood coursing through her. Though unexpectedly, I have her breathing ragged from my overexcited hips, and actually going so far as to request me slowing down? Don't disappoint me now darlin'. I almost managed to get out the words "Make me" before I can feel the shift in her weight and power, those legs that go all the way to Canada going that little bit further, they seem to have discovered unknown lengths to bind me to excruciating levels of this crushing sensation. Bones and dead shrivelled organs with no choice but to get a lot cosier. And I can feel this tensing of her body, this desire to control my movements, spread further north as that six...eight....hell, it's a freaking twelve-pack of abs flexing beneath the thumbs pressing on her midriff. Well...she sure showed me. And with a smirk, showing bloodied teeth in a moment of absolute glee, I continue to fuck away. I lean my head back against the cool, and now somewhat dented, tiles, content with the actions of the demon riding me. No longer a rapid fire fuckfest to break the backside off the girl, but degenerating into a slow, methodical grind. Each thrust is something to be worked for, to break through the dominating position of her mighty thighs and bury myself into her as deep and hard as I might. Things were better when you worked for them, right? That's this crazy bitches philosophy. If I ever manage to orgasm I bet it'll be fan-fucking-tastic. But this right now? A fiery burn that aggravates with every shuddering wave I send through her, a soft yet strained groan parting my lips as if the physical exertion has caused my lungs to renew in working condition, that breathing become a necessity in such adversity. Our lips once again clash, the only act between the two of us that appears to be remotely delicate. I don't know why, because we're too pretty? I make sure to be lacking in concern of where my teeth may end up, tasting her once again as I feel her hand tug one of mine free. I don't know what I thought she was planning, but I see the intent flare in those puppy dog eyes just a moment too late. "FUUU-" The pain is blinding; in a few crucial moments I feel my anatomy in its entirety, and the thousand searing blades get stuck into my shoulder. There is a meaty crunch as the bone locks out of place, the slower but steady rhythm of my hips coming to a halt as I process this agony and truly savour it. Or maybe I would've had it not been for my stupid instinct of self preservation. I peer through what feel like watery eyes, no longer smiling but with an expression of utter satisfaction hopefully conveying the message; 'You're the best, doll.' Maybe I would've begged and pleaded for more were it not the for the cruel and unexpected yank of said debilitated arm across my own throat, accompanied by a startled yelp. I may be willing to be the submissive one here, but within me there is something hard wired that will not lay down and take a beating without delivering one in kind. As much as I would like it to be otherwise. So it's probably more of a surprise to me when my remaining hand, hell my good arm, still holding firm on her sweet thigh, releases its quarry and delivers a backhand across her face. Probably with enough speed and force to knock a normal man for six, but her? Maybe just the spit out of her mouth. Cause despite how reflexive that was, something compelled me not to do so with a closed hand. We had our fisticuffs already, the slap just makes me...laugh. Beneath the tattoo plastered 'noose' I let out a chuckle at what I just did. It was...weak. Insulting. "...Sorry..." I mumble, but it sounds more like a gasp as pleasure wracks me to the point that I can't even carry on getting up in her guts. I'll have to try harder. With that thought, I make to grab a few strands of her hair. My plan? Pretty simple, with a bit of a flair for the theatrics. I figure if I can get a firm hold, and her wait remains bound to mine with such delicious tenacity, that I might give her a taste of her own medicine. Yank her down, pivot my hips up and over, maybe I can drive that bitches head into the wall behind me. As amusing as smashing that face of hers flat may be, I'd rather give her a concussion than a broken nose. Why? Dunno. Cause she's pretty? And should that work, should it fail horrendously, bitch still refusing to scream requires something drastic. If I can, by which I mean if she isn't expecting it, I'll take that working hand and push off the ground, just get enough momentum and speed to get upright and come crashing down on top of her. Maybe break her damn spine. Hopefully just get her pinned in place, get that bitch squirt and sing my name to the heavens. Have my teeth hover close to her throat. Till she begs, and pleads and screams. |
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| Mac | Friday, 22. November 2013, 01:26 Post #31 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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Shit was better when you had to work for it, because it came with that rush of power and domination when you succeeded, like when she managed to still his hips for that moment when she first took him by surprise. She fixed around him, tightly bound and holding, until he began to fight back. The first second of him lifting his hips, pushing with his hands, trying to get himself back inside her hard and deep? It was beautiful, like a cold hard stone being tossed into the ocean, causing ripples as it broke the surface and fell into the deep beneath. When he hit home, buried full and deep for the first time around clasping thighs? She actually sighed and held her breath, trying to hold onto the feeling of that moment as it cascaded through her. She wanted to be there, she wanted him to have her like this, but there was still something beautiful about making him -take- it. The second time he fucked back? That made her gasp and groan, loud and hard. Every slowed, hard thrust eliciting a panted cry. His gasping and searching for breath, despite the lack of biological need for it? That felt pretty fucking great, forcing his body back to moments of near humanity. She liked seeing it, like humanizing him that little bit... It stripped a bit of his Fanger face, made him seem so much more alive... Yet she wouldn't break him, god fucking fantastic was that? He didn't shy from the pain, he loved it. When she twisted his arm, heard the grind and rip of bone leaving the socket he didn't stop in disbelieving agony. The sound he made was all sex, the groan was all loving enthrallment of her torture upon his form. His hips slowed, and stopped. His fighting stopped to savor the moment, and she found the lack of movement within her leaving a hot and messy want. Slow as it may have been, it was beautiful. She took the moment to guide herself at his expense, sliding down hard and then grinding her hips to cause that rush of wild warmth and thrill to shoot through her, rushing and pounding in her blood. God, that felt..so fucking good. “Christ, I could fuck you... forever.” Or at least until she died, seriously. Couldn't say it wouldnt be a god damned happy death either, like, what could possibly be better than death by Church cock impailing? They could put that in the dictionary, or encyclopedia, or google. Wherever people looked up how to die happy. Then she was wrenching his arm across his throat, and the responding sound of startlement and pain made her grin and lick her tongue along the inside of her teeth. Took him a little by surprise it seemed? Not nearly as surprising as his hand suddenly flying across her face. Not the palm, but the back of his hand. What the fuck had just happened? Did... Did he really just do that? It certainly smacked the grin off her face. Her good hand was holding his wrenched and twisted arm down still, so her broken and twisted fingers came up to cup the side of her face with a look of incredulity. Seriously?! Of all the retaliation? HE PIMP SLAPPED HER? She would push harder against his twisted arm, jamming it forward with a sort of malicious revenge. “What the...fuck?” His sorry however, twisted with the awesome that was her infliction upon him, helped bring the grin back to her face because he realized just how low that was. His hand tangling in her hair, awe, was he going to give her a nice little hard hold and hair tug to apologize? She needed to fix her fingers, they were still broken and twisted and the throbbing burn from them was spreading down her arm. She needed to get them straight again, to be able to use and flex it, and when she took the second of thought away from her utter control of him? He shifted it all. She was stretching her hand forward, to out her weight forward on her palm and use her other fingers in the hand pinning him to help correct her fingers. She didnt get that far, she was being thrown a lot farther and harder than she had expected, everything shifting as she felt the tiles shash with the side of her head. Should have seen that one coming, but for that moment she couldn't see anything beyond a dizzying blackness that swept over her vision. She cried out hard then, a hollar of pain from the blinding flashing across her eyes and the fact that despite the shift, she hadn't let go and had semi righted her fingers. Well, fuck. Ow. God damnit. She seemed to lose a sense of what was going on for a moment, pinned and dizzy and lost to the burn and scatter behind her eye lids, the smooth hardness between her legs. Her long legs still had a grip around him though, even in the reversed position with her on the ground beneath him. She had loosened a little, with the spinning, but as he thoughts managed to coalesce into something semi coherent she found the need to slow him again. He was fucking her hard and furios, and she was so god damned close to simply leaving the planet. “Fuck...” She didn't want to go yet, didn't want to feel that beautiful explosion pull her into another place, there was something she needed to do first.... A last and lingering need to hurt that mother fucker real good, drive it home. She'd reach up to try and grasp him, the sounds she was making barely coherent, like she didn't even know she whimpering with each thrust, gasping, grinding her teeth, her hazel eyes blazing with lost intentions. God damnit, she was losing this one... She was shivering on the edge of that best feeling in the universe, body burning. Her hands were searching for him, trying to bridge that distance between them, even the mangled hand was looking to grasp on. She found him, wasn't to hard, not with him still pressing down upon her fast and furious. “Please...” Long arms slid up around his body, to pull herself up and against him so their bodies couldn't part as far, clutching a moment. Then, she was clutching both hands around his shoulder, one stretched across his back, and she took his dislocated arm and would twist it back into the socket with a pained cry, her mangled fingers not particularily happy to do anything of the sort. The rest of her burning from being slammed against the ground. “Fuck Doc, bite me... please... bite me...” |
![]() "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 | Friday, 22. November 2013, 18:12 Post #32 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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It's difficult now, to make heads or tails of everything that transpires from here on. The world, as I understand it, pivots and rotates. I am oblivious. Hell, beyond these four wall right now means nothing, I'm not even sure if I ever want to go beyond them now I've arrived somewhere so...hospitable. She could fuck me forever? Don't go dying before I do and becoming a liar now darling. My vision is impaired, lost in a red haze of torment...it might as well be gone. It's not required. Not when my knees crash to the hard ground below and her meaty form is pressed against mine from below. I try to hold myself over her and fuck with a vengeance, not trying to dominate her so much as send her to heaven and back with grit and ferocity...but I buckle as she tugs me closer, one arm severely disabled and the other...I think for a moment. A mind overflowing with dirty deeds that could be expressed on her wicked body, but I'm quite positive she wishes to continue and grind my abdomen to dust and mush. "Ma-aaahh" Her hands clasp on my fucked up shoulder, wrenching the sucker again that makes me hiss half her name. The rest is just a sounding of pleasure, the kindest thanks I am ever willing to give. Even through the white hot flashes and over the screaming and bloody murder of sensory overload, I manage to make out that pretty face and wrap my good arm beneath it. It cups the back of that mess of hair, fingers spanning around to tickle at her cheek. Then, as if she can sense the end, feel all that goodness bubbling to the surface and ready to overwhelm her, she asks for the kiss to send her to the fucking moon. I wanna say something. Like, shut the fuck up, make me bitch, stop with the Doc, if you really really want it call me a real fucking name. But I can't. It's one of those rare occasions in my life where I'm actually at a loss for words and keep my lips sealed. As aggressive and forceful as our playtime may be, it unnerves me how close I have become to her from just that act. Repetitive acts. Strange to think that these two rabid dogs could co-exist instead of tearing each other to pieces. Well, they co-exist by doing that, but knowing what I know about her...violence has little to no malicious intent in it. It's done as a kindness...Jebus, how fucked are we, really? I lean in close, my hand guiding her head to one side and expose an ample length of neck to indulge in. Strange...to think that this part of her body is somewhat off limits till the fangs are out. Sure, bitch loves a choking, and I know that a straight razor would be stepping over that line a little too much, but it is one of the few parts of her body not marked by our good times. My hips slow, though my dick is still determined to slide as deep into the warmth and wetness of that beautiful pussy. "Please?" I breathe into her ear, a cold breathe that trails down her throat. That word has a hellovalotta weight when thrown between us two. To let each other know how damn good it all really feels. I imagine it's harder for her to say, first to a Fanger, secondly I imagine her more the demanding kind. "Baby, I live to please." I mumble into her, before parting my lips and letting my fangs slide right in. It's so easy, so neat; her flesh is like butter as they pierce the skin with minimal force, I feel her body contort beneath me in reaction. Cloudy senses become even cloudier as a new explosion of taste drowns away everything else in that moment. I'll drink responsibly. Or try my damndest. I'll at least be considerate with that rapid pulse of hers should it dim too quickly, cause this bitch...is a fucking keeper! |
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| Mac | Monday, 25. November 2013, 02:02 Post #33 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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The side of her head pulsed, the place that had met with the tiles of the shower the center of a hard throb that thumped along to the rapid beat of her heart. Everything felt strangely warped, a fucking riotous and sharp party making the inside of her brain turn to a liquid stream of not quite linear sensations. Endorphins and chemicals rushing and saturating her system, an overload of natural high.It was bliss, like being on the best drugs, but holy fuck money couldn't buy this kind of high. This was the kind of bliss that could only be achieved by blood and sweat, pain and blissful machinations of violence. Her muscles all burned from the night before still, bones still in repair, layered with new breaks and contusions just administered on smooth flesh by the painfully skilled hands of Church. On top of the hurt, was the beautiful wanting of him, the boy that was under her skin, boiling in her blood, and now he was driving home in the best place of all. It was heavenly torture, all encompassing and beautifully overwhelming. His call of her name when she set his arm back in place, Jesus, that made her entire skin shiver. The way he choked it out, the sound that followed, growled and appreciative. He fucking loved it, he loved the way she hurt him, gripped him, and that was... Well, that was gratifying. His arm slid under her, and she arched into it compliantly, seeking the increasing contact between them, trying to ground herself as she burned to let go of reality, like his body would make sure she came back from the dazzling gorge of sensations she was about to lose herself too. She wanted it, she'd lost the fight to remain in control of her senses and just wanted to slide along the incredible pulse of her body meeting with his. Her mind still sent flags up, something back there yelling a protest at letting herself go so deep, so far, a glimmer of common hunters sense somewhere nudging her to remember who the fuck she was fucking. A Fanger. She asked him to bite her? Really? This was what she was trusting to not let herself get completely lost? She did though. Maybe it was wishful thinking? Somehow though, he'd fucked and beaten himself into a different place inside her head. Dislodged himself enough from the monsters, become something different... When he made that hard and satisfying growl of happy hurt, she couldn't help but feel like he was on the same level, he could try and bond her further, but he said he wouldn't. He had infact, given up perfect opportunity to do so... That, that got him some measure of trust. Fucking her so god damned heavenly? That got more... And as stupid as it was, she ignored that fucking subconscious pull to remember herself, she pushed it off and just let herself give into the fingers that were sliding along her wet cheeks, gripping in her soaked hair, tipping her neck up... "Fucckkk...." The slow of his hips pressing into her, even with her legs still locked like a python around him, caused her to make a sound of such angry protest it may have come out as a snarl. She pulled, while he pushed slowly, drawing him into her as deeply as he could get. A wave of burning warmth rippling from her core, muscles tense and ready as her heart hammered sure and steady within it's cage. "Baby, I live to please." God damn, if only. He could live to please her, she would be totally okay with that. Who wouldn't be? The vibration of his words against her neck made her shiver, and she rolled her hips and ground against him in delighted anticipation for what came next, waiting, panting, almost whimpering with a childish fearful excitement for the fangs that sank into her flesh. Her arms tightened on him, clinging in an embrace so strong most people would break, his just set arm Likely to find itself protesting the grip as her whole body took a moment to tense with the first moment of the kiss. His fangs felt like heaven, a sensation that she knew well but for the last decade, had taken to killing folk that tried to bring the bliss. Even the night before, she'd resisted getting so fucking lost and stupid in it. Tried to keep her wits around her better. Giving into it so fucking fully, felt incredible. She was silent, tense and still for the first moment, body so overwhelmed she couldn't even think through it. Flashing senses, heat, pressure, dazzling overload. A half a moment later she managed a strangled sort of cry, deep gasp, and then her python grip was loosening as her body arched and she fell into that beautiful place that even drugs couldn't take you. She did scream, nails and broken fingers all searching and seeking grip in his flesh she shoved her hips against his cock, driving herself against him while she rode the wave of the bite and the rhythm of the pulsing burst of orgasm between her legs. "Damon... Doc..." What name did she call him? She had no fucking idea, she wouldn't remember well enough at that moment. She wanted to call him Doc, cuz that was his name. He was her Doc, only doctors could make you feel this good right?especially when you usually feel as shitty as she did. She could have called him the pope really, she was too fucking lost in the dizzy warmth that took her away to ride euphoric tides of gasps and screams. She hoped, briefly, somewhere in the mess of her thoughts, that he felt at least part of the blissful release she did. Edited by Mac, Monday, 25. November 2013, 02:09.
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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 | Tuesday, 26. November 2013, 03:10 Post #34 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I honestly couldn't tell you what in the fuck is going on right now. I am simple...engorged. Eyes gentle drifting shut as I massage the wound with my tongue, lapping it up like the dirty dog I am. I've drank her blood so much in a short space of time, and yet it ain't sickly or boring. It's freaking pure monster bitch blood, it just...tastes like her, as dipshit as that sounds. Sort of...meaty, gritty...raw, ah fuck it. Fuck thinking. I moan into her neck in primal gratitude, as not only does she do my body good, but appease the dark and murderous thing inside, the real fucking Fanger faced fucker. I bet she loves it. As much as I love to make her make such peculiar noises...maybe I'm a narcissist, but it's her enjoyment. I told her I was a pleaser. It invigorates me like no other lay. And while Church has bedded, shall we say, 'lesser' women, she was so fucking right. I'm tired of thinking it but, it is so much better to hear when you fucking work for it. Anyway...thinking over. It's dinner time. Meanwhile, everything else seems to run on autopilot; I blanket her body with my own, just to feel every part of the good feelings I'm giving manifest themselves into physical outbursts. And despite the slickness that the shower has covered us with, I hold her tight against me while she clings and scrapes where she can. It's just...She does things to me like no other. Her body so...alive, tangled up with mine save the very clear and rhythmic pattern of thrusting into her supple cunt. And the more I hear that heartbeat, feel that heartbeat, echo through her right into me, the more I want her. To fuck her harder, to bend her further, but not break her. Never break her. No, no, no, she's not mine but dammit I want her to be. I want her to crave me like a fucking junkie and keep me warm at night and just...it's wrong how much I want her. A fucking hunter in her own right, could flip a switch in her head that's made her this way and get dusted. Shit, the way I'm thinking would probably constitute something along those lines. My hips spool up from their temporary lull, intent on making her scream even louder than before. I want her feeling so good it hurts, that she can't take anymore, that she'll burst or die or propose we find a nice bomb shelter to fuck in for the next thousand years. She gotta at least shout my name to the heavens again, right? I...uh, climax. By which I mean a thirst is quenched and I can't do anymore for me bar smashing my head into the wall a few more times. How I would love to, or have her to, or have her over my knee, the list goes on really but I gotta...maintain some sort of control here. One for the road as it were, and while there is no 'fear' of losing another night to such blissful distraction, things really could get tricky. Too much of a good thing, a phrase I could never relate to probably has some weight here. I retract my fangs, my lower body slowing down from its frantic humping. "Gorramit girl." I grumble into her neck, licking the puncture marks shut, licking a little too much, licking the length of her still tilted neck before looking her in the eyes. "You'll be tha end of me..." My voice is quietened by my content, I kiss her with bloody lips, like saying 'look how good you taste, babe.' "Don't that sound nice?" I smile, bleeding my eagerness to go again and again but hopefully she can appreciate the words more than I can. My hand at her back gliding with absent mindedness, teasing the skin as trail to her hip. "You're the best, Mac." She really is. At least since I got castrated by undeath. |
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| Mac | Tuesday, 26. November 2013, 19:10 Post #35 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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It did hurt, she did scream. And clutch, and writhe and arch in a blissful display that was half someone being tortured, half someone coming so hard their brain was on fire and overwhelmed with juicy goodness. Fireworks behind her eyes, in her body, rippling from the bite in her neck and the beaten and abused place between her legs that was sooooo very happy right now. She didn't quite relax, not all at once. As the blinding tides of awesome began to slowly subside, she began to loosen. Her legs clutching at his hips were stiff as fuck from such hard gripping, and they painfully loosened and slid in the warm slippery water down the length of his legs. One foot wrapped almost unconsciously around his leg, ankle over ankle, the other just collapsing limply. Her nails began to pick themselves out of his skin, having sunk so deep she had broken skin and burried them into his meaty back in her clutching. She let then rinse in the water that was pouring down on them, fingers of her good hand then smoothing over the gaping nail marks to assist the water in rinsing them gentley. Her hand with the broken fingers slipper to the tiles, taking a moment to simply bask in the momentous and wonderfully satisfied afterglow. Her body was exhausted, muscles now warmed but still sore and spent in the heat of the shower and by the rushing blood of her pounding heart beat, quick and heavy in her chest. Her head was swimming, and she knew the tell take signs of blood loss as her head dizzily tried to process. She didn't really want to think to be honest, she hadn't felt this good... Well, she couldn't really remember now could she? Certainly she hadn't felt this good since Marco, but any goodness she had felt with him was tarnished and tainted by the fact it had all been fake. Fake goodness. This here, was the closest to a real fucking moment of satisfaction and perhaps even...happiness she'd had since she'd left Mel's. Been taken from Mel's was more accurate, she would have never left. Was that weird and unrealistic of a thought? She didn't not how to qualify the feelings she was experiencing, so she didn't. She just closed her eyes a moment more to milk out the last few slow spasms of her abdomen, ride the last waves of diminishing orgasm and enjoy his crushing weight on her. His fangs retracting and the slow slurp of cool tongue on her neck made her grunt a noise of protest, even it she knew it was for the best. It couldn't go on, she'd die of blood loss. When her eyes flickered opened and she got a sense of real awareness, he was looking down on her with an expression downright to doey eyed. It made her uncomfortable suddenly, because the magic spell of safety was breaking and her natural and instinctual sense of trust no one was dawning in the back of her thoughts. No. Christ, fuck that. He was not going to -kill- her, she knew that, on a deeper level she knew they had an understanding, just so new and unusual to her that it was going to take getting used to... And she'd have to get used to it, cuz damned if she didn't want to lock him up and use him hard every moment. Unfortunately at the rate they were going that would be a very short span. When he kissed her with bloody lips? She returned it with a fierceness that was a touch dizzying in her state, so she had to slow it due to a wave of threatening black on her senses. "The end of you? Jesus, I'm not sure there's an inch of me not bruised or broken... It's bliss. You're bliss." Her stomach mumbled softly, then a moment later grumbled loud and rudely. She had been neglecting her humanity, and her bodies needs were making themselves known. It made her laugh suddenly, just realizing the sheer insanity of the last 24 hours in his company. We could waste away so happily there, pinned beneath him struggling to live through the unbelievable pain and pleasure he wrought upon her... But no, that was like a day dream wasn't it? Now her Brain was beginning to function, she knew she didn't actually want to waste away there... She wanted more. The only way to do that? Was to go on, heal up, and then lather, rinse, and repeat at a time she could take it all over again. Currently, she wasn't sure she could -walk-. "Holy fuck do I need some bacon and a doobie.and I should probably get the kit out and do a transfusion, my heads swimmin'.. Though that may be the cracked skull, can't quite tell. " she tried to shift a little under him, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Edited by Mac, Tuesday, 26. November 2013, 19:18.
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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 | Wednesday, 27. November 2013, 20:10 Post #36 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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I share a dreamy stare with her a moment longer, my smile widening a few inches at being called 'bliss.' I'll take that, especially since I can't imagine her describing much as bliss beyond taking some much desired revenge. Messing up Jack is gonna be bliss, right before snatching him right of this world, becoming only a memory and dust on the wind. Celebrating that victory is also gonna be pretty fucking blissful. And with what components I have already; namely me, her and some homemade explosives, it seems unlikely that either of us will be around to do some celebrating. I can't care about that now...but I can sure think of the thanks I would give her if all goes well. The growl of her stomach catches me off guard. Not only is it a noise I am not accustom to, but hell if it was loud enough to make the both of us laugh. I mean, I got here 30-45 minutes after sundown yesterday and I damn sure didn't let her eat anything. Plenty in her mouth, but, no eating. Meanwhile I have had the luxury of drinking her in, leeching all the life and heat right out in that salty blood at her request more than anything. It allowed me from losing my shit, sure, and it let me heal up the majority of the bloodshed in real time. So her suggestion of Bacon (damn I miss bacon) a doobie (damn I miss getting high) and a blood transfusion (I prefer it straight from the bottle) is probably a damn fine one. "I'm guessing the blood loss. Cracked nothing was slowin' you down last night." Well maybe her lungs were having some issues, but she was a fucking champ. She never gave up told me she'd had enough and to get the fuck out. Was she ever truly satisfied? What we did, is that an experience to her or has it become the new standard? The more I look into those eyes and search for any sort of answer, the more I get suckered in. What it be so wrong for me to flip her over, get her on all fours and fuck her into unconsciousness? It's difficult to resist, cause I know all too well she'd probably love it more. More pain, more exhaustion, more chemicals to bleed from her brain. Get up, get off and get in the shower Church. Yessir. "Still never got to the trampoline." I curse as I reluctantly push off of her, shifting to my knees right beneath the shower head. I can't quite tell if this has gotten me cleaner or dirtier. I hold out a hand for in case she has trouble getting off her back. "At least nobody died, right?" Certainly not the way I was feeling yesterday. Though I start to realise, almost worryingly, that beyond sex we don't have a lot to discuss. Well we do, just not right now. All I can think of is eating that pussy and the fucking trampoline. "God damn, do I want you to be mine though." Then I could probably kill you with my cock. Did I just say that out loud? Ah Jebus fucking... |
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| Mac | Wednesday, 27. November 2013, 21:24 Post #37 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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"Yeah, probably. I have a real thick head, so did my Pa. Got most everything from him, Ma's eyes and nose though, thank god. Blood loss it is..." She grinned, watching him slowly slide away from her body to sit up on his knee's in the shower. She'd take a moment, laying on the tiled ground beneath him, to admire his scultped form. She'd gone over every tattoo with a fine toothed eye while he was unconscious in his day sleep, trying to pick their meanings out and get a gauge on him through the art he displayed on his body. His form was incredible, so broad across the shoulders with thick and meaty arms that a girl could dream about doing the worst things to her, thick hands to lay out the punishment for -good- behavior. It made her grin like a fucking idiot to look at him like that, till his hand came out to help her up. Her eyes flashed a sort of 'fuck you' at the hand, as gentlemanly and well meant as it was. She had trouble accepting nice shit from people, because she was so used to the rude and asshole shit that had completely encompassed her life. Made her feel, sorta weirdly naked to have someone try and treat her like a person. She instead rolled over on her own, trying mentally to convince herself as always, she was a rock unto herself and perfectly capable of anything she damned well wanted to do. Like getting up. When she pushed off her hands to knee up, her head swam. She sought a deep breath in a slow exhail to calm it, blinking blinding at the wall she was now facing as she tried to just shake it off. His words though, they pierced through the muttled viel of lightheadedness. "Awe, don't go back there Doc. That's a bad road. I'll be your booty call, when you're hungry you can sink your teeth, and mitts into me... but I don't want none of that fake bullshit. I don't wanna give a shit about anyone or anything, that's not actually ME giving a shit..." A hand came out to steady herself on the wall, the broken one with the twisted fingers. She looked at them a moment, trying to decide if slapping him upside the head would impart the message better, and at the same time fix her fingers? That was her first instinct for sure, but perhaps her anger driven tactics weren't exactly the right ones for this situation? She instead took a few steadying breaths, and turned to slide on her knees across the slippery tiles so she could kneel in the stream with him. The water was wonderful, she felt amazing, although hungry as fuck. She then held her fingers up to him, eyes asking him to fix that shit for her. She could probably do it herself, but her head was swimming still, and although she'd managed to twist them semi back, they were still very bent. "Doctor me Doc." |
![]() "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 | Thursday, 28. November 2013, 17:44 Post #38 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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My pupils follow her despite the tickle of water dribbling down my eyeballs, noting the distain at the gentlemanly gesture. I meet the 'fuck you' with a 'again?' grin, dropping it down my torso in an attempt to rub anything away that is simply too stubborn to budge by itself. Bitch has a lot of issues, for sure; some I can respect and others I just don't even. Really, not able to take my hand and not flail around like a klutz standing upright? What, is it just too kind? It's funny to think about it, because we both are wicked creatures, wretched and depraved by society and, hell, even a lot of freaks wouldn't wanna get in our way. And yet, for all the diabolical deeds, for all this hurt we lay on people, together we are good. I love her beating the shit out of me, so is there anything more kind and giving and thoughtful than her thinking of a new and horrendous way to break me down? Together, or at least to each other, we are the nicest people in the world. And as for the blooding talk, I'm glad she shrugged it off so simply and put some much needed knowledge in my head. She doesn't want or need it. I want it...but don't need it. Like I said before, what the fuck would I do with a ghoul? I sure know what I'd do with her but...there's something about watching her stumble against the wall, be so shaken and weak after our escapades that fills me with something sick and twisted and sticky, a feeling that I imagine is black and can spread quite rapidly. Gratification at a job well done; not breaking her, never breaking her, but knowing that I could. Whether it's natural predatory nature, Sabbat mentality or the sadistic blood is irrelevant. I like her weak almost as much as I like her strong. I regard her fingers with a cocked head, the corner of my lips tug into a smirk as I notice just how fucked up they are. "Next time, I'm biting them off." I flash her teeth, though she is already far too aware that I'm willing and able to do just that. I take her hand, wrapping up the damaged fingers gently. "I think I could get used to the idea of 'a booty call.'" As familiar I am with the term and the notion, I don't think I've ever had it come up in a conversation. Probably because I'm not usually a repeat caller when it comes to boning. But when it's as good as it was with her... "But everything in moderation, that's what they say. Which is a pile of bullshit normally but I can enjoy waiting for you. Just makes things that much better, don'tcha think?" my sentence is punctuated with the cracking of a finger as I wrench it back from where it came. I had thought to do all three at once but, heh, this is better right? "An' I don't wan' no fuckin' pride shit from you either. You want me? Come get me." For anything really. Her life seems hazerdous to say the least, and I know she's fucking survived without me and will probably have a bitch fit for thinking otherwise, for thinking she needs my help. I yank the second finger back into place. When she was dying in the street, she didn't need me then either right? No. I'm kinda keen for her not to die. She's more than a fuck. She's a friend. "Cause you know how much I like playin' Doctor for ya." I mutter, pinching the last twisted bone between my thumb and fingers. Crack. |
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| Mac | Thursday, 28. November 2013, 19:50 Post #39 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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"You know, there's always a chance shit wont grow back if you remove it... Considering I don't have a wonderfully talented Tzimisce to return my fingers to me if that is the case, maybe... not... biting them -off-? I've lost the top joints of all my fingers in the Ghoul Games before, if I didn't win... I wouldn't still have them all. Part of the prize was getting your body parts put back on. I definately had one finger joint that didn't want to grow back on its own." She let out a soft hiss as he took her hand in his, his touch at first gentle and cradling. Her stomach muscles tensed, body tightly bracing for what she knew he was going to do. She wasn't sure she could take it, not with the swimming pool of dizziness in her head already, but damned if she wasn't going to try. She had to be tough, she had to take it. Always. Admitting anything less would be base treachery to her very core nature, of always upping the anti and pushing on. She had no ability to say "No" to herself when it came to shit like this, especially with this Fanger, that she felt like she had to 'impress' with her badassery, even if she knew someday it might kill her. Afterall, he'd been attracted to her for her fucking tough as nails presentation, getting all weak and weary would implode his mental image of her and ruin it, at least so she thought. The cracking of the first finger left her with her good hand clamped on her thigh, digging in and pushing up hard to keep her upright. She was fixed on his face as he spoke, looking up through a trail of water cascading down her body, eyes blearily blinking out the stream. She had calmed her breathing, and was fighting to keep it calm and remain on her knee's and not simply fall on her face with the haze. The second finger left her making a noise not unlike a kicked puppy, her arm tensing in his grip as she tried to remain in herself. Don't go anywhere, don't slip away. Don't faint mother fucker.... and above all else, don't fucking cry. Vampers hated that shit, and she hated it. She'd learned to slough that sort of human behavior off ages ago, when weakness caused your beating to go from the pleasure threshold into the horror territory. Then the third finger went cracking, and she did sway under the dizzy feeling that swept her body. She didn't fall forward, but she sure as shit was woozy and nearly went for a faceplant into his chest. God, she was all turned on again. How could that even be fucking possible? What the fuck did he do to her, with his sexy southern drawl. What was he saying? Something about Pride or whatever. She had lots of that shit. Nothing gonna change that, not no more. She wasn't going to worm on the floor and lick no ones boots every again. Would it really be so bad in his case though? To writhe beneath him, make his fuckin bloody dreams come true, do whatever fucked up shit made him smile... Wait, that's not what he was saying at all. It took a bit to get her head around it, because she was somewhere else for a few moment as her body flushed with adrenaline and painful gratification at the rebreaking of her fingers. "Gotcha. Next time... I hunt you." She flexed the fingers a little, although their response was somewhat limited due to the swelling around the breaks. She sighed, hard, heavy, tired. She needed to get some fucking food and fluids into herself, stat. And just like that, she realized... she was fucking sober. She hadn't begun her usual bottle to the face method of waking, and had instead used Church as a supplement. BHazel eyes glittered and narrowed as she looked at him, wondering a moment before giving up on giving a shit at why. "Sorry to gross you out and all, but I really gotta go be human for a bit... If I don't get some god damned bacon and booze into me, I may have to jump you again. Considering I think my fucking cunt's broken from the pounding, and I may pass out.... Probably shouldn't try and fuck you anymore. That moderation shit right?" She'd start trying to scramble out of the shower, the ache between her legs slowly making itself known now that her body was coming down off the high of epic fucking. |
![]() "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 | Friday, 29. November 2013, 23:47 Post #40 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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"Everything in moderation, Princess." I repeat the sentiment, though I'm not sure how convinced I look by the idea of that. "Except Bacon and Booze, of course." Girls got some serious constitution, and despite how battered and bruised she thinks she is, I reckon there's another eleven rounds worth of fun that could be had. And she'd freaking love it. But no, this is healthy to let sleeping dogs lay right now. And the proposition of her hunting me is damned tantalizing. And it's hardly hunting when she's openly admitted to knowing damn well where me and the Mouse live. If it happens out on the street, a dark alleyway, fuck I'll lose my god damned mind. I'll get so pumped from being ambushed...fuck. I need to start taking long walks in dangerous places, for sure. My eyes follow her as she makes her 'escape' - slow and fucking steady, contrary to popular belief does not win the race. In particular, they're fixed to 'dat ass', the swaying hips, the almost...limp in her step. I get to my feet, close them peepers and try to calculate the exact number of times I did feed from her. Let's see...I try to associate every part of my body that aches to a different time. Where between making her hurt and squirt there was usually nibbles to her neck, thighs, tits...jebus, I can't count them on two hands. I would wonder how she was still walking if I was just given the fact of a woman being fed on so many times, buuut I know her. Damn well. "Tell you what, for being such a good sport and not throwing me out in the sun like I kinda thought you would've..." No need to be bashful when admitting that fact, I thought she was a piece of shit. She is, but she's a piece of shit I like. But anyway, I reach out and dial the nozzle down, until the water comes to a stop. "Why don'tcha go and make sure you don't die." Are there towels here? No? I walk barefoot in her shadow, with significantly more spring in my step. Or at least I trail her very briefly, making a beeline for the fridge. I got this shit. |
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3:19 PM Jul 11