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A dragon is a large, serpentine legendary creature that appears in the folklore of many cultures around the world. Beliefs about dragons vary considerably through regions, but dragons in western cultures since the High Middle Ages have often been depicted as winged, horned, four-legged, and capable of breathing fire. Monthly Miles. Sign up for “Monthly Miles,” our exclusive email with the coolest things we’ve discovered or explored that month. It could include exclusive giveaways, discounts, events, gadgets, hacks or tricks for Back of the Dragon, and beyond. The area is popular with sports car and motorcycle enthusiasts, who cross the gap into Tennessee to drive along "The Dragon"; famous for its 318 curves in 11 miles (18 km). The Dragon is Guelph's only comics and games store. We opened in 1998 and are now operating in 2 locations in Guelph, Downtown and at Gordon & Kortright, and a 3rd location in Milton. We are a Will Eisner Spirit of Comics Retailing Award winner! We are chock-full of amazing and wonderful things, and we run gaming events 5 days a week! Check us out! Haunted by demons. Bruce was taught Martial arts at childhood. Bruce then was told by his father to flee to the United States. There, he opened up a Martial Arts school, then was chosen to be the Green Hornet's sidekick, Kato. Then, his big movie career that included "The Big Boss" and "Enter the Dragon". The real Dragon ends up being Thumper, whom Hopper actually uses to get make examples of the ants. Care Bears; Christy is this to Dark Heart in Care Bears Movie II: A New Generation, due to a Deal with the Devil. he then "temporarily" becomes the Dragon to El Macho in the sequel. Bruton from Dinosaur is actually this to Kron. Also, the Carnotaurus Bruton killed in the cave (which results in him being crushed to death by falling rubble) is actually this to um, Carnotaurus. Dragon If you looking for Americanized Chinese food in Blooming-ton come to Dragon! Where you can find the best food in town with a quick friendly service and take out. We have Shrimp with Lobster Sauce, Chicken with Broccoli and our lunch specials are available for all day! It is considered “the destination” for thousands of motorcycle and sports car fans throughout the spring, summer, and fall. Can you brave it? It’s best to be cautious as the turns are tight, but the Tail of the Dragon is guaranteed to be the ride of your life. With the world famous Dragon literally outside our doorstep, you can encounter one of the most technical & challenging roads in the country. Of course, people come to the attraction of 318 curves in 11 miles, but they soon discover all the best kept secrets of the many great roads leading you here. Michigan’s Dragon at Hardy Dam is An adventure destination that embraces West Michigan’s majestic lakes, rivers, and bountiful forests. The first 13+ miles of

2020.10.21 17:35 TatarCubanGirl Sex hidden finger

I was raised as a Jehovahs witness and I remember being taught that the dragon in the Bible is also the Devil. Later I asked them about is the dragon in the Bible and Revelation and the cultural Chinese Dragon. I got the answer that the Dragon was a symbol for the Chinese emperor but now it is just a symbol for good luck. Apperantly the asian chinese cultural dragon has no connection to the devil-dragon in the Bible. But I clearly remember being taught in childhood that the Devil is also a Dragon.
http://truthabouttaiwan.blogspot.com/2010/08/chinese-culture-is-satanic.html
I have to admit my JW upbringing legit convinced me as a child that chinese culture is kind of satanic.
The Kpop artist G-Dragon legit rubs me to this day the wrong way and make me feel strange.
Plus the fact that the dragon is a symbol among asian mafia in tattoos and amwf porn (which makes
me feel at the same time cringe as f and mildly irritated)
When I read Wild Swans by Jung Chang where she basically wrote her mother had an abortion because she felt she could better serve the Communist Chinese government. That moment I got
"child sacrifice for Communist Party" vibes. And I remembered all the stories from the Old Testament about the caananites sacrificed their children to their gods.
Being raised as a JW by former atheist parent from communist countries as refuges and immigrants
in Sweden , and reading the whole Bible legit fucked me up.
Because according to JWs fetus=child.
My parents were atheist raised during Communism. They only got into Jws after coming to Sweden after my birth because they both studied in Moscow.
But our life did not turn out good and I legit think the JWs are an organization to hunt down communists around the world and reeducate communists children into christianity.
My parents got threathened by social services and mm and my mother fled to Russia.
I still think all of this happened only because of my grandfather being a cuban diplomat in North Korea. My father also never baptised himself into the Jws unlike my mother.
Yes I have read the book by Yeonmi Park "To be able to live" and I can sympathise with her.
But what concerns me more is my grandfather who lives very poor in Cuba and despite being on pension he continues to work. No matter how much I sympathise with Yeonmi Park I am more concerned about Cuba and Russia and why the main population is so poor there.
I am also concerned with the artificial milk-producing companies invading republics not so far from my mothers republic only employing chinese from the mainland and producing crap unhealthy products to sell in Russia.


I remember the JWs literature having the focus on prozelyting "worldly" people especially Chinese in China.
I remember the literature where we were encouraged to "take the step over to Macedonia" where two girls prozelyted to two chinese.
I especially think of this when I discovered the book and movie The Bitter Tea of General Yen.
I also think of it when Jws get jailed for prozelyting in China.
Also I remember in the book "What does the Bible really learn?" there was this picture with an asian woman reading the Bible.
I feel that I have a weird relationship to Asians even thought I am half asian myself. I am half Cuban ,half Tatar. Tatars ara considered minority asians in Russia.
It started with when my blonde best swedish friend Hulda (fake name) father got divorced (the family were JWs) to his swedish wife and married a Thai woman. The swedish wife married an african refugee.
That legit made me start feeling doubt in my religion.
I used to go with my famly to a chinese traditional doctor who was very kind who gave my parents a traditional chinese cooking utensil.
My mother is best friend with a woman from Tajikistan that is Uzbek who was a wealthy woman during communist regime. We also know another woman from Kazakhstan whose dad was a politican but
who seems to have gotten some grudge against my mum. She also did a really mean joke after my fathers death about him being behind the Chernobyl accident just for being a nuclear engineer who worked there at one point.
Only after my fathers death have I seen really how nasty Huldas mother really is when she claimed my mother did wrong by escaping from social services with me to Russia. I told her she was bullshitting and lying. I also hate the posh polish JW woman who claimed I stole her daughters jacket in childhood. Now they just ignore us. I am really disappointed with the Jws and legit think they contacted our family
only to destroy my dad and make his daughter anti-communist.
I also really hate how poorly my parents got treated here despite their higher educations

My parents used to help a Vietnamese family with documents and helping them not getting scammed into laundering money . They were very kind but shortly abrupted our relationship and talking after the wifes vietnamese friend started talking about JWs being bad.
But I remember going to a school where a filipina girl hated me and used to put dirty water in my water drinking bottle. She was in love with a swedish boy from a nationalistic swedish party and was jealous because he showed interest in me. Btw the boy said he was a satanist when I told him I was JW.
Once I tried to make friend s with a Thai boy at school but it did not work out.
When I heard a higher educated russian man on Youtube complain about the asians and their cliques
and how we russians and cenral asians dont have our cliques the same way and how the west hates us russians I have to agree. I relly recommend everybody to listen to the Youtubers Revengestar, Vovan Japan 0.2 and Nazar Ilishev.
I some time read the manga Rosario Vampire with the vampire girl Moka Akashiya and when the russian youtuber Ashiya popped up with the same name it made me feel weird.

I was also really into Vampire knight but then I stumbled upon the website NihongoNews where
they exposed the dark side of Japan and all the red sun flag dark history so I remember when waiting outside a grocery store alone for my mother in Russia I saw an asian dude walking past me with red sun tattoos it made my stomach churn in discomfort. I also remember when I was lying in the hospital in Russia I got harassed for taking communist books from the hospital library to read.
There was this asian dude laughing at me for being shy and not used to talking to guys there.
Also once I got submitted into a psychiatric hospital alone and some asian girl and dude had sex behind a sliding wall while I was tied to bed. I am still angry on my mum for focing me in psychiatic hospitals 2 times just because I could not sleep at night. At the hospital there was also an asian nurse forcing a pill that fell to the floor into my mouth by force.
Also at the endocrinological hospital there was an really gruff , rough, hoarse main doctor without one finger (yakuza sign anybody?) that was really rude to my mum.
These are the 4 weird asians I cant forget. The one with the red sun tattoo ,the rude one ,the one behind the sliding wall and the one missing finger doctor. Watching japanese visual kei videos with the red rising flag makes me SO uncomfortable. I constantly remeber that guy who walked past me when I see that.
Also I got an operation on my stomach. While I was lying in the endocrinological part of the hospital I overheard old babushkas talking about the main doctor and his daugher ruling the hospital being very affluent poeple making the hard working babushkas pretty salty. They also insiniated I had had an abortion even thought I explained it was only the appendix that got removed.
I confronted my mum about it but she stands by that it only was the appendix.
Later I got maredreams and strange thoughts if maybe I was raped during sleep in the other hospital because I remember one day waking up and seeing a weird condom lying in the corridor (I slept in the corridor) and the asian guy quickly moving out after that. I also remember the nurses choosing especially him to once deliver me some pills I had to swallow.
But the most horrifiying memory I have is when the asian guy rolled me in a wheel chair and I remember him whispering some strange words I dont fully remember (dont be afraid?) when they transferred me from hospital to hospital.
I also read about Japan and China and the yakuza from books in the library while I was in my mothers hometown but later strangely these books disappeared.
I also I remember the constant flower kiosk named Sakura and tokyoflower in my city the sudokus selled in every kiosk and after reading all those horrible things about what the japanese did ww2 it just puts bad taste in my mouth.
I really find visual kei intersting with how they portray themselves as demons and its interesting to me that all the foreign visual kei arists are thai swedish, english and from the western world.
Especially SekimaII and their "demons" concept. They remember me of the female russian band U-kei.
I have been watching Kazakh pop the latest years and its unsettling to watch them don kimonos.
I have even seen tatar musicians do it.
I may be revealing to much of my life. But the internet has opened my eyes to how asian diasporas absorb everything around themselves. Reading asian supremacist subreddits here on reddit makes me even more uncomfortable. But my biggest beef that I have is when I read that chinese hate europeans and central asians but then I remembered the traditional chinese doctor named Pan who was so kind
and dismissed it.But there is tons of anti-asian ,anti-chinese info on russian Youtube.
But it is true that ex-communist immigrant dont support and band together judging by all the chinese shops,thai massage salons, indian resturants in my swedish town but no russian or central asian resturants. Even in Cuba I saw a Chinese resturant and saw the stories of the chinese residents in Cuba and the store selling asian, anime and K-dramas in Havana. Also the new Crazy Rich Asians and Mulan movie compared to the Borat movie reminded everyone that the new Han Chinese supremacist narrative is being pushed.
I was always so amused by the fact that Cinderella called the cat Lucifer in the cartoon and the pet dragon in Mulan and speculated over Disneys satanism.
My question is with the chinese dragon in the Bible.
My second question is with contemporary Israel and why is lbgt and femenism and abortion so accepted there if it is prohibited in the Bible. Like doesnt it bother anyone at all that the non-israelite people in the book of Joshua worship the sun and to me they SO much wakes up associations of the red rising sun flag to me ?
Because of this seeing the jewish star in japanese visual kei videos also makes me feel strange.
My father always had a negative opinion on Japan and Israel.
My second is when I saw the music video Ai-dolls -Ai-dolls (kyrgyz pop). Ai means moon in kyrgyz but means love in japanese so that reminded me of the manga Princess Ai and made me uncomfortable.
My cousin studies in China but refuses to tell me how he has it. He had a chinese girlfriend but broke up with her.
His father had a company named Thanks (Rahmat) Tea but his son got brutally murdered so the company died but strangely enough some weird product with the same name started selling while I lived with my mother in Russia. My mothers last name consists of the word Thanks (Rahmat).
My uncle got a sexual disease while flying to buy Indian Tea in India so that really got me thinking.
I dont shame Indian people ,my mother is friends with one.

But I clearly see that chinese culture is anti-Bible. I remember watching the tv-series Empress of China.
There Wu Ruyi (Meiniang) kills a girl named Gaoyang. Later I watched an Youtube video of a chinese man claim that the god in the Bible is the same as the ancient chinese God and he said that Gaoyang means lamb. It felt like deja vu.
I also remember watching a japanese Youtuber in russian talking about japanese mythology that it goes like this: The Japanese god fell in love and procreated with humans and from there went all people. I had biblical deja vu when I heard of this and remembered the band Seikima II.
The thing is: I remember a russian girl magazine adverising the Hinamatsuri , Japanese girl fashion and "The land of the rising Soul" to russian young girls I cannot phantom the sneaky evilness of the japanese people propagating and advertising their culture to young girls only for the young girls to fly to Japan only to realize that Japan is like Saudi Arabia only more advertised and pink.
And I know that japanese culture is actively advertised in Russia.
I remember liking anime ,Sailor Moon and manga and wanting to translate manga into minority language in Russia but when I understood how dark and twistedly obsessed the japanese are with demons it made me think twice. Also 4chan anyone?
Some Youtuber said that if you learn japanese and start reading 4chan you will regret you learned japanese.
What I have learned from the russian Youtuber VovanJapan is 1:Japanese people love themselves very much. I have read traditional japanese poetry and I think it is true judging by the poem "Loving Oneself" I read.
Also remember reading the japanese poem wher the man tells the women "Dont think you cant be replaced and are unique". That kind of attitude also is a turn-off to me.
And asian people reading this and hating me:I dont care.
My uncle was very kind and always gave left-over food to his north koran servants while being a diplomat.
But I really hate all the toxic, hating and bullying by asian and especially japanese people online.
I really dislike their feudalistic ,passive-agressive hating on the Internet.
Just look at all the hate Blinchik in Japan , lolcow farm, pretty ugly little liars , Yoo Lana and other
pretty non-asian ,non-japanese females get. It is sickening.
It is also sickening seeing how russian-speaking men praise japanese women and shit on russian women under Sergey Kuvaevs videos.
I just dont think rasistic, imperialistic, rising red sun-wearing tattooed asians should be walking around in my mothers home town and make innocent girls like me feel unsafe.
I see VovanJapans YT channel get taken down and it makes me think he speaks the truth.
The film Interdevochka also got a price in Japan I think that talks about something.
You can read my post as fiction from planet X.
I have read beutiful japanese traditional poetry and japanese mythology.
But I have also read ugly japanese comment hidden by anonimity on the internet and it makes me disgusted.
Like the only thing I can think of is the son Katoosha by AKB4.
But I have read russians saying it is very had to talk to japanese people because they are so quiet
and you have to force words out of them.
I think Japan is like the dentist clinic in Sailor Moon :Kawaii -Hawaii on the outside but horrifying on the inside.VovanJapan said that they do medical experiments on foreigners in Japan. I always think of Viagras music video Anti.-Geisha where a japanese girls shoots at you throught the TV.Or In-Yans music video Kamikaze.
I saw japanese hair salons and a sushi shop in my mother russian hometown.
I know a mongolian woman that works in a sushi shop here in sweden that has two married mongolian relatives living in japan working for a japanese car company.
Why do we russians celebrate the Victory over Germany , but not over Japan?
Why is there a monument remembering the japanese soliders in Russia?
Why do we Russians allow this to happen?
Why do we russians not stand up for ourselves?
I have watched DenTV and they tell about how the japanese think we russian dropped the bombs on them.It makes me sick.
I think that in japanese culture the concept conscience does not exist. At least judging y russian DenTV that is the case. They have shame culture but dont have the concept of sincere regret.
Of course I have never met japanese people in real life.
But I dont intend to try to Skype to a silent robot and try to force words out of them forcefully.
If any japanese think otherwise they can comment below.
I probably wont comment anyway as I am sick of seeing americans shit on Cuba and Russia in general.
So I am preparing for the communist haters!
I have teo questions:
1.Did the japanese ask forgiveness from Russia for their war crimes occuping Russia up tot the Uralic Mountains?
2.If not , What do they want from us crating Youtube channels saying they are proud of their forefathers who were soliders doing their duty in (Tatarstan) and marrying russian women?
Showing the monument commerating japanese soliders?
But the think making me most angry is when DenTV said japanese spies create anime communities in russian on the internet telling russian youth to commit suicide. That is the definition of going over all
limits!

The japanese really are Jorogumos on the World Wide Web searching for naive innocent flie-like russian youths to ensnare and push to sucide!
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2020.10.20 14:00 Angel466 Hidden finger sex

PART ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-SIX
I won’t say we didn’t have sex in the car. Nor will I say how often we didn’t have that sex, but in the end, I won the battle over the underwear. Because I was not getting out of the car until she had some on. The part I didn’t get is why she pulled a pair out of her clutch purse … and why the hell there was so little of it.
A skimpy black satin G-string that I helped her into after we cleaned ourselves up. It hugged her hips and disappeared between the cheeks of her backside. “You’re trying to kill me here, aren’t you?” I asked, as she lowered her black leather dress over it and turned around to face me.
She grinned and leaned forward to kiss me. “Only in the best way, honey-bear.”
As we did every time we arrived at our destination, we stashed all of our ... supplies .... in a tied disposable bag hidden in the centre console. I knew it was never there when we came back, but at least by tying it off and knowing the bag was opaque, it was a sealed package that could have been any manner of trash. Just the thought of leaving that stuff where Donald or Thomas could see it had me blushing all the way to my toes.
“What’s wrong, Sam?” She asked, lowering the privacy screen and window settings once we were both presentable. It was only then that I looked outside, and realised we weren’t at the motel. We were at a drop-off point for the concert itself.
My blush turned to panic. “Gerry!” I hissed, as Donald opened the door on to the sidewalk, having taken his cue from the windows returning to their usual tinting.
She slid her hand into mine and squeezed. “We were running late, honey-bear. So I had Donald bring us straight here. It’s okay. We won’t miss anything. Daddy always has someone waiting on the door to take us straight through to our seats.”
But I didn’t get a chance to check … I mean …
I glanced down at myself, finding no obvious flaws in my pants. She smiled and cupped my cheek, lifting my attention back to her. “C’mon, handsome. You’re with me. It’ll be fine.”
I huffed out a frustrated breath and climbed over the console to follow her out her open door. Clefton’s older music was already being piped through the speakers, minus the singer himself, reminding people who they were coming to see.
Clefton was a second-generation musician who drew in crowds no matter where he went. His father officially retired when Clefton took to the stage in his own right, but every now and then Piper joined his son on the stage without notice to sing a duet, causing everyone in the audience to go crazy.
Well, even more crazy than they already were. Both of them could play any musical instrument they laid their hands on, and during those duos, they would either sing the most touching tributes to each other or confiscate instruments from the band in an effort to ‘outdo’ one another. Piper even made a tambourine sound cool. Or maybe it was the dance he put on with it. Either way, it was all in good fun. They might have been performing for the crowd, but there was no denying the love they shared for each other during it.
I know. Because I spent a lot of time over the last decade staring at those YouTube clips, wondering what that relationship was like.
But I had my own dad now, and he was not only everything I wanted him to be, but he'd also always been there. I just didn’t know it.
A wall of security guards stood between us and the door Geraldine was dragging us towards. The front runners folded their arms and tensed, but a pair of small hands appeared between two of them and a small woman in all black with a headset on squeezed through them. “You’re late, Miss Portsmith,” she said, by way of greeting.
“Excuse you!” Gerry snapped, and I could see her losing her temper if I didn’t smooth things over.
“It was completely my fault,” I said, drawing the woman’s attention to me and donning an apologetic smile. “Are we too late?”
The woman looked me over and smirked. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” She flicked her head towards the door. “C’mon. I’ll show you to your seats.” She walked right towards the most intimidating guy in the line. “Let us through, Nick.”
Like everyone on the line, he wore a black t-shirt at least twenty sizes too small for him, drawing attention to the muscular bulges that filled every inch of the fabric. His large, mirrored glasses kept me from seeing his eyes and everything else about his face seemed to be carved in granite. Jesus, he was intimidating. Especially looking like he could snap us in half and use our broken bones for toothpicks.
Instead of stepping aside, he maintained his steadfast position. “Pretty please with a dozen sugared cherries and a whole can of caramel nut whipped cream on top?” the woman asked as she walked her fingers across his forearm, her grin implying this was an old game between them.
His lips then parted into a matching lopsided grin, changing everything about him. In a heartbeat, he went from an unmovable behemoth to just a regular guy with big muscles. “Sure thing, sugar,” he said with a slight southern drawl as he dropped his folded arms and twisted to one side, allowing the three of us to pass.
“Always the gentleman,” she laughed, patting his abs on the way past.
“Enjoy the show,” Nick said as Geraldine and I followed in the woman’s wake.
“Thanks, Nick,” I said, and although I still couldn’t see his eyes, I saw his head jerk more fully towards me. I grinned shyly and rolled my fingers in a small wave that I hoped Geraldine wouldn’t see. Because this was her night, and I didn’t want to do anything to spoil it for her.
As I expected, the crowd was massive. It was just as well we had a guide because even though we had front row seats, navigating Madison Square Garden under these conditions was sheer madness. It was also a good thing neither of us was claustrophobic.
When we went into the venue itself, the stage was set up in a star pattern, indicative of a Clefton concert. The famous musician hated the idea of people paying money to see less of him, so he always brought his rotating stage with him, wherever he went. With enough overhead video feeds to give everyone a really good show.
It wasn’t until we were led past the regular seating and into the gaps between the star prongs where more seating had been added that I realised a security guard stood in the shadows of each prong’s corner. With only five seats at the very front of each section, that made a forty percent ratio of guards to front seat viewers, and the way they were shorter by a foot or so, they were easy to miss. I only just managed to catch the reflection from their glasses that were also black (unlike the mirrored ones the guards outside wore). Once we took our seats, those two would still be able to see.
Clefton may have loved to perform, but the family were taking no chances with his safety. I gave Gerry the very middle seat and slid into my allocated seat beside her.
Unlike other entertainers, Clefton openly encouraged the use of cell phones to film him during his shows, putting professional details at the bottom of both his tickets and program guides for where people could send links to their footage. The fans loved it when he incorporated their footage into his publicity. Not that he would do it himself. At a guess, he had a team of people poring over it for the best material.
Geraldine slid her hands through mine in excitement as the lights dimmed and a hush filtered through the crowd. Everyone waited to see how Clefton would open the show since no two were alike.
A single, monotone sound crept through the sound system. Deep, echoing. It reminded me of the time I’d seen someone playing a digeridoo during one of our Greenpeace clean-ups to lift up everyone's dwindling spirits. For almost two solid minutes, the sound kept up. I watched as the band used this time to slip into position on the stage.
Everyone was poised, waiting.
A change of tone for one beat was the only indication that it wasn’t some manner of white noise. And then another. Like a heartbeat. On the next heartbeat, it didn’t drop back down…
…until the lights flooded what appeared to be a concealed amplifier as the cover was lifted to reveal Clefton still holding the note with the old-fashioned microphone he held to his lips. He was dressed in similar era-styled clothes, with bell-bottoms and platform shoes.
He let that note die out, with him staring at the stage floor.
Then, in the ensuing silence, he jerked his head up again, looking around at the audience as if seeing them for the first time. “How y’all doin’, New York?”
Screeches and screams from all over the stadium deafened me momentarily. His grin broadened at their response and he started bobbing and shimmying on the spot without moving his feet, clapping his hands together. Before long everyone was clapping with him.
“I feel like I could bust out of my skin! Let’s party people!” he shouted, and throwing the old-style microphone aside, he leapt forward and tore out of those old clothes, revealing clean-lined denim jeans and a plain shirt. The platform aspect of the shoes was left behind as well, dropping him down on to regular small-soled footwear. The band and the light show came to life in a crazy beat that brought the whole audience (myself included) to our feet, cheering and applauding. I had no idea how he was doing that, but nor did I care. This was amazing!
I didn’t even notice the small, beige ear hook microphone until he pulled it down in front of his mouth and began a drum roll of his tongue against the back of his teeth that belonged in another continent yet matched the fast-paced beat perfectly as he clapped his hands and shimmy-danced across the stage. His band were just as into it as he was, dancing as best they could while playing their instruments. The whole of Madison Square Garden felt alive at that point.
The stage was already pivoting away from us, but with the huge overhead screens, we weren’t missing a thing!
* * *

PART ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-SEVEN

Previous Part 195
((All comments welcome))
((AUTHOR'S NOTE: If anyone is interested in that original WP that had Clefton in it, it's here))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work including previous parts or WPs: Angel466 or indexed here
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!
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2020.10.19 22:47 Atrophied_Silence The Angels Burned Part 2

A continuation of my story, The Angels Burned
Check it out here if you have not read the first part

It was gearing up to be a long night.
The place was packed two-deep with thirsty patrons, and our barback was nowhere in sight. I wouldn’t know it until hours later, but he had quit out of the blue, leaving me to manage the tides myself.
The entrance to our pub was tucked away inside a bricked alleyway, marked with a crooked street lamp. Beyond the frontage of oak and stained-glass windows, the inside oozed with old-fashioned character.
A western fireplace fitted with wrought iron pokers, rickety wooden stools, dozens of triple X whiskey water jugs hanging from the ceiling, and old-world goods for display on the dark shelf-lined walls.
The perfect Old West backdrop for tourists.
That’s how all the seasons go in Vail, Colorado.
When visitors weren’t coming to freeze on the slopes, they came rolling in for the summer glamour, the velvety hills, and the smell of fireweed and creek water in the air.
Stressful as it made my shift, and as much as I wanted to wring the barback’s neck for it, I was used to handling things on my own.
It’s how I cut my teeth in the bar trade—my rite of passage, you might call it. Multi-tasking like a maniac, memorizing cocktail recipes, and answering the electrified calls of drunks—maybe a shot or two on the side to take the edge off.
A few of my regulars were perched along the bar—a triad of glossy-lipped girls fresh in their college years. I could never remember their names, but I always remembered which of them tipped the best.
As the three of them laughed noisily and shouted back and forth to each other, I was keeping an eye on the fellow two stools down from them.
He’d strolled in just as they arrived and settled quickly at the bar.
“What are you thinking, boss?” I asked, taking his order.
“Vodka, neat,” he muttered with an inkling of drowsiness. “Keep my tab open.”
His face matched the drink, a hard, marbled expression with nothing else mixed in, straight from the bottle to the glass. He wore a dark coat with a red cap fighting to keep his ruffled hair from poking out. A beard enveloped his mouth and dangled under his chin like that of a billy goat.
He’d been eyeballing the girls for a while, and noticeably, none of them cared for it. As two of the girls went to the restroom and one stayed behind, he took his chance.
Busy as that night was, I couldn’t help but watch him give it his best:
A subtle gesture to her glass followed by a shake of her head.
A little bit of chatter, and another shake of her head.
But Goat Beard would not be swayed, and I heard him asking something along the lines of, “Do you smoke? Want to go out and smoke with me?”
“Sorry, no,” she said, turning her entire body to convey the end of their conversation.
Finally deterred, he left her alone and made his way around the tavern.
Watching him rubber-leg his way over to the dartboards, I wished I had caught how drunk he was before pouring that last drink.
He took a seat near a group of younger guys and watched their darts fly. Whenever one missed its mark or landed clear off the board, the boys—along with their new spectator— erupted with laughter.
He leaned back, teasing the chair on its last two legs, and cackled loudly. Others looked over in curiosity and annoyance until even the jukebox tunes were second to the horsey laughter. The group of guys didn’t seem to mind it. They even welcomed it, with one of them enthusiastically high-fiving him. But eventually, the obnoxious chortling wore out its welcome, and the group made their way elsewhere.
Goat Beard followed and asked one of the boys something—the one that initiated the high-five. Judging by him tapping a V shape against his lips, it seemed like another request to go out and smoke.
The boy shook his head, denying the offer.
Striking out twice, the man stumbled his way back to the bar and reclaimed his seat, hunched over like a brooding Paul Bunyan. He seemed anxious, hands clenched and fingers trembling.
Soon enough, his neck arched back up to me and hollered, “Hey! Another neat, bud.”
“Sorry, man,” I replied bringing him a glass of water, “We’re going to need you to slow down tonight.”
He eyed the water and then blinked bullets at me, “What?!”
“Have to cut you off for now. Just sober up a bit, alright?”
Betrayal crossed his fleecy face like I had spat on a long-lived kinship. “I had one shot, bud. Ain’t even drunk yet. Now pour me another, alright?”
No drunk liked to be 86’d, but such things were necessary in the world of adult baby-sitting. I shook my head at him, “Sorry, you have to sober up a bit.”
“I’m not even drunk,” he challenged me again and then not even a second after, he slammed both palms on the table. “Now take my fuckin’ order!”
He grabbed the glass and doused me with the water I had poured for him.
I signaled for our bouncer who immediately made his way over and locked arms with the disturbance.
“Bastard!” he yelled, digging his heels into the floor, “My money’s good here, my fuckin’ money’s good here!” As he was dragged out and his screams dissipated, onlookers returned to their drinks and conversations.
I wiped off the water as well as I could and went back to work. It wasn’t the first time I’d been swilled by an angry customer, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.
Ten minutes after the last call, we stopped serving drinks. Thirty minutes after that, we emptied the bar and closed shop.
I counted the money to make sure the checkout was correct, and ran a cursory sweep over the place for any stragglers in the bathroom or under the booths. The last thing we needed was a drunkard waking up to their own alcoholic Wonka factory.
***
The night air always tasted nicer after a long shift, especially if there wasn’t the residue of vomit in the pavement or cigarettes in the air.
I made the short walk to my car, parked in the space reserved for on-duty bartenders. Half the parking lot was glazed in the fluorescent light of a streetlamp, while the other half was covered in 4 a.m. blackness.
As I fished the keys out of my pocket and opened the door, a ring of icy steel pressed against the nape of my neck.
“Don’t,” a voice breathed from behind me as I reactively tried to move away from it.
From the window, I could make out the orange-dipped reflection of a man with a gun and a tufty beard.
“Okay, okay,” I said quietly, my hands pitifully up in front of me. “Take it easy. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Shut up.” Goat Beard grunted, digging the muzzle deeper into the scruff of my neck. “Get in the car.”
I did as he was told and gripped the wheel.
He circled to the passenger door, found that it was locked, and tapped the gun against the glass.
Sure, I could have jammed the keys into the ignition and whipped the car into a screeching reverse, but the short seconds to do that felt much slower than a bullet smashing first through the window then through my skull.
I unlocked the door.
He opened the door and seated himself, the snout of a firearm still marked on me. “Start the car.”
The engine rumbled awake. “Good,” he grinned, the light outside casting a grotesquely clear look of his sweaty pores. Something awful lingered in his breath—the foul musk of a rotten tooth. “Now drive.”
The gravity of the situation hit me all at once, a blast of fear obliterating everything else out of my system. My insides shook like the temperature had just plummeted.
I looked up at my own eyes in the rearview mirror. What I saw was undiluted fear and desperation, “Please,” I whimpered, “I’m sorry for what happened. I really am, man. Take the car, it’s yours, I won’t—”
The hand holding the pistol slammed the dash. “DRIVE!” he screamed in an almost forlorn bellow.
I dropped the gearshift into reverse. As the car’s backside turned and faced us toward the road, I shoved it to drive.
“Go west on the interstate,” the man said clicking in his seatbelt and gestured for me as well. How ironic.
We followed the dark slate of road and slid up the ramp of I-70, heading into the gloomy darkness of the westbound highway.
We drove in silence for some time, during which the tight panic in my chest had shifted to a hot anger. All this for a drink. Really? All this for a goddamned drink?
I’d dealt with angry drunks before. Hell, I thought that I’d dealt with the worst of them. But I’d seen nothing like this. This guy was an entirely new level; he was bat-shit insane.
I slipped a glance at him. His eyes were turned vaguely toward the road. I hated everything about him—his shape in my peripheral, the awful smells wafting off him, his oafish breathing through those whiskers.
Where were we going? What was going to happen when we get there?
Wherever it was, I was running out of time.
Hit the barrier, I thought, and grab the gun when it drops out of his hand. I was tempted, even commencing countdowns in my head to swerve off the road and blindly grab at him in the chaos. I eyed the orange needle of the speedometer, fluttering over seventy miles per hour. Bad idea.
This was not about to become a scene in an action flick for the unscathed hero. It was real life. And in real life bodies hesitate, fingers pull triggers, and both people die in a fiery car crash.
“Where are you taking me?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.
Instead of a response, I caught the dim, grubby shape of his profile as he flicked open a lighter.
Cigarette smoke wafted out of the mottled formations of his face, no open window for it to escape.
I guess he’d finally found someone to smoke with.
He instructed me to take the next exit and to merge on Highway 24, to follow the mountainside.
At one point, a set of headlights came from the opposite direction. I pushed on the accelerator, bringing the needle up to an illegal ninety, praying that it happened to be a cop ready to have us pulled over. My passenger didn’t seem to notice our gradual rise in speed.
As the car shot right by us, it was, unfortunately, a sedan, probably heading home to a safe, warm bed—a place I should be right now.
A wet belch sighed out of him, and he sucked it back in. Digested alcohol now joined the smells of cigarette tar and a decaying tooth. I prayed for him to vomit and for the vomit to clog up his throat and turn his face blue.
What did he want? To kill me? To demand a ransom for me? My head ached with the possibilities.
There had to be something I could do to get out of this.
“My son’s birthday is next week,” I lied, hoping some form of that would reach the sliver of humanity floating around him somewhere.
He exhaled out a puff of smoke, and that was all.
I kept pushing. “He wanted one of those small cars, the one you have to build the little plastic track for and everything. We were going to have a surprise party for him.”
“Slow down,” he blurted, signaling to an upcoming side road. “Turn here.”
As the road became a C-shaped flank along the mountain, the turn-off practically came out of nowhere.
Ahead of us, a large metal gate meant to block off the path had been left wide open. Someone had taken a pair of bolt cutters to the padlock securing it. Hanging off its side, a sign read in bold letters: Trespassers will be prosecuted.
The road twisted into an aspen-lined path and became much grittier and less kempt. Loose, rocky debris crunched under the tires, and a stray branch snapped like a femur bone. We maneuvered around a few large stones that had tumbled their way along the track.
Houses clad in deformed shingles and decrepit, sagging porches formed out of the darkness around us. Their walls had either crumbled entirely or were coated in elaborate graffiti. Rundown. Abandoned.
The old neighborhood sat in Terrance-like rows along the mountainside, now left to slump along its incline.
A ghost town, one of the many that littered Colorado’s terrain.
“Do you know this place?” Goat Beard asked, surveying the deserted homes himself.
I shook my head, not interested in doing anything else.
“I’ll give you a clue—silver boom of the 1800s, once at the dead center of all zinc and lead mining productions. Back then anyway…”
I wasn’t interested in answering him, and in response to my silence, he shook his rugged head, “Gilman! Come on bud, you don’t know your own state’s history?”
The sudden shift in his tone irked me greatly, like this kidnapping had become a friendly outing together. Fuck you, my thoughts grunted.
Without being prompted, Goat Beard continued, “In 1899, half the mining town was wiped out. The school, the iron-mask hotel, a shaft house—poof!” He flexed his fingers. “All lost to the fire.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
His drunken eyes found me again. “Do you know what the townsfolk did? They came together and rebuilt what was lost. Made it better. A tragedy made into a communion. Do you know what I mean?”
I didn’t answer.
“Forest fires—those are tragedies, right? Wrong. They clear out the dead litter, make room for new generations of growth. Thriving in the ashes. That is what we need, you know? That is what this cold, fuckin’ world needs.” He was slurring to himself more than to me now, “Men, woman, everyone out there prays to some distant God, crying for the angels to fly down and save us. But he is out of angels to send, so we must abide. We must make them.”
His gaze shifted, a bent smile forming in the scruff. “Thank you.” He almost wept. “Thank you for making me choose you.”
Truly, it was the sudden giddiness in his voice that scared me the most, like the very reason he’d drank himself half to death tonight had finally been resolved.
The neighborhood led us to the town area, where we passed by an old workshop, a sun-bleached garage, and two Gilman dump trucks, their sides plastered with ancient mud. From out of the cracks, weeds had pushed their way through the untended turf.
"We’re here. Stop,” Goat Beard snapped as he rolled down the window to flick out his cigarette.
We came to a stop before a large, boxy building. Though it was one of the many paint-flaking fossils surrounding us, this structure looked especially dismal. Its once-white coat was murky with age. The few windows that weren’t clouded with grime were entirely blown out, their bits of glass shimmering like teeth in the moonlight.
More graffiti lined its base in one of which sat the grey outline of a cat. And sprouting atop the structure’s roof sat a single cracked chimney.
“Shut it off,” Goat Beard ordered again, gesturing obnoxiously toward my keys and then grabbing them as I did so.
Out from the building’s dark entryway, a silhouette came.
My insides rippled with fear at the sight.
This was it, the end of our journey together. Of course, this would be the perfect place to make me disappear. Nobody would know, and even if someone found me, they’d only stumble upon my corpse, rotting like everything else in this toxic place.
I was done playing ball. This was going to end my way, not theirs.
As Goat Beard moved to open his side of the car, I snatched at his gun.
My fingers locked around his wrist and jerked to the side to spin the barrel away from me. Its nozzle smacked against the dashboard, but his grip remained locked tight around it.
I yanked again, harder this time, using whatever leverage I could muster in the tight, little space we were in.
The parts of his face still visible to me were screwed with anger.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed, trying to wrestle my hands off of him, growling like an angry dog.
My thoughts were loud, screaming in a unified chorus: Take it, take it, take it! That is all I cared about, all I wanted in the world. To take it meant the end of this horrible night, to live through it.
I pried desperately at his grubby fingers, feeling them starting to break their hold.
As from out of nowhere, a calloused fist struck my face. Pressure filled the inside of my cheek and made it clench. His free hand struck again, even harder this time. My head flopped back, but my hands only clutched tighter.
The gun was almost out of his grip, almost in mine.
Then there was a sound behind me, and a pair of hands ripped me right out of the driver’s seat.
The underside of my legs scraped painfully across the gravel, and before everything stopped spinning, I was pinned on my stomach.
A broad knee dug between my shoulders. Something looped around my wrists and then bit into them as tight bracelets. Zip ties.
“Easy! Easy, guy,” a new voice spoke, infuriatingly calm.
I heard the passenger side close as Goat Beard bustled over to join whoever had a hold of me.
I spat and cursed at them, feeling sharp bits of grit push into my cheek.
“He’s a troublemaker,” Goat Beard jeered, hawking a gob of mucus on me.
My teeth ached and the blood was rushing to my left cheek, probably swelling like a balloon.
Without warning, the two men yanked me up to my knees, crammed something into my mouth, and slapped a streak of duct tape over my lips.
“That’ll put a muzzle on him,” Goat Beard chuckled, proud of himself.
The man who had just pushed his fingers into my mouth nodded. He was much taller, with a bristled frosty chin and a nose permanently bent to the side.
“Listen,” he spoke with that collected voice, “if you keep causing trouble, I will have to take this…” He held up a knife and pressed it up to my groin, “and unzip your sack. So, behave, huh?”
I stopped struggling at the sight of it.
Whatever they’d just shoved in my mouth rolled along my tongue. It felt like a tablet—some kind of drug, maybe. In no way was I going to swallow it, but that wouldn’t stop it from dissolving anyway.
“We need to hurry,” Goat Beard mumbled, to which Bent-Nose nodded and lead me into the wretched building.
Inside, they walked me down a short, cramped hallway.
The air I had to force in and out of my nostrils was stale and feverishly thick. Mold had built up and crawled down the wall from the ceiling, trailing along the cracks.
The interior of the room we entered resembled a kind of workshop, somewhat lit by a flashlight propped up on a table.
In its beam, someone else had their back to us. A hunching figure with a veiny bald head and a raw-hide coat that hung off his wiry frame.
He was dipping his fingers into what looked like a jar and smearing it in oval strokes on the wall, humming a hymn while he did so.
Piled along the left flank of the wall were heaps of worn medical equipment, pushed aside and left in a dusty pile.
Paper and negatives from an X-ray were littered all over the floor.
This was a hospital—or at least something along the lines of one.
Behind the mound of grimy equipment, a woman was hunched against the wall.
Her dark eyes peered up from the duct tape, cheeks creased with eye shadow, and her face sagging with the weight of hopelessness. As our eyes met, neither found comfort in the other.
I felt the urge to gag as the thing in my mouth melted into a bitter glaze. It tasted horrible.
“Are we ready?” Goat Beard asked from behind me, his gun pressed firmly into my spine.
“Almost,” Skinny replied, turning his pointy face toward us before returning to the thing he was creating. His wide eyes held a fierce intensity behind them.
Bent-Nose joined him, grabbing a jar of his own and streaking the same circled pattern over the next half of the room.
Dozens were on the walls—large red circles filled with six inner rings. Grayish chalky writing had been scribbled into them. Not words at all, but layers upon layers of gibberish all winding toward the sphere’s center.
They seemed like sigils, like ones you might find in a cult.
That explained Goat Beard’s crazy speak, but what was this, really? Our captors didn’t strike me as cultists with robes and hidden, hooded faces. They were more a gang of scruffy misfits showing off their toys.
I looked at the woman. Her eyes had gone elsewhere, swaying and wobbling around the room. Muffled, droning sounds buzzed behind the duct tape. She was on something, probably the same thing they’d forced-fed me. To keep us “muzzled.”
“Alright!” Skinny spoke excitedly, clapping his spattered hands. “Who should we start with?”
“Her,” Bent-Nose spoke, gesturing to the girl who continued to sway and teeter in her corner.
Skinny looked at the woman, and then blinked back at him with irritation, “What are you doing? Where are her restraints?”
Bent-Nose scoffed at him, “She’s high as a kite, wouldn’t even notice a fly on her face right now.”
“That isn’t the point,” Skinny snapped. “Do you want this to end up like the Moselys? Think!”
Musing on that, Bent-Nose fastened the cables over her wrists and yanked her off the ground, her bare feet dragging along the floor.
As she was laid in the center of the room, she rested whimsically on her back, putting up as much fight as a sex doll. He ripped the duct tape from her mouth before leaving her there.
A pause fell over the room, and then the men began to chant in unison. It swelled from their throats, pulling straight from the chest and meshing together into a low, prolonged baritone.
In the poor acoustics of the room, their voices bounced off the stained walls, gaining more volume with an unmistakable deep, powerful devotion.
Between their vocals, Skinny spoke out, straining his lungs into some gravel-throat language.
I was starting to feel clammy and prickly all over the place.
My mind focused on breathing—sucking in the awful fumes around me of body odor and decay.
As my heart pumped frantically, I tried to focus on its rhythm, tried to ignore the sounds of vibrating vocal cords rumbling my ears.
I forced down a swallow and breathed. The drug couldn’t be affecting me now, could it? This quickly?
The walls around us didn’t feel like walls anymore, but massive slabs of canvas coated in waxy circles. Awful art. Horrible, awful art.
The voices rose, heaving out their vocals even louder.
My leg muscles squeezed together, then relaxed, like taffy being rolled and stretched from a machine.
I wanted to sit down—to sit down and breathe. But as I started to drift downward, Goat Beard forcefully hoisted me back up again. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Are you feeling it? Are you feeling the good shit, yet?” His words trickled with them a warm, rotten breath.
Whatever harness keeping my thoughts together was loosening. I wanted to squeeze into one of the cracks around us, to sleep and make the bad world go away.
The walls started to move, puffing in and out in perfect tandem with my wheezing chest. In. Out. In. Out.
Even the sigils moved, shivering their waxy bodies with the dark chorus. Within them, the chalky figures danced and wriggled with such life I almost believed they each had their own pulse.
That was when I saw the fire.
It clawed over her, starting as a bluish ripple that quickly flared into a bright, savage red.
Even as the burst of heat rolled over my face, I didn’t think it was real. The men hadn’t ignited her—or doused her in anything—or even flicked a match. A hallucination, that’s it. I’m hallucinating, my mind pleaded, trying to grip its last fibers of that harness.
But the sound of her screaming was what made it real. She bucked and writhed beneath the flames, crying out for any of us to help her.
Smoke burrowed into my nostrils and bristled the back of my throat. I retched emptily into the duct tape and tried to pull away, only to be forced back toward her.
“Watch,” Goat Beard hissed, only stopping his chants to whisper into my ear, “Watch the angel shine.”
I could smell her hair burning. Her skin roasting.
Faces appeared around her, forming with the blaze and then in the same instant, rippled into the smog.
She screamed until her throat split and her echoes fell to a dry, breathless yowl.
The ties bounding her hands had finally snapped and released them to flail helplessly about.
All the while, the strident chants continued, feeding the inferno as it spat more pieces of her into the air.
They sang, they cheered, and as their shadows throbbed up and down the walls, I could swear those changed as well. Oily shapes with bodies contorted and torturously stretched into things not even remotely human.
Skinny stood the closest to the burning woman, both hands raised in sadistic glee over their living kindle. Just another man outside these walls, but here in the firelight, he looked like the devil.
Psychopaths. Monsters!
I fought in Goat Beards grip, jerking my head back to break his nose, kicking my feet backward toward his knees. I couldn’t stomach any more.
Something blunt struck the back of my head. I keeled over onto my knees. Even in a drugged-up daze, the static spreading around my skull told me I’d just been pistol-whipped.
The last of the strained cries finally crept from the woman’s throat as she succumbed to a crackling silence.
I thought she was finally gone, prayed for it even.
However, she convulsed once more, turning her stomach up and letting her head hang downward—now looking at me.
I saw her face clearly. Her skin resurfaced with blisters and curling raw patches. Her nose a mottled stump of white seared tissue. And the last remnants of her hair coiling against a ruined scalp.
Then her lips, which had dried to thin scabs, suddenly parted.
I expected another hellish scream to empty out of her, but it was something else—a warped laugh only possible with a throat full of charcoal. Laughing hysterically in an upside down-grimace.
Though no eyes were left in her sockets, I could feel their gaze swallow me up.
Stop, I whimpered internally, please stop looking at me.
Her suffering had ended, but in its place, something different had taken its place, clawing its way out of the burn.
The laughing seized as she struggled back to her feet, standing tall in the lashing flames. Fragments of clothing hung from her grizzled frame, fused to the skin.
The chorus of the men had stopped as they backed away from her, like lion tamers who had suddenly lost their whips.
She seemed to pay them no mind as her neck slowly swiveled around the room, eyeing up each of the hastily smeared sigils.
Her heels scraped against the floor as she chose one of them and gradually shambled toward it.
Upon reaching the crest, her body collapsed forward. A skull-rending crunch resounded from the impact and left her limply against it. Pieces of her torso—followed by everything else—began to fall away from her, dispersing in blackened particles.
The flames shrank and sputtered as more of her body broke down into fine-grained piles around her. Before long, she had crumbled to nothingness, a vague smear of her existence marred into the wall.
As the last of the embers fizzled in their ashes, the room returned to its heavy darkness.
“Beautiful!” Skinny cheered, looking like he’d just wiped away a tear, though it was probably to rub the sweat off his face. Those wide, intense eyes traveled to me, “One down, one to go.”
I looked once more at the crest on the wall, smothered by the left-over shape of a woman.
Then I was on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.
They’d left me in the same spot, peppered with her ashes. Beneath me, the scorched floor burned against my spine.
Goat Beard smiled as he tore the duct tape from my mouth. Why? So, they could hear me scream next?
My limbs had jellied into uselessness. Maybe from the fear, or maybe from whatever godforsaken substance they’d forced into my system.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I thought about my parents’ faces and the last time I’d seen them. I thought about my first bar gig, and how many times I had messed up the mixes.
An angry shout tried to tear out of my throat but was rasped short by how raw it had become.
I didn’t want to die. Not here, not in this demonic place.
When the chanting started again, I squeezed the tears shut, and prayed for my nerves to burn quickly.
Then the sounds stopped.
Silence stilled the room, save for a few scraping feet.
“What was that?” Bent-Nose spoke. “You hear that?”
“Go check it out,” Skinny ordered as a set of shoes pattered out of the room.
A few anxious mumbles passed between him and Goat Beard until a flurry of shouts rang from the hallway.
Both of them beat past me and ran toward the disturbance.
Something surged through my body—an electricity which kicked my limbs from their paralysis and back to working order.
I pulled my upper half from the ground and into a sitting position. Once my feet were under me, I got myself back to standing. Just being vertical again filled me with absolute joy.
The sounds from outside came as incoherent barks from the hall until they were silenced by a loud crack then two more in its place—gunshots.
I pulled my arms below my body and carefully lifted one leg at a time over my wrists, bringing them back to the front of me.
After that, I brought both over my head and threw them down into my stomach. The ties didn’t break. I tried again, raising them as high as I could. Break, you bastards, and slammed them down even harder.
The locking mechanism snapped, finally freeing my hands.
From behind the thin walls shuffling movements registered from the outside. “My ear!” a voice bellowed sounding very much like Goat Beard’s slurred speech, “Shot—my fuckin’ ear!”
Car doors opened and closed as an engine revved to life and an accelerator was depressed. They sped off, retreating from something.
As I twisted myself toward the exit, a man was now standing there, his gun pointed at me. “Stay away!” I screamed haggardly at him. “Stay the hell away from me!”
“Take it easy, I’m not one of them,” the man said lowering his weapon, a whole new face in the fray.
We stood at an impasse inside the acrid, unlit room. I wanted to believe he was my rescue, but my nerves were shot. The fact that things around me hadn’t stopped moving didn’t help.
His eyes scanned the workshop and settled on the human-shaped scar on the wall. A look of familiarity tensed his features. “Do you know where you are right now? Were you forced to come here?”
“Please,” I breathed, “just let me get out of this place.”
He nodded in agreement and led the way through the paint-flaking hallway.
The fresh night air prickled down my throat and coughed back out of me. I bent over and retched into the ground. The ashes were all over me, on my clothes, in my hair.
The stranger retreated from me, almost like he was expecting something to suddenly happen. When nothing did, he cautiously drew closer. “My name’s Tucker, can you tell me yours?”
“Peter,” I responded, blowing the remaining spittle off my lips. “Are you a cop?”
“I used to be.” He itched the back of his neck, then continued “I need you to tell me everything that happened here Peter, everything that you can remember. Can you do that for me?”
I looked up at him and rubbed the imprints dented into my wrists, “You aren’t going to believe any of it.”
The ex-officer then smiled, “Try me.”
submitted by Atrophied_Silence to creepypasta [link] [comments]


2020.10.19 22:46 Atrophied_Silence Hidden finger sex

A continuation of my story, The Angels Burned
Check it out here if you have not read the first part


It was gearing up to be a long night.
The place was packed two-deep with thirsty patrons, and our barback was nowhere in sight. I wouldn’t know it until hours later, but he had quit out of the blue, leaving me to manage the tides myself.
The entrance to our pub was tucked away inside a bricked alleyway, marked with a crooked street lamp. Beyond the frontage of oak and stained-glass windows, the inside oozed with old-fashioned character.
A western fireplace fitted with wrought iron pokers, rickety wooden stools, dozens of triple X whiskey water jugs hanging from the ceiling, and old-world goods for display on the dark shelf-lined walls.
The perfect Old West backdrop for tourists.
That’s how all the seasons go in Vail, Colorado.
When visitors weren’t coming to freeze on the slopes, they came rolling in for the summer glamour, the velvety hills, and the smell of fireweed and creek water in the air.
Stressful as it made my shift, and as much as I wanted to wring the barback’s neck for it, I was used to handling things on my own.
It’s how I cut my teeth in the bar trade—my rite of passage, you might call it. Multi-tasking like a maniac, memorizing cocktail recipes, and answering the electrified calls of drunks—maybe a shot or two on the side to take the edge off.
A few of my regulars were perched along the bar—a triad of glossy-lipped girls fresh in their college years. I could never remember their names, but I always remembered which of them tipped the best.
As the three of them laughed noisily and shouted back and forth to each other, I was keeping an eye on the fellow two stools down from them.
He’d strolled in just as they arrived and settled quickly at the bar.
“What are you thinking, boss?” I asked, taking his order.
“Vodka, neat,” he muttered with an inkling of drowsiness. “Keep my tab open.”
His face matched the drink, a hard, marbled expression with nothing else mixed in, straight from the bottle to the glass. He wore a dark coat with a red cap fighting to keep his ruffled hair from poking out. A beard enveloped his mouth and dangled under his chin like that of a billy goat.
He’d been eyeballing the girls for a while, and noticeably, none of them cared for it. As two of the girls went to the restroom and one stayed behind, he took his chance.
Busy as that night was, I couldn’t help but watch him give it his best:
A subtle gesture to her glass followed by a shake of her head.
A little bit of chatter, and another shake of her head.
But Goat Beard would not be swayed, and I heard him asking something along the lines of, “Do you smoke? Want to go out and smoke with me?”
“Sorry, no,” she said, turning her entire body to convey the end of their conversation.
Finally deterred, he left her alone and made his way around the tavern.
Watching him rubber-leg his way over to the dartboards, I wished I had caught how drunk he was before pouring that last drink.
He took a seat near a group of younger guys and watched their darts fly. Whenever one missed its mark or landed clear off the board, the boys—along with their new spectator— erupted with laughter.
He leaned back, teasing the chair on its last two legs, and cackled loudly. Others looked over in curiosity and annoyance until even the jukebox tunes were second to the horsey laughter. The group of guys didn’t seem to mind it. They even welcomed it, with one of them enthusiastically high-fiving him. But eventually, the obnoxious chortling wore out its welcome, and the group made their way elsewhere.
Goat Beard followed and asked one of the boys something—the one that initiated the high-five. Judging by him tapping a V shape against his lips, it seemed like another request to go out and smoke.
The boy shook his head, denying the offer.
Striking out twice, the man stumbled his way back to the bar and reclaimed his seat, hunched over like a brooding Paul Bunyan. He seemed anxious, hands clenched and fingers trembling.
Soon enough, his neck arched back up to me and hollered, “Hey! Another neat, bud.”
“Sorry, man,” I replied bringing him a glass of water, “We’re going to need you to slow down tonight.”
He eyed the water and then blinked bullets at me, “What?!”
“Have to cut you off for now. Just sober up a bit, alright?”
Betrayal crossed his fleecy face like I had spat on a long-lived kinship. “I had one shot, bud. Ain’t even drunk yet. Now pour me another, alright?”
No drunk liked to be 86’d, but such things were necessary in the world of adult baby-sitting. I shook my head at him, “Sorry, you have to sober up a bit.”
“I’m not even drunk,” he challenged me again and then not even a second after, he slammed both palms on the table. “Now take my fuckin’ order!”
He grabbed the glass and doused me with the water I had poured for him.
I signaled for our bouncer who immediately made his way over and locked arms with the disturbance.
“Bastard!” he yelled, digging his heels into the floor, “My money’s good here, my fuckin’ money’s good here!” As he was dragged out and his screams dissipated, onlookers returned to their drinks and conversations.
I wiped off the water as well as I could and went back to work. It wasn’t the first time I’d been swilled by an angry customer, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last.
Ten minutes after the last call, we stopped serving drinks. Thirty minutes after that, we emptied the bar and closed shop.
I counted the money to make sure the checkout was correct, and ran a cursory sweep over the place for any stragglers in the bathroom or under the booths. The last thing we needed was a drunkard waking up to their own alcoholic Wonka factory.
***
The night air always tasted nicer after a long shift, especially if there wasn’t the residue of vomit in the pavement or cigarettes in the air.
I made the short walk to my car, parked in the space reserved for on-duty bartenders. Half the parking lot was glazed in the fluorescent light of a streetlamp, while the other half was covered in 4 a.m. blackness.
As I fished the keys out of my pocket and opened the door, a ring of icy steel pressed against the nape of my neck.
“Don’t,” a voice breathed from behind me as I reactively tried to move away from it.
From the window, I could make out the orange-dipped reflection of a man with a gun and a tufty beard.
“Okay, okay,” I said quietly, my hands pitifully up in front of me. “Take it easy. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Shut up.” Goat Beard grunted, digging the muzzle deeper into the scruff of my neck. “Get in the car.”
I did as he was told and gripped the wheel.
He circled to the passenger door, found that it was locked, and tapped the gun against the glass.
Sure, I could have jammed the keys into the ignition and whipped the car into a screeching reverse, but the short seconds to do that felt much slower than a bullet smashing first through the window then through my skull.
I unlocked the door.
He opened the door and seated himself, the snout of a firearm still marked on me. “Start the car.”
The engine rumbled awake. “Good,” he grinned, the light outside casting a grotesquely clear look of his sweaty pores. Something awful lingered in his breath—the foul musk of a rotten tooth. “Now drive.”
The gravity of the situation hit me all at once, a blast of fear obliterating everything else out of my system. My insides shook like the temperature had just plummeted.
I looked up at my own eyes in the rearview mirror. What I saw was undiluted fear and desperation, “Please,” I whimpered, “I’m sorry for what happened. I really am, man. Take the car, it’s yours, I won’t—”
The hand holding the pistol slammed the dash. “DRIVE!” he screamed in an almost forlorn bellow.
I dropped the gearshift into reverse. As the car’s backside turned and faced us toward the road, I shoved it to drive.
“Go west on the interstate,” the man said clicking in his seatbelt and gestured for me as well. How ironic.
We followed the dark slate of road and slid up the ramp of I-70, heading into the gloomy darkness of the westbound highway.
We drove in silence for some time, during which the tight panic in my chest had shifted to a hot anger. All this for a drink. Really? All this for a goddamned drink?
I’d dealt with angry drunks before. Hell, I thought that I’d dealt with the worst of them. But I’d seen nothing like this. This guy was an entirely new level; he was bat-shit insane.
I slipped a glance at him. His eyes were turned vaguely toward the road. I hated everything about him—his shape in my peripheral, the awful smells wafting off him, his oafish breathing through those whiskers.
Where were we going? What was going to happen when we get there?
Wherever it was, I was running out of time.
Hit the barrier, I thought, and grab the gun when it drops out of his hand. I was tempted, even commencing countdowns in my head to swerve off the road and blindly grab at him in the chaos. I eyed the orange needle of the speedometer, fluttering over seventy miles per hour. Bad idea.
This was not about to become a scene in an action flick for the unscathed hero. It was real life. And in real life bodies hesitate, fingers pull triggers, and both people die in a fiery car crash.
“Where are you taking me?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.
Instead of a response, I caught the dim, grubby shape of his profile as he flicked open a lighter.
Cigarette smoke wafted out of the mottled formations of his face, no open window for it to escape.
I guess he’d finally found someone to smoke with.
He instructed me to take the next exit and to merge on Highway 24, to follow the mountainside.
At one point, a set of headlights came from the opposite direction. I pushed on the accelerator, bringing the needle up to an illegal ninety, praying that it happened to be a cop ready to have us pulled over. My passenger didn’t seem to notice our gradual rise in speed.
As the car shot right by us, it was, unfortunately, a sedan, probably heading home to a safe, warm bed—a place I should be right now.
A wet belch sighed out of him, and he sucked it back in. Digested alcohol now joined the smells of cigarette tar and a decaying tooth. I prayed for him to vomit and for the vomit to clog up his throat and turn his face blue.
What did he want? To kill me? To demand a ransom for me? My head ached with the possibilities.
There had to be something I could do to get out of this.
“My son’s birthday is next week,” I lied, hoping some form of that would reach the sliver of humanity floating around him somewhere.
He exhaled out a puff of smoke, and that was all.
I kept pushing. “He wanted one of those small cars, the one you have to build the little plastic track for and everything. We were going to have a surprise party for him.”
“Slow down,” he blurted, signaling to an upcoming side road. “Turn here.”
As the road became a C-shaped flank along the mountain, the turn-off practically came out of nowhere.
Ahead of us, a large metal gate meant to block off the path had been left wide open. Someone had taken a pair of bolt cutters to the padlock securing it. Hanging off its side, a sign read in bold letters: Trespassers will be prosecuted.
The road twisted into an aspen-lined path and became much grittier and less kempt. Loose, rocky debris crunched under the tires, and a stray branch snapped like a femur bone. We maneuvered around a few large stones that had tumbled their way along the track.
Houses clad in deformed shingles and decrepit, sagging porches formed out of the darkness around us. Their walls had either crumbled entirely or were coated in elaborate graffiti. Rundown. Abandoned.
The old neighborhood sat in Terrance-like rows along the mountainside, now left to slump along its incline.
A ghost town, one of the many that littered Colorado’s terrain.
“Do you know this place?” Goat Beard asked, surveying the deserted homes himself.
I shook my head, not interested in doing anything else.
“I’ll give you a clue—silver boom of the 1800s, once at the dead center of all zinc and lead mining productions. Back then anyway…”
I wasn’t interested in answering him, and in response to my silence, he shook his rugged head, “Gilman! Come on bud, you don’t know your own state’s history?”
The sudden shift in his tone irked me greatly, like this kidnapping had become a friendly outing together. Fuck you, my thoughts grunted.
Without being prompted, Goat Beard continued, “In 1899, half the mining town was wiped out. The school, the iron-mask hotel, a shaft house—poof!” He flexed his fingers. “All lost to the fire.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
His drunken eyes found me again. “Do you know what the townsfolk did? They came together and rebuilt what was lost. Made it better. A tragedy made into a communion. Do you know what I mean?”
I didn’t answer.
“Forest fires—those are tragedies, right? Wrong. They clear out the dead litter, make room for new generations of growth. Thriving in the ashes. That is what we need, you know? That is what this cold, fuckin’ world needs.” He was slurring to himself more than to me now, “Men, woman, everyone out there prays to some distant God, crying for the angels to fly down and save us. But he is out of angels to send, so we must abide. We must make them.”
His gaze shifted, a bent smile forming in the scruff. “Thank you.” He almost wept. “Thank you for making me choose you.”
Truly, it was the sudden giddiness in his voice that scared me the most, like the very reason he’d drank himself half to death tonight had finally been resolved.
The neighborhood led us to the town area, where we passed by an old workshop, a sun-bleached garage, and two Gilman dump trucks, their sides plastered with ancient mud. From out of the cracks, weeds had pushed their way through the untended turf.
"We’re here. Stop,” Goat Beard snapped as he rolled down the window to flick out his cigarette.
We came to a stop before a large, boxy building. Though it was one of the many paint-flaking fossils surrounding us, this structure looked especially dismal. Its once-white coat was murky with age. The few windows that weren’t clouded with grime were entirely blown out, their bits of glass shimmering like teeth in the moonlight.
More graffiti lined its base in one of which sat the grey outline of a cat. And sprouting atop the structure’s roof sat a single cracked chimney.
“Shut it off,” Goat Beard ordered again, gesturing obnoxiously toward my keys and then grabbing them as I did so.
Out from the building’s dark entryway, a silhouette came.
My insides rippled with fear at the sight.
This was it, the end of our journey together. Of course, this would be the perfect place to make me disappear. Nobody would know, and even if someone found me, they’d only stumble upon my corpse, rotting like everything else in this toxic place.
I was done playing ball. This was going to end my way, not theirs.
As Goat Beard moved to open his side of the car, I snatched at his gun.
My fingers locked around his wrist and jerked to the side to spin the barrel away from me. Its nozzle smacked against the dashboard, but his grip remained locked tight around it.
I yanked again, harder this time, using whatever leverage I could muster in the tight, little space we were in.
The parts of his face still visible to me were screwed with anger.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed, trying to wrestle my hands off of him, growling like an angry dog.
My thoughts were loud, screaming in a unified chorus: Take it, take it, take it! That is all I cared about, all I wanted in the world. To take it meant the end of this horrible night, to live through it.
I pried desperately at his grubby fingers, feeling them starting to break their hold.
As from out of nowhere, a calloused fist struck my face. Pressure filled the inside of my cheek and made it clench. His free hand struck again, even harder this time. My head flopped back, but my hands only clutched tighter.
The gun was almost out of his grip, almost in mine.
Then there was a sound behind me, and a pair of hands ripped me right out of the driver’s seat.
The underside of my legs scraped painfully across the gravel, and before everything stopped spinning, I was pinned on my stomach.
A broad knee dug between my shoulders. Something looped around my wrists and then bit into them as tight bracelets. Zip ties.
“Easy! Easy, guy,” a new voice spoke, infuriatingly calm.
I heard the passenger side close as Goat Beard bustled over to join whoever had a hold of me.
I spat and cursed at them, feeling sharp bits of grit push into my cheek.
“He’s a troublemaker,” Goat Beard jeered, hawking a gob of mucus on me.
My teeth ached and the blood was rushing to my left cheek, probably swelling like a balloon.
Without warning, the two men yanked me up to my knees, crammed something into my mouth, and slapped a streak of duct tape over my lips.
“That’ll put a muzzle on him,” Goat Beard chuckled, proud of himself.
The man who had just pushed his fingers into my mouth nodded. He was much taller, with a bristled frosty chin and a nose permanently bent to the side.
“Listen,” he spoke with that collected voice, “if you keep causing trouble, I will have to take this…” He held up a knife and pressed it up to my groin, “and unzip your sack. So, behave, huh?”
I stopped struggling at the sight of it.
Whatever they’d just shoved in my mouth rolled along my tongue. It felt like a tablet—some kind of drug, maybe. In no way was I going to swallow it, but that wouldn’t stop it from dissolving anyway.
“We need to hurry,” Goat Beard mumbled, to which Bent-Nose nodded and lead me into the wretched building.
Inside, they walked me down a short, cramped hallway.
The air I had to force in and out of my nostrils was stale and feverishly thick. Mold had built up and crawled down the wall from the ceiling, trailing along the cracks.
The interior of the room we entered resembled a kind of workshop, somewhat lit by a flashlight propped up on a table.
In its beam, someone else had their back to us. A hunching figure with a veiny bald head and a raw-hide coat that hung off his wiry frame.
He was dipping his fingers into what looked like a jar and smearing it in oval strokes on the wall, humming a hymn while he did so.
Piled along the left flank of the wall were heaps of worn medical equipment, pushed aside and left in a dusty pile.
Paper and negatives from an X-ray were littered all over the floor.
This was a hospital—or at least something along the lines of one.
Behind the mound of grimy equipment, a woman was hunched against the wall.
Her dark eyes peered up from the duct tape, cheeks creased with eye shadow, and her face sagging with the weight of hopelessness. As our eyes met, neither found comfort in the other.
I felt the urge to gag as the thing in my mouth melted into a bitter glaze. It tasted horrible.
“Are we ready?” Goat Beard asked from behind me, his gun pressed firmly into my spine.
“Almost,” Skinny replied, turning his pointy face toward us before returning to the thing he was creating. His wide eyes held a fierce intensity behind them.
Bent-Nose joined him, grabbing a jar of his own and streaking the same circled pattern over the next half of the room.
Dozens were on the walls—large red circles filled with six inner rings. Grayish chalky writing had been scribbled into them. Not words at all, but layers upon layers of gibberish all winding toward the sphere’s center.
They seemed like sigils, like ones you might find in a cult.
That explained Goat Beard’s crazy speak, but what was this, really? Our captors didn’t strike me as cultists with robes and hidden, hooded faces. They were more a gang of scruffy misfits showing off their toys.
I looked at the woman. Her eyes had gone elsewhere, swaying and wobbling around the room. Muffled, droning sounds buzzed behind the duct tape. She was on something, probably the same thing they’d forced-fed me. To keep us “muzzled.”
“Alright!” Skinny spoke excitedly, clapping his spattered hands. “Who should we start with?”
“Her,” Bent-Nose spoke, gesturing to the girl who continued to sway and teeter in her corner.
Skinny looked at the woman, and then blinked back at him with irritation, “What are you doing? Where are her restraints?”
Bent-Nose scoffed at him, “She’s high as a kite, wouldn’t even notice a fly on her face right now.”
“That isn’t the point,” Skinny snapped. “Do you want this to end up like the Moselys? Think!”
Musing on that, Bent-Nose fastened the cables over her wrists and yanked her off the ground, her bare feet dragging along the floor.
As she was laid in the center of the room, she rested whimsically on her back, putting up as much fight as a sex doll. He ripped the duct tape from her mouth before leaving her there.
A pause fell over the room, and then the men began to chant in unison. It swelled from their throats, pulling straight from the chest and meshing together into a low, prolonged baritone.
In the poor acoustics of the room, their voices bounced off the stained walls, gaining more volume with an unmistakable deep, powerful devotion.
Between their vocals, Skinny spoke out, straining his lungs into some gravel-throat language.
I was starting to feel clammy and prickly all over the place.
My mind focused on breathing—sucking in the awful fumes around me of body odor and decay.
As my heart pumped frantically, I tried to focus on its rhythm, tried to ignore the sounds of vibrating vocal cords rumbling my ears.
I forced down a swallow and breathed. The drug couldn’t be affecting me now, could it? This quickly?
The walls around us didn’t feel like walls anymore, but massive slabs of canvas coated in waxy circles. Awful art. Horrible, awful art.
The voices rose, heaving out their vocals even louder.
My leg muscles squeezed together, then relaxed, like taffy being rolled and stretched from a machine.
I wanted to sit down—to sit down and breathe. But as I started to drift downward, Goat Beard forcefully hoisted me back up again. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Are you feeling it? Are you feeling the good shit, yet?” His words trickled with them a warm, rotten breath.
Whatever harness keeping my thoughts together was loosening. I wanted to squeeze into one of the cracks around us, to sleep and make the bad world go away.
The walls started to move, puffing in and out in perfect tandem with my wheezing chest. In. Out. In. Out.
Even the sigils moved, shivering their waxy bodies with the dark chorus. Within them, the chalky figures danced and wriggled with such life I almost believed they each had their own pulse.
That was when I saw the fire.
It clawed over her, starting as a bluish ripple that quickly flared into a bright, savage red.
Even as the burst of heat rolled over my face, I didn’t think it was real. The men hadn’t ignited her—or doused her in anything—or even flicked a match. A hallucination, that’s it. I’m hallucinating, my mind pleaded, trying to grip its last fibers of that harness.
But the sound of her screaming was what made it real. She bucked and writhed beneath the flames, crying out for any of us to help her.
Smoke burrowed into my nostrils and bristled the back of my throat. I retched emptily into the duct tape and tried to pull away, only to be forced back toward her.
“Watch,” Goat Beard hissed, only stopping his chants to whisper into my ear, “Watch the angel shine.”
I could smell her hair burning. Her skin roasting.
Faces appeared around her, forming with the blaze and then in the same instant, rippled into the smog.
She screamed until her throat split and her echoes fell to a dry, breathless yowl.
The ties bounding her hands had finally snapped and released them to flail helplessly about.
All the while, the strident chants continued, feeding the inferno as it spat more pieces of her into the air.
They sang, they cheered, and as their shadows throbbed up and down the walls, I could swear those changed as well. Oily shapes with bodies contorted and torturously stretched into things not even remotely human.
Skinny stood the closest to the burning woman, both hands raised in sadistic glee over their living kindle. Just another man outside these walls, but here in the firelight, he looked like the devil.
Psychopaths. Monsters!
I fought in Goat Beards grip, jerking my head back to break his nose, kicking my feet backward toward his knees. I couldn’t stomach any more.
Something blunt struck the back of my head. I keeled over onto my knees. Even in a drugged-up daze, the static spreading around my skull told me I’d just been pistol-whipped.
The last of the strained cries finally crept from the woman’s throat as she succumbed to a crackling silence.
I thought she was finally gone, prayed for it even.
However, she convulsed once more, turning her stomach up and letting her head hang downward—now looking at me.
I saw her face clearly. Her skin resurfaced with blisters and curling raw patches. Her nose a mottled stump of white seared tissue. And the last remnants of her hair coiling against a ruined scalp.
Then her lips, which had dried to thin scabs, suddenly parted.
I expected another hellish scream to empty out of her, but it was something else—a warped laugh only possible with a throat full of charcoal. Laughing hysterically in an upside down-grimace.
Though no eyes were left in her sockets, I could feel their gaze swallow me up.
Stop, I whimpered internally, please stop looking at me.
Her suffering had ended, but in its place, something different had taken its place, clawing its way out of the burn.
The laughing seized as she struggled back to her feet, standing tall in the lashing flames. Fragments of clothing hung from her grizzled frame, fused to the skin.
The chorus of the men had stopped as they backed away from her, like lion tamers who had suddenly lost their whips.
She seemed to pay them no mind as her neck slowly swiveled around the room, eyeing up each of the hastily smeared sigils.
Her heels scraped against the floor as she chose one of them and gradually shambled toward it.
Upon reaching the crest, her body collapsed forward. A skull-rending crunch resounded from the impact and left her limply against it. Pieces of her torso—followed by everything else—began to fall away from her, dispersing in blackened particles.
The flames shrank and sputtered as more of her body broke down into fine-grained piles around her. Before long, she had crumbled to nothingness, a vague smear of her existence marred into the wall.
As the last of the embers fizzled in their ashes, the room returned to its heavy darkness.
“Beautiful!” Skinny cheered, looking like he’d just wiped away a tear, though it was probably to rub the sweat off his face. Those wide, intense eyes traveled to me, “One down, one to go.”
I looked once more at the crest on the wall, smothered by the left-over shape of a woman.
Then I was on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.
They’d left me in the same spot, peppered with her ashes. Beneath me, the scorched floor burned against my spine.
Goat Beard smiled as he tore the duct tape from my mouth. Why? So, they could hear me scream next?
My limbs had jellied into uselessness. Maybe from the fear, or maybe from whatever godforsaken substance they’d forced into my system.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I thought about my parents’ faces and the last time I’d seen them. I thought about my first bar gig, and how many times I had messed up the mixes.
An angry shout tried to tear out of my throat but was rasped short by how raw it had become.
I didn’t want to die. Not here, not in this demonic place.
When the chanting started again, I squeezed the tears shut, and prayed for my nerves to burn quickly.
Then the sounds stopped.
Silence stilled the room, save for a few scraping feet.
“What was that?” Bent-Nose spoke. “You hear that?”
“Go check it out,” Skinny ordered as a set of shoes pattered out of the room.
A few anxious mumbles passed between him and Goat Beard until a flurry of shouts rang from the hallway.
Both of them beat past me and ran toward the disturbance.
Something surged through my body—an electricity which kicked my limbs from their paralysis and back to working order.
I pulled my upper half from the ground and into a sitting position. Once my feet were under me, I got myself back to standing. Just being vertical again filled me with absolute joy.
The sounds from outside came as incoherent barks from the hall until they were silenced by a loud crack then two more in its place—gunshots.
I pulled my arms below my body and carefully lifted one leg at a time over my wrists, bringing them back to the front of me.
After that, I brought both over my head and threw them down into my stomach. The ties didn’t break. I tried again, raising them as high as I could. Break, you bastards, and slammed them down even harder.
The locking mechanism snapped, finally freeing my hands.
From behind the thin walls shuffling movements registered from the outside. “My ear!” a voice bellowed sounding very much like Goat Beard’s slurred speech, “Shot—my fuckin’ ear!”
Car doors opened and closed as an engine revved to life and an accelerator was depressed. They sped off, retreating from something.
As I twisted myself toward the exit, a man was now standing there, his gun pointed at me. “Stay away!” I screamed haggardly at him. “Stay the hell away from me!”
“Take it easy, I’m not one of them,” the man said lowering his weapon, a whole new face in the fray.
We stood at an impasse inside the acrid, unlit room. I wanted to believe he was my rescue, but my nerves were shot. The fact that things around me hadn’t stopped moving didn’t help.
His eyes scanned the workshop and settled on the human-shaped scar on the wall. A look of familiarity tensed his features. “Do you know where you are right now? Were you forced to come here?”
“Please,” I breathed, “just let me get out of this place.”
He nodded in agreement and led the way through the paint-flaking hallway.
The fresh night air prickled down my throat and coughed back out of me. I bent over and retched into the ground. The ashes were all over me, on my clothes, in my hair.
The stranger retreated from me, almost like he was expecting something to suddenly happen. When nothing did, he cautiously drew closer. “My name’s Tucker, can you tell me yours?”
“Peter,” I responded, blowing the remaining spittle off my lips. “Are you a cop?”
“I used to be.” He itched the back of his neck, then continued “I need you to tell me everything that happened here Peter, everything that you can remember. Can you do that for me?”
I looked up at him and rubbed the imprints dented into my wrists, “You aren’t going to believe any of it.”
The ex-officer then smiled, “Try me.”
submitted by Atrophied_Silence to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.10.19 05:04 ExpressDuty1908 Hidden sex finger

"Son of Sorcery, Son of the Sword" is the back cover copy on the paperback ed. of the book. Looking for the title & author. Plot is about a guy raised in a monastery/magic school whose father was a real evil wizard, since killed. The magic rings come in as part of his father's inheritance. Two rings, each with a demon in it, that heat up the more magic you use, to the point they'll eventually burn through the user's fingers completely. The father's death scene in the prologue is memorable as he keeps having to transfer the rings to new fingers as they burn off. They still get him. He (the father) is a despotic ruler of a city who is overthrown in a revolt and the son-our protagonist-is spirited away to be raised by the warrior-wizard-monks. They try to raise him right because I think there's a prophecy or something that says he'll be worse than his father. The book picks up with the son leaving the monastery for the first time in his life to travel back to his father's city.
This city is a pretty evil place: Sodom by way of Vegas. All manner of vice and perversion are ok. The guy currently running the place consumes meat constantly-long pork-and uses magic to compress his fantastic bulk into a human form, something that figures in the climax. He also grows clones/homonculi of himself to have sex with. The ultimate egotist.
Other things: the hero can project force fields from his hands, a monk trick. Another monk trick is a hidden mace-and-chain in the pommel of his sword.
Other than the demons in the rings, there are summonable murder hornets, a floating moon-face, and something that acts like a Tasmanian Devil. The cartoon one.
The dragon pops up early on during the sea voyage, where it scares the crew of the ship, eats a whale in a single bite, and tells our hero he just wants to take a look at him. Never comes back in this book, but this was set up as the first of a series, don't know if that panned out or not.
Anyway, our protagonist goes to the city and is slowly corrupted by it. The book ends with his assuming his full legacy and usurping the throne.
Standard European Medieval fantasy mileiu, but definitely more ASOIAF than LOTR. No technology, no non-human sentients like elves-maybe the dragon, I guess. Lots of sex and violence, obviously.
I can remember all these details, but not the title or author. I'd really, really, like to. Also if there actually were sequels, since this one ended on sort of a downer. I'd like to know if there's a redemption arc for our corrupted warrior-monk-wizard.
THX
submitted by ExpressDuty1908 to tipofmytongue [link] [comments]


2020.10.17 16:28 Crafty-Hovercraft788 Hidden finger sex

My (M35) Wife (F34) of 13 years and I are in a free fall. Sexsomnia, work, and trust to blame
I’ll use this account to speak on this subject because of work and stuff.
I'm a pastor (that's the work part) and my wife moved out of the house two weeks ago to get some space and be able to think and process.
The last year and a half have been hell.
From my point of view, we had our issues but could talk about them and find balance and make things work with our three young (ten and under) kids.
Here's where we struggle:
My high expectations
I told my wife it was super important to me that we be home with our family 4 nights a week. For a while, that was what she expected of me. In my first job, I was out a lot. And I worked and worked to be home more. After moving, I found a place where I was only out one night a week.
I also really wanted to have dinner together as a family. That was important to me.
Then she got a job in fitness. At first, it was great. She's a KILLER coach and is great at delivering a class. She taught one class at night and others during the day. We even all went together to her Saturday class as a family (kid care was awesome) and then went on an adventure.
But she changed gyms and roles and started working 3 nights a week plus a class on another night. It was tough, but I started taking her class and bringing the kids to the gym later than we normally stayed out "to see mom" and so I could cheer her on.
But she said she felt like I hated her job and wanted to take all of her time. She would often come home from work at 8 or 9 pm and then have to work more on a class for the next day. So I felt double robbed of our time.
And she felt like she only disappointed me.
Negative Feedback Loop
So whenever a dispute came up, or she pointed out something that was difficult for her, she said that if she told me about it, I would get sad.
Then the only way for her to cheer me up would be to be physically intimate with me.
So she felt like she was carrying her burdens plus my dead weight.
I honestly did not put these pieces together until last year, but she still says because of the past Negative Feedback Loop, she has a really hard time sharing anything with me.
I am willing to break this cycle now that I know about it, but then...
Sexsomnia
I have the sleep condition known as sexsomnia. And it's not new. We talked about this for the last decade of our 13 year marriage.
Now we had a regular and I thought healthy sex life. Once a week or so and we talked about things, tried things and were positive with each other. We would both "finish" and weren't lacking in being satisfied.
And the sexsomnia didn't bother her. It would be perhaps once a week on top of our awake sex. She even said if I found myself having sex with her (I would sometimes wake in the middle of foreplay) that I shouldn't stop because she'd be all hot and bothered and awake. So might as well we both finish.
She would express frustration at not getting enough rest (and with there kids, I get it), but that was the end of the negatives.
Until it wasn't.
She had a conversation with her boss who shared that he had experienced sexual assault in their younger years. My wife replied with "Well, my husband does this weird thing at night..."
He replied with "Wow, that's really f*cked up"
And then this thing we had known about and talked about for years became something that was really f*cked up.
Like, she would have PTSD like triggers if I even touched her while she slept. Rolling over in the middle of the night my foot touching her foot triggers.
We slept with a pillow between us. I went on antianxiety meds and to counseling. I took a sleep study.
She couldn't deal with it.
It's been a full calendar year since my last episode, but the pain is still really fresh to her.
She said it was like taking away her choice. If she didn't want to have sex that night, I'd say that was fine, while I was awake.
Then I'd try to have sex with her when I was asleep.
I hated myself for this thing I have no control over. I wanted to take every step I could to fix it and have.
But she says she doesn't know if she can ever trust me again.
This leads to...
She doesn't trust me, but wants me to trust her completely
We never had secrets between us. There were some counseling situations I couldn't share with her at work, but other than that we talked. Often. And about a lot of things.
But then she shut down.
She didn't want to share anything with me.
So I started to reach out to communicate more. But she asked me to give her space. Then she didn't want me to know who she was talking to.
She didn't want me to ask who she was texting. She didn't want me to ask where she was going, who she was going to hang out with, when she would be back, nothing.
She told me she was hurting and that I needed to trust her process.
Even if that meant being out until 2 or 3 am or texting people what felt like non-stop when we actually were together.
She's hidden her location on her iPhone. She's hidden her activity on her watch.
Now I take care of the bills. And the insurance. And the dentist and the doctor appointments for the kids. I get the kids up and ready for school in the morning and on the bus. And the house stuff. I do it all. Dishes. Cleaning. Literally of it.
She trusts me with our kids, finances, doctors, etc but not herself.
I'm not deep enough?
She's a smart one. I try. She's said she's experienced real pain in our relationship (something that I can't really put a finger on outside of what I've outlined above). Whenever I say "Oh, I think I figured this out about myself" it's usually met with "I knew that about you already. That's not deep enough. It's still really shallow."
MAN I'M TRYING.
I told her I had been doing a lot of thinking and writing in order to try to discover more. She told me that she's prepared to be disappointed with what I've found out because it's probably just a step deeper and not REALLY deep where she is.
She didn't feel heard
This is TOTALLY my fault and I get it. She would say she had an idea and I'd get really excited about it.
A laundry hamper for the bathroom or a trip to the beach.
Then I'd take care of all the details.
And she felt like I didn't take or want her input. That was bad. I admit that I really messed that up and wanted to make it right. I've tried to make it right by asking her for her opinion and trying to slow down my rushing out to fix things and do things before we've talked about it.
Totally me.
And then everything else
She didn't want me to meet her at the door when she came home from work at night because she was stressed and needed space.
She didn't want me to come upstairs in the morning when she was getting ready to talk to her because she just woke up and wasn't ready to talk.
She wanted me to speak her love language of getting her gifts, then she DIDN'T want me to do that anymore because each note or gift was something she had to unpack and think about.
I had a hobby writing novels (and making a good chunk of change from it) and doing some podcasts, but then she wanted me to stop that so I could focus on her more. I did, then it became I'm focusing on her too much.
She didn't want me to text her during the day.
She didn't want me to call her.
She wanted me to dress better (bought clothes and did).
She wanted me to be more athletic (have been going to the gym 5 days a week)
She wanted me to meal prep with her because she felt lonely doing it all by herself (done)
She didn't want me to offer to take her to lunch or spend time with her because she felt like all I was trying to do was lead up to sex.
She didn't want me to sleep in the same bed as her.
She wanted to rent an apartment and move into it for six months so she could have some space to process and think and feel (She's been moved out for two weeks).
...
I'm exhausted.
I love this woman with my whole heart. I told my church about the difficulties we were having and was hinted at heavily that her moving out was going to be a deal-breaker. I told her and the church it didn't matter. She was more important to me than my job. Since then I've been assured my job is secure, but that we should go to marriage counseling.
Something I wanted to do a year and a half ago when she told me that she was in a bad place.
All of this came down in the last year and a half. I wanted to go to counseling together right away. She said she wasn't ready. She's still saying she's not ready but willing to go to the counselor she selected and at the frequency she can handle (probably not once a week, in other words).
Granted, a crap ton has happened to us in last two ten years:
My father passed away before we found out we were pregnant with our first child
Our second child had a major heart condition corrected at ten weeks old (TAPVR).
We went on food stamps because of student loans and only one income.
We moved across the country.
We had a third kid.
I lost my older brother, all four grandparents, and my uncle.
She's lost her grandparents.
A good friend of ours died of breast cancer. My wife literally felt her friend's last heartbeat as I hugged her husband's neck.
I broke my leg and was out of my normal dad helping for three months.
She had a herniated disc in her back that required surgery to fix (much better now with a ton of PT and training).
There's a LOT of stuff we've been through.
...
I've been to counseling. Like, A LOT of counseling. Six months, twice a week and a crap ton of journaling. Personally over all of this and feel like I'm a plain better human being because of it.
I just wish it was enough for my wife.
...
Every time I talk about our years before, which I look back on with such fondness, she tells me she just sees sadness and pain. Now granted, we talked about that when we were going through it. I know we did. But we overcame it. Or so I thought.
She can't really name times she was happy.
We went on quick weekend trips just to be together and go on adventures. We had regular dates. We laughed. A lot.
Until it all stopped.
...
I don't want to lose her.
I'm afraid marriage counseling will be too little too late.
I'm willing to make the changes and do the work.
She has said she knows what the counselor is going to ask of us, but she doesn't want to do it.
I'm exhausted.
I love her.
But I'm exhausted.
TL/DR!
A year and a half ago, my wife told me everything that was wrong with us. I was blindsided. She doesn't think she can trust me or be intimate with me again. We're going to marriage counseling next week.
Is it already over?
Questions
Are there things I'm missing here? I want to take responsibility for my own faults but I don't want to be blindsided again.
How can I approach the marriage counselor when we are together without just saying "But I've done everything she's asked of me!" without throwing her under the bus?
submitted by Crafty-Hovercraft788 to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2020.10.16 07:23 Vilevilevivian Hidden finger sex

Scarlett hated her job working at a shitty fast food joint at minium wage only to go to her shitty home on her parents property. She hated the fact that she is still paying back those old fuckers for their bajillion dollar car, And afford to go to school. She especially hated having to walk home because her car is wrecked.
She passed by a luxury fluffy shop on her way home and had to do a double take. The Celestial style alicorn had too many 0s for its own good. Those breeders had the life, all they had to do was make sure they didn't die and fucked and raised their million dollar babies. She looked at the fluffy again before continuing her way home.
She would drop everything to be a breeder but the only fluffies in this town that aren't from the luxury store were neutered and frankly ugly. And feral fluffies stayed in the nearby woods.
But after this particularly shitty day she wondered if there were anything there. It wouldn't hurt to find out. And it wasn't like she wanted to return home and do her homework so maybe a quick stroll in the woods could help her. Besides if she didn't like any of them she would probably just fuck with them to give her a good laugh.
She was halfway into her woods adventure when she saw them. The herd, the majority of them were dark colored earthies all dawdling about doing nonsense and occasionally gathering food. She was really only interested in the pegasus mare 'hidden' in the bush. Her fur was delightfully pearly and her mane was a gorgeous rose gold-esque ( the dirt made it look just drab so she'd have to was the thing first), and she was pregnant, close enough to where she couldn't move.
Jackpot, Scarlett knew she would be able to make a decent amount off of her offspring depending on the father, who she prayed wasn't one of the muddy reds floundering about, and maybe she could make her into a pagent star.
But she couldn't outright grab her, she didn't want shit all over her clothes and she knew that she'd me spending hours scrubbing it out of her skin, nor would she want to deal with the herd following her to the house forcing her to call animal control and would quiet possibly be forced to pay a stupid fee for removal of the talking vermits.
So, carefully, which was really her making a wide circle around the stupid herd and approached the bush. The two toughies she assumed were supposed to be guarding the mare were under a tree.
" Mammah loves babbehs. Babbehs love mammah." The mare sang making Scarlett cringe just a little. " Mammah goin' to hab wots of bestes' babbehs." She cooed to herself.
Quietly Scarlett unhooked her bra and crouched low slowly snaking her hands into the bush along with the cloth bra. Her hands hove just above the mare as she peeks over and waits until a few more fluffies just move a little further away. Her breath went shallow with her holding it every so often to steady her trembling arms that seemed to moan in pain. Fuck she hated lifting stock.
Then when the last fluffy went off to go look at some daisy's, she struck. Quickly clamping her bra over the mares mouth shoving it in her mouth she pulls the thing out and spins it around. The Mare's wings started frantically flapping as she expelled her bowels. Scarlett then picked her up and quickly fled the area before the heard noticed. She decided to keep her bra in it so she didn't have to hear her scream and beg. She wanted to skip and spin since this dam may be the thing that gets her out of this job!
Eventually the doublewide of her own came into view and she smiled as she scurried inside and plopped the mare in her kitchen sink. Scarlett pulls her bra out of the dam's mouth before hearing a loud wail. " Pwease nu gib owwies to soon mummah! Screee!"
" I'm not," she said in her best motherly voice, which sounded more like an out of breath sex worker. " I am here to give you sketty and love." The words made the mare light up causing Scarlett to smile a little.
" Sketties! fwuffy wub it! fwuffy nee' to num wots of it fo' fwuffy's tummeh babbehs!" Scarlett nodded before pulling out some dish soap.
" I'll make you some once I get you cleaned up how about that?" The mare nodded and quickly let out a screech once she felt the sink water hit her.
"Wawa am tewwibwe fo' fwuffy. Nu wawa!" Scarlett ignored it and started humming to herself as she scrubbed the crud caked on to the fluffy. " Nuuuuuu!" The mare stood up and waddled and tried to raise her hooves up to escape only tl receive a quick strike on the snout.
" If you don't sit still I will eat all the sketty myself!" That shut up the mare a little, she still sobbed and tried to plead Scarlett to stop, which she did after the third pass of dish soap. The Mare's coat was beautiful and she couldn't believe how fucking lucky she was. " Good girl. She reaches into the cabinet next to her and pulls out a two things of canned spaghetti and a bowl. The mare started shaking uncontrollably drooling and practically frothing. Scarlett only shook her head as she grabbed a towel and wrapped the mare up before sitting her down on the floor.
Unceremoniously she dumped the contents of the cans in the bowl before sitting it down in front of the fluffy. Greedily it dug her wings flapping wildly. Casually she pulled out her phone and started looking up care tips for fluffies, she knew the basics: feed them, safe room them, get them a litter box, and wash them but not much else.
"Fank 'ou! fwuffy wobed it! am 'ou goin' to be spawkwes new mummah?" The fluffy asked. Scarlett wondered if the things have names automatically programmed in them.
" Yes, Sparkles. I hate that name lets give you something better like..." She throws her head back and looks around for some hit lf inspiration. " Goldie Locks, how about that?" She picks up the fluffy and starts to run her fingers through her fur.
"Fwuffy wub it! fwuffy's speshuw fwend wiww wub it awso!"
Shit.
submitted by Vilevilevivian to fluffycommunity [link] [comments]


2020.10.16 04:09 _Finding_my_Light_ Hidden finger sex

In two days, it will mark 1 year from when you finally crossed the line one too many times. You fucking broke me. It took me a long time to realize why I fell into such a deep depression and suddenly stopped feeling anything for you. I had been hanging on by a thread for so long anyways. But it all started with that event, that night. And the feelings for you never returned.
That night you asked for sex as you usually did, via text message after ignoring me all night and gaming. I postponed until the next night, and we went to sleep. I had only been sleeping on my back for a few weeks. I thought my teeth might be shifting a bit because I always slept on the same side of my face, turned away from you. I woke up in the middle of the night from a dead sleep to see you leaning over me and feeling you fingering me while I slept. I woke up in an instant terror, and half-asleep I said something like, “What the hell are you doing?!” I rolled over, facing away from you, and tried to go back to sleep.
The next day, I gave you the silent treatment. Something I almost never initiate, because that’s your game not mine. A couple days later you finally asked what was wrong with me. I told you how upset I was about waking up to you basically sexually assaulting me in my sleep. I told you how it scared me and made me feel like I was being raped. You apologized, said it was stupid, and we moved on. Like always, I tried to just get over it.
This event that may have meant little to you was the straw that broke the camel’s back. But I feel like you literally broke me. I started to remember something that had happened at a party in high school. I had fell asleep on the couch at a party and woke up the same way. I ran upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom until he left. I hated the fact that you gave me that same unsafe and violated feeling as some drunk asshole who touched me in my sleep at a party.
The fact that you apologized and said you wouldn’t do it again meant next to nothing. You had said that about the hidden camera voyeurism shit, and that went on for so long, longer than I even knew about. I thought to myself, “So is this just the next new fucked up thing you’re going to start doing now?” Unsafe and violated. A husband shouldn’t make his wife feel that way. It was just another reminder of your perversions and sexual boundary crossings. It wasn’t until later I accepted the fact that this all was sexual abuse.
The depression stuck around for such a long time and was nearly debilitating when I was at home. I had no motivation to do anything, and I just couldn’t understand why. This was just another shitty thing you did to me that I was supposed to repress and try to forget. Only I couldn’t. In all my confused sadness, one thing that was consistent was that I couldn’t stop thinking about how unhappy I was with you and how unhappy I had been for such a long time.
I searched your phone looking for something, as though the unconscious sexual assault wasn’t enough. I knew I would find something, and I did, remnants of your previous voyeurism: photos that were never erased, photos taken after you had finally “stopped” doing it, and pictures sent to your new phone just a few months prior. This only fed the depression and detachment even more. I tried “fixing” it like I always have, so I upped my antidepressants. You had convinced me that it was just the depression talking. It wasn’t.
Violated, unsafe, disrespected, that’s how you made me feel. I hated the realization that I now had a new fear to worry about. I had already been affected by the voyeurism, still searching for hidden cameras years later. I didn’t feel safe to undress in my own home, never knowing if you might be secretly filming me again. Now I couldn’t even feel safe while I slept. You gave me that feeling.
I had a thought the other day, and it was painfully bittersweet. Tomorrow, you will be served divorce papers. I’m actually doing this. And I realized that and I won’t have to live in fear of being violated like that anymore. I will never have to let you touch me ever again.
submitted by _Finding_my_Light_ to u/_Finding_my_Light_ [link] [comments]


2020.10.15 18:51 skuanchy777 Hidden finger sex

so about the cabin near osea

i think im done with that story for now, where did we leave the story?

oh yes demon powers, and i traded them so u could become my real slut and i could do whatever i want to u, niice

well just to close that story with class i bviously gave u a good fuck all over town, a nice titjob and the store in the bathroom while the clerk was watching a match, nothign realy happens in that town anywya so he didnt notice when we went together altho he could hear some noise taht slightly sounded like mouns but he didnt pay atention to them, his loss he could hav epeeked onto your gorgeous tits, heprobably would have owndered how he could find a way to fuck u himself

and at the end of the story after tons of sex during the next few days a few moments before we all got in the car tohead back to our houses, u and peter had a little moment together that got kind ahot and he decided to finger u, but surprise surprise your cunt was dripping with my cum

the end



ill maybe come back to this story, we'll see

for now i feel like starting a new story fresh as i said i love the begining , all the events that lead to the best fuck i could imagine

and tonight i feel like enjoying a lot of arousal like soft porn, all thos emoments tha tmake u think " if this happened to me in real life like it would b enough material to fap for daaaays"


ok so here we go next sory is gunna b caaaalled


the summer dream job

i got a job for summer which consisted of taking care of a place near a huge national park.

customers came and made reservations to camp in the park but the place also served as a hotel it had a small number of rooms and a fancy suite for those who wanted to rent horses and just go visit the lake fish, take it easier than facing nature

kind of a boring job not very active i heard some summers were busy but lately there wasnt too many customers

so there i am sitting in the afternoon its just me 2 guys and agirlin the office but today nobody is there, the girl is blond with short hair that is quite hot she has like aporn star face and is always chewing gum, we dont know much about her but all the guys wish she is a hidden slut

im daydreaming about how i could start a conversation my my sexy coworker when i hear a park arriving at the office

its a mini van a dad with his wife and two girls

the wife is hot and has big tits still looks young, the man is older he has like 55 and i cant help but think damn that old dirty basterdlook at that hot wife, i wanna b like him when im older, but forget about the wife the next thing i know is the two daughters are getting out of the car there u r, an 18 yo blonde girl wearing jeans and a pink hoodie, we can clearly see u r stacked under that hoodie, and lord have mercy what do u know the other girl is your twin

ive been watching alot of porn lately at the office and it take sme no time to end up in a scenario in my mind where the mom u and your sister are laying naked on a couch , u r licking my cock cleaning all the cum i just jizzed and the other two are caressing their tits which are sprayed with cum

im thinking how fucking great it would b if something like that could hapen when im force to exit my day dream as the family aproaches the desk

i take a quick look at everybodies eyes the dad seems pissed, hes been probably to stressed and ther ewas a bunch of noise in the car and all he wants is to fucking lay down and have abeer maybe ablowjob form his hot big tited wife

the wife seems indeferent to my eyes she is just being nice giving a polite smile, and the twins, u and your sister giv eme kinda of a kinky smile with a long pitched hiiii that jsut kind revitalises my boner and im like gulp god damn

i say hello welcom to fiesta del bosque camping resort how can i help

the dad says euh yes hello hm we have a reservation for the hotel with an open option to camp under the name the robertsons

im like sur emr robertson its our pleasure to have u here

as i say pleasure i try to divert my eyes to u because fuck it i can help it the animal instincts kick in and i try to take advantage of anything that oculd put the odds in my favour of pounds mr robertsons super hot twin daughters, u r chewing your gum in akink way with your poni tail playing with your hair with one hand the other hand is using your phone , u r pretending to use it but u r scouting me out cuz u r a dirty slut that likes men fantasize about u, u havent had many sexual encoutners u have only gone as far as a handjob which is more than your sister but u spend tons of time on reddit reading kinky shit and u love having men fantasising about u, like your mind if filled with a bunch of perverted scenarios which u havent tried but u love the idea of being covered in jizz, your sister is more shy but as horny as u are , matter of fact u talk abotu this often and have even discussed scenarios where u do threesomes, u say thigns like "imagien the huge load a man would burst if he were to titty fuck us both " those kind of talks always make both of u horny and u end up masturbating in your own rooms cuz u feel like masturbating together would b weird

anyways i give mr robertson his keys i offer to give help witht he bags and he says sure

u lot keep waiting in the lobby as i bring the bags with the help of one of those metal things with wheels i leave the thing with wheels near the stairs i take two of the bags, there 3 more to go and i ask u to please go ahead before me

i hope mr robertson wont say " no please u first u r charged", because this would mean i couldnt try to enjoy your asses as u walk up the stairs

mr robertson doesnt say anything and the whole family proceeds to going up the stairs i say " it will be in the hallwaay to the right"

i climb up the stair smy eyes are mmainly watching your ass cuz u r slithly hotter than your sister and the daughters r clearly hotter than the mom

i can get glimpse of you pink tong and i see your hand go to your ass as u lift a bit your pants so u dont reveal much, lucky me i kinda hid my boner in my pants as i went to the car

as i finish the stairs i tell u its the suite is the door at the end of the hallway the family wait sfor me, your sister is clearly answering some texts, and u have both your arms behind your back moving slightly side to side in kinky way, this emphasises your tits. i take a super quick look to your tits the hoodie is slightly open and u r wearing ablouse with alot of cleavage under it, im taller than u which allows me to catch a glimpse of your tits as i go to the door

i put the bags down and open the door i gie the family a tour of the suite show the view to the lake and let u knwo that ill b right back witht the rest of the bags, when we entered your sister quickly sad down in a chair and u jumped on the main bed face down crossing your legs in the air i could clearly see what a great ass u got and i thougth "oh fuck she is so hot, mr robertson u fucking made a bombshell, iw ish i could hear her moan"

i go downstairs to pick up the bags it takes two more trips, on the first one i bring two bags and when i go get the last bag i notice there is acompartment that is poorly closed and a peace of clothing is falling from it.
i try to fix it so i reach for it and realise its a thong

i think fuck it and put it in my pocket, i dont rly like smelling underwear but i love the idea that it might be yours and that i have in in my pocket as i talk to u

i come back to the room with the last bag and ask if there is anything else i could do for u

mr robertson says "no everything is ok" and i leave the room, the last time i saw u u were still laying on your bed as before and turned your head towards me shaking alittle bit your ass while chewing your gum, i just thougth "fuuuuuck"

i close the door and brace myself againt a wall and think "best clients ever"
submitted by skuanchy777 to u/skuanchy777 [link] [comments]


2020.10.15 18:19 Edwardthecrazyman Finger sex hidden

This place was encompassed entirely by sandy shores with a single cove on the northern face; this here grotto was overgrown with vegetation at the mouth and within its throat, deeper, deeper, there curiously flowed a mystique that was yet to be discovered. The sand upon this circular coast was quite plain and insignificant- like any other. There was a squat mountain in the center of this island, nearly perfectly picturesque in comparison to most entire ranges elsewhere; higher than the peak, there was mist and all, thicker than the thickest human-witnessed fog. Over the face of this small isle that stretched in all directions for only several miles, where there was not the mountain nor the sandy shores, there was a forest with patches of flat-lands all helter-skelter about the body of the seemingly faerie-infested wood. On the southern sands of the shore, there lay a full grown man on his side, curled into a smallish ball of a form. Mr. Peculiar then began to stir. He looked about his surroundings quickly with wild, way-ward eyes and what he found did not seem to suit him at all; his icy blue irises showed a true fear. No recollection was before him and no somber trail led him in his stupor. Upon his palms, he felt sand and began clumping some in vigorous fists as he let a belt of coughs echo from him. Mr. Peculiar gasped in air for the first time, again. He smelled an ocean, and the sand, and even whispering whiffs of whiskey from his own clothes, especially around his collar. He was drenched in sweat and salt water and for a moment, he wondered why. Why? Why was he wet? Had some unfortunate shipwreck been the antagonist of his demise? Mayhap a storm- perhaps another calamity. He did not know. And after that conceptual moment passed he didn't really care anyway. 'What the fuck?" was all that he said, wiping his dry lips. It genuinely was the phrase that summed up his oddly confused state in entirety; t'was a question, indeed, an inquiry to the universe with no verbal response. Even if he some how did find an answer to his question, he would not have been able to interpret Destiny's parted lips to any human degree. He began to stand up but rocked on his knees then fell hard onto his ass. His shirt was a deep blue and his trousers a fading brown. Finally, Mr. Peculiar did stand fully with a frown that bordered a melancholy sadness- a sorrow- he did not understand, and one he wished to never know. But he knew it still without quite remembering.
Something about a crash, crumpled metal and all. Had he been behind the wheel? Yes. Undoubtedly it was-
Mr. Peculiar hoisted his trousers higher onto his hips, because they were too big for his frame. He hated that. He hated most things and that's how he perceived most of the world nearly all the time, a simple succession of desolation within his very own chest; he didn't know why he felt that way, maybe he was a pure victim of circumstance and all that. Maybe he was something more. He hoped, for that's all he owned in that space of not knowing too much, not enough. His eyes, bluer than the waters out there, stared indifferently at the dancing, swirling waves that sprayed his face within the more uproarious bouts that struck unto itself. Thus, he made his way inland without paying any particular mind to where he went, but he was drawn onward never the less.
-his fault. Yet there was no fault or guilt he felt, for he was the only to perish. A bottle up-turned followed by squealing wheels of an automobile.
Mr. Peculiar began a stroll through the inland wood and smelled the scent of amaranths and lillies and other wondrous smells never smelled before. The light was high in the sky and luminescence flowed through the canopy in misshapen shafts of yellow-gold that caught his face here or there. He shunned the light with the back of his hand. After a time, he sat with his back to what seemed a draping willow and contemplated for a spell. What an isolated purgatory this was. His orbs flickered lazily, his lids fluttering and a strange breeze blew past him- through him. He fell to an ill and restless sleep. Once hugged in this crazed embrace of solitude, he groaned near violently.
No protection and that was probably the start of the trouble after all. Sex was dull and worse whilst wearing it. Then came the wail of a babe and within the midst of mediocrity, he found true love. This, he recalled in the corridors of interlapping dreams, woven from the threads of his life. There he was then, a quilt of mottled cloths. And he wrapped himself around this child, showing his real self for a while, with all those half-smirks and smiles.
When he opened his eyes, it was pitch black all around him. In fact, when his eyes came wide, he was not sure they were open at all. But they were, and after a while, after his vision adjusted, he saw shadows moving in the darkness. They were lumbering figures that moved and danced like daemons of a Dagon ode. They were many and not too far away either. He swallowed slowly and heard it in his ears. He hoped they didn't. He shimmied his back up the trunk of the willow as he stood. Never before had so much sweat sprung over his body. His clothes clung to him. A knot on the trunk must have been driving directly into the small of his back, because his spine tingled straight up to the back of his neck, and though there was nothing there, it felt as if something was breathing down his collar. Within these moments of watching those creatures move, he remembered memories of a childhood where, at night, all things came to life to haunt one from the depths of ravine-like closets; it was in the places of the mind where these thoughts rested that absolute fear was locked within. Mr. Peculiar thought of bed time stories that were too frightening and oh the lightning on storming nights. His stomach churned and his groin muscles tightened. He covered his mouth to save his heavy breathing from the things' ears, if they had any, and strained his eyes whilst craning his neck forward to get a better look at the gangly group of outlandish ghouls. Hounds of hell they surely were, fighting amongst themselves, gnashing, clawing, and the noise was sickening but low in volume, nearly inaudible. It was slime upon slime, sliding with no friction but the lubricant itself did cause a sticky slapping sound. He saw half quadrapeds with glistering skins coated in a membrane of veins and cartilage. They moved amongst themselves before him like a bustling wave with tentacle-appendages that plumed from their arched backs, swaying to and fro unmelodicly as though they bustled awkwardly uncoordinated through a massive orgy. He saw no eyes. Still these monstrosities were unwary of his existence. Though these things were shining in their coat of gross lubrication, he did not spy any source of light, even from the sky. He wondered how they managed to rebound so brightly with no logical torch. But, of course, abso-fucking-lutely, the core of who he was, a breed of human purely, he was indescribably driven to be curious. So he remembered faintly that he'd left something in his pocket. He rifled through his pocket and withdrew a small metal lighter. Mr. Peculiar gave it a strike but nothing came forth. He glanced at the things; they still rustled vigorously in their same way. All he wanted was a better look at something so fantasticly wild. He wanted to see them and their build entirely. On the second strike, he did. Regret flushed over his body in a hot-cold stimulation. Every single one of these beasts stood absolutely still and stared at Mr. Peculiar with eyeless sockets that ran like tunnels to the backs of their skulls, and there, there was no light. Yes, the glow he held in outstretched hand washed a golden colour over a large spherical area, but when that gold reached these beasts' drilled ocular, orbless holes, the colour ceased quite definitively, like darkness incarnate. For an eternity and a half, not the slightest sound escaped from any place. He was positive within the moments that passed that he could not breathe. Finally, he gasped and ran with no particular guide, with no intention save parting the distance between himself and the beasts. He rounded the trunk of the willow, bounding through its dangling branches, bumbling and bustling past thickets like a man with hell on his heels. The lighter had gone out and darkness was a villian in those fitful moments. He heard them as he went. He heard them directly behind him and they were fast, ravenous. Nowhere to go, he continued onward, not daring to slow or gander over his shoulder. The wood whistled past him as he bolted further out of it; growls and howls followed him in a chorus. He began laughing and hooting with them- as though he were one. His muscles ached and he was intoxicated from his own madness. Something warm flowed over his face, something he did not understand. How long had it been since he wept aloud? He couldn't be sure; it would be very hard to determine, but it felt as though it must have been too long. His shoe lace caught on an unseen, uprisen root and he tumbled into a wide, circular field where the grass was none too tall. Cantering, crawling to his feet, he went to the center of that naturally occurring stage where all the trees could see. There, he spun, both hands clenched at his sides. There, Mr. Peculiar made his stand. They encircled him, rotating in a line round his vicinity, closing. He began lunging at them in a faux manner, bearing his teeth against them. A few showed hesitance in their formation. His resolve stood solid. The beasts came at him, one by one, but he was unmoving and as each struck his flesh, they disappeared, dissipated straight away into a flash and mist of ash. With each creature gone, the sky grew a brighter hue of blue. With the last one vanquished and the field conquered against the innumerable Horde, he yelled at the grand, cloudless sky above, then looked down at the ground, then at the grime they'd left him coated in. Mr. Peculiar dusted himself off then sat more pondersome than previously so. He thought, and he thought hard but grasped at only frayed edges of a life before that one.
Something, something more seeped into his mind of that aforementioned past that forced him to wonder through the halls of cruel remembering. And truth came with it. There had been a fight- nothing physical of course- an argument really. He'd looked upon his wife's eyes. 'I'm not happy,' was all she had said to spur it. In the exchange of words that followed, he was enlightened with a sickness. She'd began swelling a second time by no fault of his. Mr. Peculiar responded with anger, trepidation most prominent. He'd tried taking the bundle, his child, in his arms, but she snagged it from him. He left then, vowing to return. He was pissed and drunk when he died.
After a while, he stood from the ground and saw a mount to the northern horizon. 'I'll climb it,' he said to no one; his words fell from his mouth, irresolute. Under the skin, he was undoubtedly nonplussed by what had occurred only a while before, but if anyone were to see him in those moments after the assault of the Horde, they may guess he was going for stroll. For you see, his eyes were like well-woven walls of indistinguishable will. He was more powerful than any manifestation of shadows spawned forth from him. And anyway, he wasn't phased by the morbidity of the situation on the surface because he had faced far fiercer amounts of darkness; that was the only solution to something so absolute anyway- facing it. It's what it came to. Soon, as he went, he came on a massive, sprouting tree at the edge of the wide field that he'd yet noticed. Among it, he felt puny. Swaying in little winds, bobbing from the tips of the trees' wiry fingers, their were little plump fruits that looked to glister with a dew though there was no explanation for the sparkling droplets. Here, he ate to his content. The fruits were sour and went down slowly. He plucked extra, polishing them on his shirt then depositing them in both pockets. He went on, into the forest, watching the peak of the mountain- his destination- until it was gone entirely, hidden by a canopy of Fall colours. Although he was pleased that he'd not perished against the night-fiends, no smile lay slain upon his lips, but instead they were mealy and stretched into a kind of grimace. He was terribly thirsty; his lips were dry and cracked and he could feel blood beginning to pool in the elongated ridges forming over his mouth. The fruits he'd downed were juicy but somehow just didn't suffice. Mr. Peculiar wished for water- maybe something with more of a burn to it- but heard no running streams or falls. The temperature was fine in the wood he trod through, however something weighed over him, making him dab at his brow. Yes, he thought of his immediate surroundings but he hoped more prominently than that, that his sense of direction was fairing well. He ate another fruit from his pocket and tossed the core over his shoulder. In what seemed no longer than a few hours, he came to the base of the mount. In the very least, he could only assume that's where he was, because the earth was rockier and more solid. He had to take deeper breaths as he continued and the ground seemed to slant more. The trees about were growing less dense, though the canopy stayed thick. Through sparse openings of the leaves overhead he saw bits of light shining through into the cozy colours below. And he sometimes saw what he hoped to be the peak of that foreign mountain. His hopeful queries came unveiled as the wood dispersed absolutely, as though in a mathematically fine line. And he was crawling hap-hazardly rather than walking upright. 'It's not so tall,' he told himself with a cracking smirk. But he ascended with this illusion in his head. How was he to know? It really hadn't looked so tall. But something about it made it not so. The mount was an easy prospect to any unknowing soul. Finally, he was climbing and his knees ached in unison with the webbing under his flesh where his arms and shoulders met. His lightly calloused hands felt tender against the abrasive rock-face and his footing seemed to grow looser with each hoist- as though he were teetering at the pit of everything and he might just slip and fall forever. That's when he truly began to question the magic of the mountain. Mr. Peculiar gazed upward and saw that he was not nearly halfway up the side of the thing. He started to think of it differently, the mount. After all, it had seemed small, seeing it from down there on the ground. Then something urged him to look down. And he did. From where he was, the base was a million miles away. But he went. Very shakily, granted, but he pursued this goal never the less. The idea of failing sickened him worse than that great altitude, so he felt compelled to rid himself of that ailment. He shook off cowardice like a cloak. 'You fucking pussy. C'mon, you can do this. Don't you dare give in," he whispered this like an incantation. Over and over. His fingers bled, but he did not give in. He strove, foothold after foothold. Repetition. Breath after heavy breath.
He'd gone to the store with winos out back; the one that was filthy and smelled like shit. He recalled a smile- a mask- as he'd entered. Once he was a true patron, he galloped back to his compact car. He stared at the crumpled brown bags with glass necks sprouting and snatched a bottle up. His intention was to forget. A quarter of the swirling dark amber liquid was gone from that container before he finally drove away. By the time he had a moment to realize he didn't know where he was going, it was too late. He drew a face of wicked sadness. That's when he assumed that on some level, he'd decided to-
One last lurch brought him over the wall face of the mountain and he was only one small slope away from a serpentine trail that rested thirty yards lower than the pointed peak; this trail was cut into the mount and circled round to the opposite side. He walked the small slope then mounted the walkway. Sweat dripped from him all profuse. Mr. Peculiar followed the trail.
-kill himself.
He stopped and wiped his forehead; wasn't it supposed to be cooler at higher altitudes? He stood there, thinking of this new revelation. Had he really killed himself? It seemed so silly now. And why was it so fucking hot up here? He possessed too many wonderments at once. His feet carried him forward, ever onward to some unknown destination. What did he hope to achieve while following this strange pull that the island had over him? For the first time up so high, he saw the island's landscape more so. It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was expansive. But the detail he most prominently noted was that although he was risen above everything, it did not seem that the ground below was so very far away. While climbing, it was such a perilous fall, yet from where he stood then, it was little more than a slight tumble. Illusions or some other trickery of the like was all that he could assume of that life after life. He rounded the circumference of where the mountain met the cut walkway fully and saw what awaited him there. A little further onward, the trail dropped off at a ninety degree angle, but before that, a stair case ran into the side of the trail from the right that led downward, opposite the side he'd come from. As he came upon the staircase to his right, he saw the steps were of some transparent material. The steps' edges were rounded, dulled and worn slippery as though they'd been there a long time and many others had walked them, descending to their own Destiny. And so, there went Mr. Peculiar, descending to his. He walked warily, wearily down the case. It seemed he might slip at any moment, but the case held steady and the rubber of his shoes did not slide against it. There was a bit of a reflection to that glass-like, aqueous looking stone that made up those steps, and he saw his shadowy form in them. He noticed that his reflection looked confident, but he didn't feel like that. He felt terrible, like at any moment, something bad was going to happen to him. His breathing grew more rapid as he met the halfway point on the staircase and he didn't have the faintest idea why. He gazed up at the sky, cloudless; he did find the time to smile queerly but stopped himself when he realized he was doing it. The sky was bright after all. Hadn't that canvas up there been blotted with a thick fog not too long ago? He thought it had, but could not remember. Recollections were not his forte as of late. On the last step before his feet would strike solid, grassy ground, he stopped and peered over his shoulder from where he'd come. The case of translucent nature was changing and rising, starting from where it met the mountain and the change continued, descending toward him. As the case rose to the sky above, it turned to some mist. Soon, it was blanketing the sky and it was clouds. He stepped from it, turning his body, craning his neck backward, blue eyes averted to a blue sky changing quickly. Though this happened, no gust rambled. The last step disappeared upward. The blanket above grew dark and so did the scape. He was in awe with his hands stuffed in his pockets, fidgeting in them nervously, searching for something and finding nothing. Perhaps he was looking for rationality in a circumstance without. It was beautiful and terrifying, like good art, because it pulled the thought of the fragility of the physical world from him and made it an actual manifestation before him. He saw nothing in that strange night phase. He had nothing to cling to in it, save his nervous sweat. There was a cold in the air that actually passed through him again. Before he could even grow comfortable with the night, a gash of light spilled open from the sky. It was a dry lightning continuously zig-zagging above. Within one of these flashes of light, he saw the image of himself and stumbled onto his ass; in the next flash, he saw nothing where, only moments before, he'd seen his own form. There was no doubt about it, what he'd seen was himself- something had been slightly off however. What he'd seen was his own face, but instead of eyes, there were a pair of twinkling crimson spheres sunken into a more drawn and haggard head. Those eyes- if they could be called that- had an extreme luminescence about them. It had been like standing before a mirror that distorted one's self into a daemon. Hadn't his teeth been exposed by a wide and crazed grin? His immediate recollection assumed they had been. Hadn't his teeth looked more viscous? Elongated perhaps? It didn't matter though; it must've been only another illusion, some non-existent doppelganger. It could not have been possible, his mind evidently summed up. It was an impossibility, simple as that. To cling to the last bit of sanity he owned, Mr. Peculiar refused to believe it within the realm of any reality. His mind was nearly gone, but he hung by an elusive thread that whipped to and fro, forcing him to find it all the time. Even though there seemed to be no physical danger amongst the dark and erratic bursts of powerful light, something, some intuition willed him to search the immediate area of ground around him with his fingertips, hoping for something to don as a projectile to launch at anything that deemed a presumable threat. At first, he felt nothing but thin strands of dream-like grass- but finally! There was something. It was immobile, he couldn't lift it. It was flesh covered. He turned to face it. Then came a spurt of lightning, illuminating his surroundings. And he saw that thin, drawn face again, only inches from his own. It was smiling. When the scape went dark, he still saw those incandescent red eyes floating in nothing, like the lanterns strapped to Death's caleche. The eyes, they wavered but did not disappear. Mr. Peculiar jerked from his doppelganger's frosty hand, spastic, but the daemon twin gripped up his hand and squeezed with the burning ferocity of a thousand shifting tectonic plates. Mr. Peculiar tried to scream but not even a whistle of air escaped his throat. He could not look away from those eyes fit to be burning coals. And so he was a prisoner to them, locked away within that stare; there was no word to express that tingling terror. He was finally forced to face the fire that was a part of him. But it wasn't who he was, only an isolated beast partitioned from the rest of who he was as an entity; however, within those silent moments, he forgot this and believed himself and the daemon were one and the same. And in that idea, he became lost.
He had laughed and cried and loved and longed.
But he'd also hated and punished some who had wronged him.
But he'd asked for forgiveness and been grateful to those that had forgiven him and spoken of his humility for doing so.
Had he meant it though? Probably not. It was a farce, another happy face to show people. Another mask of just contemplation. It had been in jest, no doubt.
But no! That's not possible; he did remember goodness and love and all the rest. He'd been a righteous person. He didn't steal and he gave all he had away to those with less. He'd sacrificed his own life to aid those that he believed he only brought misery to.
Lies! It had been a selfish act. He only wanted the pain and self-loathing to cease. It had been for him and no one else.
But he had been human only, a fragile minded being that had a hard time differentiating beliefs and truths. His intentions were sound!
So, he stood and fought, ripping his arm from the daemon's gripping fingers. 'No!' he screamed. A flash of lightning. He looked down at the perverted and deformed version of himself still sitting. The daemon looked so small, wiry, and fragile. It creeped to a standing posture as well and lurched towards him, bony grey fingers extending with no nails. Those red eyes were fading to some hue of pink. Mr. Peculiar's hands slipped around the thing's thin neck and he fell upon it, clenching its neck-flesh as tightly as he could muster. It was a while before he realized he was yelling some indistinguishable language as the light behind the daemon's eyes faded to black. And then he was grasping nothing in gauntlets of strangulation, and the light was back, and he couldn't remember why he was on the ground at all. So he was standing again. He looked at the spot he'd been only moments ago, there on the ground. Nothing lay there. He laughed curiously. No weight rested on his chest and no trickles from a past life passed unto him. In this ignorance, he was bliss filled, like a man doped from a proper dosage. Then he felt the will of the island again, urging him to go only a little further north. He followed this invisible guide with no real sound thoughts or inquisitions of his position. He continued, passing through the beautiful, tranquil forest. Everything was quiet; not even buzzing insects could pierce the silence. He traveled through the wood like a man through a dream. After a spell of walking, the soles of his shoes struck the sand of the northern coast. He threw his shoes off happily, walking the coast barefoot. Then his sand covered toes ascended the steps of an ancient dock. Docked there was a single, two man row-boat. He stepped into it cautiously as it rocked in the waves. He unharnessed the rope and it was off with no visible push nor tug into the depths of the calm ocean. With no navigator nor oar, it rode along the coast at no distance further than forty yards, eastbound briefly, circumnavigating the shore. He enjoyed this funny, little magically propelled boat. Searching through his pockets, he plucked out a fruit and bit into it. This time, it tasted sweet, as sweet as ignorance. After a time, he very nearly dozed, but his eyes came open at the sight of the wide mouth of a dark grotto. The air seemed different there. Mr. Peculiar breathed deeply as the boat went into the cavernous cove, inhaling a breeze of Aether. That air was thicker. The grotto's ceiling lit up and the stone there reminded him of the same material that had been the make of the staircase descending from the mountain. Only, the stuff lining the ceiling glowed as though magic was more powerful there. He smiled. Even though Mr. Peculiar rode the boat into the place known as Oblivion, still, he smiled.
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2020.10.14 03:05 Ralts_Bloodthorne First Contact - Chapter 327 (Eternity)

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The computer system's cooling system turned on first. Pumps pressurized gas, turning it into slurry, which was then pumped through superconductor wrapped piping. The superconductor made sure all of the material was the same temperature as the superconductor that was wrapped around the piping.
Hardware began to power up, going through self-checks and self-diagnostics. Temperatures immediately began to rise as electricity flowed through circuitry that had been dormant for thousands of years. LED's, neon strips, and fluorescent tubes began to light up different colors, a combination decorate and early warning system.
Herod watched as the human woman stayed fixated on the dataslate that was connected to the system. She was watching the POST messages, checking the voltage readings, watching temperature. Herod noted that she'd already started using split-screen in order to keep track of the data-sheet on one side and the actual readings on the other.
She was humming to herself, rocking back and forth slightly on her heels, a slight smile on her face.
The system beeped and all of the components went live, bringing the system to full operation.
Herod still watched as Dee monitored the software and firmware messages as the system booted up.
"Looks like replacing that last crystal platter drive did it," she said, tapping the checksum pass. "The repair system is online now. It's already dedicating repair drones to the systems we prioritized."
She turned off the display and turned around. "Now where, Speedy?"
"Primary Soul Uninterrupted Disaster Storage System," Herod said, sighing. He put his fingertips to his temple, even though it didn't do any good in reality. "Sam?"
"Yes?" Sam's voice was still heavily synthesized.
"How do we get to the SUDS?" Herod asked.
"Take mag-lev, it's another Gen-Two Startram, so you won't be in transit for too long. A day or two. I'm having it loaded with food and drink now," Sam said.
Dee nodded slowly, looking up at the floating orb that Sam was using to speak. She looked down at Wally, then at the orb, then at Herod, her eyes flat and unreadable.
"I'll give you a guideline," Sam said. He made a groaning sound. "I will be with you momentarily, please, wait. I know it's been a long time but I just need a little more time."
The blue line showed up in Herod's vision and he adjusted the strap on his tool kit. "Ready?" he asked Dee. She just nodded, her face expressionless. Herod looked down at Wally. "Ready?" Wally beeped and held up his little clawed hand.
They walked silently through the massive forms of the equipment that Herod barely understood.
Several times Dee just walked through flickering apparitions that appeared, took a few steps, and vanished.
Usually on contact with Dee.
"Can't you see them?" Herod asked after a Treana'ad with chainsaws for arms, large spikes driven through his head, and a mouth full of sawblades ran down the corridor waving his arms.
"I can see them," Dee said. "They're impressions, and impressions have no more powerful than a hologram."
Herod didn't say anything.
The phasic residue was thick enough that he could feel a chill, sometimes taste a memory, remember a touch, when he grazed the images of the dead.
"Why?" Dee asked as she stepped onto the moving sidewalk.
"They're dangerous," Herod said.
"If you say so," Dee said. She looked at the landscape that was moving by faster and faster. "They're dead, and the dead no longer matter."
Herod shook his head, leaning on the rest bar next to Dee. "We stand upon the edifice built by the dead of years past, they matter in their deeds and how they have effected the world."
"Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay," She quoted. "Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away.”
"Ozymandias," Herod said softly.
"Yes. Although Kansas said it better," she said.
"How? And who is Kansas?" Herod asked.
"A musical group. Hippies. But they said it better: we're all just dust in the wind," she quoted. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes, looking at the remaining few in them. She sighed. "I'll be out soon."
"Give Wally one," Herod said. Wally opened the port in front of the strange matter creation engine Herod had installed in his frame.
"What? Why?" Dee asked.
"Trust me," Herod said.
"Yeah, that means 'fuck you' in Yiddish," Dee said, but she handed one over.
"What's Yiddish?" Herod asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing that matters now."
Herod tossed it in the creation engine's open port and waited. "Print us out a box of twenty," Herod said.
Wally shivered for a moment and the box popped out. He picked it up and held it up. Herod took it and handed it to Dee. "Here, try these. They'll all be identical to the one you gave him until one of us sits down and does some randomization in the template."
Dee took it, replacing her unlit cigarette in the old pack and opening up the new one. She took a cigarette out and put it in her mouth, lighting it. She closed her eyes, obviously tasting the smoke, and exhaled a cloud of it.
"Huh, can't tell the difference," she mused.
Herod broke the silence after a moment. "I owe you an apology," he said.
"What for, Speedy?" Dee asked.
Herod sighed. "You're from eight thousand years ago. Even though I'm surrounded by technology I barely understand, doing things I can barely comprehend, I wrongfully assumed you were stupid."
"Like I was a caveman you thawed out?" she asked.
Herod nodded. "Yes. I was hoping that, at the most, you could be like Wally there and help me out by handing me tools and materials."
Dee was quiet for a long moment. "I get it. You're used to a world full of humans so goddamn stupid you wonder how they breathe and walk at the same time."
"Well," Herod started.
"I get that feeling. Everyone around you is barely intelligent monkeys, unable to comprehend a single thing about the world around them beyond hot and cold, wet and dry, and you're supposed to act like they matter, that they're your equals," Dee's voice was cold, hard, tight. "You have to be polite to your inferiors who, many times, are in positions of power over you."
"I was wrong about you," Herod said. Beyond the crysteel tube the autowalk was moving through were fields of grain being tended to by robotic tractors.
"I noticed you changed your mind about the time you had me start working with the software," Dee said. "I'm familiar with the language and it showed."
"I've found myself having to adjust to reality quite a bit in the last year or so," Herod admitted. He opened his mouth to further apologize when Dee reached out and roughly shoved him.
"Good enough. Don't fuck this up and keep talking," she said.
They were silent as the autowalk kept moving, the agricultural fields streaking by.
The autowalk was slowing down and she straightened up, pointing. "The trains often look like that?"
The maglev train had broken windows, smears of paint on it, and was obviously suffering from oxidation.
"No, they don't," Herod mused.
"Huh," Dee said, turning to stare at the oncoming terminal. She lifted a hand to shade her eyes, squinting. "Platform's clear."
"Might have happened right after the Glassing. Probably Screaming Ones," Herod said. He'd explained the Glassing and the Screaming Ones and the Sleeping Ones to Dee while they had walked to the Phasic Energy Buffer System.
"How long has it been since the Glassing?" Dee asked, straightening up and stepping back from the railing, which would retract to allow Herod and her to step out onto the loading platform for the maglev.
"Eight thousand years and some change," Herod said.
"Hmm," Dee said, her eyes still narrowed and her attention on the train, which had just come to a stop at the station. The autowalk was slowing, less than a hundred meters to go.
"There's nothing living here," Herod said.
"If you say so," Dee said, cracking her neck. She shook out her left arm.
"Sam, is there anyone alive here?" Herod asked.
The channel was dead.
"Damage," Dee said. She pointed at several half collapsed towers, a building that had burnt out a long time ago, and slagged machinery. She squinted and pointed at several figures hidden by shadows. "Those look like giant robots."
She turned and looked at Herod. "This is a battlefield."
"It's from the Glassing," Herod said. He winced as he heard a scream off in the distance. "Nobody's here."
The autowalk came to a stop and Dee stepped off of it and onto the platform, looking around with quick, sharp motions.
"Head on a swivel, Speedy," she said, her voice tight. "Does this train go through vacuum?"
"I don't know," Herod said. "He said it's a Gen-Two StarTram, meaning it goes up above any atmosphere to reach supersonic speeds."
"Then, yes, it does," Dee said, she slowed down slightly, looking toward the engine of the tram then slowly toward the back. "Fifteen passenger cars, two engines on each end, two tenders, one on each end, probably with reaction mass or fuel," she said. "Based on the previous maglev we were on, there are one hundred seats per car, two rows per side of twenty five. Each passenger car is thirty meters long, four point two meters high, and three meters wide."
Herod managed not to show surprise that his optics did the measurements with him, showing that she was essentially right, just off on a few decimal points.
"Assume each person needs five square meters of living space, that's sixteen per car, that's two hundred forty living areas, add in one third again for doubling up, that's three hundred twenty, subtract half for violence, that's one sixty, pull one third for debris and material storage, round to the up to the nearest five, and we're looking at fifty-five possible combatant," she said, stopping right before the doors. She looked at Herod. "They'll come at us from one direction first, then from another."
"I'm telling you, the Great Glassing was eight thousand years ago, there's nobody on that train," Herod said.
"If you say so," Dee said. She touched the doors and they folded to the side, revealing the train interior.
Seats were torn up, the stuffing ripped out, the Neo-aluminum frames torn apart, piled in nests, with the tubular frame sections in piles. The lights inside flickered.
"Tell your friend we're in trouble," Dee said. She looked to the right and left. "Can't you feel them looking at us?"
Herod shook his head. "No."
Dee turned and looked at him and Herod managed not to step backwards.
Her eyes were glowing. A soft reddish amber glow that almost hid the gray of her eyes.
"Remember: there's no such thing as cheating," she said, her smile reappearing. She looked at Herod and frowned slightly. "You have my eyes."
"I'm sorry?" Herod said.
Dee just shook her head, exhaling smoke, and stepped into the car.
Herod followed, almost gagging at the smell.
Human urine, body odor, blood, rotting and roasted meat, Treana'ad death stench, other smells that Herod couldn't recognize. They all flooded his olfactory senses.
Dee lifted up a cloth, looking at it closely. She sniffed it, then touched her tongue to a long thin dark spot as Wally clattered on board the train.
"Urine. Fresh. A female took a piss and wiped her gash with this," Dee said, tossing it. She looked around. "No children, no weapons. They saw us coming."
Herod wanted to tell her she was wrong, there was no way anyone was on the train.
The train started moving with a hum, the slight jerk making Herod and Dee sway slightly.
The lights flickered and Dee moved to the middle of the walkway. "Get behind me, face the other door. Don't get in my way," she warned.
Herod had a sinking feeling as he turned away from her and faced the far door.
They're all dying. All of them. We're losing interlock, signals are bleeding cross channel, he heard a woman say in head. Christ, look at that overflow. Shut down Phasic Nine! Shut it... her voice devolved into a scream that went on and on and on.
"Here they come," Dee whispered.
Wally shivered.
Herod expected shades, flickering translucent phasic remnants of the crew.
Instead the door opened to reveal a pair of Terran humans in ragged uniforms. There was dried blood on their arms and faces, their jumpsuits were covered in dark splotches that gleamed wetly. One carried a heavy looking hatchet, the other carried a cleaver.
Herod got the force pistol out barely in time to drop the first one at the halfway mark, the second one almost reached him before Herod shot him twice in the chest. The first one just staggered him, the second one put him down.
Then there was no time for thought. He kept pulling the trigger, ones he had hit getting back up, ignoring the blunt force trauma of the force packet pistol, requiring more trigger pulls.
They all screamed as they rushed.
Behind him he could hear Dee grunting and making short sharp sounds. The screams behind him kept changing slightly, from inhuman horror to sheer agony.
Dee started laughing gaily, as if she was on a fun ride at an amusement park.
The last one Herod had to deal with took the two force-packets to the chest, walking forward slowly. Stepping over the bodies of the dozen Herod had dropped already.
Herod pulled the trigger and the pistol gave a whine and started flashing a blue light.
Out of ammo? Oh, no, Herod thought at the big human stared for a moment, then bent down and picked up a spear. Herod noticed that the male had pushed sharp wires through his own cheeks, that his lips were torn away and oozing blood down his chin, exposing his shattered and broken teeth.
The figure hefted the spear, screamed, and charged.
"No, please, don't," Herod held out his hands.
The spear hit him just above the belly button, ripping through the hazardous environment suit, finding a chink in the armor of the hazardous environment emergency frame, and bursting out his back. Herod went down, on his back.
Herod screamed, joining his attacker, who put one foot on Herod's chest and yanking the spear free.
Herod grabbed his stomach as the figure lunged forward, stepping on Herod's arm. Herod saw the spear wobble and half of it flew back over the figure's head. A foot came up and hit the figure's chin, then a cleaver hit the Screaming One in the neck, almost severing his head.
The Screaming One stopped screaming and dropped on the floor next to Herod, his eyes wide and unblinking.
A few more grunts and the screaming stopped.
Dee moved over and sat down on the dead body of the large male that had speared Herod. She looked down at him and shook her head.
"Doesn't look good, Speedy," she said. She leaned forward and put her hand on the hole in his suit, pulling her finger back and staring at the fluid on it.
"Blood, some kind of clear fluid that looks like lubricant, and milky white?" she said. She touched her tongue to the streaks. "Lubricant, something strange, and human blood," she leaned forward. "You're a hybrid. A cyborg."
Herod weakly shook his head. "No. Digital Sentience," he gasped with pain and gagged. "Must be... must be this place."
Dee nodded. "All right."
She stood up and looked under a cloth, revealing Wally hiding and shivering.
"Come out, little guy," she said. She knelt down in front of him after looking around. "I need high tensile plastic sheeting, a thermal plastic cutter, and adhesive. Can you make that?"
Wally nodded and gave a few beeps.
"Good. We're going to go through vacuum and I don't want Speedy's vital fluids to boil away," she looked down at Herod. "You're losing fluids fast. I'm going to need to have a look inside you."
Herod shook his head and she moved around, finally straightening up with a crude hand made knife.
"This will have to do," she said.
When Wally put out the plastic, the first thing she did was wind it tight around him, covering the wound.
"That'll keep you from being sucked out of your suit through that hole," she said. She looked Herod in the face again. "You have my eyes," she said, her voice wondering. "Did you do that on purpose?"
Herod shook his head. "No."
"Try not to die," was all she said.
Herod laid there, fighting to breath. It felt like an iron band tightening around his chest. At one point Dee stopped, sitting on a dead body, and looked at him.
"Can I turn you off? Keep you alive that way?" she asked.
Herod shook his head. "Personality is a function of RAM. It's difficult to explain."
Dee nodded. "I get it. I turn you off and on, I get someone with your memories, but not you. You're still dead."
Herod nodded and coughed.
"Mostly white and that thick clear stuff. Looks like a bad gay porno movie," she said, shaking her head. She stood up. "Try not to die."
Herod nodded, holding onto his stomach.
*Sam* he tried.
He got back nothing.
Finally Dee dragged the bodies to the door and threw them out. She checked her wrist.
"Almost a vacuum," she said. She turned to Wally. "Eat the debris left and emit the following levels of gasses to 101.3 kPa: seventy-eight point one nitrogen, twenty point one oxygen, point one argon, point zero five carbon dioxide, one percent H2O vapor."
Wally made a happy tune and turned to start shoving debris from the seats into his matter grinder. He shuddered as he ground it up.
"Earth standard," Dee said, sitting on the floor next to Herod. She looked at him and smiled.
The smile made Herod afraid.
After a few minutes Wally beeped that he was done.
"I'm going to hurt you. Hurt you bad, Speedy," she said. Her smile got wider. "You may scream, there is no shame."
She held up the knife.
Herod screamed as she cut open his suit, then sliced open the wound further, putting her hands inside of him. She felt around, and he could feel her pinching things, pulling on things, rubbing things. Several times she pulled her hands out and looked at them.
They were smeared with bright red blood, thick white fluid, and clear hydraulic lubricant.
Finally she took the stapler Wally held out to her, cringing slightly, and stapled shut the wound.
"You're a mess in there, Pinocchio," she said. She resealed his suit then climbed off of him, sitting back down on the floor.
Herod just nodded.
"This is where you would beg me to save you and I'd laugh at you," Dee said, staring at him. "This is where I'd just sit in this train and watch you die," she said. "You'd beg me to save you, and I'd laugh, tell you that you were nothing, nobody, and nobody would miss you when you're gone."
She raised her head and looked at the terrain speeding by.
"Except it wouldn't be true," she mused. "There's billions of them in there. Trapped between Heaven and Hell," her voice got intense. "If I kill you, they're there forever. I'm consigning billions of sentient people to a living Hell."
She lit a cigarette.
"Entire species would be gone from the universe forever if I killed you, Speedy," she said. She patted his chest. "So you have to live, whether you like it or not," her smile got cold, cruel. "I can take life with ease," she leaned forward, "And I can give it if I choose."
Herod shivered, unsure if it was the pain in his body or her words.
She was silent for hours, staring off into space. She kept Herod awake by smacking his wound every now and then when he started to drift off. At one point she had Wally make her glass jars, full of the fluids he was leaking, connected to rubber hoses. She jammed the needles into the tubes inside his legs, ignoring his screams.
"Stop being selfish and trying to die," she said at one point.
The StarTram came to stop and Dee bent down, picking up Herod in her arms. He was too out of it with pain to notice the ease with which she picked him up, moaning and weeping, overcome with the physical pain in his body and the horror in his mind.
He could hear them screaming.
The building was squat, ugly, and had robots standing guard at the door.
They moved away from Dee.
She dragged him into the building, down the hallways. Stopping to look at faded maps before moving on.
"Harry? Harry, what happened?" Sam's voice, heavily synthesized, came from Herod's suit helmet.
"Can it, HAL," Dee snapped. She shifted her grip so she was dragging Herod, his feet scraping on the ground.
"What did you do to him?" Sam asked.
"Quit with the Mister Roboto impression. You show emotion and make deductive reasoning, you're like him, only probably stuck in the system still," Dee snapped. "You must think I'm too stupid to figure it out that you're just like him."
"What did you do to him?" Sam asked.
Dee ignored him, pulling Herod into the mat-trans room. She set Herod against the door, sitting up, and looked him in the face.
"You'll need to say the magic words, Harry," she grinned.
"Wha... what magic words?" Herod gasped. She leaned forward and whispered them in his ear. He swallowed thickly.
"Say the magic words, Harry," Dee grinned, lighting a cigarette and standing up.
"Curse..." Herod coughed. "Curse your sudden and inevitable betrayal," he gasped.
Dee laughed as she moved to the main control console, typing quickly.
"Harry, I can't stop her. She's inside the system and I can't get inside. She's powering up the whole system, but I can't detect any other mat-trans system powering up," Sam said.
"Screaming Ones on the train," Herod gasped. Dee looked up, then looked back down, going back to typing rapidly. "There were screaming ones on the train."
Sam was silent for a moment. "The train was stasis locked before I sent it. Shit, they must have been onboard when the SkyTram pulled into the maintenance depot."
"Yeah," Herod gasped. "Shit."
"What?" Sam asked.
"She's coming back," Herod said.
Dee squatted down in front of Herod. "Are you a virgin?" she asked.
"I'm a Digital Sentience," Herod groaned.
"So, you've never had sex?" she asked.
Herod shook his head.
"Don't hurt him! Please, don't hurt him!" Sam begged from the speaker.
Grinning madly, Dee reached down, pulling Herod to his feet. "You're fucked now, Speedy," she laughed.
Herod struggled as she opened the door to the mat-trans. She looked him in the eye.
"YOU'RE GONNA BE A REAL BOY NOW, PINOCCHIO!" she yelled, throwing him inside. She stepped back, letting the door swing shut. "JUST CALL ME THE BLUE FAIRY!" she howled with laughter.
Herod laid on the armaglass hexagons as the mat-trans chamber began to hum. He could see mist rising up around him.
Then everything went black.
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2020.10.09 18:51 JunkyGS Hidden finger sex

Background Hello! For those that don't know I have written and posted about Janet Jackson on Popheads for over 3 years at this point. This includes anniversary posts for her albums, eras and overall detailing her impact as an under rated legend. She is the only artist I stan and is my favorite artist in all of music. As the go-to-Janet Jackson stan / resource to the community I have been often asked throughout the years "what are your favorite Janet songs / what songs should I check out if I am new to Janet". The task of picking out my favorite Janet Jackson songs always seemed incredibly daunting. This is a woman who has released 11 albums which includes over 300 songs which are all fantastic and important to me for one reason or another.
There is also the additional context of studying the eras, her interviews, her history and everything related to those songs over the years; WHICH brings me to this point that my favorites are always changing and very hard to nail down.
Until now.
Below you will find what are in my opinion the best 50 songs released by Janet Jackson. The first question you might have is how did a decide to rank these songs which is a great question. I ended up combining a lot of factors of varying importance into crazy equation into how I ranked these songs.
Now to state the obvious that this ranking is obviously going to be biased based off my tastes and lived experiences; however those are only two factors among a sea of many including cultural / musical impact, intent of the song, how it compares to similar ones in her discography, how they have aged, the context and societal standards of the time in which they were released, production, lyricism, Janet's involvement in the song and critical reception or lack there of at the time.
This list shouldn't be viewed as fact or invalidate your personal rankings; rather a list which can be the launching point for future Janet fans, bring awareness to songs even the casual or hardcore Janet Jackson fan might now know and overall use my years of Jan Fam stan hood to give you an informed opinion.
I can't wait to discuss any or all of this list with anybody that wants to after spending literal days deciding this list by listening to so much Janet and then writing something for every track (while trying to not make it over whelming by writing too much!!), now without further ado.... the list! I tried to keep the writings short for songs #50 - #21, write more for #20-#11 and then write the most for #10 - #1 and in the wise words of music's busiest nerd "Y'all know this is just my opinion, right?".
The List 50) Come On Get Up
An airy feel good and fun turn of the millennium bop that is a perfect fit on a playlist for any sort of celebration.
49) Island Life
The perfect song for a vacation getaway with a lover or to imagine a time post covid when we can travel to islands again.
48) No Sleep
The comeback single after an over ½ a decade wait has the “Queen of Insomnia” reminding us nobody croons a sexy R&B slow jam quite like Janet.
47) Because of Love
The single that is considered one of the final hits of the new jack swing era and what a hit to end the era with. Janet embodies infatuation and all the changes loving her partner has had on her.
46) Dream Maker / Euphoria
Janet imagines and manifests through talking to a higher power how she can make the world a better place on this mid-tempo jam featuring older soul infused production in a modern way.
45) R&B Junkie
In this retro up tempo bop Janet throws it back to the 80’s dance club scene and takes us all along with her on the ride.
44) Control
The song that kicked off one of the most iconic careers in music history and established Janet has a woman with full autonomy over her career.
43) My Need
In this mid-tempo song featuring hip-hop production is about Janet discussing her unbridled lust for her lover.
42) Black Cat
On this self-written and co-produced rock jam Janet proved to many people her artistry and foreshadowed her future adventures into many kinds of genres and sounds.
41) Trust a Try
In one of the most experimental songs of Janet’s discography she spits venom at a cheating ex over production that combines hard rock, classical music, dance, pop, hip-hop.
40) Someone to Call My Lover (So So Def Remix)
Janet daydreams about the perfect man over this sweet bop. This remix adds infectious production that you can’t help to rock and bounce to.
39) All Nite (Don’t Stop)
In this electro-funk dance bop Janet commands the club and gets everybody hyped to dance in one of biggest “hits that got away” in her career due to the blacklisting.
38) Son of a Gun (I Betcha Think This Song Is About You) [with Carly Simon]
While interpolating the classic Carly Simon song “You’re So Vain” Janet calls out everybody in her life that have tried to take advantage of her.
37) So Much Betta
Now this is where my taste really comes into play with this pick because it is a song ignored by Janet and the JanFam for most of her career until she decided to say GAY RIGHTS by doing a melody of it with Throb at her residency. This song to me is one of the best shameless electro slut bops that is just so infectious and fun.
36) Night
Janet skates across this modern house production to deliver in her classic breathy vocals a hopeful bop.
35) All for You
In one of the biggest hits of her career Janet delivers turn of the millennium dance pop gold with a bright and optimistic dedication to a lover.
34) Feedback (So So Def Remix feat. Busta Rhymes, Ciara & Fabolous)
By keeping the highlights of the original (chorus, bridge and pre chorus) and replacing the… questionable verses with fantastic guests Janet delivers one of the best electro-pop songs of her career.
33) Funny How Time Flies (When You’re Having Fun)
In some of the most gorgeous production of Janet’s career she reminisces with a lover about their relationship and a future glimpse into future sex jams.
32) Doesn’t Really Matter
In this slick and fresh sounding bop Jackson coos about ignoring everybody’s opinion of her lover and features an absolutely euphoric key change.
31) Free Xone
In this funky electro jam Janet speaks out about homophobia and how we need to fight for a world free of intolerance.
30) Runaway
This song made Janet the first female artist in Billboard history to debut in the Top Ten of the Hot 100 and it is easy to see why. This beautiful poppy hip-hop song with influences from African and Asian music Janet coos about runing away (what gave it away) with a lover.
29) Unbreakable
Janet reflects and thanks her fans for their unconditional pure love for helping her see through the hardest times in her life over this old school R&B jam. She walks the careful line of being genuine without pandering.
28) Velvet Rope
Janet outlines the premise of her album of the same name by speaking about how everybody has a emotional barricade (velvet rope) that prevents us from sharing with others our most personal thoughts and how Janet feels empowered to let people into her velvet rope.
27) Shoulda Known Better
Janet reflects on the rhythm nation era with all knowledge she has gained since she was “the poster child for being naïve”. She confronts that the same issues she thought she could change at the time are still around and about how she knows now different ways to tackle these issues instead of thinking she could just change the world herself.
26) Put Your Hands On
On this Japanese exclusive track for Damita Jo Janet encourages her lover to give into their fantasies and give into their body’s sensations over a mid-tempo house beat. Janet is commanding and completely in charge of her sexuality in this often looked over gem in her discography.
25) I Want You
Written by (unknown at the time) John Legend and produced by new comer Kanye West, Janet is passionate about her desire to make her lover “have her way with her” over a throwback doo-wop Motown mid-tempo beat.
24) Enjoy
One of Janet’s best deep cuts on of her most under rated albums (even by me for a long time as I ventured through my Janet stanhood journey). This song is so simple but incredibly effective at capturing a light hearted blissful feeling of living in the moment without regrets.
23) SloLove
In the most under rated bop of her career, Janet sings over an infectious deep house beat influenced dance song with elements of Jazz about everything Janet wants to do with a lover.
22) Rhythm Nation
This was born from the concept of Janet wanting to help create a world filled with people inspired to fight for social change & unity, specifically wanting to reach kids by having a song they could dance to. The song's production is funky and industrial, along with lyrical content speaking as a call to arms to help fight against the worsening of society. It received universal critical acclaim with one reviewer writing, "the beats on this song are probably the most powerful ever to be heard in the history of mankind". It peaked at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 for two weeks and reached the Top 20 in many countries across the globe. It won Most Played Song at the BMI Pop Awards.
21) Days Go By
Over beautiful and whimsical production Janet perfectly captures the feelings of longing for a lover when you are away from them. It takes anybody back to the infatuation / honeymoon phases of their relationship. It baffles me how this song is a Japanese exclusive track for 20 Y.O. and is not on the main tracklist.
20) Broken Hearts Heal
This absolute tear jerker is about Janet reflecting on her relationship with her brother Michael, their childhood and the grief she had to deal with after his passing. In typical Janet form she allows a song addressing something sad sound upbeat and hopeful, like many of the gems in her discography. Jimmy Jam later explained in an interview, "Janet really had never addressed anything about her brother Michael dying. And if you know Janet and you’re a fan of hers, you know that she doesn’t speak a lot, but anything you wanna know about her and how she’s feeling always are in the records. If you listen to the records, she tells you exactly how she’s feeling. So this was her opportunity to talk about his memory, but to do it in a kind of a celebratory way. And the way the song lays out for us, it was just a matter of starting off very simple about her reminiscing about them together as kids and the things that happened and the way that she remembered— ‘cause we remember Michael as superstar Michael. For her? That’s her brother. She grew up with him. So we started the song like that."
19) You Need Me
In this rare b-side of Miss You Much, Janet sings in my opinion the most personal song of her entire career. It is a scathing detail of how negligent and abusive her father has been to her and the family growing up, along with how Janet had to step up as a child because of “all the childhood I missed out on and the love I never had”. Janet pleads with her father to swallow his pride and admit that how now that she is successful and he is older “the tables have turned, now you need me”. This is an anthem for anybody with a complicated childhood or who has a complicated relationship with their parents.
18) Empty
This is all about Janet’s thoughts on the emptiness people who only connect with others on through the internet must feel. Janet said when asked about this song, “"I like computers and use them to write and communicate with people all over the world. I believe computers are capable of tremendous good. But I also think about people whose only connection to other people is through a computer. I wonder what kind of reality that creates, and what kind of romantic frustrations it produces. After the machine is turned off and the electronic glow fades away, I wonder if you feel empty…” The song is very timely and incredibly relevant over 20 years later especially in this times of quarantining during COVID!!
17) That’s the Way Love Goes
This song was an instant classic the moment it came out. Janet fused together elements of pop, R&B, funk, soul, and hip hop to create this slow jam. It is the longest running number one single of any member in the Jackson family on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. Janet sensually coos about the effect she will have on her lover and how it goes when with her.
16) State of the World
One of my personal favorites off of the RN album and what would later be the name of Janet's 2017 & 2018 tour due to it sadly being still so relevant 30 years later. It was the 8th single off of the album, but was not released commercially in the US making it not eligible to chart on the Hot 100 due to the rules at the time. Despite that and having no music video to promote it, it still reached number 5 on the Billboard's Hot 100 Airplay Chart. This song tries to hold a mirror to society about the issues people were facing such as homelessness, prostitution, drugs impacting black communities, people not having food to eat, kids not feeling safe to go out and play anymore, bullying in schools; with Janet trying to offer hope later in the song and asking the listener to "weather the storm together".
15) Throb
Now this song is no lyrical master piece and might raise some eyebrows on how high it is placed but this song holds a special place in my queer heart. The first time I heard it I immediately felt safe, seen and still sounds great over 20 years later. The production is a mix of deep house and acid house with this brilliant bass line that will get anybody out of their seat. It is structure-less but still manages to deliver an experience.
14) Any Time, Any Place (Jam & Lewis Remix)
A classic R&B ballad and staple in hiphop thanks to being the prominent sample on Drake and Kendrick Lamar’s smash hit “Poetic Justice”. Janet details the lust and dirty thoughts she has for this person when they go out in public together. It is the anthem for expeditionists! On this remix Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis somehow manage to find a way to make this song even more sensual, trim a lot of the fat and deliver the definite listening experience for this classic.
13) Nasty
In this absolute classic bop Janet details an encounter she had with a couple guys who were cat calling and harassing her. She totally owns and delivers the disgust she has for these men. When she returned to the studio after this encounter she told Jimmy and Terry “Those guys were saying nasty things to me, I don’t like nasty boys”, to which Jimmy and Terry replied “Ok! So let’s write about it.” With the instantly iconic line “No, my first name ain't baby - It's Janet, Miss Jackson if you're nasty” Janet empowered millions of women to feel confident in owning their sexuality and who they are.
12) I Get Lonely (TNT Remix feat. Blackstreet)
Janet really plays to her strengths as a vocalist & artist by making a timeless R&B ballad that addresses her desire to have an ex-lover back and dreaming about what it would be like to have them back. This remix adds incredible backing vocals from Blackstreet and adds more hip-hop flare (curtesy of Timbaland) to it that takes it to another level.
11) What Have You Done For Me Lately (Grammy Awards ’87)
There was a ton riding on this performance and a lot to prove. The narratives were she is just Mike’s little sister, she is over hyped and overall a lot of doubt from critics. In this version Janet, Jimmy and Terry add incredible live instrumentals that make this song even more commanding and weighty. Janet completely owns the attitude of the son, interlopes her own song Nasty’s beat, adds a slow section and then completely picks it up again. The performance and production is an absolute master class of Janet’s artistry as a performer and musician. Janet crushed any doubters of who is “in control”.
10) Love 2 Love
In my opinion this song is the best deep cut of her career and the best sex / slow jam song of her career which is filled with many legendary ones. The beat is perfectly dramatic and suspenseful. Janet’s vocals are perfectly breathy and powerful. She details how her lover is giving her the most satisfying sex of her life and how nothing get she higher then loving this person and them loving her back. This is a victory lap from a master of creating baby making music.
9) Got ‘Til It’s Gone
In an incredibly rare move Joni Mitchell approved her song being sampled by Janet after she reached out to Joni about her being such a huge fan, the impact her music had on Janet & playing the song for her. It was the first single off the record with production that took parts of pop, hip-hop and R&B to make this infectious beat. It is about the regrets Janet has about the one who got away and not taking for granted anything she has in her life, including the good and bad things.
8) Go Deep (Vocal Deep Disco Dub)
In this groovy funky R&B track it talks about Janet’s desire to just go to club, pick up a man and bring him home because she is feeling herself tonight. When asked about this song Janet said, “Dancing is therapy, I love writing and singing songs that make you move, lift your mood and take you out of yourself. There are times when I call up my friends and say, `Hey, we gotta go dancing tonight.' (We Go Deep) is about getting ready, getting down and tripping out on pure fun”. It takes a lot for a song to keep my interest, especially when they are over 8 minutes long but this remix accomplishes the rare feat of feeling like it ends too soon. It picks up the pace, adds more instruments and overall makes it into an infectious club bop. It is easy to see why Janet included this as one of the few remixes on the deluxe edition of The Velvet Rope.
7) What About
This song is all about the pent up rage Janet had about previous romantic relationships gone wrong and finally addressing the anger they caused. It starts off beautifully representing the good times and then EXPLODES into this cathartic chorus calling out how her partner cheated on her and was emotionally & physically abusive to her. Janet explains: "We all have relationships somewhere in our past where we were wronged-deeply wounded-and didn't have the guts to face the issue. We were scared to confront the person who did the hurting. We stuffed the pain. Well, if we're going to get on with our lives, the pain has to faced. And the result can be explosive anger."
6) Love Will Never Do (Without You)
The seventh single off of the album. It was written by Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis, with production by them and Janet Jackson. It was one of the first songs recorded for the album and was intended to be a duet with either Prince, Johnny Gill or Ralph Tresvant. Janet recorded the first verse in a lower octave as a place holder and then went an octave higher on the second verse to hear what a male would sound on the song, but they ultimately just kept it in. The song is about dedication to making her relationship work with somebody, despite her friends not thinking it could work or last. The song went #1 on the Billboard Hot #1 and was the #1 song on the Airplay Hot 100 for 7 consecutive weeks making it the longest-running airplay number one single at the time.
5) Miss You Much
This song was written by Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis; along with production done by them and Janet. The song was inspired by a letter written to Jimmy Jam from one of his ex-girlfriends who signed it with "Miss You Much". The song details the pain, desperation and mixed feelings somebody has when they reflect on an old lover. It truly is a shameless attempt to try and win somebody back. Janet's vocals soar over the funky hard hitting production and really sells the lyrics of the song. In my opinion it is one of Janet's biggest ear worms! This song was Number #1 on the Hot 100 for 4 consecutive weeks (making it the longest running #1 single of 1989), along with reaching #1 on the Dance Club Songs chart & Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs chart. The song was the 2nd best-selling single of the entire year and was the biggest radio hit of the year. It sold over 4 million copies worldwide, along with being certified Platinum in the US. (Janet is infamous for never updating her certifications but that is a story for another time...). Miss You Much received 2 Grammy Nominations, won a Billboard Award for the Top Hot 100 Single of the Year and won 2 American Music Awards.
4) You
This track is this ferocious groovy electronic dance song about all of us having to confront the fictitious versions of our lives. When discussing the song Janet said, “Those versions need to be challenged, because ultimately we have to take responsibility for ourselves-where we've been and where we're going”. Janet melts the listeners face with this deep voice that we have not heard up until this point, to really add anger & power to what she is singing. She fearlessly scrutinizes herself telling us (and herself), “You can’t hide from you… You gotta mean what you say You gotta say what you mean Tryin to please everyone Sacrifice your own needs Check in the mirror my friend No lies will be told then Pointin the finger again You can't blame nobody but you” This proves to us once we have entered Janet’s velvet rope she is not holding back, she bravely takes accountability for being the only one in control of your life & your own happiness which is incredibly personal, but manages to have a universal message we can all apply to ourselves.
3) If
Omg where to even start to talk with this song. The production that masterfully somehow combines new jack swing, industrial, dance pop, hip hop, rock and R&B to create something so innovative and progressive? Janet’s incredible vocal delivery over incredibly hard melodies? The iconic breakdown and choreography? The unapologetical interest in voyeurism Janet expresses in the song’s lyrics? How a 2007 study declared the music video for this song “influence(d) a higher degree of sexual freedom among young women” and how it was responsible for influencing the surge in the 90s of women aged 18-24 who said they had received oral sex from a man? The legacy and impact it had on generations of future pop stars and music videos as a whole? It was and still is an absolute trail blazing song that truly was a cultural reset.
2) New Agenda
To the casual fan it might surprise them the song that best tackled social justice is not even on the Rhythm Nation 1814 album, but the album that followed after it janet. On this track Janet created a black feminist anthem that has stood the test of time and is incredibly relevant to today. The production is urgent sounding, has beautiful instrumentals and is among my favorites of any song in her entire career. Janet details how black people have their history hidden from themselves, how systemic racism tries to rob black people of their humanity, how she heard no too many times because of her race and gender, how she learned to “stand tall with pride [as an African-American woman]” and featured the rapper Chuck D which was incredibly rare at the time and one of the earliest instances of a pop star featuring a rapper on their song. Janet ends with a rallying cry of “wanting black people to rejoice because it is our time after all that we have been through” to create a new agenda that works for and empowers them.
1) Together Again (Radio Edit)
Originally made as a ballad about the friends she has had that died due to AIDS, Janet decided to make this song more up-tempo. Janet said this when asked about the song, “I don't believe in the finality of death. I wanted to write about friends who have died of AIDS, but without being mournful or sad. I wanted to celebrate their spirit. I'm pleased that Together Again is just that-a celebration, a confirmation that the energy of love will never die”. Janet had to fight incredibly hard against her label to feature this song on the album because they didn’t think it was good idea & too risky of a concept. The song features incredibly production that really captures the sound of celebrating the life of a loved one. It has this perfect balance of sweetness that heals your hurt, but still gives you a lump in your throat. It is my number one song because it encapsulates everything I love and admire about Janet Jackson; fearless forward thinker, risk taker, her deep caring for people, ability to flawlessly create a catchy & danceable song and make people feel comforted & understood through her art.
Playlist I have created a Spotify Playlist for the 46/50 songs available on streaming and provided clickable youtube links above in The List to the 4 songs not on streaming.
Further Reading You can find and read all my Janet Jackson write ups here <3 which include:

Thanks Thank you to Popheads for being a constant source of motivation and home for me to share my passion for writing and discussing Janet Jackson. It means the world anybody reads what I write, engages with it and even sometimes learn something <3. Special thanks to joshually and mylps9 for lighting the fire under my ass to actually follow through on doing this.
This is the most time I have ever spent on any of writings due the days worth of prep to form the list; surpassing my proudest writing project the breakdown of the entire Rhythm Nation 1814 era for it's 30th anniversary.
Hope you enjoyed and can't wait to read your thoughts <3
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2020.10.08 14:46 Mandahrk Hidden finger sex

Every town has its own urban legend - a messed up tale of macabre murders and monsters - passed down from generation to generation, growing and warping with time until there is no trace of the small kernel of truth that was once at its core.
Dr. Lewis is ours.
Back in the latter half of the 19th century, right after the civil war had ended, Vernon 'The Surgeon' Lewis, the local posterboy of the lost cause took to bushwacking union soldiers and their supporters. He would hide behind the shrubs near his Victorian mansion on the eponymous 9 Lewis Lane and pick off any stragglers with his '61 Springfield rifle, drag them off to his house and perform unspeakable experiments on them. The townsfolk back then reported hearing gut wrenching screams and sadistic laughter emanating from the house, but no amount of investigating ever yielded anything worthy of the rope.
No one knows what happened to Dr. Lewis, whether he even did half the things he was accused of, or how he ever came to be associated with a board game. But what almost everyone in Mayberry County knows with absolute certainty is that the house is haunted, and so is the boardgame - Don't wake Dr. Lewis - that magically appears somewhere in the mansion. Play that game, and you'll end up summoning the racist ghost of Dr. Lewis who'll slice you to ribbons and drag you kicking and screaming dowm to hell. Or at least that's what the legend states.
*
"Have you guys ever heard of Don't Wake Dr Lewis?"
It was at this moment that I knew I had made a terrible mistake inviting douchebag Brad to scrabble night. I mean, I'm not exactly a believer of ghosts and the supernatural, but even I know better than to mess with things like that. Of course, ghosts aren't real, but why should I go out of my way to prove that they aren't? How's that fun?
Biting my lip, I glanced at my best friend, Pam. She looked as nervous at star quarterback Brad's innocuous question as I did. And for good reason.
"You mean the game that opens a portal to hell?" I asked, using sarcasm to mask my anxiety.
Danny, Pam's boyfriend, decided to jump in. "Rumored to open a portal to hell."
I gritted my teeth. Who was he trying to impress here? Wasn't he already dating Pam? I shook my head and turned to look at Brad. "I don’t know. My parents are super religious. They’d freak if they knew I went to 9 Lewis Lane,” I said.
Brad chuckled . “It’s just an urban legend, Jenny. Come on. It's our senior year! It’s tradition for seniors to play Don’t Wake Dr. Lewis at least once before they graduate.”
“That most definitely is not a tradition,” Pam said. “But I do think it sounds fun.”
“Seriously?” I look at Pam, aghast.
“You want to study architecture in college, don’t you, Jen? Why don’t you take this opportunity to study one of Mayberry County’s oldest, most historic homes—the infamous 9 Lewis Lane?” She replied. Maybe she didn't want to look like a coward, and peer pressure got to her, just like it eventually got to me.
*
"It's bad enough that we're visiting the local murder house, but now we have to go with him too?" I furiously pointed at Danny's little brother Steven who was sitting next to me in the hatchback.
"Mom fucking forced me to bring him along." Danny said, rubbing his forehead. "Not like I had a choice."
"You know I can hear you, right?" Steven remarked.
I rolled my eyes. "Fuck you!"
"I'm game if you are.." He grinned and lustily rubbed his thighs. I groaned.
"C'mon, Jenny." Pam said. "It's going to be fine!"
"No it's not." I countered. "Need I remind you that this asshole peeped in on you having sex and jerked off in the hallway while doing so?"
Pam winced. "To be fair, it wasn't that bad. I mean I didn't really see much…. Not that there was much to see to begin with." She giggled.
"Hey!"
"Can it, Stevie." Danny scolded his pervy little brother.
Dealing with Steven was hard enough, but on top of that I had to fend off Brad's unwanted attention too. At least Steven had the self awareness of being a creep. Brad on other hand, believed he was owed everything in the world. The way he put his hand on my leg in the car.. Yuck. God, sometimes I wished I wasn't the hottest girl in school.
I knew we had made a terrible mistake when we pulled up on 9 Lewis lane. Astonishingly large and imposing with a pointed roof and arched windows, the Victorian mansion would have been a thing of beauty if it hadn't fallen into such a state of disrepair. Rusted gate, boarded up doors and windows, lawn choked with dying weeds, a roof that had caved in at one spot - the mere sight of the building under the soft moonlight was enough to wrack my spine with cold shivers.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Brad whispered wistfully as he drank in the creepy mansion with his twinkling eyes.
"Yeah… it's amazing." I replied warily. Brad seemed a little too into this, and I pulled Pam aside to tell her so while he tore up a couple of loose boards hammered to the door.
"Does he seem a little off to you?" I asked Pam.
"I don't know.." She shrugged. "Maybe he's just excited?"
I disagreed. "No. This is more than that. He looks deliriously happy to be here. It's very disturbing. I mean, he pretty much railroaded us into coming here."
"You're thinking too much." She replied. "You don't actually believe all that crap, do you?"
"No? …Of course not." I scoffed.
"Aha. Got it!" Exclaimed Brad, and took an exaggerated bow as he pointed out out the gap in the door that allowed us to enter.
My breath caught in my chest as we ventured into the house. Scary as it was, I couldn't help but stare in wonder at the architectural perfection of the interior. I would have easily gotten lost in the ornate cornices and winding staircases if it wasn't for Brad. Get this. He "found" the boardgame. Like a homing missile he shot straight for the library and pulled out the damned thing from one of the numerous floor to ceiling shelves that populated the place. And pretended like it was all just a big coincidence.
"Dear God." I whispered. "It is real."
*
Of course Brad wanted to play the game. And of course he pretty much pressured everyone else into playing it, despite my stern warnings. Strangely, the game looked like something that was made in this century, like an ugly mix of "Candyland" and "Sorry." It definitely wasn't something that could be associated with a loon who died two hundred years ago.
And that terrified me.
Did someone go out of their way to make that game to prank idiots like us who love to sneak into the mansion? Or was it like real, real?
The board had a loose circle of coloured slots around the sleeping figure of the doctor who was dressed in a waistcoat and a bowtie. About half of the slots had numbers painted on them. There was a plastic button on the center of the doctor’s chest and a small stack of cards next to the board. Our five game pieces were lined up at the start.
"If you land on a numbered slot, you have to push the button that many times.” Pam explained.
"So, if I land on a three, I push the button three times?” Brad asked, like the absolute spoon he is.
"And what about the cards?" I asked, changing the topic from fratboy's intelligence, or lack thereof.
“If you land on a number, you also have to draw a card. These are the challenge cards,” Pam said, holding the box again. “It looks like if you don’t complete the challenge, you have to move to the start AND you lose your next turn.”
Danny and Steven bickered while Brad offered to go first. He landed on the first red slot that had the number 4, pushed the buttons, and I shit you not, the window in the room almost instantly slammed shut with a resounding crash. I shrieked like I had seen a spider. Brad ran to the window and closed it.
"Just a window." He said.
We laughed, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the group. The house had gotten darker, more quiet, yet it almost seemed more alive, if that makes any sense.
Brad's challenges involved him sitting in front of a mannequin for ten minutes in a room called "The mannequin room." But he was in there for over 40 minutes. My heart began to beat against my chest with increasing ferocity as time slipped by. Danny and Steven argued while Pam looked deep in thought. Something was clearly bothering her. But it was not about what was happening in the mansion. It seemed like I was the only one who noticed the changes in the house.
Every creak, every groan that rusted windows and loose floorboards made sounded like something in the house was yawning, waking from its deep slumber. I had to shout to draw the others' attention and they were shocked at how much time had gone by. When we finally rushed downstairs and found Brad, I knew that things were terribly wrong.
There was a certain madness in his eyes, like he wasn't himself. That grin on his face, too large, too artificial, too frightening. I didn't want to be there anymore, and said so.
“Let’s just get out of here guys. I think we’ve had our fun.”
Brad almost snarled with rage, making me take a step back, but then it was gone, and he was smirking again. "C'mon Jenny. It's not that bad. Nothing's wrong here. I - I must have dozed off or something."
"She's right." Pam added, making me feel relieved she was out of whatever funk she was in and now firmly on my side. "Let's just go. This place is creeping me out."
"True." Steven said. "I would rather not be sodomized by the good surgeon."
"Quit being a pussy Steven." Brad laughed. "There's nothing wrong here. You're all letting those bullshit stories get to your head. Let's just go back and finish the game. We don't really leave things halfway done now, do we?"
Danny shrugged. "Well we really don't."
"Danny!" Pam exclaimed.
"Yeah Danny. What the fuck?" I swore.
"C'mon babe." Danny said, hugging Pam. "Like he said, he must have fallen asleep or something. It's fine. It's also kind of exciting, isn't it? This is the kind of shit we'll be reminiscing about when we grow old, right?"
"Yup." Brad said, still smiling. "Let's see this through."
And we found ourselves back upstairs playing the game once again. The room had gotten so dark we now had to light a couple of candles to see shit. And no one commented on how odd that was.
It was Pam's turn next. The game made her stand in front of a television set for 15 minutes. I leaned over the bannister of the staircase and saw her standing in front of the TV in the living room, just staring at static the whole time. She looked very shaken up when she came back upstairs, but refused to talk about it. Even then no one was willing to leave when I asked them again.
Then it was my turn. I pounded on the button three times, ignored the scratching noise coming from the floor just beneath me and picked up my challenge card. "Room of Solitude." I whispered. "I have to go and spend 5 minutes there."
"Sounds fun." Brad chuckled jovially. No it didn't. At all. Against my wishes, he accompanied me to the room down the hall. It was tucked away in a dark corner to the right. The words "Room of Solitude" were spray painted on the cracked wooden door. "I really don't want to do this." I whined as Brad swung the door open with a painfully elongated creak. The room was dark. Dangerously so. I couldn't see anything at all. Like it had sucked up all the light in the world.
"Don't worry." Brad said. "I'm sure it will be a life changing experience."
I turned around to ask him what he meant by that when he pushed me, and I stumbled and fell into the room. He quickly slammed the door shut. Soul crushing darkness overwhelmed me. I couldn't even see my fingers, even if I brought them right up to my face.
"Brad!" My fists pounded on the door. "Open this door! Let me out. Let me out!"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Please." I cried. "Let me out!"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Please. I'm begging you. Open the door!"
With desperation driving me forward, I continued to slam the bottom of my fists into the door, but then realised that fucker was not going to help me.
I then groped around for the knob and frantically twisted it when I found it, but the door wouldn't budge. I slammed into it, putting all my body weight into it, to no avail. Wheezing and sobbing, I collapsed down to my knees, praying for the time to pass quickly.
And then there was silence.
I mean complete and absolute silence. Forget any external source of sound, I couldn't even hear myself breathe. Panicking, I knocked on the door. I felt my knuckles scrape the wood, but there was no sound. I pounded the door, felt it rattle on its hinges, but there was no sound. I screamed my lungs off, felt my vocal chords vibrate, felt the pain in my throat, but heard nothing. I cried, shook my head wildly and slammed my hands and feet on the floor. Nothing.
I took in dry, raspy breaths as my heart threatened to burst forth from my chest. I had become deaf, out if nowhere, for no discernable reason. Cold, primal terror clutched at my chest. I had no idea what was happening to me, and that terrified me.
Just when I thought I would never hear anything again, I did.
BOOM.
A thunderous explosion that pretty much flatlined my heartbeat erupted from everywhere around me. I screamed, not hearing anything. Except the explosion which came again. Only this time I understood what it was.
I felt the wall to my right press up against my side.
I was not next to the wall when I had come in.
The room was shrinking. The walls closing in around me.
BOOM.
Again. The force of this explosion pushed me towards the other wall. I realised, with growing dread, that I was going to be crushed between the two walls. My knees wobbly, I got up onto my feet.
BOOM.
I stretched my arms out, trying to wrest control from the tremors that wracked their muscles. I felt my fingers brush against the other wall. And I cried.
That's when another sound pierced the silence. A faint giggling, low and masculine that rode the cold wind of the now tiny room.
BOOM.
This one broke me.
The bones in my arms shattered, stabbing their way out of the skin of my elbows and punching into my gut. I coughed blood. And the walls continued to press in. The pain made me see stars, but I was conscious. I felt it all. I felt the agony as the walls crushed my skull, deforming it and popping my eyeballs out, until the darkness mercifully enveloped me in its cold embrace.
*
"... Jenny!"
"…Jenny! You okay?"
I blinked as I came to. I was lying flat on my back, my head propped up on Pam's lap.
"What?" I croaked, the action of speaking making me wince in agony. "Wha - What happened?" Every word scraped against the sore flesh of my throat. I looked at my body - I was fine. Not a scratch anywhere. I cried out in relief.
"You opened the door and fell out." Brad replied. "Unconscious."
I glanced in his direction, took a breath, and launched myself at him - scratching, punching, trying to claw his eyes out. Pam shrieked, and Steven and Danny dragged me off him.
"What the fuck, Jenny?" Pam asked.
"It's him." I said, my voice hoarse. "He fucking pushed me in. Didn't even try to come in when I was screaming."
"It was a challenge, Jenny." Brad replied defensively. "I didn't know you were in trouble... And for the record, you didn't scream."
"Yes I did!"
"No. You didn't."
"Can't you see from my voice? I screamed my lungs out." I argued.
"No Jenny." Danny said. "None of us did."
"Guys. Let's just get out of here." Pam said nervously. "This place is really starting to scare me."
"Yeah." Danny added. He looked shaken. "Sounds like a good idea."
"Oh Hell no!" I countered.
"What?" Pam asked, confused. "I thought you wanted to leave?"
"Not anymore." I stated. "Not until these two pieces of shit experience what I did." I pointed at Danny and Steven. "You left me locked up in there, now you can see for yourself what I went through." I wasn't thinking rationally, I know. But in my defense, I had just died. Or at least felt myself die.
"Heck yeah." Brad said giddily. "Let's do this!"
"Jenny!" Pam exclaimed. "What are you doing?"
"Fuck you bitch!" I yelled. "You left me to die in there."
"Jesus Christ Jenny!" Danny put his hands up. "Calm down. Be reasonable."
"I am being reasonable."
"You are most definitely not..."
"Wait." Brad interjected. "Listen people. Don't you see? We might be at the cusp of discovering something extra ordinary. The game is making us experienced things we wouldn't even have imagined, right? Do you really want to leave? Let's just see where this thing takes us."
"Yes!" I agreed loudly. Wait. I thought Brad couldn't remember what happened to him in the mannequin room? I pushed that thought aside and focused on the game.
"You two are fucking crazy." Steven remarked softly.
"We're fine." Brad claimed. "Nothing's happened to us, right? It's going to be fine!"

It was Danny's turn next. The whole house shook as if an earthquake had hit it when he punched the button on Dr. Lewis' plastic chest. Pam buried her head in her boyfriend's arm.
"This is really dangerous." Pam whined. "Let's not do this. Please."
"No." Brad said. "We ARE doing this."
Danny looked at me. I shrugged. You left me in that room. None of you came to help me. Now you can see what I went through. He sighed and picked up the challenge card.
"Conversation in a closet." He spoke. "Lock yourself in the closet in the room with the person to your left for 10 minutes."
Steven sat up straight. "Wait. No. I can't do small spaces. I really can't."
"Don't worry. You have your brother with you." Brad cheerfully pointed out.
"No you don't get it, asshole. I really can't do this."
Danny got up. "Steven. Let's just get this over with."
The closet was in the corner of the room, empty yet still cramped, with just enough space for two people to fit in, almost as if that was the purpose it was designed for. Brad locked the closet when they were in. Pam chewed her fingernails anxiously.
We head them stumbling around in there, trying to find a comfortable position to be in. Then they argued, hurling insults at each other. After a couple of minutes if back and forth of colourful insults, they began fighting. The closet rattled as they flailed around, presumably throwing punches at each other.
The sudden outburst of violence was like someone had poured a bucket of cold water down my back. The fog clouding my mind had lifted and I realised just how strangely I was behaving. Startled, I jumped forwards and tried to open the closet. Of course it wouldn't budge.
"Help me!" I shouted. Pam was frozen in fear while Brad stood with his hands in his pockets, smiling. That fucker. It was all his fault. He wanted to play this game, he brought us here. He's the one who's been manipulating us!
Someone in the closet screamed, and hidden beneath that voice, was another, giggling mischievously. I recognised it as the one I had heard during my challenge. I pulled on the closet door again and this time it swung open quickly and effortlessly, making me fall backwards.
The closet opened, and out fell Danny, eyes scratched out, throat chewed through.
Next to him was Steven, fingers, mouth and neck caked with blood. "I didn't do it. I - I didn't do it." He murmured mindlessly.
Brad
Steven
Pam
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