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Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. Here is exclusive clip #3 from 'New York, I Love You'. This clip features Bradley Cooper and Drea de Matteo, where will their story lead? Guess you'll have to see the movie October 16th to find out! New York, I Love You (Norman, Part 40) Click here for part 39! Click here to go to the beginning! After killing a few hours driving around and looking at the big apple one last time, Norman met up with Gracie, ready to head to the show. Norman still wasn't sure what this show was really about, aside from the fact that they performed once a ... Directed by Thomas cazals. Video clip for LCD Soundsystem song "New York I love you" (sound of silver album). Edited with an old film directed by Carson Davi... People's hit single (and the title of their debut album on Capitol Records) a cover of the Zombies' "I Love You" written by Chris White. Lcd Soundsystem - New York I Love You But Youre Bringing Me Down (Official) official by LCD Soundsystem with free online tab player, speed control and loop. Correct ... for new yorkers... Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. Directed by Fatih Akin, Yvan Attal, Randall Balsmeyer. With Shia LaBeouf, Natalie Portman, Bradley Cooper, Hayden Christensen. Eleven love stories set in one of the most loved and hated cities of the world, New York City. The great thing about 'Paris, je t'aime' was the diversity of the shorts that went to making up the film; first you'd have a drama then a comedy then a thriller, each director had their own unique style and if there was one you didn't like it didn't matter as it was soon on to the next one, unfortunately this doesn't happen in 'New York, I Love You' the same concept applied to another major city.

2020.09.19 16:29 MattressCrane New York, I Love You (Norman, Part 40)

Click here for part 39!
Click here to go to the beginning!
After killing a few hours driving around and looking at the big apple one last time, Norman met up with Gracie, ready to head to the show. Norman still wasn't sure what this show was really about, aside from the fact that they performed once a month, and that it was in a warehouse.
"It's a theatre piece, Norman. It's kind of hard to describe, it's a feeling piece more than a straight narrative. If you walked away from this and felt nothing I'd understand, it's strange. I'll try my best to describe it for you... You know that feeling you get when you see a stranger on the sidewalk, and the realization that they're a living person, with their own goals, habits, people to love of their own? It's a show about that, allowing the voyeur the chance to watch people in their environments, untouched. There's a small narrative in each show, some characters will interact with each other, others will break the fourth wall. The story is the same each month, but the actors get to decide the inner feelings of their character, of where they are at that time. That's what makes it interesting to go back every month, to see these characters not evolve along a plot, but just to see them grow, be themselves. This might be the only show you go to, but try and keep an open mind, okay?"
"What's Junior's character going to be?"
"That's gonna be something you'll find out soon enough."
The space was in the back of a tall rusty building with many boarded off doors. Gracie lead the way through the building, entering the one door with a welcome mat. It was a great change in quality- the spacious interior of the warehouse was built to look a little like a TV show studio set. Dozens three walled cubicle shaped sets, all wrapped around to an almost closed off circle, the large space in the center full of seats and places to stand for the audience. Each cubicle was quite different- one was designed to look like a bus stop. Another, a kitchen table and china cabinet. Another, a bedroom. Each had their own small story to tell, a stage for a single act. Gracie and Norman stood in the circle, busily chatting with the other young folk, and not long after did the circle become so full that Norman had a hard time finding someplace to stand. Norman noticed Howard, Junior's professor. They shook hands and talked quietly, until the show was ready to begin.
The crowd hushed. Out from the side, twenty performers walked in a line, and one by one, entered their respective cubicles, their own slices of life. Norman saw Junior. He was dressed in a shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up, his face tired. Norman never saw Junior act before, and it was interesting to see him in such a disgruntled state, even if it were fake. Junior stepped into a living room set, a small stove in the back of his room.
The crowd went silent as the twenty acts started to play out. Some made no noise at all, like the woman dressed as an elderly woman, saying her night prayer at the end of her bed. Others, like the couple in the bedroom, were having a small fight about passive aggression and how it doesn't exist. A "homeless" man sat outside of the sets, leaned up against a board, directly asking the audience for spare change. Norman pulled out a dollar and handed it to the homeless man. He said thank you, and went on his way. Another two people walked around the circle, as if they were going for a late night stroll and having small talk about their lives. It was a little overwhelming for Norman, so many stories playing out all at once, but there was a small bit of harmony in the chaos that was happening. Soon he found out how to tune in and channel out the rest of the noise, and focus on one show at a time. His attention would be brought back to Junior, the quietest of all the shows.
Junior played an older man with a bad back, pacing in the living room and kitchen of his home, taking small moments to stir the pot of food he was cooking, and wandering back to the television set. In between each meandering trip, the man would stop by the phone, his full attention turned to it, as if it would ring any second. At one point, the phone does ring- the character quickly dropping the remote, turning to the phone and picking it up- excited- only to have that feeling disappear soon after. "No thank you, have a good night," said Junior. He took a seat in the chair, ate his meal, and his character stayed there for the rest of the show. Most of the acts, as far as Norman was concerned, didn't mean a whole lot to him. They were lives he couldn't relate to, too distracted by the performances trying to lead him to learn a completely new person. But Junior was familiar, a situation he could relate with. Norman doesn't know if he'll ever fully understand his son, or that lifestyle. But perhaps that was okay.
After the show ended, Norman and Gracie met Junior in the back stage area, all the actors now disbanding from their personas. The homeless-man tucked the dollar back in Norman's shirt pocket, patting him on the shoulder.
"Hey Norm!" said Gracie, wrapping her arm around Junior. "You did great tonight. Your father's here." Junior seemed shocked, embarrassed seeing his dad standing just a few feet away.
"Hey, Junior." said Norman. "You did... That was great, Junior, really. I didn't get all of it, but I liked it."
Junior nodded shyly, scratching the back of his neck.
"It was great, Junior. I'm proud of you."
Junior, eyes still glued to the ground, took a step forward and hugged Norman. "Thanks dad, it means a lot. Thank you."
Later on that evening, the three of them headed back to the apartment. They had one last coffee before Norman readied himself to drive home. Gracie packed up a box of treats for Norman and his trip, and Junior stood and chatted with Norman one last time before driving away.
"It wasn't such a bad trip, huh?" asked Junior.
"No, it wasn't. I'm glad I came. I know that things can be a little difficult between us... But that's okay. One step at a time."
"Hey, I'll be right back. One second." Junior ran back into the apartment. Gracie placed the bag of treats in the car, and walked past Norman, saying her goodbyes.
"Hey, thanks Gracie, for everything. I don't know what I would've done without your nudge."
"No worries, Norm. Just glad to help. See you again, someday!" Gracie gave him a hug and left, Junior returning from indoors, a camera in hand.
"Can I take your photo, dad? In front of the car?"
"Haha, yep, yes you can."
Norman stood in front of the Daihatsu, placing his hand on the roof, as if he was standing in front of a trophy kill. Norman changed his expression a few times, before settling on a smile. Junior snapped the photo.
Norman kept smiling as he drove out of the state. It was a strange trip with a lot of emotions for him, still processing how he felt about it all. Ultimately, he felt happy, proud of himself for stepping out of his bubble, and proud of Junior, for finding happy footing in a world of his own.
Norman spent the night in the same motel with great cable, before arriving home the day after that, late in the evening, parking the exhausted car and stepping up his front steps. The apartment was quiet- a slight smell of cat pee, as well as a very excited cat. Norman scooped up his cat and gave her a loving snuggle, finding a cold can of salmon in the cabinet. After cooking dinner and finding something to watch, Norman got a call from Junior, seeing if he made it home safely.
"G'night dad. Love you."
"Love you too, Junior. G'night."

to be continued...
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2020.09.18 16:50 MansA18Sepl Voyeur chat room

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2020.09.09 17:15 nick-a93 Voyeur chat room

I want to share my story. I'm mid 20 year old male who grew up online. I have a great family who has always taught me right vs wrong. However, when I was 11 years old, I found my way onto AIM chat rooms and started chatting with a "female" in her 30s.
I remember chatting with this person often. Being excited when my parents would leave the house or go to the other room so I could masturbate for this person on camera. I remember not even being able to ejaculate because I was so young. I know they exchanged photos with me. I have a feeling they shared abusive photos with me which to me at the time were kids my age. I never realized the damage it caused me until recently.
It led me down the path of a destructive porn addiction. For the past 2 years, I've been trying to get this under control. And ultimately, some things made their way into my real life like voyeurism. This led to a lot of shame and guilt which I live with. About 3 months ago, I was living with my now ex-girlfriend. We decided to do mushrooms for a second time with some friends. At one point, I went into our kitchen and everything got very dark. The guilt of me looking at someone without their consent consumed me and my guard was completely shattered. My emotions hit me. I couldn't tell my GF at the moment because she didn't know about anything and her friends were there. I told her the following day about everything and she was very supportive. The mushroom trip changed my entire life, I really couldn't believe it.
Fast forward to now. I had been jumping from therapist to therapist until I found one who I really like. At $200/session, it's a lot but I know it's what's right. My ex broke up with me last month and I moved out. It was rough. I realized that my stress, anxiety, stubbornness, and reaction are all due to my self-hatred caused by my addiction and abuse. I also realized, I was putting so much unnecessary stress on myself. So I left my job, started to take care of myself, and have been porn and masturbation free for 3 months now. This hasn't been easy. I definitely miss the support of a significant other.
I am now at the point where I want to make others aware of the abuse that plagues the internet and the world. The cycle is endless. It's happening daily and I've seen others on here talk about how it's affected their lives. The blackmail, fear, and harm it continues to cause. I have told my family about most of my story. And I want to share it with everyone I can because I think people turn a blind eye to it.
Anyways, thank you to everyone on here sharing what you're going through. This stuff isn't easy. I am so grateful to be facing it at this age. I have a lot of love to give and with the changes I'm making, I'm looking forward to the future.
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2020.09.06 23:59 puptrubl Room voyeur chat

I'm 38 years old and I'm married to a great guy who I"m attracted to and who is ready and willing to have sex with me way more often than I show interest in him. We recently met a fantastic guy and started dating him. This is bloody fucking fantastic cuz he's hella hot and fun in bed and yet something feels broken in me. I want to be present for my partners and sexually available and I know its porn. It's always been porn. Since I was in my early 20s. I've always been hard to get off without porn and I'm just sick of it. I want the happy life I've been working for and I'm drawing the line in the sand now. No more of this shit.
I deleted all of the apps that I use to act out sexually. Pictures are great but word porn is as bad for me. No more chatting. I love to get lost in the fantasy. In the attainable just as much as the unattainable, and in things that are kinky, forbidden, or even off limits in polite society. Whatever it is, it's all just a distraction. It's a way for me to run from me. I woke up this morning and found the amateur porn I've been hoarding for a rainy day or some shit. It's gone now.
I think I've been rock bottom a few times. Or maybe I've been rock bottom for a long time. I don't know. I can usually bounce my addiction around from porn to sex, to food, to porn, to sex but less and less to sex especially since COVID has kept things socially distant. Things started to get really bad for me at the beginning of the year. It was the last semester of my Master degree and I found myself alone in the living room 5 days a week in the morning and I'm edging for 3 hours. Like I couldn't not do it and sometimes I hate myself for knowing that when I get this into porn and webcams that I lose interest in everything. I hate myself for not feeling a sexual interest in my husband or our boyfriend and then I go to this dark place where I'm afraid that maybe I'll just stop being interested in people in general and that having a normal sex life will be impossible or I'll have to fantasize about my porn just go get off with the people I love. I haven't even been able to get through a workday now without doing something to get a sexual rush while I'm there.
For me, wanking is just one piece of the puzzle that is my obsessive and compulsive behaviours. It is the drive that I have to consume more sexual media and sexual energy from other people. Kinky conversations with people. Always with new people. I have never had enough people.
My drive to be a voyeur is super destructive. Sometimes it's about fapping to get off and other times it's just about cheap thrills and simply about 'More'. More sexy conversations, more validation, more adrenalin. I dunno. At the end of the day it effects everything from my personal and intimate relationships to even my work-life/productivity.
So this is just a little bit of my story and I thank you for reading if you did. I have hope that I can achieve my goals and find the meaning in relationships that I crave. Just laying it all out there so that maybe someone might hear something in my story and relate it to a piece of themself.
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2020.08.05 05:44 dlasian Voyeur chat room

I am resubmitting since I didn't include source page code.
Within the page source, I want to change links like these, which force pop-ups via javascript :

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I want the HTML code to be rewritten via Tampermonkey userscript or a bookmarklet to instead be this, so it opens in the same window:
Kazekage 
Full page source:
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submitted by dlasian to GreaseMonkey [link] [comments]


2020.06.02 18:28 gazm88 Teenage memories

I was transfixed, literally. It was impossible for me to move as I looked out of my bedroom window that summer afternoon, down into my neighbor’s yard and saw Bobby and Valerie DeJong fucking.
Their son, Chet, had been my best friend through high school and I knew the family well, but this was the first time in my 18 years of existence on the planet that I’d witnessed a couple in the flesh, screwing each other for all they were worth. It was shocking, mesmerizing and exciting as I stood a couple of feet back from my window, watching them and stroking myself.
They used a patio lounger and Valerie spent a lot of time on her knees, apparently urging her husband as he slammed into her from behind. Their black skin made them look like silhouettes against the sandy paving of their yard, Valerie’s breasts hanging down and swinging as Bobby fucked her. And his cock… it was huge. It looked to be almost a foot long (I know now that was unlikely, but that’s what it looked like) and straight as a rule. It was so long it looked like he couldn’t fit all of it inside her – at least three inches stayed outside Valerie’s pussy.
I had just looked out of the window casually when I’d spotted them. Now over the initial surprise, I was on the verge of cumming as I watched them. Bobby turned Valerie over and kneeled on the lounger, directing his huge tool at her groin. Once inside he started his rhythm again, making Valerie’s eyes close in pleasure as he pumped faster and faster. I came before he did, spurting youthfully across my carpet, but my cock was still rock hard as I watched Bobby’s body stiffen and obviously cum inside Valerie. Unlike the porn movies I’d seen, he didn’t pull out and shoot cum over her, just stayed inside and finished his orgasm.
When they were done the lay naked together on the lounger, his cock still looking enormous as it deflated slowly. I watched for a while before backing away from the window and stroking myself again.
**
Next time I saw Valerie was a few days later, when I called round to see what Chet was up to. We’d both finished high school a couple of weeks before. Chet was headed for a football scholarship at Texas, me to University of Illinois. I hadn’t seen my friend since the weekend and knocked on the DeJong’s front door.
Valerie answered, dressed in some tight jeans and a pink crewneck top. I stumbled over my first words, not able to get the image of her naked out of my mind, but managed to ask for Chet.
“He’s over at his cousins, on his way back I believe. Should be here in a half-hour or so.” Valerie smiled at me and I started to feel a little more comfortable, assuming she knew nothing of my voyeurism. “Would you like to come in and wait for him? I’m just prepping some food for tonight. You’re welcome to wait.”
It seemed natural for me to accept, after all, it’s what I would’ve done many times before that day. I knew that my perception of Valerie had changed, but she didn’t.
We lived in an affluent suburb and back then fewer moms worked, so it was very normal for Valerie to take time to prepare the family dinner, just as my mother did, often baking as well. I followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. She offered me lemonade but then remembered that I preferred soda, so poured me a Coke. My family socialized with the DeJong’s a little, mostly at neighborhood cookouts and the like. We got on well with them but this was twenty years ago and some didn’t… the color of their skin still somewhat unusual in the suburbs. If they ever felt any resentment, none of the family showed it.
We chatted about the coming college days for a few minutes. Rightfully so, she was very proud of Chet’s scholarship but she also showed genuine interest in where I was going and what I expected life to be like in the college world. I’d heard many times that she’d studied Chemistry in Florida, but parents seemed to have a habit of forgetting what they’d told people and tell them again. I guess I’m like that now!
I had ample opportunity to study Valerie, as I’d never seen her before. She had been Chet’s mom for all the years we’d lived next to them, but now she was the lady I’d seen fucking in her yard.
She always had a ready smile and a kind disposition, but for the first time I noticed that she had beautifully smooth skin, very dark and providing a stark contrast for her white teeth that made them seem almost incandescent. She had a good figure, maybe a few extra ponds around her hips, but wonderfully round and distinct breasts that bobbled just enough with her movements to suggest they were heavy when released from her bra.
In the yard Valerie’s hair had been combed back and in a ponytail but today it was hanging around her face, wavy from styling I thought, but very sensual. I’d never thought about her age much before, but she must have been at least forty-three, and looking good for it. My standard for beauty back then was young movie stars and other pin-ups, but it now came to me that my friend’s mother was very beautiful.
“You’ll have fun.” Valerie concluded our college discussion just as the phone rang. “Excuse me.” Valerie spoke with a soft, accent-less voice.
“It was Chet.” Valerie breezed back into the kitchen. “They got tickets for the baseball game tonight, he’s staying over at my sister’s. Sorry.”
“No problem.” I took the last drink of my Coke. “It was nice to talk with you. Thanks for the Coke.” I stood to leave.
“No, wait.” Valerie placed a light touch on my forearm, stopping me in my tracks. “Hold up. Stay a little while. I’d like to talk to you some more.” She seemed a little more awkward than normal but was smiling at me.
I had nowhere to go and wasn’t in the habit of turning down requests from adults so I sat back down at the table. Valerie immediately poured me another drink. She shuffled around the sink, putting things away without saying anything and then she came and sat at the table with me. Our silence had become a little strained suddenly. It felt like Valerie wanted to say something to me and as I had no idea what that might’ve been, I had no clue how to start the conversation. I mostly thought she wanted to talk about Chet. She’d asked me about his girlfriends once or twice, just in a maternal sort of way, not prying or uncomfortable.
Valerie sat across from me with her hands on the table, her fingers intertwining in a way that looked slightly nervous. I felt my own nerves start to build. What could she want?
“I…” She made a false start and her eyes fell to her hands. “I think you saw us the other day. Bobby and I.” She finished her words looking into my eyes.
I thought about pleading innocent, that I didn’t know what she thought I saw, but the look in her eyes suggested there was no room for denial - she knew. I nodded.
“I’m sorry.” She seemed genuinely repentant. “Our yard is so private. The trees mean no one can see in, except from your bedroom, that’s the only angle. I guess we just got carried away.”
There was a faint smile on Valerie’s lips as she spoke, but her tone was quiet. I didn’t feel there was anything I could say that would either make her feel better or excuse my watching them.
“I saw you at the window. Afterwards.” She leaned forward, now a little conciliatory. “I guessed you’d been there for a while. I guessed you’d seen… everything?”
Rather than just nod again, I managed, “I did.”
“I’m so sorry. That wasn’t fair on you.” Valerie reached over and took my hand in hers. Her words sounded sincere.
I tried to reassure her. “It’s okay. It’s no big deal.”
“Are you sure? Do you want to talk about it? I don’t want you to feel bad about it.” Finally her somber tone broke a little, “Bobby and I are married after all.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s okay really. I didn’t think anything of it. I’m sorry I watched for so long… I just couldn’t help it.”
“You hadn’t seen anyone making love before?”
I wanted to answer honestly, but, being the age I was, didn’t want to expose myself as inexperienced in the ways of the world. “Yes, I mean, well, I have, but not… live like that. It was so real, if you know what I mean. I’m sorry you saw me.”
Valerie smiled softly as I spoke. I realized she was still holding my hand, like she was soothing me. I wanted to reassure her I was not psychologically harmed by the experience so blurted out, “It wasn’t a horrible experience, believe me.”
Somewhere, in that moment, the dynamic between us changed. I didn’t realize until later, but the air in the room started to change from the cool of uncomfortable discovery to the heat of a sexual discussion.
“Really? You enjoyed watching us?” I swear Valerie almost smirked.
I didn’t want to admit straight up that I’d “enjoyed” the scene, but wanted to convey that I was far from shocked or hurt by it. “It was… interesting. You know, it was beautiful in some ways. Kind of nice to see people who love each other making love like that.”
“Did it… did it excite you?” Valerie held my gaze and her grasp on my hand tightened a little.
I nodded my admission, hoping the next logical question, in my mind at least, didn’t come.
“That’s nice. I’m glad it wasn’t a bad experience for you.” I half-hoped at this point the discussion would be over, but also noticed that I was becoming excited by the topic, especially in the presence of the woman I’d watched having sex just a few days earlier. “Tell me, what did you find exciting?”
I thought for a few seconds, still unsure how much I wanted to divulge. “I… you looked very beautiful. You looked so good and comfortable together. It was all exciting.”
“Did anything surprise you?”
Hesitatingly, I admitted that one image was clearer than all the others in my mind. “I was surprised… how big he is. I had no idea.”
Now Valerie gave a short laugh. “Yes, he is big. You know all those stories about black men… Sometimes he’s too big, you know? You probably never think like that, but a man can be too big, when a woman can’t take all of him and the rest of his body never meets hers. It’s just a small thing…” we both giggled at the pun, “but occasionally it can be annoying.”
I didn’t have anything to add to her statements, so stayed quiet and let het carry on. “Men don’t need to be big to pleasure a woman, that’s a myth. Well, they need to be big enough, but not huge. Bobby can get huge, but sometimes he doesn’t get as hard as a smaller man would. You understand that?”
“Sure.” I tried to sound casual, but now I was having some size troubles of my own. My cock was straining in my pants.
“You don’t mind if I ask…” Valerie paused, “but what size are you?”
Now, that question caught me off guard. Without thinking too much I took my hand away from Valerie’s and used both hands to indicate a size of about six inches. “About that.”
“You see,” Valerie smiled widely now, “that’s just about perfect.”
Silence fell between us for a few moments there, both of us wondering what had just transpired and evaluating what our next words should be, where we went from here. Forget the whole thing or… “Is that what size it is right now?”
The moment wasn’t lost on me. We’d stepped way over the line of friendship between neighbor and friend’s mother. I thought about resisting, but I was eighteen… my will was weak and after all, I should always tell the truth, right?
“Yes.” I admitted.
“It’s very exciting, talking about sex like this? You think?” Valerie easily held my eyes, making our discussion easier, like there was nothing wrong with it. “Show me? Would you?”
She stood up and moved to the side of the table. The bulge in my pants was mostly hidden under the table, but if I moved there was no way I could hide anything from her. “Don’t be shy.” Valerie urged.
I slowly slid my chair out from the table. Valerie said nothing as the lump in my pants became obvious. I started to undo the belt from my jeans and pull down my zipper. I was aware that she was fully focused on my groin as I fumbled with my underwear and tried to release my cock from the tangle it had created. Finally I managed to expose the red, bulging head.
“Stand up.” Valerie commanded. “I can’t see very well down there. Pull the pants off.”
I stood up on shaky legs and quickly pushed my jeans and underwear down to my knees. My cock bobbed up when I stood – hard and proud, almost vertical in front of my T-shirt.
“You see,” Valerie didn’t take her eyes off me, “that’s a nice size. Looks wonderful.” I looked down and saw my cock twitch. I couldn’t remember ever feeling harder. Valerie stooped a little, looking closer. “Would you mind if I touched it?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, like she knew what the answer of any eighteen year-old would be. She reached out a hand and let her fingers explore my length with the lightest of touches, fingertips only. I watched as her hand moved over every inch of me, up and down the shaft, over the head and around the rim. Her touch was divine and I twitched as she let her gossamer touch wander all over my erection.
“You are so hard.” She didn’t look up. “I’ve not felt a cock this hard in years. Were you this hard when you were watching?”
“Yes.” I had to say something, despite the paralysis she was causing, as she couldn’t hear me nod.
“You look so good, feel so good. Your cock is beautiful.”
Despite the redness of my bulging head I saw my cock as virtually white against the blackness of her skin. Valerie took a slightly tighter hold and stroked me slowly. I started to worry about cumming, already feeling the unmistakable feelings of orgasm start to bubble up. I wanted to warn Valerie what she was doing, but she was way ahead of me.
“Feels like you need some release.” She looked up at me for the first time since she started looking at my cock. “Don’t worry. Do you want me to help you?”
“Oh God, yes. Please.” I was feeling the rise quicker now, much more forceful that I’d felt from my hand or the couple of girlfriends I’d been with.
It’s okay.” She reassured, stroking me again and turning to watch. “Just let it happen.”
I had no other option by then, there was no way I could hold back. Valerie continued her slow strokes as my orgasm built with its increasingly unstoppable force. I felt my cock twitch several times as her light touch encouraged me. When I felt her other hand start to caress my balls the rush of orgasm took me completely.
I closed my eyes as the red hot waves washed over and through my body. I felt my cock start to twitch wildly in her hand, my cum not far away. She continued to caress me as I spurted, a small one fist, then a long line of cum that splashed down on the table… then another, and another. The next didn’t make it as far and some of my white cum landed on Valerie’s black skin, stark and erotic. My cock stayed twitching for almost a minute, dry now but the power of the climax obvious.
When I’d finished Valerie squeezed the last of my cum from my shaft and it seeped out of the end of my cock. Then she unexpectedly leaded down and licked it away from me. Though I couldn’t see her mouth, I was sure she’d swallowed it.
Valerie stood up and turned to me, smiling. “Looks like you needed that.” She turned away and retrieved a cloth to wipe the table. “I hope you didn’t mind, I guess we’ve both seen something intimate of each other. It was very erotic to see you, and feel you cum like that.” I sat down in my chair, my cock still hard and proud.
“It felt good.” I managed, trying to work out what had transpired in the last few minutes.
“Better than doing it yourself while watching the neighbors I bet.” There was a laugh in her tone as she threw the cloth to the sink and sat on the edge of the table.
I sat there wondering what to say next. I couldn’t conceive that this was going any further and wondered how I should wrap things up, literally and figuratively. Surely there was no way Valerie wanted something more? Could we go back to just being neighbors? How did that work? I had no experience in this area.
“You’re still hard.” She observed, pointing at my erection. “You young boys. Insatiable. I’d forgotten how that goes.” I watched as she brought her hand up to her breast, a deliberate, sensual move. “You think you have something more for me?”
As I nodded I felt my cock twitch again. It, at least, knew what was going on here.
“Why don’t you come here and undress me?”
It was an invitation I was never going to turn down. I stood, realized that my pants were still around my legs, and kicked them off. Not wanting anything to get in my way, I pulled off my T-shirt in a flash and stood naked in front of Valerie. She smiled, not in a mom way though.
I fumbled a little with the sides of her shirt before I started to pull it over her head. Valerie raised her arms to help me and I reached up and pulled it away. Her pink bra was full to overflowing as I looked down and took in the wonderful sight.
“Nothing to hide from you here I guess.” Valerie reached behind herself and unclipped her bra. “You’ve seen these.”
I had, but not close-up, so when Valerie pulled away the bra I was stunned at the beauty of her full figure. “You like?” She used her hands to push her breasts up for me. I nodded, marveling at the hard nipples I saw, realizing Valerie was getting naked with me, still thinking about the sex I’d witnessed. “You can touch them.”
I took the invitation as a small reprimand that I wasn’t moving fast enough as it was fairly obvious that I could touch them. I reached up and took both of Valerie’s breasts in my hands. They felt heavy and stayed round as I pushed them in and up. Valerie sighed as I found the buds of her nipples and squeezed them. They felt harder than I’d expected and much bigger. “Suck on them.” She commanded.
I stooped my head to her breast and took her nipple in my mouth. I sucked gently at first, felt Valerie react with pleasure and sucked harder. I rolled my tongue around her and played with her, then repeated my actions on her other nipple while squeezing the one my mouth had just left with my fingers. I felt Valerie’s hand on the back of my head, caressing me and encouraging my pleasuring of her.
While she let me continue to suck on her Valerie’s other hand reached down between us and searched for my cock. She found me still rock hard and made a small moan of approval as her fingers wrapped around me again. Immediately she started to stroke me with her palm and thumb while her fingers reached down as far as they could, touching my balls. I returned the action by bringing my hand to the front of her jeans, gently finding my way between her legs, feeling her heat and pressing hard against her pussy.
“Let’s get these off.” Valerie declared, already unfastening her jeans. I backed off as she pulled down the zipper and pushed them down over her hips. It was impossible not to notice that she wasn’t wearing panties. I tried to get a good look at her pussy when she’d shaken the jeans off her feet but with her dark skin and black pubic hair it was impossible to see. “Come. Let’s go over here.” Valerie took my arm and led me into the lounge, straight to the sofa.
“You want to get a closer look at what you saw from your window?” Valerie seemed to be reading my mind as she sat on the sofa and lay back, opening her legs so I could see her wide open pussy.
I kneeled down on the floor and got close to Valerie’s reclined form. I couldn’t take my eyes from her pussy and now I was able to see the lines of her pussy lips and the tangle of pubes above her slit. As I watched she reached down and used one hand to ease her lips apart and reveal her pink interior. I could see the slick sheen of her excitement and marveled at the stark contrast of her pink against her dark skin.
“You like?” She asked.
“Very much. You’re beautiful.” I meant it, I had never seen a woman with such a beautiful body, and now so available to me.
“Touch me.” Valerie commanded, again encouraging me to go further than just gaze at her.
My fingertips explored all of her folds, tracing over her pussy lips and gently through the cleft of her opening that was slick with her juice. Using my thumb and forefinger I opened her slightly, delighting in the way her skin gave way to my touch. Valerie liked that too, taking her hand away from her groin and moaning at my touch. She moaned again when I let my finger slowly slip into her.
As I worked my finger in and out of Valerie my face was no more than a foot away from her, getting the best view possible. I’d never tasted a pussy before and this seemed like the perfect time so I slowly eased my face down to her, extended my tongue and lapped at her pussy lips tentatively.
“Oh, that’s nice.” Valerie encouraged as I licked up and down her slit. I used my fingers to open her as wide as I could and get the tip of my tongue inside. Valerie tasted good and I continued to experiment, licking slow and then flicking my tongue over her clit like I’d seen on porn movies.
When she felt the rapid movements of my tongue on her clit Valerie brought her hand to my head and whispered, “Not too quick. Just lick me there. The harder the better.”
I took her words to heart and made some long slow licking strokes across her clit. My fingers continued to hold her pussy open as I worked, now really enjoying that I was able to pleasure Valerie and make her moan. “Good.” She managed to breathe between moans.
Her climax took me by surprise. First I knew what was happening was when both of her hands clamped onto my head and push me harder into her pussy, encouraging me to keep licking her and make it harder. Valerie’s moans increased in volume and intensity as I licked her, my nose now hard against her pubic area, smelling her sexy musk. Valerie continued to push my head into her and force her pussy up towards me, her body now all tense as the climax approached.
She gave a final loud gasp that I assumed signaled her orgasm had arrived. I kept on licking hard and felt her pussy shudder and then her muscles contracted several times. Valerie’s hands eventually loosened off my head and let me up to look at her. She inclined her head so she could see me and opened her arms in a gesture that I should climb on the sofa and hug her.
I came up, lay my head on her shoulder and felt her arms wrap around me. My cock pressed into her thigh and I felt her kiss me gently on the top of the head. “You did good Baby. Real good. You made me cum so hard.”
Lying there, comfortably in her arms, I wondered if we were done. We had both cum and I wasn’t sure I was invited to experience the ultimate with her. Much as I wanted to sink my cock into Valerie’s lovely pussy, I wasn’t sure what our next move was. I felt Valerie’s breathing start to calm and brought my hand up to cup her breast. Her nipple was still hard and she squirmed to my touch.
“You’re still hard.” Valerie reached down between our bodies and let her hand rest against my cock. “You feel good. I think you’d feel even better inside me.” She kissed me on the head again. “Would you do that for me?”
I didn’t even nod, simply raised my body away from her and slid down a little. Valerie’s hand slipped away from my cock, but came back to it as I positioned myself closer to her. I had one foot on the floor as I angled towards her and the other leg kneeling on the sofa. I looked at her face for a final confirmation but saw nothing but raw desire. It was as though Valerie needed me inside her, which was an incredible turn on for me.
My cock came to touch her pussy lips, guided by Valerie’s hand. She pulled slightly on my shaft, urging me to thrust inside. I pushed gently, parted her lips and slipped inside. Looking down between us, I watched as my stark white cock disappeared into her warm, dark folds. Valerie gasped a little as I slid in and I simply felt the warmth of her pussy walls as I reached the full length of my penetrating her.
Valerie cooed, “Oh, you feel so good. You got it all in there.”
I could feel that I was all the way in and it was a great feeling. Basking in the warmth of her pussy, I pulled out a little and slipped in again. Valerie shifted her position slightly to allow me to make easier and longer strokes.
As much as I liked seeing the pleasure on Valerie’s face as I pushed in and out of her and the way her big boobs rocked with our motion, I was fascinated by the sight of my cock disappearing into her. I was now pulling out as far as I dared and then plunging fast into her, enjoying every slick stroke and the way her pussy gripped me. Valerie wasn’t just lying without moving either, she was arching her back and thrusting her pelvis to meet my strokes as our rhythm built.
“Does that feel good Baby?” She asked in a breathy voice. “Is this what you wanted to feel when you watched me? Is this what you thought it would be like?”
“Better.” I managed to answer between thrusts.
Valerie’s hands were all over my back now, moving gently with me as I rocked into her. The first burnings of orgasm started when I caught her eyes and she looked at me with an intensity I’d never seen in anyone before. “You gonna cum Baby?” She asked. “You gonna cum for Valerie?”
I nodded, but the gesture was probably lost in my movements as I started to pursue the strokes that would bring my climax closer. I started to get faster as I chased the feeling down, desperate to cum now, needing to and wanting to please Valerie. I felt a bead of sweat drip from my forehead, down between her breasts as I pounded away. Valerie’s hands pulled tighter on my hips, pulling me in as our bodies slammed together.
The climax came relentlessly, almost teasing me as I thought I was there and then it felt like just a couple of strokes away, then right there again. Finally I knew I was cumming and with one final full thrust into Valerie my orgasm breached its confines and burst through me. I felt my chest and leg muscles twitch as my nervous system transmitted the euphoria all through me and then I wasn’t able to thrust - frozen for a moment.
Just as I started to shoot cum into Valery I was able to thrust again and look up to see Valerie’s face, watching as I came inside her.
When I was done I slumped on top of my best friend’s mom, exhausted from the sex we’d shared and still feeling little post-orgasmic shocks running through me. Valerie wrapped her arms around me, hugged tight and then brushed some hair away from my forehead. “Was that good for you Baby?” Her voice soothed as I caught my breath. “Did you like the way Valerie makes love? Was that better than watching?”
“It was good.” I managed between breaths. “Very good. Did you…”
“Hush Baby,” she caressed my cheek with her hand, “you made me feel so good. It was nice to feel a man that can get all the way into me. I’ve needed that for a long time.”
She seemed to shift on the sofa and look towards the kitchen. “The bad news is that you have to go now. Bobby will be home in half an hour, and we wouldn’t want him to find us like this. Would we?”
Of course we wouldn’t, so I quickly got up and started to pull on my clothes. Valerie found a towel and wrapped it around her boobs, explaining that she would have a quick shower. When I was dressed she walked me to the front door and kissed me before opening it. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon.” She smiled. “It was nice of you to show me your cock, and let me have it inside me.” I couldn’t have put it better.
Valerie and Bobby lived next door to my parents for another ten years or so. Whenever I saw Valerie I had an instant reaction in my pants, but not once did she ever give me the slightest sign that our secret afternoon was something she even remembered. Valerie was inscrutable like that and I guess our lives were a bit safer for it. As much as I loved the event, and all of the wonderful memories I relived for years, I would never want my parents, or Bobby, or Chet to suspect anything.
I looked out of my bedroom window many times over the years after that day but didn’t once see my next door neighbors having sex.
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2020.05.24 14:09 DamienBoyes Voyeur chat room

21:19:51 // 04-JUN-2042
Normally, Dodge avoided the entertainment district with the same zeal he avoided human contact in general. It was too shrill, too hectic, too fake. Nothing was unpleasant. Nothing was real. Which, Dodge supposed, was the key to providing mindless escapism.
The deafening music and epileptic lights radiating from every club, casino, and hotdog cart made Dodge want to run away screaming as though his hair were on fire. But he couldn’t. They had to find Joshua. Besides, if they didn’t he’d never get paid.
Before he dove into the crowd, he stopped under a massive revolving display advertising the revival of Cats, used his mobile to access his data locker, and instructed an agent to search for information on ‘Len Quid,’ ‘Blair,’ and ‘Joshua Warner.’ The agent reported back a few seconds later.
The ‘Blair’ search contained too many results to bother with, and there was no new information on Len. One of the bots would surely have discovered Len’s body when he didn’t come down for his evening drink, so if there was no news, someone must have moved it. Most likely the Burning Spear when they came to claim the wounded soldiers, but either way, the cover-up was in full effect.
The name Joshua Warner produced a few hits belonging to a seven year-old trumpet prodigy in Kentucky and an English football star, but nothing relevant. Sometimes, as useful as the link was, having the combined wealth of human knowledge at his fingertips wasn’t really as helpful as it should have been.
Against his better judgment, he checked the search watching for mentions of his name. References to ‘Montrose Douglas Dodgson’ appeared more than seventy-thousand times, nearly a third having originated within the past day.
He picked one at random: a report from a Patriot support ring hypothesizing Mr. Dodgson’s muscle augmentations had been performed in the Free Republic of Texas, and calling for an immediate retributive invasion. A knot coiled in his gut. He didn’t know why he bothered with news about himself. Like everything else, it only made him feel worse.
Dodge disengaged the mobile with a disgusted swipe just as a blue and while uniformed Patriot soldier collided with him, nearly knocking him over. The soldier stopped and scowled. Her faceplate glowed turquoise as the camera in her helmet scanned and compared Dodge’s face against a database of known, suspected, or profile-matching criminals and returned the results to her.
This was it. He was caught for sure.
Sweat blossomed on his forehead. He glanced around for an escape route, but it was too late. The Patriots were wearing exo suits that enhanced their strength and speed. If he tried to run they’d nab him for sure.
A long second passed as the the Patriot gave him a stern look, but instead of detaining him, she mumbled a warning to watch where he was going and fell back in beside her partner. The search must have come up empty. All that surgery had been worth every excruciating dollar. Still, he figured he’d better put some distance between them, dropped his head, and plunged into the crowd.
As much as he despised being around people, Dodge had always been fascinated by the crowd mentality. When walking in an empty street, people strode confidently, purposefully, conscious not to appear weak. Conversely, when surrounded by like-minded strollers, people let their guard down, surrendering themselves to the sanctuary of the crowd. This probably explained why so many pickpockets worked the area: people didn’t notice they had been robbed until they were alone and once again on guard against the evils of the world. Maybe that explained why Joshua liked it here; he could simply be part of the crowd instead of the reason it had gathered.
Dodge zipped past the casinos and barely glanced at a staged shoot-out as it erupted outside the ‘Casa Nostra.’ Interactive advertisements beckoned to him from storefronts, enticing him with secret bargains, medical miracles, and artificial pleasures. He didn’t have a rep score so the ads were all generalized, but it didn’t stop them from trying. Glittering fast-food franchises pumped their artificially enhanced smells into the air, creating an umbra of scent detectable from blocks away, easily traceable back to the source. His mouth watered at the smell of grilled meat and he realized he hadn’t eaten in a day.
He continued on past a solid block of neon-laced businesses providing access to virtual worlds, promising the ability to live out adventurous lives and erotic fantasies. They didn’t seem like the kinds of places Klaxon Overdrive would hang out.
The crowd thickened ahead of him. Annoyed, Dodge looked up and stopped dead in his tracks. Before him was a three-story club that appeared to have no front wall. The interior of the club was dark, lit only by the otherworldly glow of fluorescent clothing under black light. Patrons circulated on three floors, thrashing to the music, cradling shimmering, multi-hued drinks. They seemed oblivious to the people gazing up at them.
It took another moment of incredulous scrutiny—and the name of the club, ‘Voyeur,’ sliding past along the wall in six-foot high red block-capital letters—before Dodge realized that the outer wall was nothing but a huge depth-generating screen.
Frustrated with how easily he had been fooled, Dodge marched to the bouncer and paid the cover with his cashcard. There were a lot of clubs to search and the ‘Voyeur’ was as good a place to start as any.
As he walked through the doors, Dodge was hit by a startling blast of arctic air. He had been hot for so long he had almost forgotten what cool air felt like. He stopped for a moment and let the chill surround him, drying the beaded sweat from his forehead. Even if Joshua wasn’t here, the refreshment was worth the price of admission.
The inside of the club looked exactly as it had been advertised: full of colorful, drunken gyrating bodies. What couldn’t be seen from outside, however, was the interior of the curved front wall. It showed, in grotesque enormity, the faces of those watching from outside. The spectators’ features bulged, every pore and wrinkle magnified. It was like being inside a massive terrarium, with giants silently observing.
Dodge scanned the dancing faces, but no one seemed to be looking at him suspiciously. In fact, no one was looking at him at all. That was another reason why he hated crowds—even surrounded by people he felt like an outsider, like he didn’t belong.
He made a sweep through the first floor and was ascending the stairs to the second when he realized the earsplitting music was a remix of Heart on My Hand, one of Klaxon’s biggest hits. The tributes had already started. Musicians would be remixing and rerecording Klaxon’s work, flavoring his distinct instrumental style with their own to produce new twists on his songs. They’d all be uploaded and disseminated around the world for his eager fans to devour. Dodge wouldn’t have been surprised if the song playing had been finished just hours ago.
Joshua wasn’t on the second floor. Nor was he on the third, ‘VIP’ floor, which required a short argument punctuated with a bribe before he was granted access to find out. Dodge went back over the floors again, then just to be sure, asked a passing busboy if he had seen a man who looked vaguely like Klaxon Overdrive, wearing a black hooded jacket.
“I seen plenty of black jackets, but the only time I seen Klaxon Overdrive is every time I look at a screen,” he yelled, his bin of empty bottles and glasses shifting on his shoulder. “I’m already sick of seeing that guy’s face everywhere I look.”
Dodge nodded and turned away.
Sure Joshua wasn’t lurking anywhere inside, Dodge returned to the street. After the air-conditioned club, the humidity felt even stronger. A drop of sweat materialized on his temple and ran down his cheek. He took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder.
He tried ‘Tonic’ and ‘The Croc’ and ‘Infiltrator,’ all older clubs that wouldn’t begin drawing crowds until near midnight. They were all practically empty, populated only by bored bartenders and waitstaff chatting with each other. Dodge asked if anyone had seen a man who looked like Klaxon Overdrive. Not surprisingly, no one had.
He was running out of clubs to search. Hopefully Blair was having better luck. Though if she had found Joshua, she would have called … at least he thought she would. Dodge couldn’t figure her out. He could see Blair defying her bosses and snatching Klaxon away from them, but that didn’t explain why she had risked her life, and the life of Joshua—the man she was trying to protect—by helping him.
She wanted Joshua’s DNA back, that could explain it, but Dodge felt there had to be more to it. Len would have been able to see exactly what was going on. He was so adept at putting things together, he could have assembled a two thousand-piece puzzle of the starless night sky in the dark. But Len was gone. He had no one to rely on now but himself, and figuring people out was not his strong suit.
Dodge continued further west. Clubs this far out, on the edge of the entertainment district, where the glittering screens gave way to garbage-strewn alleys and cracked LED streetlights, had to cater to more specialized clientele. He stopped outside an abandoned-looking building, which, judging by the proliferation of latex, black eye makeup and computer-related body-mods on the patrons in line, was a techno-goth bar. He bypassed the line with a fifty-NAD swipe of his cashcard and slipped inside. As he descended the short flight of steps someone stranded in line yelled at him, threatening to find out who he was and hack his life into non-existence for jumping the queue. Dodge chuckled joylessly as he entered the club. As if a mere hacker could do anything to make his life any worse.
He stepped inside and ghoulish dark enveloped him like a closing fist. Heavy maroon curtains laced with fiber optic weaving lined the walls, devouring the already inadequate light. A grime-coated chrome fan spun lazily on the black ceiling. Scab-colored velour couches hunkered in the dark, with patrons lounging across them like wilted flowers over a casket. The words ‘Castle of Otranto’ hovered in the THC-hazed air above the dance floor, the nauseous green letters designed to look like they were dripping onto the people below.
People emerged from the smoky shadows, faces wan from the drug cocktails coursing through them, looking like the reanimated dead—which was probably the point. They staggered to the music, heads down, explosive hairstyles pulsating, luminous makeup heavy over closed eyes, with glowing ecigs clenched lightly between slender fingers. Those few in street clothes were obviously tourists, there only to ogle the freak-show.
It looked exactly like a place where Klaxon Overdrive would hang out: dark, heavily romanticized, and thick with necromantic overtones. They were even playing his song Inhuman Symphony remixed into a funeral-paced dirge, yearning vocals begging for destruction.
Surveying the crowd, Dodge noticed at least ten black hooded figures. Each resembled Klaxon Overdrive slightly, some with bone-straight black hair or a lithe physique or a gaunt face, but none of them were Joshua.
On his second pass through the club, Dodge glimpsed a slim figure wearing a jacket like Joshua’s wobble into a narrow hallway behind the bar. Dodge snaked after, skirting past the swaying dancers.
The hallway led to a small, well-lit storeroom tucked between the bar and the bathrooms. Empty metal shelves lined the walls. Dodge squinted into the comparatively intense light and saw a dozen ashen-faced patrons slumped on cheap plastic chairs arranged along the walls, passed out or well on their way. A garbage bin sat in the center of the room, congealed vomit splashed on the floor all around it. The figure Dodge had been pursuing clutched the rim, and was heaving her guts out.
It wasn’t Joshua. It was a girl, eyes red-rimmed and hollow with need, no older than fourteen. A white-faced doll—dressed in a matching ribbon-laced white shirt and black platform shoes—lay in vomit next to its owner’s bent knees.
She gazed up at him. Her spit-flecked lips extended in a pout ten years too old for her face as clutched his pant leg. Her grasp barely wrinkled the fabric.
“Hey sexy, you holding? Froot Loops? Q?”
Dodge recoiled. His leg slipped from her fingers.
“No … No, I—”
“How’s the academy?” a deep voice said from behind him.
Dodge spun. Two ‘tude boys—members of an online clan and dressed in emulation of their digital avatars—had followed him into the room. Small, back-mounted holo-projectors beamed red letters above their heads: Ranta and Don’ch, presumably their clan names.
Their outfits were ridiculous: royal blue velveteen jerkins, ruffled golden blouses, and Egyptian-styled facial hair. It made them look like posturing, historically confused, seventeenth century dandies. Anything but dangerous. But the unflinching look in their eyes and the way their muscles twitched under their antiquated clothing made it clear they weren’t playing around.
“Excuse me?” Dodge said, blinking his eyes, looking back and forth between Ranta and the girl on the floor.
Don’ch, towering over his verbal companion, jerked his braided goatee. His regiment of spiked platinum hair conveyed impending aggression.
“Don’t they learn you nerfs ‘bout undercover work, narc-o?” Ranta spat the last word and followed through with a head-fake lunge. As he spoke he jived his hands in a blur, movements that would have meant something had his hands been inside in a feelE airboard—probably directing a large sword or other exotic weapon to swing out in a decapitating blow.
Remaining otherwise still, Don’ch crossed his arms. His biceps writhed under the rich fabric.
Dodge raised his hands, dangling his jacket like a matador suddenly realizing that messing with an incensed bull was an incredibly stupid way to die. “Easy fellas, I don’t want any trouble.”
“I reckon not.” Ranta blurred forward. Surprisingly willowy fingers shoved Dodge backwards. The metal shelves caught him and clattered against the plaster wall. No one else in the room was paying attention.
Up close, Dodge could see Ranta’s pupils constricted to the point of invisibility, the iris an unbroken blue disk. Most likely due to omnipotence, the street drug that increased reaction time, enhanced strength, dulled pain, and amplified the perceptions of moral right and wrong.
He was in trouble. Sweat ran down his back like someone had rammed a garden hose in his shirt and turned on the faucet.
“We don’t like newbs in here. Check?” Ranta’s breath was hot and moist on Dodge’s cheek. It smelled softly of skunk. “We pro-tec ‘dese ro-tan from pervs like you, Alice.”
His pride wanted to fight but, as always, panic prevailed. Maybe Blair could have taken on two juiced-up stim-freaks, but he’d end up shattered in intensive care while doctors grew him another set of internal organs and re-knit his bones.
“Lesson time,” Ranta raised a tight fist, preparing to cave Dodge’s face in with his smooth knuckles, but his associate stepped forward and clasped his arm.
“Detach, Ran. This carb ain’t nothing. He’s horlan. Ain’t you, carb?”
Eyes wide, Dodge nodded madly, not knowing what he was agreeing with.
Ranta unlaced his fingers and wiped them across his lips.
“Scata,” Ranta said, grabbed two handfuls of Dodge’s sweat-dampened shirt and tossed him out into the hallway.
Face flushed, Dodge scrambled away, his soles slipping on the slick tiles. Laughter chased him down the hall.
He streaked through the club, up the steps, shoved his way through the line outside and raced down the street, embracing the clinging humidity as a sign of safety. Heart racing as stress chemicals dashed through his body, he tried to straighten his shirt, tucking the loose tails back into his pants, while getting as far away as possible.
This was exactly why he never left the house.
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2020.04.30 21:52 178391 Chat room voyeur

Self-Preservation
Private Genius, Solitary Philosopher, Puzzle Solver, Mental Tinkerer, Theoretical Inventor, Blueprint Creator, Amateur Scholar, Serious Hobbyist, Stuff Collector, Space Protector, Reflective Thinker, Detailed Analyzer, Professional Student, Treasure Finder, Hermit, Nerd, Recluse, Collector

Sexual (countertype)
Spy, Sleuth, Alchemist, Scientist, Mad Scientist, Investigator, Private Detective, Undercover Operative, Internet Wizard, Chat Room Enthusiast, Chess Player, Private Tutor, Secret Photographer, Exchanger of Confidences, Weirdo Voyeur, Secret Society Member, Wizard of Oz

Social
Group Observer, Recognized Expert, Honored Teacher, Tenured Professor, Knowledge Repository, Dispassionate Facilitator, Impersonal Guide, Bodhisattva, Occasional Iconoclast, Etymologist, Myth Collector, Anthropologist, Arcane Expert, Wise Man or Woman, Tribal Healer, Shaman, Witch Doctor
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2019.12.26 02:22 rhonnie14 The Dark Web Is Now Impacting Dating Apps

Everyone knows about The Deep Web murders. LiveKills. Shannon. We’ve all read the Creepypastas. The horror stories. I believed them then. And now I know they’re real.
At the time, I figured the Deep Web sickness had spread into most dating apps. Bumble, Tinder. But that still didn’t stop me. No, Melissa Ramsey was stubborn… And honestly, I was too horny to care.
I wasn’t pretty. Not in a conventional way. At nineteen, I was a skinny black girl. Big brown eyes hidden behind big glasses. My short straight hair and weird fashion sense did more to showcase a fivehead and scrawny body than my nicer qualities. With a bony ass and small tits, I had nothing to attract boys. Even being a freshman at a nice college like Georgia Southwwestern didn’t mean anything when I lived with the folks instead of on campus. They had a nice house out in the country, sure… but there wasn’t a single hot guy anywhere near us.
So yeah, I was quiet. I had no friends. Way too awkward to strike up a conversation in person… much less with any sexy guys. So I did what any girl or guy in that spot would do: I hit up the apps.
The only problem was Tinder, MeetMe, and Bumble were all strikeouts... and that was with me swiping right on every guy. Even my attempts at posting sexy pics on Gonewild got zero upvotes. I don’t know… Maybe I just didn’t have the face or body the boys wanted. At least not for the studs I wanted.
Of course, the only interest I got were from weirdos and unattractive dudes. Okay, maybe they were in my league but still… why couldn’t one of the hotties like me? Shit, I’d settle for a one night stand or SnapChat sext-a-thon at this point. I wouldn’t even mind the dick and ass pics if it was a fineass guy sending them. After all, Ladybonersgw could only get me so far...
But then came my brutal epiphany. And the truth hurts, let me tell you: the problem was me. Melissa. Not the sexy guys. I was the ugly one. The loser. The female creep.
So I decided to overhaul my image. Like a makeover you see in the movies.
No, I didn’t wear more make-up. I didn’t ditch the glasses. Didn’t stylize my hair or hit the gym. Instead, I made a fake Bumble profile.
I chose the name Tara Heisler. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Instagram model became my new image. She had tan skin, big boobs. Tall. One of those Southern Belle coed types I’d spent over a decade being harassed by… and over a decade competing with. And now she was me. The perfect Catfish in this thirsty ocean.
The boys didn’t have a chance. I was slaying right and left. No longer did I have to settle for male versions of me. Gone were the awkward, weird types... In came the hotties.
Maybe my theater experience helped me with the texting and chat performances. Or maybe it was just the natural benefit of being a conventional beauty. Then again, that model’s plethora of sexy Instagram photos also helped me win some action.
I could make those hunks do anything. White guys, black guys, jocks, hot nerds, it didn’t matter. They bowed down to my pussy power. And the fucking pics and vids they’d send… Girllllll
My secret porn library grew bigger and better. There were the big dicks, the bubble butts, the gym shots, even guy-on-guy videos. Whatever “Tara” asked for, those boys sent. And they didn’t hesitate when doing it for me. Not when I was on that SnapChat stage playing their dream girl.
Okay so maybe I wasn’t gonna meet my future husband doing this. Not even my future friend with benefit or first serious boyfriend. But still this was a fun way to satisfy my own desperate thirst.
For once, I felt hot. Powerful. A social media queen. And playing the sexy THOT only allowed me to slip deeper into my own desires. These hotties responded to all my fantasies. Pegging, Devil’s Threesomes, watching two cuties fuck each other… All the sexy stuff Melissa was too scared to ask. And all the sexy stuff these prettyboys would never do for a girl like me. Only under the spell of an All-American hottie.
The tantalizing fun lasted through the first few days of winter break. The hot nudes and talks an amazing early Christmas present.
I stayed cautious, of course. Those Creepypastas still lingered in the back of my mind… when I wasn’t overcome with excitement, that is. The inner heat I felt warmed me from both the cold and unease. My anticipation only increased with each new fineass match and steamy pic.
This Tuesday night was more of the same. A few minutes past nine-thirty, and I was still holed up in my room. Sitting at my computer desk. Surrounded by Nicki Minaj and Tarantino posters. Not working on any scripts or monologues like I told mom…
My phone was blowing up with sizzling Snaps. I’d managed to talk a baseball player into doing both twerking and jerking videos…
Grinning, I lowered the phone and slid my hand down toward my pajama pants. Underneath the green fabric… I was bracing for the show. All thanks to Tara.
The bedroom door burst open. In a frenzy, I yanked my hand out and exited SnapChat. My dream delayed.
Mom leaned in the doorway. The sloppy pajamas covered her chubby frame. Straight hair dangled down her back. Mom’s small eyes stuck on me. “You okay, sweetie?” she said in a soft tone.
Like a panicking crook, I struggled to suppress the nerves. Breathing heavy, I checked my phone once more. Glad no big dick or baseball butt was grabbing mom’s nosy gaze.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. Folding my arms in the cold room, I faced her. “I’ll come down in a minute.”
Mom flashed me a warm smile. “Okay, we’re about to watch the movie.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said. “I just wanted to finish the strip, I mean script.” Cringing, my grip grew tighter on the phone. To my real entertainment.
Mama chucked. “Okay, we’ll be downstairs.” With that, she leaned back and shut the door.
Now I was back to my fantasy. Back to the boys.
A vibration further fueled my excitement.
I turned my hungry eyes toward the phone. Toward the new Bumble alert: You got a new match
Grinning, I veered straight to the app. And what a match it was…
Michael Barnes. 24 and in great shape. Well over six feet tall. A physique as flawless as his baby blues. His straight brown hair complemented a smooth, slender face. The type of hunk destined for Wall Street success or modeling agencies.
“Hello…” I said to myself. Immediately, I made the first move: Sup sexy
Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. In seconds, Michael’s reply appeared: Hey cutie. Snap?
My exhilaration only increased. Score another one for Team Tara.
Our flirting continued on SnapChat for another ten minutes. He sent me a few face pics, a sexy gym shot. I responded with the best of Tara’s Instagram. Needless to say, I pushed Michael for more… like a repressed housewife eager for a peek at their neighborhood’s new hottie.
I was glad I wasn’t scaring him off. Michael was rather playful. His arsenal of emojis and sarcasm kept me entertained.
WHAT ARE U WEARING TARA? he typed out in all caps. Followed by a kissing emoji.
Wanting to escalate the sexting session, I deliberated. Then replied: Getting late so… you know, just a bra and thong ;)
I waited and waited for a response. In simultaneous dread and anticipation. Michael had seen my reply. In a painful taunt, his Goddamn Bitmoji kept popping up from time to time. But there wasn’t a word. Not even a is typing tease.
“What the fuck,” I muttered. “Come on, bitch.”
A few more minutes went by. Agonizing anxiety dominated me. The anguish hurt. Unlike me, Tara never lost a man. And she couldn’t lose this one… Not when Michael had enraptured my female gaze.
Bumble gave me another alert. Another new match. I guess there were more fish in this sleazy sea… But still. I couldn’t shake Michael. Right when things were about to get hot and heavy, he just dipped. Sure, Melissa was used to being ghosted by the hotter guys. But not Tara.
Determined, I sent another message: I’m dressed to kill, boo
Trembling, I took a deep breath. Felt even colder in the room.
And then Michael’s pending reply got me hot all over again. The internal excitement came roaring back.
Until I saw his message. A chilling unease extinguished my fire.
HAVE U EVER KILLED BEFORE TARA?? Michael asked. Again, his message was in all caps. The eerie question accentuated by a winking emoji.
I was too scared to talk. Too scared to even text.
Michael’s once-adorable Bitmoji flashed a sinister smile. The image now possessing the aura of a killer doll. Uncanny Valley in overdrive.
And then he started typing…
I stole a glance at the door. Not sure what to do. My aroused feelings replaced by fear.
Michael’s next message arrived: BECAUSE I HAVE
A hash vibration accompanied the next text: REMEMBER THAT STORY ABOUT PATRICK
He sent me a link. A Creepypasta. I Just Saw A Girl I Matched With On Tinder Get Killed.
Trapped in the chilling conversation, I struggled to turn away. I couldn’t.
Michael’s new message appeared: THAT WAS ME
His Bitmoji’s grin only grew wider. More deranged. The big blue eyes like daggers to my soul.
THAT WAS ME MELISSA read his next text.
A hollow horror spread across me. Numbness. The aftereffects of a most unsettling shock.
I didn’t even flinch when Michael sent another message: MELISSA RAMSEY
AMERICUS, GEORGIA
Shivering, I struggled to hold the phone. Tears fell down my face.
In quick succession, the final text arrived: 14 PRICE STREET
Michael’s Bitmoji vanished off my screen. Off into the night. And deep in my sickened gut, I knew right where he was going…
I leapt out of my seat and bolted for the door. In total panic. My night of pleasure turned to a night of horror. No longer was I confident Tara… I was back to helpless Melissa. The timid geek.
Clinging to my phone, I ripped open the door and rushed into the upstairs hallway. The lights were out. Every single one. And somehow, the house was colder…
Scanning the scene, I looked all around me. The other bedroom door was closed. A nearby shelf a towering shadow, the hanging picture frames nothing more than blank canvases in the dark. Downstairs, it was pitch black. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. The dim lamps from my room the only light close by...
“Mama!” I yelled.
I stood there in the freezing silence. Waiting for a soothing voice that never came.
The phone pulsated in my hand. Startled, I confronted SnapChat.
Michael had sent me another link. To a domain and extension I never heard of… but a site that sent chills down my spine. LiveKills.
Uneasy, I stared at the link.
Another message from Michael appeared: ENJOY TARA
I forced myself to mash it.
The video swallowed up my screen. The footage precise and pristine. And in a setting I was all too familiar with… our living room.
I’d caught the middle of a bloodbath. Redness was scattered everywhere, all across our exotic rugs. Over the large flatscreen
My father’s corpse was sprawled across the couch. Deep cuts in his head and throat. His face partially flayed. Mom’s screams a brutal soundtrack to the massacre.
The camera captured mama staggering into a corner. Blood soaked through her pajamas. Weeping, she held her hands out. Out toward a masked man I was certain was Michael… or at least the man I’d been talking to for the last half hour...
The killer stood tall. He wore dark clothes and an even darker ski mask. His long butcher knife coated in blood. The blade marking my mother for a most horrible death.
“No!” I yelled through the tears.
Then I saw it. Beneath the murders, comments piled up. On screen were users of all genders and races and ages. An excited audience. O hes got her now!! Kill dat bitch! I love this guy SO FUCKIN SICK!1 read their messages.
The comments kept piling in. Small boxes showed viewers watching on Skype. Their eyes and expressions hungry for blood.
Overcome by panic, I exited the video. Looked toward the stairs. “Mom!” I screamed out.
The eerie silence lingered. The sound of death.
Fighting through the emotions and terror, I called mom’s phone. A desperate attempt to reach her. To save her.
A buzz sliced through the silence. Behind me, a beam of light caught my eye.
I whirled around. A horrified scream escaped my lips.
Through my bedroom’s lights, I saw mama’s severed head a few feet away. The head positioned like a work of art on the shelf. Blood poured out the neck in a red river. Her long hair smeared across her face’s many slices. The glowing cell phone jammed straight in her shrieking mouth like a candle in a jack o’lantern.
Mom’s scared eyes stayed on me. Unblinking, haunting eyes.
“No!” I screamed. Breaking down in tears, I trembled in the hallway. My knees went wobbly, my arms quivering. I was a scared soldier come face-to-face with Death. All those Dark Web Creepypastas a reality in my own home.
My phone pulsated to life, drawing me back to SnapChat. Back to my parents’ killer.
A new Snap from Michael greeted me.
Even this frightened, I didn’t hesitate to play it. After all, I had nowhere to run. I couldn’t just block this creep… I had to confront him.
A pic of Michael stared back at me. Him in the ski mask. Standing on our staircase. His blue eyes shined through the darkness… Much like his sharp knife.
Blood red font spelled out his final message: UR NEXT TARA The crazy smiling emoji a ferocious finish to this terrifying threat.
The other bedroom door slammed open. And there came my stud charging at me.
Moving quick, Michael raised the butcher knife. Blood dripped off its edge. A huge laptop clasped in Michael’s other gloved hand. Its camera ready to capture my close-up.
“Aw, fuck!” I yelled.
I jumped back in my room. Images of my slaughtered parents flashed through my mind. Dad’s filleted face. Mom’s severed head. The visceral fear forever resting in her dead eyes...
In the frigid hallway, I gripped my cell phone tighter. Anger boiled up inside.
Michael drew the knife back. Ready for the kill.
A fury conquered me. Call it fight or flight. Girl power. Whatever the fuck you want… All I know was I was still scared and in tears when I hurled that phone at the son-of-a-bitch.
The fastball smashed him right in the face.
Crying out, Michael fell into the shelf before hitting the ground. He dropped the blade. The laptop.
Creaking through the night, the shelf toppled over, pinning him to the ground. Mom’s head laid right beside Michael. Her gaze stuck taunting his squirming body. His arms flailed about, splashing through the blood.
I then made my move. Grabbed the butcher knife and confronted the killer.
Michael held up his hands. A futile effort to stop this bitch.
My rage won. With a rebel yell, I plunged the blade into his throat.
Blood splurted over me like war paint. I pushed my hair to the side. Behind bitter eyes, I watched Michael’s arms collapse. Watched blood build up beneath him. Watched his body go still.
Lodged in his neck, the knife was my victory flag. Michael my latest “conquest.”
The adrenaline kept me warm on this winter night. Not to mention helped console me from the tragedy...
Curious, I reached toward the ski mask.
In a quick tug, I yanked it off. And there was the dream guy from Bumble: Michael Barnes. His blue eyes now faded with death. His face less handsome, his body less muscular under the gore.
All the while, the laptop’s frenetic comments kept going. An assembly line of voyeurs.
I confronted their many disappointed faces. The crowd bloodblocked.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. Several vicious stomps smashed the screen into smithereens. Death to LiveKills... at least for tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure appear. Creeping in from the dark depths of the other bedroom. A tall figure in dark leggings and a flowing cape. A woman. Her entrance like that of a rock star taking the stage.
The fear coming back, I faced her. Faced the mannequin mask. Its long, mocking smile. The big eyes beneath it. The big boobs beneath the black clothes. And the even bigger knife in her hand…
There was Shannon. The stuff of Creepypasta lore. Right here in the flesh.
Showing off brute strength, Shannon pushed me to the ground. She glided over me. Her movements effortless.
Shannon put the knife to my throat. A headlock I wouldn’t dare try to escape.
In a theatrical motion, Shannon held out her phone. A message already prepared for me was on display. The letters big and crude.
Do what you’re told and you’ll live, bitch The winking emoji next to it did little to comfort me…
So here I am now. In a house I’ve never been to and in a room without a window. I’m trapped. No longer Melissa Ramsey but Tara Heisler. I guess my wish did come true… I’m the bombshell. A bombshell crafted by Shannon and all the others involved at LiveKills.
The process wasn’t easy. This wasn’t botox or a smooth surgery. Instead, my skin was bleached in the cheapest way possible. Similar to the dye they use to keep my hair bleached blonde. Blue contacts now disguise my eyes. Crude surgeries gave me the lousiest silicone for the big boobs.
Now I sit alone in this room. A poor man’s version of that Instagram model I based my Catfish persona on. The laptop and cell phone my only items. The thousands of horny girls and boys my only company… people not unlike me in the days before I met Shannon.
Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if Michael was really the killer or a victim. If he was someone like me. Someone they dolled up for the kills. Someone they forced into this twisted game.
I’ve been told my turn is tonight. My first livestream murder. Shannon is joining me to make sure I go through with it. Both of us armed with those huge knives. I’m not really sure what else to say. What else to do. All I can tell you girls and guys is don’t get too thirsty. Please don’t be Melissa. And if you end up matching with a Tara Heisler, a Southern blonde charmer… be careful. Because it’s either gonna be you or me who makes it through the night.
14
submitted by rhonnie14 to nosleep [link] [comments]


2019.12.20 22:08 rhonnie14 I Should’ve Known The Deep Web Would Start Hitting Dating Apps

Everyone knows about The Deep Web murders. LiveKills. Shannon. We’ve all read the Creepypastas and NoSleeps. rhonnie14’s stories. I believed them then. And now I know they’re real.
At the time, I figured the Deep Web sickness had spread into most dating apps. Bumble, Tinder. But that still didn’t stop me. No, Melissa Ramsey was stubborn… And honestly, I was too horny to care.
I wasn’t pretty. Not in a conventional way. At nineteen, I was a skinny black girl. Big brown eyes hidden behind big glasses. My short straight hair and weird fashion sense did more to showcase a fivehead and scrawny body than my nicer qualities. With a bony ass and small tits, I had nothing to attract boys. Even being a freshman at a nice college like Georgia Southwwestern didn’t mean anything when I lived with the folks instead of on campus. They had a nice house out in the country, sure… but there wasn’t a single hot guy anywhere near us.
So yeah, I was quiet. I had no friends. Way too awkward to strike up a conversation in person… much less with any sexy guys. So I did what any girl or guy in that spot would do: I hit up the apps.
The only problem was Tinder, MeetMe, and Bumble were all strikeouts... and that was with me swiping right on every guy. Even my attempts at posting sexy pics on Gonewild got zero upvotes. I don’t know… Maybe I just didn’t have the face or body the boys wanted. At least not for the studs I wanted.
Of course, the only interest I got were from weirdos and unattractive dudes. Okay, maybe they were in my league but still… why couldn’t one of the hotties like me? Shit, I’d settle for a one night stand or SnapChat sext-a-thon at this point. I wouldn’t even mind the dick and ass pics if it was a fineass guy sending them. After all, Ladybonersgw could only get me so far...
But then came my brutal epiphany. And the truth hurts, let me tell you: the problem was me. Melissa. Not the sexy guys. I was the ugly one. The loser. The female creep.
So I decided to overhaul my image. Like a makeover you see in the movies.
No, I didn’t wear more make-up. I didn’t ditch the glasses. Didn’t stylize my hair or hit the gym. Instead, I made a fake Bumble profile.
I chose the name Tara Heisler. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Instagram model became my new image. She had tan skin, big boobs. Tall. One of those Southern Belle coed types I’d spent over a decade being harassed by… and over a decade competing with. And now she was me. The perfect Catfish in this thirsty ocean.
The boys didn’t have a chance. I was slaying right and left. No longer did I have to settle for male versions of me. Gone were the awkward, weird types... In came the hotties.
Maybe my theater experience helped me with the texting and chat performances. Or maybe it was just the natural benefit of being a conventional beauty. Then again, that model’s plethora of sexy Instagram photos also helped me win some action.
I could make those hunks do anything. White guys, black guys, jocks, hot nerds, it didn’t matter. They bowed down to my pussy power. And the fucking pics and vids they’d send… Girllllll
My secret porn library grew bigger and better. There were the big dicks, the bubble butts, the gym shots, even guy-on-guy videos. Whatever “Tara” asked for, those boys sent. And they didn’t hesitate when doing it for me. Not when I was on that SnapChat stage playing their dream girl.
Okay so maybe I wasn’t gonna meet my future husband doing this. Not even my future friend with benefit or first serious boyfriend. But still this was a fun way to satisfy my own desperate thirst.
For once, I felt hot. Powerful. A social media queen. And playing the sexy THOT only allowed me to slip deeper into my own desires. These hotties responded to all my fantasies. Pegging, Devil’s Threesomes, watching two cuties fuck each other… All the sexy stuff Melissa was too scared to ask. And all the sexy stuff these prettyboys would never do for a girl like me. Only under the spell of an All-American hottie.
The tantalizing fun lasted through the first few days of winter break. The hot nudes and talks an amazing early Christmas present.
I stayed cautious, of course. Those Creepypastas and rhonnie14 stories still lingered in the back of my mind… when I wasn’t overcome with excitement, that is. The inner heat I felt warmed me from both the cold and unease. My anticipation only increased with each new fineass match and steamy pic.
This Tuesday night was more of the same. A few minutes past nine-thirty, and I was still holed up in my room. Sitting at my computer desk. Surrounded by Nicki Minaj and Tarantino posters. Not working on any scripts or monologues like I told mom…
My phone was blowing up with sizzling Snaps. I’d managed to talk a baseball player into doing both twerking and jerking videos…
Grinning, I lowered the phone and slid my hand down toward my pajama pants. Underneath the green fabric… I was bracing for the show. All thanks to Tara.
The bedroom door burst open. In a frenzy, I yanked my hand out and exited SnapChat. My dream delayed.
Mom leaned in the doorway. The sloppy pajamas covered her chubby frame. Straight hair dangled down her back. Mom’s small eyes stuck on me. “You okay, sweetie?” she said in a soft tone.
Like a panicking crook, I struggled to suppress the nerves. Breathing heavy, I checked my phone once more. Glad no big dick or baseball butt was grabbing mom’s nosy gaze.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. Folding my arms in the cold room, I faced her. “I’ll come down in a minute.”
Mom flashed me a warm smile. “Okay, we’re about to watch the movie.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said. “I just wanted to finish the strip, I mean script.” Cringing, my grip grew tighter on the phone. To my real entertainment.
Mama chucked. “Okay, we’ll be downstairs.” With that, she leaned back and shut the door.
Now I was back to my fantasy. Back to the boys.
A vibration further fueled my excitement.
I turned my hungry eyes toward the phone. Toward the new Bumble alert: You got a new match
Grinning, I veered straight to the app. And what a match it was…
Michael Barnes. 24 and in great shape. Well over six feet tall. A physique as flawless as his baby blues. His straight brown hair complemented a smooth, slender face. The type of hunk destined for Wall Street success or modeling agencies.
“Hello…” I said to myself. Immediately, I made the first move: Sup sexy
Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. In seconds, Michael’s reply appeared: Hey cutie. Snap?
My exhilaration only increased. Score another one for Team Tara.
Our flirting continued on SnapChat for another ten minutes. He sent me a few face pics, a sexy gym shot. I responded with the best of Tara’s Instagram. Needless to say, I pushed Michael for more… like a repressed housewife eager for a peek at their neighborhood’s new hottie.
I was glad I wasn’t scaring him off. Michael was rather playful. His arsenal of emojis and sarcasm kept me entertained.
WHAT ARE U WEARING TARA? he typed out in all caps. Followed by a kissing emoji.
Wanting to escalate the sexting session, I deliberated. Then replied: Getting late so… you know, just a bra and thong ;)
I waited and waited for a response. In simultaneous dread and anticipation. Michael had seen my reply. In a painful taunt, his Goddamn Bitmoji kept popping up from time to time. But there wasn’t a word. Not even a is typing tease.
“What the fuck,” I muttered. “Come on, bitch.”
A few more minutes went by. Agonizing anxiety dominated me. The anguish hurt. Unlike me, Tara never lost a man. And she couldn’t lose this one… Not when Michael had enraptured my female gaze.
Bumble gave me another alert. Another new match. I guess there were more fish in this sleazy sea… But still. I couldn’t shake Michael. Right when things were about to get hot and heavy, he just dipped. Sure, Melissa was used to being ghosted by the hotter guys. But not Tara.
Determined, I sent another message: I’m dressed to kill, boo
Trembling, I took a deep breath. Felt even colder in the room.
And then Michael’s pending reply got me hot all over again. The internal excitement came roaring back.
Until I saw his message. A chilling unease extinguished my fire.
HAVE U EVER KILLED BEFORE TARA?? Michael asked. Again, his message was in all caps. The eerie question accentuated by a winking emoji.
I was too scared to talk. Too scared to even text.
Michael’s once-adorable Bitmoji flashed a sinister smile. The image now possessing the aura of a killer doll. Uncanny Valley in overdrive.
And then he started typing…
I stole a glance at the door. Not sure what to do. My aroused feelings replaced by fear.
Michael’s next message arrived: BECAUSE I HAVE
A hash vibration accompanied the next text: REMEMBER THAT STORY ABOUT PATRICK
He sent me a link. A NoSleep. I Just Saw A Girl I Matched With On Tinder Get Killed. rhonnie14’s popular Deep Web story.
Trapped in the chilling conversation, I struggled to turn away. I couldn’t.
Michael’s new message appeared: THAT WAS ME
His Bitmoji’s grin only grew wider. More deranged. The big blue eyes like daggers to my soul.
THAT WAS ME MELISSA read his next text.
A hollow horror spread across me. Numbness. The aftereffects of a most unsettling shock.
I didn’t even flinch when Michael sent another message: MELISSA RAMSEY
AMERICUS, GEORGIA
Shivering, I struggled to hold the phone. Tears fell down my face.
In quick succession, the final text arrived: 14 PRICE STREET
Michael’s Bitmoji vanished off my screen. Off into the night. And deep in my sickened gut, I knew right where he was going…
I leapt out of my seat and bolted for the door. In total panic. My night of pleasure turned to a night of horror. No longer was I confident Tara… I was back to helpless Melissa. The timid geek.
Clinging to my phone, I ripped open the door and rushed into the upstairs hallway. The lights were out. Every single one. And somehow, the house was colder…
Scanning the scene, I looked all around me. The other bedroom door was closed. A nearby shelf a towering shadow, the hanging picture frames nothing more than blank canvases in the dark. Downstairs, it was pitch black. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. The dim lamps from my room the only light close by...
“Mama!” I yelled.
I stood there in the freezing silence. Waiting for a soothing voice that never came.
The phone pulsated in my hand. Startled, I confronted SnapChat.
Michael had sent me another link. To a domain and extension I never heard of… but a site that sent chills down my spine. LiveKills.
Uneasy, I stared at the link.
Another message from Michael appeared: ENJOY TARA
I forced myself to mash it.
The video swallowed up my screen. The footage precise and pristine. And in a setting I was all too familiar with… our living room.
I’d caught the middle of a bloodbath. Redness was scattered everywhere, all across our exotic rugs. Over the large flatscreen
My father’s corpse was sprawled across the couch. Deep cuts in his head and throat. His face partially flayed. Mom’s screams a brutal soundtrack to the massacre.
The camera captured mama staggering into a corner. Blood soaked through her pajamas. Weeping, she held her hands out. Out toward a masked man I was certain was Michael… or at least the man I’d been talking to for the last half hour...
The killer stood tall. He wore dark clothes and an even darker ski mask. His long butcher knife coated in blood. The blade marking my mother for a most horrible death.
“No!” I yelled through the tears.
Then I saw it. Beneath the murders, comments piled up. On screen were users of all genders and races and ages. An excited audience. O hes got her now!! Kill dat bitch! I love this guy SO FUCKIN SICK!1 read their messages.
The comments kept piling in. Small boxes showed viewers watching on Skype. Their eyes and expressions hungry for blood.
Overcome by panic, I exited the video. Looked toward the stairs. “Mom!” I screamed out.
The eerie silence lingered. The sound of death.
Fighting through the emotions and terror, I called mom’s phone. A desperate attempt to reach her. To save her.
A buzz sliced through the silence. Behind me, a beam of light caught my eye.
I whirled around. A horrified scream escaped my lips.
Through my bedroom’s lights, I saw mama’s severed head a few feet away. The head positioned like a work of art on the shelf. Blood poured out the neck in a red river. Her long hair smeared across her face’s many slices. The glowing cell phone jammed straight in her shrieking mouth like a candle in a jack o’lantern.
Mom’s scared eyes stayed on me. Unblinking, haunting eyes.
“No!” I screamed. Breaking down in tears, I trembled in the hallway. My knees went wobbly, my arms quivering. I was a scared soldier come face-to-face with Death. All those Dark Web Creepypastas a reality in my own home.
My phone pulsated to life, drawing me back to SnapChat. Back to my parents’ killer.
A new Snap from Michael greeted me.
Even this frightened, I didn’t hesitate to play it. After all, I had nowhere to run. I couldn’t just block this creep… I had to confront him.
A pic of Michael stared back at me. Him in the ski mask. Standing on our staircase. His blue eyes shined through the darkness… Much like his sharp knife.
Blood red font spelled out his final message: UR NEXT TARA The crazy smiling emoji a ferocious finish to this terrifying threat.
The other bedroom door slammed open. And there came my stud charging at me.
Moving quick, Michael raised the butcher knife. Blood dripped off its edge. A huge laptop clasped in Michael’s other gloved hand. Its camera ready to capture my close-up.
“Aw, fuck!” I yelled.
I jumped back in my room. Images of my slaughtered parents flashed through my mind. Dad’s filleted face. Mom’s severed head. The visceral fear forever resting in her dead eyes...
In the frigid hallway, I gripped my cell phone tighter. Anger boiled up inside.
Michael drew the knife back. Ready for the kill.
A fury conquered me. Call it fight or flight. Girl power. Whatever the fuck you want… All I know was I was still scared and in tears when I hurled that phone at the son-of-a-bitch.
The fastball smashed him right in the face.
Crying out, Michael fell into the shelf before hitting the ground. He dropped the blade. The laptop.
Creaking through the night, the shelf toppled over, pinning him to the ground. Mom’s head laid right beside Michael. Her gaze stuck taunting his squirming body. His arms flailed about, splashing through the blood.
I then made my move. Grabbed the butcher knife and confronted the killer.
Michael held up his hands. A futile effort to stop this bitch.
My rage won. With a rebel yell, I plunged the blade into his throat.
Blood splurted over me like war paint. I pushed my hair to the side. Behind bitter eyes, I watched Michael’s arms collapse. Watched blood build up beneath him. Watched his body go still.
Lodged in his neck, the knife was my victory flag. Michael my latest “conquest.”
The adrenaline kept me warm on this winter night. Not to mention helped console me from the tragedy...
Curious, I reached toward the ski mask.
In a quick tug, I yanked it off. And there was the dream guy from Bumble: Michael Barnes. His blue eyes now faded with death. His face less handsome, his body less muscular under the gore.
All the while, the laptop’s frenetic comments kept going. An assembly line of voyeurs.
I confronted their many disappointed faces. The crowd bloodblocked.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. Several vicious stomps smashed the screen into smithereens. Death to LiveKills... at least for tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure appear. Creeping in from the dark depths of the other bedroom. A tall figure in dark leggings and a flowing cape. A woman. Her entrance like that of a rock star taking the stage.
The fear coming back, I faced her. Faced the mannequin mask. Its long, mocking smile. The big eyes beneath it. The big boobs beneath the black clothes. And the even bigger knife in her hand…
There was Shannon. The stuff of Creepypasta lore. Of rhonnie14 horror. Right here in the flesh.
Showing off brute strength, Shannon pushed me to the ground. She glided over me. Her movements effortless.
Shannon put the knife to my throat. A headlock I wouldn’t dare try to escape.
In a theatrical motion, Shannon held out her phone. A message already prepared for me was on display. The letters big and crude.
Do what you’re told and you’ll live, bitch The winking emoji next to it did little to comfort me…
So here I am now. In a house I’ve never been to and in a room without a window. I’m trapped. No longer Melissa Ramsey but Tara Heisler. I guess my wish did come true… I’m the bombshell. A bombshell crafted by Shannon and all the others involved at LiveKills.
The process wasn’t easy. This wasn’t botox or a smooth surgery. Instead, my skin was bleached in the cheapest way possible. Similar to the dye they use to keep my hair bleached blonde. Blue contacts now disguise my eyes. Crude surgeries gave me the lousiest silicone for the big boobs.
Now I sit alone in this room. A poor man’s version of that Instagram model I based my Catfish persona on. The laptop and cell phone my only items. The thousands of horny girls and boys my only company… people not unlike me in the days before I met Shannon.
Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if Michael was really the killer or a victim. If he was someone like me. Someone they dolled up for the kills. Someone they forced into this twisted game.
I’ve been told my turn is tonight. My first livestream murder. Shannon is joining me to make sure I go through with it. Both of us armed with those huge knives. I’m not really sure what else to say. What else to do. All I can tell you girls and guys is don’t get too thirsty. Please don’t be Melissa. And if you end up matching with a Tara Heisler, a Southern blonde charmer… be careful. Because it’s either gonna be you or me who makes it through the night.
14
submitted by rhonnie14 to mrcreeps [link] [comments]


2019.12.20 22:08 rhonnie14 Voyeur chat room

Everyone knows about The Deep Web murders. LiveKills. Shannon. We’ve all read the Creepypastas and NoSleeps. rhonnie14’s stories. I believed them then. And now I know they’re real.
At the time, I figured the Deep Web sickness had spread into most dating apps. Bumble, Tinder. But that still didn’t stop me. No, Melissa Ramsey was stubborn… And honestly, I was too horny to care.
I wasn’t pretty. Not in a conventional way. At nineteen, I was a skinny black girl. Big brown eyes hidden behind big glasses. My short straight hair and weird fashion sense did more to showcase a fivehead and scrawny body than my nicer qualities. With a bony ass and small tits, I had nothing to attract boys. Even being a freshman at a nice college like Georgia Southwwestern didn’t mean anything when I lived with the folks instead of on campus. They had a nice house out in the country, sure… but there wasn’t a single hot guy anywhere near us.
So yeah, I was quiet. I had no friends. Way too awkward to strike up a conversation in person… much less with any sexy guys. So I did what any girl or guy in that spot would do: I hit up the apps.
The only problem was Tinder, MeetMe, and Bumble were all strikeouts... and that was with me swiping right on every guy. Even my attempts at posting sexy pics on Gonewild got zero upvotes. I don’t know… Maybe I just didn’t have the face or body the boys wanted. At least not for the studs I wanted.
Of course, the only interest I got were from weirdos and unattractive dudes. Okay, maybe they were in my league but still… why couldn’t one of the hotties like me? Shit, I’d settle for a one night stand or SnapChat sext-a-thon at this point. I wouldn’t even mind the dick and ass pics if it was a fineass guy sending them. After all, Ladybonersgw could only get me so far...
But then came my brutal epiphany. And the truth hurts, let me tell you: the problem was me. Melissa. Not the sexy guys. I was the ugly one. The loser. The female creep.
So I decided to overhaul my image. Like a makeover you see in the movies.
No, I didn’t wear more make-up. I didn’t ditch the glasses. Didn’t stylize my hair or hit the gym. Instead, I made a fake Bumble profile.
I chose the name Tara Heisler. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Instagram model became my new image. She had tan skin, big boobs. Tall. One of those Southern Belle coed types I’d spent over a decade being harassed by… and over a decade competing with. And now she was me. The perfect Catfish in this thirsty ocean.
The boys didn’t have a chance. I was slaying right and left. No longer did I have to settle for male versions of me. Gone were the awkward, weird types... In came the hotties.
Maybe my theater experience helped me with the texting and chat performances. Or maybe it was just the natural benefit of being a conventional beauty. Then again, that model’s plethora of sexy Instagram photos also helped me win some action.
I could make those hunks do anything. White guys, black guys, jocks, hot nerds, it didn’t matter. They bowed down to my pussy power. And the fucking pics and vids they’d send… Girllllll
My secret porn library grew bigger and better. There were the big dicks, the bubble butts, the gym shots, even guy-on-guy videos. Whatever “Tara” asked for, those boys sent. And they didn’t hesitate when doing it for me. Not when I was on that SnapChat stage playing their dream girl.
Okay so maybe I wasn’t gonna meet my future husband doing this. Not even my future friend with benefit or first serious boyfriend. But still this was a fun way to satisfy my own desperate thirst.
For once, I felt hot. Powerful. A social media queen. And playing the sexy THOT only allowed me to slip deeper into my own desires. These hotties responded to all my fantasies. Pegging, Devil’s Threesomes, watching two cuties fuck each other… All the sexy stuff Melissa was too scared to ask. And all the sexy stuff these prettyboys would never do for a girl like me. Only under the spell of an All-American hottie.
The tantalizing fun lasted through the first few days of winter break. The hot nudes and talks an amazing early Christmas present.
I stayed cautious, of course. Those Creepypastas and rhonnie14 stories still lingered in the back of my mind… when I wasn’t overcome with excitement, that is. The inner heat I felt warmed me from both the cold and unease. My anticipation only increased with each new fineass match and steamy pic.
This Tuesday night was more of the same. A few minutes past nine-thirty, and I was still holed up in my room. Sitting at my computer desk. Surrounded by Nicki Minaj and Tarantino posters. Not working on any scripts or monologues like I told mom…
My phone was blowing up with sizzling Snaps. I’d managed to talk a baseball player into doing both twerking and jerking videos…
Grinning, I lowered the phone and slid my hand down toward my pajama pants. Underneath the green fabric… I was bracing for the show. All thanks to Tara.
The bedroom door burst open. In a frenzy, I yanked my hand out and exited SnapChat. My dream delayed.
Mom leaned in the doorway. The sloppy pajamas covered her chubby frame. Straight hair dangled down her back. Mom’s small eyes stuck on me. “You okay, sweetie?” she said in a soft tone.
Like a panicking crook, I struggled to suppress the nerves. Breathing heavy, I checked my phone once more. Glad no big dick or baseball butt was grabbing mom’s nosy gaze.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. Folding my arms in the cold room, I faced her. “I’ll come down in a minute.”
Mom flashed me a warm smile. “Okay, we’re about to watch the movie.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said. “I just wanted to finish the strip, I mean script.” Cringing, my grip grew tighter on the phone. To my real entertainment.
Mama chucked. “Okay, we’ll be downstairs.” With that, she leaned back and shut the door.
Now I was back to my fantasy. Back to the boys.
A vibration further fueled my excitement.
I turned my hungry eyes toward the phone. Toward the new Bumble alert: You got a new match
Grinning, I veered straight to the app. And what a match it was…
Michael Barnes. 24 and in great shape. Well over six feet tall. A physique as flawless as his baby blues. His straight brown hair complemented a smooth, slender face. The type of hunk destined for Wall Street success or modeling agencies.
“Hello…” I said to myself. Immediately, I made the first move: Sup sexy
Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. In seconds, Michael’s reply appeared: Hey cutie. Snap?
My exhilaration only increased. Score another one for Team Tara.
Our flirting continued on SnapChat for another ten minutes. He sent me a few face pics, a sexy gym shot. I responded with the best of Tara’s Instagram. Needless to say, I pushed Michael for more… like a repressed housewife eager for a peek at their neighborhood’s new hottie.
I was glad I wasn’t scaring him off. Michael was rather playful. His arsenal of emojis and sarcasm kept me entertained.
WHAT ARE U WEARING TARA? he typed out in all caps. Followed by a kissing emoji.
Wanting to escalate the sexting session, I deliberated. Then replied: Getting late so… you know, just a bra and thong ;)
I waited and waited for a response. In simultaneous dread and anticipation. Michael had seen my reply. In a painful taunt, his Goddamn Bitmoji kept popping up from time to time. But there wasn’t a word. Not even a is typing tease.
“What the fuck,” I muttered. “Come on, bitch.”
A few more minutes went by. Agonizing anxiety dominated me. The anguish hurt. Unlike me, Tara never lost a man. And she couldn’t lose this one… Not when Michael had enraptured my female gaze.
Bumble gave me another alert. Another new match. I guess there were more fish in this sleazy sea… But still. I couldn’t shake Michael. Right when things were about to get hot and heavy, he just dipped. Sure, Melissa was used to being ghosted by the hotter guys. But not Tara.
Determined, I sent another message: I’m dressed to kill, boo
Trembling, I took a deep breath. Felt even colder in the room.
And then Michael’s pending reply got me hot all over again. The internal excitement came roaring back.
Until I saw his message. A chilling unease extinguished my fire.
HAVE U EVER KILLED BEFORE TARA?? Michael asked. Again, his message was in all caps. The eerie question accentuated by a winking emoji.
I was too scared to talk. Too scared to even text.
Michael’s once-adorable Bitmoji flashed a sinister smile. The image now possessing the aura of a killer doll. Uncanny Valley in overdrive.
And then he started typing…
I stole a glance at the door. Not sure what to do. My aroused feelings replaced by fear.
Michael’s next message arrived: BECAUSE I HAVE
A hash vibration accompanied the next text: REMEMBER THAT STORY ABOUT PATRICK
He sent me a link. A NoSleep. I Just Saw A Girl I Matched With On Tinder Get Killed. rhonnie14’s popular Deep Web story.
Trapped in the chilling conversation, I struggled to turn away. I couldn’t.
Michael’s new message appeared: THAT WAS ME
His Bitmoji’s grin only grew wider. More deranged. The big blue eyes like daggers to my soul.
THAT WAS ME MELISSA read his next text.
A hollow horror spread across me. Numbness. The aftereffects of a most unsettling shock.
I didn’t even flinch when Michael sent another message: MELISSA RAMSEY
AMERICUS, GEORGIA
Shivering, I struggled to hold the phone. Tears fell down my face.
In quick succession, the final text arrived: 14 PRICE STREET
Michael’s Bitmoji vanished off my screen. Off into the night. And deep in my sickened gut, I knew right where he was going…
I leapt out of my seat and bolted for the door. In total panic. My night of pleasure turned to a night of horror. No longer was I confident Tara… I was back to helpless Melissa. The timid geek.
Clinging to my phone, I ripped open the door and rushed into the upstairs hallway. The lights were out. Every single one. And somehow, the house was colder…
Scanning the scene, I looked all around me. The other bedroom door was closed. A nearby shelf a towering shadow, the hanging picture frames nothing more than blank canvases in the dark. Downstairs, it was pitch black. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. The dim lamps from my room the only light close by...
“Mama!” I yelled.
I stood there in the freezing silence. Waiting for a soothing voice that never came.
The phone pulsated in my hand. Startled, I confronted SnapChat.
Michael had sent me another link. To a domain and extension I never heard of… but a site that sent chills down my spine. LiveKills.
Uneasy, I stared at the link.
Another message from Michael appeared: ENJOY TARA
I forced myself to mash it.
The video swallowed up my screen. The footage precise and pristine. And in a setting I was all too familiar with… our living room.
I’d caught the middle of a bloodbath. Redness was scattered everywhere, all across our exotic rugs. Over the large flatscreen
My father’s corpse was sprawled across the couch. Deep cuts in his head and throat. His face partially flayed. Mom’s screams a brutal soundtrack to the massacre.
The camera captured mama staggering into a corner. Blood soaked through her pajamas. Weeping, she held her hands out. Out toward a masked man I was certain was Michael… or at least the man I’d been talking to for the last half hour...
The killer stood tall. He wore dark clothes and an even darker ski mask. His long butcher knife coated in blood. The blade marking my mother for a most horrible death.
“No!” I yelled through the tears.
Then I saw it. Beneath the murders, comments piled up. On screen were users of all genders and races and ages. An excited audience. O hes got her now!! Kill dat bitch! I love this guy SO FUCKIN SICK!1 read their messages.
The comments kept piling in. Small boxes showed viewers watching on Skype. Their eyes and expressions hungry for blood.
Overcome by panic, I exited the video. Looked toward the stairs. “Mom!” I screamed out.
The eerie silence lingered. The sound of death.
Fighting through the emotions and terror, I called mom’s phone. A desperate attempt to reach her. To save her.
A buzz sliced through the silence. Behind me, a beam of light caught my eye.
I whirled around. A horrified scream escaped my lips.
Through my bedroom’s lights, I saw mama’s severed head a few feet away. The head positioned like a work of art on the shelf. Blood poured out the neck in a red river. Her long hair smeared across her face’s many slices. The glowing cell phone jammed straight in her shrieking mouth like a candle in a jack o’lantern.
Mom’s scared eyes stayed on me. Unblinking, haunting eyes.
“No!” I screamed. Breaking down in tears, I trembled in the hallway. My knees went wobbly, my arms quivering. I was a scared soldier come face-to-face with Death. All those Dark Web Creepypastas a reality in my own home.
My phone pulsated to life, drawing me back to SnapChat. Back to my parents’ killer.
A new Snap from Michael greeted me.
Even this frightened, I didn’t hesitate to play it. After all, I had nowhere to run. I couldn’t just block this creep… I had to confront him.
A pic of Michael stared back at me. Him in the ski mask. Standing on our staircase. His blue eyes shined through the darkness… Much like his sharp knife.
Blood red font spelled out his final message: UR NEXT TARA The crazy smiling emoji a ferocious finish to this terrifying threat.
The other bedroom door slammed open. And there came my stud charging at me.
Moving quick, Michael raised the butcher knife. Blood dripped off its edge. A huge laptop clasped in Michael’s other gloved hand. Its camera ready to capture my close-up.
“Aw, fuck!” I yelled.
I jumped back in my room. Images of my slaughtered parents flashed through my mind. Dad’s filleted face. Mom’s severed head. The visceral fear forever resting in her dead eyes...
In the frigid hallway, I gripped my cell phone tighter. Anger boiled up inside.
Michael drew the knife back. Ready for the kill.
A fury conquered me. Call it fight or flight. Girl power. Whatever the fuck you want… All I know was I was still scared and in tears when I hurled that phone at the son-of-a-bitch.
The fastball smashed him right in the face.
Crying out, Michael fell into the shelf before hitting the ground. He dropped the blade. The laptop.
Creaking through the night, the shelf toppled over, pinning him to the ground. Mom’s head laid right beside Michael. Her gaze stuck taunting his squirming body. His arms flailed about, splashing through the blood.
I then made my move. Grabbed the butcher knife and confronted the killer.
Michael held up his hands. A futile effort to stop this bitch.
My rage won. With a rebel yell, I plunged the blade into his throat.
Blood splurted over me like war paint. I pushed my hair to the side. Behind bitter eyes, I watched Michael’s arms collapse. Watched blood build up beneath him. Watched his body go still.
Lodged in his neck, the knife was my victory flag. Michael my latest “conquest.”
The adrenaline kept me warm on this winter night. Not to mention helped console me from the tragedy...
Curious, I reached toward the ski mask.
In a quick tug, I yanked it off. And there was the dream guy from Bumble: Michael Barnes. His blue eyes now faded with death. His face less handsome, his body less muscular under the gore.
All the while, the laptop’s frenetic comments kept going. An assembly line of voyeurs.
I confronted their many disappointed faces. The crowd bloodblocked.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. Several vicious stomps smashed the screen into smithereens. Death to LiveKills... at least for tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure appear. Creeping in from the dark depths of the other bedroom. A tall figure in dark leggings and a flowing cape. A woman. Her entrance like that of a rock star taking the stage.
The fear coming back, I faced her. Faced the mannequin mask. Its long, mocking smile. The big eyes beneath it. The big boobs beneath the black clothes. And the even bigger knife in her hand…
There was Shannon. The stuff of Creepypasta lore. Of rhonnie14 horror. Right here in the flesh.
Showing off brute strength, Shannon pushed me to the ground. She glided over me. Her movements effortless.
Shannon put the knife to my throat. A headlock I wouldn’t dare try to escape.
In a theatrical motion, Shannon held out her phone. A message already prepared for me was on display. The letters big and crude.
Do what you’re told and you’ll live, bitch The winking emoji next to it did little to comfort me…
So here I am now. In a house I’ve never been to and in a room without a window. I’m trapped. No longer Melissa Ramsey but Tara Heisler. I guess my wish did come true… I’m the bombshell. A bombshell crafted by Shannon and all the others involved at LiveKills.
The process wasn’t easy. This wasn’t botox or a smooth surgery. Instead, my skin was bleached in the cheapest way possible. Similar to the dye they use to keep my hair bleached blonde. Blue contacts now disguise my eyes. Crude surgeries gave me the lousiest silicone for the big boobs.
Now I sit alone in this room. A poor man’s version of that Instagram model I based my Catfish persona on. The laptop and cell phone my only items. The thousands of horny girls and boys my only company… people not unlike me in the days before I met Shannon.
Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if Michael was really the killer or a victim. If he was someone like me. Someone they dolled up for the kills. Someone they forced into this twisted game.
I’ve been told my turn is tonight. My first livestream murder. Shannon is joining me to make sure I go through with it. Both of us armed with those huge knives. I’m not really sure what else to say. What else to do. All I can tell you girls and guys is don’t get too thirsty. Please don’t be Melissa. And if you end up matching with a Tara Heisler, a Southern blonde charmer… be careful. Because it’s either gonna be you or me who makes it through the night.
14
submitted by rhonnie14 to AllThingsScary [link] [comments]


2019.12.20 22:07 rhonnie14 I Should’ve Known The Deep Web Would Start Hitting Dating Apps

Everyone knows about The Deep Web murders. LiveKills. Shannon. We’ve all read the Creepypastas and NoSleeps. rhonnie14’s stories. I believed them then. And now I know they’re real.
At the time, I figured the Deep Web sickness had spread into most dating apps. Bumble, Tinder. But that still didn’t stop me. No, Melissa Ramsey was stubborn… And honestly, I was too horny to care.
I wasn’t pretty. Not in a conventional way. At nineteen, I was a skinny black girl. Big brown eyes hidden behind big glasses. My short straight hair and weird fashion sense did more to showcase a fivehead and scrawny body than my nicer qualities. With a bony ass and small tits, I had nothing to attract boys. Even being a freshman at a nice college like Georgia Southwwestern didn’t mean anything when I lived with the folks instead of on campus. They had a nice house out in the country, sure… but there wasn’t a single hot guy anywhere near us.
So yeah, I was quiet. I had no friends. Way too awkward to strike up a conversation in person… much less with any sexy guys. So I did what any girl or guy in that spot would do: I hit up the apps.
The only problem was Tinder, MeetMe, and Bumble were all strikeouts... and that was with me swiping right on every guy. Even my attempts at posting sexy pics on Gonewild got zero upvotes. I don’t know… Maybe I just didn’t have the face or body the boys wanted. At least not for the studs I wanted.
Of course, the only interest I got were from weirdos and unattractive dudes. Okay, maybe they were in my league but still… why couldn’t one of the hotties like me? Shit, I’d settle for a one night stand or SnapChat sext-a-thon at this point. I wouldn’t even mind the dick and ass pics if it was a fineass guy sending them. After all, Ladybonersgw could only get me so far...
But then came my brutal epiphany. And the truth hurts, let me tell you: the problem was me. Melissa. Not the sexy guys. I was the ugly one. The loser. The female creep.
So I decided to overhaul my image. Like a makeover you see in the movies.
No, I didn’t wear more make-up. I didn’t ditch the glasses. Didn’t stylize my hair or hit the gym. Instead, I made a fake Bumble profile.
I chose the name Tara Heisler. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Instagram model became my new image. She had tan skin, big boobs. Tall. One of those Southern Belle coed types I’d spent over a decade being harassed by… and over a decade competing with. And now she was me. The perfect Catfish in this thirsty ocean.
The boys didn’t have a chance. I was slaying right and left. No longer did I have to settle for male versions of me. Gone were the awkward, weird types... In came the hotties.
Maybe my theater experience helped me with the texting and chat performances. Or maybe it was just the natural benefit of being a conventional beauty. Then again, that model’s plethora of sexy Instagram photos also helped me win some action.
I could make those hunks do anything. White guys, black guys, jocks, hot nerds, it didn’t matter. They bowed down to my pussy power. And the fucking pics and vids they’d send… Girllllll
My secret porn library grew bigger and better. There were the big dicks, the bubble butts, the gym shots, even guy-on-guy videos. Whatever “Tara” asked for, those boys sent. And they didn’t hesitate when doing it for me. Not when I was on that SnapChat stage playing their dream girl.
Okay so maybe I wasn’t gonna meet my future husband doing this. Not even my future friend with benefit or first serious boyfriend. But still this was a fun way to satisfy my own desperate thirst.
For once, I felt hot. Powerful. A social media queen. And playing the sexy THOT only allowed me to slip deeper into my own desires. These hotties responded to all my fantasies. Pegging, Devil’s Threesomes, watching two cuties fuck each other… All the sexy stuff Melissa was too scared to ask. And all the sexy stuff these prettyboys would never do for a girl like me. Only under the spell of an All-American hottie.
The tantalizing fun lasted through the first few days of winter break. The hot nudes and talks an amazing early Christmas present.
I stayed cautious, of course. Those Creepypastas and rhonnie14 stories still lingered in the back of my mind… when I wasn’t overcome with excitement, that is. The inner heat I felt warmed me from both the cold and unease. My anticipation only increased with each new fineass match and steamy pic.
This Tuesday night was more of the same. A few minutes past nine-thirty, and I was still holed up in my room. Sitting at my computer desk. Surrounded by Nicki Minaj and Tarantino posters. Not working on any scripts or monologues like I told mom…
My phone was blowing up with sizzling Snaps. I’d managed to talk a baseball player into doing both twerking and jerking videos…
Grinning, I lowered the phone and slid my hand down toward my pajama pants. Underneath the green fabric… I was bracing for the show. All thanks to Tara.
The bedroom door burst open. In a frenzy, I yanked my hand out and exited SnapChat. My dream delayed.
Mom leaned in the doorway. The sloppy pajamas covered her chubby frame. Straight hair dangled down her back. Mom’s small eyes stuck on me. “You okay, sweetie?” she said in a soft tone.
Like a panicking crook, I struggled to suppress the nerves. Breathing heavy, I checked my phone once more. Glad no big dick or baseball butt was grabbing mom’s nosy gaze.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. Folding my arms in the cold room, I faced her. “I’ll come down in a minute.”
Mom flashed me a warm smile. “Okay, we’re about to watch the movie.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said. “I just wanted to finish the strip, I mean script.” Cringing, my grip grew tighter on the phone. To my real entertainment.
Mama chucked. “Okay, we’ll be downstairs.” With that, she leaned back and shut the door.
Now I was back to my fantasy. Back to the boys.
A vibration further fueled my excitement.
I turned my hungry eyes toward the phone. Toward the new Bumble alert: You got a new match
Grinning, I veered straight to the app. And what a match it was…
Michael Barnes. 24 and in great shape. Well over six feet tall. A physique as flawless as his baby blues. His straight brown hair complemented a smooth, slender face. The type of hunk destined for Wall Street success or modeling agencies.
“Hello…” I said to myself. Immediately, I made the first move: Sup sexy
Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. In seconds, Michael’s reply appeared: Hey cutie. Snap?
My exhilaration only increased. Score another one for Team Tara.
Our flirting continued on SnapChat for another ten minutes. He sent me a few face pics, a sexy gym shot. I responded with the best of Tara’s Instagram. Needless to say, I pushed Michael for more… like a repressed housewife eager for a peek at their neighborhood’s new hottie.
I was glad I wasn’t scaring him off. Michael was rather playful. His arsenal of emojis and sarcasm kept me entertained.
WHAT ARE U WEARING TARA? he typed out in all caps. Followed by a kissing emoji.
Wanting to escalate the sexting session, I deliberated. Then replied: Getting late so… you know, just a bra and thong ;)
I waited and waited for a response. In simultaneous dread and anticipation. Michael had seen my reply. In a painful taunt, his Goddamn Bitmoji kept popping up from time to time. But there wasn’t a word. Not even a is typing tease.
“What the fuck,” I muttered. “Come on, bitch.”
A few more minutes went by. Agonizing anxiety dominated me. The anguish hurt. Unlike me, Tara never lost a man. And she couldn’t lose this one… Not when Michael had enraptured my female gaze.
Bumble gave me another alert. Another new match. I guess there were more fish in this sleazy sea… But still. I couldn’t shake Michael. Right when things were about to get hot and heavy, he just dipped. Sure, Melissa was used to being ghosted by the hotter guys. But not Tara.
Determined, I sent another message: I’m dressed to kill, boo
Trembling, I took a deep breath. Felt even colder in the room.
And then Michael’s pending reply got me hot all over again. The internal excitement came roaring back.
Until I saw his message. A chilling unease extinguished my fire.
HAVE U EVER KILLED BEFORE TARA?? Michael asked. Again, his message was in all caps. The eerie question accentuated by a winking emoji.
I was too scared to talk. Too scared to even text.
Michael’s once-adorable Bitmoji flashed a sinister smile. The image now possessing the aura of a killer doll. Uncanny Valley in overdrive.
And then he started typing…
I stole a glance at the door. Not sure what to do. My aroused feelings replaced by fear.
Michael’s next message arrived: BECAUSE I HAVE
A hash vibration accompanied the next text: REMEMBER THAT STORY ABOUT PATRICK
He sent me a link. A NoSleep. I Just Saw A Girl I Matched With On Tinder Get Killed. rhonnie14’s popular Deep Web story.
Trapped in the chilling conversation, I struggled to turn away. I couldn’t.
Michael’s new message appeared: THAT WAS ME
His Bitmoji’s grin only grew wider. More deranged. The big blue eyes like daggers to my soul.
THAT WAS ME MELISSA read his next text.
A hollow horror spread across me. Numbness. The aftereffects of a most unsettling shock.
I didn’t even flinch when Michael sent another message: MELISSA RAMSEY
AMERICUS, GEORGIA
Shivering, I struggled to hold the phone. Tears fell down my face.
In quick succession, the final text arrived: 14 PRICE STREET
Michael’s Bitmoji vanished off my screen. Off into the night. And deep in my sickened gut, I knew right where he was going…
I leapt out of my seat and bolted for the door. In total panic. My night of pleasure turned to a night of horror. No longer was I confident Tara… I was back to helpless Melissa. The timid geek.
Clinging to my phone, I ripped open the door and rushed into the upstairs hallway. The lights were out. Every single one. And somehow, the house was colder…
Scanning the scene, I looked all around me. The other bedroom door was closed. A nearby shelf a towering shadow, the hanging picture frames nothing more than blank canvases in the dark. Downstairs, it was pitch black. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. The dim lamps from my room the only light close by...
“Mama!” I yelled.
I stood there in the freezing silence. Waiting for a soothing voice that never came.
The phone pulsated in my hand. Startled, I confronted SnapChat.
Michael had sent me another link. To a domain and extension I never heard of… but a site that sent chills down my spine. LiveKills.
Uneasy, I stared at the link.
Another message from Michael appeared: ENJOY TARA
I forced myself to mash it.
The video swallowed up my screen. The footage precise and pristine. And in a setting I was all too familiar with… our living room.
I’d caught the middle of a bloodbath. Redness was scattered everywhere, all across our exotic rugs. Over the large flatscreen
My father’s corpse was sprawled across the couch. Deep cuts in his head and throat. His face partially flayed. Mom’s screams a brutal soundtrack to the massacre.
The camera captured mama staggering into a corner. Blood soaked through her pajamas. Weeping, she held her hands out. Out toward a masked man I was certain was Michael… or at least the man I’d been talking to for the last half hour...
The killer stood tall. He wore dark clothes and an even darker ski mask. His long butcher knife coated in blood. The blade marking my mother for a most horrible death.
“No!” I yelled through the tears.
Then I saw it. Beneath the murders, comments piled up. On screen were users of all genders and races and ages. An excited audience. O hes got her now!! Kill dat bitch! I love this guy SO FUCKIN SICK!1 read their messages.
The comments kept piling in. Small boxes showed viewers watching on Skype. Their eyes and expressions hungry for blood.
Overcome by panic, I exited the video. Looked toward the stairs. “Mom!” I screamed out.
The eerie silence lingered. The sound of death.
Fighting through the emotions and terror, I called mom’s phone. A desperate attempt to reach her. To save her.
A buzz sliced through the silence. Behind me, a beam of light caught my eye.
I whirled around. A horrified scream escaped my lips.
Through my bedroom’s lights, I saw mama’s severed head a few feet away. The head positioned like a work of art on the shelf. Blood poured out the neck in a red river. Her long hair smeared across her face’s many slices. The glowing cell phone jammed straight in her shrieking mouth like a candle in a jack o’lantern.
Mom’s scared eyes stayed on me. Unblinking, haunting eyes.
“No!” I screamed. Breaking down in tears, I trembled in the hallway. My knees went wobbly, my arms quivering. I was a scared soldier come face-to-face with Death. All those Dark Web Creepypastas a reality in my own home.
My phone pulsated to life, drawing me back to SnapChat. Back to my parents’ killer.
A new Snap from Michael greeted me.
Even this frightened, I didn’t hesitate to play it. After all, I had nowhere to run. I couldn’t just block this creep… I had to confront him.
A pic of Michael stared back at me. Him in the ski mask. Standing on our staircase. His blue eyes shined through the darkness… Much like his sharp knife.
Blood red font spelled out his final message: UR NEXT TARA The crazy smiling emoji a ferocious finish to this terrifying threat.
The other bedroom door slammed open. And there came my stud charging at me.
Moving quick, Michael raised the butcher knife. Blood dripped off its edge. A huge laptop clasped in Michael’s other gloved hand. Its camera ready to capture my close-up.
“Aw, fuck!” I yelled.
I jumped back in my room. Images of my slaughtered parents flashed through my mind. Dad’s filleted face. Mom’s severed head. The visceral fear forever resting in her dead eyes...
In the frigid hallway, I gripped my cell phone tighter. Anger boiled up inside.
Michael drew the knife back. Ready for the kill.
A fury conquered me. Call it fight or flight. Girl power. Whatever the fuck you want… All I know was I was still scared and in tears when I hurled that phone at the son-of-a-bitch.
The fastball smashed him right in the face.
Crying out, Michael fell into the shelf before hitting the ground. He dropped the blade. The laptop.
Creaking through the night, the shelf toppled over, pinning him to the ground. Mom’s head laid right beside Michael. Her gaze stuck taunting his squirming body. His arms flailed about, splashing through the blood.
I then made my move. Grabbed the butcher knife and confronted the killer.
Michael held up his hands. A futile effort to stop this bitch.
My rage won. With a rebel yell, I plunged the blade into his throat.
Blood splurted over me like war paint. I pushed my hair to the side. Behind bitter eyes, I watched Michael’s arms collapse. Watched blood build up beneath him. Watched his body go still.
Lodged in his neck, the knife was my victory flag. Michael my latest “conquest.”
The adrenaline kept me warm on this winter night. Not to mention helped console me from the tragedy...
Curious, I reached toward the ski mask.
In a quick tug, I yanked it off. And there was the dream guy from Bumble: Michael Barnes. His blue eyes now faded with death. His face less handsome, his body less muscular under the gore.
All the while, the laptop’s frenetic comments kept going. An assembly line of voyeurs.
I confronted their many disappointed faces. The crowd bloodblocked.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. Several vicious stomps smashed the screen into smithereens. Death to LiveKills... at least for tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure appear. Creeping in from the dark depths of the other bedroom. A tall figure in dark leggings and a flowing cape. A woman. Her entrance like that of a rock star taking the stage.
The fear coming back, I faced her. Faced the mannequin mask. Its long, mocking smile. The big eyes beneath it. The big boobs beneath the black clothes. And the even bigger knife in her hand…
There was Shannon. The stuff of Creepypasta lore. Of rhonnie14 horror. Right here in the flesh.
Showing off brute strength, Shannon pushed me to the ground. She glided over me. Her movements effortless.
Shannon put the knife to my throat. A headlock I wouldn’t dare try to escape.
In a theatrical motion, Shannon held out her phone. A message already prepared for me was on display. The letters big and crude.
Do what you’re told and you’ll live, bitch The winking emoji next to it did little to comfort me…
So here I am now. In a house I’ve never been to and in a room without a window. I’m trapped. No longer Melissa Ramsey but Tara Heisler. I guess my wish did come true… I’m the bombshell. A bombshell crafted by Shannon and all the others involved at LiveKills.
The process wasn’t easy. This wasn’t botox or a smooth surgery. Instead, my skin was bleached in the cheapest way possible. Similar to the dye they use to keep my hair bleached blonde. Blue contacts now disguise my eyes. Crude surgeries gave me the lousiest silicone for the big boobs.
Now I sit alone in this room. A poor man’s version of that Instagram model I based my Catfish persona on. The laptop and cell phone my only items. The thousands of horny girls and boys my only company… people not unlike me in the days before I met Shannon.
Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if Michael was really the killer or a victim. If he was someone like me. Someone they dolled up for the kills. Someone they forced into this twisted game.
I’ve been told my turn is tonight. My first livestream murder. Shannon is joining me to make sure I go through with it. Both of us armed with those huge knives. I’m not really sure what else to say. What else to do. All I can tell you girls and guys is don’t get too thirsty. Please don’t be Melissa. And if you end up matching with a Tara Heisler, a Southern blonde charmer… be careful. Because it’s either gonna be you or me who makes it through the night.
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