Ok.. this is an old story I never finished. I'm posting it for a few friends that want to read something really messed up. I may start posting some time in the future.. but for now, count this as a one off. Still on haitus bitches!!
This story contains = Gore, Racism, Elderly Persons, Celebrities, international Crises, "Sex", and a lot of other stuff, which makes it not suitable for anyone.
Please do not read this story. Instead. look at this cute pictures of Red Pandas:
The needle dropped onto the smooth, freshly un-minted, musical disk. In the dark room only illuminated by the incandescent glow of a few aimlessly placed candles, stood Mrs Miller. The large, 5'4" caucasian woman, sucked in a long steady breath; since the time when she was dragged back from the fiery pits of hell, everything had a certain light pleasure to her. She held the air in her lungs, watching her bosom quiver slightly, at the effort. The need to breath, telling her that she was alive again. "The Candyman" played through the record player's horn. Little Herrenvolk let of a small yip of excitement. Wagging his little white tail, the dog, formerly known to the local neighbourhood as "White Dog" was a great companion to Mrs Miller. She had always had an affinity to dogs, but since being revived had found that animals acted strange around her. Maybe it was because, although she looked, and talked like an elderly woman, her biology was the polar opposite of decrepit. The process of rejuvenation is a very complicated, and lengthy process to write down. So, for now it is adequate to say that the doctors who worked on her, obviously thought that the anatomy of small children was necessary to the process. "I came back from Memphis, where I learned to talk the jive.. " She sang along to the song. Little Herrenvolk, yipping and whining along to the beat, trotting around her, as she moved her body to the music.
"HHHARRRFGHHHGHUUGHHHHERRRHH!!!" Came the sound from the young black man, chained to a solid metal pipe with razor wire, in a very inventive way. He vomited a grey-green mixture of bile, and fried chicken, onto the cold cement floor. The fool stench of mandingo regurgitation, was akin to a freshly aborted fetus, covered in bird shit, and left to fester, and rot in a batch of pig intestine. The Ringo quivered with the pain of a thousand small blades slicing through his crotch.
"Oh, you're awake? Good. We can get started." Said Mrs Miller, as she reached forward, and pulled at the end of one of the lines of razor wire, encircled around Ringo's length. "mmm.. do you like that blacky?" The contracption was the brain child of one of Mrs Miller's friends, that she had met in one of her many online circles. razor wire was wrapped around the black man's length, before a cock sleeve was slid over it. The plastic sleeve would push the razors into the darky's cock, unleashing sweet, unparalleled pain onto the victim. Castration was suggested, as an end to this night of debauchery, but Mrs Miller was a more long term girl. She wanted to enjoy his pain for as long as it was possible. So, she modified the idea a bit. Ringo was a very special boy after all. This penis was 30 inches long. and almost touched the ground when he walked around, in the way that most, if not all black people walk.
A shrill scream came out of Ringo's mouth, as he saw his mangled member.
"ohh.. shush" Said Mrs Miller, stroking the darky's quivering face, wet with tears. "This is just one piece in the puzzle, Mandingo." Moving closer to whisper into his ear. "Once this process is complete, you won't be able to scream. wont be able to think. Your mind will break, and your senses will melt into each other. Everything that you are can feel pain. And I'm here to turn the dials to eleven." Miss Miller wispered seductively into the jungle bunny's ear.
As Mandingo's glans were ripped apart. Mrs Miller began to scream in pain. Looking at her hands in horror, as huge furry paws began to expand from her fingers. The skin and bone, snapping, and tearing. blood, and tendons falling on mandingo's savaged member. Falling to the floor, miss miller started vomiting big thick conglobulated balls of gore, which rolled across the stone ground, surrounding mandingo, stopping at the red velvet carpet..
A Painting of a dog, Dressed as a hot dog. Eating a hot dog. Covering the walls of the corridor. the corners of the various canvases, overlapping, their slightly fraide edges stretching out from the walls. like the semi melted finger of the radiated children of the Hiroshima era.
Little Herrenvolk dragged the passed out Jiggaboo's body through the corridor. The now raccoon-shaped Mrs Miller, strode forward, on her four legs. Her thick tail swinging back and forth, radianting colour onto the surrounding canvases, like the warm vibrant rays of a setting sun. If we, as the audience, were but a fly on the wall, at this point in the story. And were able to fly past Mrs Miller, and her trusty Herrenvolk. And we to land on one of the many canvases, and look around us. We would realise that amoung all of the seemingly random, and abitery symbolisms, and abstract paint strokes. There was one subject that was evident in all of the artworks. As the trio
This story contains = Gore, Racism, Elderly Persons, Celebrities, international Crises, "Sex", and a lot of other stuff, which makes it not suitable for anyone.
Please do not read this story. Instead. look at this cute pictures of Red Pandas:
The needle dropped onto the smooth, freshly un-minted, musical disk. In the dark room only illuminated by the incandescent glow of a few aimlessly placed candles, stood Mrs Miller. The large, 5'4" caucasian woman, sucked in a long steady breath; since the time when she was dragged back from the fiery pits of hell, everything had a certain light pleasure to her. She held the air in her lungs, watching her bosom quiver slightly, at the effort. The need to breath, telling her that she was alive again. "The Candyman" played through the record player's horn. Little Herrenvolk let of a small yip of excitement. Wagging his little white tail, the dog, formerly known to the local neighbourhood as "White Dog" was a great companion to Mrs Miller. She had always had an affinity to dogs, but since being revived had found that animals acted strange around her. Maybe it was because, although she looked, and talked like an elderly woman, her biology was the polar opposite of decrepit. The process of rejuvenation is a very complicated, and lengthy process to write down. So, for now it is adequate to say that the doctors who worked on her, obviously thought that the anatomy of small children was necessary to the process. "I came back from Memphis, where I learned to talk the jive.. " She sang along to the song. Little Herrenvolk, yipping and whining along to the beat, trotting around her, as she moved her body to the music.
"HHHARRRFGHHHGHUUGHHHHERRRHH!!!" Came the sound from the young black man, chained to a solid metal pipe with razor wire, in a very inventive way. He vomited a grey-green mixture of bile, and fried chicken, onto the cold cement floor. The fool stench of mandingo regurgitation, was akin to a freshly aborted fetus, covered in bird shit, and left to fester, and rot in a batch of pig intestine. The Ringo quivered with the pain of a thousand small blades slicing through his crotch.
"Oh, you're awake? Good. We can get started." Said Mrs Miller, as she reached forward, and pulled at the end of one of the lines of razor wire, encircled around Ringo's length. "mmm.. do you like that blacky?" The contracption was the brain child of one of Mrs Miller's friends, that she had met in one of her many online circles. razor wire was wrapped around the black man's length, before a cock sleeve was slid over it. The plastic sleeve would push the razors into the darky's cock, unleashing sweet, unparalleled pain onto the victim. Castration was suggested, as an end to this night of debauchery, but Mrs Miller was a more long term girl. She wanted to enjoy his pain for as long as it was possible. So, she modified the idea a bit. Ringo was a very special boy after all. This penis was 30 inches long. and almost touched the ground when he walked around, in the way that most, if not all black people walk.
A shrill scream came out of Ringo's mouth, as he saw his mangled member.
"ohh.. shush" Said Mrs Miller, stroking the darky's quivering face, wet with tears. "This is just one piece in the puzzle, Mandingo." Moving closer to whisper into his ear. "Once this process is complete, you won't be able to scream. wont be able to think. Your mind will break, and your senses will melt into each other. Everything that you are can feel pain. And I'm here to turn the dials to eleven." Miss Miller wispered seductively into the jungle bunny's ear.
As Mandingo's glans were ripped apart. Mrs Miller began to scream in pain. Looking at her hands in horror, as huge furry paws began to expand from her fingers. The skin and bone, snapping, and tearing. blood, and tendons falling on mandingo's savaged member. Falling to the floor, miss miller started vomiting big thick conglobulated balls of gore, which rolled across the stone ground, surrounding mandingo, stopping at the red velvet carpet..
A Painting of a dog, Dressed as a hot dog. Eating a hot dog. Covering the walls of the corridor. the corners of the various canvases, overlapping, their slightly fraide edges stretching out from the walls. like the semi melted finger of the radiated children of the Hiroshima era.
Little Herrenvolk dragged the passed out Jiggaboo's body through the corridor. The now raccoon-shaped Mrs Miller, strode forward, on her four legs. Her thick tail swinging back and forth, radianting colour onto the surrounding canvases, like the warm vibrant rays of a setting sun. If we, as the audience, were but a fly on the wall, at this point in the story. And were able to fly past Mrs Miller, and her trusty Herrenvolk. And we to land on one of the many canvases, and look around us. We would realise that amoung all of the seemingly random, and abitery symbolisms, and abstract paint strokes. There was one subject that was evident in all of the artworks. As the trio
No comments:
Post a Comment