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ginnyzero · 3 years

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Completely Harmless Ch. 54

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Fifty-Four CHILL-ax during Happy Horse Week!

The decorations were approved by other clubs while the few votes against them were roundly ignored. It helped that gave everyone a goodie bag and had a snack table set up with their treats and cups of apple cider mixed with ginger ale. The marble balloons had been turned into arches and pillars. She’d borrowed the flag banners from Jorvik Stable to show off what things would look like complete with hay bales.

The Councilman hadn’t been too happy about the hay bales, but Kate had promised to clean.

Everyone was relieved that Lily was okay. And they were more than willing to take shifts at the council house in order to help make the decorations they needed between breaks in training. Training that was more important than they realized.

In fact, it was Herman that clued Lily in as she waited her turn to run through the show jumping event set up in the Arena.

“Really looking forward to seeing all you girls at the County Fair this year,” he said with a big grin on his face. Leaning against the fence of the riding arena he looked almost lazy as he watched the girls.

Lily looked down at him and put a hand on her horse’s neck. “Herman, I think you’re forgetting that most of us have never lived here before. Or should I be asking Linda or Pauline?”

Herman glanced up, the grin didn’t fade. “Didn’t forget. Didn’t know you didn’t know.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Her stallion tossed his mane.

“There’s an eventing contest held at the County Fair every year. It’s the first qualifier for the Claymore Challenge. Every club comes and tries out. Course, last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, was just the Bobcats and the Bulldogz. Be nice to see them have a bit of competition.”

Lily’s brow furrowed. “But we’re collecting ribbons,” she said slowly drawing it out.

“Gotta train your horse and get it into condition so it knows what it’s doing. Practice is one thing, Lily girl, doing exhibition is another. The lights, the crowds, you don’t know how your horse is going to react. Depends on the crowd too.” Herman sucked his teeth. “Yep, some mighty fine riders in practice can’t make it through exhibitions.”

Lily pressed her tongue to her back teeth and looked off to the side as her brows furrowed. “Qualifiers,” she said after a few moments and not coming into any conclusions.

“Yep, helps me winnow it down. I know you’re all doing well in your ribbons. You can’t all go to the Claymore Challenge as much as I’d like to send you all. One Club per county. Thems the rules.”

Lily looked down at him. “I wasn’t given any rule list when I made the club. How many members are we allowed to have maximum anyways?”

“Fifty.”

Lily blinked. There went the plan to merge clubs to get around that pesky rule. “Well, we’re a bit beyond 100 people, Herman. I think we’re hitting closer to 200.”

Herman grinned. “And you wouldn’t believe how proud I am of that, all of you choosing to leave Moorland and form clubs to help out the district. Brings a tear to me old eyes, it does.”

Lily snorted. She shifted her attention. Tracey rode around the track keeping her posture upright as her stallion took the turns.

“You’re doing good things,” Herman rocked back and forth on his feet.

“If you say so,” Lily glanced back at him.

“You don’t think so?”

“I think I’m doing what needs to be done whether it’s good or bad, I can’t say.” Lily gripped the reins in her hands turning them over between her fingers. “I’m doing the best I can or we are, or I hope we are. One never knows. You have a lot of things you don’t tell newcomers, like, qualifiers being at the County Fair.”

Herman chuckled. “You’re revitalizing this county.”

“You didn’t need me for that, you just needed to act.”

“Mrs. X of CHILL wants to meet you,” Herman said.

“Fancy that,” Lily said in a dry voice. “I’m not surprised.”

“Alone.”

“Of course,” Lily murmured. “Because what other way do you meet the leader of a secret organization that,” she paused. “What does CHILL do?”

“Put nails in the road for G.E.D.,” Herman said.

“Your horse idioms are so lovely, Herman,” Lily said. “Where is she?”

“Observatory 12 in Epona.”

Lily backed her stallion away from the fence. “And let me guess, she wants to see me as soon as possible.”

“You know how this works.”

“Way too many crime shows, way, way too many.”

Herman laughed.

“How cliché can you get?” Lily muttered and nudged her horse into a trot. The nearest transport to the Observatory was in Crescent Moon Village she thought. Hillcrest and the Dews Farm in Epona were getting transports set up still. Hillcrest’s was in need of a major repair since someone had tried to use the truck to ram the wall. (It hadn’t worked.)

She took the transport to Crescent Moon Village and went directly down the road through the Marsh and up the side of the mountain to the Observatory perched on the edge of the Cauldron opposite of Hillcrest.

Dismounting, she opened the huge doors of the observatory a crack and slipped inside.

It wasn’t as dark as she’d thought it be. Sunlight streamed in through the small windows illuminating the place.

“I’m glad you came,” Mrs. X said from the middle of the room. She smoothed the skirt of her ankle length green dress, but a deep hood obscured her face.

Lily stepped closer. Mrs. X’s face was also covered with a mask. Crossing her arms, Lily stopped. “I don’t deal with people who hide their faces.”

“My identity is a closely guarded secret, one I’d like to keep that way.”

Lily pressed her lips together. “You’re either trying to recruit me. Or, you have a message for me. Spit it out one or the other.”

“You’ve impressed me.”

“Funny, you don’t sound impressed.”

“You’ve interfered with a major operation. Hillcrest is only a small part of the G.E.D.’s plans for the Harvest and Epona Districts. You’ve set me back months of work.”

“You, lady, are a vigilante.” Lily lifted a finger off of her arm. “You run around in the shadows not sharing information with the authorities, and causing more problems than you solve because you won’t work within the boundaries of the law.”

“The law has failed us.”

“So, Bernie Winterwell didn’t want to leave his house and was happy to be bribed. Was it a moral failing? Or is House of Winterwell in dire straits? Or is there another reason? I don’t know. I don’t care. If Baron Winterwell isn’t doing what you need to do, you go to Count Marchenghast.”

“He’s ill. The Countess is overwhelmed. They’re too young and inexperienced to handle the G.E.D.”

Lily’s lips parted. “Really? Because, Mrs. X., I’m what, sixteen, and I’ve handled them just fine by oh, seeing that they don’t have the proper paperwork or you know, put people in actual danger and taken this to the people in charge like the Rangers and the nobles who run this county and they’ve managed to take care of things with the information me and my girls have provided them. I do not feel that the people of Hillcrest are an acceptable sacrifice so you can try to stop the grander scheme and get the higher ups.”

“You are too young to understand.”

“I understand that right now you’re no better than the druids, most of whom, also wear hoods and also, who I will not have anything to do with unless they show their faces. Here’s my message to you, it’s the same one I gave to Elizabeth Sunbeam. You lead and take action instead of observing and waiting. You follow. Or you get the hell out of my way. The people of Hillcrest will not thank you for standing by and watching.”

“Jarlaheim is in great danger. You don’t understand how great.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yes. We know. You remember Mayor Elaine. She was in Hillcrest. She knew what Ms. Drake was up to. Ms. Drake has been arrested. Given her lawyers, she probably won’t be in there for long. But it’s a good way to stall them and give time for Mayor Elaine to recover and take control over Jarlaheim.” Lily turned on her toe and grabbed the door. Pulling it open, she looked over her shoulder. “Come out of the shadows, Mrs. X, and into the light.” She walked out shutting the door gently behind her.

“People,” she said to her stallion.

He whuffled.

Lily mounted and turned him around down the mountain. “Vigilantism, peh.”

He nodded his head.

“Jarlaheim is in great danger,” Lily mocked. “Gee, you think? I mean, there aren’t four dig sites around the place, probably illegal dig sites, run by the G.E.D. if it’s not in great danger. Like, I don’t have girls in every stable and town and farm in this county by now. And do you know what we teenage girls like to do?”

He knocked his ear back seemingly interested.

“Share information. People might call this gossip. Because they only hear about who is dating who and who is fighting and what embarrassing thing happened to so and so this week. But there is important information among the trivia.” She patted his neck. “Sometimes, if the mare is fat, it’s not that she’s actually fat, she’s pregnant.”

He whinnied.

“Exactly, you get it.” Lily let him trot down the road. “Diabolical corporations. Aliens. Witches. Ghosts. Aliens running diabolical corporations. Druids. Chipmunks and squirrels as spies. Magic horses. Now vigilantes.”

He nodded his head.

“Nahnahnahnahnahnahnah, Batman!”

Her horse whinnied again.

She quieted as she got out of the marsh and into the village. She hummed “Spider-man, spider-man, does whatever a spider can,” under her breath as they passed Hayden’s house.

She took the transport back to Jorvik Stables.

When Herman asked her how it went, she replied with, “It went.”

The decorations were ready in time for Happy Horse week, if barely. Barney had helped them by using the vinyl wall art to make plywood versions of the horse silhouettes with his wooden scroll saw. He’d also made them horse heads to vary up the horse shoes and hang their smaller horse garlands from. They weren’t allowed to touch his saw. They could lose fingers if they weren’t careful. Plus, he was making the silhouettes five or six at a time to save time. Each stable and town had at least one of each galloping, show jumping, and dressage silhouette. Carney Summers had been busy making race signs for everyone.

But everything was painted, glittered, glued together, whatever needed to be done in time to decorate for the week. Metal and plastic buckets had ribbons and bows on them. Plastic helmets also had bows and rhinestones and gold trim. They wrapped fancy striped ribbons in Jorvik national colors around every extra haybale they were strewing about for decorations. (And handy seating for the tired parents.)

So, the day before Happy Horse Week was also busy instead of training, they were decorating and making sure everything was out and just so. They’d put together plenty of snacks for the tables and had decided that mint candies went in predominantly blue favor cones, and granola went in predominantly green favor cones.

Putting together the selfie walls had been a bit easier now they were at the third time around. They used the triangular and horse shoe garlands to drape the circle. Put plenty of championship ribbons on the upper left hand side. Put together a pillar or arch out of marble balloons and made sure there were hobby horses and stuffed plushies (fresh from Fort Pinta) out for people to use as props.

Agnetha has pursed her lips at the arches of balloons in front of the rose archway and on each side of the bandstand, but she hadn’t said anything dire.

Thinking ahead, they set up the pavilion so people could decorate their own buckets and helmets if they wanted to do so. They even had championship ribbons for name badges.

They had to rearrange the jumps in the riding arena. (That gave them time to decorate it.) Though the Rose Arches remained firmly in place. And put together the special race tracks for the cross country races through the grape fields.

It was a good thing that they had extra decorations and banners, because just in time for Happy Horse Week, the Silverglade Oval Track was ready to open and it needed to be decorated as well.

Pia and Ingrid sent pictures of the Art Show and Flea Market respectively. Everything was horse themed! Pia had plenty of exclamation points. She never asked for it to be that way!

They had to help transport the cake from Ma Anna’s Pastry Shop in Firgrove all the way to Moorland. They transported it in separate tiers thank goodness, but they still wanted an escort for some reason. When it was put together, the bottom three tiers were sold colored, there was a blue tier, a green tier, and a white tier. Then the top two tiers, one had stripes, and the smallest was white with green and blue polka dots. They stuck a large golden harp in the top of it as a topper.

The tables for the Moorland feast were set out. And there were extra tables so they could set out the grab bags, horse masks, party hats, and horse ears for the kids. The Farmer’s Market bustled with happy people who were more than happy to put up another tent for the Carnival games of bobbing for apples, pig pen, horse shoes, hobby horse races, and pin the tail on the horse. They had a special spot for the pinatas (and plenty of them.) And a booth all set up so everyone could get their face painted.

Realizing they’d forgotten prizes for said games, Kate and her club ran to Jorvik City to get more of the prizes like they had in the grab bags. (Because why not try to collect them all, according to Regina. She was roundly reminded, again, that this wasn’t Pokemon!)

The Timber Wolves escorted Andy’s petting zoo down and helped him set it up at the same time they brought down the cake.

It was quite the whirl of activity.

No one was sure who exactly hid the Golden Horse Shoes, only, that they were hidden.

So, everyone was excited the first day of Happy Horse Week, despite the fact that they’d had to make a schedule so there were people minding the races, giving beginning riding lessons, doing the lunge informational event, the craft pavilion, and the snack booth.

“Where do we want to go first?” Was the biggest question. Firfall was having a jousting demonstration at their medieval fair. There was the County Fair to check out too with all the food, and booths, and games, and they had to keep an eye on the competition up there with the eventing qualifiers. Or, they could go to Moorland and get a slice of carrot cake or apple spice cake (or both) and go straight to the Farmer’s Market to do games there. Or, they go to Fort Pinta and grab Token Takes Jorvik, buy a horse plushy if they didn’t already have a stuffed lovie of their own and start on the different challenges, plushy vacation pictures, Andy’s Geocaching, and Hayden’s Spider Hunt.

More than a few of them though were bowing out of Hayden’s Spider Hunt.

“No thank you,” they said.

They knew they’d see all of it. It was a matter of did they want to watch a pie eating contest at the County Fair or not? There was going to be a demonstration of a flat track oval race too that sounded interesting. They all agreed that they wanted to see the horse rubber duck race. That sounded too funny not to see.

The last day was the Light Ride.

It was with light hearts that they made their schedule and took to explore the county during Happy Horse Week. (They had Golden Horseshoes to find!) The first place they had to go was the Silverglade Oval Track ribbon cutting ceremony!

Loretta shifted her weight on top of her white stallion, the pink of her showjumping jacket setting off her fair complexion. Lily cynically thought that was the reason why the Bobcats colors happened to be pink. Loretta looked good in it. Loretta glanced over at her. “What are you doing here?”

Lily tugged down the sleeves of her own showjumping jacket, light purple. (Thought she’d the option of a dark purple or mulberry color.) “Same as you, I suspect. Claymore Challenge qualifiers.”

Loretta’s eyes widened. “No. No. You can’t. Your clubs are too,” she trailed off.

“Too what? We’ve qualified. We’ve earned the ribbons.” Lily looked down her nose at her. Had Loretta forgotten about the fact that more clubs meant more competition?

“You haven’t been around long enough to train your horses to be competition ready,” Loretta curled her lip. “You’ve been too busy doing other things.”

Lily leaned forward a bit resting her weight on her folded hands. “Not for the last month, month and a half. You don’t want to train for more than a couple hours every day and risk hurting the horse.”

“But you couldn’t have earned enough ribbons.”

Lily smirked at her. “I did.”

“That’s not right.” Loretta frowned.

“Take it up with Herman.” Lily shrugged. She tilted her head.

The Announcer’s voice rang out. “President of the Bobcats, Loretta.”

“You’re up,” Lily told her.

Rattled, Loretta nudged her stallion into a trot to take the arena.

Lily narrowed her eyes and watched. Either Loretta wasn’t as good as she claimed to be or Lily’s appearance as the next competitor after her had truly rattled her. She missed several jumps knocking down the bars.

When Loretta came off the field she looked furious. She stopped her horse by Lily. “If someone like you who isn’t even from Jorvik keeps me from going to the Claymore Challenge again,” she started.

“Again?” Lily raised a brow. “Last I checked the rules, Jorvik citizenship wasn’t required to compete, only belonging to a Riding Club in Jorvik in good standing.”

Loretta sucked her cheeks in and trotted off. “I won’t be defeated.”

Lily watched her go and put a hand on her horse’s neck. “And President of the Silverglade Equestrian Center’s Silver Drakes, Lily,” The Announcer said.

Lily squared her shoulders. She had an event to do. She could wonder who had beat out Loretta last time. Lisa. Linda. Or Anne?

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #sso #star stable online #fan fic #jorvik reimagined #star stable salt #happy horse week #loretta isn't learning #silverglade reimagined #completely harmless #many nods to ruth westside

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earthstory · 5 years

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Mount Hood’s Fruit Loop

Mount Hood in Oregon is a stratovolcano in the Cascade Mountain Range. Volcanic soils are knownfor being rich in nutrients and well-suited to farming. Mount Hood farmers have long used this rich volcanic soil to grow fruits and vegetables.

In the late 1980s, Mount Hood agriculture took an economic downturn. Prices of Red Delicious Apples, a prominent crop in the area, declined drastically and imports were taking a toll. The Hood River County Fruit Loop was organized in 1992 to preserve local agriculture, market the farms and their produce to both locals and tourists, and lift the local economy. By 1995 they were organizing events like “Apples Days” and “Cherry Days”, bringing in customers so that farmers could sell their crops and fruit-based jams, tarts, and pies directly.

These days the 56-kilometer (35-mile) Fruit Loop has a bustling tourist economy. During the tourist season and on festival days, it’s common for long lines of cars to form at the entrances to the farms and wineries. Self-guided tours of the Fruit Loop are promoted to tourists.

Mount Hood farmers have diversified so they now grow vegetables, fruit, nuts, grapes for wine, and flowers for bouquets. They also offer experiences like wine tastings, festivals, fruit-picking, and flower-picking, with the beautiful scenery of Mount Hood and nearby Mount Adams as a way to attract customers. Crop diversification and a successful marketing campaign saved many of the family farms on Mount Hood.

-RE

Photo Credit: David Herrera https://www.flickr.com/photos/dph1110/7633933416 Read More: http://www.fao.org/forestry/internationalmountainday/en/ http://hoodriverfruitloop.com/ http://blog.oregonlive.com/travel_impact/2008/07/FruitLoop.pdf

#Geology #agriculture #science #mount h ood #cascade #oregon #the earth story #soil

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malereflections · 4 years

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Thumbnails of My Edgy Interests

Occasionally, my interests and fantasies include some things at the margins of the sexual landscape. Here are some thumbnail sketches of a sampling of these. The post is rather long, and is divided into subsections with appropriate subject headings so you can pick what you want. You will probably be surprised by what you read.

Initiation - I am being initiated into an all-male secret society. The initiation is carried out at night around a raised alter deep in the dark woods. There are a dozen or so hooded, robed figures surrounding the altar. They pass a metal goblet into which each contributes a small amount of urine. As the initiate, I am led to the altar where my robe is removed by the high priest, exposing my nakedness. I am given the goblet to drink. Then, I am laid out on my back on the altar so that my head bends down over the side, and my legs are spread and my ankles are secured in stirrups. The high priest offers up some incantations, then loosens the front of his robe revealing a massive hard cock. He takes me deeply and pounds me mercilessly until I feel his hot seed deep inside me. He walks around and inserts his ass-fresh, cum covered cock into my mouth for me to clean. Another member steps up and also takes me with his cock until he too, fills my bowels. He also uses my mouth to clean him, and the process repeats itself until all members have had their turn. A large butt plug is then inserted into me to retain the cum.

Jacuzzi - I enter a specially-designed Jacuzzi with three other guys that has knee pads and seat-belt like straps on the sides centered on a nozzle jet. Two guys face the jets, two face away. I start out facing toward the jet on my knees. The knee pads are adjusted so that my sensitive cockhead is right in front of the nozzle. I am then strapped tightly to the side, as are the other guys, and the pump is turned on. I cry out at the exquisite pleasure caused by the jet. It is so intense that I practically lose control of myself. It is not too long until I am shooting ropes of cum into the boiling water. I am moved to another station, standing in a deeper part of the pool, facing away from the nozzle, and bent slightly forward. I am positioned such that the jet is aimed right at my anal orifice, and I am again strapped tightly in place. The pump is started, and the jet blasts against my opening. I hold my anal sphincter tightly closed against the liquid assault as long as I can, buy eventually, it tires and relaxes. I groan as the high velocity jet blasts into me and floods my bowels. Soon I am distended, and mercifully the pump is turned off much to my relief. I realize that the water in the tub (and inside my ass) is now mixed with cum from the other guys.

Donkey Ride - I visit a special dude ranch, catering to male only clientele. One of the activities involves a private, guided burrow ride down into a deep canyon over a steep, rough trail. The saddle has a large, erect male dildo affixed to its center. When I mount up, the dildo is lubricated, and I am assisted in lowering myself (totally naked) slowly down onto the 8-inch long phallus until I am fully impaled. Once in the saddle, my feet barely reach to the stirrups such that I am unable to stand and raise myself up off the saddle. We move out, and I try to suppress my groans as the motions cause me to rock in the saddle with each step. As we descend the steep trail, the motions throw me violently back and forth and up and down in the saddle. I can contain my pleasure no more, and I moan aloud as I reach my first of several anal orgasms. That evening, I am taken to the barn where the burrows are kept, bent over a bale of hay on my stomach and restrained, then mounted and penetrated by a male burrow, who extracts his reward for a day of service. Now it is time for the burrow to signal his pleasure with loud baying that echoes down the canyon. All of those in the camp recognize this bay.

Symphonic Stimulation - I am restrained and blindfolded, and connected to an electro-stimulation device, with one electrode connected to a conductive anal probe, and the other to a rod inserted several inches into my urethra. The control unit is synchronized with music, with the intensity of the electric pulses proportional to loudness, and the frequency of the pulses proportional to tempo. It is turned on and I am left alone to enjoy the music from a long symphony, and the indescribable pleasure. My unintelligible groanings are drowned out by the music.

Canine Encounter - I am dressed in animal skins, with only my head and my ass uncovered. I am made to get on my hands and knees with my stomach and chest resting on a short padded bench, to which I am restrained. Concentrate of urine from a female dog in heat are liberally applied to my shaved asscrack. I am blindfolded. Shortly, the door opens and I hear what sounds like a large dog enter the room. I hear panting behind me and feel the touch of a cold nose to my ass. Suddenly, the beast is on my back with his legs locked on my sides. I feel the stabbing of his hard wet organ, probing, searching…then he hits home, and I moan aloud as I am deeply and relentlessly impaled by the rapid thrusts of his massive red phallus. His large knot forms inside me, and we are locked as he floods me with his canine seed.

Bed Boy - I am the guest of an important official in a far-away land with a different culture, and have been invited to spend the weekend at his secluded estate. Upon retiring to my room for the night, there is a quiet knock, and I open the door to find a servant with a scantily dressed, young prepubescent boy. The servant urges the lad into my room and tells me he is compliments of the master, for my companionship and enjoyment. Without saying anything, the boy removes his short robe, climbs onto my bed, and strikes a seductive pose. He is small but beautiful, with long blonde hair, smooth hairless body, and undescended balls. He would be known as a catamite or puer delicatus, an exquisite or dainty boy-slave selected by his master for his beauty as a sexual partner, dating back to Roman times. I know for me to refuse such a gift would be to insult the master.

I remove all my clothing and join him on the bed. He has obviously been coached on what to do to please a man, in every way possible. His little cock stays hard, and even though he is too young to ejaculate, he can experience intense boygasms. I give him many of these with my mouth. His bubble butt and puckered orifice are what dreams are made of. My mouth waters for the taste of his hole. I take him into my arms and proceed to ravish him repeatedly, filling his mouth and his tight ass with my semen, and enjoying the pleasures of man-boy love throughout the night. He quietly slips away at daybreak. In the morning my host asks how I slept. I smile, and try to hide a yawn. He knows, and says he is glad. The next night there is another knock on my door. It is a different young boy, but same outcome. This continues every night of my visit.

Hungry Calves - I have heard that nothing sucks like an hungry calf. I make arrangements to visit a special farm, and in one of the barns there is a sling suspended from the rafters. I climb into it and lie on my stomach, and my host secures me to the sling so that I am immobilized. There is a small opening through which my cock (now hardened with Viagra) and balls descend. I am suspended with the bottom of the sling about 4 feet off the ground. My host applies dairy crèam to my genitals. He leads several hungry young calves are led into the room, then locks the gate, leaving me alone. I moan aloud as am relentlessly milked by the calves until I empty my hot milky nectar into their incredible sucking mouths. Unsatiated, they continue to suck me to a multiple orgasms.

Quenching Thirst- I lie on the bed slightly propped up by a pillow against the headboard. My nude lover climbs up over me, straddling my head on his knees. He inserts his semi-erect cock into my willing mouth. Our eyes lock as I await his special present. Suddenly, my mouth is flooded with hot salty liquid and I consume the entire contents of his distended bladder. Not a drop is lost. Then, I suck him and drain his manly balls of their pent up load.

Polishing the Knob - I am stripped naked, and tied spread eagle on the bed on my back, blindfolded and gagged. Several large pillows are placed under my hips to elevate my middle so I am in a reverse curve. My Viagra fortified cock is constricted by cords tightly wrapped around the root and balls to keep it swollen and rock hard. My partner climbs onto the bed on his knees, grasps my shaft, and using the lubricated palm of his other hand, proceeds to “polish my knob” with much energy. He uses several motions, all of them aimed at my sensitive swollen cockknob. I writhe uncontrollably on the bed at the intense pleasure, pulling against my restraints, screaming into my gag. The sensations are too intense to bring an orgasm. But, he gives no relief, other than to vary the motions, teasing me. Finally, he changes to a stroking motion and gives me a much needed climax. But instead of stopping after I ejaculate, he goes back to polishing my knob, using mu cum as a lubricant. Once again I am writing and screaming as he continues to stimulate my cockhead, which is now very sensitive.

Fist and Arm - I am naked and positioned on my back in a sling suspended from the ceiling. My wrists and ankles are secured up above me with my legs spread wide. A small boy, also naked, stands between my legs. A lubricant has been generously applied to his hands and arm. He slowly begins to force his hand into my rectum. I groan and grimace from the discomfort as my anal muscles are stretched. He does not relent until my ass has consumed his hand. He makes a fist and continues his forward motion until he is up to his elbow. He then begins to plunge his fist and arm in and out like a piston while he strokes my cock with his other hand. I am crying out in pleasure and straining at the harness. I am completely out of control as my orgasm builds. Suddenly, I explode and my anal muscles contract in powerful spasms, gripping his arm as my cum shoots all the way up my chest.

Exposure - Periodically I have to feed the exhibitionist in me. I stay at a somewhat sleezy motel with external corridor access, when family vacations are not in season. Late at night, I crack open the window curtain, just enough to see into my dimly lit room. I then shamelessly exhibit myself engaged in sensual play on the bed wearing erotic black lingerie, impaling myself on a large male dildo. A shadow passes by the window, then returns and briefly lingers. I know he is there, watching me. He vanishes. In a few moments I receive a room-to-room phone call. I know it is he, even before he speaks. I ask him if he saw anything he liked. Of course he did. Want to see it up close? Yes. Then, come on by, I’ll leave the door ajar. He wastes no time. I return to the bed, continuing my shameless show. He is quickly naked, and joins me on the bed. I give myself to him. No more words are exchanged, except for my moans and sensual whispers, begging in the most explicit language for him to take me.

Anonymous - When I engage in receptive anal sex from a guy, I take him bare, all the way to his ejaculation, for all of the typical reasons. In the heat of passion, we don’t want to stop to take time to cover up. He may lose his focus and erection when doing so. Also, the pleasurable sensations are much greater with bare skin. But, more importantly, it is the indescribable satisfaction of taking a man’s hot seed deep inside. Of course, understanding the risks, I try to be selective and careful when engaged in such activity. This caution is usually not possible in certain settings (adult bookstore video booths or gay spas) with multiple anonymous partners.

In a typical scenario, I am in a booth with a sizeable, elongated opening in the partition with the adjacent booth. Of course, I am naked, as I always am in such a setting. I check out the guy in the next booth, who is also naked. He is muscular, tanned, bald, heavily tatooed and pierced, with goatee. He is stroking his cock, which is unusually large and fully erect, and has a thick cock-ring piercing the flanged head. I beckon him over to the partition, and he slides his magnificent member through the opening. I immediately take him into my mouth, as much as I can, and begin to suck him. Anonymous cock is so good.

I stop briefly and slip a very sheer and thin condom on him. I turn around and back up to the opening, bending over and positioning his engorged knob at my hungry, pre-lubed opening. I back up further, my sphincter yields, and he penetrates deeply until he is bottomed out. I back up so my ass is against the partition, and he begins to thrust his cock into me like a powerful piston. There is no stopping. I want it, and he knows it. I am groaning, and the partition is shaking, so everyone in the hallway would know what is happening. Finally, he slams into me, and I can feel his hard phallus jerking in uncontrollable spasms, over and over, as he ejaculates a flood of hot manseed.

When the spasms cease, he slowly withdraws, I turn around, and to my utter surprise and shock, the end of the condom is torn open, and his large cockhead is bare and uncovered, still dripping with cum. He has bred me in stealth. As he backs away from the opening and turns around, I see among his many tatoos one in the small of his back depicting a toxic symbol, that of a poz gay man. I have not only been bred, I have been seeded with toxic fluid.

Stepdaughter - I generally consider myself mostly gay, except when it comes to my stepdaughter, who is drop-dead gorgeous. I think she likes to tease with her tight, skimpy clothes. When she is at home, she sometimes leaves her underwear on the bathroom floor. This time I have a rare find of a thong that has a heavily stained, crusted crotch and skid marks. I am alone, so I strip and lie back on the bed with her thong over my head and face so I can inhale her pungent scent and suck in her heavily loaded vaginal and rectal secretions as I jack off. My orgasm is particularly powerful as I imagine myself eating out her wet pussy and tonguing her tight asshole. I shoot my load into the padded crotch of one of her clean panties, so that she will wear my cum against her hot little cunt.

Punished

- I am a member of a Satanic male coven. As part of my usual obligations I must visit the local temple each week and go to confession and take part in expected rituals, including the sacrament of sodomy and the sacrament of communion (shared chalise containing cum and urine). Confessions take place in a confessional booth with the supplicant naked. Depending on the nature of the offence (sin) and the degree of contrition, the priest will pronounce absolution, and require an act of penance. Usually, this act of piety involves giving oral sex to and receiving anal sex from the priest through an opening in the wall of the confessional. The act is concluded when the supplicant receives holy demonic semen from the priest. In the event of a mortal sin (such as participating in a Christian service), severe punishment is needed to restore the offender’s place in the coven.

Having committed such a sin, I am led naked before the brotherhood to a raised platform. I am placed on my back, and my legs are pulled up over me, then spread wide apart, fully exposing my genitals and ass. My arms and legs are secured in place, so I cannot move. I am completely vulnerable. A thick towel is placed over my face. The priest recounts the sin and pronounces the sentence. I am to receive six lashes, one each from six different brothers. The first is handed a multi-thonged leather whip (like a cat-o-nine tails). He stands before me between my wide-spread legs with my ass facing him. He brings the whip down between my legs with great force, aiming at my genitals and asscrack. I scream as the thongs tear into the sensitive flesh of my cock and balls. At first I thought I would try to contain my screams, but soon find I have lost all control of my utterances as well as my body. I writhe uncontrollably against the restraints, to no avail. As one after another brother repeats the punishment, I continue to cry out at the searing pain. Between each lash of the whip, I must recite the words, “Satan, forgive my sin.” My asscrack, cock, and balls are soon covered with beet-red lash stripes.

By the end, I am reduced to a whimpering, shaking, form. Then, to finish the punishment, each brother in turn stands between my legs and pisses on my fiery genitals and ass. The hot salty liquid only makes my wounds burn even more. I am eventually released and allowed to recover.

Gloryhole -- I manage a small rental house with semi-detached garage. Just inside the side door of the garage is a closet with a door. I cut a hole in the door of the appropriate size and at the right height for a gloryhole. Occasionally, when the house is vacant, I advertise on Craigslist, offering anonymous blow-and-go services after dark, and continuing into the night. There are no longer any adult bookstores with video arcades having doors and gloryholes, so mine is the only option for those who have an interest in such activities. The responses vary, but I end up orally servicing several guys on any given evening, of all ages and sizes. Of course, I eagerly swallow all their cum (the best part, and my reward). Usually, at least one will put his finger through the hole, indicating a desire to reciprocate. Depending on the lateness of the hour, I will usually accept the offer, and slip my drooling cock through the opening and into the warm, wet mouth of the one whom I had just sucked off. I love emptying my pent-up load of semen into the mouth of a complete stranger, almost as much as I love taking theirs into mine.

Forced 69 - I am placed on my side in a 69 position with another guy. We are each made to take the other’s cock fully into our mouths, with our lips around the root and our noses against the other’s ballsack. Our bodies are bound together (chest to chest), and our arms are wrapped around behind each other and tied at the wrists. Our legs are pulled up in a fetal position with our heads between the insides of each other’s thighs, and our thighs are then bound together just behind our heads. In this way, it is impossible to pull away from the other’s cock. We have been fully hydrated, and given full strength Viagra. An electro-ejaculator is inserted in each of our rectum’s, with the bulbous probe resting against our prostates. These devices are designed for use with stockyard male animals, including bulls, to obtain semen. The anal sphincter muscle clamps down on the small extension just behind the enlarged probe, locking it into place. The probe features electrodes through which flow electricity at a special frequency and intensity. When energized only slightly, the tickling current produces an erection. When fully energized, the device lives up to its name and causes the animal to experience a powerful and prolonged orgasm with ejaculation. It is 100 percent effective (guaranteed), and cannot be resisted.

The first electricity begins to flow, and the sensations are so pleasurable that our cocks quickly become aroused. With our lips held firmly against the base of the other’s cock, there is no where for our erections to grow except into the back of each other’s mouths, eventually resulting in a deep throat condition. We have to be careful with our breathing so as not to gag as the other’s cockhead enters our throat. The Viagra ensures that our erections and full and sustained. The electrical energy flowing into our sensitive prostates is gradually increased, ultimately causing us to groan and go into uncontrollable orgasmic spasms as we explosively ejaculate copious amounts of hot semen down each other’s throat.

This process will be repeated several times over an extended period as the electrical current is cycled up and down. Of course, by this time, the hydration has worked its way through our systems, and our bladders feel like they are near the point of bursting. We hold off as long as we can, but finally, following another ejaculation (which by now is just a dry heaving orgasm, since our seminal vesicles have long since been emptied), the floodgates burst forth and we drain the hot, bitter contents of our distended bladders into each other’s stomachs.

The Apes - While on a business trip to sub-Sahara Africa, I have been taken and held prisoner by a group of native exotic animal smugglers. As a past-time, they have raised a group of male apes with a special talent. These apes have been selectively bred to have larger than average penises (most apes have rather small cocks). In addition, from adolescence, they have been trained to copulate with a naked white human, first with dolls, than with the real thing. Upon successfully mating, they are generously rewarded with their favorite foods. Any attempt to harm the victim is severely punished.

The behavioral modification is so strong, that as soon as they see a naked, white human, they immediately respond with powerful erections and precum, which drools from the tip of their cocks, much like a dog will drool in anticipation of food. The dominant male ape, usually the largest, has first claim to the prize. When he is finished, the next highest ranking ape takes the victim, and so on. After the second one mates, it becomes a free-for-all, with the remaining junior apes all vying for a chance to breed the human. Adult apes are much stronger than any human, so physical resistance is useless. Crying out only urges them on.

I learn that I am to be the weekend entertainment, both for the apes, and for the natives. I am led to the ape compound, up some steps, and out a narrow bridge to the center. The apes look on with interest, together with a gallery of natives seated around the top of the wall. When my clothes are removed, the apes become very animated and vocal. I can see their large, red-colored erections projecting out from their black fur. I am put in a basket, and lowered by rope to the floor of the compound.

The apes gather around, looking at me with lustful stares. Suddenly, I hear sounds behind me and in an instant, the powerful furry beast is upon me. He pushes me to the ground face down, spreads my legs, raises my bare white ass, and begins to hump me, stabbing my furrow with his drooling phallus. After a few misses he hits home, and plunges his massive member deep into my virgin ass as I cry out in pain. The crowd of natives cheers upon hearing and seeing my deflowering. His powerful hips thrust against me, impaling me repeatedly on his hard rod. His loud grunts are mixed with my own moans, partly of pain, but more and more of pleasure. Finally, with a loud roar, he drives forward and floods me with his hot animal seed. This again brings cheers from the gallery of spectators. He pulls off, and I roll over on my back.

The second ape wastes no time, and he is quickly upon me. He climbs over me, spreads my legs, and begins humping me as the first had done. I wrap my legs around his stocky waist and lift my hips to him. His shaft finds my oozing orifice, and he drives it fully into me in one swift motion. The cum of the first ape is a natural lubricant, and I am once again uttering groans of pleasure as the ape fucks me with much passion. I find myself responding to the pounding with a series of anal orgasms. He signals his own orgasm with a powerful thrust and loud bellow. He withdraws, and I feel warm cum running out of my now-gaping opening.

As soon as he pulls off, two junior apes are over me, pushing and tugging for the opportunity to mate. I end up being sandwiched between them, and they continue their humping until both their cocks are inside me, causing me to cry out as I am stretched, much to the delight of the crowd. After the apes finish breeding me, they withdraw, leaving me as a helpless form on the floor. A couple of natives gather me up and help me from the compound. This is to be the first of many such events during my captivity.

The Church - I visit a church that is known for its services to the gay community. I choose a time that is set aside for confessions, and enter the private confession booth. I introduce myself, and tell the priest (hidden from clear view on the other side of the partition) that I have sinned, and I briefly explain my recent sexual encounter with another man. He wants to know more, so I give him a description of my experience, all in very explicit detail. He tells me that I will have to do penance, and that I will have to make a daily offering for seven days to demonstrate suitable contrition, after which I can be absolved.

I am to come to the church before sunrise each day, go to a room where I will disrobe and don a robe, then go to a small darkened chapel. There, I will approach the altar, light a candle, remove my robe so that I am completely naked, and kneel on the bench. I am to stroke myself while reciting a prayer until I ejaculate my offering of semen into a small challis that will be provided each day. I do so for six days.

On the seventh day, I approach the altar, remove my robe, and drop to my knees as usual. Only there is no challis. Instead, out of the shadows steps a robed hooded figure, who approaches and stands in front of me. He parts his robe to reveal a semi-erect phallus, which he begins to stroke right in front of my face. He tells me that my offerings have been accepted, and that he will grant absolution by giving me the consecrated holy seed of mother church, which I am to consume before him in a sacred ritual. After a few moments, he reaches behind my head with his free hand, and pulls me with open-mouthed onto his throbbing drooling rod, just in time to hear a gasp and taste several spurts of hot priestly seed, which I dutifully swallow. It’s good to feel forgiven.

Call Home - I am in the motel room on a business trip with a good friend who is a virile, insatiable top. I have enjoyed the last ten minutes on my stomach with my hips raised up on a pillow, being impaled from above and behind by his throbbing 7-inch mancock as I moan and grasp at the sheet. I roll over, spread my legs, and lock my ankles behind his neck as he mounts me again. Only now, we can enjoy prolonged kisses as he makes passionate love to me, pausing only to keep from cumming too soon. We are interrupted by the phone by the bedside. I have been waiting for a call from home, and I have to take it. I break off our kiss, and try to converse with my wife without moaning and gasping. My lover slows his thrusts, but continues unabated. When my wife begins a long description of some happening, I rotate the phone away from my mouth and turn back and resume the deep kissing. I break off our kiss occasionally to get in a quick “oohhhhh…” or “”hmmmm….”, just to hold up my end of the call. When the call finishes, I tell her goodnight and that I love her. After I hang up, my lover resumes with heightened enthusiasm, ravishing me with raw animal passion. There is no stopping now. His body motions between my legs bring me to a hands-free climax, which in turn triggers his own powerful orgasm, flooding me with his hot seed.

Frozen Cum - I have a newly retired friend and widower who is a habitual, compulsive masturbator, often jacking off three or four times over the course of a day. Due to my home situation, it is difficult for me to get free to meet him very often as I would like. So, he saves up his cum, freezing it until he has 4 to 6 ounces. When we meet at a restaurant for coffee or lunch, and he will slip me the frozen cum. When I have some private time alone. I will strip and inject the thawed cum into my ass using a large syringe. I will then vigorously fuck myself to orgasm with a large male dildo, using his cum as a lubricant and pumping it deep into me. The dildo is covered with a white, sticky lather as it plunges repeatedly into my hungry ass. After I climax, I slowly withdraw the dildo, bring it to my mouth, and suck off the cum residue.

Coming of Age Ritual - I am researching a lost tribe in a remote area of Africa. I make contact, and speak to them through my interpreter/guide. I am particularly interested in coming of age rituals for young adolescent males of the tribe. The boys of the tribe wear little clothing, only a small loin cloth. The are friendly, but are most curious about me. I am larger than the natives, and stronger, probably because of nutrition.

As night falls, I observe an older native departing the camp on a path, followed shortly thereafter by a boy. After a brief time, my guide beckons me to follow him along the trail. It is getting dark, but in the moonlight, everything is still visible. We stop just short of a clearing, In the center of it is a post to which the older native is tied. He is blindfolded, on his knees, with his back against the post and with his hands and ankles tied behind the post. He is aroused, and his erection is enhanced by a tight cord around the base of his balls and cock. A young boy (looks 10 or 11, but probably older), also naked, approaches him on his hands and knees, and without touching the older native, takes the cock into his mouth and begins to suck. It is clear that he has been coached, since the older native is moaning with pleasure under the oral assault. Soon, the native strains against the restraints, cries out, and his cock begins to spasm as he unloads his African manseed into the boy’s mouth. The boy swallows, backs away, and stands up. He is very aroused as well. My guide quietly leads me back to camp, and explains the ritual to me.

The members of the tribe believe that desirable qualities of strength, prowess, and manliness (i.e., cock size) are passed on from older to younger male members through exchange of semen. Men of the tribe who exhibit these qualities are highly prized by the boys, and as a consequence are in demand. Passing of the semen is usually accomplished through fellatio (as in the witnessed case), but for more effect, it is sometimes passed through sodomy. A young adolescent male will repeat this ritual many times until he is admitted as one of the adult members of the tribe.

I ask how this happens, and my guide tells me that the youth will have a courier (a go between) deliver a leather necklace to the object of his desire. The recipient, who should be honored, will then go to the sacred clearing at dusk, accompanied by the courier, who is a eunuch, sworn to secrecy. It is considered very rude to refuse an invitation, unless the recipient is ill. In the clearing the man will disrobe, place the necklace around his neck, and kneel at the post. The attendant will secure him against the post on his knees and blindfold him. The man will therefore be unaware of who is servicing him, as it could be his own son. He will then rub the extract of a very irritating plant on his penis and scrotum, stroking his member until the irritation has the desired effect of producing a hard erection. The attendant then ties a cord tightly around the base, locking in the erection.

When the boy arrives at the place, the attendant disrobes the boy, has him get on hands and knees, and approach the man, facing the man for oral, and facing away from him and backing up to him for anal. Of course, for anal, the attendant also applies a natural plant lubricant to the distended and throbbing cock. The rest is as witnessed earlier. My guide pulled me close and whispered, that because of my physical size and shape, I would be desired by the boys as a potential semen donor. And, if my body size was any indication of my cock size, all the boys would want to take me to the clearing, multiple times.

The next day, while working on my notes, a native approaches, and without speaking, hands me a leather necklace. I am a little shocked, but not totally surprised. That evening, I go out the path to the clearing, and see the courier by the post. He has me strip completely, and get down into position. As described, I am bound, blindfolded, and prepared with the irritating extract. He strokes me, making me hard as steel. In a few moments, I hear some rustling, and the sounds of someone slowly approaching me from the front. Anticipating what is about to happen, I am very aroused, and my cock is standing up at a 45 degree angle. A thread of clear pre-cum streams down. The touch of a tongue on my oozing cockhead is electric, and my cock jumps in response. I then feel the tongue at the base of my cock, licking upward. I gasp as it slides over my knob. I’ve never wanted something so much. I groan loudly as my cock is consumed by the unseen boy’s hot, wet mouth. He takes me deeply, and starts to suck me with powerful oral movements. God, he is good. He continues his skillful art, unrelenting. Soon, I am there, and in a long deep groan that echoes through the forest (and probably back to the camp), I blast an avalanche of hot cum into the youth’s hungry mouth. He keeps sucking and swallowing, not wanting to lose a drop. Finally, my cock slips out, and I almost collapse, if it were not for the bindings. My legs are weak and quivering as the attendant loosens my restraints and helps me to stand up. When he removes the blindfold, the boy is gone. He gives me my clothes and goes with me back to camp. I try to hide my continuing erection as I pass by a few of the inhabitants and go to bed.

In the morning my guide greets me and tells me that word of my manly performance has spread through the camp, and there is considerable excitement among the young boys. Apparently there is a lottery system to select the next recipient. As soon as he informs me, the courier arrives, and hands me the leather necklace, with a wry smile. Everywhere I go that day, I am greeted with coy looks and smiles, as though they all know.

When evening comes, I once again make my way to the clearing, where the attendant awaits. I go through the same preparations as before as I await the next youth. I hear rustling, and someone approaching. I am startled by the touch of the attendants hands, applying a slippery cream to my distended cock. The rustling if much closer, and my cock touches what I suspect is the fleshly part of a boy’s ass. A small hand grips the base of my cock and guides my drooling knob to the special place. He backs up slowly until his tight sphincter yields and my cockhead penetrates his hot rectum. I gasp as he continues to push against me, and his tight ass consumes more and more of my length. I suspect that he has never had a cock of this size before, and it takes a while to adjust. But, he is up to the task and eventually, I am bottomed out, with my balls against his ass crack. He then begins to move, slowly at first, then increasing in speed and penetration. I moan with each wonderful thrust of his ass. His anal muscles are massaging me like nothing else, and I know I must be rubbing against his sensitive prostate. He can be quiet no longer, and he cries out using foreign words, but I know exactly what he is communicating. Both of us are approaching a climax, and he goes first, screaming in pleasure as his ass goes into uncontrollable spasms around my cock. It is too much for me, and I soon follow with a powerful, gut-wrenching orgasm, blasting hot Caucasian seed deep in his bowels. Once again, my loud, orgasmic groan carries through the forest, signaling the consummation. I am totally drained, once again.

This amazing and wonderful ritual repeats itself every night. Surprisingly, most of the boys want it in the ass, which thrills me to no end. I arrange to make a return trip in a few months.

Incubus Visitation

- I am fascinated by legends of erotic, spirit beings who come upon unsuspecting, sleeping people at night, male or female, and after rendering them powerless, mercilessly raping or sodomizing them. Though fascinated, I really never actually believed these things to be true. Anyway, I decided to go to over a long weekend a remote cabin at the edge of a swamp known for accounts of various ghost-like encounters. The cabin was rustic – no electricity, no running water, and no cell phone coverage. The nice thing is that I could enjoy being completely naked, indoors or out, and engaging in unlimited, kinky erotic play, vocally expressing my pleasure with no one to hear. I filled my ass with all sorts of dildos and prostate stimulators.

The first night was uneventful (other than my sensual play), and I was thinking even more that it was all hokey. The next day I went to the edge of the swamp and continued my sensual play, impaling myself on the phallus-shaped cypress knees, letting my load moans echo out through the swamp. During the second night, I awoke, realizing I was not alone, and feeling the weight of someone on top of me. I was face down on the bed, with my wrists spread and tied to the headboard posts, and a pillow under my hips. From what I could tell by touch, the being was hot, furry, and very muscular. I felt what I surmised was a rock hard and incredibly long sexual organ sliding up and back along my shaved ass furrow, lubricated by a thick, sticky sounding substance. It dawned on me what was about to happen. The slippery head pushed up against my puckered anal orifice, which yielded to the powerful invader. I moaned loudly as the beastly organ slid deeper and deeper into me until it bottomed out. The alien being began to thrust, slowly at first, then with animal passion, his powerful hips slamming up against my ass with each penetrating thrust. I was lost in erotic passion and pleasure, raising up my ass to meet his thrusts, feeling his hot breath on my neck. With an evil groan, he drove deep and began to spasm, releasing a flood of otherworldly seed into me, causing me to cum as well.

That’s the last I remember until morning. When I awoke, I thought it had surely all been a dream, until I noticed that my sore ass was still oozing cum, and saw rope burns on my wrists. I now believe.

Milked - I had discovered that my semen contained a very rare hormone that, when concentrated, purified, and taken, would contribute to one’s longevity. Obviously, such a chemical is extremely valuable, and potentially profitable. Despite medical records confidentiality, word of my test results leaked out to those who would stop at nothing to have this. I was subsequently kidnapped and held a virtual prisoner by the leader of a powerful drug cartel. Although I was well cared for, and lacked nothing physically, I was kept solely for semen extraction, and was subjected to once daily milking sessions.

In these I would be stripped naked, placed face down on my knees with legs spread and my chest resting on a low padded bench. I was then secured in place using Velcro straps. Over my hanging cock was slipped the receptical sleeve of what appeared to be a dairy milking machine. It was held in place by a cord back to a tight cock ring around the base of my cock and balls. Behind me, attached to an adjustable frame, was the probe of a bull electroejeculation unit (a contoured, elongated probe about 2-inches in diameter that is used to cause a bull to ejaculate for semen collection). The probe was lubricated, and slowly moved forward into my anus until I was fully impaled on it and it rested against my prostate and seminal vesicules, then it was locked in place. A video camera (with audio) was turned on, for the entertainment of anyone who wanted to witness the action on closed circuit TV.

The milking machine was turned on, and the sleeve started a reciprocating action on my cock as the vacuum was alternately applied and released. The electrical unit attached to the probe was energized, and the electrical pulses began to radiate through my groin as the intensity was gradually increased, bringing loud groans from me. The electrical pulses caused my anal and rectal muscles to go into uncontrollable spasm, and I pulled against the restraints. I was unable to resist my quickly growing arousal, even if I wanted to (which I didn’t). It only took a matter of 3 or 4 minutes for the equipment to accomplish its intended purpose with exquisite results, and I gave a final load moan as I went into a powerful, extended orgasm, filling the receptical with my sought-after liquid essence.

Often, after the equipment was removed, but while I was still strapped in place, the male attendant (who had won a wager among other attendants on how long it would take me to orgasm) would strip, lubricate his cock, and fuck me until he emptied his cum deep inside me, all captured, of course, on video.

Tentacle Creature - While on a field research trip in a remote tropical setting, I am taken prisoner by a band of ordinarily friendly natives. I am stripped naked, and about dusk I am taken to a small clearing where I am tied at my wrists and ankles between two trees with legs spread and arms outstretched. A native holds a spider (Brazilian wandering spider) between my legs against my perineum just behind my ballsack. I cry out as I feel a wasp-like sting. After a few moments, my cock begins to grow into a throbbing, steel-hard erection that will last at least 4 hours (effect of spider bite).

The natives seat themselves around me in a circle a short distance away. I notice on the ground all about me there are a number of small, rounded, stump-like growths. As the first shadows of nightfall darken the area, the tops of the growths split open, and a light brown, eel-like tentacle slowly emerges from each one. They move slowly, pausing frequently as if to sniff the air for prey (me?). They have no eyes or facial features, but they do have what appears to be some kind of mouth. One type of tentacle has a toothless mouth that rhythmically opens and closes. Another type of tentacle has an opening in the tip through which a red, wet, probiscus-like tongue alternately emerges and retracts, much like the penile sheath on a dog. At its maximum extension, it projects about 8 inches.

The tentacles, having detected my presence, approach my helpless body, and encircle my legs, then my hips, chest, and neck. The tentacles with protruding tongues focus on my orifices, my mouth and particularly my vulnerable ass. I cry out as a muscular tongue burrows deep into my bowels, only to be joined by at least two others, all taking turns. My cries are quickly muffled by another tongued tentacle that slips inside my mouth. The tentacles with mouths search out anything to suck – toes, nipples, balls, and what appears to be their favorite organ – my rigid, throbbing cock. I am being mercilessly milked as I am repeatedly impaled and raped by the swirling mass of tentacles.

I hear cheers and whistles from the surrounding native audience. The beast seems to sense my impending orgasm, and reacts with increased activity and intensity. I choke out a guttural moan as I erupt and flood the cocksucking tentacle with my cum. The mouthed tentacle, now satiated, pulls off only too be replaced by another hungry tentacle. My cock remains hard, and the beast resumes its simultaneous sucking and anal and oral assault. Only after four orgasms in succession does the creature finally withdraw and leave me, totally drained and limp. The natives cut me down, and carry me back to a hut.

The Initiation - I am being inducted as a member of a phallic temple. The initiation ceremony is conducted by the high priest in the presence of the male membership. Everyone is nude, except the priest. Most all are in various stages of arousal. The air is thick with incense and the scent of male sexuality. As the initiate, I kneel before the most recently inducted member, take his hard cock in my mouth, and suck him until he offers up his drink offering, which I eagerly consume. I am then led to a sculpted nude figure of a large, masculine male positioned in the center of the room. The figure is seated with crossed legs, and a massive erect phallus. I am led to the figure, and its oversized organ is lubricated. Several members take me and raise me up, then slowly lower me onto the instrument of worship. I groan as I am impaled and filled with the object of lust. I am lowered until I am resting on the figure’s lap. My legs are wrapped around the back of its body and my ankles are bound together. My arms are wrapped around its neck and my wrists are likewise tied together. I am unable by design to lift myself off of the devilish, phallic rod. I am told that I must in an act of worship bring forth my cum offering to the male idol. I cannot touch myself. Rather, I must engage in sensual movements on the shaft, writhing and moaning as the hard rod drives against my prostate. I move my body on the object of my lust with wild abandon, giving myself over to the power of the image. My orgasm builds, then erupts in an explosion of cum, drenching myself and the male statue with the evidence of my devotion.

The Ranch I have stumbled onto a private, posted ranch by mistake, and have been taken captive by several ranch hands. They lead out a mature male horse, and place a canvas sling under his belly towards the rear. They take me, strip me naked, and force me into the sling face up with my head forward, and tighten the sling so I am pressed up against the horse’s lower belly. My wrists are tied and pulled up by a rope over the horse’s back. My spread legs are similarly tied up by the ankles. They begin to rub the horse’s cock with an ointment that soon makes the horse’s reproductive organ very erect. They lubricate the cock, and put the large flanged head up against my anus. I groan as they push the sling back and the massive cockhead enters my rectal cavity. They then tie another rope around the rear of the animal to the sides of the sling, so that I cannot slide forward and slip off of the cock.

They get on their horses, and lead my horse into a slow walk. The walking motion causes the sling to move forward and back in a rhythmic motion. As it does, I am repeatedly impaled on the arms-long phallus, making me cry out in a combination of pain and pleasure. They speed up to a slow trot, turning the sling into an incredible, natural fucking machine. Soon, I am experiencing almost continuous anal orgasms. The horse eventually stops, neighs, and erupts inside me, filling me with what seems to be gallons of hot equine semen. They leave me impaled on the horse for a while as he grazes, finally releasing me.

The Prisoner - Because of a minor infraction, I have been sent to a prison camp in a developing country composed of predominantly black men. There is an unofficial structure to the prison population, and as long as the informal inmate leadership keeps things quiet, the guards don’t usually interfere.

When new prisoners are introduced, especially thin white prisoners like myself, the inmate leadership has a way to make sure they toe the line and stay in their place, so to speak. The method is similar to what was known as “buck breaking” during the slavery era. This was used to set an example for uncooperative male slaves. First, the victim is stripped naked, then his hands are tied and the victim is hoisted up by the rope over a beam so he is suspended with feet hanging. He is gagged so his screams will not be noticed. He is then whipped with a leather whip, focusing of course on his genitals. Soon, his cock, balls, and ass are covered with red stripes. Next, he is taken down, laid face down on a bench (breaking bench) and bound in place, then mercilessly and repeatedly sodomized (barebacked) by hung black males selected by lot from the prison population. All this is done in view of the other prisoners.

He is then assigned to one of the inmate leaders (again selected by lot), to be used as his personal bed boy, and sometimes loaned out to others in return for special favors. Rarely a night goes by when he is not ravished by some large black male. Occasionally, he is released into the gang showers, where it becomes an all-comers orgy for the general prison population, with sperm-laden black cocks filling both his mouth and ass. His almost feminine cries incite their animal passions even more. Rarely, has so much cum been deposited into the openings of one individual in one session. As a white bed boy in a black prison, this is my lot in life for the duration of my stay, and I love it.

Special Farm - As a male with an almost entirely gay orientation, I have little use or desire for female pussy. The sight of it really does nothing for me, unlike the sight of a manly hard cock or ass. However, there is one exception. The pussy of a female horse (a mare) turns me on like no other. The thick labia surrounding a pink orifice, the clit that inverts itself when stimulated, the puckered anal orifice above (inviting in its own way) - all is exciting.

I locate a special remote farm (through a tip from one of my kinky male friends), and make arrangements for a discrete weekend visit. Understandably, they don’t advertise their special services, and the only way to learn about them is through referrals from trusted clients. Interspecies sex (bestiality) is still taboo, and illegal in most places, but my desire for sex with animals has been kindled, and I feel compelled to pursue it. I meet the owners, a backwoods looking couple in their late 50's. She is trim, with long graying hair. He is heavy and hairy, with a big pot belly and long gray beard. He wears a t-shirt and coveralls. Both have missing teeth. When I made the arrangements, there was nothing said about payment, and upon later inquiring, he simply responded that the compensation would be in other ways.

Before dinner, they show me the barn, which contains stalls for horses and donkeys. After dinner, as it is just getting dark, we return to the barn. They introduce me to a mature mare horse in one of the stalls. They tell me that they have her all cleaned up for me, and that if I would like to enjoy her company, I should disrobe and slowly approach her from her rear. The wife will stand at the head to comfort the horse and keep her at ease, while the guy will assist me with what to do. I feel a little self conscious, since I am the only one who is naked. He directs me to stimulate her vulva to get her ready to mate. I use my fingers, until she seems wet. I want to taste her, so I put my mouth over her pussy, licking her pussy lips and tonguing her hole. She smells and tastes like one would expect a horse to smell and taste.

By now my cock is hard and erect. He places a low step behind her, and directs me to step up. The height of the step is such that my cock is at the right level for entry. I wet my eager cock, place my drooling knob at the entrance, and slide inside. I am in heaven! Her pussy is like a hot, wet, velvet glove. I hold her tail to the side, and begin to thrust into her. I am transfixed by the sight of my pink cock disappearing into her dark recesses. It is not long before I am close, and I have to pause several times to keep from cumming prematurely. Finally, I can hold back no more and I groan aloud as I experience an explosive orgasm and release my human sperm inside her. After a while, I slowly withdraw, and a stream of cum runs down below her orifice. I lean forward and lick this up, then place my mouth over her pussy once again, this time to suck the rest of my cum from her.

Later that evening I find out what kind of “compensation” is expected. I spend the evening and into the night providing all manner of deviant sexual pleasures for them. She is the hairiest woman I have ever seen. I spend long periods devouring her pussy in her dense furry muff, while he drives his horse-sized cock into my willing ass. He is incredibly long-lasting, and takes me several times in several positions, turning me into his cum dump. During the night, when they need to piss, my mouth and throat serves as their personal toilet. The next day, I am told it will be a male horse (a stallion), but this time, I will be the recipient. Of course, the interspecies sex will once again be followed by another night of special compensation for the hosts.

The Serpent - I am sleeping, entertaining lustful thoughts of hot demon sex, which gives me a throbbing hard-on. Suddenly, I am in the presence of a being resembling a large red reptile, like a boa or python, with a length of at least 15 feet and as thick as my leg. It quickly encircles me, immobilizing me with its powerful coils. I realize resistance is useless, as it could easily crush me.

Its scaly cool skin slides over my erect cock, turning my fear into arousal. A coil wraps around behind my hips, and the tail portion rubs down my stomach against my cock. The tip of the tail slips down between my legs and turns upward into my anus. I groan as it burrows ever so deeply into my rectal orifice, moving with sensual motions. The snake’s cochlea opens, and slips down over my hard cock like a masturbation sleeve.

I cry out as I am taken by the being in a reptilian copulation ritual. It fucks my cock while it simultaneously fucks me in my ass. It positions its head directly in front of my face, and our eyes lock. I am mesmerized by the red, demonic glow. A thick, black reptile tongue emerges from its mouth and grazes my lips. The serpent moves to where our lips are touching, and I instinctively open my mouth. The powerful, slimy tongue invades my mouth and slides down my throat. I can only make guttural sounds in response to the multiple penetrations.

It dawns on me that I am mating with a demonic epiphany of that serpent of old, none other than Satan himself. I long to be united to Him. The serpent continues its irresistible motions, milking me until I yield up my holy semen in a powerful orgasm, consummating our union, a union of flesh and spirit. It withdraws, leaving me exhausted on the bed. Through this ritual I now belong to Him, totally and completely.

Masturbation as Worship Alone in my secret sanctuary, I strip naked, lie back, close my eyes, spread my legs, and begin to masturbate, praying aloud, summoning gay demons from the Abyss to descend upon me, to possess me, and fill me with cock lust and sodom lust. Every day, I engage in prolonged masturbation as an act of ritualistic worship to Satan, the God of cock, and His ministering spirits. I willingly offer my cock as an instrument of their service, to be used as they desire. My cock hardens and throbs for Satan, and for sacred union with his minions. Their demonic energy sweeps over me, causing me to groan and writhe uncontrollably. I repeat mantras of love and adoration for Satan. I lose control as I am filled with their presence. My pleadings turn to unintelligible ecstatic utterances, and I speak in demonic tongues. My orgasm builds and erupts in a flood of holy semen, which I produce as a thank offering to them. As I conclude my service of cock, I consume the offering, drawing upon its power to transform me into a devoted disciple of Satanic cock worship.

Sacred Rite - I kneel naked before the object of my desire, a large phallic dildo (with balls and suction cup, securing it in a vertical position on the floor). I crawl forward and squat over it, with its bulbous head at the entrance to my lubricated anus. I slowly lower myself, groaning aloud and calling for the demon spirits of Sodom to come upon me and join with me in the sacred rite of satanic sodomy. My sphincter yields, and I impale myself completely on the massive phallus.

I call for the spirits of Sodom, that ancient city of gay lust, to inhabit my anus, to use it as a portal to their sacred temple - in my soul. I entertain visions of being raped and sodomized by their hot demonic organs, and being filled with their satanic seed, of becoming pregnant with their demon offspring. I writhe slowly on the dildo, feeling their pleasure. My hips become a blur of motion, and as the anal pleasure overwhelms me (Satan is the author of sodomy, and as its creator, knows how to maximize its pleasure in his disciples). I convulse in a powerful anal orgasm, and my anal muscles go into uncontrollable spasm, which lasts for some time. My hot seed oozes forth, as the cock dildo is driven forcefully against my seminal vesicles, ejaculating their contents. I collapse as though my energy has been drained and taken.

Recovering, I begin to masturbate, using my cum as a lubricant. I need a full penile orgasm. Cock lust now fills me. I masturbate for the King of Sodom, as His devoted subject, impaled on His phallic symbol in the sacred rite. His energy flows through my cock, and it throbs for Him. I slowly and loudly groan the holy word “Soduuummmmeeeeee……” as my cock explodes in a geyser of cum and my anus once again grips the deeply embedded dildo with strong muscular spasms. I lick up my cum offering as I conclude the sacred rite. I thank the King and spirits of Sodom, and ease myself off of the phallus.

Sacred Retreat - I periodically go on a weekend retreat during nice weather to spend some time alone, communing with Satan and his demons. I choose a remote cabin in an area known for spirit activity. It is rustic, with no electricity or running water. It is also sufficiently remote that I don’t have to worry about being bothered by unwelcome human visitors. Upon arriving, and after getting settled in, I remove all my clothing (except for shoes), and lock it in the car trunk. I will enjoy the weekend in the nude. I explore the area and locate (by inward feeling) what I will use as my sacred place, a sanctuary where I will invoke Satan’s presence and that of His spirit demons. I prepare it with a small carpet pad, black candles, and Satan’s signet, and set up a makeshift altar. I adorn it with various receptacles (chalices) and a number of large, phallic dildos of both human and animal (dog and horse). In the center, before the altar, I install a stub base in the ground on top of which I will afix various dildos. I will start with the human male dildo, but in subsequent sessions I will use the equine and canine dildos to help summon the demons of bestiality.

The daylight hours are spent making preparations. There are ceremonial cleansings (inside and out) that I must perform. There are times of meditation, writing and reciting prayers to Satan, the God of Cock, and King of Sodom. There is frequent hydration using various energy drinks (no food this weekend). Of course, with the hydration, there is more frequent urination, all of which I consume. There are also male supplements, blue pills, and cock rings to enhance the experience.

As dusk approaches, I go to the sanctuary and light the candles. I kneel before the altar, raising my hands and offering up praise and adoration for Satan, invoking his presence, along with that of his demons of gay lust, sodomy, bestiality, and pedophilia. I take a chalice from the altar, place it below my cock, and fill it with golden, salty fluid. I lift it up to Satan as a drink offering, and then drink it, savoring the bitter aftertaste. As I continue to pray, my cock begins to stir, and I sense a presence around me. I lubricate my ass , cock, and dildo, squat on my knees over the male dildo, and slowly lower myself onto it. I groan aloud as I am slowly impaled on the thick phallic symbol.

I begin to move on the dildo and stroke my now erect cock, praying to Satan and crying out for His filling. I engage in the sacred sacrament of sodomy, which opens me up for penetration and entry by Satan and His demons. As I sodomize myself on the male dildo, I invoke the name of Satan, the King of Sodom, pleading for Him and His demons to fill me and possess me. My prayers and pleadings continue, as I worship the satanic godhead - Satan, Lucifer, the Serpent, and the Dragon. I enter a trance-like state of altered consciousness, and I begin to shake uncontrollably. I am still praying, but I am no longer in control of my words. I am speaking in tongues, the tongues of demons, as I worship the prince of demons. Inevitably, I reach a pinnacle of satanic pleasure and my body erupts in a whole-body orgasm, my anal muscles contracting in spasms around the embedded dildo and my cock spewing rope-like strands of holy semen into the chalice positioned in front of me.

As I slowly come back to reality, I slump down on the dildo. I raise the chalice to Satan, dedicating the cum-offering to Him, and then I consume my holy seed. This is repeated in subsequent sessions using the animal dildos, in which I will worship Satan as the God of Bestiality, calling on Him to fill me with insatiable lust for animals, and to breed me with their semen as I offer praise to Him. I spend the entire weekend praising and glorifying Satan, and communing with His demons of gay lust, sodomy, bestiality, and pedophilia.

Sacred Undergarments

Like several religions (the Mormons), I make use of sacred undergarments as part of my religious service of Satan. Unlike the plain white conservative top and shorts used by others, mine are erotic, silky, and skimpy. I have an assortment of tiny thongs, V-strings, bikinis, and pouches in various colors - pink, red, powder blue, and black. I regularly wear these under my clothing, sometimes with cockrings or supports to accentuate my genitals. The feel of the silky material, as little of it as there is, is very sensual and arousing. The undergarments remind me throughout the day of my commitment to Satan, and my desire to worship him in every way possible.

The Eunuch I am a young adolescent male from Palestine, handsome and reasonably educated. My homeland has just been overrun by soldiers from Chaldea (Babylon), and I have been taken back with them to serve as a slave, along with others. Because of my appearance and manner of speech, I am singled out by the slave traders in Babylon for special treatment. I will bring a high price at market, and may even find a place at the house of a high official, or possibly even the royal court. One thing is needed, though, to maximize my marketability.

I am taken aside to a small courtyard away from the general market, where I am stripped naked and placed back down on an inclined wooden table with my hips even with the lower edge. My legs are pulled widely apart and tightly secured with ropes to two posts. My body is lashed down so that I cannot move, and my arms are pulled above my head and similarly lashed. A rag is stuffed in my mouth. My genitals are fully exposed and vulnerable. A burley man takes a seat on a stool located between my legs. I strain against the restraints, anticipating what may be happening, but it is useless. I cannot move. I scream into the rag as I feel the searing pain, like I have never experienced before. I jerk uncontrollably against the ropes. The man makes an incision in my scrotum through which he quickly removes my testicles, severing and cauterizing the vascular tubes. My incision is bound up with a cloth, and I am released to recover.

Soon, my former steelhard erections and powerful ejaculations will be a thing of the past. My muscular frame will give way to a softer, fuller figure. My body will become smooth with little hair. My breasts, which are tight and firm, will develop somewhat like those of a woman. My former competitive nature will be gone. I may be employed in a position as a personal servant to a powerful official in an intimate role, taking care of his bathing, grooming, dressing, and elimination needs within his inner bed chamber. Of course, I will probably also be called upon to satisfy his sexual needs as well. [Wives were intended for procreation, not sexual pleasure, and young women could become pregnant. A master could have unlimited penetrative sex with his personal male slave without risk of pregnancy. It was expected of him, and his masculinity would be called into question if he didn’t.] He may even share me with his friends, for similar services. Such is the life of a young, attractive, feminized eunuch.

Phallometric Testing - I am being forced by a state corrections agency to undergo a phallometric exam to assess my interests in sexually deviant behavior, such as pedophilia (involving pre-pubescent children, age 10 and younger) and hebephilia (involving pubescent, early adolescent children, age 11 to 14). Phallometric response to male and female pedophilic and hebephilic sexual stimuli is a fairly strong predictor of sexual offense. Although the tests are generally inadmissible as evidence towards a criminal conviction, they are widely used in treatment of convicted sexual offenders, both in prison and following release under parole.

The test that I am going to be subjected to is known as the penile plethysmograph (PPG) procedure. This procedure measures slight changes in the size of one’s penis in response to certain types of visual and audible sexual stimuli. The equipment is so sensitive that it can measure minute changes in the penis, even if the patient is not aware of it. The stimulus category(ies) with the highest arousal response gives an indication of a person’s erotic preference(s). The test can also identify individuals who manifest high levels of arousal to inappropriate or deviant sexual activity, while displaying low levels of arousal to appropriate sexual activity. The test is highly accurate (95 percent) and very difficult to fake.

The test was originally used by military authorities in communist Czechoslovakia in the late 1950's to identify those military conscripts who were falsely declaring themselves to be gay to avoid the draft. The test had the ability to discriminate between heterosexual and homosexual conscripts. Unfortunately, the test has since been used to identify gay men in countries (mostly Muslin and some African) where homosexuality is illegal.

The most common PPG equipment involves the circumferential type, which measures changes in the girth or thickness of one’s penis using a thin, elastic band that incorporates a strain gauge. As the penis grows, the gauge will expand and record the change.

In preparation for the test, two curved discs will be secured to my fingertips using velcro strips . These will measure galvanic skin response. As a person become anxious, the skin sweats, increasing the galvanic (electric conducting) response. An elastic band will be placed around my chest to monitor breathing. These will be used in conjunction with the penile gauge to measure physiological responses and to expose attempts at faking. Of course, one must refrain from masturbating at least 24 hours before the test. Also, older males like me are usually given sildenafil (the active ingredient in Viagra), which significantly increases the magnitude of the phallic response where there may be erectile disfunction issues.

For the test, I will be seated in a small, private room by myself. I will be required to remove all my clothing. The clinician will assist me in placing the band around my chest and gauge band on my penis midway between the base and tip. After some adjustments and initial data measurements by the clinician, the procedure will begin. The test takes about an hour to complete.

I will hear a recording of some 20 or so erotic stories or fantasies of different sexual encounters, in no particular order, told by a narrator. I will also be shown explicit pictures and video images, coordinated with the stories, which makes a very powerful combination. The idea is to picture myself as the person telling the story, and imagine what the narrator is seeing and feeling. The stories will cover a range of sexual scenarios, representing both heterosexual and homosexual acts, involving both genders, from small children to adults. I may hear occasional beeps (to see that I am paying attention), and be asked to push a button upon hearing the beep. A small camera is focused on my face to ensure I am not closing my eyes or looking away.

I am nervous, since I know that I will be found out. The test begins with both audio narrative and visual images. There are the usual heterosexual scenarios, and I make it through them OK. When it shifts to gay men, I feel myself reacting, and my cock begins to grow, no matter how I try to concentrate on other things. The narrative and photos and videos of men with erections engaging in gay sex are too compelling. I am sweating and breathing hard. I make it through the lesbian scenarios, but, I totally lose control when the scenes shift to cute young boys, naked and in seductive poses. With the Viagra enhancement, I become throbbing steel hard as I gaze at their smooth, nymph-like bodies, delicious little cocks, and inviting virgin asses. I realize that my professional, family-oriented, church-going image will be tarnished by the revelation of my strong homosexual and male pedophile sexual interests.

Results of PPG testing on non-offenders has shown some interesting results. For example, among men who self identify as being strongly homophobic, a large majority exhibit greater penile arousal to stimuli depicting gay sex than non-homophobic men. So, if you are male and claim strong opposition to anything gay, chances are you will experience arousal upon being exposed to explicit homosexual acts. In addition, a certain percentage of non-offending men exhibit some degree of arousal when exposed to sexually deviant stimuli (pedophilia or hebephilia).

The Crucifix - I have been taken captive by an extremist Islamic group, and have been condemned to death by crucifixion. Dating back millennia, it remains a cruel form of execution, and one of only a few with a sexual connotation, since it is carried out in public with the condemned person completely nude to bring about not only a painful death, but a shameful one as well. So, artist’s depictions showing loincloths on those being crucified are intended to protect the modesty of the viewers, rather to depict the actual situation. They were all completely naked, and it was completely public.

In some cases, the condemned person was secured to the crosspiece or post with rope, and in others with iron spikes. The Romans preferred iron spikes. Death was ultimately by asphyxiation, aggravated by shock and blood loss (from pre-crucifixion flogging or castration).

In order to be able to breathe adequately, the condemned had to push up on his feet to relieve the strain on his chest. This was only temporary, because the angle of his legs and the pain in his feet would only allow him to do so for a short period, before he had to resume a hanging position. So, the person would alternately push up, then hang down, in a motion known as “the dance of the cross.” All those crucified did this dance, at least as long as they had breath in them. I will undoubtedly do this dance.

Often, the condemned person’s feet were secured to the outsides of the post with knees slightly bent, so that his legs were open and his genitals were completely exposed, for additional embarrassment. The Islamists are aware of this, and I will be spread for maximum exposure, and for the benefit of the photographers videoing the event.

In order to prolong suffering and postpone death, a crude support known as a sedile was sometimes provided so that the person could obtain some relief from the strain of the awkward position. These were not intended to be comfortable, and were usually made of a wooden shaft or iron rod projecting out from the post to fit in the person’s crotch. An alternate design, known as a cornu (or horn), featured a straight or curved rod with a bulbous knob projecting up an angle from the post. The obvious intent of this was to penetrate the anus of the person, adding to his discomfort and shame. In Roman times, there was nothing more shameful than for an adult male to receive penetrative anal sex. The cornu added to the condemned’s shame. As he did his dance of the cross, he had no choice but to sodomize himself repeatedly on the rod. The motions of the knob in his rectum bearing on his prostate would often bring about an unintentional erection. The executioners carrying out the sentence were no doubt delighted when their design brought about such a result. I am sure that the Islamists, having researched this, will make this their goal.

Crucifixion, as with other forms of execution that result in asphyxiation such as hanging (see below), causes a post-mortem erection in a certain number of instances, known otherwise as a death erection or angel’s lust. This is probably one of the reasons it was conducted publicly in the nude. Some Renaissance artist’s depictions of Christ on the cross show him with an erection, although these were suppressed by the Roman Catholic Church, for obvious reasons. Depending on the crime, the person may be emasculated or castrated (for sexual crimes), or for especially heinous crimes, disemboweled. These are done while the victim is still very much alive, though death is hastened due to loss of blood. The Islamists apparently have this in mind, as I see various knives and curved hook blades nearby.

It is time, and I am stretched out onto the wooden beams. I scream with incredible, searing pain as the hammer drives the iron spikes through my wrists and ankles, securing me in place. I am lifted up, and the main post is dropped into the post hole. I drop onto the sedile, and its knob impales my ass. I soon begin the dance of the cross. The motion of the knob in my ass soon brings an erection. The video camera records it all. Eventually, they will take up the knife and the disembowling hook. I scream with what breath I have remaining as my erect penis and balls are sliced off, and my abdomen is ripped open, spilling my intestines to the ground. I pray for death to come quickly.

The Noose - I have been taken prisoner, convicted of crimes against the state, and sentenced to death by hanging. Hanging can be sexually arousing, especially when the condemned person is hanged in front of others in the nude, like I will be. Death obviously comes much more quickly than with crucifixion, but it still takes several minutes. The process can be prolonged by having the person bound and standing on a small stool with noose around his neck, but without his entire weight on the rope. During this time, he can be subjected to various punishments and sexual tortures –flogging, genital electroshock, or branding. Any movement to try and avoid or minimize the torture would likely cause him to fall off the stool, bringing about death by strangulation, which is the ultimate objective.

The other thing that makes hanging sexually arousing is that, in many cases involving suspension hanging (as opposed to long drop hanging), the hanged person ends up with a prominent erection, as described above for crucifixion. Spinal cord injuries or injuries that put pressure on the cerebellum usually produce priapism, a prolonged erection in the absence of stimulation. This is almost always the case for young, healthy males. So, artist’s depictions of hanged persons with full erections are not the thing of fantasy, but are reflections of reality. Furthermore, in a certain number of these cases, there may also be ejaculation of seminal fluid. In fact, in at least one novel, the protagonist (a sexual predator) selects young men for nude hanging just so he can experience sexual catharsis at the moment of his victim’s death, when he sucks the deceased victim’s post-mortem erection and extracts their seminal fluid while masturbating.

When the time comes, I am stripped naked, my hands are tied behind me, and I am blindfolded. I am made to stand on a stool, the rope noose is placed around my neck, and the slack is taken out. I cry out as I feel the burning lash of a bullwhip. It tears at my cock and balls. I instinctively want to bend down due to the pain, but I cannot without the noose tightening. My body jerks to try and avoid the pain, the stool tips, then falls. The noose tightens, and I cannot breathe. Blackness soon overtakes me. My erection rises, and my seminal fluid begins to flow. By then, I am unable to feel the mouth of the executioner sucking cum from my hard cock.

The Swamp I am turned on by anything that resembles a phallic image. One such thing involves the knees of cypress trees, the vertical woody projections of the roots that rise up from the ground around the trees, usually at the edge of or in a swampy area. I sometimes to go a particular swamp that features many cypress trees, and of course, cypress knees. I have picked out a secluded spot by the edge of the swamp, and found a narrow knee that projects about a foot above the moist ground. I have removed the scaly bark and have polished the phallic member using sandpapar, so that it is smooth and rounded.

When I enter my sacred spot, I strip naked, apply mosquito repellant, lubricate the knee, and kneel down, squatting over the bulbous, knobby head of the knee. I lower myself onto the projection, imagining it is a large cock. I grown aloud as I slowly move down and my hungry ass consumes more and more of the natural dildo. I am finally bottomed out, and I raise my hands and begin to move, invoking the demon spirits of the swamp to fill me and possess me. I cry aloud as I sodomize myself on the cock-like shaft. Soon, I am lost in ecstatic pleasure, writhing on the pleasure rod. My cock is oozing with precum. I cry out the names of sexual demons, wanting to unite with them.

[Author’s Note: Demons are spirit beings, and unfortunately have no body. So, for them to experience sexual pleasure, they need a body to inhabit. That is why I invoke the demons of gay sex and sodomy to enter me and use my body as their abode, so as to share in the intense sexual pleasures that I feel.]

My moment of consummation nears, and suddenly my sacred semen boils up and erupts in a hands-free ejaculation. My orgasmic groan echoes out through the swamp. My cock continues to jerk as my orgasmic spasms cause my sphincter muscles to grip the hard root deep inside me.

I slowly slide off the knee, then lean down and lick my cum off of the leaves on the ground, then suck and lick my anal secretions off of the slick wooden shaft. I am glad that I have given the demons gay pleasures once again, and I dismiss them back to the swamp. I dress and depart, having appeased the demons of the swamp for the time being.

Worshiping Baal-Peor - I am a disciple of Baal-Peor, an ancient Moabite deity. The word Baal means lord, and the word Peor comes from a root pa’ar, meaning opening. So, he is lord of the opening or hole. In this case, the primary opening is the human anal or rectal opening, and worship before his image in his temple often involved defecation. Everything that is excreted from the body (semen, urine, feces) before him is symbolically sacred, and therefore was not to be spilled or wasted, but rather consumed in ritual worship. The sexual practices are intended to arouse Baal to action on behalf of his adherents.

I will go to a sacred place, typically a small secluded clearing in a grove, where I will strip naked and impale myself on a thick phallic rod embedded in the ground in the center of the grove. This has is sometimes referred to as an Asherah pole, used in worship of Asherah, another Canaanite deity. I move seductively on the pole as I raise my hands to Baal-Peor, calling out and invoking the presence of his demon spirits to participate in worship with me. I will make and consume three offerings to him.

I slide off the pole, and squat down over a bowl on the ground. After a few moments of incantations, I defecate a small piece of feces into the bowl. I raise the bowl up to Baal, and then empty the bowl into my mouth, quickly consuming its contents. I then put the bowl down for my second offering and kneel before it. After more incantations, I fill the bowl with my hot, bitter, golden liquid. This I also raise to Baal, before drinking all its contents. I put the bowl back down, in preparation for my third offering.

[Author’s Note: Assuming you are healthy, you won’t get sick off of your own fecal matter. The practice is referred to as coprophagia. Roughly 18 % of the male population has tried this, including a majority of those who have tried bestiality. Similarly, urine from a healthy individual is sterile, and will not harm you.]

I kneel before the bowl and begin to masturbate, using my left hand. With my right hand I insert a wetted finger into my hole and touch my special place. I offer incantations praising Baal as my lord, and lord of my hole. I rededicate my hole to him. My hand moves in conjunction with my finger, increasing my pleasure. Soon, I cry aloud as I ejaculate holy semen into the bowl, my final offering, as my hole spasms in contractions around my finger. This too I raise to my lips and drink it all down.

At the conclusion of the rite, I remove my finger from my hole, and lick it clean. I dress and depart the grove until the next worship is required.

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justdungeonmasterthings · 6 years

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Magic Item concept: bag of...

Okay let’s be real: carrying capacity, while reasonable and logical, is a pain. When you’re adventuring, you’ll be picking up items along the way and while you’re probably going to sell most of them or use them there’s going to be a few that you don’t want to sell or use. It’s not likely you’ll have property to store them until they’re mid level, and even then stays at your base or keep could be few and far between.

The bag of holding, portable hole and the handy haversack are great, but if you want to add some flavor to your game consider some of the following storage options. Each one will have its own benefits and drawbacks. As with all multidimensional storage items, attempting to store them inside each other will destroy both items and spill their contents to the astral plane and all creatures within 10 ft will be sucked in and dropped in a random location on the astral plane, and the portal is only one way.

Each of these storage options is designed for one specific purpose, and abusing that purpose can have consequences. If you’re going to give your players more options for storing their equipment, you should also make them conscious of the extent to those storage options and what happens when they use them improperly. Damaged goods are sometimes the best method of teaching proper use. In the items description card be specific about what it does, but don’t write out every single thing that happens if they misuse it. They’ll have to learn that on their own along the way.

Bag of Colding (thanks Critical Role) - Rare

This one has the same stats as a bag of holding, except it allows you to store biological material without spoiling (aka this is a freezer).

For the DM: Keep in mind that it will still kill, and then flash freeze, any living creature put inside and remember how liquids change with cold. If you store an egg in there and pull it out, it will have cracked and then the contents will freeze around the egg. If you pull out meat it will be frozen so take into consideration thawing time. If you store metal in there, just think of what happens when you put frozen metal against a warm liquid (aka sticking your tongue to a frozen poll). If they store a glass vial with a liquid inside, it probably broke and froze. If they put a hot item directly into the bag of Colding, it probably cracked.

For flavor: the bag of colding is like a messenger bag with the body made of a white fur pelt and a strap made of white leather with a tooth used as a button to keep it closed. It’s cool to the touch like the other side of your pillow on a autumn night. You get the sense that hides from a white dragon and a winter wolf are used in this bags creation.

Bag of Golding - very rare

This bag is only good for metal coins, bars and ingots. It can hold up to 5,000 lb of metal (for reference: 50 GP = 1lb). To open, speak the command word and the flap will open and you must mentally concentrate on how much you want to pull out (meaning you must know it’s balance).

For the DM: A stolen bag has defensive measure in place: in order to withdraw the stolen funds, you must succeed a DC 18 intelligence check and it’s contents will spew out everywhere (which could make a lot of noise and draw attention). Failing this DC will make random worthless items, like a ball of yarn or a half used candle, to spill out. Once it’s been emptied, if the thief wants to use the new bag they must then succeed a DC 20 intelligence check to figure out the command word (they can perfom this with advantage if they observed the previous owner for 1 day). Failing this check means the Bag of Golding’s extradimensional propertied are inactive and it acts just like a bag with the interior dimensions just like the exterior. Storing non metal items will have the items spewed out. Storing metal items that aren’t of monetary function (such as weapons or tools) will result in the items being dented and beaten and overall worthless once withdrawn.

For flavor: the appearance of the bag can vary depending on how paranoid or bold the creator was. It could be drab and covered in stains or it could be flashy and ostentatious.

Bag of Growing - Uncommon

This bag can store non intelligent plants and plant materials. Seeds, saplings and small plants can all be put in this bag without fear of withering or decaying. To take out a plant, place your hand into the bag and mentally picture it to have it brought to your hand. It has four compartments, and each can contain one of the following:

• one small plant no taller than four foot with its roots intact

• a row of seedlings in grow pots that take up a space no more than 15 feet long and 1 foot wide on the ground

• a box with pouches of seeds no larger than 2 cubic feet.

Plants in this bag will remain alive and healthy and grow at 1/10 of the Rare they would normally. If a plant outgrows it’s pouch then when it’s extracted it will be considered stunted and rootbound and not grow to its full size.

For the DM: this bag is supposed to be for transporting live plants, not long term storage. Farming communities will pool together their resources to buy one bag for the entire village so they can store seeds and seedlings for the next spring if they’re expecting a harsh winter. Druids will also use these bags to transplant healthy plants from one forest to a sickly forest to help rejuvenate the dying forest. Putting intelligent plants or other creatures in this bag will kill them from suffocation after 2d6 minutes. Storing non organic material in the bag will result in them being tarnished and rusted as if they’d been stored in wet warm soil and are therefore ruined.

For flavor: this bag is made of green hemp fibers woven together to form one large opening and three small pouches on the side. There’s a flap in the shape of an oak leave that covered the entrances for the compartments. It has a strap made of dried woven greases and a button to close it made of a twig. Some bags may feature the holy symbol for gods associated with agrarian life, others may feature Druidic symbols.

Bag of Clothing - Rare

To use this bag, place it on the floor open and speak it’s command word. The bag will widen to allow a medium humanoid to enter down a stairway to the extradimensional room. The room is 10x15 and is a simple closet with clothes racks, hangers, drawers, a single partitioned divider and a single mirror to the far side. It’s lit from an unknown source. While the bag is open you are able to treat it like a regular closet and change your attire. Once the bag is closed, all non clothing items will be ejected from the bag. The bag cannot store armor.

For the DM: this is used by many nobles who travel from kingdom to kingdom on diplomatic missions. It’s easier than lugging around suitcases and chests full of formal gowns. Adventurers who have a nack for picking up cloaks, hoods, robes, capes or other clothing material might find it useful. Jewelry is considered clothing but it must be stored in the drawer before closing the bag or it will be ejected.

For flavor: picture Hermiones satchel. It’s a clever satchel with elegant embroidery and a gilded cord loop opening

Barn Bag - very rare

This bag features six compartments, each of which has a 10x10 room that can hold one the following:

• one large creature

• two medium creatures

• three small creatures

• five tiny creatures

To use, speak the command word and the bag enterance will open to allow a large creature to fit inside. You have to have a mental image of the creature when you open the bag, and a vortex will suck that creature into the bag harmlessly if it’s within 10 feet. An unwilling creature can attempt to escape by making a DC 15 dexterity check. A creature with an intelligence of 4 or less automatically fails. A creature that is sentient (can understand or speak a language) can make that check with advantage and can repeat the check every morning until it escapes or is released. An incapacitated creature automatically failed the save, but is then stabilized and brought to 1 HP. While in the bag, the animals don’t age or require food or drink

For the DM: this bag is meant for temporary animal storage. Often used by ranchers and farm hands for transporting from one field to another easily, they are occasionally used by poachers to trap wild animals. Circuses are known to use several of these bags too to move their exotic performers easily. Adventurers find these bags to be an easy way to transport mounts or companions, though occasionally they are tasked with capturing a beast. While the animals won’t die of neglect, they can interact with other animals in he same compartemt so keep that in mind if your party wants to put a house cat in a room full of chickens. If a sentient creature (speaks and/or understands a language) is put in this bag for more than one consecutive week, it gains one point of cumulative madness for every consecutive week so keep that in mind if they want to put rare intelligent creatures in there long term.

#magic item #original #bag of holding #bag of #just dungeon master things #d&d #dm #dunegons and dragons

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panickedcastiel-at-thedisco · 6 years

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Day 21 (Dec 15) Royalty AU

Hey, it’s me. I didn’t proofread this, so enjoy. @carryon-countdown

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: N/A

Prince Tyrannus sees a cute local boy at the market selling cheese.

PRINCE TYRANNUS

I like to get away from the castle sometimes. Away from my family. I know I sound like a prick to say that I hate being in the royal family, but I do. It seems like my father puts an extra amount of pressure on me, because I’m the oldest, or because Mother died… Either way, I don’t appreciate it. It’s not like I’m going to provide an heir, at least willingly.

I manage to sneak past my tutors, or anyone that would make me stay, and make it to the Royal stable. I have a horse. Well, I actually have many, it’s just that I have one favorite. Her name is something stupid, like every other horse name, but I call her Cherry. I can’t remember her original name. I don’t bother to grab a saddle, I mount her and leave the grounds. I only started coming into the town last year. Before that I would escape by hiding in the kitchen or the basement corridors. Ever since I found a way to leave without being detected I have.

I usually don’t go into the village, but last week I did. If I’m going to be honest, the only reason I want to go back today is because of an appearance of a cute bronze-haired boy at the market. I believe that he was at a cheese stand. I wonder if I can make myself buy go over to him and buy some. I guess I can give it to the chef as a thank you for having to deal with my family, at least the chef gets paid to deal with them.

SIMON

It’s almost the end of the market day when I see a tall figure walking toward my stand. His legs are so long that he seems to be bounding, and his cloak is billowing out behind him. It takes eternity for my eyes to work up his legs and get a good look at his face. Well, I would get a good look, if it wasn’t covered by the extensive hood. A few thoughts surge into my mind before a thought occurs to me, only killers and criminals wear cloaks like that. I’m about to make my escape plane when the man pulls at his hood. It unfurls to reveal a young, friendly face, with dark shoulder-length hair that met in the middle of his forehead at a widow’s peak. His skin is pale, yet it somehow has a greyish hue at the same time.

“Hello.” He stares at his feet, then glances at me. I can feel my heartbeat getting slightly faster.

I spent all that time thinking about his potential murderous tendencies (and hair) that I forgot about the possibility of him talking to me.

“Hi,” I say through a deep breath. Wow, he’s intimidating. “Try some cheese.” I awkwardly shove the sample plate in front of him. I can tell my face looks like a nervous twelve year old, so I form my mouth into a grin.

Through a chuckle he extends his elegant fingers and takes a single piece. After he eats it, he looks up at me and smiles. A swarm of whirlwinds attacks my internal organs.

“This is excellent cheese. What kind is it?” His voice floats over the air between us and hangs there for a few seconds.

“Goat cheese. I have goats.” His eyes light up.

“Can I see one?” It’s almost like he’s never seen a goat before.

“I uh… They aren’t here at the market. They live at my house, but we can go over and see them!” I say too frantically. I correct myself, “I mean the market is almost done for the day and we can walk to my house after.” The suggestion barely leaves my mouth before his face drops.

“I have to go.” He shakes his head. “First let me buy some of that cheese.” He pulls an enormous bundle of shillings out of his cloak pocket. “How much?”

“How much do you want?”

“All of it.” I look, and sure enough, he is actually serious. I tell him, and he takes a handful of the coins and hands it to me. “Thank you,” he says. Something is sad about his expression, something changed in the last two minutes. When he takes his cheese to go I grab his arm and stop him. His muscles tighten.

“I’m Simon, what’s your name?” Hopefully the words aren’t too desperate. His head turns slowly, then his ebony pupils stare into mine, sending shivers up my back.

“I’m Baz.” He turns to leave again, but my grip on his arm remains strong.

“I’ll see you around?” He slips his arm out of my grasp and replaces it with his hand. With a gentle squeeze he lets go.

“Maybe.” He leaves without looking back.

PRINCE TYRANNUS

I can never see him again.

A few weeks later,

SIMON

The steps of the castle are larger than I imagined in my mind. I guess I didn’t know what to expect. I stare, jaw open, at the palace until I feel a tug at my sleeve.

“Simon, c’mon,” my mother says. Woops. Is my mom even seeing this?

Once a month the government takes cases from the townsfolk, and usually a few representatives are sent in. Usually the issues aren’t actually issues, more like complaints. This month we have a true dilemma; our goats are being stolen. One goat, but the other farms are losing animals too. Our neighbor hasn’t gotten eggs in days. The only way for the government to do something about it is to appeal to the court. So, here we are.

The court sees us right away, and then dismiss us while they discuss the options. (And a lunch break.) I ask the guard if I can explore the lower level, where the meetings are held, instead of sitting here. Surprisingly he nods, I assume this floor is protected from the main areas of the estate. Or he doesn’t think me, a peasant boy, could do much harm. Yeah, he’s right.

PRINCE TYRANNUS

I’m on my way to the stables again when I run into him, literally. I look at him disgusted when I realize who he is. An audible gasp escapes his mouth and the skin on my cheeks heats up. Out of the side of my eyes I see a closet and shove him into it.

“Why are you here?” he demands. “Do you work for the Royal Family?”

God, will he let me get a word out?

“Why are you wearing a cape…?” I feel his brain spark with the answer. “Are you in the court? I didn’t see you in there, but are you a substitute?” Nope, he’s not there yet.

“Simon, I live here.” I watch his eyes closely for his reaction.

“I don’t--” He deflates in front of me. “Shit, well this is unfair isn’t it?” His voice cracks on the last word of his sentence. Before I can stop him, he’s gone. This time I lost him.

SIMON

I almost make it off of the grounds without crying. My first boy crush is on the Prince? Wow, way to set the bar low… I can’t believe that I thought I felt something back at the cheese stand. Baz probably felt bad for me. Baz. Baz. Why would he tell me his name was Baz and not Tyrannus? It doesn’t matter either way, I remind myself.

My mom is chatty because the court decided to support us, however, I’m not feeling her joy, so I send her ahead of me. I’m moping around the edge of the wall; the guard here is watching me, I can feel his eyes crawl up my back. Then I heard a mumble of an argument, a sigh, and the shuffle of an armour clad fellow’s feet. I turn around and see him, riding his horse, just how I imagine a Prince would. Makes sense.

“I went to the cheese stand because I thought you were cute,” Baz yells.

I’ve never felt so relieved in my life. He dismounts his horse and saunters up to me. I can’t stop staring at his hair, note to self: ask about his hair care regime. He stops when his face gets uncomfortably close to mine. His mouth breaks into a dorky smile, and he runs his fingers through his gorgeous flow. I feel like drooling, is that weird? After all of this thinking, I take his hand.

“So, um--” I say.

“Um what?”

“How do we go about this?”

“You ask too many questions, Simon.”

Then he kisses me.

Hope everyone is enjoying the countdown!

Emily

#carry on countdown #coc 2017 #carry on countdown 2017 #fic #eh #snowbaz

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daroguecampaigndiary · 6 years

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The Dalish Curse: Chapter One

Disclaimer: If you plan on playing The Dalish Curse campaign in your own group, be warned that this re-cap is riddled with spoilers, This is the fifth installment of the campaign: Invisible Chains // Ashes to the Waking Sea

The Grand Cathedral looms over the skyline of Val Royeaux, an impressive feat in such a glittering, ornamented city. Despite the somber mood within the party, the warrior Solange, mage Darius, and Avaar Man-Cheetah cannot help but awe at its grandeur. After all, this monument was dedicated to the seat of power within the Chantry: the Divine.

Man-Cheetah had received direct orders from Dhara to meet at the Grand Cathedral after helping Solange and Darius at Chateau de Vedel. The trio had made their way once again through the lively, winding streets of Val Royeaux to reach it and discover their first directives as members of Dhara’s organization.

As the party approaches the building, they see Dhara, now more plainly dressed in garb any city elf would wear, gesturing wordlessly for them to follow her. She ushers them into a benign-looking gate at the side of the entrance, which leads to a basement chamber long forgotten. Inside, two figures stand half-cloaked in darkness; one is clearly the outline of the Divine herself by the shape of her Chantry hood.

“Allow me to present Divine Victoria and her right hand,” Dhara says, gesturing to the mysterious figures. They step forward at the introduction. The Divine lowers her hood, revealing a young woman with a red bob and a pointed chin. Her companion, the right hand, has a much more square jaw and sharp, angled eyes, her dark hair chopped short.

“Oh, please,” the Divine says, her accent thick and obviously Orlesian. She addresses the party. “There’s no need for formality here. Call me Leliana. And this is Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.”

The other woman scoffs. “As you say, just ‘Cassandra’ is fine.”

“Cassandra has rebuilt the Seekers into her own organization, working as the right hand of the Divine,” Dhara says, returning her attention to the party. “We are essentially all that’s left of the Inquisition. We have no official name, and we operate with as few of Leliana’s scouts and Cassandra’s Seekers as possible.”

“And we’d like to keep it that way,” Leliana chimes in. “I assume you’re ultimately here because of an Inquisition flyer? While we like to distance ourselves from that title, it’s helpful to add to the propaganda that’s been circulating with our own legitimate information. Despite needing to keep our numbers low, we want mercenaries to take an interest. Hired vagabonds are harder to trace when compared to a legion of believers.”

Cassandra steps forward impatiently. “Enough idle chat. We are investigating ways to defeat a looming threat, a rogue mage with enough power to end the world. We cannot disclose too much with you just yet, but he is powerful and cunning, hence the need for secrecy and limited numbers.”

“Our next place of investigation is in the Dales, with the coming of Arlathvhen,” says Leliana.

“It’s a meeting of Dalish clans that happens once every several years,” Dhara fills in.

“We believe the mage’s plan may have something to do with the sudden lyrium disappearances, as well, though we’re still unsure of the connection,” Leliana continues. “For now, we need you to travel with Dhara into the Dales to meet with her clan. Your main objective is to make her appear as inconspicuous as possible; you must all play the part of nondescript travelers.” She reaches into her robes, retrieving a rolled-up note and handing it to Darius. “Before I forget: my spies intercepted this note from an elven gang leader in Halamshiral. I assume it’s for you.”

Darius reads aloud:

Word travels fast through the Indigo Road, you know. I heard that you and your cronies lopped Blaen’s head off and gave it to the Elevated Brotherhood. Ballsy.

But, congratulations are in order. With Blaen dead, and no one to run the lyrium trade, you’ve effectively put yourself in charge of the Bleakwatch. I guess that means I answer to you now. Whatever you need us to do, we’ll handle it for you. Just let me worry about the lyrium and whatever’s left of the Indigo Road - I’m skilled to handle it.

Your servant,

Shesalla

The three glance between one another, remembering their elven companion’s lust for power. The note, clearly meant for Welfin, is tucked away into Darius’s robes.

Dhara, already done spreading her map out on the table before them all, leans over to point at Val Royeaux with her index finger. “The journey into the Dales will take about seven days. If you’re ready, we should depart now.”

So the party makes their goodbye to the Chantry figures and stops only to prepare for their journey in the city’s shops. Man-Cheetah seems to have purchased just a few healing kits, until he emerges from what looks to be a pet shop with a bounding dog. Solange, immediately taken with the animal, asks, “What’s his name?”

Man-Cheetah replies joyfully, “Olaf.”

On the outskirts of the city, Darius stops to retrieve mounts for each of them. Dhara rides with Darius, minimizing her visibility. Then they leave the city and begin their journey deeper into the southern forests.

The first few days pass smoothly. As they venture further in, however, they have several run-ins with wolves, packs of vicious, agitated animals. They hurl themselves at the travelers, and the party is quick to respond.

Darius snaps his fingers ostentatiously, obliterating one of the wolves in a fiery display. Solange, still in the midst of her own conflict, whirls around at the noise and shouts, “What the?!”

Man-Cheetah, entirely pleased by the battle, takes a defeated wolf by its jaws and pulls the jowls apart, singing a hearty song of masculinity popular with the Avaar people as blood explodes into the air. He then stands and points to the next wolf. “Get out of here, you stupid, dumb animal!”

During their last battle with the wolves, Man-Cheetah gleefully chants an Avaar war-cry, a screeching made with the tongue, while he dispatches the last of them, the rest of the party stood aghast at his ferocity.

But at last, after the seven days of travel through the Dales and with plenty of wolf pelts in tow, the party makes it out of the dense forest. In fact, they happen upon what looks to be a farm. They notice a flock of carrion crows all circling over a body. As they get closer, the body is bloodied terribly, and there are signs of carnage all across the farm, with more bodies strewn about. A pack of blight wolves lope through the farm.

The group is ready to respond, and they quickly dispatch the blighted creatures, taking their pelts, as well. Though it would appear that the wolves were the cause of death for the farmers, the party notices that they did not kill them. Seven male bodies are flayed in the yard, and as the adventurers enter the farmhouse, they note three more dead bodies: a woman, a young girl, and an infant. There are claw and bite marks inconsistent with the wolves, as well as doors broken in by forceful blows. The floors and earth are sticky with blood.

Solange reaches her hand up to a wall inside the main room of the farmhouse, where there’s writing in the blood of the slain. The others crowd around her to see. It is just one word in elvish script, and Solange says it aloud: “Mythal.”

Dhara solemnly places her hand over the word, and says, almost under her breath, “The elven god of vengeance.”

The party moves on to the barn, where the animals still seem to be alive, including an aging workhorse. As they pace inside, a low moan sounds from somewhere inside the barn. Frantic, they search for the source of the voice.

Hidden under the hay in the loft is a young elf woman with a nasty, inflamed wound in her side, her clothes torn and covered in blood, dirt, and stray bits of hay and straw. As the group approaches, she tries to flee them, but only manages a feeble crawl before she passes out.

They quickly attempt to resuscitate her, or else heal her wounds. Luckily, they succeed in stabilizing her; she visibly relaxes but remains unconscious. As they take a closer look, her wound is a set of four closely-spaced gashes along her side, apparently made by claws, and her clothing shows that she is a Dalish elf. Her wound is consistent with those suffered by many of the family found on the farm - it seems the same creatures attacked her. She carries nothing on her person except for a small leather pouch at her waist that holds a heavy link, forged out of silver, about the size of the man’s hand. It has been broken by some great force.

Darius takes it in his hands, examining the strange object. “There are magical etchings all over the surface. I can feel a residue of the power the link once contained... but I can’t feel its nature.”

Dhara hangs back as the group look between each other, confused. Darius pockets the link.

“Come on,” says Solange, “let’s get this girl some help. There has to be a village nearby.”

Indeed, they happen upon a village, Man-Cheetah carrying the elf woman over his shoulder. Before they can reach the village proper, however, they are met by what appears to be an angry mob. A swarm of villagers walk toward the group, agitated further by the sight of the elf. At the front of the group, a large, gruff man leads the mob, clearly the spearhead of the effort.

The party hears people gasping, shouting accusations and rumors.

“Why did she survive?”

“What was she doing at Fuldor Farm?”

“Dalish witch!”

“She came to lure the men out into the open!”

“She led the attack!”

“Sorceress!”

“Cast her out!”

“Execute the dirty knife-ear!”

“Protect Vintiver!”

Clearly overrun, Solange charges ahead. “Calm down or I’ll bash your heads in!”

This manages to quiet down the mob, though they still seethe together. Darius comes up behind her, holding up the pelts of the blight wolves.

“You see? We’ve defeated the creatures that attacked your farm!” he cries, though his words fall mostly on deaf ears.

In the newly-made silence, Solange takes an opportunity to speak. “There is a great evil coming! Let us pass.”

It takes several more attempts to disperse the crowd, with no help from the leader of the mob, who reveals himself as Coalan. But, at long last, the party does manage to talk down the villagers, and, begrudgingly, they dissipate.

Coalan practically stomps his feet, a petulant child, before moving on, muttering under his breath. Darius and Man-Cheetah make a silent agreement to follow him. Solange and Dhara then take the girl in search of an inn.

It doesn’t take long before Coalan reaches a forge; he enters with the confidence of a tenant, clearly the village blacksmith. Not far behind, Darius motions for Man-Cheetah to follow his lead before entering themselves.

Darius takes up his own brand of Tevinter confidence and bids the man a good evening. “Would you be willing to make weapons for me and my companions?”

Coalan spits on the ground before their feet. “Not to you. Not after you let that knife-ear back in our midst! You’d do best to leave my forge right now.”

Before Darius, flabbergasted, can answer, the door to the forge opens again, this time revealing a broad man with a leather coat and a Warden’s crest upon his lapel.

“Coalan, what’s this I hear about - ?” the man starts before noticing the two adventurers. “Ah, and who might you be?”

“Traitors, say I,” Coalan says.

The man shoots Coalan a dark look before returning his attention cordially to the other two. “I am Tarl Dale, the Warden of Vintiver. Ignore Coalan here - he’s a brute with a nasty temper. Come, let’s talk outside.” Tarl points a finger at Coalan. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Outside, Tarl turns to the party in earnest. “Now, can you men explain to me what went on this afternoon? I’ve heard talk of a mob.”

Darius and Man-Cheetah recount their days’ adventure: finding Fuldor Farm and the elf girl hidden inside, and bringing her to Vintiver only to find an angry crowd with Coalan at its head.

“I see.” Tarl runs a hand over his shaggy beard. “You see, a Dalish clan made their way through here recently, but their stay ended on bad terms. Coalan had a row with one of their hunters. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. In the meantime, you two should find lodgings, if you haven’t already. See that the elf is made well; come see me if you have any more trouble.”

Safely stowed in the Arbor Inn, Solange stands watch over the elf girl. Dhara kneels beside her bed, tending to her wounds and whispering in elvhen. This goes on for some time before, at long last, the girl’s eyelids flutter open, and she sits up with a sharp inhale.

Dhara holds the girl’s shoulders to steady her. Solange quickly makes her way over and kneels, too. Confusion sweeps over the elf’s expression.

“You’re safe,” Dhara offers. Her voice is uncharacteristically calm and warm; the girl appears instantly relieved to see one of her people.

“I’m Solange, and this is Dhara. What happened to you?”

Weak, the girl blinks before sucking in a deep breath. “I am Eshara. I should start from the beginning:

“Our clan visited the village just two weeks ago, on our way to Arlathvhen and during their harvest festival. We were welcomed, at first, but there was a bit of trouble: some of the locals had too much to drink, and there was a confrontation with some of our young men. Harralan, one of our hunters, attacked the blacksmith. The warden separated them before it could get out of hand, but the damage was done. We were no longer welcomed here, and we moved on.

“Harralan was angry at our treatment, but our Keeper assigned him the duty of scouting as we made our way through the forests of the Dales, to give him time to cool off. He was the first to disappear - he simply didn’t return from his scouting one night.

“Then others began to go missing, as did the ones sent to look for them. The Keeper decided we should go back, but by then it was too late. Three days after Harralan disappeared, before we could reach the edge of the forest, they attacked our camp: darkspawn emerging from the trees in the dead of night. My people were taken. Those who fought were beaten or killed. I was captured along with the rest, taken to an ancient ruin in a rift valley deep in the forest, far off the trails. The master of the darkspawn is a creature, an abomination. He calls himself Mythallen.”

“‘Child of vengeance,’” Dhara says, almost to herself.

Eshara continues, “I was brought before him, and then taken to his chambers. I managed to escape, taking the broken link of silver I found laid out as if on a shrine.

“The darkspawn pursued me, accompanied by a pack of baying beasts. I was wounded, but managed to avoid them, hiding among the trees and gullies in the forest for more than a day, always moving, never resting for long. I stumbled upon the farm where you found me and managed to conceal myself in the hayloft. I heard some of the farmers coming... The darkspawn must have attacked. I remember the terrible screams... Then nothing... until you found me.

“Please... you must help my people! Mythallen and his creatures must be stopped!”

The excitement strains Eshara’s exhaustion, and Dhara shushes her, lowering her back into the bed as she falls unconscious.

That night, after Darius and Man-Cheetah return from Coalan’s smithy, Solange recounts Eshara’s tale. The party decides to go back to Fuldor Farm to keep watch for the darkspawn that may return for Eshara. They take Eshara’s clothes and give her the gown Solange wore at the gala back in Val Royeaux; Dhara agrees to stay with Eshara as the party ventures off.

When they arrive at the farm, they clothe one of the bodies with Eshara’s attire as a decoy. Solange keeps watch with Man-Cheetah in the barn.

For many hours, and all through the night, the two wearily watch on as nothing happens. They begin to lose morale, thinking that their first major lead has been lost.

Just as Darius wakes and dawn spreads across the sky, however, the party sees figures approach in the distance. Coalan, followed by his cronies, bound across the field and up to the barn, having seen Solange and Man-Cheetah far in advance. It’s clear they had intentions of an ambush, or else to snuff out Eshara before alerting her clan and furthering their “Dalish plot.”

Darius goads Coalan on inside the barn, as Solange and Man-Cheetah sneak their way further outside. Consumed by his temper, Coalan charges into the barn just as Darius sets it on fire, then sprints outside, leaving the would-be attackers trapped inside with treacherous flames slowly mounting.

The three ignore the terrified shouts as they prepare for what may come. Coalan manages to break the door down - but Darius is quick to cast Winter’s Grasp, keeping the entire door frozen and those trapped inside without an escape. It can’t hold for long, though, and one villager is able to free himself. The party descends upon him, quickly knocking him unconscious and practically torturing the man with attacks to sensitive parts and a miraculous, treacherous show of pouring hot tea into his eyes.

The rest of the barn burns in a horrifying display; just as it seems the door to the barn is about to succumb to ash, Coalan and the others escape with only seconds, fear more than anger burning in their expressions. Darius then sets the outside of the barn on fire, adding to the chaos. Even as the other attackers attempt to run, the party cuts them down, leaving all but Coalan and their torture victim dead.

A little aghast at their swift and volatile actions, the group takes a moment to gather themselves - and their unconscious companions - and decide how to subvert their situation to their benefit. After all, the growing plume of charcoal smoke rising in the morning air was sure to draw the wrong kind of attention, already distrusted by most of the village.

So they drag the bodies back to Warden Tarl’s house, Solange taking the lead in this subterfuge. She makes a great show of sobbing, knocking on the warden’s door with shaking shoulders. Darius and Man-Cheetah do their best to look sullen behind her.

When Tarl opens the door, his eyes dart frantically between Solange and the two disfigured bodies lying on the ground. “What - ?!”

“They tried to hurt us!” Solange says, doing everything save collapsing into the man’s arms. “We went back to the farm to make sure there weren’t any more darkspawn, and they came and they tried to kill us!”

“Calm down,” Tarl said, taking her by the shoulder and leading her inside to sit down. “Here, bring them inside. I’ll tend to them.”

Darius and Man-Cheetah unceremoniously drag Coalan and his cohort into the house.

“I know Coalan has a mighty temper, but I never thought him capable of this,” Tarl says to them. “I apologize on his behalf. The village has been through a lot, but that’s no excuse. Don’t worry about a thing - I’ll tend to them until they’re able to tell me what I need to know.”

The party shifts uncomfortably.

“Now, what did you find out about that elf girl?”

Solange tells the warden about what Eshara said to her back at the inn, and how they intend to aid her clan as best they can. Tarl gives the party his full support, in whatever way he can.

Back outside, the party gives a collective sigh of relief.

They return to Eshara in the inn, who seems to be more fully recovered, thanks to Dhara. She sits up in bed, raising a brow at the group’s singed appearance, but says nothing of it.

“So? Will you help my people? I can guide you through the forest, if you like. Please, I must free them from Mythallen.”

Dhara holds Eshara’s hand in hers, looking to the group expectantly.

Solange nods and steps toward her. “Yes, we’ll help your people.”

#Dragon Age RPG #Dungeons and Dragons #campaign diary #The Dalish Curse #DA: Inquisition

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