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You may have found your true calling as an erotica novelist. Your alias should be Pedobear.
.
Last edited by Giuseppe; 09-16-2011 at 07:51 AM.
You may have found your true calling as an erotica novelist. Your alias should be Pedobear.
Cully my man...not that I would know but you're:
Did she really say "swell"?
Culburn going to the Chuckbox:
There you were, on top of the world, cruising down the highway with a trunk full of rope, duct tape, and cases of chloroform. You felt your heart pound in your chest as you got closer, excited, but also somewhat disillusioned by the fact that the extra blood pumping through your veins wouldn't help you achieve an erection any easier. Then you remembered the butt end of the pool cue you had lying on the back seat, which would do the job you couldn't, and you felt your fear of inadequacy disappear.
Big smile on your face now as the parking lot came into view. You were moments away from a good burger, some stimulating basketball conversation, maybe a few laughs. It was going to be a great lunch, which you planned would conclude with the limp body of a college student being carried over your shoulder and dumped into your trunk. You saw yourself driving home, carefully, not wanting to alert any cops, thrilled knowing that another victim was going to experience your dungeon of fun, which you have soundproofed so Katie-Girl can't hear the screams.
So you entered. Strutted in with the kind of confidence that only a 16 time champion- -serial rapist possesses. You swiveled your head side-to-side, excited to catch a glimpse of the face that would, in a few hours, be twisted in pain as you applied your time honored methods.
But there wasn't any young man to be seen. Just a few diners, all middle-aged, pot-bellied, and saggy, characteristics you find appalling. At that moment, you had an idea to put each and every one of these sad excuses out of their misery. But as quick as the idea flashed into your head, it left. You were here for him, and besides, you left the pick-axe in the garage, which is your preferred instrument to use in a mass murdering situation. Plus, Katie-girl was all out of Tide Stain Release, and you didn't feel like ruining your freshly ironed Herringbone dress shirt with the blood and brain matter of insignificant people. Today, only one person had any sort of significance to you.
Where is he?
You walked up and down the restaurant, the sizzling meat aroma reminding you of that boy you picked up in Flagstaff a year-and-a-half ago, except he was much larger than a burger and didn't fit on the grill so easily. You looked into each booth, looked over each table. Nothing. He wasn't there.
You got home. Katie-Girl noticed your down-turned mouth, your clenched jaw, your narrow eyes, the look of a beaten man. What happened? She asked.
"He's out, and he's staying out."
Last edited by midnightpulp; 07-08-2011 at 09:07 PM.
Culburn going to the Chuckbox:
There you were, on top of the world, cruising down the highway with a trunk full of rope, duct tape, and cases of chloroform. You felt your heart pound in your chest as you got closer, excited, but also somewhat disillusioned by the fact that the extra blood pumping through your veins wouldn't help you achieve an erection any easier. Then you remembered the butt end of the pool cue you had lying on the back seat, which would do the job you couldn't, and you felt your fear of inadequacy disappear.
Big smile on your face now as the parking lot came into view. You were moments away from a good burger, some stimulating basketball conversation, maybe a few laughs. It was going to be a great lunch, which you planned would conclude with the limp body of a college student being carried over your shoulder and dumped into your trunk. You saw yourself driving home, carefully, not wanting to alert any cops, thrilled knowing that another victim was going to experience your dungeon of fun, which you have soundproofed so Katie-Girl can't hear the screams.
So you entered. Strutted in with the kind of confidence that only a 16 time champion- -serial rapist possesses. You swiveled your head side-to-side, excited to catch a glimpse of the face that would, in a few hours, be twisted in pain as you applied your time honored methods.
But there wasn't any young man to be seen. Just a few diners, all middle-aged, pot-bellied, and saggy, characteristics you find appalling. At the moment, you had an idea to put each and every one of these sad excuses out of their misery. But as quick as the idea flashed into your head, it left. You were here for him, and besides, you left the pick-axe in the garage, which is your preferred instrument to use in mass murdering situation. Plus, Katie-girl was all out of Tide Stain Release, and you didn't feel like ruining your freshly ironed Herringbone dress shirt with the blood and brain matter of insignificant people. Today, only one person had any sort of significance to you.
Where is he?
You walked up and down the restaurant, the sizzling meat aroma reminding you of that boy you picked up in Flagstaff a year and a half ago, except he was much larger than a burger and didn't fit on the grill so easily. You looked into each booth, looked over each table. Nothing. He wasn't there.
You got home. Katie-Girl noticed your down-turned mouth, your clenched jaw, your narrow eyes, the look of a beaten man. What happened? She asked.
"He's out, and he's staying out."
"He's out and he's staying out."
I don't get it.
Culburn going to the Chuckbox:
There you were, on top of the world, cruising down the highway with a trunk full of rope, duct tape, and cases of chloroform. You felt your heart pound in your chest as you got closer, excited, but also somewhat disillusioned by the fact that the extra blood pumping through your veins wouldn't help you achieve an erection any easier. Then you remembered the butt end of the pool cue you had lying on the back seat, which would do the job you couldn't, and you felt your fear of inadequacy disappear.
Big smile on your face now as the parking lot came into view. You were moments away from a good burger, some stimulating basketball conversation, maybe a few laughs. It was going to be a great lunch, which you planned would conclude with the limp body of a college student being carried over your shoulder and dumped into your trunk. You saw yourself driving home, carefully, not wanting to alert any cops, thrilled knowing that another victim was going to experience your dungeon of fun, which you have soundproofed so Katie-Girl can't hear the screams.
So you entered. Strutted in with the kind of confidence that only a 16 time champion- -serial rapist possesses. You swiveled your head side-to-side, excited to catch a glimpse of the face that would, in a few hours, be twisted in pain as you applied your time honored methods.
But there wasn't any young man to be seen. Just a few diners, all middle-aged, pot-bellied, and saggy, characteristics you find appalling. At that moment, you had an idea to put each and every one of these sad excuses out of their misery. But as quick as the idea flashed into your head, it left. You were here for him, and besides, you left the pick-axe in the garage, which is your preferred instrument to use in a mass murdering situation. Plus, Katie-girl was all out of Tide Stain Release, and you didn't feel like ruining your freshly ironed Herringbone dress shirt with the blood and brain matter of insignificant people. Today, only one person had any sort of significance to you.
Where is he?
You walked up and down the restaurant, the sizzling meat aroma reminding you of that boy you picked up in Flagstaff a year-and-a-half ago, except he was much larger than a burger and didn't fit on the grill so easily. You looked into each booth, looked over each table. Nothing. He wasn't there.
You got home. Katie-Girl noticed your down-turned mouth, your clenched jaw, your narrow eyes, the look of a beaten man. What happened? She asked.
"He's out, and he's staying out."
stop pretending you're black.
Cubby,
The Mavs rang. Dirk rang. Cuban rang. Terry rang. Caron Butler rang. They all rang. That's a sandwich you'll have to eat the rest of your life. You can hide all you want, but we won't let you run from this. Address the sandwich in your mouth.
.
Last edited by Giuseppe; 09-16-2011 at 07:52 AM.
The Dallas Mavericks are NBA World Champions. Just let that linger with you.
Caron Butler is an NBA World Champion. Savor that sandwich as it slides past your gullet.
Katie-girl: Cully, baby, what did you think of me on our honeymoon, when we got to the hotel and I slowly, erotically slipped out of my dress?
Culburn: I'll be straight-forward and to the point, darling. I wanted to your pussy raw and suck those s dry.
Katie-girl(posing like a model): And what do you think of me now?
Cully: I'd say I did a pretty damn good job.
How I'm I pretending to be black again? I asked you this before and you never responded.
Not bad.
8/10
You know. Stop it.
Goin to Vegas on Monday, actually.
Sooo, you don't know. Stop it.
Culburn going to the Chuckbox:
There you were, on top of the world, cruising down the highway with a trunk full of rope, duct tape, and cases of chloroform. You felt your heart pound in your chest as you got closer, excited, but also somewhat disillusioned by the fact that the extra blood pumping through your veins wouldn't help you achieve an erection any easier. Then you remembered the butt end of the pool cue you had lying on the back seat, which would do the job you couldn't, and you felt your fear of inadequacy disappear.
Big smile on your face now as the parking lot came into view. You were moments away from a good burger, some stimulating basketball conversation, maybe a few laughs. It was going to be a great lunch, which you planned would conclude with the limp body of a college student being carried over your shoulder and dumped into your trunk. You saw yourself driving home, carefully, not wanting to alert any cops, thrilled knowing that another victim was going to experience your dungeon of fun, which you have soundproofed so Katie-Girl can't hear the screams.
So you entered. Strutted in with the kind of confidence that only a 16 time champion- -serial rapist possesses. You swiveled your head side-to-side, excited to catch a glimpse of the face that would, in a few hours, be twisted in pain as you applied your time honored methods.
But there wasn't any young man to be seen. Just a few diners, all middle-aged, pot-bellied, and saggy, characteristics you find appalling. At that moment, you had an idea to put each and every one of these sad excuses out of their misery. But as quick as the idea flashed into your head, it left. You were here for him, and besides, you left the pick-axe in the garage, which is your preferred instrument to use in a mass murdering situation. Plus, Katie-girl was all out of Tide Stain Release, and you didn't feel like ruining your freshly ironed Herringbone dress shirt with the blood and brain matter of insignificant people. Today, only one person had any sort of significance to you.
Where is he?
You walked up and down the restaurant, the sizzling meat aroma reminding you of that boy you picked up in Flagstaff a year-and-a-half ago, except he was much larger than a burger and didn't fit on the grill so easily. You looked into each booth, looked over each table. Nothing. He wasn't there.
You got home. Katie-Girl noticed your down-turned mouth, your clenched jaw, your narrow eyes, the look of a beaten man. What happened? She asked.
"He's out, and he's staying out."
http://www.spurstalk.com/forums/showthread.php?t=164005
Short memories
"I crawled beneath the blankets and gently pulled his panties off and kissed her thighs as softly as I could. She spread them in response and I went down to her knees & calves."
The ?
He's finally coming out.
Giuseppe Again, I held his sphincter gently between my teeth. Again, I bit down ever so carefully. Again, ever so gently.
He was cognizant enough to grab hold of the blanket edge and put it into his mouth as his release instantly overwhelmed him.
"Let it all out, Kobe-boi. Cully is here. He'll watch over you now. I'm here, angel."
I came buckets
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