I confess I don't really care about laws I Just care about the people not being abused in there perception of what abuse is. I really don't care if a guy owns a sex slave as long as she doesn't blow me up. I Hate War everey Facade of it's Visage.

Finding Daddy in a Good Girl

Hello, Everyone,

From the first person, so a lot of I me my... Am working through a painful D/s breakup and was hoping this would help others, so you're the I me my.

After the blind-siding end of a second long-term DD/lg relationship-- the first a 10-year marriage (not surprising), the last a 10-month 24/7 LDR (breathtakingly surprising. Does 10 months count as long-term?)-- and finding once again that I was moaning about passive-aggressive, narcissistic pussies who THINK they're Daddy Doms but are really submissive cowards, I made myself very quiet and asked myself exactly what I thought a good Daddy was.

As a result, instead of moaning some more, crying into my pillow, or sending him a bajillion texts asking him why he was being such a cunt and letting him talk me back into the relationship (or, rather, manipulate me into talking myself back into the relationship), I went out on a tear (thank God for New Orleans), sloshed home to create a FetLife account, joined some relevant groups, contacted a couple of local people who seemed like they knew their way around the scene, and read myself back into soberville for almost 24 hours straight. And then, I started a list of the qualities I thought were essential in a Daddy Dom.

The list of words became fairly lengthy, so I started a taxonomy and they ended up fitting into groups of three. I'm sure the information architect in me (yes, I'm a geek, shut up.) will further categorize these groups, but it just began to seem... I don't know, lyrical. And then, the word, "compassionate" started resonating. First, my eyes were drawn again and again to that 13-letter composition, and then the sound of its 4 syllables echoed fluidly in my head like water moving, and finally that reciprocal beating of the rhythm of the word with my heart that happens when my body's trying to tell me something began.

It occurred to me that it might be the little girl in me that was trying to soften toward him again after he betrayed my trust for the 4th time in as many months. But no, that softening wasn't happening this time (and still isn't, thank you very much). While thinking about this, the question, "What exactly is a Good Girl?" started whispering, and a new list began. And, guess what?

The lists are virtually identical.

To an independent, perceptive, dominant woman in all other aspects of life, this shouldn't have been the epiphany that it was. How could a woman who prides herself on her unerring spidey sense and strength of character be suckered in by not one, but two men of low character who manipulated the very D/s abandon that led her to them initially?

And that's when I realized that compassion wasn't supposed to be reserved solely for others. Unless you consider the little girl inside of a strong woman to be other. And, I don't anymore. That little girl, I, deserve(s) the same compassion, forgiveness and understanding as Daddy does. A Good Girl requires a Daddy with a strength of character to match her own. Even if that requisite reciprocity comes from being her own Daddy while she searches for the man who truly deserves and appreciates her considerable love, power and control.

So, sit tight, little girl. You've got everything you need in the interim.

Here are the lists, if you're interested:

Daddy Is (1) The Law Of Threes:
https://fetlife.com/users/1864710/posts/1228667]

A Good Girl Is (1) The Law Of Threes:
https://fetlife.com/users/1864710/posts/1229514]

XOXOX,
Rain

I confess 6 years ago I moved into a flatshare with another woman and a guy who were not related and I did not know how to cope with her.

I am one of those guys who rarely gets laid(fortunately I am no virgin anymore) and are puzzled by social interactions of any kind with women.

So there I was, moving in. She was 28 at this time and had this "you did something wrong" look all the time. Like a "I am never happy with what you do even though we are neither related nor have I any right to, I will always judge you and treat you like a 5 years old".

So there I was unloading my things outside of the house. I asked her to help me bring stuff in as I don't have any friends to help me. Of course I did not say the friends part, I just asked her whether she could help me bring stuff in. She said, yes but seemed pissed all the time. Later on I was told that she did not enjoy it at all because she being female shouldn't do that. Geez.

So there I was trying to establish conversation after that in the following weeks and all I got was this "you are not enough" - vibe from her. She is working in a huge company as a manager, that's were it seems to stem from. Then some dude fucked her and she became pregnant. And me - being "home" often - was on the receiving end of it - without even asking or presenting myself to her. As I have this perception of "home" that people have to understand each other I didn't stand up to that but told her that she needed to realize that I wasn't responsible for whatever she experienced and didn't want to be on the receiving end of it.

She didn't care.

It was hard to find the flat so I didn't want to move out just then. After a while she wrote me a letter(!), pinned it to my door saying that she couldn't stand me anymore and that I needed to move out. She being the main tenant could do that. So I looked for a new flat not even having had the opportunity to really equip my room after having stayed there for two month.

It still bugs me that I didn't know how to deal with her.

How should I have dealt with that cunt?

WITHOUT moving out of course, running away.

My Toilet Interests

Warning: If this isn't your personal thing, or you find the topic offensive, I'd stop reading now.

I very briefly considered posting this anonymously, but then thought that would be silly - as my online profile here is pretty much anonymous anyway. Also, the point of my being here is to be honest about everything in a way that I can't be in real life. It's bad enough keeping secrets from the people I know, I'm not about to start feeling ashamed about any of my interests when I'm here.

Like a whole bunch of other taboos, I grew up thinking that bodily functions were dirty and never to be talked about - aside from in a joking and deprecating fashion. Sure, you can joke about it but it's not something that's "polite", or "healthy" in a casual topic-of-dinner-conversation fashion. Also, like most other taboos, children don't have any inhibitions when it comes to this. By default, they *don't* think that it's disgusting or to be avoided. It's only when parents and society drill those thoughts into them that they end up feeling that way. (I often think that society itself is the worst form of child abuser and source of sexual dysfunction later on in life.)

So, like most people, it was my belief that pissing and shitting was something to be acknowledged but never actively discussed. It was also something that should always be done behind closed doors. (Aside from public urinals in men's bathrooms - a strange kind of "abeyance" of the normal social rule - where it's okay to pee in front of other men in a way that would be totally unacceptable in the privacy of a home.)

I further believed that both piss and shit were bad, harmful byproducts that were expelled from the body because they weren't good for it. When later realizing the sexualized kink genre around this, I was repelled and, intellectually, amazed (in a negative way) that anybody could even contemplate this. I couldn't understand the pleasure, let alone why somebody would risk illness in order to play with, or ingest, something that shouldn't have any contact with anybody once out of the body.

Of course, there were some interesting things that I came across in the media:

- If you get stung by a stingray, and there is no other method of treatment, it's beneficial to have somebody pee on the wound.

- If you find yourself in the desert, or otherwise dying from deydration, you can prolong your life by drinking your own urine.

- There is a relatively recent medical treatment called "fecal microbiota transplantation" (more commonly known as a stool transplant) where feces are transplanted from a healthy donor to a patient suffering from a C.difficile infection. This apparently serves to restore the "colonic flora" in the patient so that they can fight off their illness better. (And from what I understand it actually has quite good results - the stumbling block being the "ick" factor to the treatment.)

So, if waste products are so unhealthy for you - how is it that their use can be recommended, or it can be said that they are also healthy in some cases?

A little over 10 years ago I was on a business trip. This was also around the time that I'd gradually become more and more interested in all sorts of different types of sex acts - looking up video clips and pictures, even of things that didn't actually appeal to me just because I was curious. (I don't actually know if they didn't appeal to me at *some* level, or if it just became the case that the more I was exposed to various things the more open minded I became.) In any case, one of the books that I'd taken with me (I'm an avid reader) involved modern day witches. In one of the descriptive scenes, it talked about a group of people who believe in drinking a certain amount of urine on a daily basis - because they believed it actually improved their health, far from negatively impacting it. This is known as "urine therapy". There are several well-known figures who have practised it.

I did a bit of searching on the Internet and found out that the author wasn't just making this up. Once it exits the body, urine is sterile and doesn't contain anything in it any more harmful than tap water. The only way you can become ill by drinking urine is if comes from somebody who's unhealthy. If the donor's healthy, there is no problem.

I thought about some of the golden shower pictures and clips I'd seen. Taking this new information into consideration, it acted as a way of giving me "permission" to try something that I had previously thought was bad for me - but which, apparently, wasn't. (I knew I wasn't suffering from any diseases or other illness.) So, one night after returning from dinner after a work-related training session, I started looking at golden shower porn, and got myself a bit drunk - as well as excited. I held my erect cock and peed into a hotel room cup. With only a bit of hesitation I took a sip. It tasted essentially no different than water. At the time I was quite well hydrated, the urine was a clear colour - not yellow - and it didn't have the normal "ammonia" smell or taste that you'd get from somebody not hydrated. And I got a huge kick out of doing something so "wrong". I ended up drinking the whole thing.

When I woke up the following morning I wasn't hydrated anymore - and I was neither drunk nor aroused. Still, I made myself repeat what I'd done the night before. This time, the urine was so strong that I couldn't take more than a small sip.

But I've gone back to it over the years - and grown more accustomed to the taste. I've also enjoyed peeing on myself in the shower. And I've looked at a lot more golden shower porn. I still haven't done anything related to this with a partner, but believe I would enjoy it. I'd very much like to lick and suck a woman, and drink from her as she pees directly into my mouth. I'd also like to pee inside her after cumming.

Even though I'd got past the golden showers, I still had an aversion to scat. But my interest slowly grew despite that. At one point I found myself on a scat board, reading various posts, and I also followed the autobiographical stories of several scat pornstars who talked about how they trained themselves and didn't suffer any negative consequences. It turns out that feces are mostly composed of water. The remainder, when coming from a healthy person - and in particular from your *own* body - has little risk of causing illness. Yes, you *can* get ill from eating shit but, as with being cautious about the STD status of your parther, if you make sure to only consume from somebody healthy, and just a little here and there, there isn't really a reason for concern. Assuming that the arousal you feel from doing so outweighs the possible problems, it's no different a risk than any number of other regular activities could be.

I started experimenting with shit a couple of years ago, although nothing major and only infrequently. I would occasionally wipe myself with a finger, or insert it, and then lick it off and swallow the small amount I found there. When surfing porn, I frequently finger myself and then lick it after - but rarely does that produce anything at all.

Interestingly, I've found that shit tastes a bit like bitter chocolate. It's not nearly as bad as I'd thought it would be from its smell. Even more interesting, once I discovered I didn't hate the taste, my perception of the smell itself also changed. Whereas before it smelled "like shit" I actually came to enjoy the aroma. (At least of my own.)

Just tonight, thanks to some like-minded contacts here whose example has "encouraged" me, I spent some time on the toilet very slowly squeezing out a piece the length of a finger into my hand. I had felt it when I inserted my fingers, so I knew it was there, but it was a suprisingly "difficult" process to work my muscles to expel it slowly without it just shooting out as I've had it do my whole life. (There is definitely a bit of a learning curve for anybody wanting to preserve it for use.) Before I could think better of it, I put it in my mouth. I left it there as I finished doing my business on the toilet. There was definitely a bit of a thrill. It was the first time I'd ever had a piece of shit in my mouth, and I liked the idea of what I was doing. However, at the same time, I was fighting against all of my years of conditioning against this very idea. I couldn't bring myself to do more than hold it in my mouth. I couldn't bring myself to squish any part of it with my tongue, let alone chew or swallow any of it. I finally ended up spitting it out and flushing it. At this point, I am both excited at having made progress towards the long-term goal of being able to legitimately call myself a "shit eater" (something that, perversely, sends shivers of pleasure through me at the thought) but also somewhat disappointed. I believe I will need to work on putting a much smaller quantity into my mouth next time and eating it. Once I can get myself used to the idea - and "decondition" my mental reactions - I think I'll have no problem handling this more easily.

As with drinking pee directly from the source, a long-term fantasy is to rim someone and then to eat their shit directly from them. I'm not a fan of messy scat, or of "smearing" - both of which seem to be the most popular of the genre. I'm only really interested in the consumption of scat, and mainly when deposited directly from the ass to the mouth.

I want to confess how I lost my virginity.

I was a bit of a late starter, I didn't get my first girl until I was 24. I was not very popular all the way through school and struggled to make friends in college, this was mainly caused by the fact I can't walk too well.

I'm not missing a leg or anything, but I walk with a limp and have to use a stick sometimes because of a problem with my knee. You soon realise that people will always pick a more able bodied person over someone with problems, even if you're good looking etc. My choice of music and college course meant I didn't have a great deal of exposure to women really, and because I couldn't get out and about, I got out drinking and socialising a lot less too.

So cut to when I'm 24, an old school friend has invited me round for pre-drinks before we go out to some more local pubs, he understands my problems and helps me when I need it, even just walking slower and in the past even him and some other friends have carried me from place to place. We're in his house and there's quite a few of us there, I'm on the sofa cradling a beer and chatting with people. There's a few people (mainly girls) there that I don't recognise and I ask my friend (lets call him 'Mark' for ease) who they all are, so he introduces us, They're all friends of his sister and there's 4 of them. We're all going out together, which I didn't know, but they all seem like nice people and we're all getting along well.

After a couple of drinks, everyone starts getting a bit antsy so we make the decision to actually make a move out of the house. I get up off the sofa and there's an noticeable silence that descends on the room as I get up and reach for my stick, no-one had realised that it was mine, a couple of the girls actually turn away and I swear one of them gave a little giggle. I'm a fairly perceptive person, so this immediately set the tone for the night, I felt that they were all laughing behind my back (They are younger, so I suppose it is expected, but very sad).

I spent an hour or so at the bar with Mark and the other guys, but was struggling to relax because every time I looked round I could see people looking at me and probably secretly judging me standing there stick in one hand and pint in the other. I order another pint and excuse myself to go and sit down, which everyone understands because I can't stand for too long. So I find myself sitting alone, in the corner of the bar just pawing aimlessly through my phone, browsing facebook and Tinder, not really finding anything interesting on either to be honest, there's only so many times you can swipe before you lose hope.

I wasn't expecting it but got quite a shock when someone plopped down next to me on the seat, I look up and see it's not one person but two, one of Mark's friends and her boyfriend. We get chatting and they're actually really friendly and easy to talk to, despite about a 6 year age gap, I always worry about having nothing to talk about with people who are younger than myself. We talked for a half hour or so before they announced that they were leaving soon, as they both had to catch a flight in the morning so couldn't stay out. I told them that I might go soon because I wasn't really feeling it, they said "oh well if you want to share a taxi back to your place then we can all go together?" I told them I wasn't staying at my place but at mark's instead, they said that's fine and that the taxi would be going back that way anyway. I start to get up and marks sister, lets call her 'Christa' comes over to ask if I'm ok. I tell her I'm going back to her/marks place and she looks concerned, I say it's ok I'm just not really feeling the 'vibe' that night. She speaks to mark and comes back to say she'll come back with me to make sure I'm ok, I did say it was ok but she insisted.

It's getting icy outside and we pile into the taxi so I'm glad we decided to catch one before they get too busy later in the night. It's a short ride back to Mark's and we get in the house quick, Christa's friends bid us farewell and go on their way.

We get in and I'm prepared to just bed down on the sofa for the night (as planned), but Christa asks if I want a drink, she gets us a couple of Vodka shorts and we have a nice chat for maybe 45 minutes or an hour, a couple of drinks later we're both a bit drunk and everyone else gets in from the pub. Everyone grabs a goodnight beer and maybe half an hour passes before they start to make a move home.

Cut to later, everyone is gone home and I'm falling asleep on the sofa when I hear someone coming down the stairs, it's christa and she walks through the living room, grabs a drink from the kitchen and goes back upstairs to bed. I play dead out of politeness, but I could hear her footsteps and she stopped on the way back through for a couple of seconds before going back up.

Again, later on, I wake up suddenly when I feel someone basically sitting on my feet at the end of the sofa. I start to sit up and try to see who it is in the pitch black, can't see a thing so I start to say 'Hello?' when I feel a finger on my lips and someone saying 'shhh'. It's Christa, I can tell from the outline of her hair in the dark, so I whisper 'are you ok?'. She whispers 'Yea' and lifts the sheets up and climbs in under my legs. I literally had no idea what was going on and was a little worried that something was wrong, but at that point I worked out her intentions when she reached through my boxer shorts and grabbed my cock.

I don't remember what I said but it was something along the lines of 'oh my fucking god', I'd never had anyone touch my cock before, so many conflicting feelings and I wasn't quite sure what to make of what was happening. It was probably only a few seconds but things progressed quickly, she had her lips round me and was starting to suck, it was so warm and soft that I was worried I would cum instantly but I managed to hold off. I had to try my best not to make noise as her parents and brother were asleep upstairs, if Mark found out I was messing round with his 18 year old sister he'd probably kill me.

She sucked me for maybe a minute before stopping and moving up to kiss me while still stroking my cock, I could barely speak so just said 'hey', she said 'hey' back in a very husky voice, and asked if I liked what she was doing, I said it was amazing and she asked something unexpected, 'Would you like to fuck me?'.

I was completely dumbfounded but just about managed a 'yes', before she said 'good' and started to climb from under my legs and on top of me, I started to feel her sides and her tits, they were really round with rock solid nipples, she had a thin top on which I pulled up so I could take them in my mouth. She grabbed my hair and was pulling my head to her chest very hard, I worked my hand down to feel her pussy and found she was wearing knickers, they were rough and felt kind of lacy, but they were slippery and wet even on the outside. I started to rub her clit through them and she started to buck against my hand, she lifted my head and kissed me while breathing quite hard, it was really sexy.

She put one hand on my chest and reached down to feel my cock, rubbing it against herself through her underwear, then let go and pulled them to the side. I was able to feel her and she was soaking wet, this was my first time even touching a girl so I had no real idea what I was doing but she really enjoyed having her clit played with. I felt her grab hold of my cock and put it at the opening, still with one hand on my chest and started to sit down a little. I've never felt anything so heavenly in all my life and I was completely at her mercy, once I was in she started to ride me gently. We couldn't go fast because the sofa was squeaky, but we found a rhythm which worked and she was making all the right movements and noises, kissing me and clawing at my chest.

I could feel myself getting close to cumming and started to try and slow her down, she could tell something was wrong and asked what's wrong, I said 'I'm going to cum soon' and she said 'tell me when', which I figured meant she wanted to know so she could pull out and finish me off by hand or mouth. I went for a bit bit longer and could feel myself getting close again, I said 'Getting close... my first time...' and she just stopped and said 'What?'

I said 'Sorry, uh... it's my first time' and she said 'Really?!?'. she started to move on me again and said 'Well.... your first time should be special', gently touched the side of my face then started to speed up again, took me a little while to get back to where I was but I got there and said 'I'm close' (again) which seemed to spur her on even more. She was riding me hard and the sofa was starting to make a lot of noise, but neither of us really cared, I was on the edge of cumming and she was breathing really heavy so I'm not sure she noticed.

I could feel myself start to cum and said I'm cumming, she sat up and pushed down as hard as she could, I thought she was going to pull me out but she did the opposite and rode me as hard as she could as I came deep, deep inside of her. I couldn't contain the noise and moaned way louder than I should have done, but fortunately no-one noticed.

She lay down with me for a while and asked if it really was my first time or if it was just something I said, told her I was being honest. We talked for a while and eventually she went to bed, leaving me happy on the sofa.

We've fucked a couple of times since then, the last time she came too and soaked me with both of our cum. She's young but has way more experience than me, I hope she teaches me a few more things in the future, she's certainly helped me out a lot so far, I feel a bit more confident now.

Recently I saw some episode of csi. At the end some guy was proven to have eaten mole poison. Then they showed mole poison, being called "mole killer".

This disgusting stuff was looking like... spinach. Poison being fabricated into small cuboids that looked exactly like spinach that is being fabricated(to be separated even after having been in the freezer) as cuboids.

The guy of csi knew it though and did it on purpose.

Now every time I see spinach in my freezer, that I bought weeks ago, that was not poison weeks ago, that is not poison now, I cannot eat it because all I think of is eating poison.

This might even lead to symptoms based on the placebo effect.

And it gets worse. For some weird reason I looked up this mole poison and I found something else: mole poison earthworms-like looking. The distributor was so proud to write that "they even feel and bend like earthworms and earthworms are mole's natural source of food". As if that wasn't enough he had a pdf-file titled: "What if my dog eats them?". The PDF concluded: "Your dog has to eat two worms to get sick."

Now each time I see earthworms-shaped jellybabies/gummi bears I cannot eat them anymore. Whereas this is not the worst thing, as they are unhealthy anyways; not because of poison but because of sugar.

The problem is, I cannot unthink those pictures. Everything that has any relateable form reminds me of them. And basically, what doesn't look like a cuboid?

Shit, I now realize that the keys of my keyboard are cuboids.

How do I get my realistic sense of form perception back?

This will be a long confession, so if you do not have the time, just skip it.

I am 41, divorced, and I am currently in the sexual relationship of my dreams... or nightmares, I cant decide.

I married young, straight out of high school. He was my colleague, and my first real bf. I didnt have almost any sexual experiences in hs, since I was ugly, I had a big acne vulgaris problem, and I was desperate. Desperate to that extent that, my only "sexual" experience was, when at this party, senior year (we were both 18 at the time), this guy flat out told me he wants his dick sucked tonight, and I did it. That was the extent of male attention I got.

So, my husband was the first man who gave me any attention. My acne problem has started to withdraw a bit, after many, many sessions of therapy, and I was over the moon. He was my man, my perfect man, a man who loves me, who came to my aid, a man who I will share my life with. Sadly, after a few years of trying, we found out I am unable to get pregnant. He told me that it doesnt matter, that he loves me, but became distant over time, and eventually, started to hate me, so we divorced.

I was 24 when I got left alone, again. I was on a verge of self distruction - my life had no meaning. Those were some dark times, I thought about leaving everything and becoming a nun, or even to do the worst - harm myself.

Luckily, I got some therapy, and things started picking up, one thing at the time. I learned how to love myself, the way I am, and started doing little things, to make my life better. I became a fitness freak, dedicating my body to that goal, started eating healthy, and that really changed my own perception of myself. I started noticing male looks at the gym, and that pleased me. Over time, I have come to realize, that my body was "hot" even before I started my transformation. New found self esteem came rushing through my body.

Life was good, except, I was still alone. If I hadnt started masturbating very young, I would have thought that I was some kind of a frigid witch, since, my sex life with my ex husband, didnt really bring anything good in that department. Resolved to work on myself, I have totally abandoned the idea of a new love, or even a pure sexual relationship - this site is just one of few places I have visited over the years, while searching for a thrill, a fantasy, but being just too scared to pursue anything real, in life.

Now, when I come to think of it, there wasnt even a chance for me to meet someone, my life was work, gym, and home. I detected some flirts along the way, but I guess I was just too closed (or gave off that impression), that nothing came of it.

Until I met him. It was a year ago. He is ten years younger, single, good looking, and to be honest, when he started flirting, I was thinking something like "is this guy making fun of me". But he wasnt, he was, and still is very much into me.

As I have written here before, I was closed to the idea of meeting someone, but he was very charming, and adamant, to make this work.

He took me on my very first date, after more than 15 years. We had sex that night, and, oh my loving god, it was amazing!!!

We were like rabbits, doing it all day, every day. I wanted to make sure to catch up on everything I have missed in the previous life, so my world started revolving around sex. My orgasms were real, hard, tremor hard, I wanted to do everything for him.

And he is such a passionate lover, always finds a way for me to get even further, to cum harder, to enjoy every inch of his body, and mine too.

Now we are finally getting to the bottom of this story.

His favorite position is, when I am on top, he told me, since, it is the easiest one for me to get off. He started playing with my anus, when I am on top, and close to cumming. That made me shake like a rabbit.

Then, he started putting his finger in, positioning it so that, when I go down on his cock, I go down on his finger (one at start, later two fingers), making me choose the pace, and depth. It was getting so intense, that I felt that was the sexiest thing ever, made me want him to get in there.

But he wasnt, he would just do it, and one time, he pulled his fingers out, spread my cheeks wide, so I could feel I was gaping back there, and he whispered (you need a cock in there). I was still riding him, close, really close to cumming, so I just yelled for him to put it in, but he pulled me close to him, and grunted "you need a cock in your ass while I make love to you"... That was the hardest orgasm I ever had. I swear to god, I think I even passed out for a second there.

So, this game of ours, evolved, from but plugs, to smaller dildos, to eventually, big ones. This combo was, and still is, the best thing I ever did, and I am quite sure that it is the hottest thing one can do in sex. Eventually, in one of these steamy sessions, through the lust, he told me that "I need a real deal".

After we both cooled off, I wanted to talk about, but I wasnt sure, if he was serious. He was. He has a friend (I know him), who is pretty much his confidence, and they even had some threesome experience together in college...

Now, me, from five, ten, fifteen years ago, this prude unsure woman, would never agree to this, but now... I said yes in an instant.

First time was a disaster. All three of us were feeling weird, he came from a blow job, and couldnt get it up afterwards.

Second time we decided to get a few drinks to loosen up, and it worked, but again, as soon as he got into me, he came, my bf came, and I was the only one that didnt.

But, the third time it worked. And the forth, and fifth...

Now, the three of us are having sex once a week (at one period of time, we did it five times in one week), and it is amazing.

Now comes the tricky part - I am quite sure that this arrangement will have to end at one point. I saw the cracks in my bf. I have entered all of this, as his idea, with an open mind. So, last month, when they came to my home, and I got my period while showering, he was mad. Not, because I told him that, but because I offered to give them a bj. I did it, but I could see he was feeling off about it. Tried talking to him, he brushed it off, but I see it is not that way. Since I felt jealousy, I proposed to him for us to end it, he said no, again, he is fine.

Only, he is not, and I feel that I will lose him.

So, I am at this cross road, should I continue this, while aware what is going on, or should I be determined to end this threesome thing, trying to save our relationship, and most importantly, will I save it, or is it beyond repair?

These questions in the end are more rhetorical, I just needed to get this off my chest. In the end, decision is on me.

I confess that I cast a spell to win the lottery but found a treasure instead…
 It was not but before yesterday. The lottery jackpot was outrageously high. I had attempted earlier with my girlfriend to produce enough loosh to manifest some winning numbers. We yielded no positive results for lottery but I enjoyed our endeavors. 
 I knew if we were to stand a chance of creating any real Sex Magik, we would need more willing bodies. People that entertained a certain type of magical thinking. Likely of the Cluste-B variety..
 I created a new profile on a popular alternative hook-up app. The profile pics were nothing particularly spectacular, but I thought they communicated a certain air of a couple that were secure with themselves. The bio though, was a simple short blurb advertising my intent. I didn’t fuck around with straight couples or bullshit bicurious single males. I wanted cock and pussy. I was going to have a fucking full swap or an orgy.
 The bio detailed my plan. All participants agree upon a shared set of lottery numbers. We then set upon each other with carnal lust and the appropriate Will and invoke our manifestation. “Should we fail to produce the lottery numbers”, I penned, “we would still win in the end”.
 The last part was an extremely dry joke but it was brought up later. 
 I actually received quite a few responses but most were single men. Eventually I received a message from a person I will call Jack. Jack had wife named Jill. Jack started sending me pictures faster than I could send mine back. I was afraid I wasn’t sending enough of my gf and too many of my cocklet and I. Jack didn’t mind though. Jack thought that was just fine.
 We set up a place for the four of us to meet. I always vet people out before I stick my dick into them or their’s into me. I have a sensitive barometer for people I fucking hate and so I like to sniff new prospects out before I take them home or to a hotel.
 I had cleared the entire thing with my girlfriend before I ever ran the add on the bio but given the small community we live in, and the troubles we have had before in finding swinging bi couples, she was very surprised at how fast I had arranged such a meeting. It made her nervous for the entire day.
 My gf and I arrived at the agreed meeting place before Jack and Jill. It wasn’t quite six in the evening but it was already dark. The other couple were more than fashionable late. My gf was practically frantic from the anxiety she felt. She usually feels some anxiety on the first meeting when we swing but this was extraordinary. It highly uncharacteristic of her.
 When they arrived I suggested we all just pile into my truck for the warmth. Jack and Jill were agreeable to that and we all climbed inside the cab. Jack liked my truck and tried to engage me a little on the topic of diesel engines and vehicle models like mine. I fained little knowledge. I was more interested in fucking his hole. I mean, his wife was okay, but I liked this man from the moment I smelled him. But I would soon cum to see how very much, Jack was absolutely insane.
 At first, there was some back and forth between the four of us but it would not be long before Jack would rise to dominate the conversation totally and I was in awe at the spectacle of him. He was a juggernaut that could not be stopped. Holy shit. He was a bit shorter than me and had a muscular build. Probably procured through hard work rather than lifting weights. He wore a fleece cap but I expected a cowboy hat. He a chiseled jaw with a cleft chin. He was very handsome.
 Jill was closer to our age. She was probably your typical bpd nympho. A body of about  average but very large breasts. Scandinavian with Irish maybe? Doesn’t really matter, she had large breasts. Very fuckable in my book. Her fantasies were very dark I think. Definitely lots of psychological damage. Large breasts though. Jack would tweak on her nipples as I sometimes managed to chime in. It was very distracting in the most delicious of ways. Did I mention that her breasts were rather large? She wanted dicks rubbing together inside her. Actually I wanted that, but I knew she would have enjoyed it.
 Jack wasn’t a total dick though. He had method to his maddness. As he attempted to dazzle my gf and I with his strange stories and exploits of himself he left small oppenings. He found out quite a bit more than I tried to let on. He was much more cleaver than one might initially assume by his antics.
 Jack began to regail us with stories of killing, incest, rape, sex torture, squirting, marijuana omnitopical, drugs, his construction career, his pro-rodeo career , his porn career,he was a veteran,  how he hated his mom (I guess?), more incest,his ties to mafia, the finer points of leather stitching and yet more incest.
 Also, he only bottemed unless, “the dude was a chick”. My girlfriend looked right at me as he said that. I knew what she was thinking. I was thinking the same thing. 
 Actually, I was thinking about something totally different than her. I had been watching far too many youtube videos about people psychological problems. I had found out what type of crazy people with traits like myself find appealing. Jack was prime specimen of what is supposed to get my juices flowing. I think that youtube is right. 
 With every story, my gf became more and more apprehensive. They mentioned god 11 times. She counted. Every other story was a burning red flag. “These people are fucking kray kray!”, she said to me without speaking. Sure, the story about the squirting sex slave and tarp over the matress seemed funny at fist. But they sorta lost my gf’s interest when the said they had to beat the shit out of her and take her to a mental hospital. Because they cared. Fucking A. The story of the justified homicide did not help. 
 I knew there was no way this was going past the initial meeting between us. It was a shame. I was not sure if anything this person said was true. Pathological lying is hallmark of people with narcissistic traits. But Jack was broken in way that seemed very familiar to me. It could very well be that every story he told was crafted based on his perception of what he thought I might find interesting. It could also be that most if not all of what he said is a close approximation of reality. Chaos fills the lives of the people with traumas. Jack lived in another world at any rate.  
 We finally parted ways after two hours of Jack’s fantastic stories. Neither my girlfriend or I thought it wise to persue them but I harbor deep regrets. Jack being either human typhoon with bpd or a psychotic narcissist, makes no difference to me. The damage is the same. The sex is probably the best I will never know. I don’t even know why it would be so great. But I think it would. People say that it is. Who am I to gainsay them?
 I wanted to win a billion a dollars but instead I found a person that beyond any treasure that could compare. A person so beautifuly tortured that only I could see the true worth of. A person that would not bore me. A person that would probably murder me. A person whose emotional dis-regulation riviled my own I think. Probably eclipsing it. I am sure every day with Jack would be a whirlwind of passion and near death experiences. 
 I confess this Jack, should you ever read this and recognize me, I would have rocked your world like no fucking other. I would have made you cum with every hole I have. I would have fucked every hole of yours. I would have played every crazy mind game you set up for me. I would have made every pore of yours drip sweet and I would have drained your fucking balls. I would have fucked your body, destroyed your mind and raped your sole. You would have fragmented into a dozen or more pieces inside your mind and I would have fucked every one of them. You could have beaten me until my body was bruised and my will was broken. I could have broken you. It would have been fun. I would have saved you from god. You could have joined me with the devil. We could have found refuge in each other’s holes.
 Fuckit, I still have your number…
 

I wrote a KotH fan fic years ago then forgot about it. Just added a part 2. Enjoy!

Nights in Arlen
A KotH sex story
By: null

It was about 9:30 PM on a Tuesday night in Arlen, TX. Luanne Platter and her friend Jaime are sat on Jaime’s 2nd floor apartment balcony. Not a big place at all but Jaime kept it clean and welcoming. Hot but with a nice breeze blowing, the two of them are in shorts and sneakers. Luanne decided on a black bra and white tank top for her visit. Jaime’s was the last place on earth where Luanne felt comfortable and somewhat normal. Jaime has on a hoody but her D breasts are not easily stashed away.

“It’s getting late Jaime… I have to go soon” said Luanne as she tapped out another cigarette from her friends pack, her 3rd that hour.
“Do you want to go to Sugarfoots tomorrow? I’ll give you a ride. I definitely saw a ‘help wanted’ sign. They would hire you in a second!” said Jaime, Luanne’s friend of a few years. Not as pretty as Luanne but built the same way and on par mentally.
“I don’t know. I guess. I hate waiting tables. It’s like being a servant. You have to be happy when you’re really not.”
Luanne was visibly troubled and her friend was getting worried. Luanne had been broken up with Lucky for two months. Even before her and Lucky hit the rough patch that led to their parting ways her attitude had been different. Not the happy, blissfully clueless, piece of southern thickness those who know her have come to expect and love. These last few months she’s always seemed preoccupied and when questioned dismissive and distant.
“Luanne, what’s wrong? You’re not being Luanne. Are you still hung up on Lucky?” asked Jaime.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Jaime.”
Jaime grew worried and decided to change the subject.
“So do you want to go to Luke’s Saturday night? He and his friends are crazy! We need to just wear next to nothing, go there, and show off. Then leave early. They’ll be so about us then we’ll just leave!” Jaime envisioned their victory and laughed. Her chest bouncing as she didn’t have any support on.
“I don’t know, maybe.” Luanne responded, blankly, as she finished another of her friend’s cigarettes.
Jaime was sure a wild night of flirting and showing off followed by an abrupt departure would be just what Luanne needed to get her back on the right track. She felt accomplished already. In the way that she and Luanne’s type often do as they envision their future through rose colored glasses.
“Alright, I gotta go. So you can give me a ride tomorrow?” asked Luanne, with a curious increase in vocal energy that Jaime could not explain.
“Anytime, just call. I’m off all day.”
Luanne made eye contact with Jaime for the first time in 15 minutes.
“You’re the best” said Luanne.
Jaime felt sad at that moment. It confused her as this small compliment should have lit her up. It didn’t and it was the way Luanne said it. As if it meant something more than a simple thank you. She stood up and squeezed Luanne tight. Their breasts each flowing outward as they tried to escape the pressure of the embrace.
“I love you girl… you know that right?” asked Jaime.
“Yea, I love you too Jaime. Mind if I take a cig for my walk home?”
“Take them. I have a carton in the fridge.”
“Thanks” Luanne responded, relieved. She squeezed back to equal Jaime’s embrace.

---

As Luanne walked home one thought, and one thought alone, was dominating her. She literally had to shake her head once in an attempt to push it away. The wind was calmer now. It was summer so kids were out playing hide and go seek. She saw a young boy find and start chasing a younger girl. The young girl was laughing uncontrollably as the boy tackled her onto the grass. Luanne was struck with a profound feeling of nostalgia. As she watched her steps she reminisced on her summer nights as a young girl running from boys. She tossed a cigarette butt into a drain. She crossed her arms under her breasts and her cleavage grew. The good memories of summers past were distorted then gone, replaced by a knot in her stomach. She had begun to hate her body. She hated that her breasts were so big. At one time they were such a source of confidence and pride. Now they disgusted her. As she thought about this she almost wanted to uncross her arms as she could not even stand indirectly touching them. She hated her golden blonde hair. A feature all of her girlfriends constantly said they wished they could have. “You can fucking have it” she thought. Anymore she just wore it in a lazy pony-tail. She hated her thick, round, protruding ass. Something most girls would hate but she loved once upon a time. An asset guys in her area were most keen on. She knew what she had and she flaunted it. Now, it was most decidedly a hate filled relationship. With her chest she could cover up, which she did when she was anywhere but at Jaime’s. But with her ass there was nothing she could do. All of her clothes were what they were. Short, tight, or revealing. In most cases all of the above. As she thought about her wardrobe she began to hate the girl she used to be. This caused her to tear up a little as the thought of hating ones younger and more innocent self is tremendously complicated and confusing. Luanne would never think on that sort of ‘meta’ level but she did know what she felt and it was weird. As she turned down the alley behind Rainy Street her steady pace was significantly slowed as her eyes met the yellow walls of the Hill residence off in the distance. Red truck parked in the driveway. For a second all thoughts and feelings were absent as if she were a deer in headlights. Slowly a feeling of dread surrounded her. She had been down this alley hundreds of times. If she had any talent in her hands she could draw it from memory. That said, for the past few months it has felt absolutely alien to her. She tightened the cross under her pale, ample boobs and began the final trek home. She was sick to her stomach now. She felt sweat beginning to accrue on her forehead. Her jaw was tight. Her hands were clenched. This all became apparent at once as she landed her first step on the driveway.
“Luanne!”
She felt as if she was hit on the back of her head as all the feeling of the past minute was instantly gone.
“Luanne look!”
She turned and looked towards the sound of her name. Bobby and Joseph were running toward her. Bobby was holding something in his hands.
“Bobby, what?” Luanne called out half in a daze having come from the mind state she was in.
“It’s a frog we found down by the Johnsons pond. Look how big it is!” Bobby cried.
Bobby and Joseph arrived at where Luanne was standing sweating and dirty. In Bobby’s hands was a rather massive green frog.
“Bobby that’s gross” Luanne said half aware.
“Do you think Dad will let it in the house?”
Luanne felt a quick jolt of electricity shoot from her head to her toes when Bobby mentioned him.
“I don’t know Bobby. Maybe you should let Joseph keep it tonight and find out in the morning. He might be sleeping” Said Luanne with ulterior motives for keeping him unbothered if at all possible.
Suddenly aware that he’s been mentioned by Luanne Joseph’s gaze was broken away from her thick round ass.
“Yea, my dad won’t care!” he stammered trying not to lose the image of Luanne’s deeply defined ass crack and underwear lines in her tight red cotton shorts.
“OK, Joseph. We can keep it at your house. But if my dad says it’s OK he’s moving in tomorrow! Now come on your mom got us hot pockets for the sleep over!” Bobby cried.
They both ran off towards Dale’s house. Joseph clumsily looking back at Luanne then disappearing behind his dads minivan. Luanne felt sick again as a result of seeing the dead insect on Dales truck. “He’s gross” she thought as she considered the type of guy who would have that on his truck. Then she turned and walked towards the sliding glass doors. Now sick to her stomach for another reason.

---

The light were on but nobody was in the kitchen. The thought had occurred to her to rip one final cigarette before she went in but at this point was numb and plus Aunt Peggy didn’t want her sneaking cigarettes in the back yard anymore. The numbness was slightly lessened at the thought of Aunt Peggy. Basically Luanne’s mom now she felt close to her but more on a friendship level. She thought Aunt Peggy was one of the most intelligent people in the world even though most of the world thought, while friendly in her own way, she was an over confident windbag. Suddenly Luanne became aware she was standing at the sliding glass door looking into the house but unable to open the door. She was temporarily frozen in time as she neither wanted to go in nor continue to stand there looking like a weirdo. As she began to raise her hand to the door the light went off in the kitchen. Luanne stood there with her hand on the door handle for a few seconds. Then she slowly opened it. There was no risk of creaking or grinding as he kept everything in perfect working order. This thought caused knot to return. She slowly closed the door behind her and locked it. As she walked to the doorway to the living room she could hear Aunt Peggy talking to herself. Something about “fixing something when he should be in bed”. The acute awareness that often goes with sneaking around suddenly fell out of her. Numbness was all that was left. He was awake. In the garage. The sweat returned to her forehead. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to talk to Aunt Peggy in this state so she waited in the dark kitchen until she heard Aunt Peggy in her bedrooms bathroom then slipped into her bedroom. She shut the door and leaned against it. No lock on the door. There used to be one until a few months ago. She started crying quietly. She sat down on her bed and took her shoes off. She had white ankle socks on with pink paws dotted throughout. She peeled off her red shorts and dropped them into her hamper. The white cotton underwear matched her socks. She slipped on Jaime’s Arlen High sweatpants and got under her covers. She felt exhausted from the mental anguish of the past hour. Foolishly she held onto a single hope as she always did at this moment. Laying on her side in her room in his house she hazily stared at the clock on her night stand. Cigarette smoke and winterfresh gum on her breath. The clock read 10:32 PM…

>Part 2<

There was a tap at the window. Luanne cast a hazy look towards the sound.
“Luanne!”
She had not gained focus yet as she slowly rolled to a seated position and rubbed her eyes.
“Luanne! It’s Lucky! Come to the window.”
The voice of her ex-boyfriend somehow filled her with joy. She walked over to the window.
“Luanne… I’m an idiot. I nearly lost the best thing in my life. And for what? A bunch of losers? I need you back, Luanne. Will you come away with me?”

Luanne was filled with warmth and hope. She climbed out the window and into Lucky’s outstretched arms. He ran with her to his 4x4 and shut the door. Luanne was absolutely beaming. She was about to crank up the radio when she noticed the display looked weird. It looked like a digital clock. Slowly but deliberately her dream faded and she returned to reality. She had been looking at her clock. 11:17 PM…

As the hope and joy of her dream melted away it was replaced by the cold dread of her dark bedroom. As her mind made the transition she leaned up. There was light coming from underneath the door way. He was still awake. Luanne sat frozen. Listening for any sound. She thought she could hear something but then realized it was her own heartbeat. Pounding in her chest.

“Calm down, Luanne” she thought to herself. “He just forgot to turn off the light.” She could hope.

As she continued to sit there in silence a lack of any sound had a calming effect. Was she in the clear? The second she allowed her anxiety to relent she heard the garage door open. A cold pall was cast over her. Her only reaction was to silently lay back down and curl up. Her pounding heart the singular focus. As it began to echo in her ears all fell silent when she heard her door open. No sound. No feeling. Only the black of her eyelids. It felt like hours to Luanne before she heard her door close. As she listened to him walk to her bedside the chill turned to the feeling of insects crawling up her back. It was all she could do to not physically brush away the feeling he had draped upon her. Heart pounding again.
He stood at her bedside for a full minute. Looking at his prize. The line of her ample body causing his manhood to press against his jeans. He took one final swig from his Alamo can and put it on her bed table. Luanne heard the jangle of his belt as he removed his pants. As ants on her back were now biting her the knowledge of what was about to happen nearly drove her to vomit. She swallowed hard as he slunk under her blanket and pressed his throbbing dick against her. He wrapped his arms around her stomach and began to grind into her large ass. It was at this time that the cold sweat came and all feeling was gone. If Luanne had a mind she would understand that this was a defense mechanism to help her cope with the extreme nature of her predicament. But alas, she does not. However, what was undeniable was the feeling of nothingness that washed over her. He was now holding her hips as he pressed his penis in-between her legs as best as he could while still clothed. He liked the pressure. After a few minutes, another pressure was too much to bear. He removed his boxers. Slid her sweat pants down to her knees and placed his throttled member in-between the soft upper part of her thick thighs. He could feel the involuntary wetness develop through her white cotton panties as he started to dry hump her. Luanne could smell the mixture of his constant bad breath and stale Alamo beer creep down her face as he began to lick her neck and ear. She began to tear up as his hands moved across her stomach to her breasts. He began to fondle her breasts over the bra. As he kneaded her breasts he began to moan in her ear.

“I love you, Luanne” he stammered out as he continued his assault.

The mixture of precum and pussy juice had become audible with his thrusts. Sensing he was close he slowed down. He ran his hands over her stomach back to her thighs. He rubbed them over then moved one hand down to her pussy. The fact that the whole area was moist filled his entire being with excitement and a warped sense of connection to Luanne. “She is enjoying this” he thought to himself. He gently pushed her to the side as he removed her sweatpants and panties. As he laid back down beside her flat on his back he took a deep whiff of the mess she had made in her panties. The unmistakable smell filled him with carnal lust. He adjusted so that he was sitting with his back to the head board and she was sat in-between his legs facing away.

“Luanne? Luanne… are you awake?” he whispered.
Luanne began to cry. The soft whimpers driving Hank Hill to near sexual insanity. He gathered himself.
“Luanne… hold your arms up.” A request that was always made and never followed.

He removed her shirt unassisted and pulled her towards him so that she was sitting on top of his engorged member. Driving it into her mattress. Softly he draped his hands over the top of her breasts and moved up and down over her bra. Hank liked the last little barrier. Soon it was more than he could take. He pushed her forward slightly and unclasped her bra. He moved the straps off her shoulders but was careful not to let it fall off the front. In one fluid motion, he moved his hands from the top of her breasts down. The bra fell to her lap and he fondled her heavy breasts. His fingers rising one by one as he dragged them over her large puffy nipples. Her whimpers became quiet crying. After a few minutes of groping her chest and kissing her neck one of his hands came up to wipe her tears. Her whole face was covered. This made Hank insatiable. He gently twisted her head to the side and began licking the tears from her cheek. Moved to the other side and cleaned that as well. The stink of his drying saliva altering Luanne’s perception. The salty taste in his mouth was the limit. He pushed her slightly forward at the hips and his dick popped straight up. He spun her around so that she was facing him, put her lifeless arms over his shoulders, and pulled her into him. Her chubby pussy lips were now wrapped around the base of his shaft. The heat from it surprised him. He began to involuntarily grind into her. Luanne was looking down, eyes closed, sobbing. Tears dripping from the bottom of her chin onto her breasts. He placed his hands on the side of her face and pulled up. Her eyes would not meet his.

“Luanne? Uncle Hank loves you. You know that, right?”
Luanne answered with question with more quiet crying.
“Luanne? I don’t want to hurt you. I want to love you. You’ll let me love you, right?”

He did not wait for an answer as his putrid tongue was thrust into her mouth. He began to grunt has his tongue made love to her throat. He had now moved his hands down to her ass cheeks so he could slide her dripping wet cunt up and down his shaft.

“Oh god, Luanne” he stammered as he began to feast on her neck and chin.

It was in this moment that awareness clumsily returned to her. It had never gone this far before. Never this intense. Luanne bravely ventured a quick a look into his eyes and he was not there. They were lifeless. Like a dolls eyes. She had to do something. She had to make a decision. To save the one shred of dignity she had left…

As he was mindlessly grinding her and the pace quickened she whispered, “…Uncle Hank?”

The sound of her whisper somehow shattered through him as he looked up at her.

“Uncle Hank…” she whimpered as she gulped down the putrid mix of his saliva and hers, face breaking out because of all his bacteria.
“…I’ll love you back if you’ll let me, Uncle Hank.”
The statement threw Hank Hill’s mentality for a loop. As he searched for words he noticed her arms slightly tighten behind his neck. It was all he could do to speak.
“How do you want to love me, Luanne?” he asked as he slowly began to grind again.
“Like this…” and with that she began to slowly counter his gyrations.

At this point Luanne stopped crying. Any thought aside from the void caused from being molested by her uncle was a light in the darkness.
Effecting an innocent Texas twang as best she could she asked, “Can we ‘jus rub ‘em together? As she softly but assuredly began to pick up the pace. All in the hope that agreeable vulnerability would calm his carnal lust.

Normally, this is not how Hank Hill operates He needs absolute control. Absolute dominance. But the magnitude of her request had pierced him. Had he finally broken her? These “sessions” have been escalating and getting dangerous. If she had succumbed to him, he had to play his hand right so he didn’t upset the delicate balance.

“Yes, baby. We can.” He answered as he slid down flat on his back.

Luanne wiped her nose with her arm, leaned forward over her uncle so that her heavy breasts were hanging down over him, and began working her hips. Slowly grinding her cunt up and down the length of her uncle’s big dick. Hank Hill had left himself again. Only this time he was in a haze of infatuation. Secure in the fact that he had broken her. She was his. He reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands. Pulled her down slightly and began to suck on her puffy nipples. Popping them as he released her large areolas. As he was tonguing her breasts the sickness returned to Luanne. As with any trauma, being present in the moment invites the pain to come rushing in. She had to end this quickly. She began to roll her wide hips and press down into her uncle’s rock hard erection. Suddenly he stopped sucking her breasts. She cast a quick glance at her uncle and his eyes were closed. He began to gyrate into her deliberately. He grabbed her large warm ass cheeks with his hands and pressed her into him even harder.

Her uncle breathlessly spoke, “Oh baby. Keep loving me.”
His ass was now rising off the bed as his pelvis lifted her with each thrust. So much so that she had fallen forward and they were chest to chest.
“Oh Luanne… oh, God! I’m cumming baby!” he choked out as four ropes of her uncles hot cum forced its way in-between them.

Involuntarily, Luanne rose up off him and the cum began to drop down her stomach. As it began to reach the top of her pussy she cupped in with her hand. She looked at her uncle. His eyes were closed and he had a tired smile on his face. She stayed straddling him. Afraid to move. She silently moved her hand up her stomach to get the rest of her uncle’s sperm off her body and into her hand then wiped it into the comforter. As she did that he looked up at her.

“You’ve made your uncle very happy, Luanne.”

And with that he leaned off her bed. Bent down and put on his jeans. The reality of watching him put on his jeans. The hairy legs and the jangle of the buckle was too much for Luanne. The vomit rushed up her throat and into her mouth. She clenched her lips as tight as she could. Mercifully, her uncle did not look back and silently left her room. Luanne stayed motionless on her knees on the bed. Nose and eyes running from the acidic vomit that had filled her mouth. She listened as she heard the familiar sounds of his “after session” bathroom sounds. As she heard the click of their bedroom door she rushed to the window, threw it open, and let the vomit shoot out of her mouth. Two more rushes after that. When she was done she dropped to her knees and openly wept in the corner of her room. The confusion of what had happened. The absolute disgust at what she did to avoid worse. The panging dread at what she would have to do in the future. All this mental anguish was cascading over her and breaking her soul.

After a few minutes, she got up from the floor. She put on her sweatpants. “Jaime” she thought hazily as the tears rolled down her face. Slunk to the bathroom and showered. Slunk back to her bedroom. Ripped all the blankets and pillows off her bed then laid down in her towel.

As she regained focus she saw the can of Alamo on her night stand. She smashed if off and saw her clock.

12:31 AM.

To be continued.

Hail Lilith the Black Rose, Goddess of Hell full of darkness and lust, blessed be the fruit of shedding in the womb the demons of the abyss and the offspring of Satan and letting the demonic arm reign over this dark world and hell reign over us with darkness.

Lilith tells me that she take back her power. She calls me to stay in my truth, embracing my darkness and my light alike. She tells me to stop playing small and not to be afraid of burning myself too passionately to worry about being misunderstood in the eyes of others. She tells me "Your fire is not for them ... It is for YOU."

I Am Satanist ▲☥▲

While it is said that good and evil do not exist except within the limits of personal preference and perception, I am not limited by moral barriers. I will not harm those who have not sought the destitution of my luck, life, freedom and happiness.

My fellow KLAN members, I swear my loyalty by my blood, and offer you all services under all stipulated rules and regulations. I promise to cherish and defend the vast realms of the underworld and Mother Earth. Because without it, life itself could not exist. May I rise to be wise through experience and trial. so I will be a bearer of light, a source of the Black flame of Knowledge. I will rise to the heights through education, experience, wisdom, and balance. And challenge myself to a greater self-directed achievement that I will be like the dragon that devours weakness and grows strong like the Angel of Light, to know all the secrets of this world.

My actions today will project a reaction and a reflection on the future of tomorrow intangible for everyone. That is why I announce myself as the ruler of my own destiny and I will place the responsibility of enriching my existence on my head. I am a Satanist, the Phoenix Goddess priestess, the goddess of darkness, the highest incarnation of human life.

I, The Priestess Goddess Phoenix, WELCOMES TO HER SATANIC KLAN. ▲☥▲

Many criminal cases, even when investigated by the most
experienced and best qualified investigators, are ultimately
solved by an admission or confession from the person responsible
for committing the crime. Oftentimes, investigators are able to
secure only a minimal amount of evidence, be it physical or
circumstantial, that points directly to a suspect, and in many
instances, this evidence is not considered strong enough by
prosecutors to obtain a conviction. In such cases, the
interrogation of the suspects and their subsequent confessions
are of prime importance.

This article addresses the question of why suspects speak
freely to investigators, and ultimately, sign full confessions.
The physical and psychological aspects of confession and how
they relate to successful interrogations of suspects are also
discussed, as is the "breakthrough," the point in the
interrogation when suspects make an admission, no matter how
minuscule, that begins the process of obtaining a full
confession.

DEFINING INTERROGATION

Interrogation is the questioning of a person suspected of
having committed a crime. (1) It is designed to match acquired
information to a particular suspect in order to secure a
confession. (2) The goals of interrogation include:

* To learn the truth of the crime and how it happened

* To obtain an admission of guilt from the suspect

* To obtain all the facts to determine the method of
operation and the circumstances of the crime in question

* To gather information that enables investigators to arrive
at logical conclusions

* To provide information for use by the prosecutor in
possible court action. (3)

Knowing the definition and objectives of the interrogation,
the question then asked is, "Why do suspects confess?"
Self-condemnation and self-destruction are not normal human
behavioral characteristics. Human beings ordinarily do not
utter unsolicited, spontaneous confessions. (4) It is logical
to conclude, therefore, that when suspects are taken to police
stations to be questioned concerning their involvement in a
particular crime, their immediate reaction will be a refusal to
answer any questions. With the deluge of television programs
that present a clear picture of the Miranda warning and its
application to suspects, one would conclude that no one
questioned about a crime would surrender incriminating
information, much less supply investigators with a signed, full
confession. It would also seem that once suspects sense the
direction in which the investigators are heading, the
conversation would immediately end. However, for various
psychological reasons, suspects continue to speak with
investigators.

SUSPECT PARANOIA

Suspects are never quite sure of exactly what information
investigators possess. They know that the police are
investigating the crime, and in all likelihood, suspects have
followed media accounts of their crimes to determine what leads
the police have. Uppermost in their minds, however, is how to
escape detection and obtain firsthand information about the
investigation and where it is heading.

Such "paranoia" motivates suspects to accompany the police
voluntarily for questioning. Coupled with curiosity, this
paranoia motivates suspects to appear at police headquarters as
"concerned citizens" who have information pertinent to the case.
By doing this, suspects may attempt to supply false or
noncorroborative information in order to lead investigators
astray, gain inside information concerning the case from
investigators, and remove suspicion from themselves by offering
information on the case so investigators will not suspect their
involvement.

For example, in one case, a 22-year-old woman was
discovered in a stairwell outside of a public building. The
woman had been raped and was found naked and bludgeoned.
Investigators interviewed numerous people during the next
several days but were unable to identify any suspects. Media
coverage on the case was extremely high.

Several days into the investigation, a 23-year-old man
appeared at police headquarters with two infants in tow and
informed investigators that he believed he may have some
information regarding the woman's death. The man revealed that
when he was walking home late one evening, he passed the area
where the woman was found and observed a "strange individual"
lurking near an adjacent phone booth. The man said that because
he was frightened of the stranger, he ran back to his home.
After reading the media accounts of the girl's death, he
believed that he should tell the police what he had observed.

The man gave police a physical description of the
"stranger" and then helped an artist to compose a sketch of the
individual. After he left, investigators discovered that the
sketch bore a strong resemblance to the "witness" who provided
the information.

After further investigation, the witness was asked to
return to the police station to answer more questions, which he
did gladly. Some 15 hours into the interrogation, he confessed
to one of his "multiple personalities" having killed the woman,
who was unknown to him, simply because the victim was a woman,
which is what the suspect had always wanted to be.

This case clearly illustrates the need for some suspects to
know exactly what is happening in an investigation. In their
minds, they honestly believe that by hiding behind the guise of
"trying to help," they will, without incriminating themselves,
learn more about the case from the investigators.

INTERROGATION SETTING

In any discussion concerning interrogation, it is necessary
to include a review of the surroundings where a suspect is to be
interrogated. Because there is a general desire to maintain
personal integrity before family members and peer groups,
suspects should be removed from familiar surroundings and taken
to a location that has an atmosphere more conducive to
cooperativeness and truthfulness. (5) The primary psychological
factor contributing to successful interrogations is privacy--
being totally alone with suspects. (6) This privacy prompts
suspects to feel willing to unload the burden of guilt. (7) The
interrogation site should isolate the suspect so that only the
interrogator is present. The suspect's thoughts and responses
should be free from all outside distractions or stimuli.

The interrogation setting also plays an important part in
obtaining confessions. The surroundings should reduce suspect
fears and contribute to the inclination to discuss the crime.
Because fear is a direct reinforcement for defensive mechanisms
(resistance), it is important to erase as many fears as
possible. (8) Therefore, the interrogation room should
establish a business atmosphere as opposed to a police-like
atmosphere. While drab, barren interrogation rooms increase
fear in suspects, a location that displays an open,
you-have-nothing-to fear quality about it can do much to break
down interrogation defensiveness, thereby eliminating a major
barrier. (9) The interrogators tend to disarm the suspects
psychologically by placing them in surroundings that are free
from any fear-inducing distractions.

PSYCHOLOGICAL FACTORS

More than likely, suspects voluntarily accompany
investigators, either in response to a police request to answer
questions or in an attempt to learn information about the
investigation. Once settled in the interrogation room, the
interrogators should treat suspects in a civilized manner, no
matter how vicious or serious the crime might have been. While
they may have feelings of disgust for the suspects, the goal is
to obtain a confession, and it is important that personal
emotions not be revealed. (10)

Investigators should also adopt a compassionate attitude and
attempt to establish a rapport with suspects. In most cases,
suspects commit crimes because they believe that it offers the
best solution to their needs at the moment. (11) Two rules of
thumb to remember are: 1) "There but for the grace of God go
I"; and 2) it is important to establish a common level of
understanding with the suspects. (12) These rules are critical
to persuading suspects to be open, forthright, and honest.
Suspects should be persuaded to look beyond the investigators'
badges and see, instead, officers who listen without judging.
If investigators are able to convince suspects that the key
issue is not the crime itself, but what motivated them to commit
the crime, they will begin to rationalize or explain their
motivating factors.

At this stage of the interrogation, investigators are on
the brink of having suspects break through remaining defensive
barriers to admit involvement in the crime. This is the
critical stage of the interrogation process known as the
breakthrough.

THE BREAKTHROUGH

The breakthrough is the point in the interrogation when
suspects make an admission, no matter how small. (13) In spite of
having been advised of certain protections guaranteed by the
Constitution, most suspects feel a need to confess. Both
hardcore criminals and first-time offenders suffer from the same
pangs of conscience. (14) This is an indication that their defense
mechanisms are diminished, and at this point, the investigators
may push through to elicit the remaining elements of confession.

In order for interrogators to pursue a successful
breakthrough, they must recognize and understand certain
background factors that are unique to a particular suspect.
Many times, criminals exhibit psychological problems that are
the result of having come from homes torn by conflict and
dissension. Also frequently found in the backgrounds of
criminals are parental rejection and inconsistent and severe
punishment. (15) It is important that investigators see beyond
the person sitting before them and realize that past experiences
can impact on current behavior. Once interrogators realize
that the fear of possible punishment, coupled with the loss of
pride in having to admit to committing mistakes, is the basic
inhibitor they must overcome in suspects, they will quickly be
able to formulate questions and analyze responses that will
break through the inhibitors.

SUCCESSFUL INTERROGATIONS

Investigators must conduct every interrogation with the
belief that suspects, when presented with the proper avenue,
will use it to confess their crimes. Research indicates that
most guilty persons who confess are, from the outset, looking
for the proper opening during the interrogation to communicate
their guilt to the interrogators. (16)

Suspects confess when the internal anxiety caused by their
deception outweighs their perceptions of the crime's
consequences. (17) In most instances, suspects have magnified,
in their minds, both the severity of the crime and the possible
repercussions. Interrogators should allay suspect anxiety by
putting these fears into perspective.

Suspects also make admissions or confessions when they
believe that cooperation is the best course of action. (18) If
they are convinced that officers are prepared to listen to all
of the circumstances surrounding the crimes, they will begin to
talk. The psychological and physiological pressures that build
in a person who has committed a crime are best alleviated by
communicating. (19) In order to relieve these suppressed
pressures, suspects explain the circumstances of their crimes
they confess.

And, finally, suspects confess when interrogators are able
to speculate correctly on why the crimes were committed.
Suspects want to know ahead of time that interrogators will
believe what they have to say and will understand what motivated
them to commit the crime.

CONCLUSION

It is natural for suspects to want to preserve their
privacy, civil rights, and liberties. It is also natural for
suspects to resist discussing their criminal acts. For these
very reasons, however, investigators must develop the skills
that enable them to disarm defensive resistors established by
suspects during interrogation. Before suspects will confess,
they must feel comfortable in their surroundings, and they must
have confidence in the interrogators, who should attempt to gain
this confidence by listening intently to them and by allowing
them to verbalize their accounts of the crimes.

Interrogators who understand what motivates suspects to
confess will be better able to formulate effective questions and
analyze suspect responses. Obviously, more goes into gaining a
confession than is contained in this article. However, if the
interrogator fails to understand the motivations of the suspect,
other factors impacting on obtaining the confession will be less
effective.