IsabellaRose

Not Guilty. Almost every other genre, but no horror this week. The next poster is bored and horny.

honest job

Not guilty. I see EVERY. SINGLE. FLAW. and I objectively know that I'm in good shape and have had people say "I wish I looked like you" and other (attempted in overtly sexist/misogynistic) compliments (?) But yeah, no self-love. Self-acceptance... ish. Working on it. But yeah, I'd fuck me. The next poster is wants ice cream for breakfast.

mutant chronicles

Not guilty. Mustard and onions. The next person prefers hamburgers over cheeseburgers.

horny toad

Is [it] [the] [boy] that [would] be [king] or is it a [boy] that [would] be [queen]? Next time you [word] [word] [word] [word] [word] [word], you better [word] [word] [word] [word].

Guilty. No, wait... not guilty... but guilty. <bzzt> guil...teee <bzzzzt> not gill <bzzt> <bzzt> <circular logic error> <system shutdown> IsabellaRoseGPT.ai is currently offline. We apologize for any inconvenience as the IsabellaRose logic systems are restarted. Please try again later. The next poster won't break Isabella.

hot'n ready

I wear [nothing] [but] [ribbons]. [It] [leaves] [every] orifice [exposed] [to] [everyone] like [I] [want] [attention]. If you [word] [word] [word] then [word] [word] [word] [word] unless [word] [word] [word].

And now, version 2, with an entirely different ending, far less dark and more in line with where I'd like it to go. - - - - - - - I'm not afraid of the dark. It's just not how my brain ever worked. I've always been a woman of rationality and common sense. Darkness is merely the absence of light. The world doesn't change when the lights go out. At least, that's what I always believed before that night, the night the power went out. Nothing has ever been the same since. I was a tagalong, a plus one to a party I never should have attended. In truth, neither of us should have been there, but being attractive and in the wrong place at the wrong time earned Annabella an invitation for two, and she convinced me that I had nothing better to do. I headed to her apartment early so we could get ready together. We would smoke a joint, have some wine, and do each others' hair and makeup. It was a thing with us, a ritual before a night out. When I arrived, Annabella's dress was worse than usual. It barely covered the tops of her thighs and had a deep v cut almost to her navel with spaghetti straps showing so much cleavage that I thought her breasts were going to spill out of it all night. It exposed more skin that it covered. She insisted on dressing me, and chose a nearly matching dress with a ridiculously low cut top that showed entirely too much cleavage and a hemline that threatened to expose me with every step. It was a ludicrous dress and would likely put my unmentionables on display if I bent over or sat down. I hated it, but Annabella insisted, and I could never say no to her, no matter what she asked. In truth, I was wildly attracted to her, but I had not yet learned to process attraction toward another woman. I wasn't clueless about different sexual orientations, I just assumed I was "normal" and liked men, thanks to my repressive Christian upbringing. The thought of being with another woman was not part of my identity, and certainly not how I pictured myself. I had a lot to learn back then, not only about the world, but about myself as well. Now I understand the vibrance and colorful nature of a world where everyone is who they truly are without shame or judgment. But back then I lived in the dark, about a good many things, and that night the literal dark brought everything to light... so to speak. The party was in a penthouse on Central Park South, even then an elite neighborhood, a place neither of us belonged. We looked like a pair of dolled up call girls, but her invitation got us past the doorman and up the elevator. The suite took up the top two floors of the building and was the most elaborate, lavish piece of real estate I've ever set foot in. The place was packed full of people in clothing that cost more than I made in a month. I saw celebrities - movie actors, television starlets, athletes, rock stars, and I was pretty sure that was the President's daughter who just went into the other room. I did not belong there, especially not in that dress. "So?" said Annabella, as if waiting for me to tell her all my dreams had come true. "We don't belong here," I said, trepidation in my voice. "Come on," she said, taking my hand. I didn't resist. I couldn't resist her. She led me down an open staircase into the main room. I passed the front man of a rock band I'd crushed on as a teenager and he winked. My heart fluttered, but in hindsight it might have been more from her holding my hand than his wink. We were friends, we touched each other all the time, hugs, kisses, helping each other with zippers on dresses, a thousand casual touches without thought. But something in that place, at that time, in those dresses, something made this casual touch of hands as she led me deeper into a party where I didn't belong affect me. I thought it was the atmosphere, the elegance and absurd extravagance of the whole scenario. That kind of thing didn't usually do it for me, but tonight, the stars had aligned in a most fortuitous manner. We found drinks, men who flirted shamelessly, women who flirted even more shamelessly, conversation on topics we either couldn't or didn't understand, and laughter. It was fun but overwhelming. I felt my sense of self being eroded by my casual comments as I tried to fit in, and caught myself before I was in as deep as Annabella. Watching her chatting with a Senator, a movie star, and an heiress to an oil fortune, it hit me again. We didn't belong there, and I had to get out. I saw a door to the balcony and I stepped outside for a moment of clarity and to center myself. My nipples turned to diamond studs pushing out the fabric of my dress and I felt my arms pebble with gooseflesh in the cold wind this high up. I strode to the railing and looked out over the city. The streets below were full of my people, real people, the men and women who lived in the real world. I took a couple of deep, calming breaths as I stared at the lights that seemed to go on forever, drank in the sounds of the city below. This was New York. This was what I was used to, the place I called home. That party behind me was a microcosm of fabricated affluent belonging, a group of people who had sold their true selves for fame, fortune, a place in the history books. I shook my head. Why had I even come here? For her, of course. For Annabella. I think that was the moment that I knew it, even though I didn't immediately admit it to myself. That was the moment that I realized I loved her, wanted to be with her, wanted to feel her touch me in ways only men had touched me before. I didn't have time to acknowledge those thoughts, because she was suddenly beside me, and she had brought others. "Kate," she said, her voice a melodic symphony written to be played on my nervous system. "Meet Amadeus van der Gräuel, our host." I turned to see a man so devastatingly handsome my breath actually hitched in my throat. His dark features made his bright eyes seem to shine with an inner light, and I reached out one hand to meet his handshake. But instead of shaking my hand, he lifted it toward his face and held it for a moment, his eyes locked on mine. I felt stripped bare by that gaze as he stared into my soul. When he spoke, his accent was thick and unidentifiable, a musical lilt to his vowels and the ends of many words clipped. It was vaguely eastern European, but also had hints of Chinese. If I had been forced to identify it, I would have failed. "Kate," he said, the quirked an eyebrow. "Short for Katherine?" I nodded, enraptured by those eyes. "Katherine." His voice caressed my name like a lover stroking bare flesh as he bent low and kissed the back of my hand slowly, holding the pose far longer than was comfortable. "I welcome you to my home." "Thank you," I said, trying to emulate the formality of his tone, but uncertain what exactly to say. "Your friend Annabella caused me great consternation earlier this week," he smiled as he let my hand go, and I felt obliged to smile back. "She definitely has a way with people," I said, grinning toward Annabella. "I find it refreshing," he said. "Perhaps you would honor me with conversation as well? I find my usual guests indulge themselves in conversations both shallow and pedantic." "Of course," I nearly stuttered my response. He led us back into the party, gathering a handful of others in his wake, and the group of us ended up in the private garden on the roof. The conversation pit was like a small amphitheater, a circle of wide steps leading to a flat are in the center. A combination of ambient light from the city all around us and small lamps designed to flicker like firelight lit the area. There were less than ten of us total, and we stepped down into a small circle of chairs around a low, round table. The conversation started with introductions, Amadeus introducing each of us in turn as he gestured around the circle. Each smiled, nodded, or waved as they were introduced ending with Annabella, me, and then Amadeus himself. It wasn't as if he had an agenda I could discern, but he definitely surrounded himself with intelligent people with varied viewpoints. I wasn't sure how I could contribute, so I listened as the conversation ran from the role of religion in society to how to attain peace on Earth. It turned to the possibility of extraterrestrial life and whether or not aliens have visited Earth, then ran off on a tangent when a young woman at the opposite end of the table proposed that humans were better at destruction than creation. I had opinions, I had some knowledge, but these people seemed wholly more suited to the topics and moved on to the next one before I had my thoughts in order enough to respond to a statement made three topics ago. Annabella leapt into the conversation with her usual fearlessness, earning nods of approval, laughter, and challenges from the more vociferous among them. I couldn't help but be impressed as I watched her, and I know I smiled when she seemed to say something that won her another peal of laughter. I found myself staring at her in rapt attention with that feeling inside my ribcage growing, pressing outward, a thing I had no words for ready to explode into the world. "You are in love with her, no?" Amadeus' hushed tone was at my ear and my head spun to see him leaning so close he almost made me jump. "What?" I shook my head in denial but couldn't say the words. I kept my voice low as well, so as not to interrupt the ongoing conversation and turned back to look at Annabella. "She's my best friend." He nodded. "Yet the way you look at her." I felt self-conscious. How had a complete stranger seen that side of me that I dared not admit even to myself? "I'm proud of her. Impressed by her." "Attracted to her," he added, and when I turned to look back at him he wore a small grin. "It is good." I turned back to the conversation. I didn't know what to say. "Love is not always found where you expect it," he said in that same quiet voice with the strange accent. "But when you find it, accept it. You will always regret love lost." I looked back at him again and this time his face held a wistful expression, as if he were speaking of some long distant personal loss. He turned those intense eyes on me again and I met his gaze. This time he seemed to bare his soul to me rather than drill into my own, and the strangely empathetic sense overwhelmed me. I felt close to tears. Was it the weight of what he showed me with a single glance, his own lost love, his own regret? Was it the power of my own feelings finally coming to the surface, my own truth fighting to free itself from the cage of my carefully crafted self-identity? Tears welled in my eyes as the truth of his words and my feelings revealed themselves to me. I turned back to look at Annabella and realized that I did love her. I loved her more than I had words to describe, in ways that surpassed anything I had ever thought of as love in the past. "You will tell her, yes?" I nodded. I was holding back tears, barely keeping myself together. I didn't know what to do. "Let us walk." He held his hand out to me and I took it, standing, letting him lead me up and out of the low circle of chairs, walking through a winding path in the rooftop garden. He said nothing as he led me slowly through dense greenery, but in the silence my thoughts organized themselves, my mind settled, and my emotions calmed as my new reality settled over me, into me. Soon, the leaves and flowers parted and we crossed a wide terrace to stand by a railing looking down on the balcony where I had stood earlier, and out over the city. We both leaned on the balcony in silence for a long while, and eventually he spoke. "My love was forbidden in my homeland," he said, staring out over the city. "We were two young men who met at university. We did everything together. I thought as you did, that we were best friends and no more. I was wrong. I was also unwilling to admit my feelings. I fled that truth, fled to America to make my fortune, never admitting how I felt. By the time I realized my truth and returned home, it was too late. An accident had claimed his life." I felt tears well in my eyes again at his story, and I turned to study his profile. Tears ran down his cheeks as he relived that past. He continued. "If I had told him then." He stared into the distance, beyond the city and the lights, into the possibility of a past that never was. I nodded, put one hand on his arm where he leaned on the railing. He seemed to collect himself, taking a deep breath and straightening. He turned to look at me. "Annabella feels the same," he said. "On this you must trust me. I see things in people." I had a hard time believing him, but I nodded acceptance. "She comes." I looked back toward the garden and saw Annabella and a couple of the others emerge from the greenery and head toward us. They were laughing and chatting as if they'd known each other for years. She was a dream walking in that ridiculous dress, graceful, gorgeous, and amazing in every way imaginable. I felt a smile spread across my face when I saw her. Amadeus spread his arms as they approached. "My friends!" He walked up and put an arm around the shoulder of the two with Annabella, leaving her to approach me alone. "Hey," she said, grinning, her face glowing with the pure joy she felt in the moment. "Still think we don't belong." I laughed. "You do," I said, watching Amadeus lead the others away, leaving Annabella and me alone at the railing. "You belong anywhere." She quirked an eyebrow at that comment as if she were reading more into it than I intended, and I found myself wondering if Amadeus had spoken to her privately as well. How else had he known she felt the same? I stared into her eyes as she looked at me strangely, and then we both jumped as a sound shattered the night like all the fireworks I'd ever heard going off at once. We both looked out over the city and saw a flash of light from behind distant buildings. I heard someone behind us say something about the West 110th Street substation, and then we saw the city shut down. Entire sections of Manhattan went dark as if someone had turned off a gigantic light switch. One by one, neighborhoods and blocks went dark, closer and closer to where we stood, and then we were in absolute darkness. It was such complete and utter black that I widened my eyes as if I were just not looking hard enough, but I saw nothing. Even with random shouting and car horns honking, the lack of noise from anything else, the lack of the hum of electricity that permeated the city made the silence deafening. From out of that blackness, I felt Annabella's searching fingertips find my arms, then slide down to hold my hands. I felt relieved holding her hands in my own, and I felt her step closer, felt the warmth of her body as she moved intimately close, felt the touch of her skin against my own, heard her hoarse whisper as she said the words I never knew I wanted to hear so badly. "I love you, Kate." The moment stretched out into an eternity, knowing she was right in front of me but being unable to see her, knowing she had just risked everything we had built between us to tell me how she truly felt, knowing that I felt the same, that somehow, on this pitch black roof, at this party for elites where we would never truly belong, in this moment that could have involved the entire world and we would never know, everything felt right and complete and perfect. "I love you, too," I said so quietly but it felt like a shout. And then her lips were there, brushing against my own, then pressed against them, kissing me. I kissed her back, my eyes closed, and when I finally opened them, emergency lights were coming up all around us, and so were our host and his friends. I no longer cared. I held Annabella, hugged her close, and she did the same to me. Amadeus smiled wide, and his friends nodded and smiled at us, benevolent gods witnessing the tiny miracles wrought in the world they owned. I guess I was wrong about the dark. It still doesn't scare me, it never did. Darkness is just the absence of light, as my rational mind tells me. But the world can change in the dark and things are never what the seemed to be in the light.

Guilty, but only because I don't need the extra carbs. The next poster has gone skinny dipping.

hand jive

construction worker

Guilty, I guess? I had to look it up since there are no Buc-ee's in this vicinity, and I definitely don't understand why people would be fascinated with a convenience store. The next poster has had to wipe with leaves.

sex addict

I'm not afraid of the dark. It's just not how my brain ever worked. I've always been a woman of rationality and common sense. Darkness is merely the absence of light. The world doesn't change when the lights go out. At least, that's what I always believed before that night, the night the power went out. Nothing has ever been the same since. I was a tagalong, a plus one to a party I never should have attended. In truth, neither of us should have been there, but being attractive and in the wrong place at the wrong time earned Annabella an invitation for two, and convinced me that I had nothing better to do. I headed to her apartment early to get ready together. We would smoke a joint, have some wine, and do each others' hair and makeup. It was a thing with us, a ritual before a night out. When I arrived, Annabella's dress was worse than usual. It barely covered the tops of her thighs and had a deep v cut with spaghetti straps showing so much cleavage that I thought her breasts were going to spill out of it all night. She insisted on dressing me, and chose a nearly matching dress with a ridiculously low cut top that showed entirely too much cleavage and a hemline that threatened to expose me with every step. It was a ludicrous dress for anyone and would likely put my unmentionables on display if I bent over or sat down. I hated it, but Annabella insisted, and I could never say no to her, no matter what she asked. In truth, I was wildly attracted to her, but I had not yet learned to process attraction toward another woman. I wasn't clueless about different sexual orientations, I just assumed I was "normal" and liked men, thanks to my repressive Christian upbringing. The thought of being with another woman was not part of my identity, and certainly not how I pictured myself. I had a lot to learn back then, not only about the world, but about myself as well. You could say that I have broken free from the restrictions of my upbringing now. I understand more fully the vibrance and colorful nature of a world where everyone is who they truly are without shame or judgment. But back then I lived in the dark, about a good many things, and that night the literal dark brought everything to light... so to speak. The party was in a penthouse on Central Park South, even then an elite neighborhood, a place neither of us belonged. We looked like a pair of dolled up call girls, but her invitation got us past the doorman and up the elevator. The suite took up the top two floors of the building and was the most elaborate, lavish piece of real estate I've ever set foot in. The place was packed full of people in clothing that cost more than I made in a month. I saw celebrities, so many of them. Movie actors, television starlets, athletes, rock stars, and I was pretty sure that was the President's daughter who just went into the other room. I did not belong there, especially not in that dress. "So?" said Annabella, as if waiting for me to tell her all my dreams had come true. "We don't belong here," I said, trepidation in my voice. "Come on," she said, taking my hand. I didn't resist. I couldn't resist her. She led me down an open staircase into the main room. I passed the front man of a rock band I'd crushed on as a teenager and he winked. My heart fluttered, but in hindsight it might have been more from her holding my hand than his wink. We were friends, we touched each other all the time, hugs, kisses, helping each other with zippers on dresses, a thousand casual touches without thought. But something in that place, at that time, in those dresses, something made this casual touch of hands as she led me deeper into a party where I didn't belong affect me. I thought it was the atmosphere, the elegance and absurd extravagance of the whole scenario. That kind of thing didn't usually do it for me, but tonight, the stars had aligned in a most fortuitous manner. We found drinks, men who flirted shamelessly, women who flirted even more shamelessly, conversation that went over our heads, and laughter. It was fun and overwhelming. I felt my sense of self being eroded by casual comments as I tried to fit in, and caught myself before I was in as deep as Annabella. Watching her chatting with a Senator, a movie star, and an heiress to an oil fortune, it hit me again. We still didn't belong here. and I had to escape. I should have fled. I should have listened to my instincts. I saw a door to the balcony and I stepped outside for a moment of clarity and to center myself. My nipples turned to diamond studs in my dress and I felt my arms pebble with gooseflesh in the cold wind this high up. I strode to the railing and looked out over the city. The streets below were full of my people, real people, the men and women who lived in the real world. I took a couple deep, calming breaths as I stared at the lights that seemed to go on forever, drank in the sounds of the city below. This was New York. This was what I was used to, the place I called home. That party behind me was a microcosm of fabricated affluent belonging, a group of people who had sold their true selves for fame, fortune, a place in the history books. I shook my head. Why had I even come here? For her, of course. For Annabella. I think that was the moment that I knew it, even though I didn't immediately admit it to myself. That was the moment that I realized I loved her, wanted to be with her, wanted to feel her touch me in ways only men had touched me before. I didn't have time to acknowledge those thoughts, because she was suddenly beside me. and she had brought others. "Kate," she said, her voice a melodic symphony written to be played on my nervous system. "Meet Amadeus van der Gräuel, our host." I turned to see a man so devastatingly handsome my voice caught in my throat and the world seemed to darken around him in contrast to the exquisiteness of his features. I reached out one hand to shake his, but instead he lifted my hand toward his face and held it for a moment, his eyes locked on mine. I felt like I was impaled by power, unable to move as he looked through my eyes and into my soul. I was stripped bare by that gaze as he drank the entirety of my essence like an elixir. It was as if he drained my will, empowered while I was immobilized. When he spoke, his accent was thick and unidentifiable, a musical lilt to his vowels and the ends of many words clipped. It was vaguely eastern European, but also had hints of Chinese. If I had been forced to identify it, I would have failed. He welcomed me, bent low and kissed the back of my hand slowly, holding the pose far longer than was comfortable. It was all I could do to maintain a polite demeanor in the face of his inexplicably off-putting presence. I wanted him to tear off my dress, to feel his hands and mouth upon me, to have him ravish me. I wanted to run screaming in terror from him. I had no idea what I wanted, and faced with what felt like a fight or flight situation, I froze like prey. In hindsight, this was the last moment when I could have changed the outcome of that night, the last chance I had to exert my autonomy before everything went sideways. I failed both myself and Annabella that night. Somehow, I was under his spell, and we returned to the party. He gathered others in his wake and the group of us ended up in the private garden on the roof. The conversation pit was like a small amphitheater, a circle of wide steps leading to flat are in the center. The lighting was strange, a combination of ambient light from the city all around us and flames from braziers lit in a circle between our chairs that surrounded a low, round table. Conversation was quiet and intense in small clusters. A Senator and a legendary actor spoke quietly with each other to either side of me, and I was trapped by their conversation, unable to move closer to Annabella for fear of appearing rude. Annabella was in conversation with a Grammy-winning composer and a real estate mogul who owned half of the city. She laughed and touched their arms, her usual flirtation turned up high. Other groups conversed as well, but our host just sat back and watched. His gaze seemed to linger on both Annabella and me more than anyone else. At the time I thought I was just being self-conscious. I was only half listening to the men to either side of me, nodding at what felt like appropriate times, when a low murmuring song caught my attention. I looked up to see what it was, and all the separate conversations seemed to fade as everyone looked at each other, then at Amadeus. His smile, lit by flames to either side, looked evil, and sent a chill down my spine. He raised one hand and everyone sat silent and motionless as the strange murmur became louder and resolved into some kind of chanting. It was then that I realized that there were people beyond the braziers, dozens of bodies closing in on the circle of chairs. It was the rest of the party, and as they approached, they lit candles one by one, passing a long wooden stick with flame at one end between them. We were surrounded, and the crowd seemed to settle in to their places on the steps that led down to our chairs. A crowd of onlookers staring in at us, their faces lit from below by the candles they held. They chanted, their words in a language I did not understand. It felt decidedly ominous. Amadeus stood, lifted his arms skyward, and if I didn't know better, I'd say the weather responded to him. A breeze picked up, just strong enough to flicker the candle flames. He said something in the same strange language, and I glanced over at Annabella. She stood at the opposite side of the round table from Amadeus, her eyes vacant, staring straight ahead as if in a trance. I had just enough time to wonder what was going on before she stepped up onto the low table and began to dance. She moved slowly at first, her movements gentle and sensual, her hands caressing her own body, exploring her own curves, almost as if someone else were guiding her movements. She was going to embarrass herself. She would never live this down. I had to stop her. But I was frozen just as I was before, unable to move or speak, only a witness to the bizarre sway of Annabella's body in the light of a hundred tiny flames. She was grace erotic personified as she moved, and the entire audience seemed transfixed. My heart was racing, thumping in my chest like a drummer on amphetamines having a seizure. I wanted... something. I didn't want what I should want. My mind still worked even as my pulse quickened. I needed to leave, to grab Annabella by the wrist and do everything in my power to drag her from this madhouse of excess and grandiose debauchery. My heartbeat thudded in my ears as if I were standing beside the speakers at a concert, blocking out all sound, blocking out everything else, even thought. I could only hear the staccato thump thump thump of my heartbeat, and soon it strummed between my legs as well. An throbbing arousal tugged at my body, a need building inside of me as if someone were directly stimulating my clitoris, my nipples, no, my soul... I needed to be touched, needed to touch, needed to be filled, taken, forced to orgasm over and over... I was on the table, dancing with Annabella. Somehow we were both nude except for our jewelry and shoes, and I vaguely remembered undressing her and letting her undress me in turn. Her hands were on me now, a feather light touch of fingertips driving my already aroused senses over the edge. I did the same to her, and heard her gasp and moan in pleasure. We kissed, long, soft and sensuous. The watchers around us were forgotten as our lips and hands explored each others bodies, and the wind picked up, cold and hard, whipping my hair around my face. I had a moment of clarity when I saw Amadeus standing, arms outstretched toward the sky, a look of pure madness on his face, when lightning struck. With a deafening crack, one, two, three blasts of earth-shaking electricity struck the rooftop, sparks showered the brick and stone around us. My hair stood out from my head and I looked around to catch a brief glimpse of flames, the glint of light reflected off of steel, and then there was darkness. The entire city lost power as the wind howled in a tumultuous fury and darkness fell so completely that I staggered. I reached out for Annabella, but couldn't find her in the darkness until a flash of lightning showed me a freeze frame of reality. Amadeus was behind Annabella, a knife to her throat. Reality had reasserted itself in her mind; her eyes were filled with terror as she tried to keep her balance with this madman behind her. I lurched forward to save her, wobbled, fell to my knees on the stone table, catching myself with my hands outstretched before me. I couldn't find her in the complete darkness. I groped toward where I had seen her, reaching futilely toward my friend, and then I felt hands grasp my arms and haul me backward. I was pulled on my back across the smooth stone tabletop, struggling to free my arms, legs kicking ineffectually and there was another flash if lightning. Amadeus held Annabella beside me, the knife still at her throat. She was no longer struggling and seemed to be in the same trance that had taken her before she began dancing. The two men who had been talking to me held my arms, and a woman and man now held my legs as I lay naked and spread eagle on the stone table. The image was gone again, and I heard Amadeus' strangely accented voice in my head more than my ears. He made me an offer then, his words twisted and strange, but their meaning was clear. I could give myself to them like Annabella, or I could bathe in her blood and join them. I wish I could say I chose to stay with my friend. I wish I could say I resisted the transcendental and other-worldly offer from this enigmatic libertine with a knife to my best friends' throat. The next flash of lightning was perfectly timed to show her face, fully aware, eyes begging me to help her, knife pressed hard to the soft flesh of her throat. Darkness again, and the warm splash of her blood on my bare breasts was like a call to those around me to feed. Mouths fell upon me, lapping up the lifeblood of my best friend, flicking over my nipples, sending pleasure through me with the wave of electric warmth that spread through my entire body. They no longer held me pinned, and my hands slid over my own body, slick with Annabella's lifeblood, an erotic and ferociously murderous thrill coursed through the very fiber of my being. The next flash of lightning showed barely human faces staring up at me from upon my own flesh, eyes that reflected red and yellow, faces twisted in the rictus of undeath, teeth like knives grinning horrifically up at me as these creatures, these unknowable things that played at being human lapped up Annabella's blood from my bare flesh, and long with it lapped up my humanity and compassion, devoured my empathy and friendship, feasted upon my lost innocence and goodness. They glowed darker than darkness in that night without power, and once their blood lust was satiated, they began a new ritual of bestial carnality. Each of them thrust into me, into my mouth, my pussy, my ass, over and over, spewing seed that was never meant to take root in human flesh. When they had finished, I was born again in the darkness, the blood sacrifice of my one time friend my ticket to a new life, a soulless unlife. The life I have lived these passed four hundred years. I am not afraid of the dark. I never was. I am the dark.

chocolatey goddess

chewy goodness

Town Center

off topic

Half Guilty. I want a break, but it's Butterfinger or nothing for me! The next poster has had to say "no" to something in RP that was clearly stated in their Preferences as "NO"

hot ones

full belly

no service