IsabellaRose

Guilty if it's a law of nature and we can get a tentacle monster all up in here... otherwise, probably not guilty. Mine are more immoral than illegal. The next person has gone to see a show at a commercial sex club.

monstrous cock

Guilty. I think they're probably all immoral, and depending on where you live, definitely illegal. The next person has indulged in one of their illegal or immoral fantasies in real life.

delicious monsters

moist brownies

hidden agenda

equal rights

women's apparel

voyeuristic photos

Contorted positions

preferred pronouns

paying members

magic fingers

sweaty palms

choke hold

wrestling fans

diamond ring

electric slide

scarlet fever

bird box

bird cage

Most of the ships had been lost in the crossing, only a handful had made it to the shores of the New World to spill out their starving, bedraggled occupants onto our verdant shores. We only found out later that there could have been so many more of them, a full-scale invasion. Even the few who made it were too many. They devoured the fruit of the land, felled the jhada trees and chopped them into bits to build shelter and burn for heat. They killed the graceful, four-legged kalavita and ate them. Ate them! They decorated the entryways to their shelters with the skulls and horns of the kalavita, used the bones to make weapons, the sinew as bowstrings, We did not know what to expect when they landed, but the consumption of flesh was one step too far, and we were forced to act. We were one with the land, our form matching our affinity for aspects of nature. They were separate from the land, different. Perhaps they were like us and their homeland was a pink and fleshy place. But here, in the lush greens of foliage, the deep browns of the soil, here they stood out like an infection. We were selected as the closest to looking like them and we sang the songs of growing and shaping, making ourselves become more like them, our faces and bodies shaped by their thoughts to meet their ideal of perfection of form. The shaping takes time, and once we were ready, we approached. We were bipeds now, like them, two arms, two legs, no tails or horns. We came forward and as we did we sang the songs of peace and brotherhood. If only we had known. They were frightened when we approached, tall, slender, looking similar yet still so different from them. They reacted with fear despite the songs, threatening with knives and spears. We begged through our song for them to leave the land in peace. We explained in the melodies of nature how we live with the land, cause no harm, wound no thing. They seemed to understand, and we shared with them the secret of the annasa'gane, the song of sustenance, where your need is expressed to nature and nature gives what is available and needed. They watched the lauki grow from the earth, open its petals, and offer its milk. We drank, they drank. It seemed as if they were learning. We shared the song of shaping and growing. We started by singing the land to form small things like a pool to bathe, and calling up the utility of the land, like bring aga-stones to the surface for heat. Soon, we sang a shelter into being, watched as the mighty jhada branches came together above the earth, wove their limbs into walls and floors, and opened the newly built shelter to the fleshy ones. They seemed to understand. It took time, but they learned the songs, learned the way of the eka-nirmiti, the together-growing, and soon their village was thriving. We spent time with them, learned to know them as individuals, which they were, disconnected ones, alone and separated from their others. It was a baffling truth we found difficult to accept, but it helped to explain why they did not understand. They were discontinuous, separate, not a part of the natural world. This should have told us all we needed to know, but we foolishly taught them. How were we to know? We had never experienced anything disconnected. But then they showed their true colors. With the song of shaping they imposed their will upon the land. The jhada trees did not grow to form what was needed, they were twisted to the intent of the fleshlings. Their songs became chants, shouts, incantations forcing their will upon the land, making weapons, defenses against things that would not have attacked them had they simply remained in harmony with nature. When we objected, they turned our songs on us, reshaping us. At first it was to prevent us from harming them, but when they realized that they could shape us as they saw fit, they molded us into tools, servants, slaves. Our forms were fashioned to carry, to lift, to accomplish tasks for the fleshings. But it got even worse. In their twisted need to dominate our world, they sculpted some of us into the forms of their ideal mates, sang our identities away until we wanted no more than to please them. We waited on them hand and foot, knelt to their mastery, were assaulted by their sexual organs, our defiance whittled way by their song, our will fashioned to mimic their own. We wanted them to use us, forgot the songs of the world, and learned only the songs and movements of pleasing flesh, of hedonistic delight. We lost ourselves in this sexual spectacle, and we enjoyed it. We were hewn into individual sexual beings, awakened to the indulgent delectations of flesh. Their seed pumped into us over and over was merged with our form by the songs of creation, and soon we, too, took on their otherworldly appearance. We were no longer a part of the world, we were separate, distinct beings disconnected from the song of creation. Even their powerful command of our songs could no longer touch us as we were no longer of our own world. But our new forms had been shaped into their sexual ideals. Now we were vesya, sexual slaves to the tribes of fleshlings, half fleshling, half of our own world, belonging to neither. I am called Sundara. I remember when I was of the earth, but it is faint, and seems unimportant, for now I am a servant of the Reksa, the new rulers of this land. My body is pleasing to the men of this world. My legs are long and thin, my curves are luscious, my hips inviting, my breasts high and firm. My face was molded into their ideal of beauty, a mockery of what I once was, but now the only thing I want to be. I want to be attractive, I want to be wanted. I desire the touch of men, I crave the taste of their flesh, their seed. For their pleasure I have warm, wet, constricting holes, the insides of which undulate and convulse in response to their thrusts. I am purpose made to please them, and it is the only thing I desire. They built ships to sail to other lands. They established trade with kingdoms outside their homeland. My sisters and I are being sent to the island city of Janjibara, a port city, a trade city. The sultan and imperialists who fight for control of the lands nearby consider the island city neutral territory. It is said I will earn much for the Reksa when I go to work in the vesyahana, the house of the vesya, a place for sexual liaisons. The men of the sultan as well as the men of the imperialists will pay well for a night with one such as me. I am content, for I will fulfill my purpose and bring much honor and riches to the Reksa.

snow blower

hop scotch

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