The End is Near

"But realize this, that in the last days difficult times will come.  For men will be lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful, arrogant...without self-control, brutal...treacherous, reckless, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of god; holding to a form of godliness..."

(II Timothy 3:1-5,7)

     When I was younger, I was very interested in the Apocalypse.  My church and Jack Van Impe painted this bleak and perverted time to come, where Sodom resurrects and the world stands at its final hour.  It was great stuff.

American godlessness.

Gluttony and hedonism taken to new heights.

The Mark of The Beast

Decadence and depravity becoming mainstream.

     I've been keeping a watchful eye on our culture.  The lines between man and beast are softening and blurring.  Blasphemy is getting sexier every day.  Either Apostle John's accounts were correct or I'm not the only one inspired by The Book of Revelations.  I, too, find myself pushing the envelope to biblical proportions.  I am always thinking of fresh, new ways to magnify sin until its an abomination.  Again, great stuff.

On the set of Gio Peter Black new video "Revolving Door"

Stille

     We aren’t supposed to be here. I could be humiliated. I could be fired. I could lose everything, if someone were to walk through that door and discover what we are doing. Completely naked: your ivory legs opened wide; my blackness coated in shining sweat. Our trespassing is a misdemeanor. Us fucking here is a felony. The slight possibility of getting caught is vastly multiplied by the sounds of your moans and grunts increasing in volume. God forbid anyone’s within earshot.

     Drunken by sex, blinded by unplugging every possible lamp, I reach out and pat the ground. Searching for some article of clothing. Searching for something I wouldn’t mind drenching in saliva. Upon discovery, I ball up my tank top, pry your jaws open and cram the fabric into your whimpering mouth. You are ignited.

The closing of one door, opened many others.

Without the restraint to stay quiet,

Your sexuality was turned up to full volume.

     Licking light circles around your nipple makes your voice buzz through the cotton. Pulling a tight fistful of hair fills your throat with electricity. Dragging you from the desktop to the floor fills the room with a quiet, muffled whistle. Something about the sounds coming through that shirt arouses me so deeply. The gag strips your voice down to its bare vibration.

     Turning you over, your back looks amazing in the darkness. I love the way the impact from my thrusts ripple through your skin, muscles and bones. Your muted, rhythmic yelps are silent music to my ears. I delve deeper, pound harder; just to hear what your filtered cries sound like.

Part sadist, part scientist,

I wanted to sample the frequency of your sobs…

The frequency of your bawling…

The frequency of your safe ignored…

"Fragments" by Exterface

Fetish #21759

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Dark Compersion

"No, no; don't worry about it! I actually like making beds!"

     She smiles sweetly, but her mind reflects a darker joy.  Looking at the mangled sofa coach, the tightly twisted comforter; she is filled with a subtle excitement.  Her thoughts tease, "Did we keep him up?"  Looking at the small wet spots in the fabric discovered in the sheets and the pillow cases.  Tears?  Semen?  The belief that she scored both points last night made her wet.  

Besides, if the neighbors heard her orgasms...

Even Van Gogh's rest would've been disturbed in the living room...

     Neatly unraveling the linen, she thinks about him tossing and turning all night.  Noise sensitive?  Jealous?  Swish...the crowd in her mind goes wild.  "How'd you sleep?"  His answer falls on uninterested ears; she knows the truth: terrible.

The headboard maintained a rhythmic ruckus.

Their voices testified with deep moan and shrill climaxes.

Shit, he got a cramp in his abdomen, she made him come so damn hard.

     Making breakfast for him, she jokes, "You know, he never gets to his breakfast while its warm."  Her omelet: perfect.  Fresh, squeezed O.J: sweet.  The only bitterness that would cause his chewing jaw to twist: he's in love with the man snoring in her bed.  "Salt?"  She knew from the moment they met, the way he looks at him gave it all away.  Oddly, she likes it.

     Walking to the refrigerator, she wonders if he picks up on her man's scent all over her body.  Envious?  Curious?  She begins to imagine him peeking into their private moment.  Hating the scent of pussy, yet unable to lift his eyes off its magic.  Hating the name smeared all over his moans, "MIRIAM", yet loving the sight of him shoot.  Indulge in the idea of scoring two points that night...swish.  Envy and curiosity turns his breakfast sour.

His awkward steps out her home,

"Thank you for the breakfast.

I wish I could finish, but I'm running late for my 10 o'clock,"

inspired her to give her man a wake-up call.

"In Grand Stile" by Steven Meisel

30 Days of M-Drive (Introduction)

I recently received the opportunity to try and review a male supplement

M-Drive

     This supplement enhances the production of testosterone using, supposedly, natural ingredients.  I can attest that, in my thirty day trial, I have gone through subtle, yet significant changes in my behavior and physiology.  I was amazed to find that many of my personality traits could be influenced hormonally.

I present to you my experience:


30 Days of M-Drive

30 Days of M-Drive

     I found myself jogging at 3 am.  Taking all the sketchy shortcuts.  Circling the lake at its most vacant and dark time of day.  Since taking M-drive, a part of me wanted to find trouble.   I liked the way my heart races as I run behind closed shopping centers.  The rush of dark, wooded areas made me feel alive.  The higher volume of testosterone has turned me into a thrill seeker.
     A few times, my runs were punctuated by a hook-up.  Anonymous cocksuckers found on Craig's List, whom wanted nothing more than a hot load.  No Strings Attached.  No Reciprocity.  No Names.  Before the pills, I indulged and appreciated oral service.  Laying back, I used to meditate on the pleasure.  But these days?  I want my head while standing over them.  My fingers digging into their skulls, pressing their thirsty mouths downward until they choked.

I am different these days.

     My girlfriend recognized this difference.  More frigid.  More aggressive.  More cum.  Much more cum.  Sex on M-Drive, made her feel like I was trying to kill her with my cock.  She felt like I was trying to gnaw the meat off her bones.  She loved it.  She hated it.  She contemplated breaking up.  Naturally, I am more fluid; not so dominating.  Naturally, I am more like a squishy octopus than a strong bull.  In spite of multi-orgasmic nights, she missed me.
     I found myself jogging at 3 am; I couldn't sleep.  Taking all the short cuts, nothing was quick enough.  I was an insatiable, bottomless pit.  Wanting revenge.  Wanting success.  Wanting something wet, warm and screaming wrapped around my dick.  But, after receiving all of the above, it proved to be dissatisfying.
     The month I spent with higher levels of testosterone was an adventure.  I was focused and motivated, but maybe too much so.  Ultimately, I felt almighty and powerless because I couldn't dominate the world the way I wanted to.  It was an agonizing, but sexy experience.

After my thirty-day supply ran dry,

I was glad to return to my natural balance.

(But, I do miss the big loads!)

Fetish #114857

Wheel of Life (Featuring Yusef Lateef)

I want to make a blood offering to My God

Dangling fowl by their feet,

I dance as their wings flap wildly.

Slicing.  Pulling.  Pouring.

 My naked torso is covered in life...

The earth beneath my feet is soaked...

The music possesses me,

I dance until I'm completely nude

Shouting.  Singing.  Clapping.

My temple is anointed in sweat and blood...

Moving my hips in procreative motions...

Stomping the dust until it clouds the sky...

     I've always dreamed of wild, pagan rituals.  Primitive.  Sexual.  Possessing.  I want to dance bear foot in the wilderness.  I want to scream in cathartic blasts of harmony.

     I can hear the maracas, summoning the rain.  Hand-made drum commanding me to move faster.  I want to empty myself in such a way!
     I dream of carnal orgies, a furious fellowship of the flesh.  Panting in rhythm.  Thrusting as if the harvest depended on it.  Climaxing in unison.  I sincerely believe such an event has the potential to be powerful with the right intention behind it.

One of these days,

I'll have this occasion.

If I have to stage it myself!

        

http://fetlife.com/fetishes/114857