I Want to Hear Your Story

Sarah had struggled furiously but it was hopeless, she pulled wildly at her hands tied to the bed rail but felt herself racing past the point of no return. She arched upwards high into the air crying out in a long wailing cry falling back to the bed bucking her hips as the tongue continued to thrash her love bud. That red neck bitch Mary-Lou had finally got her, the way she said she would.

I once told a racist relative that I made a donation in his name to the NAACP. It was an April Fool's Day joke. He was pissed.

I wrote it into a post. Have fun reading.

On a dark and stormy night,

You wouldn't like my story.