Jack Marsden: A Short Story

When Tom lowered his gaze and mumbled, “Yes, Ma’am,” in a submissive tone, Booker’s grin broadened. He had indulged in many sexual fantasies about Tom, and his favorite was the dom/sub role play. But now that he had witnessed Tom’s compliance, he knew the fantasy would be even more realistic than before. At that precise moment he could picture Tom handcuffed to the bed, his naked body trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement, his expression desperate to please, and for the third time that morning, his cock hardened. He quickly realized he was heading towards dangerous territory and shifting his gaze, he stared at the admin officer’s beak-like nose. It was the remedy he needed and within seconds, his budding erection wilted. A

Booker’s head nodded up and down and smiling tenderly, he carefully inserted his finger. After several minutes of gentle probing, he inserted a second finger, and when he was happy that Tom was stretched enough to receive him, he withdrew his fingers. Tom’s eyes burned bright and wrapping his fingers around the base of Booker’s shaft, he positioned the tip against his anus and bore down.

Once upon a time a boy named Buford Jackeline lived in Hamilton Scotland during the 19th century. No one liked Buford because of how big of a bully he was to everyone, even to his parents. His nickname was Devil boy. He always ate fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No one stood up to him not even his dad. Buford acted like he was the king of Hamilton.

Local man finds immunity to MEV-1. As Mitch Emhoff watches his wife and son die in his household he thought he would be next. After the doctors tried to save his wife and son, the social worker and Dr. Arrington sat down Mitch Emhoff to tell Mitch what happened in the operation room.

Jonathan Smith tasted soot: not an unusual experience. He bit off another piece of the bread he was chewing on and swallowed it down, ignoring the burning at the back of his throat. It was not such a difficult task when one had as much practice as Jon. He reached over and grabbed his bottle of water. He emptied its contents into his throat, the last of the day’s supply. He really should be getting home - his shift was almost over. Jon looked around, seeing the inside an old hanger, a dark cavernous space that made him feel the size of an ant. He examined the workers around him, their eyes all focused on their own rations, all of them strangers to him - all Weathermen, although the definition of that term had changed over the years. Weathermen were never allowed to get to

Hey, my name's Phoenix, Phoenix Campbell. I'm sixteen and I am living with my boyfriend. He's 18 and his name is William, William Henderson.

Philip Malloy was a 9th grader and a good student. Until, he was suspended for singing the national anthem. With the help of the media, it spread rapidly. If only they knew the full story. If this case went to court I believe this case would win in the schools favor.

Jack St. Evans sat in his small bachelor's apartment reading over and over the letter he'd received from a lawyer by the name of Ebenezer Vincent Esq. From what he could ascertain from this letter, this man had apparently represented his late Aunt's estate and was now passing on the news of this unexpected inheritance in the form of his extremely wealthy aunt's house and the contents contained within.

I swerved and stopped abruptly .No! James! I felt impotent as I stood there seeing my best friend turn into a ball of fire. If only I saw this coming. If only I warned him, or just waited till he got used to it. If only I refused his offer. I fell on my knees; tears falling off my face like rain drops. Memories crumbled, shattered… disappeared. My hands trembled with fear, confusion and guilt. It felt like I was interrogating myself, what will I say to his mother? Will she blame me for his death? How did this start? I was in agony, staring at the fire reminiscing.

“Hey Joe! Where ya at?” I asked, knowing full well he was in the garage. I followed the freshly shoveled walk to the door and caught a hint of cigarette smoke as I reached for the knob. Upon entry, my lungs were seized as a thick, smoky fog replaced precious oxygen. Somewhere from within the haze a gravelly voice emanated, “About time you showed up Ben. I was beginning to think I had Thelma shoveling for nothing,” he said chuckling to himself. As I looked around, an all-encompassing museum of Joe Riley thrust itself upon my senses. I winced listening to the engine roar of stockcars strain the antiquated television’s single speaker. Below the television resided a sporadically out-of-tune radio whose incessant fuzz competed with the race commentary. Whereas I was lost in an atmosphere of verbal conflict and rhythmic confusion, Joe was quite comfortable deciphering the medley of noise. I turned my attention to the immediate surroundings.

“Quality of performance in Rollers that James and I breed for or look for is the same, but that’s not the only passion James has. He also takes the color that he wants and makes it spin. He takes spin and makes it a color, if that makes any sense to you. Not many people can understand what James has been doing with his Rollers. He doesn’t take a certain color and teach them how to spin; he takes the spin and adds color to it. I was never interested in doing that because James made it too easy for me. Let me tell you a story: One day, I asked James how to make an andalusian color. He said: ‘just breed an indigo with a spread black. Half of what you breed should be andalusion and the other half should be black’. Well, he was right the first bird I raised was half andalusion half spread, you know one of those mosaic birds.

Hello Discord's members, My name is Johnathan Kibler. I live in Phoenix, AZ. I am deaf (hard of hearing). My first language is ASL [American Sign Language] then English. I am old CJF [Telnet]. I am Telnet Clan in TF. Why I called my username is Elephants111? Because I made username from other game "Habbo". Most I play the game in Minecraft and some others too. Ryan, you may know me well cause I am old

Murray Barr was a bear of a man, an ex-marine, six feet tall and heavyset, and when he fell down—which he did nearly every day—it could take two or three grown men to pick him up. He had straight black hair and olive skin. On the street, they called him Smokey. He was missing most of his teeth. He had a wonderful smile. People loved Murray.

When it had, Dr McHugh not longer attempted to stop the physical reaction her presence had elicited, but embraced it. With Emily out of sight, where he could push aside the sounds anguish in her voice, and the memory of her tear-filled eyes, and the reason she'd been referred to him, The Doctor dropped a hand, and moaned softly when he gripped his erection through the fabric of his trousers, granting

“I wanted to see Jack.” “ I wanted to give him this.” said Jack’s dad