if a picture paints a thousand words

[Guest]

couldnt find the other thread, sorry.

So . . . . . . writers of porn .............. what's going on in these pics? Let those creative juices flow.

http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n91/jfemininity/10.jpg​

 

[scheherazade_79]

couldnt find the other thread, sorry.

So . . . . . . writers of porn .............. what's going on in these pics? Let those creative juices flow.

http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n91/jfemininity/10.jpg​

It's a time way into the future, where they've developed over-the-counter vaccines for absolutely everything. If you get a cold, you buy yourself a shot and are cured. If you need to wake up fast, you can get a shot of caffeine or adrenaline to take in the mornings.

But of course, like everything, it's abused. You can buy shots to make your hair permanently blonde, shots that change your skin colour... and shots that make you androgynous.

The person in the photo is androgynous, but in order to stay that way they have to take a special androgyny shot before 8.50 every morning.

He / she works in a club, where people who have an androgyny fetish go to. It's kind of like a high class sex club. The person in the picture hates being androgynous, but it's one of the best paying jobs they're able to get with a criminal record.

 

[THROBBS]

if a picture paints a thousand words...
Then why can't I paint you?
The words would never show, the you I've come to know. ~(David Gates, Bread)

 

[Guest]

fabulous zade.

come on peeps. i'm bumping the thread

 

[Salvor-Hardon]

http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n91/jfemininity/10.jpg​

She had had enough. He was a flirt sure enough, she knew that. In all likelihood he was sleeping around, but that was ok too. Leaving the toilet seat up, dammit how many times had she sat down and fallen through, because he was too self centered, too careless to take the one second it takes to move porcelain from vertical to horizontal again. “This ends now.”

I know its not a thousand words but I haven't had coffee yet.

 

[Guest]

bumping again now that lit is fixed

 

[FatDino]

http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n91/jfemininity/10.jpg​

There was a sleeping sickness that spread across the planet after Earth had defeated a hostile alien race. The aliens left behind a poison as their final act before they ran away in their bug-shaped spaceships. Every one who was infected fell asleep within two hours of getting in contact with the poisonous gas. Then, as they slept soundly, the toxin took control of their nervous system, making them to never want to wake up and they died slowly in their sleep.

A group of scientist got together and developed an antidote. Many people have been cured; many lives were saved. However, the effects of the poison seem to be persistent as the victims continue to sleep in day in and day out. To solve this problem, the governments have issued an order to all once infected households to tape a syringe that contains the wake-up chemicals next to the alarm. This has seemed to be working out quite well. But we're still hoping that some day, the effects of the alien toxin will fully dissipate.

 

[MarshAlien]

She had had enough. He was a flirt sure enough, she knew that. In all likelihood he was sleeping around, but that was ok too. Leaving the toilet seat up, dammit how many times had she sat down and fallen through, because he was too self centered, too careless to take the one second it takes to move porcelain from vertical to horizontal again. “This ends now.”

I know its not a thousand words but I haven't had coffee yet.

Oh, bravo!!!

 

[Guest]

His fingers awoke first, stretching, and crawling across the cool marble as tentatively blind as a daddy longlegs. The smell of starched lined tickled his sinuses, the reptilian center of his brain awakening a trickle of memories and brushes of sensation. Gradually he became aware of a sensation of weight, and – damn. He rolled over, releasing his cock to spring into the cold white reflection of the morning sun.

Without opening his eyes, he squinted against the radiant intrusion. A jaw cracking yawn brought him to complete consciousness, one hand curling around his scrotum, idly rolling his balls in his fingers. Normally morning wood required him getting up, but right now he had no pressing need to urinate.

His fingers unconsciously mimicked the long, drawn-out strokes he had sawed into her ass while she came. Her cries were long, shuddering groans of greedy fulfillment. She’d called his name, over and over, it caused his cock to surge, aching with the need for release.

Damn – he did have to piss after all.

 

[TheeGoatPig]

Sometimes all thousand words are the same word repeated over and over again.

"Owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie, owie..." He repeated until the pain went away.

Then, when he finally found the words to shout at his room mates, "Which one of you fucking crack heads left that there?"

 

[Guest]

here's the next pic. what do u make of this?

http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n91/jfemininity/16.jpg

 

[scheherazade_79]

here's the next pic. what do u make of this?

http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n91/jfemininity/16.jpg

What's in the cigarette?

 

[Trombonus]

Jame Bond, famous British master spy, was finally done in when he accidentally mistook one of Q Branch's special bullet firing cigarettes for a regular one.

 

[TheeGoatPig]

What's in the cigarette?

It is a small calibur bullet. Too bad they don't fire out of the shell properly when set off outside of a gun. They just explode outward. Would hurt your hand pretty nicely, but I doubt you would die if paramedics were called fast enough.

*/buzzkill

 

[scheherazade_79]

It is a small calibur bullet. Too bad they don't fire out of the shell properly when set off outside of a gun. They just explode outward. Would hurt your hand pretty nicely, but I doubt you would die if paramedics were called fast enough.

*/buzzkill

Thank you

 

[TriggerHippie]

couldnt find the other thread, sorry.

So . . . . . . writers of porn .............. what's going on in these pics? Let those creative juices flow.

http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n91/jfemininity/10.jpg​

The picture says to me:

I’m not an addict.

Addicts live in store fronts and under bridges. Addicts don’t hear alarm clocks. I walk. I talk. I work. I laugh. I fuck. I cry.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the drugs that make me more than a zombie. It doesn’t matter if it’s drugs that keep me from keening my soul on the street. It doesn’t matter if it’s the phen that makes me work and blue pills that make me sleep. I’m not addicted.

Without the drugs, I’d want to eat. Without the drugs, I’d feel too much. Without the drugs, I’d sleep forever. Without the drugs, I’d never sleep. Just because I take pills to feel nothing and pills to make me vibrate with chemical energy that makes my heart thump inside me until I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t do something … it doesn’t mean I’m addicted.

Just because I see colors at a thousand miles per hour and see nothing but gray, that doesn’t mean I’m not living. Just because I can stare at a weed in my yard and see Horton’s Who, it doesn’t mean I’m crazy. Just because I don’t remember how to feel the real thing, doesn’t mean Coke doesn’t taste sweet … sometimes … until I remember to count the calories and the cost.

I’m not an addict. I’m not. Addicts don’t hear alarm clocks. I walk. I talk. If I didn’t take the pills I’d die a thousand times a day. I work. I laugh. I fuck. And then I cry. I’m not an addict. I’m only what you made me.

 

[Guest]

The picture says to me:

I’m not an addict.

Addicts live in store fronts and under bridges. Addicts don’t hear alarm clocks. I walk. I talk. I work. I laugh. I fuck. I cry.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the drugs that make me more than a zombie. It doesn’t matter if it’s drugs that keep me from keening my soul on the street. It doesn’t matter if it’s the phen that makes me work and blue pills that make me sleep. I’m not addicted.

Without the drugs, I’d want to eat. Without the drugs, I’d feel too much. Without the drugs, I’d sleep forever. Without the drugs, I’d never sleep. Just because I take pills to feel nothing and pills to make me vibrate with chemical energy that makes my heart thump inside me until I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t do something … it doesn’t mean I’m addicted.

Just because I see colors at a thousand miles per hour and see nothing but gray, that doesn’t mean I’m not living. Just because I can stare at a weed in my yard and see Horton’s Who, it doesn’t mean I’m crazy. Just because I don’t remember how to feel the real thing, doesn’t mean Coke doesn’t taste sweet … sometimes … until I remember to count the calories and the cost.

I’m not an addict. I’m not. Addicts don’t hear alarm clocks. I walk. I talk. If I didn’t take the pills I’d die a thousand times a day. I work. I laugh. I fuck. And then I cry. I’m not an addict. I’m only what you made me.

wow

just wow

 

[Fallenfromgrace]

The picture says to me:

I’m not an addict.

Addicts live in store fronts and under bridges. Addicts don’t hear alarm clocks. I walk. I talk. I work. I laugh. I fuck. I cry.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the drugs that make me more than a zombie. It doesn’t matter if it’s drugs that keep me from keening my soul on the street. It doesn’t matter if it’s the phen that makes me work and blue pills that make me sleep. I’m not addicted.

Without the drugs, I’d want to eat. Without the drugs, I’d feel too much. Without the drugs, I’d sleep forever. Without the drugs, I’d never sleep. Just because I take pills to feel nothing and pills to make me vibrate with chemical energy that makes my heart thump inside me until I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t do something … it doesn’t mean I’m addicted.

Just because I see colors at a thousand miles per hour and see nothing but gray, that doesn’t mean I’m not living. Just because I can stare at a weed in my yard and see Horton’s Who, it doesn’t mean I’m crazy. Just because I don’t remember how to feel the real thing, doesn’t mean Coke doesn’t taste sweet … sometimes … until I remember to count the calories and the cost.

I’m not an addict. I’m not. Addicts don’t hear alarm clocks. I walk. I talk. If I didn’t take the pills I’d die a thousand times a day. I work. I laugh. I fuck. And then I cry. I’m not an addict. I’m only what you made me.

with Fem, wow.

~~~

can i post the next pic if i find one?

 

[Chantilyvamp]

Not quite a thousand words and not very well thought out but here ya go.

here's the next pic. what do u make of this?

http://i110.photobucket.com/albums/n91/jfemininity/16.jpg

The night before once again he had drank himself into a state. Cussing and yelling all over the house. he went on and on that I was cheating, that I wasn't a good wife, that I had tried to kill him with the food. I tried to stay out of his way, but that just enraged him more. He had pulled out his lighter and kept it going, grabbed my arm and slammed the top of it into my soft flesh. The bastard then held it there as I screamed in pain. I told him I wouldn't put up with shit like this. Why couldn't he listen to me. Why did he always have to push my buttons till I was no longer in control. I warned him and he didn't listen. He'll listen now. You can only push someone so far and then you have to understand that they will snap.

Earlier, after he had finally passed out around eight o'clock I had quietly one back into our room. I took his cigarettes and went back downstairs. I went dazed into the kitchen and pulled the loose bullets of the gun box. I sat down with it all in my lap. I put on my favorite show 'House'. I slowly sat there picking out just enough tobacco with a toothpick and laughing over the good doctors wry sense of humor. I laughed even more when 'Cold Case' came on. I was pretty sure this was one case that wouldn't take long to figure out. I took a long sip of iced tea and pushed the bullet into the end of the cigarette.

Standing up I noticed it was already two o'clock I would need to get everything ready encase he woke up early. I gathered the cigarette up and went back into our room. He looked hauntingly beautiful laying there asleep in the bed. I almost couldn't do it. he didn't look like he could harm anyone, but I knew that was a lie. Touching my arm again I felt the rage burning up inside me. I slipped the cigarette onto the night stand where it always went and made sure to put the lighter with blackened pieces of my skin still on the top next to it.

I walked out of the room and left him sleeping. I knew he would be like clockwork so I sat downstairs in the living room and waited patiently. Always at 3am he got up went and had a piss and then went outside to have a smoke. This time he'd realize that I was not in the mood for anymore bullshit. Slowly I rubbed the burn on the inside of my arm. Wincing from the memory of how he put it there I knew I was going down a path that I could not return from. Looking up at the clock on the DVD player I knew it was near time. Just a few minutes more to wait. He'll listen to me now. Sure enough one minute to the hour I heard the thud of his feet on the floor.

I listened to him padding his way into the bathroom and I heard him take his piss because he never shut the fucking door just as normal. I heard the flush of the toilet and could see in my head the toilet seat being left up so I would fall into it if I went in the middle of the night. I heard him walk through the house like he always did , stumbling back and forth hitting the walls as he went. He walked right past my chair. I sat as still as possible, cringing, not even daring to take a breath for fear he would find me. He stumbled on not even noticing me as he grumbled to himself about the bitch he married. He just thought I was a bitch before. I told you not to fucking push me. He went down the hall and out the back door. I waited with nails gripping into the arms of the chair. I heard the slow flick of the light and then the explosion happened and his screams started. he neighbors were used to the screaming so no one would come. I had heard the thud and I knew that there would be a lot of blood. I sat there for the longest time just breathing in and out slowly. I finally got up locked all the doors and went into the bedroom. I changed my clothes and went to bed. I slept so deep and peaceful. The best sleep that I had been able get in years.