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TheTrinity
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| Halcyon+On+On |
Shut up, cunt.
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| PurpleHaze |
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| Acton |
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| ziptnf |
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| srussell0018 |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
The following sabbath would see to his crimson ceremony; upon that crepuscular dawn among wistful sighs he examined his flawed loins for a final time. Never again should they whisper to him depravities of sensation among the most baleful of evenings, their throbbing as the heart of conceit among such Earthly matters he could transcend as he had done every sin that chastised him. It could scarcely be called mutilation any more than silencing a recalcitrant child in the House of the True Lord could be called the same; it was sanitizing the soul, a most deserved ritual for a most undeserving servant. Praise be to the Lord, God, and his every Son.
Pliers affixed the greasy tubing, as he could hardly stand to touch that twitching shaft with his immaculate hands, gloved as they were. The pale skin had gone untouched save for the most sorrowful and desperate of moments since That Incident of Discipline so many years ago amid the pews and tomes of Presbyterian labyrinths, where the stewards of that false and Quitter God filched from him their extract. Years of distillation had made the form which now sat appended to his very taint, a wish to wash away the flesh of seeding probes and seething sin. Surgical meticulousness sewed those fingertips to that plastic tourniquet; a flick and yank of their joints saw his Owned Satan flush purple and limp betwixt his lapping thighs. He held his breath in abject shock as the first incision from that Oneida knife burst through the very neck of his Devilry, red flows made tributaries across his glistening and radiant thighs, like stained moons of the Final Days' menstruation reflecting the glory of His Wrath which would no doubt spare such a feeble devotee such as himself. Surprise whipped across his fixated glance downward as the gradual sawing met labour in a grating dull of tissue, deceptively resilient for such a delicate thread of Sin. Tears of reverent praise matched howls of sanctimonious flagellation as his nethers spewed a veritable river of blood when finally he clutched his now amputated corruption amid fingertips, it's lifelessness a blessed reminder of righteousness' triumph over That Infernal Adversary of The Holy Triumvirate.
He fashioned a great pile of gauze from the very pages of the Betrayer's King (James) scribblings, their worthless word a filthy and ingenuine testament to the absence of Time that God's true haecceity made itself known to his One Son so many years ago. Sweat poured down his temple, a baptism of Truth before the gorge he knew lay before him, undeathly whispers emanating from that limp and tiny carcass his very bowels churned as the furnace of Damnation hungered once more for such flesh to penetrate his very entrails. With a dry choke it slid down his throat, that foul Wyrm conquered by the very pit from once it came. Finality struck him slowly, between bouts of consciousness and shivering, what must surely be the embrace of The Son he had so beckoned in spirit with such a violent commitment to salvation and loyalty only to God's Eternal Love.
And then he registered on tranceaddict.com. |
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| Intellekshual |
Oh, Hal. :stongue:
Have my babies. |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
| Ok, but I reserve the right to the bed! |
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| Intellekshual |
As long as you hold my hand while I give birth (while I the bed)
That's what I heard I swear. :nervous:
Gaaaaahhhhhhhh. Never mind. |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
Oh, I'm minding.  |
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| TheTrinity |
fixed !!
| quote: | Originally posted by Halcyon+On+On
The following sabbath would see to his crimson ceremony; upon that crepuscular dawn among wistful sighs he examined his flawed loins for a final time. Never again should they whisper to him depravities of sensation among the most baleful of evenings, their throbbing as the heart of conceit among such Earthly matters he could transcend as he had done every sin that chastised him. It could scarcely be called mutilation any more than silencing a recalcitrant child in the House of the True Lord could be called the same; it was sanitizing the soul, a most deserved ritual for a most undeserving servant. Praise be to the Lord, God, and his every Son.
Pliers affixed the greasy tubing, as he could hardly stand to touch that twitching shaft with his immaculate hands, gloved as they were. The pale skin had gone untouched save for the most sorrowful and desperate of moments since That Incident of Discipline so many years ago amid the pews and tomes of Presbyterian labyrinths, where the stewards of that false and Quitter God filched from him their extract. Years of distillation had made the form which now sat appended to his very taint, a wish to wash away the flesh of seeding probes and seething sin. Surgical meticulousness sewed those fingertips to that plastic tourniquet; a flick and yank of their joints saw his Owned Satan flush purple and limp betwixt his lapping thighs. He held his breath in abject shock as the first incision from that Oneida knife burst through the very neck of his Devilry, red flows made tributaries across his glistening and radiant thighs, like stained moons of the Final Days' menstruation reflecting the glory of His Wrath which would no doubt spare such a feeble devotee such as himself. Surprise whipped across his fixated glance downward as the gradual sawing met labour in a grating dull of tissue, deceptively resilient for such a delicate thread of Sin. Tears of reverent praise matched howls of sanctimonious flagellation as his nethers spewed a veritable river of blood when finally he clutched his now amputated corruption amid fingertips, it's lifelessness a blessed reminder of righteousness' triumph over That Infernal Adversary of The Holy Triumvirate.
He fashioned a great pile of gauze from the very pages of the Betrayer's King (James) scribblings, their worthless word a filthy and ingenuine testament to the absence of Time that God's true haecceity made itself known to his One Son so many years ago. Sweat poured down his temple, a baptism of Truth before the gorge he knew lay before him, undeathly whispers emanating from that limp and tiny carcass his very bowels churned as the furnace of Damnation hungered once more for such flesh to penetrate his very entrails. With a dry choke it slid down his throat, that foul Wyrm conquered by the very pit from once it came. Finality struck him slowly, between bouts of consciousness and shivering, what must surely be the embrace of The Son he had so beckoned in spirit with such a violent commitment to salvation and loyalty only to God's Eternal Love.
And then he registered on tranceaddict.com. @ Sep 2004 as Halcyon+On+On |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
| Oh God, can I please plumb your cavernous gore womb? |
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