Prøphet
natural selection playing out in a godless way.
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Brus Wane
A Man Is 1 of 3 Things: Bull, Incel or Cuckold
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November 1849, midnight.
Deep in the heart of Georgia, in the master bedroom of Ashb Manor, a woman's fingers clawed at silk sheets that cost more than most men earned in a year.
Her white night gown lay discarded on the floor.
Her body moved in rhythms she had not chosen, rhythms commanded by someone else entirely.
But the man touching her was not her husband.
Her husband sat 3 ft away in a velvet armchair positioned at the perfect angle to see everything.
His paralyzed legs were hidden beneath a wool blanket embroidered with the Ashb family crest.
His hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white as bone.
His gray eyes never blinked, never wavered, never looked away for even a single second.
He watched what was happening on that bed with an intensity that bordered on religious ecstasy.
Slower, Theodore Ashby commanded, his voice thick with something that sounded like hunger and hatred and desperate need all twisted together.
I want to see her face.
I want to see everything.
The slave, Daniel, obeyed.
He always obeyed.
And Rosalind Ashby made the sounds she had learned to make, performed the reactions she had been taught to perform because Theodore demanded a show, and she had learned what happened when she failed to deliver.
Tell me you want this," Theodore whispered, wheeling himself closer to the bed.
"Tell me you need this.
Tell me you're grateful.
" Rosalyn's eyes were wet with tears she refused to let fall.
She forced out the words Theodore had written for her, the script she performed every single night in this theater of degradation.
"I want this.
I need this.
I'm grateful.
" "Grateful for what?" Theodore's voice hardened.
"Say all of it.
Grateful that you provide for me.
Grateful that you watch over me.
Grateful that you control everything.
Theodore sat back in his chair, satisfaction spreading across his face.
In this room, through Daniel's body, he could finally feel like a man again.
He could finally own something that his ruined body could not take for itself.
And in that bedroom, in that house built on cotton money and human suffering, the ritual continued as it had every night for 93 nights.
Because 6 months later, Theodore Ashby would be found dead in this very bed, a pillow pressed over his face, his eyes bulging with the terror of his final moments.....
Could be him, too
Yikes
Deep in the heart of Georgia, in the master bedroom of Ashb Manor, a woman's fingers clawed at silk sheets that cost more than most men earned in a year.
Her white night gown lay discarded on the floor.
Her body moved in rhythms she had not chosen, rhythms commanded by someone else entirely.
But the man touching her was not her husband.
Her husband sat 3 ft away in a velvet armchair positioned at the perfect angle to see everything.
His paralyzed legs were hidden beneath a wool blanket embroidered with the Ashb family crest.
His hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white as bone.
His gray eyes never blinked, never wavered, never looked away for even a single second.
He watched what was happening on that bed with an intensity that bordered on religious ecstasy.
Slower, Theodore Ashby commanded, his voice thick with something that sounded like hunger and hatred and desperate need all twisted together.
I want to see her face.
I want to see everything.
The slave, Daniel, obeyed.
He always obeyed.
And Rosalind Ashby made the sounds she had learned to make, performed the reactions she had been taught to perform because Theodore demanded a show, and she had learned what happened when she failed to deliver.
Tell me you want this," Theodore whispered, wheeling himself closer to the bed.
"Tell me you need this.
Tell me you're grateful.
" Rosalyn's eyes were wet with tears she refused to let fall.
She forced out the words Theodore had written for her, the script she performed every single night in this theater of degradation.
"I want this.
I need this.
I'm grateful.
" "Grateful for what?" Theodore's voice hardened.
"Say all of it.
Grateful that you provide for me.
Grateful that you watch over me.
Grateful that you control everything.
Theodore sat back in his chair, satisfaction spreading across his face.
In this room, through Daniel's body, he could finally feel like a man again.
He could finally own something that his ruined body could not take for itself.
And in that bedroom, in that house built on cotton money and human suffering, the ritual continued as it had every night for 93 nights.
Because 6 months later, Theodore Ashby would be found dead in this very bed, a pillow pressed over his face, his eyes bulging with the terror of his final moments.....
Could be him, too
Yikes
D
Deleted member 301467
wish i was smarter
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is that a tranny?
acm
acm is dead
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type shit
lalalanotlistening
what does ascend mean?
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this is why i like being short and weak. if women want to feel safe they need to go for guys like me
4Christ_sake
Zephir
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That video genuinely made me get the ick
it’s like crying about abuse when you have never been abused
walee
Foid Butcherer
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Stupid ass whore
