Barbara

   This is intended for adults 21 and over only. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of a sexual nature, please, don’t read this or download it.

If this is illegal where ever you are reading this stop now.

Warning : This chapter of the Barbara series involves more sexual humiliation and degradation of two girls. These parts include graphic depiction of group anal & oral sex, fisting, excessive participation in watersports, scat sex, and bestiality. If any of these graphic sexual scenarios offend you, stop now and read no further. This writing is for those who enjoy sexually explicit fantasy stories.

Kelly laid down on the floor taking her well deserved rest. Barbara got up making a trip to the kitchen. When she return it was apparent she was still horny as hell and looking for more crude nasty things to do.

Barbara returned with a pint of chocolate milk and a small plastic funnel. She helped Kelly back up on her knees, even though she wasn’t quite ready for more yet. Barbara took the funnel and inserted the end into Kelly’s asshole. She inserted the whole shaft portion in Kelly’s ass, first slipping in the tip, then shoving the rest of the plastic funnel shaft deep up inside her rectum. Once fully inserted with the flared out portion of the funnel resting on Kelly’s butt cheeks, she started pouring the container of chocolate milk into the funnel. It gurgled around slowly pouring into Kelly’s rectum.

Barbara had to shake and wiggle the funnel a bit in order to get all the milk inside her. Kelly knew what Barbara was up to, and like before, she attracted everyone to watch. Kelly even wiggled her cute butt around shaking the milk inside her. With her ass so high up in the air and moving around, she could feel the milk seeping deeper inside her body.

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Animal Farm   Chapter 1

    As a reporter, I learn things about the human race that are often…alarming, often sickening. The rape, for example, of a six-year-old girl as she played in the park with friends; the atrocity of war and the blood spilled by nations civilized and not-so.

My first exploration into journalism happened in my final year of high school; part of the work experience program the local council urged the headmaster to introduce to us tearaways who had no ambition in life, no career in mind.

I chose to follow a reporter around for those two weeks, and became so fascinated with the day-to-day routine of a country journalist that I enrolled in college and university to gain my degree in journalism.

But my desire was not that of my first tutor; no, I didn’t want the weekly spot in the county-wide paper, shoved between the Weekender section and the classified ads. I wanted to star in the country’s top papers, offering my story of the day far and wide from Scotland to Wales.

From the age of sixteen to twenty, I studied hard, and played little. When I wasn’t working my ass off, my spare time was taken up by the short articles and commentaries I wrote to bring in a bit of cash to pay the rent and buy my monthly packs of Bachelors dried soup.

By the time the ink dried on my degree, I’d applied for several jobs writing for daily tabloids, but none were responsive to my inquiries. Disheartened somewhat, I kept writing my opinions, my articles. Eventually, I launched my own website, posting my work twice daily.

The hits it received were…astronomical.
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All Over Red Rover

In the past, Peter_Pan has steadfastly refused to encroach on the subject of bestiality. It is a genre I personally find without any sexual merit, implicitly droll as well as being completely demeaning to the female fraternity.

Having said that however, a chance conversation with a young lady this week and I stress, she is a teenage girl of impeccable pedigree and diligence, fully catalysed my thoughts on this arguably sordid topic.

Her experience, recounted with neither regret nor embarrassment fully shocked me, but at the same time opened my eyes to the possibility that such an eventuality, whilst hardly a domestic ritual may perhaps occur with a greater frequency than we are led to believe.

    This is Sophie’s story.

Like millions of young girls worldwide, the last thing Sophie felt like doing was getting out of bed – let alone going to school. Bed was safety, comfort, warmth – the surrogate womb if you will. It was a place to dream of growing-up, of future romance and of late, somewhere to caress her developing body with not a little TLC. At fifteen now, masturbation had become as frequent an event in her life as flossing those pretty teeth.

If there is anything measurably sexier than a cute young schoolgirl first thing in the morning winging her way to the bathroom just moments after she’s woken up, I can’t immediately nominate it. Tousled hair flopping across her shoulders as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. Youthful figure barely concealed by that semi-transparent nightdress that seems to cling to everything it shouldn’t. And remember, I have three daughters!
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