Chapter One  Chapter 1

As a reporter, I learn things about the human race that are often…alarming, often sickening. The rape, for example, of a young 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.
Anyway, before I get any further with the adventures I have to tell you, let me introduce myself. After all, I will be your guide to shocking events and taboo pleasures.
My name is Trelawney, Rebecca Trelawney.
I guess I’m about average height; a well-muscled five-eight. Though I’m not slender, I find that the one man in my life thinks that my build is…highly arousing. My hair is shaggy, a burnished red that I like. For the foreseeable future, at least. He also has an affection for my eyes; clear, direct blue.
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Animal Farm Chap2
   I heard the clip of hooves on concrete before I opened my eyes. The sound of it made my heart stutter in my chest. Surely, they didn’t expect something else to fuck me again so soon
I felt the hands slide out of my two orifices and breathed a sigh of relief. Then came the slow dribble of dog semen and male cum.
When something sniffed at me, I gathered up the energy to turn my head and look behind me. I think my eyes popped wide, nearly bugging out of my head, if the laughter was anything to go by.
Benjamin stood over me, a long thick pole in one hand (literally, not metaphorically) and a chunk of rope in the other. On the end of the rope was a very large, very aroused boar.
“Holy shit!” The sight of that gaping mouth and the sharp incisors fuelled my energy levels from zero to rocket. I scrambled to my feet and leaped toward Ryan, trusting him to protect me from the beast.
Rhianna laughed her tinkle laugh and leaned down to stroke her hands over the wiry hair of the boar’s sides. He hunched his hips as she crouched and began to stroke his sheath firmly. “I’d like you to meet Dojo. He’s very friendly, and harmless unless you try to get between him and his sow during mating.”
I took another step back, just in case. “Does he bite during…when he…”
Ben looked at me quietly, with those beautiful eyes that had held me fast even as he fucked me, and smiled. “We fasten a ‘bit’ in his mouth when he’s covering. It stops him from being able to close his mouth fully. But he isn’t for you today.”
I blinked. “He’s not” Oh, thank God!
“No.” Something of the relief on my face must have shown through, because he grinned and cast those eyes on Ryan. “Ready to have your anal passage explored, Ry”
My lover’s face blanched so quickly I thought he was about to pass out. I grabbed hold of his arm, ready to steady him if he went down. His eyes locked on the boar, and the long cock Rhianna was busy manhandling.
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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.
More »