7chan - elit

6165

>>6134
Oh yes! It was called High Tension, I just realized I ripped off that movie, except there was no lesbian sex scene. Also, that was set in France, not Spain. The story line will be slightly different however. (I don't plan on selling this story in the future anyway.) Promise to update the story in two hours (fap worthy!)

6164

bumping for the sheer hotness of a girl writing good loli. Honestly, damn.

6163

god damn auto-sage

6162

>>6122
Delete the post.

6161

a old one, read this here X months ago. but still, quite refreshing to read.

6160

>>6103

Not her fault. Blame the formatting on 7chan.

Also, amazing! That update was <3

6159

I'm sure i read it here, It was a story about a guy who goes fishing every other weekend at some lake. while he fishes his loli daughter swims. they meet some other guys fishing who eventually have sex with her while he pretends to be passed out. any idea where i can find it?

6158

just a little friendly bump ^^

6157

meeds moar cowbell

6156

>>6128

True, I (no longer provably, damn the board-wipe!) wrote this. Amusingly, I was just about to break it out for my own purposes when I discovered it was reposted here. I have a.. couple more, in the works, but I doubt I will ever finish them or post them.

I have to say, it's something of an ego-trip to see it reposted: I wasn't really certain if it was any good, put apparently someone liked it.

And yes, the TG is kinda weird. So sue me :P

6155

Trian was still standing in the oubliette when Alair arrived, the claustrophobic chamber lit by a single handlamp, though shadows still clung to its corners. Vanin lay, still unconscious, in its center. His broken nose had bled out over most of his chin, his mask and cowl encrusted with it. One eye was swelled shut. Trian had been almost as brutal as Renault would allow, Alair thought, and he didn't necessarily disapprove.
"He'll live," the assassin said, by way of greeting.
Not if I have my way. "Strip him. Hang him by the ankles." Trian looked from his prone comrade to the Grand Inquisitor, nodding once.
"How is she?" Trian asked, kneeling down to peel away Vanin's mask, the translucent material sticking to his split lip, which bled anew as the scab was torn away. His head was shaved, only the slightest traces of stubble visible.
"She, too, will live," Alair sighed. "Though not the same life as she had before she was brought here." Trian only grunted in response, pulling the unconscious man's tunic off and unbuckling his belt. "What did he do to her?"
"You don't know?" He looked up, surprised.
"When I arrived, he was already unconscious and bleeding."
"Hasn't stopped you before." Vanin's boots made a heavy thunk as Trian tossed them aside, tugging the other assassin's trousers down with some effort.
"And I assure you it won't stop me now." Alair crossed to the wooden frame, unlocking the iron bonds, then returning to the room's center to grab the assassin by his wrists, Trian taking his legs and then locking them into place. "Obviously, I missed the entire ordeal. What did you find out?"
"Nothing. ... The only thing he said was 'I had her first.'" Alair's head jerked up at this, nose wrinkling as if to curl his lips back in a snarl.
"He wouldn't!"
There was a weak laugh.
"No," Vanin admitted, "I wouldn't."
Trian glanced from the bound man to the inquisitor, landing a kick in Vanin's chest that rattled the frame noisily in the small, dank room. "I can't watch this." Without waiting for Alair's dismissive hand-wave, he turned and stalked from the room, leaving his master unable to judge the distance he'd travelled by his ascending footsteps.
"You know where you are, I assume," Alair said coldly.
"The oubliette. You've had others brought here," Vanin said, almost nonchalantly.
"Do you know what it means?"
"Enlighten me," Vanin said, his tone sarcastic.
"'Forgotten.' It means forgotten. I could leave you down here, and you would pass into memory, and soon, from it."
"Not hers," he replied, his tone superior. "Whatever you do to me, she'll remember me for the rest of her life."
"And suffer for it," Alair agreed, nodding. "Justice is balance, Vanin. You will remember her and suffer for her for the rest of your own life." His tone was cold and final, laced with a malice that seemed unbecoming in a paladin. He reached for the oil lamp. "Just what did you do to her?"
"What motivation do I have to answer you?" the assassin asked, almost smug.
"A clean death," he offered. "Salvation, perhaps."
Vanin laughed uproariously at that: "You think I care about being saved? Not all of us buy into your rituals and rites."
"What did you do to Reina?" Alair asked, tone slightly impatient.
"Don't you think she deserves to know?" Vanin riposted.
"You are in no position to ask questions."
"Why haven't you told her about her relationship with Achmed?" He'd scarcely spoken the words before the inquisitor's mailled boot struck him in the temple, knocking him unconscious again.
Alair simply waited for the assassin's groggy groan as he reawoke. "What," he snarled, "did you do to her?"
"She's still of use to you," Vanin replied. "You can still use her and the Ascili girl in the conversion."
"And you think that's all I care about, whether she's of use to me?" His hands trembled with rage, knuckles white. He lifted one hand. Vanin screamed; his flesh sizzling as the lamp oil dripped down over the soles of his feet, along the backs of his calves, reaching so far as his knees. "How could you?" the grand inquisitor snarled.
"I never lay with her!" The assassin shouted back at him, but it came out almost pleading. No help; the excruciating burning sensation consumed his other leg as well, the scent of burning hair and searing flesh wafting into the air between the two. Dipping his hand toward the assassin's heel once more, the oils that had run over his legs caught fire, renewing Vanin's howls of pain. "She fellated me," he screamed.
"You made her! On Deus' altar, you made her!" The other leg was set aflame, Mordern seething. Even Vanin's prolonged torment didn't satisfy him. "Remember her," he commanded. "Remember her and know that before this place she was pure and devoted and righteous, and you turned her body and her faith against her. Death is not enough! Eternity in the Nightmares of Dumah is not enough. I may be a long while coming after you into those nightmares. Castilliare awaits you there; her king awaits you. Her father awaits you. May they make you pay the penances I cannot." Vanin's breath was ragged, the flames growing dim as the oil burnt itself out.
"Thought your kind only dealt with heresies," the assassin breathed.
"This isn't?" the Grand Inquisitor asked, turning from the assassin to a small rack of tools and implements. "You defiled an altar of the One True God and sullied one of Saint Ascili's lineage." His rage had gone cold now, a long, heavy saw in his hand, which he aligned with the cleft between Vanin's legs.
With the first stroke, Vanin screamed.

After the first hour, he stopped, his own copious blood dripping into his mouth, still awake enough for him to swallow. The oubliette stank of urine and feces and rust and salt, the paladin's black breastplate spattered with blood. He had barely proceeded past the assassin's pelvis.
"Why?" he asked.
"Tell me you don't desire her," Vanin countered, regretting it imeddiately as the inquisitor pulled the saw roughly through his body.
"Not like that, not begging for mercy."

The second hour went slower, sawing through Vanin's hipbones.
"You knew she was forbidden."
"You know she still is, to you."

Alair finally stopped after the third hour, the teeth of his saw splitting the Ithruaeli captive's navel. He was still conscious -- thanks to being hanged upside-down.
"She will hate you for this."
"It had to be done."
"Why?" the assassin asked.
"You are in no position to ask questions," the inquisitor repeated, and left him hanging there, his upper body covered in a sheen of blood that dripped off of Vanin's bald head and pooled on the oubliette's floor. It would still take him hours to bleed out. He might even make it until nightfall, but by the morning, Vanin would have passed into memory and into Nightmare.

6154

(Again, no erotic content tonight. Had to tie up some loose ends with the ~~Spanish~~ Velician Inquisition; should be back on track for Sunday night's update.)

Alair's chambers stood in stark contrast to the spartan room that had held Reina. The walls and floor were still hewn stone, a single high window on the eastern wall casting a beam of morning sunlight into the room. His bed was plush, covered by a heavy quilt; tapestries hung from the walls. There were bookshelves full of tomes bound in ancient leather with gold-leaf titles worn with time; unlit candles were scattered throughout the small, sumptuous room. Below that high window was a small wooden frame, a pane of glass trapping a twist of hair behind it. Reina crossed to it instinctively, fingertips delicately tracing the silvering wood.
"Saint Amra Ascili," he murmured, by way of explanation.
"I didn't think the Ithuraeli cared much for her bloodline," she replied, gaze still transfixed on that improbable twist of gold.
"Without her, you'd still be paying tribute to the Avalescan pantheon," he reminded the paladin. Her cheeks flushed slightly, embarrassed she had forgotten. "She encouraged monotheism in her homeland and in Velicia, and it's because of her so many pay homage to Deus. The Ithuraeli could not have asked for a greater missionary. Did you know ..." and here he trailed off, his brow furrowing. The girl turned her head to gaze curiously at Mordern over her shoulder. He cleared his throat. "That you and Thais are probably distant cousins?" She shook her head. "Tobias as well. Only those of Ascili's bloodline have the wherewithal to direct the divine energy that suffuses them."
Reina pursed her lips, seeming to consider this. "And you?" she added. The inquisitor was still for a long moment, his surprise disallowed from affecting his features. He nodded, once. "What about Sirius?"
"Resarvon?" He asked, the girl nodding. "He is of Paithan Caelius' line, which should not surprise you." She shrugged in response, as if it hadn't. "Reina," he addressed her after a long lapse into silence. "I should see to ..." he coughed. "To him. Shall I have Trian keep you company?"
"Alair," she responded, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Don't go." Her brow creased slightly at the thought, lips turning downward almost imperceptibly. She turned slowly to face him, Ascili's relic forgotten.
"What would you have me do?" he asked.
"I ..." She gestured, frustrated with her own inability to speak properly. "Would you have a bath drawn for me? That is ... would anyone notice, or would they question it?" He reached out as if to smooth her hair, wanting to brush those stray strands out of her face. Don't touch me, she had commanded. He wouldn't. He shouldn't even want to.With no way to disguise the gesture as something else, something natural, Alair let his hand drop back to his side. He nodded. "Are you going to pull me around by my hair?"
"No," he promised. "Let them think you're my ... consort." Reina turned her gaze from him then, face flushing. With anger, he supposed, taking her gently by the shoulder and leading her out into the corridor.

Consort, he thought as one of the Dragianese slave girls prepared the bath. What an absurd concept. Reina Alheras. His consort? It would never come to pass. He looked over at her grateful smile but could only nod. "I should see to my business. Melain will take care of you."
"Where are you going?"
"You can't possibly be suggesting I watch you bathe," he replied. She huffed, but nodded. Good. He didn't want to know what it would mean if she had been suggesting as much. "You may feel free to read my books," he allowed. "I will send Trian for you. Would you like to see Thais?" He couldn't let her dwell on what was to become of Vanin -- on the one hand, it might be fulfilling to her to know he would die, but he would not allow her to watch him suffer first.
"Not today," she replied, glancing from the inquisitor's shoulder up to his face.

She embraced him, nuzzling his chest. Vetyver, still, but she could barely smell it through the smoky remnants of frankincense. The sweet scent comforted her; reminded her of the cathedrals in Ascili City, places where no harm would come to her. The scent had been absent from the chapel when Vanin had ... assaulted her. It was uncorrupted. Not like her, who would never be pure again. Alair kissed the top of her head softly, then pulled away from her. She didn't want him to go, feeling as if he pulled the center of her being with him. It didn't make sense. He turned from her, pausing at the door to glance back with a pained expression as Melain pulled her charge gently toward the bath. He closed the door behind him, the paladin glancing unsurely at Melain before undressing and stepping into the steaming water. The dark-skinned girl smiled at her, tossing her shining black hair over one shoulder.
"Fafir Achmed am?" she asked, her smile knowing and her eyes glinting with mischief.
"I only speak Avalescan," she murmured, shrugging apologetically. Ithuraeli might have been worth her time for the study of sacred texts; Dragianese had seemed ever a waste of time. Melain only shrugged back at her.
"Lari Melain. Tu?"
"Reina," she replied. "Lari Reina." The paladin relaxed back into the tub, letting the warmth suffuse her body. She could only hope -- desperately -- that Melain would take the hint that she didn't want a lesson in Dragianese. She didn't need a lesson in Dragianese to recognize Achmed's name, spoken with the girl's lilting accent. Alair would have to translate for her. "Fafir Achmed am," she murmured mostly, to herself, and was surprised to hear a response.
"Ba, fafir Achmed an-gal. Ba am." Reina opened her eyes halfway to see Melain shake her head. She didn't look offended, Reina noted, which meant the question couldn't have been as bad as she thought, or she was simply shameless. Probably the latter, Reina found herself thinking as Melain dipped a pitcher into the water, slowly pouring it over the girl's head, blonde hair clinging to her shoulders. Reina slowly sat up, holding a hand out expectantly; Melain producing a small sea-sponge, probably harvested not far from here. If she were as far south as she thought, Reina added, keeping herself in check. "Ba," she chided, smiling condescendingly at the fairer girl and pushing her hair over one shoulder. She rubbed the sponge lightly over Reina's shoulders, then down her back, her light touches seeming to slowly rid the paladin of that coiled-up feeling. Reina sighed, contentedly, water splashing lightly against the edges of the tub. Melain leaned forward, sbrushing the sponge over Reina's collar, tickling the hollow of her throat.
In an instant, the paladin had grabbed the girl by the wrist and yanked her forward, the Dragianese slave landing on the floor with a surprised cry. Reina's jaw was set, brows furrowed in anger before she realized what had happened, looking from the spone bobbing on the turbulent waters to the shocked girl on the floor. "I'll do it," she said stiffly, letting Melain's wrist go. The slave eyed her warily, retrieving her small pitcher as Reina scoured her own skin, leaving angry red in her wake. She'd never be clean again, no matter how much hot water Melain poured over her.

6151

[http://img.7chan.org/elit/src/122077393742.jpg]

And that's it for now...

I've got two more stories in the works for SW, one is a gang-bang bukkake rape of Lynnette(for 4chan, as they've affectionately labeled her "Cum Dumpster" and, hey, who am I to argue) and an Fdom Spanking piece with Sakamoto and Perrine...

I may do more in the future for the series, but I'll have to see what inspiration I'm struck with.

6150

Her hand flying over her clit now, Francesca approached her second orgasm, taking the pliers in one foot as she continued to stroke Charlotte's cock with the other. Her hand moving in a wild blur, Francesca came, arching her back as her nectar dribbled from her spasming pussy, she finally pinched the release leaver on the vice grips at the peak of Charlotte's throbbing need.

With an echoing howl like a wild beast, Charlotte came, her body wracked with agonizing spasms as her cock shot straight up, covering her face and torn uniform top with a stream of cum for nearly a minute before it paused, only for the second lengthy spurt to begin. Francesca had seized her cock in her feet after the initial pulse, and aimed it down, spraying herself with powerful jet after powerful jet of sticky, white spunk.

Francesca laughed, loving the feel of hot, sticky ejaculate raining down over her face and body as Charlotte sobbed in relief as her balls wrung themselves dry of a seemingly inexhaustible spray of cum.

Panting and finally hanging limp for the first time in over an hour, Charlotte watched Francesca with hooded eyes as she gleefully luxuriated in the afterglow of her orgasm, tracing her finger through the trails of slimy cum that hung like damp paper mache from the sides of her face. Scooping up a bit, she let it drizzle slowly out from between her fingers, sliding down toward her outstretched tongue as Charlotte watched in anticipation.

Opening her eyes, she shot a wicked look at Charlotte and instead flicked her fingers at her, flinging the gob up to splat against her cheek with the rest.

"You slutty little tease," Charlotte muttered.

"Yep!" Francesca said, rolling over on all fours and stretching like a cat, showing off her olive-toned ass to Charlotte, now covered with streaks of oil and dirt. She looked back over her shoulder and grinned, wiggling her bum before standing up and walking over to the still blinking red emergency button. Flipping up the cover she pressed the button, and the metal bars retracted with a pneumatic hiss, releasing Charlotte's legs for the first time what seemed like days.

Mustering what little strength she had left, she pulled her legs up and out of her striker unit, standing on the metal support housing to lift her arms, freeing them of the cargo strap before she used up her strength, falling forward.

"SHIRLEY!" Francesca screamed, diving forward and catching the falling girl, grunting under the weight as the two collapsed to the floor, breaking her fall.

"Shirley," Francesca cried, shaking her friend gently by the shoulders, "Shirley, are you ok Shirley! Please be ok.. I didn't mean to hurt you... "

Shirley reached up, hugging the tearful girl around the waist fiercely. "I'm ok... but just do one thing."

"What?" Francesca asked, hugging her friend and lover back.

"Oh god, promise me you'll never do anything like that to me again and I'll never so much as look at anyone else."

"Oh," Francesca said mollified, "I just wanted to make sure you understood what you mean to me... I just... I just don't want to lose you..."

"Oh Francesca," Shirley said, sitting up beside the younger girl and wiping away her tears, "You'll never lose me... nobody I have sex with is the same as you. You know there's nobody that can take your place in here," she said sappily, tapping her ample bosom.

Francesca giggled and hugged her friend back. "Besides," Francesca said mischievously, "I didn't mean I wasn't going to share you... I just want to know first."

Looking quizzically down at her lover, Charlotte pondered that a bit before she heard someone calling out in the back of the hangar.

"H-Hello?!" Came Perrine's hesitant call, "Flight Lieutenant Yeager? I got a message to come see you about WHAT IN THE WORLD?!"

Francesca winked at Shirley, grinning as her friends cock began to stir again. Both girls, still smeared with the spunk of their last escapade, turned to face Perrine with identical grins. "Hello Perrine!" Francesca called merrily, "We've been waiting for you!"

"Oh dear God not again..."

6149

Reaching up, Francesca yanked wildly at Charlotte's uniform top, ripping it open in a shower of buttons. She yanked the undershirt aside as well, exposing a swinging breast which she gleefully began to tease, rolling the swollen nipple between her teeth as Charlotte thrashed from side to side beneath her.

Charlotte felt the surging deep in her balls again, and she pleaded with Francesca, "Please, Francesca... please let me cum."

"You wanna come with me," Francesca panted, bouncing away on the pulsing prick buried deep in her snatch.

"Yes!" Charlotte cried, her head lolling backward "Yes, let's come together."

Francesca wrapped her hand around Charlotte's uniform, knotting her hand into the small of her back as she moved her other hand down to the pliers. Wrapping her legs tightly around Charlotte's waist, Francesca ground her cunt against her, the tip of Charlotte's cock swirling at the entrance of Francesca's womb.

"Gonna cum... gonna cum!" Francesca panted, her eyes glazed over in lust as she continued to crush herself down onto Charlotte's throbbing cock.

"Please!" Charlotte pleaded, "Take them off! Let me cum! I'm going to cum!"

Francesca reached down, gripping the pliers in her hand as the throbbing in Charlotte's cock reached it's peak, but instead of taking them off, she twisted the tension rod, barely loosening them by one turn.

Charlotte yelped as she came so close to release, writhing against her bonds. Francesca rode the thrashing girl for all she was worth, screaming her own orgasm before losing her grip. She managed to slide down the blonde, rather than simply falling off, Charlotte's cock withdrawing from her still throbbing cunt with a perverse slurping sound as her feet hit the floor. Francesca fell to her knees, weak, and then lay backward, playing gently with her little clitty in the afterglow as Shirley sobbed above her.

"Wow," Francesca said, lifting a foot to stroke Charlotte's quivering member, "That's amazing..." Charlotte's cock was purple now, swollen and angry and ready to burst. Her balls practically sloshed with unspent cum, and Francesca could see the veins bulge with each twitch.

"Please," Charlotte whimpered, hanging limply from her bonds, "Please let me cum!"

"I don't know," Francesca said, stroking her toes along the underside of Charlotte's red member. "This has been a whole bunch of fun. I kind of like my toy like this."

"But..." Charlotte said, hating herself for saying the words, "But I want to come... for you. I want you to let your cock spray you with all the spunk you want! I want you to make your cock jump and buck and fire load after load all for you!"

"Tada~," Francesca giggled, "You said the magic words..."

Francesca brought her feet together on either side of the pulsating shaft in front of her, gripping it in the arches of her feet, stroking it between her feet. Charlotte gritted her teeth, and slowly began moaning as the enflamed pain of her cock gave way to pleasure yet again.

Francesca's hand were busy in her pussy, stroking her clit with one hand as she thrust a pair of fingers in, matching that rhythm with the strokes of Charlotte's cock. She whispered softly to herself in passion, her slick fingers driving their way into her secret folds as she softly stroked the burning length of Charlotte's dick.

Charlotte's head thrashed from side to side. She was sure she would have come a half dozen times by now without Francesca's interference, and the ache deep in her belly and balls was almost too much to bear, and it certainly threatened to blot out the pleasure building in the base of her cock from even Francesca's expert touch.

Francesca opened the toes on one foot wide, pushing Charlotte's cock between her larger toes and frigging it gently up and down. Showing off her flexibility, she brought her other foot to her mouth, laving the ball of her foot with her tongue before returning it to the head of Charlotte's cock, rolling the spittle-slick weight of it against the underside of her member where the head and shaft meet, gripping the glans with her toes.

Despite the ache, Charlotte began to feel the rising passion in her cock, mewling softly as Francesca's delicate feet brought her once more the brink of climax.

"Please," Charlotte begged in a low whisper, unsure if Francesca could even hear her but not caring, "Please let me cum... for you," she added hastily, "Let me make your cock cum for you!" Charlotte was pushed to her breaking point, her back arched as far as she could, every muscle taut as piano wires as she pleaded with her eyes to for Francesca to grant her a release.