Post something erotic you've written: bad fanfiction or something serious of yours

too obscure

I love survivalism and I enjoy portraying how I think things would devolve with the loss of civilization, law, and so on and so forth. One part of it was to include a hardcore 3rd-wave feminist, quite hateful towards men and expecting special treatment. That was the first book, and she got a cold, hard dose of reality. Without the rule of law to keep her safe, without Police to go after those who cause her injustice, all she is is a woman. Physically much weaker than men, and I repeat that, 'men', not the pathetic soy boys you see with male feminists and boys on the far left. She experiences, possibly for the first time in her hateful life, helplessness. Throughout much of the novel she maintains resentment, maintains hate, but in time comes to realize that she won't make it on her own and needs someone to protect her and provide for her. She's just lucky that the man she had tried to kill turned out to be, though brutish and crass, a capable survivalist and not an outright murderer. He could have easily had his fun with her and then killed her, he also smacked her around several times when she spouted her ideological nonsense, but in the end he won't outright kill her. He's even shown himself capable of obviously not only keeping himself alive but she herself would be dead if not for him.

So I guess a major message in that first novel is that men and women are in fact different, and though the WORD 'marriage' was likely never so much as uttered it still stands to reason that it was developed for a reason. If a man mated with a woman for the sake of getting offspring, only kept her around long enough to breastfeed them until they were no longer infants, then abandoned her so that it's one less mouth to feed, women would know nothing but suffering. Women's average lifespan, historically, before proper civilization, would have perhaps been 20 or 25. Men are bigger, stronger, with bigger hearts, bigger lungs, thicker bones, and so on and so forth. Men need women for children, while women and children need men in order to have the best chance possible to continue to live. The only reason why women have enjoyed such independence for the past 50-100 years is thanks to societal and technological advancements. Well what happens when you take that away? You better hope that woman is armed, because otherwise she's helpless.

Sounds like an absolutely horrible political tract. Whatever gets you going, I guess.

>kikes
>s
>klondike
>ike
>troglodyte
>yte
>mike
>ike
2/4

It's made me a few hundred dollars, not bad. It was certainly very fun to write and I will be writing more sequels in time. I have a few readers who ask me every now and then when the next one is coming out, so while there are indeed some who absolutely despise it (I think mostly on the basis of it going against their ideology) there are absolutely some who very much enjoy it. They too are into survivalism it would seem so their enjoyment of it doesn't seem to be solely based on, say, Conservative views.

...

>you better hope that woman is armed, because otherwise she's helpless

Wouldn't anyone be helpless if unarmed in your shitty fantasy? Who cares about physical strength when you have a gun?

The whole thing sounds abysmal and just a masturbatory exercise over some girl that didn't return your hamfisted attempts towards flirtation. You should probably spend some time actually thinking about what you believe because if you have the willpower to write entire books you could actually write something that isn't meaningless drivel.

An unarmed man against an unarmed woman results in the man winning. An armed man against an unarmed woman results in the man winning. It is only with the woman being armed that she stands any chance. An armed woman against an unarmed man results in the woman winning. An armed woman against an armed man, and they stand pretty equal ground.

Seems to me like there's a lot of meaning in my writings, but hey, if you're in the leftist camp that women are entirely physically equal to men which has been shown utterly false time and time again then I guess we'll have to agree to disagree.

...

Wrote this in my journal today. Posting for keks.

>C lay somewhat at an angle, with her head at my groin and her flexed knees level with my eyeline. My gaze was thus drawn inevitably to the delicate beauty of her cunt, still swollen and puffy from my attentions, framed between the tender branches of her inner thighs, with the crescents of her buttocks converging behind. I stroked her left thigh reverently as she worked, engrossed in a vision of such erotic interest that my final rapture would be as much aesthetic as it was physical.

No, I am too embarrassed.

no because rape is never just and writing a rape scene is useless and evil. finally, you’re a pretty trash writer.

>The pistol was eyed on the night stand

I see, so you think that rape is never just. Not only that but the mere act of writing a rape scene is not just useless but inherently evil. Not everyone agrees with your views, and it seems to me that you're likely against free speech when that speech might be something you dislike.

Seems like a reasonable line. There was a pistol on the night stand and it was 'eyed', as in leered at for a time.

I once wrote a short story about my GF being tentacle raped by Cthulhu. Wonder if I can find it.

Just say "he eyed the pistol on the nightstand," passive voice is a little ridiculous in a situation to which you are trying to give a visceral, violent aspect.

I wrote some mother/son incest erotica
literotica.com/s/the-narratio-of-his-moms-fellatio

not the user you were responding to please say more.
you're very funny

>a /pol/lack hating feminism, again
Why are politics such a parody now that it ain't even funny anymore and instead tragic in its irony and stupidity.

beating people over the head with politics is obnoxious.
Also, not having some alt-rite boytoy get violently raped for worshipping nazis around black thugs or "America HOO-RAH" Oath Keepers is a pretty big sign of your lack of objectivity

bamp to prep a post.

Bisexual degenerate, to the tune of Motorlicker, while "frenzying" about BDSM (a term to describe some poor sap (me) who really wants to do kinky shit and thinks about it constantly and doesn't have anybody to do it with):

youtube.com/watch?v=hcmEwaLJXpI

THE CRACK OF MY CROP CREATES THE CREAM OF THE CROP FROM THE CRAP THAT BARELY MADE THE CUT TO GET INTO MY BOOT CAMP
AND I KNOW HOW TO RECRUIT, MAN I KNOW HOW TO RECRUIT, LICK THE BACK OF MY BLACK BOOT BITCH, BE MY BOOTBLACK
OMG, I'M AN OG, IN THE MEIJI, WITH A SHY GEISHA GIRL NAMED GIGI
IF SHE DOESN'T OBEY ME LIKE SHEPARD FAIREY I CAN JUST AS EASY GET HER BIG BROTHER GENJI

(refrain)

FROTTING FLUFFING FISTING FELCHING FILTHY FATHER FUCKING FAGGOT
BITCHING BUCKING KICKING CUNTING WINCING WRITHING WOMAN MAGGOT
ROMPING RUTTING RAPING RUMPING PRETTY SOON WE'LL ALL BE ROTTING
HELL'S A-POPPED IT DON'T DETER US FROM OUR FIRE FRICTION FROTTING

WRECKING DECKS, CASHING CHECKS, THROWING HEX AND GETTING SEX
BREATH THE PRESSURE, PLAY MY GAME I DREAMT A DREAM THAT I BECAME, I DREAMT A DREAM THAT WE BECAME, VIDI VICI AND THEN I CAME

(refrain)

I DREAMT A DREAM THAT I BECAME
I DREAMT A DREAM THAT HE BECAME
I DREAMT A DREAM THAT SHE BECAME
I DREAMT A DREAM THAT WE BECAME
I DREAMT A DREAM THAT WE BECAME
I DREAMT A DREAM THAT WE BECAME
I DREAMT A DREAM THAT WE BECAME
VIDI VICI, AND THEN I CAME
VICI VICIIIIII, AND THEN I CAME
AND THEN I CAME, AND THEN I CAME AND THEN I CAME etc.

I composed this before reading Crowley's Hymn to Pan. I was pleased to find that the latter held similar degenerate masculine energy.

huh

Put benis is pusy
Pusy dry
I am disappoint

OH SHIT no I gotta wait okay so you jump into it and then you OW and then you press right awayat the okay got it you jump into it. And then you FUCK! *swallows* Jump into it andthen you press OW STOP you gotta press it ever so slightly AWEWE GO BOOM AND THEN YOU why?you like go into the BOOM BOOM OKAY there yo-AAARGH JIZZ LOUISE kay UHHH AUHHH OKAY I gotta I gotta get there AEH AEH AAH AAH OKAY WOW you know you gotta drop AH OOOOH OKAY DROP okay AAAAAH you okay you gottawaitilpurpzgodownbelowokay UH UH oh nonononononono what are you doing there YOU'RE DRUNK SERIOUSLY you're drunk okay DEE DOO DOO DOO DOO DUUM NAAAAAWH hey what-what there mister UHH AHH damnyougotttaknowpurplezonsak UH AYE OH AYYEE UH GAWD HELL NO I GOTTA WAIT FOR THE PRPLE ONE SO CLOSE TO GETTING TO THE-to the tight part okay I better ummh I better just drop a UUUHH there OKAY DROP A JACK KAY GOOD OWWWH LOUL JIZZ LOUISE I better drop a CHAD when I'm up there oh shiez OOOH! SHIAET! oh-KAY LOWWWWWWWW am I just gonna fall I gotta I gotta OH SHIET! OH MY GOD I GOTTA LIKE HITEEEH AAAH WAAAH OH MY GOD that was so weird okay there you go so I gotta AYYY EEEEEYY EEEEEEEEEEYYYYEY EYEYEEYYEEEEY BAAAWAWOAOWAWO OOGAWUOGAWOUWAD WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU HITTING THERE YAAAS YAAH DUDE are you guys enjoying my PAIN? ARE YOU GUYS ENJOYING IT? GOOOWOUWOWUUWOWD

sorry for stream-of-consciousness btw

Go back to /mu/

I bet you're a real fucking fun and interesting writer and critic.

>At first his arousal at his mommy's plump mammaries disturbed him
>at his mommy's plump mammaries
>plump mammaries

I'm clear on what you're bringing attention to?

bump

Like I give shit what a rapist thinks.

But how do you mean "free speech"?
Not that legal fiction, "Freedom of Speech", surely. Actual free speech is fine with me, but you must expect consequences, as all is fair in actual free speech and actions.

Is there a penis holding that apron up?

ah if there were

...

PSYCHOSOMATIC
ADDICT INSANE

In short, this is one of the luxury rooms. I use room in the most loose of definitions here, since it’s more of a cordoned off section of the grounds which, thanks to the local physicality setting, actually matches what could be seen from the outside of the property. It was all pseudo-voyeur however, privacy and decency laws meant that we couldn’t actually be peeped upon, those people we could clearly see on the bridge a few hundred meters away downstream couldn’t see us. It was an invisible, perfect, one way mirror wrapped around us, a blanket of anonymity.

Not, of course, that our hind brains cared for such things. It was instinctive, if we could see them, they could see us. And that was exciting.

The burbling brook burbled perfectly following its perfectly imperfect path, as it was designed too. When the exterior of your establishment was fixed, and yet you could set it to be anything at all, you would naturally sculpt it to your utmost finesse. So, the Matron had. The style was minimalist in its control, ironically, and looked like a gardener who only had the opportunity to visit an hour a week had been keeping his expert eye on it all that he could. No plant was out of place, but no arrangement was high maintenance. The fact that the plants could manicure themselves isn’t acknowledged, as with anything here its not the how that’s important, but the why. It was a philosophical, beautiful, bouquet.

And it was my job to thoroughly distract any clients from noticing any of it, for if they had time to be admiring shrubbery then they weren’t admiring the real vistas they had paid to see.

I laid back onto the slope of the embankment, grass tickling my exposed shoulder blades and upper back. I wore a long white summer dress, tight against my body’s curves and B-cup breasts. It was balmy, and a breeze trickled off the flowing water over the both of us, carrying the clean scent of water-over-nature. “Stephen” leaned over me, casting me in his shadow, tucking a flower he had just picked behind my ear. The white of the daisy contrasting with brown dark enough to be black in dimmer light, he admired his handiwork and smiled satisfactorily. I reached up and traced a finger along his jaw.

He was in a loose starch white shirt he had unbuttoned twice at the top, grey flannel trousers cinched with a plain leather belt below. A dark navy jacket with red silk lining that he had removed lay next to me, from where we had been enjoying the simple pleasure of each others company in the sunlight. He was tall, pushing towards two metres, and leaning towards the bulkier side of masculine. Interestingly some of the bulk wasn’t muscle, and gave him a sense of presence that felt very real and almost powerful. He was heavy set, like a boulder in a river that refused to budge no matter what may come. A dominant chin framed his face, and brown pools of milky chocolate studied me.
(cont)

“Beautiful aren’t I.” I declared. He chuckled, made an acknowledging sound deep in his throat and leaned in. We kissed deeply. Eyes closed, the sounds around us becoming more acute. The burbling, the low murmur of crowds further away. A single warbling songbird. He broke the kiss and shifted, putting a hand either side of my head. I was surrounded by a cage made of his body, my lithe frame tiny by comparison.

“I wonder, Corpia, who you really are.” He leaned in and kissed my neck, nibbling the lightly tanned skin in a steady rhythmic way.

I gasped and squirmed underneath him, and he let up briefly to kiss me. Slowly, with enough speed to show a constrained haste, I dragged my hands across the front of his shirted body, up, up into his thick hair and stroked through it.

He leaned back, on his knees, admiring my form below him. My hands, dragged out of his hair by the motion, fell to either side of me, and I let myself be admired. The wind tousled my hair, and I felt the daisy shift behind my ear, tickling. The wind kicked up for a moment, and as it caressed my legs and invaded under my dress, following the slope of the embankment, I shivered. He frowned in puzzlement for a split second, then smiled and grabbed his jacket. With one hand he pulled me towards him, making me sit up, and with the other swept the jacket around my narrower shoulders. We were close now, a hairs breadth from leaning on each other. He sat back, kneeling over my lap in a seiza fashion, and I looked up towards him, eyes upwards in that manner so alluring to the masculine.

You can always see that moment, when the companionship and prior pleasantries ends, in their eyes. Like a candle when the wick really catches. It flares. The sudden lust.

His hands, large and strong, grasp my thighs and I reach for him again, pulling him into another kiss. Deep this time, deeper than before. Our tongues reach for one another and dance, sliding slickly, passionately, tasting each other. Our scents mixing as nose leans against nose. He traces his hands up my legs and around my hips, to grasp my buttocks, pushing my dress out of the way in the process.

Against my mouth I can feel him smile, or perhaps smirk. I wasn’t wearing any panties.

I squirm as his thick digits, portentous of other things I hope, massage my cheeks that easily fill his palms. I moan into his mouth and it escapes into the open air as the kiss ends. He leans down, back arching, and gently, gently, bites my nipples through the cloth of my dress. A guttural sound escapes my throat, and I throw my head backwards. The rough treatment send shocks of sensation coursing through me, and I feel myself stirring down below, starting to rise. The physical administrations start a fire beneath my skin.
(cont)

A glance downwards tells me he’s already at full attention.

My fingers glide down the back of his shirt and trace along the leather belt to find the buckle. With expert swiftness and efficiency I cast the barrier aside, it landing with an inaudible thump onto the grass. As his own fingers migrate to my nipples, eyes now watching me instead, I stroke his cock through his trousers, using my knuckles to stroke from base to tip, base to tip. His breath hisses outwards from clenched teeth.

“Why does that even feel so good.” He breaths. I smirk, glancing up towards him and kiss him quickly. With my other hand I undo the straining buttons and let the eight inch rigid pole of masculinity free, and begin to circle back and forth across the ridge of the helmet with a thumb, still giving the base and shaft its knuckle massage.

He moans this time, aloud and long. I continue like this, the pressure of my massage going through his trousers, until I dip my hand into the trousers completely, forcing them down as I reach to free his whole length. Having swapped hands I stroke the shaft along its entirity with steady strong motions, circling and teasing the tip with my other hand. His eyes close as he relaxes back and focuses on the attention, likewise I focus and give the best hand job I can manage.

I start to alternate between quicker and slower motions in a not quite repeating pattern, keeping everything different and new, occasionally cupping or massaging a ball or squeezing from base to tip, or tip to base. After a short while I can feel the tension tighten, and I start a rapid, demanding pace. I don’t let up, and a sound of pleasure and pressure keens from his throat. Its hot now, beneath my fingers, and my own now stands rigid, tenting the fabric of my dress, but is left unattended.

He cums, spraying thick off-white liquid into the air and there is silence for a moment, until it splats into the grass. The stream burbles, a distant crowd murmurs unknowing. His back arches as he relaxes again, tension draining, but his cock only wavers to half mast before stiffening again, and I smile.

“You’re good.” He compliments me.

“I know” I giggle, letting a little pride show. It seems to trigger something within him, as a fleeting expression, unreadable, ghosts across his face.

He shifts now, and pushes my legs to the sides as he resettles.
“Now for my main course.” His grin is truly hungry.
He grasps my legs again, shifting me so that we’re better aligned and I let out a slight quaver of excitement and expectation, pitched at just the right level of potential nervousness. His dick swings, thick and long and glistening with ropes of cum from his earlier ejaculation, slowly dribbling from the tip. My own is now lying erect against my stomach, four slender inches of boy.
(cont)

He leans in and I feel it find my entrance, the earlier attention helping lubricate my already slick boy-pussy. Part of our high standards meant all waitresses had lube glands, of course. Without waiting he pushed, thrusting deeply. The heat and presence of him blasted through me at the sudden sensation and I let out an involuntarily “ah”.

He started rocking, pumping into me at a steady rapid rate and I felt the world disappear, fading to a little sphere of him, his scent and the sensation of him inside me. He stretched my ass wide, hands all over me, my ass and my breasts. Our breath mixed in our little world, as we gasped and grunted and rocked back and forth. Mixed in were the smells of nature, grass just below me, and the sounds of others in the distance. It all added to our excitement, sent us over the edge of reason to some animal place of lust and wantonness.

He kept bumping into my special place, that small knot of pleasure, my prostate, and it was driving me mad. I was so sensitive, I’d been trained, and there especially had been coaxed into an on switch like no other. I abandoned all pretence of disguised masculinity, and moaned like the bitch I was.

I loved this character, I hardly had to pretend at all. Grasping his back, I felt the muscles and sinews shifting under skin starting to glisten with sweat, and we grunted and moaned together. I could hear as well as feel his balls slapping against my buttocks, my dress now riding high above, earning its latest grass stains.

He bent his head down again and bit my right nipple, this time without restrain, and I screamed in pleasure-pain, raking my nails down his back. As fast as I could, with all my failing strength, I matched him thrust for thrust. Slamming again and again against his unmovable boulder form. The ridge of his helmet scraped my prostate over and over, driving me wild.

Without a single touch from either party I could feel my marble-sized balls straining and tensing, cocklet slapping against my exposed stomach in ineffective abandonment. His long thrusts got longer and more forceful, almost slamming me against the ground. If it hadn’t been grass my back would have become a vivid canvas of purples, blues and raw reds.

It was a brutal, deliciously rough fuck. I screamed my pleasure out again. “Stephan you man! I’m going to...” and my voice faltered. I was close to losing it. “...going to cum!” He only grunted in response and bit my other nipple, pinning me to the ground with powerful hands, and just kept on fucking me. Like glass in slow motion, my mind splintered and shattered.

I squealed. I had no register control but it wasn’t necessary, the noise I made could never be mistaken for male, and came hard. My own cum splattered across my dress, my neck and my chin, sweet and salty, some of it arced straight into my mouth. His cock seared me as I squeezed him hard during my ejaculation.
(cont)

And he wouldn’t stop.

“Stephen!” I half-gasped, half-moaned, eyes wide, but the steam train had yet to reach the end of line. With each thrust I gasped without restraint, a noise lower now but still feminine, still without a shred of any masculine decency.
“Uh, uh, uh.” I went, and Stephen kept ploughing the field on the stream embankment. White noise could be seen at the edges of my vision, and any thoughts from beyond this tiny sphere of existence had long gone. My hands, once raking, now fell limply as I took his fucking, ass gaping when his thrusts would pull him all the way out.

My voice started a high continuous moan, pitching upwards repeatedly as his cock pulverized my insides, and he too started to moan. Low and quietly, but building. Building louder and louder. Then, with a triumphant bellow that exclaimed his dominance, I felt his cock turn rock hard inside me.

He pushed into me once more, all the way so that I could feel him deep inside, bottomed out with his groin pressed into mine, and he finally came. I felt the spray as my ass was filled up. He snaked his arms round me, lifting my acquiesced frame off the ground into his embrace, as he spasmed lightly with each ejaculation. Four times, he jerked, and I felt full and blissful, until he stopped and slowly lay me down with himself on top, a heavy but reassuring weight across all of my being.

After a short while the spider web of shattered glass which was my mind reassembled itself. Like invisible nano-machines reversing the flow of time.

“My god Stephen, you can come again.” I whispered into his hair, his face beside mine, resting in the grass, double meaning laced into my voice.

“Are you sure you’d survive?” He replied, and I giggled in return. With the return of self awareness I could hear the warbling, burbling, and the murmuring, and felt the heat of shame and echoes of excitement at the memory of the noises I had been making. I hadn’t fallen into a role quite that much in a long while. That only stimulated me, in its own perverse way.

“Maybe, maybe not.” I said. He pushed off me, and fixed me with a gaze I couldn’t look away from. He opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off.

“But seeing as we have another hour, I’m more than willing to take that chance.”

I took his face in my hands, and we resumed.

(Fin)

No I have no shame, its mah kink. Fight me.

But feedback would be welcome, whatever it may be. If the beginning seems a bit odd thats because this is set inside a story I will never finish where much of the universe is experienced as if it were a virtual world.

if i were in wwii they *would* call me spitfire

Rawr x3 nuzzles how are you pounces on you you're so warm o3o notices you have a bulge o: someone's happy ;) nuzzles your necky wecky~ murr~ hehehe rubbies your bulgy wolgy you're so big :oooo rubbies more on your bulgy wolgy it doesn't stop growing ·///· kisses you and lickies your necky daddy likies (; nuzzles wuzzles I hope daddy really likes $: wiggles butt and squirms I want to see your big daddy meat~ wiggles butt I have a little itch o3o wags tail can you please get my itch~ puts paws on your chest nyea~ its a seven7 inch itch rubs your chest can you help me⬇ pwease squirms pwetty pwease sad face I need to2 be punished runs paws down⬇⬇⬇ your chest and bites lip like I⬇ need to2 be punished really good~ on your bulge as I⬇ lick my lips I'm⬇ getting thirsty. I⬇ can go for4 some milk unbuttons your pants as my eyes glow you smell so musky :v licks shaft mmmm~ so musky drools all over your cock your daddy meat I like fondles Mr. Fuzzy Balls hehe puts snout on balls and inhales deeply oh god im so hard~ licks balls punish me daddy~ nyea~ squirms more and wiggles butt I love your musky goodness bites lip please punish me licks lips nyea~ suckles on your tip so good licks pre of your cock salty goodness~ eyes role back and goes balls deep mmmm~ moans and suckles

Astonishing. This is like, freaking Joyce v2 over here

it is when it happens to niggers

This makes me nostalgic

>I see, so you think that rape is never just

I agree that free speech has consequences in that you'll be judged by what you'll say, but suggesting that it's 'useless and evil' to write rape stuff just because you don't like it, that seems pretty blind to me, particularly since quite a few people enjoy reading such material. Actually going so far as to CALL someone a rapist for writing rape stuff though? That's more telling of the individual saying it than the actual writer, as far as I'm concerned. Is Spielberg a warmonger for Saving Private Ryan? Is Gary Paulsen a scat-fetishistic pedophile for writing about young teenage Bryan Robbeson in the novel Hatchet getting the shits for eating bad berries? Is J K Rowling a pervert for giving an underaged boy the ability to put on an invisibility cloak to sneak into washrooms where female ghosts hide? Was William Shakespeare a murderer for writing so much about people murdering other people? What about Sean Penn being mentally challenged as per I Am Sam or back in his early acting days when he was in that film that also had a girl supposedly underaged showing her tits? Fast Time at Ridgemont High was it?

Making a major accusation at someone simply for being a part of a work of fiction, well, I guess it's pretty common for the left to do these days what with accusing Trump of hating women just for consensually grabbing one or some by the pussy. The full quote mentions how they LET him do it, and to let someone do something, that's consent. Whether there's regret or not afterwards, that doesn't matter. Regret is not rape. If it is then my first serious girlfriend raped the shit out of me because God damn was she fat, and her cunt often smelled too. Nasty stuff... lots of regret there.

>That's more telling of the individual saying it than the actual writer
Not really, no.

Don't assume I'm calling people who haven't raped rapists, user.

Then who were you calling 'rapist' in your previous post?

In my teens I regularly used to write gay rape fanfiction, everyone would comment that it was so moving and sad but only I knew it was jerk-off material

>Not everyone agrees with your views
Rapists love a rape scene.

Ah, so everyone who enjoyed Forrest Gump likes it when mentally handicapped people get fucked by able-minded people. With your logic, it also stands to reason that fans of the Blue Lagoon are incestuous and potentially even pedophiles. Let's not forget all the rapists that like the movie 300, and wasn't there a rape or at least a sexual molestation scene in walking Dead, when the Governor had Glenn and his girlfriend?

Perhaps you're starting to see the pretty twisted logical path you're going down. Murder is a terrible thing but many consider it just for certain types of criminals which is why the concept of 'death penalty' exists. Rape is a terrible thing, though again, sometimes people believe it to be just. After all, feminists love to talk about how awful rape is but they never seem to utter how men make up a MASSIVE chunk of rape statistics if you simply account for prisons. I guess they see it as just? If they don't actually like it and think it just then they most certainly condone it considering how they never talk about it but won't stop talking about false rape stats.

Are you in a debate class or are you trying to justify something questionable in your past?

Fucking faggot slit your wrists already

Just a conversation, following your path in logic and the implications that it makes.

>someone disagrees with my views and that triggers me!

I cum in my girlfriend's socks whenever she leaves them out. She has yet to confront me about this.

None of those are examples of rape scenes we're supposed to enjoy, you rambling autist

He's trying to rationalize why his rape fetish makes rape sometimes ethical

> posts something erotic i wrote
>
>
> no replies

feels badman

Media is interpretive. What some people hate, others will enjoy. There are people who hate any sort of fight scene, who hate any sort of violence whatsoever, but then there are action fans who like action movies that involve fighting, shooting, explosions, knives, and so on and so forth.

Try writing rape stuff, you're more likely to get responses from butthurt people.

>Actual free speech is fine with me, but you must expect consequences, as all is fair in actual

>writing about food

Media is also made with intention. People aren't going to be quiet if they find your intentions despicable. A work that promotes rape as just is going to make people salty just like a work that promotes sex with children as just

>someone argued that I'm immoral!
>they're practically putting me in a gulag!

I wrote a short story about my waifu cheating on me.

don't use so many ellipses. I'd be interested how to justify rape.

*to see how you justify rape

So many implications, now it's gone from people BEING rapists for writing/liking written rape scenes to PROMOTING rape for it.

I do tend to use ellipses, yes. I simply think there are things in which them getting raped is a just outcome. I'm for the death penalty when there's simply no way for someone to be made fit to be in society again, in fact if someone is found 100% guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt of raping someone, especially a child, then they should be put to death. Then there's racists, people who will treat other people despicably just for the race they were born as. If, for instance, a black lesbian woman sees all white men as oppressive rapists who are also racist just for being white, well that there is enough for her to likely be incapable of being accepting into society or at least a society that involves any white people. Shipping her off to, say, a small African town of 100% black population would be better than having her use up tax money by being fed in prison. In that situation she'd probably end up getting raped because... well... it's Africa. I stand by those ellipses.

Anyhow in a situation of lawlessness where such a black lesbian tried to not only kill a white man but also tried to rape a white woman, if she ended up getting raped and murdered... she tried to murder one person and tried to rape another. On top of that she's been calling white guys all sorts of despicable things. I believe that such a fate as such a person being raped and murdered is a just outcome. Especially if such a person had also SUCCEEDED in murdering someone prior just for being a white male, leaving a poor white boy orphaned who also ended up mentally scarred from seeing the mutilated corpse of their loving father.

In THAT sort of situation, yes, I feel no sympathy or remorse for a black lesbian being brutally tortured and raped by a white man. Similarly if there was a white lesbian in a black community who had tried to kill a black guy for being black, then succeeded in killing a black guy for being black, then tried to rape a black women, only to end up being tortured/raped/murdered by black men; seems pretty just to me. I'm certain others will disagree, and that's fine, but that's where I stand.

>like writing about food
it's strange how similar these are

pastebin.com/UVq0u8N9

From about a year ago I think. Decided to write edgy shit for practice until I could make myself like it without changing the subject matter. I tried stepping it up to pedophilia but just crashed halfway through. I know a lot of people will call me a lightweight for that, but seeing it in a hentai mangoo isn't really the same as writing it out in plain english. Equating hentai pedo trash to real pedo is like equating furry trash to bestiality. It's just its own thing.

I mean maybe I wouldn't hate someone for raping Hitler to death, but coincidence aside your argument isn't very convincing

I believe in arguments less and less as time goes on. I prefer merely having dialogue. Trade ideas and views. If something sounds interesting, pursue it. If something is found that sounds more factual/logical than currently-held beliefs, then remove that current belief for the new one. Or, y'know, don't. All good.

So you like having dialogue but don't actually believe in anything you espouse? Either this is just hardcore irony and insincerity or you do nothing but talk about the weather, and rape isn't the weather.

All consequences are equal.

I think you should watch Dr. Jordan Peterson's interview with Cathy Newman on Channel 4 in the UK. It's quite popular online, and I think I know what he felt like. Lots of people implying things that don't at all go along what I'm actually saying. It's become a meme with how Newman kept saying "so what you're saying is..." and so on. Takes his words, tosses them in a blender, obliterates them, then puts them through the cultural Marxist filter to come out with a potential way of being outraged even though his original words as he spoke them was in no means outrageous unless your ideology just wouldn't allow for truth and facts. Admittedly, I didn't read beyond the first sentence of that reply. That was enough to know that it did not care about either truth or facts, nor the words I actually speak.

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