Noosed Nude NYC

[windar]

Presumably we are well away from the NYPD jurisdiction? So two city cops are going all-guns-blazing into a giggling girly hang-fest, and expect to prove a case?

At least you can get rid of the bodies in Marty's kitchen-------oh, sorry windar, that's Tree's thread.

City cops have arrest powers anywhere in New York State. https://www.quora.com/Can-a-New-Yor...ne-outside-the-city-without-an-arrest-warrant

Is this a strictly by the book operation? Of course not-does Barb ever go strictly by the book? Stan is seeing his pension flying out the window and hopes that their book is a real best seller...

 

[old slave]

hopes that their book is a real best seller...

....and the sequel now.....

 

[Barbaria1]

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, but despite her protests she pulled her Minnesota Vikings T shirt over her head and headed for the showers. Stan marveled at her lithe figure, his eyes fixed on her undulating behind.

Otherwise known as my cute tight little...

“It’s Czech Republic and has been for almost 30 years, you dinosaur,” she told him. “Get with the times Goldman.” That was one of Stan’s annoying habits-referring to things he had learned in school as though nothing had changed.

Only one of a great many annoying habits

“How did two guys like us manage to snag two gorgeous intelligent women like those two?” Marty asked.

Dumb luck?

Alone in the house, Barb and Stan made love, slowly and gently, Stan moving languorously inside Barb, kissing her on the mouth and breasts as he moved on top of her.

languorously?

“It’s worth thinking about,” Barb said

Code for when pigs fly ...

“Oh, stop it,” Barb replied. “Now I have to catch their attention. I think I’m going to write a story about hanging for that site. Yes, that’s what I’m going to do.”

can’t wait ...

 

[Loxuru]

That barn is the perfect place for that hanging party

There is lots of fun you could make in that barn!

 

[Sharkman]

There is lots of fun you could make in that barn!

Nice place for roleplaying ...

 

[Barbaria1]

Chapter 18.

The minute we arrived home from our day with Marty and Melissa, I rushed to undress, shower, slip into my skinny jeans and Minnesota Vikings tee, raid the refrigerator and plant myself on the couch, laptop open. Goldman was slumped nearby, watching yet another of those stupid Seinfeld re-runs. Talk about set in one's ways!

I tapped 'HangingFantasies' into my browser and waited for the site to appear. A couple of clicks later I was typing furiously. Midway through his second Seinfeld, Goldman took advantage of a commercial break to rouse himself and sidle over to me.

"Watcha up to?" he said, sliding a warm hand under the front of my tee and stealthily moving it upward. "You've been banging away on that thing now for over half an hour."

"Writing an erotic story," I replied, grasping his wrist and firmly removing his hand to the cushion beside me.

"Where?

"On one of the HangingFantasies threads ..."

"Threads?"

"It's like an interactive forum dedicated to a particular topic."

"Oh, what's the thread called?"

"Consensual Hangings."

"Ok, I'll bite. What's your story about?"

"About a woman, who fantasizes about being hung and finds and befriends a group of like-minded people eager to help her live out her fantasy."

"Being kind of obvious, aren't you?"

"I don't think so. I've seen other people do similar things on the site."

"And do any of Amanda Berger's friends frequent this ... what did you call it? ... thread?"

"Yep, they've all posted on it fairly recently."

"What's the name of the woman in your story?"

"I'm calling her 'Barb'."

"Oh, very imaginative, Moore!"

"Blahhhhhhhhhhhhh ... would you like to read it?"

"No. Why don't you just tell me about it?"

"Apparently you can only arouse yourself over one thing, Goldman!" I hissed as I forcibly removed his wandering hand from under the front of my tee for a second time.

"Just the facts, ma'am," he deadpanned, doing his best to do an imitation of Jack Webb on 'Dragnet'.”

"OK, sit still, keep your hands to yourself and listen then, and turn off that stupid show!"

"Right!"

"So, this is how I am playing it. Paying attention? Good. This Barb in my story is a naive, new to the big city, girl from the Heartland. But she has a lot of erotic kinks going on in her head, and now that she is here, away from family and friends back home, she is eager to get into the scene. So, she lets it be known on websites she has found since arriving here in New York that her biggest fantasy is to be hung ... not till she is dead, mind you, but near enough to feel herself letting go. She is eager to experience all the erotic sensory stimulation she imagines being in such a place will bring. She wants to meet people who are into the same kink, but who also can be trusted to bring things to a close before it's too late. So, she is active on the site and is eventually invited by a group of people, who say they want to meet her and perhaps allow her to join their little hanging/asphyxiation club. Still with me, Goldman?"

"Riveted," he yawned.

"Anyway, she meets a couple girls from the site at a Starbucks, and questions are asked on both sides ... and when all are satisfied ... she is allowed into the fold.”



“Remember this is a fictitious character, not you,” interjected Stan.

“Right. They ask her if she'd like to attend the next meeting of their secret club, and she readily agrees. In the next scene she shows up late at night at an address out on Long Island that they gave her, and is admitted to a gathering of around two dozen people, both women and men. The clubhouse, as they refer to it, is an old abandoned church that has been converted. The sign outside identifies it as 'The Zen Center'. Most of the old stained-glass windows in the back of the church have been painted over with gray paint so no one can see in. The place smells rather musty, but there are tables laden with food and drink, and everyone is standing around socializing ... all very convivial."

"I assume we are getting to the good part soon," Stan says through half-slitted eyes.

"Yeah, we are," I retort, giving him a poke. "Pay attention, Goldman!"

"Ok, so the meeting is called to order. Everyone gathers in the back of the church. Someone works a pulley-device and with several hangman's nooses suspended from it is lowered from the rafters. A bench is placed beneath waiting nooses. A man, who is apparently the leader of the group, announces that for the evening's entertainment, there will be a lottery which will determine which two members will hang that evening. There is a collective murmur of excitement as numbered cards are distributed. Barb looks at hers ... number 8."



"Now this is getting interesting," grins Stan.

"The leader goes on to explain that the two 'winners' are to be hung nude ... and here is the clincher ... one of them ... which one will not be disclosed ... will hang until dead! The place erupts with animated discussion and anticipation. The 'winning' numbers are drawn and revealed .... 17 and 8!"

"Barb's number, right?"

"Yep. At that point she panics. Maybe this is going too far? She begins to make excuses and tries to back out. But she comes under tremendous peer pressure. Her new friends, neither of whom are number 17, crowd around her ... pointing out that not knowing is part of the excitement ... it's a 50 percent chance, after all.

Reluctantly, she agrees to take the chance. Pushed forward, along with another girl, she slowly and shyly strips down to her bra and panties while the assembled watch.

Hesitating before going any further, she asks if that would be good enough. Told no, everything must go, she reluctantly complies.

Her wrists are bound tightly behind her back, and she is led to the bench and helped to mount it. The other girl, has already stripped, and is standing on the bench bound and noosed."



"Uh huh, go on."

General discussion ensues. The gathered speculate on how the two women will react once the bench is knocked away, and on how long they will struggle and dance before one of them ... which one is still unknown ... will earn a reprieve. Bets are even placed.

Once everything is settled and ready, the moment comes. The bench is kicked away and the dance begins. Both women begin to kick wildly, twisting and writhing at the end of their ropes, which creak and groan under the weight of their flailing bodies. As the noose tightens around her neck, Barb experiences the pain as well as the erotic thrill she has only dreamed about for so many years. She can't believe that it is happening. The minutes tick by. She feels herself slipping into a state of shock. She can barely breath. Through blurred vision, she is aware of two men coming forward ... not toward her ... but toward her gurgling, trembling companion!"

"That's it? The end? How can anyone like a story like that?"

"Well, not quite the end. I am going to attach a pic ... a drawing by Dolcett of two women about to be hung side-by-side. There! I've attached it."



"Let me see! God, Moore! ... where did you get that? Who is Dolcett?"

"An artist, Stan. Someone who produced a lot of illustrated hanging and asphyxiation stories. His stuff is all over this site."

"Well, it doesn't exactly fit your story. The guy in the background is saying something about cheerleaders."

"Doesn't matter ... a lot of people on the site are just there for the pics ..."

"This stuff has turned you on, hasn't it Moore? I can tell. I detect that note of huskiness in your voice."

"Nonsense, Goldman. It's just a story."

"No, I'm right!" shouted Stan triumphantly, as he lifted the front of her tee. "Look at the crotch of your jeans, Moore ... they're soaked!"

"Shut up!" I snorted, closing the laptop, jumping to my feet and huffily stomping off toward the bedroom. And just to make my point ... to let him know I was pissed, and to teach him a lesson ... I paused just short of the door ... made a show of stripping off my tee and jeans ... passed through into the bedroom ....and tossed him a 'come-on' flirtatious look over my shoulder.



Then, as he rose off the couch and headed my way ... all weariness miraculously vanished from those old bloodhound eyes ... I suddenly turned and slammed the door ... hard enough to make the pictures on the walls rattle and shake!

 

[Wragg]

Chapter 18.

The minute we arrived home from our day with Marty and Melissa, I rushed to undress, shower, slip into my skinny jeans and Minnesota Vikings tee, raid the refrigerator and plant myself on the couch, laptop open. Goldman was slumped nearby, watching yet another of those stupid Seinfeld re-runs. Talk about set in one's ways!

I tapped 'HangingFantasies' into my browser and waited for the site to appear. A couple of clicks later I was typing furiously. Midway through his second Seinfeld, Goldman took advantage of a commercial break to rouse himself and sidle over to me.

"Watcha up to?" he said, sliding a warm hand under the front of my tee and stealthily moving it upward. "You've been banging away on that thing now for over half an hour."

"Writing an erotic story," I replied, grasping his wrist and firmly removing his hand to the cushion beside me.

"Where?

"On one of the HangingFantasies threads ..."

"Threads?"

"It's like an interactive forum dedicated to a particular topic."

"Oh, what's the thread called?"

"Consensual Hangings."

"Ok, I'll bite. What's your story about?"

"About a woman, who fantasizes about being hung and finds and befriends a group of like-minded people eager to help her live out her fantasy."

"Being kind of obvious, aren't you?"

"I don't think so. I've seen other people do similar things on the site."

"And do any of Amanda Berger's friends frequent this ... what did you call it? ... thread?"

"Yep, they've all posted on it fairly recently."

"What's the name of the woman in your story?"

"I'm calling her 'Barb'."

"Oh, very imaginative, Moore!"

"Blahhhhhhhhhhhhh ... would you like to read it?"

"No. Why don't you just tell me about it?"

"Apparently you can only arouse yourself over one thing, Goldman!" I hissed as I forcibly removed his wandering hand from under the front of my tee for a second time.

"Just the facts, ma'am," he deadpanned, doing his best to do an imitation of Jack Webb on 'Dragnet'".

"OK, sit still, keep your hands to yourself and listen then, and turn off that stupid show!"

"Right!"

"So, this is how I am playing it. Paying attention? Good. This Barb in my story is a naive, new to the big city, girl from the Heartland. But she has a lot of erotic kinks going on in her head, and now that she is here, away from family and friends back home, she is eager to get into the scene. So, she lets it be known on websites she has found since arriving here in New York that her biggest fantasy is to be hung ... not till she is dead, mind you, but near enough to feel herself letting go. She is eager to experience all the erotic sensory stimulation she imagines being in such a place will bring. She wants to meet people who are into the same kink, but who also can be trusted to bring things to a close before it's too late. So, she is active on the site and is eventually invited by a group of people, who say they want to meet her and perhaps allow her to join their little hanging/asphyxiation club. Still with me, Goldman?"

"Riveted," he yawned.

"Anyway, she meets a couple girls from the site at a Starbucks, and questions are asked on both sides ... and when all are satisfied ... she is allowed into the fold.”

View attachment 585871

“Remember this is a fictitious character, not you,” interjected Stan.

“Right. They ask her if she'd like to attend the next meeting of their secret club, and she readily agrees. In the next scene she shows up late at night at an address out on Long Island that they gave her, and is admitted to a gathering of around two dozen people, both women and men. The clubhouse, as they refer to it, is an old abandoned church that has been converted. The sign outside identifies it as 'The Zen Center'. Most of the old stained-glass windows in the back of the church have been painted over with gray paint so no one can see in. The place smells rather musty, but there are tables laden with food and drink, and everyone is standing around socializing ... all very convivial."

"I assume we are getting to the good part soon," Stan says through half-slitted eyes.

"Yeah, we are," I retort, giving him a poke. "Pay attention, Goldman!"

"Ok, so the meeting is called to order. Everyone gathers in the back of the church. Someone works a pulley-device and with several hangman's nooses suspended from it is lowered from the rafters. A bench is placed beneath waiting nooses. A man, who is apparently the leader of the group, announces that for the evening's entertainment, there will be a lottery which will determine which two members will hang that evening. There is a collective murmur of excitement as numbered cards are distributed. Barb looks at hers ... number 8."

View attachment 585874

"Now this is getting interesting," grins Stan.

"The leader goes on to explain that the two 'winners' are to be hung nude ... and here is the clincher ... one of them ... which one will not be disclosed ... will hang until dead! The place erupts with animated discussion and anticipation. The 'winning' numbers are drawn and revealed .... 17 and 8!"

"Barb's number, right?"

"Yep. At that point she panics. Maybe this is going too far? She begins to make excuses and tries to back out. But she comes under tremendous peer pressure. Her new friends, neither of whom are number 17, crowd around her ... pointing out that not knowing is part of the excitement ... it's a 50 percent chance, after all.

Reluctantly, she agrees to take the chance. Pushed forward, along with another girl, she slowly and shyly strips down to her bra and panties while the assembled watch.

Hesitating before going any further, she asks if that would be good enough. Told no, everything must go, she reluctantly complies.

Her wrists are bound tightly behind her back, and she is led to the bench and helped to mount it. The other girl, has already stripped, and is standing on the bench bound and noosed."

View attachment 585875

"Uh huh, go on."

General discussion ensues. The gathered speculate on how the two women will react once the bench is knocked away, and on how long they will struggle and dance before one of them ... which one is still unknown ... will earn a reprieve. Bets are even placed.

Once everything is settled and ready, the moment comes. The bench is kicked away and the dance begins. Both women begin to kick wildly, twisting and writhing at the end of their ropes, which creak and groan under the weight of their flailing bodies. As the noose tightens around her neck, Barb experiences the pain as well as the erotic thrill she has only dreamed about for so many years. She can't believe that it is happening. The minutes tick by. She feels herself slipping into a state of shock. She can barely breath. Through blurred vision, she is aware of two men coming forward ... not toward her ... but toward her gurgling, trembling companion!"

"That's it? The end? How can anyone like a story like that?"

"Well, not quite the end. I am going to attach a pic ... a drawing by Dolcett of two women about to be hung side-by-side. There! I've attached it."

View attachment 585873

"Let me see! God, Moore! ... where did you get that? Who is Dolcett?"

"An artist, Stan. Someone who produced a lot of illustrated hanging and asphyxiation stories. His stuff is all over this site."

"Well, it doesn't exactly fit your story. The guy in the background is saying something about cheerleaders."

"Doesn't matter ... a lot of people on the site are just there for the pics ..."

"This stuff has turned you on, hasn't it Moore? I can tell. I detect that note of huskiness in your voice."

"Nonsense, Goldman. It's just a story."

"No, I'm right!" shouted Stan triumphantly, as he lifted the front of her tee. "Look at the crotch of your jeans, Moore ... they're soaked!"

"Shut up!" I snorted, closing the laptop, jumping to my feet and huffily stomping off toward the bedroom. And just to make my point ... to let him know I was pissed, and to teach him a lesson ... I paused just short of the door ... made a show of stripping off my tee and jeans ... passed through into the bedroom ....and tossed him a 'come-on' flirtatious look over my shoulder.

View attachment 585872

Then, as he rose off the couch and headed my way ... all weariness miraculously vanished from those old bloodhound eyes ... I suddenly turned and slammed the door ... hard enough to make the pictures on the walls rattle and shake!

I'm learning quite a bit here....

 

[windar]

I'm learning quite a bit here....

Perhaps, you would care to elaborate, Wragg? Is Moore's behavior here surprising?

 

[Barbaria1]

Perhaps, you would care to elaborate, Wragg? Is Moore's behavior here surprising?

Did Goldman’s Nose survive the door slam?

 

[Wragg]

Perhaps, you would care to elaborate, Wragg? Is Moore's behavior here surprising?

Dolcett, Starbucks, threads and the groping beneath them, and the effective use of door furniture!

 

[windar]

raid the refrigerator

Careful, Moore, or your tight little may be neither....

"Writing an erotic story," I replied,

"Ok, I'll bite.

I mean that figuratively. I think...

"I assume we are getting to the good part soon," Stan says through half-slitted eyes.

Wake me when we get there...

"This stuff has turned you on, hasn't it Moore? I can tell. I detect that note of huskiness in your voice."

Oh, I do like a husky voice

"Doesn't matter ... a lot of people on the site are just there for the pics ..."

Really? That doesn't sound likely. Didn't people read Playboy for the articles?

"Look at the crotch of your jeans, Moore ... they're soaked!

I'm very observant...

 

[thehangingtree]

Chapter 18.

The minute we arrived home from our day with Marty and Melissa, I rushed to undress, shower, slip into my skinny jeans and Minnesota Vikings tee, raid the refrigerator and plant myself on the couch, laptop open. Goldman was slumped nearby, watching yet another of those stupid Seinfeld re-runs. Talk about set in one's ways!

I tapped 'HangingFantasies' into my browser and waited for the site to appear. A couple of clicks later I was typing furiously. Midway through his second Seinfeld, Goldman took advantage of a commercial break to rouse himself and sidle over to me.

"Watcha up to?" he said, sliding a warm hand under the front of my tee and stealthily moving it upward. "You've been banging away on that thing now for over half an hour."

"Writing an erotic story," I replied, grasping his wrist and firmly removing his hand to the cushion beside me.

"Where?

"On one of the HangingFantasies threads ..."

"Threads?"

"It's like an interactive forum dedicated to a particular topic."

"Oh, what's the thread called?"

"Consensual Hangings."

"Ok, I'll bite. What's your story about?"

"About a woman, who fantasizes about being hung and finds and befriends a group of like-minded people eager to help her live out her fantasy."

"Being kind of obvious, aren't you?"

"I don't think so. I've seen other people do similar things on the site."

"And do any of Amanda Berger's friends frequent this ... what did you call it? ... thread?"

"Yep, they've all posted on it fairly recently."

"What's the name of the woman in your story?"

"I'm calling her 'Barb'."

"Oh, very imaginative, Moore!"

"Blahhhhhhhhhhhhh ... would you like to read it?"

"No. Why don't you just tell me about it?"

"Apparently you can only arouse yourself over one thing, Goldman!" I hissed as I forcibly removed his wandering hand from under the front of my tee for a second time.

"Just the facts, ma'am," he deadpanned, doing his best to do an imitation of Jack Webb on 'Dragnet'.”

"OK, sit still, keep your hands to yourself and listen then, and turn off that stupid show!"

"Right!"

"So, this is how I am playing it. Paying attention? Good. This Barb in my story is a naive, new to the big city, girl from the Heartland. But she has a lot of erotic kinks going on in her head, and now that she is here, away from family and friends back home, she is eager to get into the scene. So, she lets it be known on websites she has found since arriving here in New York that her biggest fantasy is to be hung ... not till she is dead, mind you, but near enough to feel herself letting go. She is eager to experience all the erotic sensory stimulation she imagines being in such a place will bring. She wants to meet people who are into the same kink, but who also can be trusted to bring things to a close before it's too late. So, she is active on the site and is eventually invited by a group of people, who say they want to meet her and perhaps allow her to join their little hanging/asphyxiation club. Still with me, Goldman?"

"Riveted," he yawned.

"Anyway, she meets a couple girls from the site at a Starbucks, and questions are asked on both sides ... and when all are satisfied ... she is allowed into the fold.”

View attachment 585871

“Remember this is a fictitious character, not you,” interjected Stan.

“Right. They ask her if she'd like to attend the next meeting of their secret club, and she readily agrees. In the next scene she shows up late at night at an address out on Long Island that they gave her, and is admitted to a gathering of around two dozen people, both women and men. The clubhouse, as they refer to it, is an old abandoned church that has been converted. The sign outside identifies it as 'The Zen Center'. Most of the old stained-glass windows in the back of the church have been painted over with gray paint so no one can see in. The place smells rather musty, but there are tables laden with food and drink, and everyone is standing around socializing ... all very convivial."

"I assume we are getting to the good part soon," Stan says through half-slitted eyes.

"Yeah, we are," I retort, giving him a poke. "Pay attention, Goldman!"

"Ok, so the meeting is called to order. Everyone gathers in the back of the church. Someone works a pulley-device and with several hangman's nooses suspended from it is lowered from the rafters. A bench is placed beneath waiting nooses. A man, who is apparently the leader of the group, announces that for the evening's entertainment, there will be a lottery which will determine which two members will hang that evening. There is a collective murmur of excitement as numbered cards are distributed. Barb looks at hers ... number 8."

View attachment 585874

"Now this is getting interesting," grins Stan.

"The leader goes on to explain that the two 'winners' are to be hung nude ... and here is the clincher ... one of them ... which one will not be disclosed ... will hang until dead! The place erupts with animated discussion and anticipation. The 'winning' numbers are drawn and revealed .... 17 and 8!"

"Barb's number, right?"

"Yep. At that point she panics. Maybe this is going too far? She begins to make excuses and tries to back out. But she comes under tremendous peer pressure. Her new friends, neither of whom are number 17, crowd around her ... pointing out that not knowing is part of the excitement ... it's a 50 percent chance, after all.

Reluctantly, she agrees to take the chance. Pushed forward, along with another girl, she slowly and shyly strips down to her bra and panties while the assembled watch.

Hesitating before going any further, she asks if that would be good enough. Told no, everything must go, she reluctantly complies.

Her wrists are bound tightly behind her back, and she is led to the bench and helped to mount it. The other girl, has already stripped, and is standing on the bench bound and noosed."

View attachment 585875

"Uh huh, go on."

General discussion ensues. The gathered speculate on how the two women will react once the bench is knocked away, and on how long they will struggle and dance before one of them ... which one is still unknown ... will earn a reprieve. Bets are even placed.

Once everything is settled and ready, the moment comes. The bench is kicked away and the dance begins. Both women begin to kick wildly, twisting and writhing at the end of their ropes, which creak and groan under the weight of their flailing bodies. As the noose tightens around her neck, Barb experiences the pain as well as the erotic thrill she has only dreamed about for so many years. She can't believe that it is happening. The minutes tick by. She feels herself slipping into a state of shock. She can barely breath. Through blurred vision, she is aware of two men coming forward ... not toward her ... but toward her gurgling, trembling companion!"

"That's it? The end? How can anyone like a story like that?"

"Well, not quite the end. I am going to attach a pic ... a drawing by Dolcett of two women about to be hung side-by-side. There! I've attached it."

View attachment 585873

"Let me see! God, Moore! ... where did you get that? Who is Dolcett?"

"An artist, Stan. Someone who produced a lot of illustrated hanging and asphyxiation stories. His stuff is all over this site."

"Well, it doesn't exactly fit your story. The guy in the background is saying something about cheerleaders."

"Doesn't matter ... a lot of people on the site are just there for the pics ..."

"This stuff has turned you on, hasn't it Moore? I can tell. I detect that note of huskiness in your voice."

"Nonsense, Goldman. It's just a story."

"No, I'm right!" shouted Stan triumphantly, as he lifted the front of her tee. "Look at the crotch of your jeans, Moore ... they're soaked!"

"Shut up!" I snorted, closing the laptop, jumping to my feet and huffily stomping off toward the bedroom. And just to make my point ... to let him know I was pissed, and to teach him a lesson ... I paused just short of the door ... made a show of stripping off my tee and jeans ... passed through into the bedroom ....and tossed him a 'come-on' flirtatious look over my shoulder.

View attachment 585872

Then, as he rose off the couch and headed my way ... all weariness miraculously vanished from those old bloodhound eyes ... I suddenly turned and slammed the door ... hard enough to make the pictures on the walls rattle and shake!

This may not end well...

 

[hongzu117]

I missed several updates，the system didn't remind me，I'm glad you're still going on！
Dolcett appears，is the next case a cannibalism case？Haha.

 

[Barbaria1]

This may not end well...
View attachment 585899

Very clever, Tree! I missed the new words in the dialogue clouds the first time I saw this. I just knew 8 was not my lucky number. I bet 17 thought the same about hers!

 

[Loxuru]

The minute we arrived home from our day with Marty and Melissa, I rushed to undress, shower, slip into my skinny jeans and Minnesota Vikings tee, raid the refrigerator and plant myself on the couch, laptop open. Goldman was slumped nearby, watching yet another of those stupid Seinfeld re-runs. Talk about set in one's ways!

I tapped 'HangingFantasies' into my browser and waited for the site to appear. A couple of clicks later I was typing furiously.

Sounds like a familiar kind of addiction!

Then, as he rose off the couch and headed my way ... all weariness miraculously vanished from those old bloodhound eyes ... I suddenly turned and slammed the door ... hard enough to make the pictures on the walls rattle and shake!

So, Stan can continue watching Seinfeld. That commercial break must be over by now!

 

[Marcius]

"Let me see! God, Moore! ... where did you get that? Who is Dolcett?"

"An artist, Stan. Someone who produced a lot of illustrated hanging and asphyxiation stories. His stuff is all over this site."

Looks like Barb decided to keep the, ah, spit-roast side of Dolcett to herself for the time being.

 

[Barbaria1]

Looks like Barb decided to keep the, ah, spit-roast side of Dolcett to herself for the time being.

That is a completely different fantasy

 

[old slave]

That is a completely different fantasy

.........but one our dynamic duo may have to investigate when guests start disappearing on the royalty-paid world cruise.

 

[Barbaria1]

.........but one our dynamic duo may have to investigate when guests start disappearing on the royalty-paid world cruise.

Hmmmmm .... another story idea!

 

[Marcius]

Hmmmmm .... another story idea!

But you really need a trio for the spit-roast...