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Offline Conroy Johanns

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SXIVM: The Dark Seduction
« on: April 24, 2018, 01:53:48 PM »
The Dark Seduction

Author's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

That said, this story is partly inspired by the real-life events and celebrity personages seen in the first post of this thread. The inspiration is very loose, though, and the characters of Ali, Kirsten and Niki are not direct representations of any actresses in particular.

[spoiler="And definitely not THESE actresses, just for the record"]


The guy who's about to get killed at the story's outset is likewise not a representation of Keith Rainiere, about whom I really know very little except that he ran the most transparently "this is a thinly-veiled excuse for sex slavery" self-help programme maybe ever. Read on, and if you enjoy, well... shame on you.  :evil:

- 1 -

Afterwards, Doug felt bad for wishing ill on the guy. He truly did.

After all, when you got right down to it, he hadn't done anything more offensive than cut in line at Starbuck's. It was a bright, busy Thursday morning, the place was pretty packed, he could have simply not seen that Doug was standing right there.

Well... except that he had pointedly stopped midstream while talking on his phone to give Doug a dead-eyed stare of disdain, as if a mere mortal had to have some kind of nerve to take up space in the world that was rightfully his. And he had been unmistakable about looking Doug up and down in a long moment of silent judgement before turning away and resuming his chatter.

What the fuck?

Doug actually found himself checking his clothes to see if there was anything on them. Nope. He was a little casual in jeans and a hoodie but it wasn't like he was in violation of some kind of coffee-shop dress code. Was there something on his glasses? He pulled off his brand-new horn-rims and looked them over. Nope.

Then he overheard the guy saying on the phone: "... oh, nothing. Just a dealing with a little thug-life is all."

And that was when Doug felt his jaw tighten. That was when he silently wished for this complete stranger -- who aside from his lack of spectacles looked every bit as much of a skinny nerd as Doug himself -- to die. He actually fantasised on the spot about several different ways it might happen, including a meteor slamming through the roof of the coffee shop and crushing the jerk into oblivion, as he ordered and then waited for his cafe mocha.

The guy paid him no more attention. In fact he seemed oblivious of everyone and everything around him as he paid for his latte and went swanning out of the shop. Doug couldn't help it. He was still staring after the bastard in resentment as the guy went outside and made to cross the street.

So it was that Doug happened to be watching at the precise moment the car ran the stranger over.

* * *

He couldn't really say why he was the first one to reach the stranger's smashed body. It was the horror of it, maybe. The guilty, superstitious feeling of having summoned up this event with the power of his mind, although of course that was impossible. He found himself kneeling over a man with blood bubbling from his mouth, the silver Acura that had struck him already peeling away to leave the stench of burnt rubber hanging in the air.

"Are you okay, man?"

Even through the shock, Doug found himself wincing inwardly as those inane words came out of his mouth. The stranger, at any rate, didn't hear him. The light was already leaving his eyes. One of his hands flailed vaguely at something that had been knocked away from him, onto the sidewalk. Getting the notion that the guy's dying wish was to hold whatever-it-was before he went, Doug hastily said: "Hang on," and went to grab it.

The it in question was a little black book with some kind of rune embossed in gold on its cover. The binding was rich, soft leather. It was expensive. Doug looked at it for a long moment, turned back to the stranger all ready to hand it back to him.

But the guy was already gone. His death rattle was shockingly loud. The sound stuck with Doug as he walked numbly away from the scene, hopped on a bus and headed home on sheer autopilot, his brain still trying to process that he'd just watched the end of a human life in real time.

It was crazy. Pacific Boulevard was busy, sure, but it had never been a dangerous street. He'd been buying coffee at that same outlet for three years and had never seen so much as a fender-bender. That car had come out of nowhere and vanished back to nowhere so fast that it was hard to believe he'd seen it.

Still, he thought as he was coming in his front door. Accidents happen. Even shitty hit-and-run accidents. Got to put it out of your mind, Doug.

Easier said than done. He remained preoccupied with his whirling thoughts, and it was only when he had poured himself a glass of milk and sat down on his couch that he realised he was still holding the little black book.

He stared at it stupidly, turned it over in his hands, riffled the pages. I should throw this out, he thought. Or give it to the cops. He might've been a prick but he's still entitled to his privacy.

Doug tried to make that thought stick several times, but in the end, curiosity won out. Maybe there'll be some information about his next of kin or something, was the excuse he gave himself, but he knew this for convenient self-deception. In truth he was just curious. And so he opened the book.

* * *

At first, he couldn't make sense of what he was looking at. Normally a "little black book" held shopping lists, phone numbers, addresses and things like that. This one was a little different.

The writing was small and neat. Dates, and initials, and "sessions." The first entry said Session #72. It was dated May of 2004. Just a year ago. The initials K.K. were followed by some kind of cryptic notation: S-1-PreB-BM. And below that there were jumbles of what looked to be random letters and numbers, all meticulously printed in fine-tipped marker.

After a while Doug realized that he was looking at URLs. The guy had actually printed out URLs by hand in pen, enough of them to cover the rest of the small page. Wondering what they could be, Doug flipped forward in the book, saw that each page had that same pattern. Bizarre.

Of course, he had a computer. He could always fire it up, type in some of those URLs and see what they held. He had a feeling of looking into a strange world here, though, like the book was a little door into something that...

... something that what? Doug didn't even know how to finish the thought.

He mused for a while. Grabbed a beer and drank it, watched a movie and tried to pretend to himself that the sickening thud of the car hitting the stranger and the enigmatic lists of URLs in that little black book weren't alternating themselves in his mind. After a while he realised that following the plot of Goldeneye was going to be a lost cause, and shut the TV off.

Doug realised abruptly that he hadn't called work. He'd been on his way to work. He rang them up quickly, got an outpouring of syrupy sympathy from the receptionist -- Carol? Cynthia? something like that -- and was told by the sales team lead to stay home, get some rest and pull himself together. "Just don't take too long," Gus ribbed him in that joking-but-not-really way he had. "We need Dougie the Destroyer out on the floor. Nobody moves fridges like you can, my man."

"Appreciate that, Gus," Doug had said numbly, still staring at the book. "I'll be back in as soon as I can. Promise."

His mind could not be further from selling appliances at Sears. The moment he hung up, the mystery took hold of him. He got up, headed to the home "office" he kept in his small condo, and fired up the computer. Tapped his fingers impatiently as his browser started up... and then entered the first URL on the first page.

He actually clapped a hand over his mouth when he saw what came up.

* * *

There was a TV show currently climbing the ratings. Doug had been a comics fan from way back, in particular a fan of Captain Thunder, whose early pre-superhero years in Littleton served as the show's concept and title. Truth to tell, he didn't care for most of the show or for the milquetoast male lead.

Littleton's female talent were another matter, though. They were all incredibly gorgeous. The one who played the sweet-natured love interest of young Billy Fawcett, a subtly Eurasian girl of almost unearthly beauty, was excelled in sheer perfection by only one other member of the cast. He'd beaten off to fantasies about her from the first time he saw her. Every time he saw her onscreen he could feel his cock harden, even now.

Kirsten Kroek. In Littleton terms, the bubbly cheerleader Courtney Whitmore. She was clearly who the initials "K.K." referred to. But nobody had ever seen her look like what he saw when he entered that first URL.

The pictures were... compromising. Gloriously, mind-bendingly compromising. The first was a playful shot of Kirsten with her top pulled down, exposing the dark, hard little nubbins of her nipples. They looked just the way he'd always pictured them: high and pert and firm, the kind of nipples you could delight in teasing between your teeth while you spread her long, luscious legs and --

Doug gritted his teeth. His prick was painfully hard already. He had no illusions about what he needed to do; within moments he had yanked his zipper down and begun stroking his dark, tumescent member, imagining that come-hither look in Kirsten's eyes being just for him. He broke off long enough to enter the second URL, stroked himself a little more firmly this time as he got a glorious full body nude shot of the sexy young actress, revelling in the way her dark eyes glistened as she flashed her tits and showed off her naked body for the camera.

The next shot made him give out a grunt of delight. It went much further, showing Kirsten splayed out and flashing a glistening pink pussy at the camera, like the pose a porn star would do. Doug's breath caught, his heart pounding as he wonder: How the Hell did he get her to do this? Who was this guy?



The follow-up made him light-headed. It was a picture of Kirsten on her back, her legs spread and a pair of pale hands reaching in from out of shot to maul her perky breasts. She was staring at the camera with languid passion in her eyes. And it was, he realized, pretty clear she was in the midst of getting fucked. That he was looking at a fuck pic of Kirsten Kroek.


His cock almost burst on the spot. He had to take his hand off it as he blinked at the screen, trying to believe what he was seeing. Giving his tackle a rest for a moment, he fumbled with the little black book, eager to see what other salacious goodies it held, and went straight to the last URL in the list. His fingers trembled as he typed it in.

To his surprise, what came up wasn't a picture, but a document:

I, KIRSTEN KROEK the undersigned, bind myself totally and completely, without limits, under the intellectual, moral and physical authority of the holder of this Contract, hereinafter known as GENESIS.
I certify that I am over eighteen and of sound mind and body, and that I desire to be taught how to break through Fear of Pain to know the Truth of Love.

I certify that I have requested instruction in becoming my Authentic Self by GENESIS through the Program of Instruction provided to the sorority known as LIBENTER SERVIRE PUELLAE. I am signing this document of my own free will, with full understanding that the Program of Instruction will require me to comply with the will of GENESIS without limit for such time as GENESIS deems it necessary for the Program of Instruction to continue.

I certify that I specifically desire and request GENESIS to force me to comply if necessary during any point of the Program of Instruction, using any means at the disposal of GENESIS without limit. I have consented to provide the enclosed images herewith attached to provide leverage to GENESIS as such a method of enforcing my compliance, should GENESIS deem it necessary. I certify that this is a voluntary pre-arrangement and does not imply entry into this Contract under duress.

I fully understand that my membership in LIBENTER SERVIRE PUELLAE can be revoked only by consent of GENESIS if and when GENESIS has determined that my Program of Instruction has been completed.

It went on like that. As Doug read it disbelievingly, he suddenly realized what part of the cryptic code at the top of the page meant. "BM" was a reference to blackmail. He was looking at pictures that had been used to blackmail one of the most beautiful actresses on the planet.

My God, he wondered. What the Hell have I stumbled on, here?

His raging hard-on didn't slacken for a second, though. And a moment later he found himself looking back down at the book, picking another line, and typing it into the browser's address bar.

Even as he did so, the seed of something was germinating in his mind. A crazy idea that he told himself at first was just the shock talking. But as he cued up another sexy naked picture of Kirsten -- this one candidly showed her bent over and having her pussy packed from behind by a thick, large cock -- the idea kept nagging at him.


The "contract" didn't specify any other name for GENESIS. GENESIS could be anyone. Anyone who had access to these pictures. Anyone who could use them against her.

And as he stroked his cock and imagined himself plowing the sultry brunette's tight fuckhole, Doug wondered if Kirsten's "Program of Instruction" was over. Somehow, he suspected not... and he started to wonder if he could find a way to step through the door and into this dead man's shoes. An idle notion, sure, but it had a hold of him even as he gazed into the lustful eyes of the actress being pounded like a bitch in heat in that picture, and it kept a hold on him long after the spunk came fountaining out from the head of his dick.

By the time he'd been through all the pictures referenced on the first page of the little black book, any pretense was gone. Doug knew he was going to have to do something about this. The question was... what? And how?

To be continued...
« Last Edit: April 24, 2018, 02:47:33 PM by Conroy Johanns »
"Nobody brought an extra bag!"

SXIVM: The Dark Seduction tells a tale ripped from today's headlines. Lots and lots of celebrity mayhem to come!

The Hopewell Pop Music Academy is part-story, part-unofficial pictures thread, all-pervy. Now features  Part Two!

Offline maxitup

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Re: SXIVM: The Dark Seduction
« Reply #1 on: May 01, 2019, 09:10:20 AM »
« Last Edit: December 07, 2020, 06:31:37 AM by maxitup »


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