JuicedWritten & edited by AmnoartistChapter 1: Bullish
The sweat curved down the nape of her bullishly thick neck at a delicate pace, clear yet warm, just one of the many results from her arduous workout. The lone droplet ceased in its travels just before reaching her surging back, her breaths ragged. Every muscle on her frame had been engorged to its max owing to her beastly, adamant persistence to just… grow, veins flailing this way and that, audibly coiling under her smooth, sweaty skin. And yet, she wanted more. She always wanted more.
“Dude…” Blake watched from behind as the girl sat on the bench shrugged, d
"Evan! There you are, I've been looking all over the place for you!" Amber said as she ran toward her classmate. Amber and Evan were both in year 10 and were studying for their exams together. Amber was the most popular girl in school. She threw wild house parties and was liked by everyone, but this made her not too bright. She relied on her friend, Evan. She had met him last year in the school library. He is incredibly smart and he promised to help Amber study for her tests. In return, Amber gives him her friendship and whatever rewards he desires.
"Hey, Amber, what's up?" Evan scratched the back of his neck. He had a big request for today'
Every once in a while, I get very sentimental and reflective, as well as desiring. There's a lot to be said about how good I am at being a lover, I've never personally enjoyed the dating ritual, opting for a more immersive dive into a person's self and being, foregoing the masks of dates and elaborate masks we wear to try and look appealing. If you've ever seen me, masks of appeal aren't gonna help sell my look (I'm a spongebob lookin muthafucka) and I'm not going to say I come off strong, because that would be an understatement. I do, however, enjoy to ponder the nature of love, and what it would mean to love someone. For me, love is not
They had arrived! Before the young Beauregarde stood her ultimate destination, the supposed room that would cure her mother of her swollen status. What stood behind the factory door she had no clue, but her imagination was already painting a vivid portrait of nightmarish machines that towered over the factory. It most likely paled to what Wonka had actually created, the process itself most likely unorthodox and truly unique in the broadest sense. Violet chuckled at the thought of her seeing her mother subjected to some form of pressing, turning, or other form of orientation that would make the woman miserable., That