Jonathan Guthmann, The Whore of Babalon
She is flame of life, power of darkness, she destroys with a glance, she may take thy soul. She feeds upon the death of men.
Share your perversions with your brothers and sisters and receive my blessing.
justmebyebye-deactivated2014081 asked: bye to this tumblr accoun because I'm not returning, there are too many weird and evil occult stuff. One day I hope you follow God and may God bless you
When you will understand that all your hopes are useless, maybe then you will come back, crawling like a maggot. You can leave, you know the lies of your heart. May MY God curse you.
Nun… Cum… Sounds very close.
justmebyebye-deactivated2014081 asked: Im a christian but Im addicted to your tumblr however you dont post enough pics
As long as I got your soul, I do not care if you consider that I post enough pics or not. Just wank to all this beautiful flesh, sinner, that is the only thing I want.
Initiation of a member of the Vehm, from Beeton’s Historical Romances by Samuel Orchart Beeton, 1871.
Night time, when bad thoughts come out of a girl’s mind and makes her do the most unheard of things. Night time, when the cool of the evening air brings a moisture to a girl’s form with an ever growing need to become even more immersed in things unspoken. Night time, when the light is whisked away so that even it won’t see the darkening clouds of a girl’s desperate heart, held ransom to the never ending ebb and sway of the vicious cycles of the tidal rushes the daylight keeps hidden from her seething body. Night time, when the prince on a white horse is no longer in need, the moment when an invading Man steps forth and conquers all she hold dear and innocent. Night time, clouds grow heavy and the echo of thunder rises from between thighs kept tight far too long.
Eyes can’t seem to focus on objects, thoughts melt into a flurry of rabid cravings which fever the mind and soil the good nature of a girl trying hard not to implode from the lack of. Hands can’t keep still, trying hard to find a place where calm can be conjured yet finding no such safe haven from the wicked recesses of her perverted mind. The taste of wanton fills her mouth with each swallow she takes as the breathing increases in a slow, measured building of steam which powers her desire. Memories of the budding times, when new flesh gave way to new sensations carve her into tiny pieces yet to be put back together again as she searches her subterranean lusts for the glue she needs to pound her pieces back into form. Shudders turn into convulsions, making waves becomes a flood and the girl gyrates inside her primal obsessions to make new this long passion for ecstasy only a girl like her can know. Sisters of the wet, sirens for lost souls seeking shelter and perversion, its a union no male could ever find for Jewish girls can keep secrets.
זמן קרוב, כאשר מחשבות רעות באים מראשה של ילדה וגורמת לה לעשות את בלתי מתקבל על הדעת ביותר של דברים. בשעתי הלילה, כאשר הקריר של אוויר הערב מביא לחות לצורה של ילדה עם צורך הולך וגדל כדי להיות עוד יותר שקוע בדברים שלא נאמר. בשעתי הלילה, כאשר האור הוא לקח משם, כך שזה אפילו לא יראה את העננים המחשיכים של הלב הנואש של ילדה, שנערכו כופר לשפל ולהשפיע האינסופיים של מחזורי הקסמים של הגאות ממהרת היום שומר סמוי מן הרותח גוף. בשעתי הלילה, כאשר הנסיך על סוס לבן הוא כבר לא במצוקה, הרגע שבו אדם פולש צעדים אחורה וכובש את כל מה שהיא מחזיקה יקרה וחפה מפשע. בשעתי הלילה, עננים לגדול כבדים וההד של רעם עולה מבין הירכיים שמר הדוק יותר מדי זמן רחוק.
She hears Joseph awake in the study, singing his song through the internet hoping someone would release him from being in control of the lusts she has. She felt Joseph surrender as he understood he could not make way inside what he could not conquer. She felt Joseph’s shame as she heard his whimper while not being able to keep up what his marriage contracted obligations to his spouse were and that is to make her whole, and bring her peace from the night time when she can no longer keep still. Joseph’s seed as few as the trees forested on Mount Sinai. The pace as rapid as a jack rabbit with coyote on its heels. The lingering snore which follows the five minute marathon rings in her ears as the night time grows closer and chokes her life away. She knows he strokes slowly to the fantasy world he creates for himself knowing full well the sperm her releases is for her pleasure and not his own but in a selfish state he no longer cares for he can’t finish what he started unless its for a sissy’s amusement. For only then can he last long enough to make an orgasm peak in seven minutes. Seven, the number of years a slave was once held in bondage to pay a debt or be rewarded with a wife. Seven, the count of swimmers Joseph spews forth and not one of the bunch could ever survive. For his seed is but a plague of locusts making the fertile valley unfit for new growth. And with that knowing, Joseph drinks his failure after every shudder, and dreams of being a Black Man’s sperm vessel.
Cultured nails dig deep into drenched folds as a girl tries hard to wipe depraved desires. Forcing it out with gritted teeth and low rumbling moans which he hears but pays no attention to because there is in fact, nothing he can do about her condition. Above the damp sheets which cover their wedding bed her swaying hips pay no heed to her cries to stop. Thigh meets hand, clit licks palm, fingers dip into the place her mother made her find knowing that one day her male would fail her as all of her tribe has done over eons out of bondage and yet in bondage her pussy still lies. Since the desert winds helped guide their way into the promised land, female fingers provided the much needed relief among the folk. An ancient tradition, secrets of the Sisters the Palm. Under the shade, their work was never done when the males in the tribe left to hunt and swallow. Their traditions differ as they were compelled to become sissy and the females of the flock became harlot lambs hoping a strange Black Man would in their oasis arrive. While the males made spit and practiced failing girls among each other sisters taught, sisters tasted, sisters licked foam and lather and gave way to preaching things that should be. Harems without their Powerful. Wicked without their Triggers massive, dark and primal. They wandered alongside their males lost.
Cultured nails pull and twist flesh meant to give food to a crying mouth but never his. The orb of flesh rendered asunder so that the lightening can strike again and again and make the valley flood. Heaving hips buck towards the heavens as her fingers make her flesh taste worldly pleasures. Speaking the new way, uttering filth in old words written in the scrolls of time. Blending in such a fomentation of all that is orgasmic to make the night time stand still and burn her sulphur ridden cravings. The blessing of rain making the desert’s disrespectful landscape become a garden of earthly delights, smells, tastes and a bounty of rushing waves. Supple lips hold back then let go, screams bitten low with jaws held tighter than if they were sucking the very essence of Black Man they selfish for. Six points on a star blessed by four nimble fingers and a thumb. The attention of mothering love, the addiction to the peaking and overflowing orgasm as nymphomaniac unleashed on the cell block housing only Black Men. The endurance of a marathon runner trying so very hard to achieve the goals set inside a dirty girl’s fevered mind. If only she could make him see the truth and set her Yiddish pussy free. If only she could tamper with time and make him a memory never to be had so she could have followed the advice of her father, another devoid sucker of the sissy, to be bred and owned by a Black Man and forgo the seven years of bondage and make His needs her skill. Cultured nails making each nipple suffer for not hearing those words in their full weight. Power hungry fingers slamming inside the holiest of all vessels and making it a sore splendor as the cum she washes her pain away with reminds her of her place, of her purpose, of the reason her knees are so strong. Hebrew pussy, married and still almost as tight as a virgin. Married for the comfort of earthly rewards forsaking all passions. Her mistake. For now.