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De Praestigiis Angelorum 3

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“Scar” the voice was monotone, but nobody except him called her that way.

“Da” Scarlet used russian to reply, the only inheritence of Makharo that she used to disclose.

“I found it”. She couldn’t believe what she just heard. She controlled her emotions, but it wasn’t easy: “Where?”

“A man named Pedro Escobar got it. He doesn’t look like he’s from there, and goes by the name of CompTon Gregg, he flaunt it like shit”

“Where do I can catch him up?” Scarlet couldn’t resist , but it was too important. She remembered the training.

“He will attend a political meeting at Forst Palace” Makharo was irreproachable, as usual.

“Stephen Forst?”

“Yes. Now listen carefully. Wear red, very short, and find a girlfriend to giggle with, he got a thing for that kind of women, there’s plenty of stuff on his computer. He will notice you”

“Was it difficult?” nothing is for free in this world, she reflected.

“That man is asking problems to shove it up his ass. Broke inside in less than an hour. Never hacked something so simple in years”.

“Boris” she couldn’t help calling him with his true name. He remained silent, didn’t see it coming: “What?”

“Thank you” she whispered.

The sound of the phone that had been hung up.



Claire was speechless when she saw the phone ringing and no number on it, not even the notification of hidden-out number. It was Scarlet. She picked up, the voice broken in a soft shriek: “Hi”. The red haired Witch didn’t want to put Claire into it, but if all would have gone the right way, she would have had a lot of fun, and nobody would have got hurt. Nobody beside CompTon Gregg. Comp Ton. Such a stupid name.

Scarlet talked calmly but with strenght: “Darling, I’m going to a party tomorrow night. Would you like to come with me?”. Claire was turned inside-out by emotions, the world of her friend disclosing unto her: “Which kind of party?”. The heavy silence on the other side of the phone was a powerful answer, and the sweet blondi corrected herself: “Yes, yes I’m coming. Sorry”.

Scarlet was pleased for the quickness by which the little girl understood her fault: when she talked, people agreed or declined, did not ask questions.

Anyway, she came up with the thought she had been too hard to her, and wanted to ease things a bit. She softened her voice, and asked her: “What were you doing, sweetie?”. Claire never obtained that degree of confidence since they started to have sex. On the bus they were talking like nothing, but the more the red haired one disclosed to the other, the more the blondie started to understand what kind of person she was befriending. She started to be unvoluntarily submissive to her, and every day more in love, desperately in love: “Nothing… last night something strange happened to me”. She paused, reluctant: what if Scarlet would have made fun of her? Breathing slowly, she went on: “I was drunk, and felt the need to…”. “To piss?” the voice on the other side wasn’t teasing at all, it was like… motherly. “No” she replied, “I felt the need to be more like you!” she threw up the last words, because she wouldn’t have had the guts to simply speak them. Silence again.

“Wet yourself”. Claire was puzzled by what she just heard: “You mean now?”. Scarlet voice reversed to the steel: “Yes. Don’t move. Don’t undress. Don’t move a muscle, beside those of your bladder”. Claire couldn’t believe her ears. Scarlet would have never known if she had just adjusted herself a bit. But her voice was mesmerizing. Without even consciously knowing, she released her bladder. Piss slide down her legs, under the oversized white shirt she used as a robe when at home. No panties, according to last night oath. She remembered little from it, except they brought ther home, and didn’t call her since that. Good friends. Fuck them. Pee was hot, she held it for a while as she was too focused on a scientifical research she undertook. No less than two hours of green tea without release.

Now a full torrent, her piss jetted down, on the same moquette Scarlet treated with such a great generosity. She stood there, unable to reply, nor to disobey, like a column descending from the skies and landing in her bladder, waiting to proceed in his crusade toward earth. The golden rivulets soaked the carpeted floor, her feet feeling the hot of her own bodily function.

A deranged tought went through her mind: if it felt like that, she wanted Scarlet to piss on her. She definitely wanted her lover to prey on her, submit her, squat on her, and soak her hair and dresses with her unrepentant and disrespecting liberation. She wanted to be trashed, humiliated, she wanted to be Scarlet’s toilet, and used accordingly. She wanted the weak her to be definitely drowned, a unholy Witch baptism, a Path of Gold, instead of the pointless white of modern religions.

Without noticing, a finger slided down there, starting to massage the swollen clit while the hot stream continued to gently flow. She pressed the phone to her ear, so ashamed to be unable to feel any shame, and breathed heavily while her fingers took care of the fire eager to explode from her most intimate recess. In the end, while the last driblets run down her long and tight legs, her pleasure exploded with no boundaries, and she screamed, and screamed, and screamed out all she got, with full lungs, and fuck the neighbours, fuck the neighbours ‘cause I’m cumming!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




“Your place tomorrow, six p.m. Put on the dress I gave you” Unwithstand the dangers of the situation, Scarlet couldn’t help her pussy to wet copiously from Claire performance. She reached for her privates, and started to massage.

“I love…” Claire started, a whisper, almost in tears. But the phone had already been hung up.

Edited by spywareonya
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I cant wait for the next part and i love your writings

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47 minutes ago, Valenta said:

I cant wait for the next part and i love your writings

utterly thanks my new friend, the story is already quite well developed in my mind and if things will go as I plan, it will become an actual novel

but people could make requests, if they do not get too far from my aim they will be added

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Just now, spywareonya said:

but people could make requests

Is that in where would you see me pee topic?


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4 minutes ago, Valenta said:

Is that in where would you see me pee topic?


uh, no, I mean here, if you want a character representing you to be added to the story, playing a certain role, you can ask

for example, Stephen Forst, political patron, is indeed @steve25805, Administrator of the forum

it only need that you could come with the fact that

#1 maybe we will have to try various options before finding one fitting with the story

#2 maybe he will die sooner or later


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My favorite thing about this chapter in particular is the different method of writing you used. It flows more like a poem, especially the first section leading up to the phone hanging up. Very nice.

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3 hours ago, Brutus said:

My favorite thing about this chapter in particular is the different method of writing you used. It flows more like a poem, especially the first section leading up to the phone hanging up. Very nice.

Thanks Brutus, you noticed it...

it deployed a very complex part of me that sometimes Surface...

let me just tell you that dep in my soul, I am very romantic, but in a way which is different than what people consider classical romanticism

to me, is romantic what brings out the most vulnerable part of humans, yet is inevitable

this "couple" of values is core-key, because only one will not do

indeed, I consider vulnerability as something so holy and intimate, that people both have the duty to explore it renouncing a steel-hard appearance, and the hypothetical right never to display it either

when you put these two together, you have a person that hates when something makes you vulnerable while it's not inevitable (the secret reason I am not into desperation), yet when it is unavoidable, I not simply love it, I do more, I RESPECT it

Death, anguish, the strife for conquering and keeping love, the call for political idealism, frustrated hopes, all of this brings out my deepest part, and makes me poetic, because to me the only poetry is the glorious struggle of being human


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