gorgenmast

no.

dr. turner

pls find attached my youtube video for psych 103 final project

thx

youtube.com/watch?v=XwvmpVbggCU&t=00m03s

Curious?

I guess they make these wine popsicles so I thought 'Hey, here's a cool idea. Why don't you take a wine popsicle and insert it into your anus as far as it will go (just remember to remove the popsicle stick!) and leave it in there.' Kind of like buttchugging a beer but less gay because I feel like putting all that liquid in your anus would feel like cum. And I'm not gay or anything, I just wanna get really fucked up and not have a bunch of beer in my asshole. I mean, yeah, the popsicle will melt eventually, but I figure it will be relatively slowly so it won't be like a bunch of fluid being inserted into my ass.

Famous Quotes You Shouldn't Say During Sex

SHITFUK TITFUK OOOOH BAYBEEEEE I COOMMMMMMING I COMMING I COOOOOOOOMING I COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMM OOOH OOOOGHH OOOOOGHGH FUKFUKFUKFUKFUKFUK YEAH UGHHUNPH UNGH UNGH UNGH UNGGHOOOOOOH GOOOOOOOOD I SHIT FUCK SHIT MY FUCKING CUMCUMCUMCUMYEAH YEYEYEYEYEAHH OH YEAH GIMMEGIMME CUMCUMCUMCUM YEEEEASSS CHLAAAAAAAAAAAMYDIAAAAAA CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMM TAKE MY CHLAAMYDIAAAAAAAA CUUUUUMS YEEEEEEHEHAHAHAS YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM FOR MEEEEEEE BAYBEEEEEEEE I AAAAAAAAMM IRROOOOOOOOON MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN NANANANANA CUM FOR ME

The Vampire princes

Ulrek grimaced as he choked down a goblet of blood as he broke his fast shortly after rising from his daytime slumber. The goblet, made from a pewter containing small traces of silver, was part of a new set of diningware produced by the Felmurg Mountain dwarves by Ulrek's commission. The silver within the goblet from which he drank imparted a nauseatingly bitter taste to the otherwise pleasant irony sweetness that vampires savored. The fact that Ulrek was not crumbling into a withering heap upon tasting the silver-tinged blood gave proof to the effectiveness of his efforts. But it was not only the silvery bitterness on his tongue that made the vampire baron frown this evening; for Ulrek Bathory had been awakened by bad news.

A week had passed since his escape, and still the chamberlain of Felboge Keep eluded justice. Even with regular patrols along the borderlands of the Great Weald, Ulrek doubted that the chamberlain would ever be caught. As far as Ulrek was concerned, it was inevitable that word of his traitorous deeds would become known to the wider world. Worse still, an informant from the Capital had arrived that afternoon bringing word to Ulrek's court that his brother, Edward Bathory, was courting a human princess from a neighboring realm. At this rate, it would not be long before Edward Bathory was wed and earned the inheritance of the realm. Rumors had reached Felboge Keep that both Matteas and Rory had been slain within days of one another. If the rumors were to be believed, the vampire hunters in Ulrek's employ were busy at their bloody work. In spite of these encouraging tales and the higher bounty offered for Edward's death, Ulrek doubted that the vampire slayers would be able to dispatch Edward Bathory. Surrounded at all times by the honor guard of Castle Bathory and under the protective watch of perhaps the most powerful vampire in all the world, Prince Edward would be a difficult nut to crack. Ulrek knew he would have to be more aggressive to deal with Edward.

To this end, the Baron's vassals were gathered around the throne: counts, mayors of the various towns and hamlets within the Great Weald, and knights with their own minor keeps and castles scattered throughout Weald's moors and woodlands. For the six generations that Baron Ulrek had ruled these lands, not once had the all the Baron's vassal's been convened. Before Ulrek had even addressed them, the reason they had been summoned was evident to all. Ulrek Bathory meant to raise an army.

"Let us begin with the numbers," Ulrek asked, wincing as he gulped down the last of his silver-tainted blood. How many men can be summoned?"

"For what purpose, your majesty? How many men do you need?" One of the counts asked.

"For a campaign beyond the borders of this land. I need as many men as can be spared."

"Your majesty, the levies we can muster will be... of dubious fighting capability," explained a knight from the woodlands to the northeast of the Weald. "These men you want us to conscript are not warriors, but farmers, shepherds, and fishermen. They may have some worth protecting the palisades of their towns in dire circumstances. But to send them to foreign battlefields? They will desert as soon as there is danger of combat. Such levies excel only at absorbing arrow fire and dying."

"Then they will serve plenty of use," Baron Ulrek replied coldly. "I will ask but once more: how many men can be spared?"

"30,000 men at most," another knight estimated. "20,000 is more realistic. Unfortunately the Great Weald is not a populous realm, your majesty."

Ulrek frowned. Somewhere between 20 and 30 thousand men was not the massive host he had hoped for. Zachaeus and Edward could likely press 30,000 citizens into combat to defend Castle Bathory just from the Capital's populace alone. The Great Weald would not yield anywhere near enough men to usurp control of the Empire. Ulrek would have to look beyond his borders.

"How many men could mustered from the wards of my brother Matteas?" Ulrek asked. The Baron's question raised the eyebrows of some of the counts in attendance.

"Solleck is a smaller but more densely-populated realm, your majesty," said one of the counts, humoring his liege's strange question. "I would suspect his lands could yield another 15,000 to 20,000 men. Unfortunately though, your majesty, those vassals answer to your brother Matteas and not you."

Not if he is slain, thought Ulrek.

"It is worth noting also that Sturin's Folk, the Felmurg Dwarves, would owe soldiers should they be asked."

"Indeed," Ulrek agreed. "The right to mine as much mithril and gold as they can carry off was not given freely. I shall demand 10,000 fighting dwarves. They will acquiesce, lest I deny them their precious metals."

"Allow me to temper your expectations, your majesty. Even if you were to amass a host of 50,000 to 60,000 men - a very large army and a tremendously expensive undertaking I must add - the vast majority of these men will be unseasoned peasants. They will flee at the first sign of trouble. We cannot depend entirely on levies in battle, certainly not in a campaign away from home. You will rely heavily on professional soldiers: expensive mercenaries and a great number of them. This campaign you propose will require an obscene fortune to finance. The Great Weald would not earn such a sum in taxes in a decade. How do you intend to pay for all of this?"

The Mayor of Cerncester had made a valid point, Ulrek could not fault him for that. Over the past century, Ulrek had built the Great Weald into a profitable realm, but nowhere near profitable enough to sustain a war against his father and brother. Ulrek's gambit for his father's throne would require financiers with deep pockets indeed. Ulrek would need to make the sort of contacts that could only be found in a city as large as the Capital. But travel now was too risky, and it was probable that his erstwhile chamberlain would betray Ulrek's intentions to Edward and Zachaeus by the time he had arrived. A journey to the Imperial Heartlands would almost certainly result in his immediate arrest. A middleman would be needed to find the backers he needed in the Capital.

"That informant who revealed the development with Edward and his new suitor... is he still here?" Ulrek asked.

"No sire, he left the keep perhaps two hours ago, presumably on his way back to the Capital."

"Send a horseman to go and fetch him immediately," Ulrek ordered. "Return him to me and inform him that I shall triple whatever he was just paid if he performs a favor for me in the Capital."

The Vampire princes

Hey guys, sorry to keep you guys hanging. Just returned from Christmas travels. Expect a post late tonight

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Why are so many people opposed to youth in Asia? Like the kids in China never did anything wrong to you

The Vampire princes

"He's gone, yer majesty,"

Baron Ulrek's expression was exceptionally dour today. Early in the morning, Ulrek Bathory had summoned his chamberlain to the great hall to perform a number of routine chores before the vampire lord began his slumber through the daylight hours. But the chamberlain never arrived. Hours passed, and at dawn Ulrek ordered the keep's guards to seize the chamberlain and bring him before the throne. Now it was early in the afternoon, and nearly the entirety of the keep's guard contingent had been mobilized to search every conceivable hiding place.

"You are certain of this?"

"Aye, yer majesty," affirmed the guard commander. "We've gone through the undercroft, looked in every barrel, and every space we thought a man could try to hide within. I'm certain he's gone."

Ulrek listened through the thoughts of his numerous guards and retainers throughout the fortress. Felboge Keep was rank with fear and anxiety today, even more so than usual, but as Ulrek scoured the minds of his servants, he found no trace of disloyalty. The traitorous thoughts he had been sensing were notably absent. Ulrek knew now that his chamberlain was gone, and worse still, that he harbored ill will for his former master. Ulrek cursed himself for not making a greater effort to hunt down the traitor while he had the chance.

"Where could he have gone?" Ulrek wondered aloud.

"Impossible to say, yer majesty. Probably made off with some jewels and coins and hiding in some crag on the moor now. Fret not, sire, he'll spend the rest of his miserable days a wretch on the lam, but he can't hide forever. His hide'll be staked to the walls soon enough."

"'Soon enough'? Soon enough is not good enough." Ulrek was well aware that his missing chamberlain did not leave for a handful of golden vespers. The chamberlain knew too much, and if his knowledge reached the wrong ears, then Ulrek's wish for the throne of the Imperium was in jeopardy. "Nothing enters or leaves without my approval. How was this even allowed to happen?"

"You see, sire..." the commander gulped, "there was a terrible storm last night. In all the thunder and rain, he must've gotten through somehow."

Before Ulrek could chastise his guard captain, the door to the great hall was thrown open by another guard, his boots and greaves caked in mud.

"Sire!" The new arrival announced as he made his way up to Baron Ulrek's throne. "We found these in the moat!"

The guard laid at Ulrek's feet a soaking wet scrap of silk from a robe as well as a long length of rope tied around a muddy beam of wood. The chamberlain's escape had been confirmed.

"Looks like he used that to rappel down the wall in the storm," mused the commander.

"We also found some tracks in the mud, leading away from the keep into the moor."

"Take these to the houndkeeper," Ulrek ordered the mud-stained guard. "Allow his dogs to acquire his scent and follow those tracks. "I want the borders closed to anyone without written permission to enter or leave these lands. Anyone matching a rough description of this man is to be arrested and brought in for identification."

"As you wish, sire."

"Find him quickly," Ulrek ordered his guard captain, "or your skin will be nailed to the keep in his stead."

---

He was roused from his sleep by the snorting and grunting of hogs. A wet, muddy snout prodded under his thigh; bringing to an end a fitful and restless night of sleep. He shooed the pig away and sat up from what had passed for a bed that night - a bed of weeds and straw laid over the muddy floor of a sty house. It was a wretched place to spend an evening, but the warmth of the hogs and a crude roof over his head made it preferable to sleeping out on the moor. He crawled through the doorway of the hut into a muddy pig sty. With his walking stick in hand, the former chamberlain of Felboge Keep waded through the filth and climbed over the low fence, making his way onto the street of the town.

He was a positively wretched figure, clad in a tattered robe and hood of coarse wool caked with mud and hog shit. When assuming a hobbling, staff-dependent limp, the former chamberlain was indistinguishable from a lowly, unremarkable vagabond. It was a disguise that would attract little attention as he made his way out of the Great Weald to the fringes of the Imperial Heartlands and ultimately the capital and Castle Bathory.

It would be nearly a week at his current pace to pass the borders of the Great Weald and be free of the wrath of his former master, who by now had certainly recognized his absence. Once in the Imperial Heartlands, the former chamberlain could travel by horseback, but so long as apprehension by Ulrek's men was a possibility, he had to maintain a low profile. Under the frayed woolen hood, passersby never suspected that the destitute man ambling down the southern road toward the borderlands had once been among the closest advisers of the horrifying master of this realm. No one could have imagined that the forgettablr drifter was in fact a courier bearing a secret that would set the Xelwyth Imperium ablaze.

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Cuz you better change dem sheets erry dam day smdh 🌊🛏😂😂

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Ever been with a squirter before?

The Vampire princes

With the vampire slayers went the uncharacteristically pleasant weather that the Great Weald had been enjoying for the past several days. Dusk came early that night as dark stormclouds rolled overhead from north of the Felmurg Mountains. Cold, heavy rains fell upon the moor in oppressive sheets. The rains fell upon Felboge Keep's chiseled facades, coating the edifice in a dribbling curtain of water that coursed off the cornices of colonnades and the chins of monstrous gargoyles. Bright blue peals from within the tempest above illuminated the dismal fortress for brief moments, followed immediately by chest-vibrating cracks of nearby thunder. Deep within Felboge Keep, even underneath many layers of thick stone, the storm outside could still be heard if only as distant and muted rumbling.

Baron Ulrek sat upon his throne in the great hall, holding within his slender fingers a wooden box containing a potato-sized lump of silvery metal packed in wads of hay. Argstone, the Felmurg Dwarves called it. It was an ore rich in silver, shining with veins and bubbles of silver metal within a matrix of gray stone and other minerals. Sturin's Folk had already begun delivering prodigious quantities of Argstone and other ores to Felboge Keep, carting off equal amounts of mithril and gold back to their hoards in their mountain homes in accordance with their agreement with the vampire lord. The dwarves surely thought Baron Ulrek an utter fool for trading precious gold and mithril for comparatively mundane silver. But Ulrek knew that greed compelled dwarfkind far more than any sense of honor or loyalty. When the time came to fight, Ulrek knew he could count on his dwarven allies to support him and, by extension, their lucrative mining agreement. Let the dwarves have their mithril, Ulrek thought. With enough silver, the Xelwyth Imperium would be his alone.

Thunder rumbled outside as Ulrek stared into the box, hesitating. His finger slowly lowered around the silver ore, his bony digits still burned and blistered from previous attempts at holding silver. His hands hovered above the sparkling rock, fingers already trembling in anticipation of the tremendous pain to which they would soon be subjected. Ulrek inhaled through gritted fangs and finally laid his hands upon the silver ore. He lifted the stone up out of the box, supporting its weight completely. Sharp, burning pain radiated through the Baron's fingers as smoke trailed upward from his hands once again. The feeling of silver on his flesh was excruciating, but already not as traumatic as his first attempts at handling silver, nor was there yellow fire during this attempt either. Ulrek's plan seemed to be working: already he was building a tolerance to silver.

Tolerance was one thing, but Ulrek wanted immunity. Thunder rumbled once again as Ulrek gritted his teeth, denying himself from letting go of the rock and relieving himself of the pain. His hands were giving off a considerable amount of smoke and shaking vigorously under the pain. Ulrek believed that if he held this silver for long enough, he might gain complete immunity. Focusing completely on keeping his hands on the silver ore, Ulrek resolved to push himself to the very limits of his newfound tolerance.

---

Driving rain and lightning had made the ramparts of Felboge Keep an unpleasant place to be. The keep's guards, while technically required to conduct routine rounds along the battlements of the keep regardless of inclement weather, were now taking shelter under any roof or structure they could stand under to find some shelter from the storm. With the ramparts unguarded, and the Baron preoccupied with his strange rituals, the head chamberlain of Felboge Keep was afforded perhaps the best opportunity he would ever have of escaping this place.

The chamberlain, his courtly robe matted to his body from the pouring rain, thoroughly surveyed his surroundings to ensure he was alone. Save for the occasional peal of lightning, it was completely dark. So heavy was the rain that the torches had been extinguished in their sconces. And there was not a single guard to be seen on this lonely stretch of the rampart. This was it.

The chamberlain produced from under his robe a thick, solid beam of wood one cubit long with a length of rope tied snugly around the middle. He uncoiled the rope from around the wooden beam and placed it between two battlements of the rampart and allowed the unfurled rope to fall down the keep's wall to the moat some twenty feet below. Each flash of lightning illuminated the daunting descent the chamberlain would have to make in order to make his escape, revealing a muddy moat full of sharpened pikes that would certainly skewer him should he make a single false move during his descent. The dizzying descent repulsed the chamberlain, and he backed away into the wall of the keep. The escape would prove a frightful ordeal, but the chamberlain knew he could not expect to survive in Felboge Keep much longer. He sometimes felt the disconcerting sensation that he was not alone in his own mind, and suspected the Baron was probing it. It would only be a matter of time before Ulrek discovered the chamberlain's disdain for his own master. But more importantly than his own fate, King Zachaeus had to be notified of Ulrek's treasonous deeds.

The chamberlain returned to the battlements and took the rope in his hands. He prayed that the mortar holding the stone battlements in place did not fail under his weight, and stepped over the edge. His breaths were furious and fast, rainwater spraying off his lips with every terrified exhalation. He dared not look down below him and only took short, deliberate steps down the face of the wall. Step by terrifying step, the chamberlain watched the keep above get smaller and smaller. As he neared the bottom, the chamberlain was startled to feel something tugging at his shoulder. Surprised by the tugging sensation, he lost his grip on the rain-soaked rope, and fell. The sleeve of his robe tore away from him, and he fell only a short distance into the muddy water of the moat. He emerged from the filthy moat with much of his robe torn off of his body, and discovered much of it snagged on the point of a pike he was fortunate to not have landed upon. Save for ropeburn on his palms and a scrape on his shoulder, the chamberlain had survived the descent unscathed. He gave a swift, whipping jerk on the rope, freeing the wooden block from the battlements and sending it plunging down into the moat with a splash that was barely audible over the pouring rain and thunder. He waded through the moat and pikes and flopped onto the muddy bank of the moat, panting with exhaustion. The chamberlain looked back up to see the dread keep behind him after spending so much of his life within its walls. He had only a moment to savor his newfound freedom, for the storm would soon pass and Baron Ulrek would discover his head chamberlain missing.

The chamberlain staggered down the hillside into the moor, slippered feet squishing into the mud with every step as he proceeded toward a village he knew to be located nearly a stone's-throw from Felboge Keep. It would be the first place Ulrek's men would check once they began their search for the missing chamberlain, but he would be able to acquire there some basic necessities for his journey to the Capital.

After an hour stumbling through the storm, the chamberlain encountered the hamlet known as Felboge Shadow: a collection of wattle-and-daub huts gathered along a muddy road that went east and west across the Weald. No sign of the town's denizens, unsurprising given the weather and late hour. The chamberlain came up to a crude, thatched-roof inn in the middle of the village and slammed his fist upon the door to be let in. Three knockings and still no sign of stirring from within. The proprietor of this inn either was either fast asleep, or had no intention of seeing visitors at this odd hour.

"Spare a coin, suh?" Said a raspy, croaking voice that startled the chamberlain. Sitting in the mud under the eave of the inn was a wretched soul, dressed in a filthy hooded robe and cloak who appeared to own nothing beside a pair of holey shoes and a walking stick.

"I ain't eat in two days, suh," the vagabond pleaded again, his palms outstretched. "Two pence an' I kin get some soup 'ere in the mornin'."

The chamberlain produced a coin and threw it into the vagabond's palm. The beggar's jaw dropped open when he discovered it was a golden vesper - more money than this depauperate man had ever seen in his entire life.

"Give me your robe, your staff, and your word that you will never speak of having seen me here tonight."