Real live hidden voyeur video

2020.10.08 11:45 skcpthsu ey im back again

instead of editing the old bookmarks post ill just upload new ones
here are the latest bookmarks
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https://xhamster10.com/videos/undressing-part1-12876766
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https://xhamster10.com/videos/wankz-the-sexiest-gym-camel-toe-ever-7676984
https://youtu.be/9RS35zbJabE?t=112
https://xhamster10.com/videos/enf-embarrassed-forced-to-strip-naked-in-front-of-boss-12984831
https://youtu.be/HuONTUQY8wU?t=25
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https://xhamster10.com/videos/old-man-cleans-korean-teen-daddi-4216039
https://it-it.facebook.com/Bronzegorge/photos/pcb.705594246198356/705594046198376/?type=3&theater
https://www.tdrip.com/tdrip/5850215
https://lunasier.tistory.com/333
http://sposay.com/ssul/7391
https://www.fmkorea.com/best/2145175569
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https://youtu.be/9tQGlV0k7yQ?t=36
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https://youtu.be/QVza4Dq9WaE?t=377
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https://youtu.be/tcIAuv1F_3Q?list=PLvADaly5nm_rw9RjSGqG0eoHTzOj6JZsX&t=133
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rLKXJhC0MI&list=PLvADaly5nm_rw9RjSGqG0eoHTzOj6JZsX&index=6
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https://youtu.be/AriegaDth0g?list=PLvADaly5nm_rw9RjSGqG0eoHTzOj6JZsX&t=587
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https://youtu.be/AriegaDth0g?list=PLvADaly5nm_rw9RjSGqG0eoHTzOj6JZsX&t=485
https://youtu.be/AriegaDth0g?list=PLvADaly5nm_rw9RjSGqG0eoHTzOj6JZsX&t=485
https://youtu.be/AriegaDth0g?list=PLvADaly5nm_rw9RjSGqG0eoHTzOj6JZsX&t=485
https://youtu.be/KZHAALQ_pp8?t=84
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ssyF6K5CC0&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=2
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=9Z8TXoaUDiE&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=18
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https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=6AoKiQItBnM&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=19
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=6AoKiQItBnM&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=19
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=6AoKiQItBnM&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=19
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=6AoKiQItBnM&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=19
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=6AoKiQItBnM&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=19
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=OlRvcdCCD40&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=20
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https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=6F-A9MK7CZI&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=24
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8eEwBQeISc8
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=4iSbzxtAyIw&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=27
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=4iSbzxtAyIw&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=27
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https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=cdTaMO7UuKs&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=28
https://www.nsfwyoutube.com/watch?v=PC6Tf9fMVxk&list=PLuQCJl3sjCcE13NnicruDAAwgswfbgJ6S&index=29
https://youtu.be/dVUYZrG8INA?t=451
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAzGoD8kwEA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtOkj-xVhf8
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWI6I8apbMQ
https://youtu.be/ERolZVP5Xiw?t=125
https://hentai2read.com/sneaked_into_a_horny_girls_school/2/
https://hentai2read.com/time_stop_app/1/83/
https://hentai2read.com/zenra_haikai_after_school/1/32/
https://hentai2read.com/watashitachi_producersan_ni_mechakucha/coming-soon/1/
https://hentai2read.com/student_council_beauties_in_midsumme1/20/
https://hentai2read.com/the_honor_student/1/28/
https://hentai2read.com/twin_transfer_students_ema_eve/1/20/
https://hentai2read.com/sarashi_ai/1/19/
https://hentai2read.com/students_for_the_future_children/1/3/
https://hentai2read.com/sodachatte_okikunatte/1/5/
https://hentai2read.com/today_is_a_naked_schoolday/1/2/
https://hentai2read.com/abnormal_naked_friends/1/
https://hentai2read.com/zetahime_kanraku/3/
https://hentai2read.com/seeing_her_panties_lets_me_stick_in/2/132/
https://hentai2read.com/seeing_her_panties_lets_me_stick_in/3/56/
https://hentai2read.com/konkatsu_no_susume/1/13/
http://ournakedbodies.net/summer-sun-nudists-pt7/
http://ournakedbodies.net/splashes-in-dark-waves-pt3/
http://ournakedbodies.net/babylons-family-fun-pt3/
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http://ournakedbodies.net/halloween-pool-party-pt4/
http://ournakedbodies.net/lake-forest-friends-pt12/
http://ournakedbodies.net/standing-tall-on-rocks-pt2/
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http://ournakedbodies.net/waves-and-water-paints-pt1/
http://ournakedbodies.net/sandy-beach-getaway-pt2/
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submitted by skcpthsu to u/skcpthsu [link] [comments]


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2020.08.03 01:51 Ralts_Bloodthorne First Contact - TOTAL WAR - 259 (INTERLUDE)

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It was one of the oldest sections of the Unified Civilized Council claimed space. Referred to by documents all the way back into antiquity as "Herd Home", the small cluster of several dozen planets in a twelve light year bubble was believed to be the oldest Lanaktallan worlds in existence. The planets were all xenoformed, something that the Unified Council had forbidden nearly since its inception lest the xenoforming destroy microbes that would eventually become sentient species. All had two continents, one on each side of the globe, that were perfectly curated into Lanaktallan paradise.
One could not emigrate there, only by virtue of being born in Herd Home could one even visit.
The worlds produced little more than food, feeding nearly two-thirds of the Lanaktallan population who could afford real grain cud, but was paradise all the same.
Fully, completely automated since time began, the Lanaktallan who dwelt on the paradise worlds of Herd Home wanted for nothing, suffered no discomfort, and were coddled from womb to reclamation, their lives nothing more than contentment within the oldest Great Herd in the known universe.
But not everyone was content. On one world, often considered the oldest, where now and then water erosion would expose fossilized remains of Lanaktallan and other six legged creatures, bringing about flights of wonder of those who lived in Herd Home and were privy to view such restored wonders, there lived a Lanaktallan who would be the downfall of that most ancient of groupings, who would bring about the end of Lanaktallan supremacy far more than any fleet ever would, through the simple act of being himself.
At the wrong place and the wrong time for the rest of the Lanaktallan of the galaxy.
Sko'ou'up knew he wasn't a proper Lanaktallan. He knew people he shouldn't know, he owned things he shouldn't own, and he consumed things he shouldn't consume. Unlike the majority of the Lanaktallan surrounding him, in what he considered a cud-induced haze of mediocrity, he had found the year or so that the Terrans had been around to be extremely exciting. He'd scoured GalNet for everything he could, even though GalNet had been a wasteland of what he considered gore porn and torture voyeurism forced upon everyone by the Precursor machine's hatred for anything living.
He owned Terran video games, he watched Terran movies, he read Terran literature.
He also knew people who could do things that weren't supposed to be done.
Which is why he was sitting at a stop light, his vest and flank-covering and sash on the seat next to him, on the main arterial road through the middle of the city in a ground vehicle that was capable of such outrageous speeds that he could roar past a mile and a half in a few seconds less than a minute. Which is why his tendrils quivered with excitement as he watched the stop lights ahead of him, on the blocks ahead of him, go from "DO NOT CROSS" to "YOU MAY SAFELY PROCEED." The lights had been spoofed by the device hidden in the dash of his vehicle, just as the cameras would not record his vehicle's speed nor who was inside of it at the time it was being driven. He owned things he should not, which was why he was listening to Terran music, that howling barbaric thunderous cacophony that so enticed his nerves as he watched the lights.
One by one they approached, burning amber in the night.
When the one in front of him changed he stomped a hoof on the pedal, an illegal modification to his vehicle, and the vehicle's tires lost traction, squealing against the asphalt and smoke billowed out from under his car, turned a glowing purple by the illegal lights beneath his souped up vehicle.
The vehicle roared forward, invisible on the stoplight cameras, undetectable by the speed sensors. Sko'ou'up grinned maniacally as he shifted gears, using, of all things, a primitive lever operated shifting system, running the wonderful archiac clutch as he shifted to second gear and his tires squealed. The cured leather seat he sat in was warm as he sped down the main motorway of the city.
He knew the city was only fifteen miles, that he would only take slightly less than ten minutes to make the entire drive, but he looked forward to the exciting drive at the end of every weekly workshift.
Walls were whipping by and his car's spedometer was pegged out at thirty miles an hour, the engine roaring, the Terran music blasting, the steering wheel vibrating in his hand as he pressed on the clutch, shifted to third, and popped the clutch as he hammered on the accelerator.
The tires broke traction and gave out a stuttering squeal.
Just as a truck pulled out from where a garage door had rolled up.
Sko'ou'up tried to swerve, the back of his vehicle slewed out, and he hit the back of the truck, plasteel warping, twisting, screaming, as his car was reduced to wreckage, the back of the truck damaged, and he was ejected from the vehicle.
The seat ended up in the back of the vehicle. One of the contents of the vehicle was pulled into the wreckage even as Sko'ou'up was ejected, and the mangled wreckage tumbled two blocks before it hit an automated street sweeper and came to rest intermixed with the wreckage of the street sweeper a bare two seconds after the spoofing devices in his vehicle failed.
The computer annotated that there had been a vehicle wreck and dispatched automated systems to examine the wreck. It noted, unemotionally, that there was a Lanaktallan corpse inside. Flank, sash, and vest all ID'd the corpse as one Sko'ou'up, Digital Systems Engineer Second Class. The master computer system deactivated Sko'ou'up's datalink, transferred the deceased accounts to the proper system accounts, then put his belongings and apartment up for purchase or lease.
The master computer determined there was no reason to bother going through extensive ID and ordered the Lanaktallan corpse to be delivered to the corpse reclamation building only a few hundred feet from the site of the accident. It deleted Sko'ou'up's living file after double-checking that the unfortunate Lanaktallan had had all of his information put in the Deceased Records Repository.
The master computer system went back to the rest of its duties of running all the planets of Herd Home.
The truck continued on to its destination. It backed in and robots noted the damage then removed the cargo. The computer systems checked the weight, found it within tolerance, and dumped it into the reclamation systems, destroying the seat from Sko'ou'up's vehicle as well as the sixty Lanaktallan corpses.
The robots picked up the corpse from the vehicle and delivered it back to the identification and pre-reclamation building. The computer noted that the arrived corpse had already been processed, noted that Sko'ou'up had been killed in a vehicle wreck, and attributed the processing damage to the vehicle wreck.
As for Sko'ou'up, he woke up in the bushes and realized three things.
Number One: He was somehow still alive.
Number Two: His implant was turned off.
Number Three: He was naked.
He got up and looked around, feeling a little shook up after his high-speed wreck. He saw a doorway and moved over to it. He tried his fingerprint but got nothing, for reason the system rejecting his prints. Sighing he held down several buttons at once and when the system beeped and flashed he typed in the universal maintenance code and went inside.
When he trotted out ten minutes later, he was dressed again. He had been unable to pay for his clothing, so he had reset the system, used the administrative password of password on the system, and deleted the clothing from inventory.
He had noted a little oddity.
He kept getting erased from the system by the Master Computer System's error checking software, even the video of him crossing the street had his image deleted.
Sko'ou'up was grinning as he trotted down to another store, bypassed the security, and went inside. There he had the robots install better datalink hardware, updated the firmware, then did a bit of quick work on a holoterminal to crack open the security and rewrite part of the software.
For some reason, he was invisible to the system.
-------------
For a while he trotted around the city. LawSec, CorpSec, even ExecSec couldn't seem to see him. He theorized that the Master Computer System was editing him out of their retinal displays. While some people could see him, he always dressed nicely unless he was up to trouble, so for the most part people ignored him.
He was standing in a park shooting at automated toy boats he'd purchased with instant credits (which meant typing in 'paid in full' in the ledger and editing the inventory) with a ExecSec plasma rifle he'd just trotted in and taken from the armory after deleting it from the inventory.
"Why are you doing that?" a lovely voice asked. He turned around and saw a filly roughly his own age, looking at him with curiosity.
She was the first person who had actually spoken to him in a week.
"Because I can," he said.
"May I try?" she asked.
He smiled. "Certainly. Come here and I will teach you how to shoot."
Love bloomed among the plasma blasts.
--------------
"I've never been to Gro'oti'ilo'o," the female, Sha'alma'a said, smiling as she ate her food. They were at a high class restaurant at an orbital station. Sko'ou'up had altered the ship's registry to erase their additional weight when they'd hitched a ride with the resupply shuttle.
Sko'ou'up checked his datalink, easily bypassing the security.
"There's a hydroponics luxury food ship heading there. It's going the slow way, so it'll take three months," Sko'ou'up said. "Hmm, it's completely automated, but it has cabins."
"Ooh, let's do that. We can pretend we're farmers!" Sha'alma'a said, clapping her hands.
Sko'ou'up triggered a quick engine reinspection and tagged one of the old maintenance shuttles to take the two of them to the massive hydroponics ship.
They held hands and skipped down the hallway to the shuttle after their meal.
------------
The Master Control Computer had noted the cascading errors and sent a notice for a technician to the master control stations.
A shuttle to the orbital stations had used too much fuel to get to orbit and dock with the station. The cargo was weighed, it was correct, but no simulation would use that much fuel. It was if 800 pounds had magically appeared during the flight to orbit then vanished when it docked.
The Master Control Computer altered the shuttle weights by 800 pounds, figuring aging diagnostic circuits.
The next thirty shuttles shot off into space, far too much thrust used, and vanished.
The Master Control Computer ran diagnostics to figure out what was wrong.
--------------
Sko'ou'up pranced around the hydroponics garden with Sha'alma'a, both of them gloriously nude as they picked berries to eat, grazed on rare and expensive grains, and enjoyed the luxury hydroponics even as they cared for them. Three months had been decided to be too little and Sko'ou'up had reduced the drive power so that the trip would take twice as long.
The six month trip passed too quickly for both of them, but the luxury planet of Gro'oti'ilo'o awaited.
Sko'ou'up adjusted the sensors to ignore the weight of him and his paramour when the Gro'oti'ilo'o Orbital Control Computer tried to reject the ship's request for orbit.
The Orbital Control Computer checked the weight with its altered sensors and allowed it to take orbit.
The shuttle was 800 pounds over weight, but then the numbers bobbled and it was on track.
The shuttle landed and was unloaded. The weight of the cargo was correct.
But the fuel consumption was off.
The next shuttle that lifted off was 800 pounds too light.
The Orbital Control Computer ordered the shuttles grounded.
The Master Control System noted that the ship had taken twice as long as projected, ran diagnostics, and didn't find any decrease in engine output during the trip or during diagnostics.
It ordered other ships to increase drive speed.
Cargo ships began overshooting their targets and arriving at other planets or just vanishing.
------------
Sko'ou'up and Sha'alma'a were shocked to discover that nobody lived on the luxury resort planet. It was entirely automated, the entire planet empty, only robots that tended to the grain fields, maintained the resorts, and controlled the weather.
They played ancient games on the manicured lawns, enjoyed meals made by the long neglected chefs, and wondered at the vistas of the luxury planet.
----------------
The Master Control Computer checked the weight of the latest arrival that moved into orbit.
800 pounds off.
It denied authorization.
The ship joined the hundreds of ships in orbit around the planet.
Across the Herd Home Systems every ship, every shuttle, registered as 800 pounds light. Outside of parameters, so they were refused landing or take off or even authorization to leave orbit. Hundreds of cargo ships orbited every world, with dozens arriving every day.
The Master Control Computer signalled it needed a firmware and systems check.
In an abandoned room, in a forgotten facility, on an empty luxury and grain production planet, a single amber light kept blinking next to a small display.
"SYSTEM ERROR - ALERT ADMINISTRATOR"
The light kept blinking into an empty room who's door read: "No Admittance".
A poster beside the door bragged to any who might see it that the entire facility was undergoing automation that would allow it to be run by just one being, allowing all others who might have to work there time to instead enjoy life and luxury.
The estimated completion date was long long past.
So the light kept blinking.
Forgotten.
----------
"Look, more shooting stars," Sha'alma'a said, pointing at the sky. "Lets make a wish like Terran children!"
A quartet of cargo ships that had been sent to have their massive cargo holds filled with grain tumbled as they entered atmosphere and began to burn up as their fuel ran out and their orbits decayed.
Over 800 pounds of weight.
The weight of two full grown Lanaktallan.
Who stared at the sky and watched the shooting stars, holding hands and making wishes.
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2020.07.04 00:09 AuthorJoJo Real live hidden voyeur video

It's no secret that the internet is fit to burst with the amount of strange and “Unexplained” videos that surface every day. We've become so numb to the norm created by these videos that nothing crawls under our skin like it used to. We search for the ever-diminishing high of being afraid. Of being so dumbfounded by what's on-screen that we question the limits of reality.
Maybe I'm being too dramatic. But for me, these videos have become so mundane that I no longer get anything from them. I just sit in front of my computer resting my chin in the palm of my hand just looking for a rush. Deep into the night, I watch the same formulaic scene playing out over and over.
Grainy and poor quality videos capturing something slipping off into the woods or a spectral figure crossing between two doors. It's 2020 how are there no high-quality pictures or footage of the things that used to scare us. It's almost like bigfoot became privy to the advances of technology and got better at hiding. What's worse than not being scared, was losing my wonder.
I started realizing how fake so many of these videos were and even the ones that were done well seemed easy enough to question their validity. So I began to doubt the existence of anything that used to keep me up those nights. Aliens. Ghost. Monsters. If the videos were all fake in an age where everyone is streaming or has eight-hundred dollar phones. Then maybe they just weren't real.
Moving away from videos I started traversing forums. To see if anyone was feeling the way I was feeling. To see if anyone had something that could spark that light of creativity again. What was sparked, was curiosity. Now and then on different sites, I would see mention of a website that contained unsettling content. Not the gory kind you would find on something like liveleak. But videos that we're extraordinary and unusual.
Needless to say, I became hooked on the idea of finding this website. I would message anyone who made even a passing mention of it for details. No one ever offered me information. Only replying that if I kept looking for it, I'll find it eventually. I asked specifically if it was a “Dark web” type thing knowing that's a hub for a bunch of strange content. All the people I asked confirmed that it wasn't, it was on the surface.
Somewhere a website hosting a treasure trove of odd videos was waiting for me. I couldn't understand why no one would just link me to the site or describe the video. The best information I got was “It's just a matter of chance.” And that my chance was increased by actively seeking it out and that's about all I could do. To find it I had to look for it, which sounds easy enough but by god did it take forever.
My google search history must look absolutely manic. I would search for some strange keywords and then immediately dive into the later pages of the search. I figured a site like that wouldn't be sitting within the first few pages of results. I just remember being told that I would know I was in the right place when I got there.
Days went by and while I did stumble across several intriguing things I always felt the sites weren't “It.” And then with sleep-deprived eyes and weary fingers, I found what I believe to be the website others were speaking about. It became clear pretty quickly why no one was able to directly link me to the site as the URL remained blank. Even searching for the same term in google failed to get me back to the site, like it had shifted its place after I found it.
The page itself was blank as well. Nothing but a large black screen. Not knowing what to do I moved my mouse to the empty URL and highlighted it to see if the text was hidden somehow. After highlighting the area some text popped up in the URL space. It read “Video:”
Doing the only logical thing I could think of I simply put the number '1' after the new URL text and then a video began to occupy the once dark webpage. It was a video of someone streaming, they didn't have any viewers but they sat in their room talking to the camera. Nothing really seemed off about it. The room was well lit and the streamer didn't look like anything out of the average. I watched him talk about his day for a minute or two, again he didn't mention anything odd. Then there was a large bang off-camera that caught his attention.
He looked towards what I could only assume was his bedroom door. I could hear the click of the door opening, realizing he mentioned earlier that he lived alone. He looked visibly concerned, the hair on his head ruffled from the pressure of the door swinging open. His chest started to heave looking at something offscreen. His voice was quivering through chattering teeth. He repeated “What the fuck.” over and over like his brain was skipping.
Starting to rise out of his chair he started asking what the thing off-camera was. Screaming at the top of his lungs as he started backing up. Turning his head to the camera I could see tears running down his cheek. His eyes were, distant. Like they were broken or he couldn't come to terms with what he was seeing. And just there, at the climax, the stream ended and the webpage returned to darkness.
I sat there for a moment looking at the dark screen. I played the video once again. Trying to find something recognizable. Surely a clip like this would have spread around it was just so weird. It seemed so genuine too. I'm not sure how I would react to certain situations but the streamer looked like had seen something no one ever expects to see. After collecting myself I realized that I had found that high I was looking for.
The video was just so bizarre and off-putting that my skin was starting to crawl thing of what the streamer might have seen just off-camera. I found myself angry that the stream didn't continue long enough to get a look. But with my newfound source of horror, I started going through one video after another. I was afraid if I clicked off the site I wouldn't be able to find it again or that it would take days of searching again. I sure as hell couldn't bookmark it.
Not all the videos were all that scary to me. A lot of times they were just what looked like home videos. People doing average things, although, in a way that unsettled me too, I felt like an outside observer and was uncomfortable with the voyeurism. Sometime I would notice little things in the background of these videos though. So all of them may have something going on and I just failed to notice.
Like with video: 26. It was just a guy in his late teens sitting on his bed practicing guitar. He was a beginner and the odd twangs of miss played notes filled my room. With the guy sitting on the bed I could see the window behind him. For a brief moment, no more than a few frames it seems like the bright blue sky shifts deep green and then back to blue.
I barely picked up on it and maybe it's nothing but it was an oddity in the video nonetheless so it made me a little more observant of the backgrounds. Some videos, however, it was all too clear what I was supposed to be looking at. Subtly went out of the window on videos like video: 14.
It was a dark room with one source of buzzing light casting down on a man laying on a concrete floor. He was shirtless and panting heavily. I could see dark spots under him where sweat or tears had stained the gray floor. Hunched over on his knees and forearms he kept telling someone off-camera that he told them everything he knew. This went on for a moment and then the man said “Please don't do it again.”
Just as his sentence dissipated into the air I saw his right arm start to lift up and then violently jerk backward. The sound of bones cracking and the man's shrill cry of pain caused me to nearly fall out of my chair. The joint of his shoulder and elbow completely failed him and the back of his hand slapped his spine. I know some people can do that but judging by the anguish on his face I don't think he was one of them.
He collapsed to the floor, no longer screaming. I could see his joints bulging underneath his skin as his body was dragged off-screen. The whole time I watched him nothing made contact with his person. The ease of which his arm bent the wrong way, it was so swift with no hesitation like someone just willed it to be. The video ended but I could still hear his screaming in my ear. Luckily some of the more mundane videos played after that one like the site was giving me a break.
Some of the videos were just bizarre. Obviously, all the videos were bizarre but there were some stands out that cause me to stop and think. For example Video: 79. Yes I watched a lot of them, they were so interesting and I just couldn't help myself- Anyways Video: 79 starts with a man walking into the water from the beach. The sky is gray and cloudy and I don't hear anything other than the crashing waves and his mumbling.
The waves get louder as he walks further out, the water ever-rising around him but I start to pick up what he's saying. Over and over again he's repeating “It's 1879”. He just keeps mumbling that into the camera he's holding as the water rises around him. It's 1879. It's 1879. It's 1879. His voice starts to bubble when the water reaches his lips.
A few brief times the water dips under the murky green water. I had to watch the video over and over as there was no way to pause it but I could swear when the camera dipped under the water. I could see the silhouettes of buildings. Tall skyscrapers hiding under the ocean's surface. It looked like new york but just as the camera dips a final time the video ends with one last “It's 1879.”
I began to wonder if some of the videos were connected somehow when I played Video: 80. It saw a naval officer being filmed on a large boat. I'm terrible with military stuff, it was some kind of air-craft carrier though. There was a ton of chatter around the boat as the camera followed the officer who was maintaining a brisk pace.
As he reached the edge of the ship a few of his crew members motioned for him to hurry up to which he replied by asking what was going on. As he reached the edge of the ship the camera looked out at the sea. Panning further down there was a shadow under the water, it was long and prominent against the crystal blue. The mumbling around the Officer began to increase as the shadow began to grow in size.
The Officer began shouting for everyone to get to a safe station. To brace themselves. It wasn't had to tell that what was causing the dark spot was rising to the surface. That once it reached the surface It was going to be massive, likely thicker than the Carrier. As the operator of the camera panned up to start running away from the edge, I saw very briefly, a man standing on the water facing the boat. Then the video ends.
It's a common theme that the videos end right before the climax, but not all of them follow this rule. Like Video: 44. This video is possibly the most graphic one I saw out of the bunch and it's also one of the shorter ones. There are two people on camera and whoever is controlling the camera. The two on-screen are girls that look fairly young, early teens maybe and judging by the voice of the cameraman he was around their age.
The one girl mentioned that her mother told her “Not to stay past sundown.” As the cameraman filled the trees around them. He was telling the girl to relax and all the rumors were full of shit. The other girl laughed but it was a nervous laugh. They walked briefly before their progress was interrupted by a large snap. It sounded like a tree had fallen. Then one of the girls asked, “What are those?”
The camera panned in the direction and in the distance where soft glowing amber lights. Like aggressive fireflies. The camera pans back to the girl just as her legs are swept out from under her and she falls to the floor. Before she can muster a whimper her body is lifted by a thick dark shadow and tossed aside. She was thrown with such force that when she hit a nearby tree it looked like she was, I think she was torn in half at the torso.
It was hard to see as the motion was so quick and it was so dark but her shadow that was once whole split into two and tumbled through the trees. The other girl watched in horror as her friend experienced cell division mere feet from here. Without any time to process what had happened or start running that same tendril bore through the girl's chest. The weak light of the camera showed her injury in harsh detail.
The end of the tendril seemed to be sprouting branches from the small pockets of blood that rested on the dark and slimy surface. The girl turned her head slowly and I recognized a familiar amber glow starting to ignite in her eyes. The boy dropped the camera when they locked eyes. I could hear him attempting to flee but his footsteps suddenly stopped and the video went black. The video after that. Video: 45 was just people dancing in a club.
It was such a strange shift in tone. They just kept dancing. And while this one didn't have anything too bizarre in it. I thought I could see the people moving around would occasionally have something protruding from their skin as they were dancing, at least, I thought they were dancing. The video goes to black before anything happens though.
There are a lot of videos on this site, way too many to go over them all at once and I don't even know if I reached the end. I fell asleep after watching Video: 121 and when I woke up my computer had gone into sleep and the page was gone. Video: 120 was a woman holding her phone up to a mirror while she reached into her mouth.
She started to pull her hand back and as she did a thin strand started to be revealed. She was making retching noises and she continued pulling. She had her arm almost stretched out in front of her still pulling the thing out. Then it seemed to wriggle and in an instant seemed to retreat into her mouth causing her to vomit in the sink.
I heard the woman angrily exclaim “Fuck this.” Before reaching for a knife resting on the white sink. Then, of course, the video cuts. These are just some of the videos that stuck out to me, if I could direct you to the place I would, even I'm having trouble finding it again. I'm not sure if any of these are real but I can confidently say I've never seen them anywhere but this site. The reactions and looks of everything feel so real. Even now a lot of what I saw I'm struggling to shake.
If I find it again and see more, maybe I'll be back, and if I can find a way to get a path to the site I'll be back. But for now, I leave you with one more video that stuck with me. “Video 57.”

The video starts with a man walking through an empty house. No furniture or anything. Only a bleak green carpet lining the floors of each room. He would look out the windows he passed by but wouldn't point the camera out there. I watched him get increasingly frantic as he started running room to room. Each look out the window seemed to break him a little more.
Eventually, he ran to the front door and with a trembling hand unlocked it. Swinging the door open the source of his concern became alarmingly clear. A crowd of plain gray mannequins lifted their heads to meet his gaze. There were so many that I could barely see any of the front yard, just shoulder to shoulder mannequins.
His breath was rapid and harsh right against the camera. He started screaming at the scene before him, almost in defiance. He kept egging them on, telling them to “Get it over with.” And when he'd had enough of the motionless figures he slammed the door shut. Turning around to face the rest of the house something caused him to drop his phone.
It landed face down on the carpet showcases the dark green. I heard a struggle and the shuffling of feet filling the house. Then the camera was picked up, plain gray fingers laced around it bending at visible plastic joints. The thing manipulating the camera pointed it at the man that was being pinned down by the figures.
I was waiting for it to cut to black like I had seen so many times before but instead I watched as a horde of mannequins hovered over the man and started to peel away at him. He was screaming and trying to fight against it, telling them he didn't want to go back.
As they ripped at his flesh I was surprised at the lack of gore, no blood or bone. As they ripped his face apart all I saw, was a plain gray shell underneath and then the video cuts to black. It's something I have no idea what to make of. The amount of production that would have been necessary to do whatever the hell that was. I couldn't find anything like it, that goes for most of the videos.
I'm not sure why these videos only make it to this site, why we aren't seeing them on youtube or any other platform. Hell, I don't know anything about this. All I know is it offered me a high I hadn't ever felt before and filled me with a dread I don't think I'll ever shake. The feeling of something out there beyond me always gnawing at the back of my neck.
As conflicted as I am, I'll search for that high until I find it again. I have to know what else is out there. How many videos are there, what is video: 121? For my money, I can only conclude that the things I saw on that site were real. Maybe I wasn't supposed to see them.
All I know is I have to find that place again.
submitted by AuthorJoJo to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.04.14 09:01 Edwardthecrazyman Voyeur real live video hidden

1 2 3
People at their most vulnerable help me get my rocks off. There is no way to pretty that up in the slightest so I don't intend to.
It started years ago when I found cam girls on the internet. I could interact with them, pay them, demand certain sexual poses from them for the money, but at a certain point, that felt too similar to regular pornography. It wasn't enough. There wasn't any kind of risk to it. I might as well hire a prostitute. I wanted the real deal. I wanted the amateur quality that you can't get out of porn or cam girls. I wanted reality. Vulnerability. A person's essence. I wanted to know them better than anyone else. It's really quite beautiful.
So I took the huge windfall of cash after my father's passing and bought an apartment complex with wide hollow walkways hidden within the walls for maintenance workers to shimmy through. Perfect.
I renovated the place, making the hidden walkways more comfortable, drilling holes in the ceiling over every bedroom, setting up surveillance equipment. I would have people paying me to prey on them. Within six months after the initial purchase of the property, I was able to begin looking over applicants. The first several were families or single men. I pondered as to whether or not I should shred these applications, but figured it may look strange if the entire complex was occupied by single women. Without a question, I did not want to draw any attention. So I began doing background checks and drawing up agreements.
Ten rooms. Two of them with women. One blonde. One red head. I watched them when they showered. I watched them when they would get ready for work. I watched them when they slept sometimes. It was orgasmic. The sheer pleasure I received from looking upon their mostly still forms while they lay in their beds is beyond description. That was the beginning, really. Then I moved on. They bored me. So I moved on to the men. Then the families. Don't get your panties in a bunch, you freaking saints. I never watched the children shower or use the bathrooms. I never watched the children sleep. They were off limits.
But the things that men do, and yes it's mostly the men that do it, are lots of fun to watch. When they believe they are entirely alone and they strip themselves down to their skivvies and click over into the incognito mode on their phones or computers. Some of them like to look at the strangest things. Delightful. It may make your skin crawl but it makes my ripple and quiver.
I took up in one of the units. The only one on the very top floor. It was a nice place. I'd had the workers take all the walls down so that I had one massive floor. One corner had my desktop with the monitors. When I wasn't squeezed into the walls or ceilings of my tenants, I was sitting there. I made sure that the door to my unit was very secured. What with its many locks and steel frame.
Then that urge I've lived with my entire life came back. Looking in on those people was no longer enough. I exercised my right as their landlord to check in on the unit while they were away. Sometimes I would eat cereal out of their cabinets or curl up in their beds. The smell of these strangers was intoxicating. I wanted to swallow their sheets and choke on them. I wanted to strip down and have them walk in on me with my birthday suit entirely exposed to them. How delightful.
I hid in the red head's bedroom closet. She was messy, using the closet sparingly, instead opting to drop her clothes on the floor like some mish mash rug of sporadic clothing. I stayed in their for two days without her knowing it, using one of her tall leather boots as a waste receptacle. I am sure she will find it soon enough. How delightful.
I stole one of the male tenants cats. He notified me of it and I responded that we had a zero tolerance policy on pets. He dropped the issue immediately, stuttering something about how he was just cat sitting. Don't worry. I keep the cat in my fish tank.
Sometimes I take the blonde's tennis shoes and wear them around town. I know I'll be caught one day. I know it, but don't care. That's a part of the allure, don't you understand? It's so delightful.
For about the last week, I'd taken a hiatus from tormenting my tenants from the shadows. My unit needed to be cleaned as I'd been so entirely preoccupied on this titillating hobby of mine. I wiped the dried fluids off the underside of my desk. I mopped and did my laundry. The strong smell of freshly cut onions stuffed beneath my arms had begun to follow me everywhere I'd go. A well respected landlord of this little community couldn't be going about like that, now could he?
I found a camera lens in the drain of my shower. It was something I'd almost missed, but it was there. It shined, peeking at me from the little metal cross section in the drain. Strange. I had never implemented any surveillance in my own unit.
The demo of the shower was quick work. I removed the plastic tub and found that the camera was attached to all manner of wiring underneath. They ran into the walls and upon further inspection, I found that one of the wires ran the length of the wall in my unit until it exited the inside of the wall again through a hole I'd never noticed before. The wire ran directly into the back of my computer. I'd never seen the port. It wasn't ethernet. It wasn't USB. I couldn't find anything online about the kind of wire I was dealing with at all. I rebooted the computer and found a program on the desktop I'd never seen before. It pulled up a video feed.
There was gaunt sickly man sitting in a swivel chair at a desk with too many monitors. The camera was peering in at him from somewhere behind. I lifted my arm over my head while looking at the monitor. The man in the feed did the same.
It was me.
I moved across the room, watching the man in the feed mimic my motions. Where was that damned camera? It took a little trial and error and a lot of me looking back at the monitor to see where I was relative to the camera angle, but I eventually found the thing snugly tucked away in the vent on the wall opposite the desk. It was well beyond my understanding of tech. The camera was no larger than my thumb.
The small camera smashed into a thousand tinier pieces as I pelted it against the wall. The speakers at my desk squeaked and I dashed back over to the desk, sitting in my swivel chair. The screen was black now. I alt f4-ed out of the program and it stuttered before closing.
I then went to the surveillance program I used on my tenants and clicked it open. All of the monitors came to life at once with live video feed from the units below. Eyes stared back at me from all of them.
Without realizing it, I reared back in the chair and flipped onto the floor. Slowly, I crept back over the edge of the desk to look at the feed. They were dead eyes. No. They were never alive. They were all mannequins. Motionless, porcelain white skin, staring through those illusive cameras I'd set up. I moved to the nearest window and peeked out through the blinds. The complex's parking lot was empty except for my own blue Mazda.
I shut the computer off, trying to get my breathing under control.
After staring at the blank screens for about an hour, I decided to physically check in on my tenants. Apartment after apartment. Nothing but frozen mannequins. Some of them were pressed against spots that I knew had hidden cameras, some of them were in the middle of daily routines they would never finish. One stood over a plate of scrambled eggs at a kitchen counter. Another lay in bed with their eyes staring directly up into the ceiling.
I retreated back to my unit, being sure to secure every single lock in the door. I turned the computer back on and clicked from camera to camera. Every single mannequin was gone.
Instead there was a message scrawled on paper and placed in front of each of the cameras. The word repeated in every camera, in every frame.
Hi. Was all it said.
My stomach churned. My mouth was dry. The familiar smell of thick sweat broke out. This was not delightful.
submitted by Edwardthecrazyman to Edwardthecrazyman [link] [comments]


2020.04.14 08:57 Edwardthecrazyman I am a professional voyeur [1]

1 2 3
People at their most vulnerable help me get my rocks off. There is no way to pretty that up in the slightest so I don't intend to.
It started years ago when I found cam girls on the internet. I could interact with them, pay them, demand certain sexual poses from them for the money, but at a certain point, that felt too similar to regular pornography. It wasn't enough. There wasn't any kind of risk to it. I might as well hire a prostitute. I wanted the real deal. I wanted the amateur quality that you can't get out of porn or cam girls. I wanted reality. Vulnerability. A person's essence. I wanted to know them better than anyone else. It's really quite beautiful.
So I took the huge windfall of cash after my father's passing and bought an apartment complex with wide hollow walkways hidden within the walls for maintenance workers to shimmy through. Perfect.
I renovated the place, making the hidden walkways more comfortable, drilling holes in the ceiling over every bedroom, setting up surveillance equipment. I would have people paying me to prey on them. Within six months after the initial purchase of the property, I was able to begin looking over applicants. The first several were families or single men. I pondered as to whether or not I should shred these applications, but figured it may look strange if the entire complex was occupied by single women. Without a question, I did not want to draw any attention. So I began doing background checks and drawing up agreements.
Ten rooms. Two of them with single women. One blonde. One red head. I watched them when they showered. I watched them when they would get ready for work. I watched them when they slept sometimes. It was orgasmic. The sheer pleasure I received from looking upon their mostly still forms while they lay in their beds is beyond description. That was the beginning, really. Then I moved on. They bored me. So I moved on to the men. Then the families. Don't get your panties in a bunch, you freaking saints. I never watched the children shower or use the bathrooms. I never watched the children sleep. They were off limits.
But the things that men do, and yes it's mostly the men that do it, are lots of fun to watch. When they believe they are entirely alone and they strip themselves down to their skivvies and click over into the incognito mode on their phones or computers. Some of them like to look at the strangest things. Delightful. It may make your skin crawl but it makes mine ripple and quiver.
I took up in one of the units. The only one on the very top floor. It was a nice place. I'd had the workers take all the walls down so that I had one massive floor. One corner had my desktop with the monitors. When I wasn't squeezed into the walls or ceilings of my tenant's living quarters, I was sitting there. I made sure that the door to my unit was very secured. What with its many locks and steel frame.
Then that urge I've lived with my entire life came back. Looking in on those people was no longer enough. I exercised my right as their landlord to check in on the units while they were away. Sometimes I would eat cereal out of their cabinets or curl up in their beds. The smell of these strangers was intoxicating. I wanted to swallow their sheets and choke on them. I wanted to strip down and have them walk in on me with my birthday suit entirely exposed to them. How delightful.
I hid in the red head's bedroom closet. She was messy, using the closet sparingly, instead opting to drop her clothes on the floor like some mish mash rug of sporadic clothing. I stayed in their for two days without her knowing it, using one of her tall leather boots as a waste receptacle. I am sure she will find it soon enough. How delightful.
I stole one of the male tenants cats. He notified me of it and I responded that we had a zero tolerance policy on pets. He dropped the issue immediately, stuttering something about how he was just cat sitting. Don't worry. I keep the cat in my fish tank.
Sometimes I take the blonde's tennis shoes and wear them around town. I know I'll be caught one day. I know it, but don't care. That's a part of the allure, don't you understand? It's so delightful.
For about the last week, I'd taken a hiatus from tormenting my tenants from the shadows. My unit needed to be cleaned as I'd been so entirely preoccupied on this titillating hobby of mine. I wiped the dried fluids off the underside of my desk. I mopped and did my laundry. The strong smell of freshly cut onions stuffed beneath my arms had begun to follow me everywhere I'd go. A well respected landlord of this little community couldn't be going about like that, now could he?
I found a camera lens in the drain of my shower. It was something I'd almost missed, but it was there. It shined, peeking at me from the little metal cross section in the drain. Strange. I had never implemented any surveillance in my own unit.
The demo of the shower was quick work. I removed the plastic tub and found that the camera was attached to all manner of wiring underneath. They ran into the walls and upon further inspection, I found that one of the wires ran the length of the wall in my unit until it exited the inside of the wall again through a hole I'd never noticed before. The wire ran directly into the back of my computer. I'd never seen the port. It wasn't ethernet. It wasn't USB. I couldn't find anything online about the kind of wire I was dealing with at all. I rebooted the computer and found a program on the desktop I'd never seen before. It pulled up a video feed.
There was gaunt sickly man sitting in a swivel chair at a desk with too many monitors. The camera was peering in at him from somewhere behind. I lifted my arm over my head while looking at the monitor. The man in the feed did the same.
It was me.
I moved across the room, watching the man in the feed mimic my motions. Where was that damned camera? It took a little trial and error and a lot of me looking back at the monitor to see where I was relative to the camera angle, but I eventually found the thing snugly tucked away in the vent on the wall opposite the desk. It was well beyond my understanding of tech. The camera was no larger than my thumb.
The small camera smashed into a thousand tinier pieces as I pelted it against the wall. The speakers at my desk squeaked and I dashed back over to the desk, sitting in my swivel chair. The screen was black now. I alt f4-ed out of the program and it stuttered before closing.
I then went to the surveillance program I used on my tenants and clicked it open. All of the monitors came to life at once with live video feed from the units below. Eyes stared back at me from all of them.
Without realizing it, I reared back in the chair and flipped onto the floor. Slowly, I crept back over the edge of the desk to look at the feed. They were dead eyes. No. They were never alive. They were all mannequins. Motionless, porcelain white skin, staring through those illusive cameras I'd set up. I moved to the nearest window and peeked out through the blinds. The complex's parking lot was empty except for my own blue Mazda.
I shut the computer off, trying to get my breathing under control.
After staring at the blank screens for about an hour, I decided to physically check in on my tenants. Apartment after apartment. Nothing but frozen mannequins. Some of them were pressed against spots that I knew had hidden cameras, some of them were in the middle of daily routines they would never finish. One stood over a plate of scrambled eggs at a kitchen counter. Another lay in bed with their eyes staring directly up into the ceiling.
I retreated back to my unit, being sure to secure every single lock in the door. I turned the computer back on and clicked from camera to camera. Every single mannequin was gone.
Instead there was a message scrawled on paper and placed in front of each of the cameras. The word repeated in every camera, in every frame.
Hi. Was all it said.
My stomach churned. My mouth was dry. The familiar smell of thick sweat broke out. This was not delightful.
submitted by Edwardthecrazyman to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.03.11 09:55 skcpthsu Real live hidden voyeur video

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submitted by skcpthsu to u/skcpthsu [link] [comments]


2019.12.20 22:08 rhonnie14 Real live hidden voyeur video

Everyone knows about The Deep Web murders. LiveKills. Shannon. We’ve all read the Creepypastas and NoSleeps. rhonnie14’s stories. I believed them then. And now I know they’re real.
At the time, I figured the Deep Web sickness had spread into most dating apps. Bumble, Tinder. But that still didn’t stop me. No, Melissa Ramsey was stubborn… And honestly, I was too horny to care.
I wasn’t pretty. Not in a conventional way. At nineteen, I was a skinny black girl. Big brown eyes hidden behind big glasses. My short straight hair and weird fashion sense did more to showcase a fivehead and scrawny body than my nicer qualities. With a bony ass and small tits, I had nothing to attract boys. Even being a freshman at a nice college like Georgia Southwwestern didn’t mean anything when I lived with the folks instead of on campus. They had a nice house out in the country, sure… but there wasn’t a single hot guy anywhere near us.
So yeah, I was quiet. I had no friends. Way too awkward to strike up a conversation in person… much less with any sexy guys. So I did what any girl or guy in that spot would do: I hit up the apps.
The only problem was Tinder, MeetMe, and Bumble were all strikeouts... and that was with me swiping right on every guy. Even my attempts at posting sexy pics on Gonewild got zero upvotes. I don’t know… Maybe I just didn’t have the face or body the boys wanted. At least not for the studs I wanted.
Of course, the only interest I got were from weirdos and unattractive dudes. Okay, maybe they were in my league but still… why couldn’t one of the hotties like me? Shit, I’d settle for a one night stand or SnapChat sext-a-thon at this point. I wouldn’t even mind the dick and ass pics if it was a fineass guy sending them. After all, Ladybonersgw could only get me so far...
But then came my brutal epiphany. And the truth hurts, let me tell you: the problem was me. Melissa. Not the sexy guys. I was the ugly one. The loser. The female creep.
So I decided to overhaul my image. Like a makeover you see in the movies.
No, I didn’t wear more make-up. I didn’t ditch the glasses. Didn’t stylize my hair or hit the gym. Instead, I made a fake Bumble profile.
I chose the name Tara Heisler. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Instagram model became my new image. She had tan skin, big boobs. Tall. One of those Southern Belle coed types I’d spent over a decade being harassed by… and over a decade competing with. And now she was me. The perfect Catfish in this thirsty ocean.
The boys didn’t have a chance. I was slaying right and left. No longer did I have to settle for male versions of me. Gone were the awkward, weird types... In came the hotties.
Maybe my theater experience helped me with the texting and chat performances. Or maybe it was just the natural benefit of being a conventional beauty. Then again, that model’s plethora of sexy Instagram photos also helped me win some action.
I could make those hunks do anything. White guys, black guys, jocks, hot nerds, it didn’t matter. They bowed down to my pussy power. And the fucking pics and vids they’d send… Girllllll
My secret porn library grew bigger and better. There were the big dicks, the bubble butts, the gym shots, even guy-on-guy videos. Whatever “Tara” asked for, those boys sent. And they didn’t hesitate when doing it for me. Not when I was on that SnapChat stage playing their dream girl.
Okay so maybe I wasn’t gonna meet my future husband doing this. Not even my future friend with benefit or first serious boyfriend. But still this was a fun way to satisfy my own desperate thirst.
For once, I felt hot. Powerful. A social media queen. And playing the sexy THOT only allowed me to slip deeper into my own desires. These hotties responded to all my fantasies. Pegging, Devil’s Threesomes, watching two cuties fuck each other… All the sexy stuff Melissa was too scared to ask. And all the sexy stuff these prettyboys would never do for a girl like me. Only under the spell of an All-American hottie.
The tantalizing fun lasted through the first few days of winter break. The hot nudes and talks an amazing early Christmas present.
I stayed cautious, of course. Those Creepypastas and rhonnie14 stories still lingered in the back of my mind… when I wasn’t overcome with excitement, that is. The inner heat I felt warmed me from both the cold and unease. My anticipation only increased with each new fineass match and steamy pic.
This Tuesday night was more of the same. A few minutes past nine-thirty, and I was still holed up in my room. Sitting at my computer desk. Surrounded by Nicki Minaj and Tarantino posters. Not working on any scripts or monologues like I told mom…
My phone was blowing up with sizzling Snaps. I’d managed to talk a baseball player into doing both twerking and jerking videos…
Grinning, I lowered the phone and slid my hand down toward my pajama pants. Underneath the green fabric… I was bracing for the show. All thanks to Tara.
The bedroom door burst open. In a frenzy, I yanked my hand out and exited SnapChat. My dream delayed.
Mom leaned in the doorway. The sloppy pajamas covered her chubby frame. Straight hair dangled down her back. Mom’s small eyes stuck on me. “You okay, sweetie?” she said in a soft tone.
Like a panicking crook, I struggled to suppress the nerves. Breathing heavy, I checked my phone once more. Glad no big dick or baseball butt was grabbing mom’s nosy gaze.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. Folding my arms in the cold room, I faced her. “I’ll come down in a minute.”
Mom flashed me a warm smile. “Okay, we’re about to watch the movie.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said. “I just wanted to finish the strip, I mean script.” Cringing, my grip grew tighter on the phone. To my real entertainment.
Mama chucked. “Okay, we’ll be downstairs.” With that, she leaned back and shut the door.
Now I was back to my fantasy. Back to the boys.
A vibration further fueled my excitement.
I turned my hungry eyes toward the phone. Toward the new Bumble alert: You got a new match
Grinning, I veered straight to the app. And what a match it was…
Michael Barnes. 24 and in great shape. Well over six feet tall. A physique as flawless as his baby blues. His straight brown hair complemented a smooth, slender face. The type of hunk destined for Wall Street success or modeling agencies.
“Hello…” I said to myself. Immediately, I made the first move: Sup sexy
Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. In seconds, Michael’s reply appeared: Hey cutie. Snap?
My exhilaration only increased. Score another one for Team Tara.
Our flirting continued on SnapChat for another ten minutes. He sent me a few face pics, a sexy gym shot. I responded with the best of Tara’s Instagram. Needless to say, I pushed Michael for more… like a repressed housewife eager for a peek at their neighborhood’s new hottie.
I was glad I wasn’t scaring him off. Michael was rather playful. His arsenal of emojis and sarcasm kept me entertained.
WHAT ARE U WEARING TARA? he typed out in all caps. Followed by a kissing emoji.
Wanting to escalate the sexting session, I deliberated. Then replied: Getting late so… you know, just a bra and thong ;)
I waited and waited for a response. In simultaneous dread and anticipation. Michael had seen my reply. In a painful taunt, his Goddamn Bitmoji kept popping up from time to time. But there wasn’t a word. Not even a is typing tease.
“What the fuck,” I muttered. “Come on, bitch.”
A few more minutes went by. Agonizing anxiety dominated me. The anguish hurt. Unlike me, Tara never lost a man. And she couldn’t lose this one… Not when Michael had enraptured my female gaze.
Bumble gave me another alert. Another new match. I guess there were more fish in this sleazy sea… But still. I couldn’t shake Michael. Right when things were about to get hot and heavy, he just dipped. Sure, Melissa was used to being ghosted by the hotter guys. But not Tara.
Determined, I sent another message: I’m dressed to kill, boo
Trembling, I took a deep breath. Felt even colder in the room.
And then Michael’s pending reply got me hot all over again. The internal excitement came roaring back.
Until I saw his message. A chilling unease extinguished my fire.
HAVE U EVER KILLED BEFORE TARA?? Michael asked. Again, his message was in all caps. The eerie question accentuated by a winking emoji.
I was too scared to talk. Too scared to even text.
Michael’s once-adorable Bitmoji flashed a sinister smile. The image now possessing the aura of a killer doll. Uncanny Valley in overdrive.
And then he started typing…
I stole a glance at the door. Not sure what to do. My aroused feelings replaced by fear.
Michael’s next message arrived: BECAUSE I HAVE
A hash vibration accompanied the next text: REMEMBER THAT STORY ABOUT PATRICK
He sent me a link. A NoSleep. I Just Saw A Girl I Matched With On Tinder Get Killed. rhonnie14’s popular Deep Web story.
Trapped in the chilling conversation, I struggled to turn away. I couldn’t.
Michael’s new message appeared: THAT WAS ME
His Bitmoji’s grin only grew wider. More deranged. The big blue eyes like daggers to my soul.
THAT WAS ME MELISSA read his next text.
A hollow horror spread across me. Numbness. The aftereffects of a most unsettling shock.
I didn’t even flinch when Michael sent another message: MELISSA RAMSEY
AMERICUS, GEORGIA
Shivering, I struggled to hold the phone. Tears fell down my face.
In quick succession, the final text arrived: 14 PRICE STREET
Michael’s Bitmoji vanished off my screen. Off into the night. And deep in my sickened gut, I knew right where he was going…
I leapt out of my seat and bolted for the door. In total panic. My night of pleasure turned to a night of horror. No longer was I confident Tara… I was back to helpless Melissa. The timid geek.
Clinging to my phone, I ripped open the door and rushed into the upstairs hallway. The lights were out. Every single one. And somehow, the house was colder…
Scanning the scene, I looked all around me. The other bedroom door was closed. A nearby shelf a towering shadow, the hanging picture frames nothing more than blank canvases in the dark. Downstairs, it was pitch black. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. The dim lamps from my room the only light close by...
“Mama!” I yelled.
I stood there in the freezing silence. Waiting for a soothing voice that never came.
The phone pulsated in my hand. Startled, I confronted SnapChat.
Michael had sent me another link. To a domain and extension I never heard of… but a site that sent chills down my spine. LiveKills.
Uneasy, I stared at the link.
Another message from Michael appeared: ENJOY TARA
I forced myself to mash it.
The video swallowed up my screen. The footage precise and pristine. And in a setting I was all too familiar with… our living room.
I’d caught the middle of a bloodbath. Redness was scattered everywhere, all across our exotic rugs. Over the large flatscreen
My father’s corpse was sprawled across the couch. Deep cuts in his head and throat. His face partially flayed. Mom’s screams a brutal soundtrack to the massacre.
The camera captured mama staggering into a corner. Blood soaked through her pajamas. Weeping, she held her hands out. Out toward a masked man I was certain was Michael… or at least the man I’d been talking to for the last half hour...
The killer stood tall. He wore dark clothes and an even darker ski mask. His long butcher knife coated in blood. The blade marking my mother for a most horrible death.
“No!” I yelled through the tears.
Then I saw it. Beneath the murders, comments piled up. On screen were users of all genders and races and ages. An excited audience. O hes got her now!! Kill dat bitch! I love this guy SO FUCKIN SICK!1 read their messages.
The comments kept piling in. Small boxes showed viewers watching on Skype. Their eyes and expressions hungry for blood.
Overcome by panic, I exited the video. Looked toward the stairs. “Mom!” I screamed out.
The eerie silence lingered. The sound of death.
Fighting through the emotions and terror, I called mom’s phone. A desperate attempt to reach her. To save her.
A buzz sliced through the silence. Behind me, a beam of light caught my eye.
I whirled around. A horrified scream escaped my lips.
Through my bedroom’s lights, I saw mama’s severed head a few feet away. The head positioned like a work of art on the shelf. Blood poured out the neck in a red river. Her long hair smeared across her face’s many slices. The glowing cell phone jammed straight in her shrieking mouth like a candle in a jack o’lantern.
Mom’s scared eyes stayed on me. Unblinking, haunting eyes.
“No!” I screamed. Breaking down in tears, I trembled in the hallway. My knees went wobbly, my arms quivering. I was a scared soldier come face-to-face with Death. All those Dark Web Creepypastas a reality in my own home.
My phone pulsated to life, drawing me back to SnapChat. Back to my parents’ killer.
A new Snap from Michael greeted me.
Even this frightened, I didn’t hesitate to play it. After all, I had nowhere to run. I couldn’t just block this creep… I had to confront him.
A pic of Michael stared back at me. Him in the ski mask. Standing on our staircase. His blue eyes shined through the darkness… Much like his sharp knife.
Blood red font spelled out his final message: UR NEXT TARA The crazy smiling emoji a ferocious finish to this terrifying threat.
The other bedroom door slammed open. And there came my stud charging at me.
Moving quick, Michael raised the butcher knife. Blood dripped off its edge. A huge laptop clasped in Michael’s other gloved hand. Its camera ready to capture my close-up.
“Aw, fuck!” I yelled.
I jumped back in my room. Images of my slaughtered parents flashed through my mind. Dad’s filleted face. Mom’s severed head. The visceral fear forever resting in her dead eyes...
In the frigid hallway, I gripped my cell phone tighter. Anger boiled up inside.
Michael drew the knife back. Ready for the kill.
A fury conquered me. Call it fight or flight. Girl power. Whatever the fuck you want… All I know was I was still scared and in tears when I hurled that phone at the son-of-a-bitch.
The fastball smashed him right in the face.
Crying out, Michael fell into the shelf before hitting the ground. He dropped the blade. The laptop.
Creaking through the night, the shelf toppled over, pinning him to the ground. Mom’s head laid right beside Michael. Her gaze stuck taunting his squirming body. His arms flailed about, splashing through the blood.
I then made my move. Grabbed the butcher knife and confronted the killer.
Michael held up his hands. A futile effort to stop this bitch.
My rage won. With a rebel yell, I plunged the blade into his throat.
Blood splurted over me like war paint. I pushed my hair to the side. Behind bitter eyes, I watched Michael’s arms collapse. Watched blood build up beneath him. Watched his body go still.
Lodged in his neck, the knife was my victory flag. Michael my latest “conquest.”
The adrenaline kept me warm on this winter night. Not to mention helped console me from the tragedy...
Curious, I reached toward the ski mask.
In a quick tug, I yanked it off. And there was the dream guy from Bumble: Michael Barnes. His blue eyes now faded with death. His face less handsome, his body less muscular under the gore.
All the while, the laptop’s frenetic comments kept going. An assembly line of voyeurs.
I confronted their many disappointed faces. The crowd bloodblocked.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. Several vicious stomps smashed the screen into smithereens. Death to LiveKills... at least for tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure appear. Creeping in from the dark depths of the other bedroom. A tall figure in dark leggings and a flowing cape. A woman. Her entrance like that of a rock star taking the stage.
The fear coming back, I faced her. Faced the mannequin mask. Its long, mocking smile. The big eyes beneath it. The big boobs beneath the black clothes. And the even bigger knife in her hand…
There was Shannon. The stuff of Creepypasta lore. Of rhonnie14 horror. Right here in the flesh.
Showing off brute strength, Shannon pushed me to the ground. She glided over me. Her movements effortless.
Shannon put the knife to my throat. A headlock I wouldn’t dare try to escape.
In a theatrical motion, Shannon held out her phone. A message already prepared for me was on display. The letters big and crude.
Do what you’re told and you’ll live, bitch The winking emoji next to it did little to comfort me…
So here I am now. In a house I’ve never been to and in a room without a window. I’m trapped. No longer Melissa Ramsey but Tara Heisler. I guess my wish did come true… I’m the bombshell. A bombshell crafted by Shannon and all the others involved at LiveKills.
The process wasn’t easy. This wasn’t botox or a smooth surgery. Instead, my skin was bleached in the cheapest way possible. Similar to the dye they use to keep my hair bleached blonde. Blue contacts now disguise my eyes. Crude surgeries gave me the lousiest silicone for the big boobs.
Now I sit alone in this room. A poor man’s version of that Instagram model I based my Catfish persona on. The laptop and cell phone my only items. The thousands of horny girls and boys my only company… people not unlike me in the days before I met Shannon.
Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if Michael was really the killer or a victim. If he was someone like me. Someone they dolled up for the kills. Someone they forced into this twisted game.
I’ve been told my turn is tonight. My first livestream murder. Shannon is joining me to make sure I go through with it. Both of us armed with those huge knives. I’m not really sure what else to say. What else to do. All I can tell you girls and guys is don’t get too thirsty. Please don’t be Melissa. And if you end up matching with a Tara Heisler, a Southern blonde charmer… be careful. Because it’s either gonna be you or me who makes it through the night.
14
submitted by rhonnie14 to mrcreeps [link] [comments]


2019.12.20 22:07 rhonnie14 Real live hidden voyeur video

Everyone knows about The Deep Web murders. LiveKills. Shannon. We’ve all read the Creepypastas and NoSleeps. rhonnie14’s stories. I believed them then. And now I know they’re real.
At the time, I figured the Deep Web sickness had spread into most dating apps. Bumble, Tinder. But that still didn’t stop me. No, Melissa Ramsey was stubborn… And honestly, I was too horny to care.
I wasn’t pretty. Not in a conventional way. At nineteen, I was a skinny black girl. Big brown eyes hidden behind big glasses. My short straight hair and weird fashion sense did more to showcase a fivehead and scrawny body than my nicer qualities. With a bony ass and small tits, I had nothing to attract boys. Even being a freshman at a nice college like Georgia Southwwestern didn’t mean anything when I lived with the folks instead of on campus. They had a nice house out in the country, sure… but there wasn’t a single hot guy anywhere near us.
So yeah, I was quiet. I had no friends. Way too awkward to strike up a conversation in person… much less with any sexy guys. So I did what any girl or guy in that spot would do: I hit up the apps.
The only problem was Tinder, MeetMe, and Bumble were all strikeouts... and that was with me swiping right on every guy. Even my attempts at posting sexy pics on Gonewild got zero upvotes. I don’t know… Maybe I just didn’t have the face or body the boys wanted. At least not for the studs I wanted.
Of course, the only interest I got were from weirdos and unattractive dudes. Okay, maybe they were in my league but still… why couldn’t one of the hotties like me? Shit, I’d settle for a one night stand or SnapChat sext-a-thon at this point. I wouldn’t even mind the dick and ass pics if it was a fineass guy sending them. After all, Ladybonersgw could only get me so far...
But then came my brutal epiphany. And the truth hurts, let me tell you: the problem was me. Melissa. Not the sexy guys. I was the ugly one. The loser. The female creep.
So I decided to overhaul my image. Like a makeover you see in the movies.
No, I didn’t wear more make-up. I didn’t ditch the glasses. Didn’t stylize my hair or hit the gym. Instead, I made a fake Bumble profile.
I chose the name Tara Heisler. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Instagram model became my new image. She had tan skin, big boobs. Tall. One of those Southern Belle coed types I’d spent over a decade being harassed by… and over a decade competing with. And now she was me. The perfect Catfish in this thirsty ocean.
The boys didn’t have a chance. I was slaying right and left. No longer did I have to settle for male versions of me. Gone were the awkward, weird types... In came the hotties.
Maybe my theater experience helped me with the texting and chat performances. Or maybe it was just the natural benefit of being a conventional beauty. Then again, that model’s plethora of sexy Instagram photos also helped me win some action.
I could make those hunks do anything. White guys, black guys, jocks, hot nerds, it didn’t matter. They bowed down to my pussy power. And the fucking pics and vids they’d send… Girllllll
My secret porn library grew bigger and better. There were the big dicks, the bubble butts, the gym shots, even guy-on-guy videos. Whatever “Tara” asked for, those boys sent. And they didn’t hesitate when doing it for me. Not when I was on that SnapChat stage playing their dream girl.
Okay so maybe I wasn’t gonna meet my future husband doing this. Not even my future friend with benefit or first serious boyfriend. But still this was a fun way to satisfy my own desperate thirst.
For once, I felt hot. Powerful. A social media queen. And playing the sexy THOT only allowed me to slip deeper into my own desires. These hotties responded to all my fantasies. Pegging, Devil’s Threesomes, watching two cuties fuck each other… All the sexy stuff Melissa was too scared to ask. And all the sexy stuff these prettyboys would never do for a girl like me. Only under the spell of an All-American hottie.
The tantalizing fun lasted through the first few days of winter break. The hot nudes and talks an amazing early Christmas present.
I stayed cautious, of course. Those Creepypastas and rhonnie14 stories still lingered in the back of my mind… when I wasn’t overcome with excitement, that is. The inner heat I felt warmed me from both the cold and unease. My anticipation only increased with each new fineass match and steamy pic.
This Tuesday night was more of the same. A few minutes past nine-thirty, and I was still holed up in my room. Sitting at my computer desk. Surrounded by Nicki Minaj and Tarantino posters. Not working on any scripts or monologues like I told mom…
My phone was blowing up with sizzling Snaps. I’d managed to talk a baseball player into doing both twerking and jerking videos…
Grinning, I lowered the phone and slid my hand down toward my pajama pants. Underneath the green fabric… I was bracing for the show. All thanks to Tara.
The bedroom door burst open. In a frenzy, I yanked my hand out and exited SnapChat. My dream delayed.
Mom leaned in the doorway. The sloppy pajamas covered her chubby frame. Straight hair dangled down her back. Mom’s small eyes stuck on me. “You okay, sweetie?” she said in a soft tone.
Like a panicking crook, I struggled to suppress the nerves. Breathing heavy, I checked my phone once more. Glad no big dick or baseball butt was grabbing mom’s nosy gaze.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. Folding my arms in the cold room, I faced her. “I’ll come down in a minute.”
Mom flashed me a warm smile. “Okay, we’re about to watch the movie.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said. “I just wanted to finish the strip, I mean script.” Cringing, my grip grew tighter on the phone. To my real entertainment.
Mama chucked. “Okay, we’ll be downstairs.” With that, she leaned back and shut the door.
Now I was back to my fantasy. Back to the boys.
A vibration further fueled my excitement.
I turned my hungry eyes toward the phone. Toward the new Bumble alert: You got a new match
Grinning, I veered straight to the app. And what a match it was…
Michael Barnes. 24 and in great shape. Well over six feet tall. A physique as flawless as his baby blues. His straight brown hair complemented a smooth, slender face. The type of hunk destined for Wall Street success or modeling agencies.
“Hello…” I said to myself. Immediately, I made the first move: Sup sexy
Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. In seconds, Michael’s reply appeared: Hey cutie. Snap?
My exhilaration only increased. Score another one for Team Tara.
Our flirting continued on SnapChat for another ten minutes. He sent me a few face pics, a sexy gym shot. I responded with the best of Tara’s Instagram. Needless to say, I pushed Michael for more… like a repressed housewife eager for a peek at their neighborhood’s new hottie.
I was glad I wasn’t scaring him off. Michael was rather playful. His arsenal of emojis and sarcasm kept me entertained.
WHAT ARE U WEARING TARA? he typed out in all caps. Followed by a kissing emoji.
Wanting to escalate the sexting session, I deliberated. Then replied: Getting late so… you know, just a bra and thong ;)
I waited and waited for a response. In simultaneous dread and anticipation. Michael had seen my reply. In a painful taunt, his Goddamn Bitmoji kept popping up from time to time. But there wasn’t a word. Not even a is typing tease.
“What the fuck,” I muttered. “Come on, bitch.”
A few more minutes went by. Agonizing anxiety dominated me. The anguish hurt. Unlike me, Tara never lost a man. And she couldn’t lose this one… Not when Michael had enraptured my female gaze.
Bumble gave me another alert. Another new match. I guess there were more fish in this sleazy sea… But still. I couldn’t shake Michael. Right when things were about to get hot and heavy, he just dipped. Sure, Melissa was used to being ghosted by the hotter guys. But not Tara.
Determined, I sent another message: I’m dressed to kill, boo
Trembling, I took a deep breath. Felt even colder in the room.
And then Michael’s pending reply got me hot all over again. The internal excitement came roaring back.
Until I saw his message. A chilling unease extinguished my fire.
HAVE U EVER KILLED BEFORE TARA?? Michael asked. Again, his message was in all caps. The eerie question accentuated by a winking emoji.
I was too scared to talk. Too scared to even text.
Michael’s once-adorable Bitmoji flashed a sinister smile. The image now possessing the aura of a killer doll. Uncanny Valley in overdrive.
And then he started typing…
I stole a glance at the door. Not sure what to do. My aroused feelings replaced by fear.
Michael’s next message arrived: BECAUSE I HAVE
A hash vibration accompanied the next text: REMEMBER THAT STORY ABOUT PATRICK
He sent me a link. A NoSleep. I Just Saw A Girl I Matched With On Tinder Get Killed. rhonnie14’s popular Deep Web story.
Trapped in the chilling conversation, I struggled to turn away. I couldn’t.
Michael’s new message appeared: THAT WAS ME
His Bitmoji’s grin only grew wider. More deranged. The big blue eyes like daggers to my soul.
THAT WAS ME MELISSA read his next text.
A hollow horror spread across me. Numbness. The aftereffects of a most unsettling shock.
I didn’t even flinch when Michael sent another message: MELISSA RAMSEY
AMERICUS, GEORGIA
Shivering, I struggled to hold the phone. Tears fell down my face.
In quick succession, the final text arrived: 14 PRICE STREET
Michael’s Bitmoji vanished off my screen. Off into the night. And deep in my sickened gut, I knew right where he was going…
I leapt out of my seat and bolted for the door. In total panic. My night of pleasure turned to a night of horror. No longer was I confident Tara… I was back to helpless Melissa. The timid geek.
Clinging to my phone, I ripped open the door and rushed into the upstairs hallway. The lights were out. Every single one. And somehow, the house was colder…
Scanning the scene, I looked all around me. The other bedroom door was closed. A nearby shelf a towering shadow, the hanging picture frames nothing more than blank canvases in the dark. Downstairs, it was pitch black. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. The dim lamps from my room the only light close by...
“Mama!” I yelled.
I stood there in the freezing silence. Waiting for a soothing voice that never came.
The phone pulsated in my hand. Startled, I confronted SnapChat.
Michael had sent me another link. To a domain and extension I never heard of… but a site that sent chills down my spine. LiveKills.
Uneasy, I stared at the link.
Another message from Michael appeared: ENJOY TARA
I forced myself to mash it.
The video swallowed up my screen. The footage precise and pristine. And in a setting I was all too familiar with… our living room.
I’d caught the middle of a bloodbath. Redness was scattered everywhere, all across our exotic rugs. Over the large flatscreen
My father’s corpse was sprawled across the couch. Deep cuts in his head and throat. His face partially flayed. Mom’s screams a brutal soundtrack to the massacre.
The camera captured mama staggering into a corner. Blood soaked through her pajamas. Weeping, she held her hands out. Out toward a masked man I was certain was Michael… or at least the man I’d been talking to for the last half hour...
The killer stood tall. He wore dark clothes and an even darker ski mask. His long butcher knife coated in blood. The blade marking my mother for a most horrible death.
“No!” I yelled through the tears.
Then I saw it. Beneath the murders, comments piled up. On screen were users of all genders and races and ages. An excited audience. O hes got her now!! Kill dat bitch! I love this guy SO FUCKIN SICK!1 read their messages.
The comments kept piling in. Small boxes showed viewers watching on Skype. Their eyes and expressions hungry for blood.
Overcome by panic, I exited the video. Looked toward the stairs. “Mom!” I screamed out.
The eerie silence lingered. The sound of death.
Fighting through the emotions and terror, I called mom’s phone. A desperate attempt to reach her. To save her.
A buzz sliced through the silence. Behind me, a beam of light caught my eye.
I whirled around. A horrified scream escaped my lips.
Through my bedroom’s lights, I saw mama’s severed head a few feet away. The head positioned like a work of art on the shelf. Blood poured out the neck in a red river. Her long hair smeared across her face’s many slices. The glowing cell phone jammed straight in her shrieking mouth like a candle in a jack o’lantern.
Mom’s scared eyes stayed on me. Unblinking, haunting eyes.
“No!” I screamed. Breaking down in tears, I trembled in the hallway. My knees went wobbly, my arms quivering. I was a scared soldier come face-to-face with Death. All those Dark Web Creepypastas a reality in my own home.
My phone pulsated to life, drawing me back to SnapChat. Back to my parents’ killer.
A new Snap from Michael greeted me.
Even this frightened, I didn’t hesitate to play it. After all, I had nowhere to run. I couldn’t just block this creep… I had to confront him.
A pic of Michael stared back at me. Him in the ski mask. Standing on our staircase. His blue eyes shined through the darkness… Much like his sharp knife.
Blood red font spelled out his final message: UR NEXT TARA The crazy smiling emoji a ferocious finish to this terrifying threat.
The other bedroom door slammed open. And there came my stud charging at me.
Moving quick, Michael raised the butcher knife. Blood dripped off its edge. A huge laptop clasped in Michael’s other gloved hand. Its camera ready to capture my close-up.
“Aw, fuck!” I yelled.
I jumped back in my room. Images of my slaughtered parents flashed through my mind. Dad’s filleted face. Mom’s severed head. The visceral fear forever resting in her dead eyes...
In the frigid hallway, I gripped my cell phone tighter. Anger boiled up inside.
Michael drew the knife back. Ready for the kill.
A fury conquered me. Call it fight or flight. Girl power. Whatever the fuck you want… All I know was I was still scared and in tears when I hurled that phone at the son-of-a-bitch.
The fastball smashed him right in the face.
Crying out, Michael fell into the shelf before hitting the ground. He dropped the blade. The laptop.
Creaking through the night, the shelf toppled over, pinning him to the ground. Mom’s head laid right beside Michael. Her gaze stuck taunting his squirming body. His arms flailed about, splashing through the blood.
I then made my move. Grabbed the butcher knife and confronted the killer.
Michael held up his hands. A futile effort to stop this bitch.
My rage won. With a rebel yell, I plunged the blade into his throat.
Blood splurted over me like war paint. I pushed my hair to the side. Behind bitter eyes, I watched Michael’s arms collapse. Watched blood build up beneath him. Watched his body go still.
Lodged in his neck, the knife was my victory flag. Michael my latest “conquest.”
The adrenaline kept me warm on this winter night. Not to mention helped console me from the tragedy...
Curious, I reached toward the ski mask.
In a quick tug, I yanked it off. And there was the dream guy from Bumble: Michael Barnes. His blue eyes now faded with death. His face less handsome, his body less muscular under the gore.
All the while, the laptop’s frenetic comments kept going. An assembly line of voyeurs.
I confronted their many disappointed faces. The crowd bloodblocked.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. Several vicious stomps smashed the screen into smithereens. Death to LiveKills... at least for tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure appear. Creeping in from the dark depths of the other bedroom. A tall figure in dark leggings and a flowing cape. A woman. Her entrance like that of a rock star taking the stage.
The fear coming back, I faced her. Faced the mannequin mask. Its long, mocking smile. The big eyes beneath it. The big boobs beneath the black clothes. And the even bigger knife in her hand…
There was Shannon. The stuff of Creepypasta lore. Of rhonnie14 horror. Right here in the flesh.
Showing off brute strength, Shannon pushed me to the ground. She glided over me. Her movements effortless.
Shannon put the knife to my throat. A headlock I wouldn’t dare try to escape.
In a theatrical motion, Shannon held out her phone. A message already prepared for me was on display. The letters big and crude.
Do what you’re told and you’ll live, bitch The winking emoji next to it did little to comfort me…
So here I am now. In a house I’ve never been to and in a room without a window. I’m trapped. No longer Melissa Ramsey but Tara Heisler. I guess my wish did come true… I’m the bombshell. A bombshell crafted by Shannon and all the others involved at LiveKills.
The process wasn’t easy. This wasn’t botox or a smooth surgery. Instead, my skin was bleached in the cheapest way possible. Similar to the dye they use to keep my hair bleached blonde. Blue contacts now disguise my eyes. Crude surgeries gave me the lousiest silicone for the big boobs.
Now I sit alone in this room. A poor man’s version of that Instagram model I based my Catfish persona on. The laptop and cell phone my only items. The thousands of horny girls and boys my only company… people not unlike me in the days before I met Shannon.
Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if Michael was really the killer or a victim. If he was someone like me. Someone they dolled up for the kills. Someone they forced into this twisted game.
I’ve been told my turn is tonight. My first livestream murder. Shannon is joining me to make sure I go through with it. Both of us armed with those huge knives. I’m not really sure what else to say. What else to do. All I can tell you girls and guys is don’t get too thirsty. Please don’t be Melissa. And if you end up matching with a Tara Heisler, a Southern blonde charmer… be careful. Because it’s either gonna be you or me who makes it through the night.
14
submitted by rhonnie14 to JustNotRight [link] [comments]


2019.12.20 22:05 rhonnie14 I Should’ve Known The Deep Web Would Start Hitting Dating Apps

Everyone knows about The Deep Web murders. LiveKills. Shannon. We’ve all read the Creepypastas and NoSleeps. rhonnie14’s stories. I believed them then. And now I know they’re real.
At the time, I figured the Deep Web sickness had spread into most dating apps. Bumble, Tinder. But that still didn’t stop me. No, Melissa Ramsey was stubborn… And honestly, I was too horny to care.
I wasn’t pretty. Not in a conventional way. At nineteen, I was a skinny black girl. Big brown eyes hidden behind big glasses. My short straight hair and weird fashion sense did more to showcase a fivehead and scrawny body than my nicer qualities. With a bony ass and small tits, I had nothing to attract boys. Even being a freshman at a nice college like Georgia Southwwestern didn’t mean anything when I lived with the folks instead of on campus. They had a nice house out in the country, sure… but there wasn’t a single hot guy anywhere near us.
So yeah, I was quiet. I had no friends. Way too awkward to strike up a conversation in person… much less with any sexy guys. So I did what any girl or guy in that spot would do: I hit up the apps.
The only problem was Tinder, MeetMe, and Bumble were all strikeouts... and that was with me swiping right on every guy. Even my attempts at posting sexy pics on Gonewild got zero upvotes. I don’t know… Maybe I just didn’t have the face or body the boys wanted. At least not for the studs I wanted.
Of course, the only interest I got were from weirdos and unattractive dudes. Okay, maybe they were in my league but still… why couldn’t one of the hotties like me? Shit, I’d settle for a one night stand or SnapChat sext-a-thon at this point. I wouldn’t even mind the dick and ass pics if it was a fineass guy sending them. After all, Ladybonersgw could only get me so far...
But then came my brutal epiphany. And the truth hurts, let me tell you: the problem was me. Melissa. Not the sexy guys. I was the ugly one. The loser. The female creep.
So I decided to overhaul my image. Like a makeover you see in the movies.
No, I didn’t wear more make-up. I didn’t ditch the glasses. Didn’t stylize my hair or hit the gym. Instead, I made a fake Bumble profile.
I chose the name Tara Heisler. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed Instagram model became my new image. She had tan skin, big boobs. Tall. One of those Southern Belle coed types I’d spent over a decade being harassed by… and over a decade competing with. And now she was me. The perfect Catfish in this thirsty ocean.
The boys didn’t have a chance. I was slaying right and left. No longer did I have to settle for male versions of me. Gone were the awkward, weird types... In came the hotties.
Maybe my theater experience helped me with the texting and chat performances. Or maybe it was just the natural benefit of being a conventional beauty. Then again, that model’s plethora of sexy Instagram photos also helped me win some action.
I could make those hunks do anything. White guys, black guys, jocks, hot nerds, it didn’t matter. They bowed down to my pussy power. And the fucking pics and vids they’d send… Girllllll
My secret porn library grew bigger and better. There were the big dicks, the bubble butts, the gym shots, even guy-on-guy videos. Whatever “Tara” asked for, those boys sent. And they didn’t hesitate when doing it for me. Not when I was on that SnapChat stage playing their dream girl.
Okay so maybe I wasn’t gonna meet my future husband doing this. Not even my future friend with benefit or first serious boyfriend. But still this was a fun way to satisfy my own desperate thirst.
For once, I felt hot. Powerful. A social media queen. And playing the sexy THOT only allowed me to slip deeper into my own desires. These hotties responded to all my fantasies. Pegging, Devil’s Threesomes, watching two cuties fuck each other… All the sexy stuff Melissa was too scared to ask. And all the sexy stuff these prettyboys would never do for a girl like me. Only under the spell of an All-American hottie.
The tantalizing fun lasted through the first few days of winter break. The hot nudes and talks an amazing early Christmas present.
I stayed cautious, of course. Those Creepypastas and rhonnie14 stories still lingered in the back of my mind… when I wasn’t overcome with excitement, that is. The inner heat I felt warmed me from both the cold and unease. My anticipation only increased with each new fineass match and steamy pic.
This Tuesday night was more of the same. A few minutes past nine-thirty, and I was still holed up in my room. Sitting at my computer desk. Surrounded by Nicki Minaj and Tarantino posters. Not working on any scripts or monologues like I told mom…
My phone was blowing up with sizzling Snaps. I’d managed to talk a baseball player into doing both twerking and jerking videos…
Grinning, I lowered the phone and slid my hand down toward my pajama pants. Underneath the green fabric… I was bracing for the show. All thanks to Tara.
The bedroom door burst open. In a frenzy, I yanked my hand out and exited SnapChat. My dream delayed.
Mom leaned in the doorway. The sloppy pajamas covered her chubby frame. Straight hair dangled down her back. Mom’s small eyes stuck on me. “You okay, sweetie?” she said in a soft tone.
Like a panicking crook, I struggled to suppress the nerves. Breathing heavy, I checked my phone once more. Glad no big dick or baseball butt was grabbing mom’s nosy gaze.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. Folding my arms in the cold room, I faced her. “I’ll come down in a minute.”
Mom flashed me a warm smile. “Okay, we’re about to watch the movie.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said. “I just wanted to finish the strip, I mean script.” Cringing, my grip grew tighter on the phone. To my real entertainment.
Mama chucked. “Okay, we’ll be downstairs.” With that, she leaned back and shut the door.
Now I was back to my fantasy. Back to the boys.
A vibration further fueled my excitement.
I turned my hungry eyes toward the phone. Toward the new Bumble alert: You got a new match
Grinning, I veered straight to the app. And what a match it was…
Michael Barnes. 24 and in great shape. Well over six feet tall. A physique as flawless as his baby blues. His straight brown hair complemented a smooth, slender face. The type of hunk destined for Wall Street success or modeling agencies.
“Hello…” I said to myself. Immediately, I made the first move: Sup sexy
Thankfully, the wait wasn’t long. In seconds, Michael’s reply appeared: Hey cutie. Snap?
My exhilaration only increased. Score another one for Team Tara.
Our flirting continued on SnapChat for another ten minutes. He sent me a few face pics, a sexy gym shot. I responded with the best of Tara’s Instagram. Needless to say, I pushed Michael for more… like a repressed housewife eager for a peek at their neighborhood’s new hottie.
I was glad I wasn’t scaring him off. Michael was rather playful. His arsenal of emojis and sarcasm kept me entertained.
WHAT ARE U WEARING TARA? he typed out in all caps. Followed by a kissing emoji.
Wanting to escalate the sexting session, I deliberated. Then replied: Getting late so… you know, just a bra and thong ;)
I waited and waited for a response. In simultaneous dread and anticipation. Michael had seen my reply. In a painful taunt, his Goddamn Bitmoji kept popping up from time to time. But there wasn’t a word. Not even a is typing tease.
“What the fuck,” I muttered. “Come on, bitch.”
A few more minutes went by. Agonizing anxiety dominated me. The anguish hurt. Unlike me, Tara never lost a man. And she couldn’t lose this one… Not when Michael had enraptured my female gaze.
Bumble gave me another alert. Another new match. I guess there were more fish in this sleazy sea… But still. I couldn’t shake Michael. Right when things were about to get hot and heavy, he just dipped. Sure, Melissa was used to being ghosted by the hotter guys. But not Tara.
Determined, I sent another message: I’m dressed to kill, boo
Trembling, I took a deep breath. Felt even colder in the room.
And then Michael’s pending reply got me hot all over again. The internal excitement came roaring back.
Until I saw his message. A chilling unease extinguished my fire.
HAVE U EVER KILLED BEFORE TARA?? Michael asked. Again, his message was in all caps. The eerie question accentuated by a winking emoji.
I was too scared to talk. Too scared to even text.
Michael’s once-adorable Bitmoji flashed a sinister smile. The image now possessing the aura of a killer doll. Uncanny Valley in overdrive.
And then he started typing…
I stole a glance at the door. Not sure what to do. My aroused feelings replaced by fear.
Michael’s next message arrived: BECAUSE I HAVE
A hash vibration accompanied the next text: REMEMBER THAT STORY ABOUT PATRICK
He sent me a link. A NoSleep. I Just Saw A Girl I Matched With On Tinder Get Killed. rhonnie14’s popular Deep Web story.
Trapped in the chilling conversation, I struggled to turn away. I couldn’t.
Michael’s new message appeared: THAT WAS ME
His Bitmoji’s grin only grew wider. More deranged. The big blue eyes like daggers to my soul.
THAT WAS ME MELISSA read his next text.
A hollow horror spread across me. Numbness. The aftereffects of a most unsettling shock.
I didn’t even flinch when Michael sent another message: MELISSA RAMSEY
AMERICUS, GEORGIA
Shivering, I struggled to hold the phone. Tears fell down my face.
In quick succession, the final text arrived: 14 PRICE STREET
Michael’s Bitmoji vanished off my screen. Off into the night. And deep in my sickened gut, I knew right where he was going…
I leapt out of my seat and bolted for the door. In total panic. My night of pleasure turned to a night of horror. No longer was I confident Tara… I was back to helpless Melissa. The timid geek.
Clinging to my phone, I ripped open the door and rushed into the upstairs hallway. The lights were out. Every single one. And somehow, the house was colder…
Scanning the scene, I looked all around me. The other bedroom door was closed. A nearby shelf a towering shadow, the hanging picture frames nothing more than blank canvases in the dark. Downstairs, it was pitch black. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. The dim lamps from my room the only light close by...
“Mama!” I yelled.
I stood there in the freezing silence. Waiting for a soothing voice that never came.
The phone pulsated in my hand. Startled, I confronted SnapChat.
Michael had sent me another link. To a domain and extension I never heard of… but a site that sent chills down my spine. LiveKills.
Uneasy, I stared at the link.
Another message from Michael appeared: ENJOY TARA
I forced myself to mash it.
The video swallowed up my screen. The footage precise and pristine. And in a setting I was all too familiar with… our living room.
I’d caught the middle of a bloodbath. Redness was scattered everywhere, all across our exotic rugs. Over the large flatscreen
My father’s corpse was sprawled across the couch. Deep cuts in his head and throat. His face partially flayed. Mom’s screams a brutal soundtrack to the massacre.
The camera captured mama staggering into a corner. Blood soaked through her pajamas. Weeping, she held her hands out. Out toward a masked man I was certain was Michael… or at least the man I’d been talking to for the last half hour...
The killer stood tall. He wore dark clothes and an even darker ski mask. His long butcher knife coated in blood. The blade marking my mother for a most horrible death.
“No!” I yelled through the tears.
Then I saw it. Beneath the murders, comments piled up. On screen were users of all genders and races and ages. An excited audience. O hes got her now!! Kill dat bitch! I love this guy SO FUCKIN SICK!1 read their messages.
The comments kept piling in. Small boxes showed viewers watching on Skype. Their eyes and expressions hungry for blood.
Overcome by panic, I exited the video. Looked toward the stairs. “Mom!” I screamed out.
The eerie silence lingered. The sound of death.
Fighting through the emotions and terror, I called mom’s phone. A desperate attempt to reach her. To save her.
A buzz sliced through the silence. Behind me, a beam of light caught my eye.
I whirled around. A horrified scream escaped my lips.
Through my bedroom’s lights, I saw mama’s severed head a few feet away. The head positioned like a work of art on the shelf. Blood poured out the neck in a red river. Her long hair smeared across her face’s many slices. The glowing cell phone jammed straight in her shrieking mouth like a candle in a jack o’lantern.
Mom’s scared eyes stayed on me. Unblinking, haunting eyes.
“No!” I screamed. Breaking down in tears, I trembled in the hallway. My knees went wobbly, my arms quivering. I was a scared soldier come face-to-face with Death. All those Dark Web Creepypastas a reality in my own home.
My phone pulsated to life, drawing me back to SnapChat. Back to my parents’ killer.
A new Snap from Michael greeted me.
Even this frightened, I didn’t hesitate to play it. After all, I had nowhere to run. I couldn’t just block this creep… I had to confront him.
A pic of Michael stared back at me. Him in the ski mask. Standing on our staircase. His blue eyes shined through the darkness… Much like his sharp knife.
Blood red font spelled out his final message: UR NEXT TARA The crazy smiling emoji a ferocious finish to this terrifying threat.
The other bedroom door slammed open. And there came my stud charging at me.
Moving quick, Michael raised the butcher knife. Blood dripped off its edge. A huge laptop clasped in Michael’s other gloved hand. Its camera ready to capture my close-up.
“Aw, fuck!” I yelled.
I jumped back in my room. Images of my slaughtered parents flashed through my mind. Dad’s filleted face. Mom’s severed head. The visceral fear forever resting in her dead eyes...
In the frigid hallway, I gripped my cell phone tighter. Anger boiled up inside.
Michael drew the knife back. Ready for the kill.
A fury conquered me. Call it fight or flight. Girl power. Whatever the fuck you want… All I know was I was still scared and in tears when I hurled that phone at the son-of-a-bitch.
The fastball smashed him right in the face.
Crying out, Michael fell into the shelf before hitting the ground. He dropped the blade. The laptop.
Creaking through the night, the shelf toppled over, pinning him to the ground. Mom’s head laid right beside Michael. Her gaze stuck taunting his squirming body. His arms flailed about, splashing through the blood.
I then made my move. Grabbed the butcher knife and confronted the killer.
Michael held up his hands. A futile effort to stop this bitch.
My rage won. With a rebel yell, I plunged the blade into his throat.
Blood splurted over me like war paint. I pushed my hair to the side. Behind bitter eyes, I watched Michael’s arms collapse. Watched blood build up beneath him. Watched his body go still.
Lodged in his neck, the knife was my victory flag. Michael my latest “conquest.”
The adrenaline kept me warm on this winter night. Not to mention helped console me from the tragedy...
Curious, I reached toward the ski mask.
In a quick tug, I yanked it off. And there was the dream guy from Bumble: Michael Barnes. His blue eyes now faded with death. His face less handsome, his body less muscular under the gore.
All the while, the laptop’s frenetic comments kept going. An assembly line of voyeurs.
I confronted their many disappointed faces. The crowd bloodblocked.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. Several vicious stomps smashed the screen into smithereens. Death to LiveKills... at least for tonight.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure appear. Creeping in from the dark depths of the other bedroom. A tall figure in dark leggings and a flowing cape. A woman. Her entrance like that of a rock star taking the stage.
The fear coming back, I faced her. Faced the mannequin mask. Its long, mocking smile. The big eyes beneath it. The big boobs beneath the black clothes. And the even bigger knife in her hand…
There was Shannon. The stuff of Creepypasta lore. Of rhonnie14 horror. Right here in the flesh.
Showing off brute strength, Shannon pushed me to the ground. She glided over me. Her movements effortless.
Shannon put the knife to my throat. A headlock I wouldn’t dare try to escape.
In a theatrical motion, Shannon held out her phone. A message already prepared for me was on display. The letters big and crude.
Do what you’re told and you’ll live, bitch The winking emoji next to it did little to comfort me…
So here I am now. In a house I’ve never been to and in a room without a window. I’m trapped. No longer Melissa Ramsey but Tara Heisler. I guess my wish did come true… I’m the bombshell. A bombshell crafted by Shannon and all the others involved at LiveKills.
The process wasn’t easy. This wasn’t botox or a smooth surgery. Instead, my skin was bleached in the cheapest way possible. Similar to the dye they use to keep my hair bleached blonde. Blue contacts now disguise my eyes. Crude surgeries gave me the lousiest silicone for the big boobs.
Now I sit alone in this room. A poor man’s version of that Instagram model I based my Catfish persona on. The laptop and cell phone my only items. The thousands of horny girls and boys my only company… people not unlike me in the days before I met Shannon.
Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if Michael was really the killer or a victim. If he was someone like me. Someone they dolled up for the kills. Someone they forced into this twisted game.
I’ve been told my turn is tonight. My first livestream murder. Shannon is joining me to make sure I go through with it. Both of us armed with those huge knives. I’m not really sure what else to say. What else to do. All I can tell you girls and guys is don’t get too thirsty. Please don’t be Melissa. And if you end up matching with a Tara Heisler, a Southern blonde charmer… be careful. Because it’s either gonna be you or me who makes it through the night.
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submitted by rhonnie14 to ThrillSleep [link] [comments]