College campus voyeur

2020.10.22 08:02 Caliponix College campus voyeur

I spent five years of my life in love with a predator. I question my judgement, with every encounter, because I know this snake got past it. I call him X.
I Loved Him. I felt soo lucky that he seemed interested in me, despite the ‘disadvantage’ of being 23 years younger than him. This wasn’t a trend in my life, I’d never dated someone remotely that far from my age range. It was something about X. I fell in love with his brain, his humor, the way my skin tingled when he touched me. For a while the chemistry was pure and electric.
There were issues, but they mostly seemed to come back at me. I was significantly less well off than X, he was a Dr. A well respected GP within his community. I was a single mother in my early 20s, and working at that time as a certified massage therapist. Daily life was a struggle for me, and X used money as a reason to withhold respect. If I wanted respect, I could be an equal contributor. Except he would always assure me that he knew I probably wouldn’t be able to make a comparable amount of money to him, he would accept it if I just achieved what he knew I was capable of. Because of how much he loved, and believed in me. Of course, getting a better job, rounding out my education, and raising my daughter were priorities for me, so him pushing me towards these things rang no alarms at the time.
I have spent most of my 20s trying to ‘Make It’. I’m 30 now. I didn’t ‘Make it’.
When X and I had been together about a year, when I was a 24 year old mother of 1, I learned that I had a genetic condition called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. The diagnosis was difficult to hear, but it clarified many of the unexplained health issues that had complicated my path to self sufficiency.
It was this diagnosis that led me to two, very painful, realizations. 1) I needed to retire from the career that was supporting my needs 2) I shouldn’t have any more children. For my health and theirs.
X was fine with us not planning to have children; he even got a vasectomy the following year. It was harder for me to accept. I had always hoped to have at least two children, I’m a middle child of four, and I wanted my daughter to have a sibling. It was a frequent subject of discussion for the year before his vasectomy, and even for some time after. I had a lot of trouble reconciling my understanding of my medical problems with my desires for the family I wanted to build.
X had 2 children of his own, a boy and a girl. Our kids were all 3 years apart, with my daughter being the youngest (*3yo at the start of our relationship). Neither he nor his children got on well with my daughter, despite me having a good relationship with both of his children. I couldn’t seem to get them to stop treating my daughter like an intruder, to give her the same latitude and understanding that they gave each other… I failed at communicating this, or preventing the bullying from affecting my daughter. I’ll carry the shame of that for the rest of my life. When my daughter comes to me about this one day, I’ll have no defense. Only apologies. She deserved so much better than that.
The really sad part is that I was convinced that she was still better off in that situation, than with me alone. I was so beaten down, so convinced of my own ineptitude. I relied on X to be the stability he said I lacked. At least she lived in a nice house, room to run and play safely, a tree-house to zip line off of (X and I spent 2 years building that), and chickens to chase. My daughter is just 10 now, and still has fond memories of that house, and the home we had there. I wonder when she’ll start to remember the bad. I’ll be here for her when she does.
INCIDENT: It was probably early fall, I can’t quite remember the exact details because this night was like so many others. Until it wasn’t. We had gone out to our hot tub, smoked some weed, X had a whisky and I had a hard cider. X had taken an Ambien right before getting into the hot tub, without planning to go to sleep, or telling me that he had taken a drug that impaired him to that degree. I don’t remember much about the conversation we’d had, but I do remember that I had to put a tampon in before getting in the hot-tub, since I was on the tail end of my period (Sorry TMI, but its relevant).
We came inside, toweled off, and were snacking away our munchies in the kitchen while family guy played on the TV in the living room. The open floor plan had the back of the main sofa parallel with the kitchen island, maybe 8 feet apart. Our heavy robes for walking in/outside were draped over the back of the couch, along with our clothes.
X was being sexual, groping me and manhandling me more than was typical even for him. I was beginning to sense that something was wrong. We were standing in front of the dishwasher; I had my back to the counter. We started to kiss, I tried to gently push him back from me, and he responded by grabbing me by the throat. He pushed me backwards quickly, with his body pressed against my legs holding them in place he forced my upper body straight back onto the counter. I was bent like an L over that counter backwards, I thought I had broken my spine, or ruptured a disc. After all, I could only go on the intensity of the pain I was feeling, which was extreme. I cried out “PANDA!!!” which while ridiculous, was also my safe word. He ignored it.
I began to scream, frantic shrieks of pain. At first X looked annoyed, but then he started to laugh. He pulled me down from the counter and dropped me to the floor facedown. I was still screaming. I was Begging him for help, while he watched me writhe. He told me to Shut Up. He kept laughing at me the whole time. Insulting me… for my low pain tolerance I guess. I slowly began to pull myself away from him, towards to sofa in the living room. Mostly I was dragging myself by my arms, as my legs were seized up and numb still from the trauma to my spinal column. I can’t remember everything he said, I only remember feeling increasing dread when he finally walked over to me. I wasn’t sure what was about to happen.
He reached down and pulled me up by my right wrist, and tossed me facedown over the back of the couch. My face was buried in the back of the brown suede seat, and I could feel X behind me, pressed against my butt, hard. He slapped my behind several times, very hard and then he was clearly about to start having sex with me. All the while I’m saying No No No over and over again, Panda, over and over again. At one point, right before he was about to enter I almost got him to stop, I cried “I’ve got a tampon in!” I felt his pause. Then he laughed again, and said he didn’t care. He entered me. Despite the waterlogged tampon in the way he just plugged away. It hurt very much. Sex was painful for weeks after that, but X seemed oblivious as to why my vag might need a @#%ing break. He didn’t apologize that I recall, or bring it up. I certainly didn’t. I kept my head down, worked my two jobs and juggled full time college courses. Dying inside. Being the best girlfriend he didn’t deserve, so that I could protect the life I had built for myself and my daughter.
INCIDENT: Nov 5-19th continuous It began just after election night. I got sick, very sick, while I was at my campus taking one of my classes. X and his kids had to come and pick me up because I wasn’t able to drive. He was very put out about it all, it was an inconvenience to him. I spent the next week with a rising fever, constant vomiting, a headache that’s close cousins with a hatchet, and body aches with chills fit to shatter me apart. I medicated for my symptoms, Tylenol, ibuprofen, all the standard stuff, which of course I had on hand living with an M.D. X kept a pharmacy in his walk in closet and under the sink. I tried to take care of myself, because DR X wanted nothing to do with me.
He felt I was ‘too upset’ about the election. It was nbd that Trump was setting down the path that led to HERE (10/21/2020). This was his justification for ignoring me while I wilted away. Sunday he left me alone, with all three children and informed me that it was my job to supervise them through all their Sunday chores while he was out. Never mind that I wound up chasing those cats until sanity demanded that I take a break from puking so I could do their chores myself. That way X wouldn’t come down on me for them not being done. I don’t know how I did it. He came home at the kids’ bedtime, and didn’t express any concern for me. It was Monday night when I took my temperature, it was 104.4 F.
I knew I was in serious trouble. X was out with his son, and his daughter with her mother, so I called a friend to take me to an urgent care. They transported me to a nearby hospital where I stayed for a week while under treatment for an aggressive kidney infection. It had been difficult to diagnose initially, because of my medical history with kidney infections, I’m generally pretty sure when I have one. But this sneaky bugger was asymptomatic, so I just thought I had a WICKED FLU that I needed to wait out.
X showed up 2x while I was in the hospital. Once the night I was admitted, to bring me a few things (*I think? Can’t really remember what happened that night, I was delirious), he didn’t hang around long. The next time was to pick, me up, the following Friday afternoon. I thought maybe he’d feel badly about how he’d treated me the week before, as I’d been getting sicker. He did initially, I thought. He wanted me to come with him, he said, to a friend’s house for a barbeque.
He’d been invited, and he’d been so busy all week and hadn’t had any time for HIM. “So it would mean so much if we could do this together, baby, please?” It turns out this friend was someone I’d met before, and didn’t have a great relationship with. I’d mostly been able to deescalate and stay chill around this guy, but he’s a real life troll who loves ticking people off, so it was a real struggle. It didn’t help that his relationship with his longtime girlfriend was one of the most obviously abusive relationships I’d ever seen. His name was Greg.
After attempting to get him to go on his own, let me stay home and rest (I was still sick, just well enough finally to leave the hospital). He insisted, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself if he went and left me home. It was key for his enjoyment that I be present. I wasn’t sure why at the time. I knew what would happen if I insisted on staying home. He would pout the whole night, and whine about how he couldn’t have any fun because he was busy being the BEST GUY EVER and tolerating my preferences. It would be less trouble I thought, to tolerate Greg for a few hours. Get some ground made up with X, let him know his needs were important to me. He claimed constantly that no one worried about his needs, they just expected him to fill theirs. He had been distant, and cruel. He was being nice to me right then, and I didn’t want it to change. I had felt so alone in the hospital, so ill for so long, I just wanted to be happy with my boyfriend for the time being. So.. off we went to Gregory’s house.
It was a long drive, about 45 minutes. We listened to music and talked about nothing, it was nice. As we were winding the long dirt road that was Greg’s driveway X casually tossed out: “Hey, just so you know, Greg is really happy about the election. Turns out he’s a huge Trump guy.” JUST F#$*ING GREAT
I generally prefer to avoid conflict. Its one of my chief character traits/flaws, and X was in no way ignorant of how stressful I would find this situation. I had brought along a book, and told him I planned to keep to myself and read my book. I wasn’t interested in engaging with Greg this way. But it was too late to back out, the drive was too long and I’d come in X’s car. I was stuck, and he knew it.
Greg started in on me right away. He basically ignored X and focused all his efforts on taunting the SJW snowflake millennial. I tried to ignore his baiting, and be civil, but indicate that I preferred to read my book, not talk about politics. He ignored this and instead grilled my awareness of Alt-right talking points against the Clintons. This went on for hours. I kept my cool for a long time. I tried to argue with facts, and not be diverted by his many attempts to bait me.
In order to gain some brief respite I wound up volunteering to cook dinner for everyone, since Greg’s browbeaten girlfriend couldn’t seem to figure out what would make ‘the men’ happy. She was so relieved when I offered; she scampered off to watch true c rime while I made Sloppy Joes, mac’n cheese, and a Caesar Salad. Greg showed up once the plates hit the table, tucked in and started straight back on politics.
I admit, I knew when I said that Trump’s history as a chauvinist and alleged Rapist made him unfit for office that I would strike a nerve. Turns out it was Greg’s Hulk Button. He literally turned purple defending Trump(?)’s relationships with women. It was at this point that true insults, no longer disguised thinly as jokes began to fly between Greg and I. X NEVER OPENED HIS MOUTH. He just Watched.
After a few moments of escalating screaming, I left Greg’s home and went outside to wait for X, so we could leave. X didn’t come out for almost half an hour. He told me later that he was trying to calm down Greg, he felt bad that I’d upset him.
As we drove off in silence, one question kept coming up in my mind, and finally I asked him: “Why did you want me to come? Didn’t you know this would happen?” “No!” he insisted “I just thought it would be funny, give you a chance to rip into a trump guy, right?” “You know I hate conflict in general, and arguing with stupid people in specific! How could you think this was ok?” I never got an adequate answer from him. He usually claims ignorance of the potential outcome. If that’s true, then he’s a lot less smart than he likes to assert. I spent the next few days resting at home, doing my best to avoid him, and the inevitable conflict that would follow.
INCIDENT: Spring 2017 Another incident with a friend of X’s. His name is Ted. Ted comes over to our house one day and starts playing the Libertarians favorite game: bait the libtard (his words)
I’m trying to be a good hostess, fetching drinks and politely listening to this man explain away societies problems based on his experiences as a ‘self made career military man’. Dude fixes Blackhawk helicopters. He’s in his sixties, I think. X sat there, while Ted talked about the wage gap being a figment of the liberal imagination. Women and men get paid the same for the same work, period. This was his stance, and X replies “Yeah, I don’t know any female Dr’s who make less than me, if they work as hard.”
I was stunned. Not only was this a**hole in my house spouting chauvanist BS--Ugh, sorry, this still steams me up..—X was agreeing with him, supporting his arguments. I was so angry, but felt outnumbered so I opted to retreat. I left the house and went for a cigarette. When I came back Ted was getting on his motorcycle and left. He was so shaken by the whole interaction he wrecked a few miles away, luckily sustaining only minor injuries. I was blamed for this by X. But we didn’t know that Yet.
We began to argue heatedly, I was angry and hurt that he had sided with Ted on this Factually documented issue in our society. When I brought this up, he insisted he was as Woke as Woke Gets, and if I really loved him I would know that of course he supports women’s rights, black rights, trans rights, gay rights.. until one of his friends disagrees. Then his views magically shift to line up with all these right wing conservative libertarian guys, which seemed to compromise about 60% of his friend group.
The fight got more heated. I tried to leave, to cool off, and X insisted I needed to stay, to work things out. We were in our bedroom, and he blocked my access to the door. I was overwrought and coming undone, I wanted nothing more in that moment than to get away from him. He grabs my arms above the elbows and wrestles me to the ground. I writhed, trying to get away. My left elbow was ground into the carpet repeatedly, and I have the scars of blotches on my arm 3 years later where they were skinned.
I was blamed for this. I was blamed for ‘ruining our date night’ because I had an issue with something totally unimportant. I’d over reacted. He convinced me that I had. I could only push so far before the knowledge that my ability to provide a home for my daughter hinged on this relationship working. No way could I afford a place on my own on one salary, let alone one fit to share with my then six year old. We went on our date night that night, a group dinner with many of his friends. He didn’t speak to me the whole evening, barely even on the ride home. That was how he acted after he got his way. To really hammer home that it wasn’t worth it for me to take any issue, with anything he said or did. I think that was the day I realized I had to leave him. It would take time, and I needed a plan.
EXODUS: I spent 2 months looking for a place to live, searching for new jobs, new options. In July I went to a protest on Monument Avenue in Richmond, and there I ran into some old friends, people I hadn’t hung out with since I met X. For the first time in a long time, I was social with someone other than HIS friends, or people at my work or school. I was a very busy person, always going. I’d spent 5 years getting more and more isolated. The floodgates opened, and I told them what was happening. They helped me coordinate, and find a place that I could move to inside of the week. I had a plan; my dad was even flying out to help me move. X still didn’t know.
This was something I struggled with a lot, I felt dishonest, which I suppose is accurate. I lied to him, told him everything was OK. I was withdrawn, and quiet, but mostly focused on not rocking the boat before I could spring my plan into action. I didn’t want to emotionally scar my daughter, so I prepared her, and her father agreed to keep her with him until I made the switch. X was relieved to have time without her around, he didn’t question it.
Just three days before my dad was going to fly in, I was sleeping in my daughter’s bed (for privacy and safety), and was awoken by X, screaming in my face. He’d opened up my phone and gone through my texts, found out what I was planning, and lost his freaking mind. He couldn’t believe that I’d lied to him about wanting to work on our relationship when I was planning to bounce. I told him it was because of this kind of reaction from him that I’d kept the secret. He was flabbergasted, I remember him saying that he –“can’t believe You would ever leave ME, you promised me you’d NEVER leave!”
That really took me aback. I felt a well of guilt, because I HAD promised him that. Then I remembered, I made that promise before he violently raped me. Then I felt less guilt. I told him in no uncertain terms that I was done with him, and he was the reason why. That he’s the demon that haunts my dreams now. When I left following this confrontation, he was throwing my stuff after me, telling me that my life would fall apart without him.
I really wanted him to be wrong. I wish he had been wrong. More than anything, I wish this were the end of the story.
SPIRALLING: For awhile things were ok, I was working multiple jobs, and was able to meet my expenses, and take care of my daughter. The place I was living was 90 min from God and Everywhere, but it was rent free, so that balanced a lot. Then, my health began to spiral. I was in and out of the ER multiple times, and my mental state was beginning to show cracks. Anxiety and depression were ruling my whole life, and I was a wreck. My physical health was what made it all go pear shaped though. I lost two jobs in one week, because of health related issues. I was Fainting, vomiting, etc. It makes you an unreliable employee, dontcha know? So, suddenly money was a serious problem, and the cracks in my mental state turned into the Grand FREAKING Canyon. Straight up, I had a mental breakdown. My best efforts had failed. X had been right. I was a failure. My daughter deserved better than me. At this time she started staying more with her father, and I would visit her there. I didn’t feel capable anymore, I was broken.
Then, there was this day, where my friend had kindly offered to let me stay at his house while I tried to snap myself out of it. I climbed into the shower.. and I didn’t leave it for almost three days. I just cried. Constantly.
In a moment of weakness, I reached out to X, whom I had totally cut off contact with several months before. He was doing great! He’d started going to therapy, and meditating every day. Really ‘worked’ on himself. He seemed like a totally different man than the one I’d left the year before. I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake.
X spent a lot of time with me for the next few weeks, trying to help me put myself back together. I was very near the danger zone… mentally speaking, and I felt a lot of gratitude to him for helping me out of my spiral.
Now, lets fast forward to August 2019. I had moved from my home on the east coast out to AZ to be closer to my dad. My daughter is currently living overseas with her father (who has been supportive throughout this process) and thriving. I am somehow able to better serve her as her mother from a distance, we talk every day, discuss life and difficulties. Its not ideal, but in the times of Covid, I’m just glad that she’s somewhere safe.
Now, this was right after she’d left the country, and the situation was still fresh. I was lonely, and sad. I missed my daughter. I’d had her with me every single day for a year, and suddenly, poof, she’s gone.
X calls me, and says he has plans to go to Dragon Con in Atlanta, just like he and I had done together the last four years. He wants me to go with him. Offers to buy my ticket and take care of the plane, he insisted he wouldn’t have any fun there if I wasn’t with him. I decided that it would be a good distraction, which I needed at that point. I thought, after a full year of weekly therapy and daily meditation and self reflection, as well as many discussions with me regarding the abuse he committed against me while we were together. He seemed to truly have internalized what I’d told him, and done the work to address his behaviors. I felt safe to go. Surely, things would be different now. I feel like such an idiot.
At first, things were mostly ok. We walked around the booths, saw famous people, smoked, and hung out with people that we’d met there over the years. One such man was Justin. I’d only met him one other year, and hadn’t spent much time around him before this. However, this time, he was in the room next door to ours, so the run ins and hang outs were more frequent. He, X and I spent most of the weekend together going around the Con. Saturday night, while riding up the Marriott elevator to our rooms, Justin casually mentioned that if we ever wanted a partner for a 3 way, he would be down.
At first I thought he was joking, and then X looked at me. Grinned and winked. This wouldn’t be a first for us, he has a voyeurism thing, and I have an ‘I like good sex’ thing. We chatted about it briefly before realizing we were all very much down for this. We spent the entire next day and a good chunk of the night in bed. Not gonna go into detail there, sorry.
Ok, I do have to go into some detail, very minor. While the three of us had been mutually involved all day, it turned out that the pairing that ended the session was Justin and I. By the end of it I was so sore, unless you have lady parts I don’t know how to convey how tender and raw my insides felt after this MARATHON session of really lovely sex. Some of it was even with X.
Justin packs up to leave in the morning, the con is over, and the mass exodus of nerds has begun. Our hotel checkout isn’t until the afternoon, X plans to drop me off at the airport before beginning his drive home. Once Justin goes, X tells me that before I leave, he wants us to have sex one more time. I told him I was in too much pain, No. I was pretty firm on that point. He told me that after paying for everything, including my plane home, he wanted to be the last penis inside me, and since it was so important to his emotional state he contended that I should just lay back and think of England. So, that’s exactly what happened. It was excruciating. I thought about it the entire plane ride home. My dad was so mad that I had gone on the trip with X in the first place that he and his wife stopped talking to me when I came back. I mean, they were right. I couldn’t tell them what had happened. It’s my own fault, right? My own shitty judgment.
He didn’t really change. His feelings (a.k.a: dick) were more important than my physical pain.
I don’t know why I didn’t cut him off right then.
We were in contact fairly frequently over the last year. We are not together, but X tries to maintain that connection with me. Saying I’m free to date who I want, obviously, but wait, who are you going out with? Will there be men there? Do they have PENISES??? I’m exaggerating, ok. Let’s just say he was hyper aware of the potential of me meeting someone else. He would talk about the singularness of our love, how nothing else could compare. He constantly brought up the idea that we would end up together, once our kids were grown and his parents die he’s pretty sure that’s all our relationship issues dealt with. I usually responded tepidly. I told him I didn’t think that was likely, that we broke up for damn good reasons. None of that ever stuck to his Teflon brain. I felt like I still needed him. I don’t really get why. Part of it is defiantly medical. I’ve relied on his help for way too long. In a world with unreliable insurance coverage knowing a Dr can save you a pretty penny. But I realized, recently, that knowing him is a stone around my neck. I’ve gone no contact. I hope it’s for the last time.
Unless there is some way for me to force him to face some accountability for this shit, I never want to speak to him again. I thought he’d changed, I thought maybe I’d helped make him a better man. I didn’t, I just made him a better manipulator.
ISMS: X- “The Safest place for you is Right next to Me.” “You know, you take this for granted, but I’m in this because I LOVE you, not because I’m worried about where I’m gonna live, or if I can keep custody of my kids! I’m in this because I Value You.” “WHAT?!-That was Rape??” “There’s nothing stopping you, you just need to try harder (subtext: Be More Like Me)
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2019.12.20 22:08 rhonnie14 College campus voyeur

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 Voyeur campus college

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 foulweather [link] [comments]


2019.12.20 22:07 rhonnie14 College campus voyeur

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 22:06 rhonnie14 College campus voyeur

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 Odd_directions [link] [comments]


2019.12.20 22:05 rhonnie14 Voyeur college campus

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 ThrillSleep [link] [comments]


2019.11.14 18:53 voidnonuser College campus voyeur

Hey Everyone!
My name is Kyle, I’m 20+ male looking for some exciting m/f smut rp. I have been roleplaying for a long time and an awesome story revolving around enthusiastic smut is always incredibly enjoyable.
F-list: https://www.f-list.net/c/voidnonuse
I am completely up for any type of genre! I’ve done everything from slice-of-life college stories, to dark fantasy. I am open to whatever kinks you can come at me with save a few exceptions (toilet play, beastiality, vore, super abusive). I really only do OC roles, as I am not well versed enough in any fandom to be of service there. I am also open to joining groups, or putting groups together if that is your interest!
I would say my primary loves are Exhibitionism, Group sex, orgasm denial/ ruined orgasm, and voyeurism. I love roles where my partner and I can play multiple characters all engaging in lusty activities. I would honestly love for my partner to be a switch. Being dominant is fun, but sometimes I want to be submissive and made to do as my partner pleases.
I enjoy a lot of detail with my smut, so I’ll usually type between 2 - 4 paragraphs. I would love for every action to have gravity to it. I hate when I describe actions and there is absolutely no reaction to them at all. Even the simplest scene can be incredible if both partners are putting in a lot of sensual detail. I love to please my partners, so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you enjoy. I also enjoy talking and flirting OOC and sharing pictures if you are comfortable with that!
Couple role ideas!
Lust Zombies: Post apocalyptic world that is filled with mindless zombie like creatures. These creatures are filled with an uncontrollable lust instead of hunger for human flesh. If they manage to get their hands on you, they will fuck you relentlessly until you are able to escape.
The Guild: A guild of skilled individuals that are sent out into the world on missions of a sexual nature. The members of the guild must be amazing at fighting, and skilled in the are of sexual conquest.
Public Glory Hole: Someone has been tied up against the wall of a bathroom stall. Several holes are cut into the wall revealing the persons most enjoyable parts. Random people come into the bathroom and decide to enjoy these parts while they are in there.
Sex Fight’s: A world where arena combat is broadcast to a wide audience. With thousands watching fighters face off in 1 on 1 or group matches. The only difference between these fights and our own worlds, is that these end in orgasm. The opponent that cums 3 times in a match loses. May the best fighter win!
Sex Club Exploration: A group of young, horny college students investigates an infamous sex club near campus. The group can be as large or as small as we like. The students go in our of curiosity, but end up exploring their wildest sexual fantasies with each other and other club guests.
Open to countless other ideas!
I only rp over Discord. Shoot me a message for contact info.
Talk to you soon!
submitted by voidnonuser to RoleplayPartnerSearch [link] [comments]


2019.11.06 21:38 voidnonuser College campus voyeur

Hey Everyone!
My name is Kyle, I’m 20+ male looking for some exciting m/f smut rp. I have been roleplaying for a long time and an awesome story revolving around enthusiastic smut is always incredibly enjoyable.
F-list: https://www.f-list.net/c/voidnonuse
I am completely up for any type of genre! I’ve done everything from slice-of-life college stories, to dark fantasy. I am open to whatever kinks you can come at me with save a few exceptions (toilet play, beastiality, vore, super abusive). I really only do OC roles, as I am not well versed enough in any fandom to be of service there. I am also open to joining groups, or putting groups together if that is your interest!
I would say my primary loves are Exhibitionism, Group sex, orgasm denial/ ruined orgasm, and voyeurism. I love roles where my partner and I can play multiple characters all engaging in lusty activities. I would honestly love for my partner to be a switch. Being dominant is fun, but sometimes I want to be submissive and made to do as my partner pleases.
I enjoy a lot of detail with my smut, so I’ll usually type between 2 - 4 paragraphs. I would love for every action to have gravity to it. I hate when I describe actions and there is absolutely no reaction to them at all. Even the simplest scene can be incredible if both partners are putting in a lot of sensual detail. I love to please my partners, so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you enjoy. I also enjoy talking and flirting OOC and sharing pictures if you are comfortable with that!
Couple role ideas!
Lust Zombies: Post apocalyptic world that is filled with mindless zombie like creatures. These creatures are filled with an uncontrollable lust instead of hunger for human flesh. If they manage to get their hands on you, they will fuck you relentlessly until you are able to escape.
The Guild: A guild of skilled individuals that are sent out into the world on missions of a sexual nature. The members of the guild must be amazing at fighting, and skilled in the are of sexual conquest.
Public Glory Hole: Someone has been tied up against the wall of a bathroom stall. Several holes are cut into the wall revealing the persons most enjoyable parts. Random people come into the bathroom and decide to enjoy these parts while they are in there.
Sex Fight’s: A world where arena combat is broadcast to a wide audience. With thousands watching fighters face off in 1 on 1 or group matches. The only difference between these fights and our own worlds, is that these end in orgasm. The opponent that cums 3 times in a match loses. May the best fighter win!
Sex Club Exploration: A group of young, horny college students investigates an infamous sex club near campus. The group can be as large or as small as we like. The students go in our of curiosity, but end up exploring their wildest sexual fantasies with each other and other club guests.
Open to countless other ideas!
I only rp over Discord. Shoot me a message for contact info.
Talk to you soon!
submitted by voidnonuser to RoleplayPartnerSearch [link] [comments]


2019.11.04 16:57 voidnonuser Campus college voyeur

Hey Everyone!
My name is Kyle, I’m 20+ male looking for some exciting m/f smut rp. I have been roleplaying for a long time and an awesome story revolving around enthusiastic smut is always incredibly enjoyable.
F-list: https://www.f-list.net/c/voidnonuse
I am completely up for any type of genre! I’ve done everything from slice-of-life college stories, to dark fantasy. I am open to whatever kinks you can come at me with save a few exceptions (toilet play, beastiality, vore, super abusive). I really only do OC roles, as I am not well versed enough in any fandom to be of service there. I am also open to joining groups, or putting groups together if that is your interest!
I would say my primary loves are Exhibitionism, Group sex, orgasm denial/ ruined orgasm, and voyeurism. I love roles where my partner and I can play multiple characters all engaging in lusty activities. I would honestly love for my partner to be a switch. Being dominant is fun, but sometimes I want to be submissive and made to do as my partner pleases.
I enjoy a lot of detail with my smut, so I’ll usually type between 2 - 4 paragraphs. I would love for every action to have gravity to it. I hate when I describe actions and there is absolutely no reaction to them at all. Even the simplest scene can be incredible if both partners are putting in a lot of sensual detail. I love to please my partners, so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you enjoy. I also enjoy talking and flirting OOC and sharing pictures if you are comfortable with that!
Couple role ideas!
Lust Zombies: Post apocalyptic world that is filled with mindless zombie like creatures. These creatures are filled with an uncontrollable lust instead of hunger for human flesh. If they manage to get their hands on you, they will fuck you relentlessly until you are able to escape.
The Guild: A guild of skilled individuals that are sent out into the world on missions of a sexual nature. The members of the guild must be amazing at fighting, and skilled in the are of sexual conquest.
Public Glory Hole: Someone has been tied up against the wall of a bathroom stall. Several holes are cut into the wall revealing the persons most enjoyable parts. Random people come into the bathroom and decide to enjoy these parts while they are in there.
Sex Fight’s: A world where arena combat is broadcast to a wide audience. With thousands watching fighters face off in 1 on 1 or group matches. The only difference between these fights and our own worlds, is that these end in orgasm. The opponent that cums 3 times in a match loses. May the best fighter win!
Sex Club Exploration: A group of young, horny college students investigates an infamous sex club near campus. The group can be as large or as small as we like. The students go in our of curiosity, but end up exploring their wildest sexual fantasies with each other and other club guests.
Open to countless other ideas!
I only rp over Discord. Shoot me a message for contact info.
Talk to you soon!
submitted by voidnonuser to RoleplayPartnerSearch [link] [comments]


2019.11.01 16:57 voidnonuser [M4F] Sexy Exhibitionist Fun!

Hey Everyone!
My name is Kyle, I’m 20+ male looking for some exciting m/f smut rp. I have been roleplaying for a long time and an awesome story revolving around enthusiastic smut is always incredibly enjoyable.
F-list: https://www.f-list.net/c/voidnonuse
I am completely up for any type of genre! I’ve done everything from slice-of-life college stories, to dark fantasy. I am open to whatever kinks you can come at me with save a few exceptions (toilet play, beastiality, vore, super abusive). I really only do OC roles, as I am not well versed enough in any fandom to be of service there. I am also open to joining groups, or putting groups together if that is your interest!
I would say my primary loves are Exhibitionism, Group sex, orgasm denial/ ruined orgasm, and voyeurism. I love roles where my partner and I can play multiple characters all engaging in lusty activities. I would honestly love for my partner to be a switch. Being dominant is fun, but sometimes I want to be submissive and made to do as my partner pleases.
I enjoy a lot of detail with my smut, so I’ll usually type between 2 - 4 paragraphs. I would love for every action to have gravity to it. I hate when I describe actions and there is absolutely no reaction to them at all. Even the simplest scene can be incredible if both partners are putting in a lot of sensual detail. I love to please my partners, so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you enjoy. I also enjoy talking and flirting OOC and sharing pictures if you are comfortable with that!
Couple role ideas!
Lust Zombies: Post apocalyptic world that is filled with mindless zombie like creatures. These creatures are filled with an uncontrollable lust instead of hunger for human flesh. If they manage to get their hands on you, they will fuck you relentlessly until you are able to escape.
The Guild: A guild of skilled individuals that are sent out into the world on missions of a sexual nature. The members of the guild must be amazing at fighting, and skilled in the are of sexual conquest.
Public Glory Hole: Someone has been tied up against the wall of a bathroom stall. Several holes are cut into the wall revealing the persons most enjoyable parts. Random people come into the bathroom and decide to enjoy these parts while they are in there.
Sex Fight’s: A world where arena combat is broadcast to a wide audience. With thousands watching fighters face off in 1 on 1 or group matches. The only difference between these fights and our own worlds, is that these end in orgasm. The opponent that cums 3 times in a match loses. May the best fighter win!
Sex Club Exploration: A group of young, horny college students investigates an infamous sex club near campus. The group can be as large or as small as we like. The students go in our of curiosity, but end up exploring their wildest sexual fantasies with each other and other club guests.
Open to countless other ideas!
I only rp over Discord. Shoot me a message for contact info.
Talk to you soon!
submitted by voidnonuser to RoleplayPartnerSearch [link] [comments]