Blind Skinned Beauty Podcast の小説・ストーリー

I thought to myself, "I'm glad Rowen is blind and can't see. He should not know that the person who just walked out and bumped into him was Beauty. I said, "It's just an ordinary Slave who came to get his cold medicine. Come on, come on, you listen to your TV." "Yeah... Cold medicine..." I had turned my back, completely unaware of Rowen twitching his nose a few times, a skeptical look on his face. In less than three days, the good news had reached my ears. To be precise, the news exploded throughout Sin Pack. All Sin Pack slaves know that last night, while the Red Boss was fucking Beauty, Beauty suddenly had diarrhea and sprayed him full of shit.

One bright square in the middle of shadows. He was alone out there. Blake. Sweat soaked through his shirt. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. He skated hard, circled back, and fired again. Missed. He cursed under his breath. He didn’t see me. Good. For a second, I just watched. This was not the Blake everyone else knew. Not the loud captain. Not the man who filled interviews with sharp smiles and easy words. This one looked… worn. I stepped closer to the glass. “You’ll ruin the boards at this rate.”

🫣Oooh we done 🤣🤣🤣 Just kidding. We are at the end of many things, like the weekdays. But still far from the end of The Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club. we still have Beauty's Breath, then Killers story Guess who Killers girl going to be? I'm going to eat then I'm gonna decide if I will post more or not.... depending on how many likes I get today 😅🤣🤣🤣

Before he hung up, he asked, “Anyway, before I go… Have you ever heard if Brendan Brighthall has a girlfriend or something who’s also blind?” The woman on the other side sounded downright stupefied. “Blind? Blake Dunn, do you think this is funny?” “I’m not being funny, Lily! It’s a blind woman whose face also seemed kinda scarred or injured. I mean, she had bandages behind her mask. Does a girlfriend like that ever exist?”

Door mats are not so important, you hardly remember them unless there is dirt on your feet, but regardless, they exist in the shadows. Broken things carried such a sad beauty and Sandra was one of the broken things that carried sad beauty. All these years that I had been admiring her pale white skin that looked like that of someone living in Antarctica, a continent full of ice. She wasn’t beautiful, she was dying, she had sickle cell anemia and her skin wasn’t normal like mine.

asked Nickson noisily. "Don't you dare mention it right in front of me, Nickson?" Blakely glared fiercely. She could already guess what was hidden inside Nickson's filthy brain. "It's not my fault I admire your assets right?" “Pervert! Stop this absurd talk. Find another topic. Oh, I once broke the shell of a giant crab and chopped off its claws with just my hands. Even my friends were surprised that I could do that. Most of them think I'm a spoiled woman who just likes to spend hours at the salon taking care of my nails and hands."

He rides a motorcycle with no helmet and forces me to buckle up? "It's the law," he adds by way of explanation. That's even funnier. I don't start laughing, though. If I do, tears might take over. I refuse to show weakness in front of any of these men and I'd like to keep it that way. Skull turns the music up loud signaling that this isn't a chat session. Good, I don't feel like deciphering the brain of another skinhead. The music he plays is old country and the twang grates on my nerves. How can anyone listen to this shit? I sit back in the seat and close my eyes. It's hot and the farther south we head, the hotter it gets. I should have changed into my shorts.

A single text appeared: Meet me. One hour. Eastbridge Park. Come alone. Beauty Kendall frowned. “You’re not going.” “I have to.” “You know it’s a trap.” Jack smirked grimly. “I’m counting on it.” Eastbridge Park was deserted by the time Jack arrived. The winter air bit at his skin as he stepped off the path and into the shadows. Beauty emerged from the fog like she’d been born in it a long black coat, red lipstick, a smile that promised both danger and pleasure.

I was too. “I asked for one, why two?” The pig-masked man said. “The blonde is her friend, seems a little hungry,” the bodyguard replied. Ashley was already crying, then she started praying aloud, “lord, I don’t want to die as a virgin.” I yelled, “that’s not important, Ashley.” I turned to the masked men, “who are you people?” I questioned. “You don’t want to know Janelle,” the pig-masked man replied.