Alebeard.net

Name it the best for beast it be, No devil with little red horns nor demon from religious myth. The predator, cruel cackling sadist, the CEO and bank President, the cop, the judge, the soldier and the politician. Like leeches on the body of humanity the pussy they crave is power and money, control and fear.

The game is old, old as the mountains and the stones, old as the sea and the stars.

The rabbit caught by the coyote, the school girl cornered by the priest, the nurse who needs the job to feed her kids caught by the administrator in the supply room, tears run down her face as she chokes yet again on sperm and drinks his piss if ordered to. The helpless abused and used it’s all the same, only the tools change.

Protesters with signs and marching feet, shouting and clashing with the Gods themselves to change the song, but the song remains the same.

Do you echo the tune from the stands, close your ears to the guitars scream or do you join the band?

There is a rhythm heard, behind the walls of this world, behind the winds that blow and we choose, each of us, how we dance.

Recently there was a test preformed, where people thinking they were participating in a french game show, administered shocks to a man, as he writhed in pain and agony that they thought were real, even unto death, also not real. Most went along, torturing the man because they were told it was alright.

Crowds of students watch a gang rape in Richmond California and laugh. We see old photos of crowds in Sunday best with smiling kids in tow watching a lynching and burning of a black man in the old south. I recall watching Jodie Foster being raped in The Accused as a group of men cheered in the living room I was sitting in.

Crowds gather in stadiums in the middle east to watch and cheer women being stoned to death and in America hoping to see a hockey player or football player shattered on the field. We go to raceways hoping to see a fiery crash and we cheer when armies are decimated on movie screens for our pleasure.

I do not condem

No, I choose only to be aware, to understand the bloody game and play with those who seek to play it.

It is the seeking, the awareness and the desire that makes all the difference

I am myself a highly moral and lovable soul. How could I not be? and yet for reasons unknown to me, society shuns my morals and spurns my brilliant ethical code.

It remains a mystery why the obvious so escapes modern society.

Let us look at the young lady to the left. Now, obviously, her tits are MEANT to be abused, God wants you to hurt them! It’s really quite self evident once you think about it and you can tell easily that the young lady is aware that her heavy fun bags are meant to be hurt and accepts that as the natural order of things. Now, I use the term natural order, but not in the sexist and weenie like way that some people in the scene tend to, like the delusional and putrid Gorean’s or that dude from Vegas that makes the whole scene look shitty there, no no.

What I mean is there are people who simply cry out, “Abuse me!” and by not doing so, we do not only them, but the divine, and the divines personal representative here on earth, me, a great disservice. There are plenty of men with this dynamic as well, but honestly, who cares about them?

Now, let us examine the image to the left again and much like that child’s game we used to play in the newspaper, find the things that are wrong with the picture.

First, look at her nipples, they are smooth, no teeth marks from biting clamps or swollen red indentations from crushing clips and wood clamps. The skin is unwelted, no whips have striped them bursting the delicate tiny blood vessels underneath to paint a firework of color on her globes.

We can only hope that these things will be taken care of soon as the scene progresses…

We are all complex and full human being, well, I mean, not Sarah Palin, but the rest of us. Some are meant to be bankers or bakers, priests or soldiers, politicians or bums and some, like the lass above are meant to be sexual objects to be abused and violated time and time again while they shudder through one dark shame filled orgasm after another, it’s Gods plan, no really. And those who twart Gods plan often end up thrown into volcanoes , I don’t make the rules, but it happens.

Lets look at this girl from Paingate. Nice body, maybe a stripper, maybe done some adult videos. As a teen I would bet, she learned that people wanted to play with her tits and molest her cunt. Men treat her nice hoping for the chance, women hit on her,young boys follow her with their eyes and bosses all make passes at her. She is a sex object, treated well or poorly, that’s simply what she is.

It will be obvious from almost every interaction in her life.

So, at some point, she answers an ad for this site. Does she really have an idea of what it’s gonna be like or all about? no.

And she soon finds herself with her legs spread so a camera can capture a strap cutting into her cunt and tits over and over just so a bunch of us can wank off to her suffering. I mean, her friends are gonna end up seeing this, maybe her family, for sure any boyfriend.

And not just suffering, but suffering on those same cute tits, round ass and puffy twat that all the boys seem to want. Men likely treat her like a princess wanting to get in her pants, and all she really craves is to be welted, fucked with and pissed on, Its a story as old as time really.

What’s striking about both these women is they have an impulse, a destiny and a core and they are aware of it, they seek it out and they embrace it. That is power, that is control and spirit and I applaud them for it.

Now, let us look at those whose we all know are meant to be abused, but they are not really conscious of the fact. These are the girls that come to shoots, and trust me on this, as owner of Paintoy.com I see this a fair amount, these are girls that come to shoots wanting to do it “Only for the money”

Ok, so..You want to let some chubby long haired guy tie you up, abuse your tits, degrade you, cane your ass, torture our cunt and have 3 other people there filming it so that you can be on the internet being sadistically tortured in a sexual manner for the pleasure of others but your not into this in any way? huh?

I mean, she can make way more money doing sex films, take a few cocks in her cunt, maybe get her little rectum stretched after a careful enema with plenty of lube, perhaps go do some escort work?

But no, after coming and interviewing with us, in full understanding of whats about to happen, she cries and screams as her nipples are bruised and crushed, her fat tits welted and the thick handles of floggers tear into her little shitter. And then, after telling us how much she hated it and such, she invariably calls back wanting to shoot again!

She seeks out abuse, but can not admit to herself that is what she needs, its sad really. But I learn to hear the cry for help, I do.

Whipped Tits

Elise Graves is definitely one of my favorite painsluts to work with.

First I have no idea if I have even come close to finding her limits and secondly she is just one of the most perverted and dirty girls we have met. Aside from that she is a very smart and cool human being and quite honestly, thats important to me if I really wanna spend time with someone.

Our shoot today ended with me fucking her up her ass in the dirt and forcing a mixture of water and tobacco up her shitter after.

That was after torturing her with the cattle prod, whips and electric nipple clamps, fuck, I love my job somedays.

This image is from an earlier shoot at the barn as compared to twisted cedar where today’s fun took place.

Often in this blog Ill talk about pathetic victims and trailer trash I want to abuse. Girls like Elise are never that. They walk into the kink eyes wide open and twisted soul aware. They are the partners to my madness and the keepers of my sanity.

With Emma there is the added dimension of a soul mate, a best friend and a partner in my life and not for the first time, do I reflect how lucky I am.

On another odd note, AEBN, who does our pay per view hosting is now selling a virtual fuck machine which one of you twisted bastards should try, it looks…. interesting to say the least

I know it when I see it. Art and Obscenity share that distinction. But for me obscenity is often art, up until it is not.

It is form and energy and it has rules all it’s own, it is fear and welts, screams and shaking, madness and lust, hate and need, curve and flower, stone and steel.

Painslut suffering for her art

It is all of these things in a dance of shadow and light both within and without.

When we are lucky and when we are real enough we capture a bit of it in a scene, a reflection in the water.

This is why we gather, those in this scene of BDSM that attend parties and events, munches and play sessions, we gather to catch sight of that spark, that elusive art of expression and being that flows through the scene. And to look at naked bruised tits being whipped, that is important.

For me, that spark has rules, it has forms that resonate and ones that do not.

I think it is true for all of us likely, I just think my way is better naturally.

The sadist in me sleep for a time, Not entirely asleep, but more a aspect of my spirit then the dominant part of me. And then, like Sarah Palin finding a half off sale at wallmart, it awakens and roars back to lfe.

Wheels seem to be tunring in our little lifes and planets aligning. I can feel the energy ramping up, the engines warming as they come back online and I wonder where next this journey will go.

Tit torture

We have had family staying with us and it has forced us into a more vannilla stance for awhile, but also it has shown us that we crave and need our dynamic and in some ways will leave us stronger once the family finally departs.

Dark wheels turn in my spirit and hooded eyes bide time behind my skull.

Which brings me to these thoughts that churn and tear at my mind numbingly boring days as we bide our time till family moves on out.

Those dark waters of the mind, to bathe in screams and dance in terror. Welts and bruises my tapestry to weave with shocking cruelty a thread passed through a thin needle.

Balance upset, the board tossed to the floor the pieces scattered, I am giving up on being who I wanted to be, abandoning finally that dream and being instead who I am, which is infinitely more frightening.

Emma is my love and together we stand or fall but try and stand we must, or time will fell us as surely as failure.

Send me a hooker, pathetic and shattered to pull into the darkness and crush against the wheel of pain. How much should it cost? No really, give me a figure.

Bathe me in darkness, feed the logs into the furnace and push forward the throttle.

Morality escapes me and ethics sing a different tune, the opening cords of the song begin, the friend awakens and we fight and struggle or dance and sing together.

No really, give me a price.