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Janice Battles Her Slutty Nature By Bardot1990. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. Blue Jenkins worked as a field hand on Hank Leone's farm in Northeast Louisiana. He was a slave. Now in his late-twenties, Blue had been purchased from the Jenkins Farm for a nominal sum two decades back and retained the Jenkins' family name. Blue was tall, muscular, possessed of a pleasing cinnamon complexion, a dazzling smile and a square jaw. He had a hairy breast; his head was shaved bald. In deference to his complexion, Blue's friends called him "Red". Except for his golden mien, Blue looked a lot like Charlie Leone, the nineteen-year-old cock-of-the-walk on Nathan Leone's farm.Unbeknownst to both, Blue was Charlie's older half brother, the product of a tryst between their father Meshach Leone and Dora Jenkins, a biracial slave, some years back. Meshach never really knew his eldest son. He never had any hand in raising him, though the boy grew up five farms away. He'd seen Blue once or twice over the years. Those occasions meant little. Blue wouldn't know Meshach from a rock in the sea. Nevertheless, Blue did inherit something of value from his father, a monster cock. This, along with his gallant good looks and his badboy smile, made the cinnamon-hued young man a much-desired commodity. Blue's haul of pubic scalps was double that of his younger half-brother. More, his harem stretched across several farms in the area and included a number of middle-aged white church matrons. Janice Leone, Hank Leone's crimson haired eldest daughter, recently turned eighteen, noticed Blue working around their farm before but paid him scant attention. "He is a blackie, after all." She'd even seen him naked once as he was washing up after a workday. His cock was huge, his bulging musculature equally as impressive. Jannie had been chatting with a gaggle of black girls who chirped and giggled at the vision of Blue's nakedness. Blue noticed the girls ogling him and turned so that they all could get a full on glance at his lumbering member. He wasn't ashamed of it. He reckoned most of these girls were going to see it up close one day, anyway. Janice recalled that hot afternoon. She remembered being amused by the reaction of the black girls to Blue's nakedness. They were falling all over themselves! For a blackie! Who would have thought it? In light of recent events, however, Blue seemed to be the answer to her prayers. Since her recent visit to Uncle Nathan's farm (where she had her first encounter with a black man's dick), Jannie had become afflicted with the "blackie taint", that wild, seething, unseemly lust white women get for the lumbering penises of unwashed Negro slaves. She was tired of walking around with this unquenched burn in her crotch. Masturbation didn't cool the fires. Neither did her brother Jake's tempestuous but quick late night excursions. And now here, this good-looking, bald-headed blackie was walking around all day with an un-fucked elephant trunk percolating in his pantaloons? "Good-looking"? Did she actually just say that about a blackie? It was undeniable. Blue was a looker. Too, she'd referred to him as "un-fucked". This was true in one respect. Whilst Blue had fucked just about all the women on that farm, he hadn't fucked Janice. "Well, that's about to change." Jannie noted with grim determination. Her logic was unassailable. One, she already had the blackie taint, so one more blackie dick couldn't hurt. Two, her Auntie Beth claimed to have the cure, so whatever additional taint she acquired from Blue would be nullified after her auntie came through with the goods. Three, she was horny as shit 24x7. And four, walking around with a goddam wooden ball up her puss just wasn't making it. Jannie cornered Blue in the root cellar late one afternoon after having given him orders to retrieve some ice potatoes. Prior to that, she'd hidden the ice potatoes so that Blue might spend an inordinate amount of time in the root cellar looking for them, just long enough for onlookers to forget he was in there. Twenty minutes later she followed him in. Blue noted her silhouette in the doorframe. "I cain't find 'em, Miss Janice. I've looked everywhere," he offered, in that mewling tone that slaves disingenuously used with whites of the day. Jannie closed and locked the cellar door behind her. She boldly shed her dress to stand naked before him. Her crimson triangle glowed eerily in the gloom contrasted against her alabaster skin. Her breasts pouted jauntily; her pink nipples were already erect. She exuded the ethereal scent of a woman who has taken a fully naked bath in the pussy of another fully naked woman. Blue wasn't any newcomer to The Game. Women cornered him alone more than just occasionally. He was neither surprised nor perplexed by Jannie's actions. She knew them damn ice potatoes weren't in there when she'd sent him in. Blue dropped the slave mewl tone. "She just tryna be slick." He turned to face her, saying nothing. His level gaze bespoke his true masculinity. "Well?" she said aloud. Confidently, Blue unbuckled his trousers and dropped them. His lengthy penis did, in fact, resemble an elephant's trunk. It rolled outward from his pelvis like an archer's bow and arced forward in a curved line such that his cockhead curled under perfectly to laze between his thighs, just inches above his knees. Blue crossed his arms. His penis swung back and forth like a clock pendulum. The burly black man made no move to approach her. Jannie curled her small fist into a standard male masturbatory pose and jerked it back and forth in front of her fire apple pussy. Her tits wobbled. She was ordering him to initiate his own erection. With a knowing smirk, Blue willingly complied. In seconds, his dick rose up from its flaccidity to become a steely, uncircumcised golden beast, raging for succor. Jannie was amazed. "Now that's a dick," she mused. Indeed, the cock preening before her exceeded any she'd encountered previously. She couldn't grip it with one hand. She doubted that she could grip it entirely with two. Jannie moved forward as if in a trance, fixated on Blue's transcendently spiring dick. It seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. She could feel pulsing pressure waves from it, seething hot, throbbing with virility. She could smell its manly, musky scent in her bones. A tremor escaped her pussy and melted away into fuck vapor. When she'd halved the distance between them, Janice suddenly rushed forward, pushed him back and slammed him against the wall. She gave a little hop, felt his thickness probing past her feathery pubic jungle, felt it slide up into her fragrant wetness without bothering to take aim. She twirled herself easily around his girth, surprising them both. Blue usually had to work to get it in. So tense was she that, as he tapped her cervix, Jannie climaxed. She gave an agonized silent howl than might have awakened the dead, if she'd seen fit to give voice to her sexual derangement. Such voiceless orgasms were the common currency of interracial sexual liaisons in the South. She didn't linger about enjoying this early detonation, either. She reckoned it to be the first of many. Jannie began to fuck Blue with the frenzy of the damned. She planned to use his mammoth golden cock to punish the blackie taint that had tormented her so. Huge power shots and quick, flittering trills dominated her assault. She draped her arms about his neck and humped him fiendishly, standing on her tiptoes, grinding her vagina as far down his shaft as she could wetten. She grabbed his head and kissed him square on the mouth, then she latched onto his neck and sucked first one purple hickey then another, all the while quivering her pussy up and down the length of his huge, elephantine penis. Jannie came again. And then yet again. If Blue's rigid penis hadn't supported her body weight, Janice would have collapsed to the ground in a heap. She was impaled. Her massive clit danced along his sticky, pussy-wettened shaft, sending spiraling jets of electricity coursing throughout her frame. After her fourth orgasm, Jannie pushed Blue to his knees and fucked his face thru two more climactic cycles. She scrubbed her massive crimson bush about his lips, nostrils and cheeks. Her labia surged and suckled. These kissed the black man fervently, marking Blue's face with Jannie's turgid vaginal aroma. Still unsated, Janice bent and offered her rounded ass up to him. Blue was amazed to see her fire-apple red pubic curls blazing past her sphincter and up the crack of her ass, each lock sloppy wet with her pussy juice. Undeterred by this great, sticky Jheri curl of pubic fur, he fucked Jannie's asshole dry, agonizing over its heated friction. When he finally erupted his cooling jism caused her bowels to sizzle with the crackle of cold water splashed into a white-hot frying pan. Jannie slumped forward and flopped to the ground, exhausted. Every ganglion in her body shrieked with vibrance. With some effort, Blue pulled his cock from Jannie's ass. It stretched, thwacked back awkwardly and then wobbled crazily in the cool darkness of the root cellar. Semen dripped from his pee-hole. A silky wisp of steam condensed around his shaft and oozed away silently into the darkness. Riotous explosions of sexual odor assaulted their olfactories, weaving exotic panoramas in their brains. Jannie's world spun about. The rushing winds of sexual completion assailed her tumultuously. Semen fizzled from her asshole like carbonated soda and dripped to the ground, coagulating into a large, bubbly puddle. Jannie was enshrouded in bliss. Finally her breathing quieted. She flexed her pelvic muscles to see if the blackie taint intended another flare up. It gave no indication. Encouraged, Jannie rose discreetly and dressed. She peeked out the door and, seeing no one, scurried out. Blue was long gone. Her opening "Well?" had been the only word spoken between them. Is it an addiction? For six days after her encounter with Blue, Jannie's sexual burn receded into irrelevance. She cheerfully went about her daily chores. She contributed to dinnertime conversations without any undue tight-lipped strain. She fucked her brother occasionally but with none of her earlier vehemence. She didn't have to hunt him down for dick. Her smooth wooden masturbation ball was a distant memory. In short, she became Jannie again. On the seventh day after the Blue tryst, Jannie began to wonder after her hibernating libido. Where was it? She'd fucked her brother Jake several times in the interim, true, but she hadn't cum during any single encounter. She enjoyed the feel of her brother's dick riding in and out of her pussy much as a child enjoys playing on a swing set. It was exhilarating. When he came and his hot jism bubbled up and oozed out of her pussy, there was no reciprocal explosion on her part. She only got a sloppy, sticky ass from the experience and a cold wet spot to sleep in. Jake got all the joy. "What happened to my blackie taint?" she wondered. Immediately thereafter she chastened herself. "Good riddance!" she chortled. Before her encounter with Isaac at Uncle Nathan's farm she'd had a normal sex drive. She fucked a lot. Sometimes she came. Sometimes she didn't. After that encounter (and until her rendezvous with Blue) she came repeatedly, so often that it became a painful annoyance. The 'blackie taint' left her tangerine pussy in a constant state of arousal. The tryst with Blue had been amazing. He was a bit older than she, handsome, well hung and discreet. He'd cooled the insatiable ardor that had plagued her for weeks. Trouble was, he seemed to have put it out entirely. The Burn was gone. She hadn't had an explosive orgasm in a week. Was this the anti-blackie taint? She didn't want to cum all the time, but she did want to cum sometimes. What's the point of fucking if you can't bust a nut? She'd seen Blue a time or two since then, too. He'd been affable without being familiar. He acted as if nothing had occurred between them. He'd even fielded flirtatious solicitations from passing black women while Jannie was present, which caused Jannie to pink up in jealousy. How did these sassy black bitches know that Blue wasn't her kept blackie? Of course, they couldn't know, and could never know. Jannie didn't then realize that a sense of possession, entitlement, is always one of the first consequences of engaging in sexual intercourse. That realization only comes with age and experience. She just knew that she felt disrespected by the incessant flirtations that were part and parcel of Blue's daily routine. His legendary cocksmanship drew the fillies like flies. Janice approached Blue one afternoon and asked him to bring some ice potatoes up to the big house, and to take his time doing it. Janice knew he would catch her meaning. When she stepped into the root cellar twenty minutes later, Blue was already naked. His penis was splendidly erect. Jannie smiled. "No, Blue. This ain't what I meant. Well, it ain't what I meant for right now. There's too many people around. They might hear us. Put your clothes back on." Reluctantly Blue reached for his trousers. "Wait a minute!" she said. She skipped over to him and took his penis into her mouth. She hadn't blown him in their earlier encounter. She wanted to hold the taste of that special bond in her remembrance. She wettened his dick with some difficulty. Jannie couldn't get much more than his pud into her mouth. It was as thick as her fist. She gaped wide to accommodate him, flickering her tongue out to tickle his urethral valley and the shroud of his foreskin. She tried to slip her tongue into his peehole. Blue moved to grip her head with both hands. She stopped him. "Not right now, Blue," she said. "I want you to come up to my room, in the big house, later tonight. Real late. OK? I'll leave the door open." Blue was confused. "In de big house?" "Yes." In that instant Jannie remembered something. Her brother Jake might have designs on her pussy tonight, too. Unlike their cousins Annie and Ben, Jake and Janice slept in separate rooms. Jake slept in the loft alone. He had to sneak downstairs to claim his nightly due, then sneak back upstairs before dawn. It wouldn't do for Blue to show up while Jake was being stupefied by Jannie's sexual siren. "Wait," she said. "I'll put a rag on my doorknob. If you see the rag, it's OK to come in. If not, you need to hide in the front room closet until I come for you. OK? And don't make no noise." She slobbed his dick again for good measure, then stood and scurried out. Janice's earlier trepidations proved prescient. Jake did, in fact, sneak downstairs for his nightly due. As with their cousins, there was little planning or preamble to their sex, certainly no kissing or conversation. Jake simply crept into Jannie's room with a big boner. If she was already asleep, he tapped her cheek with his cock to awaken her. Jannie then either sucked him off or fucked him off. Or both. This night she chose the former. "Blue's dick is three times as thick as this," she speculated as Jake roiled his penis in her throat. Jake came in her mouth, then melted into her bed, as per his habit. She lay quietly next to him awaiting his recovery. In twenty minutes he would awaken and have a go at her pussy, she knew. She had a cure for that. Jan needed to have a fresh puss for Blue to soil. Twenty minutes later, Jake awakened abruptly to every young man's dream. His re-hardened cock was deep in his sister's throat. Her freckled face bobbed up and down on it luxuriantly. Evidently, she'd been blowing him for some time. Her saliva bubbled up frothily around his base. It dripped from her lips. Jake was well past plateau. Just as the cognition of time and space returned to the lad, a second orgasmic eruption wracked his body, this one decisive. Jake held the back of Jan's head tightly as he pumped blob after blob of semen into her throat. His hips churned spasmodically. His mouth opened wide in a silent scream of agony. He threw his head back into the cock-induced blindness afforded by a premium knobjob. Before Jake could pass out, Jannie scooped him aloft and walked him out her door and over to the loft ladder. His penis still waggled and spurted. She couldn't carry him up, but she pushed him to climb with a series of strident whispers about the dangers of being caught asleep in her room on the morrow. They'd been down this path before. Jake climbed up mechanically without questioning her motives. Long, wispy contrails of semen drifted down the ladder in his wake. When the trap door closed behind him, Jannie whisked over to the closet and found Blue, as she'd expected. "Hurry!" she whispered. Half dragged, Blue stumbled into her room. "Did you, did you just do de nasty wit' yo' brother?" he asked incredulously. "Don't be silly," she replied. "We were talking about something and he fell asleep. I knew you were coming so I woke him up and sent him off to bed." Blue was not fooled so easily. The scent of semen wafted in the air. A man knows the scent of jism when he smells it, and especially knows when the scent is mixed with spittle and/or pussy froth. Blue began removing his clothing. "Wait, Blue. I asked you here because, because, well, I want to talk to you about something." Blue ignored her. They were going to fuck. He wanted to be sufficiently naked when they did. Besides, they'd never talked before. Why talk now? He didn't even know this cracker bitch. "Blue, last week when we done it, I, I wanted you to know. I, I don't usually do that," Janice opened. Blue thought to himself: "Sho' you don't." What came out of his mouth was: "Yes'm." Jannie continued: "I, I was having some troubles. An', an' I took advantage of you. You ain't did nothin' wrong." Blue thought to himself: "Right." What came out of his mouth was: "Yes'm." "I, I wanted to ask you something, OK?" Blue thought to himself: "Bitch, get to de point." What came out of his mouth was: "Yes'm?" "Blue, is you never heard of 'the blackie taint'?" Blue was genuinely surprised. This opening gambit was certainly unexpected. "De blackie taint?" he asked. "Yes. The blackie taint," she said. "Ain't dat what happens to white womens when dey does de nasty wit' blackies?" "Yes," she affirmed. "Is d'ass what you gots, Miss Janice?" "I, I don't rightly know. I, I think I had it. And then I done it wit' you. An' it went away. So I ain't sure what it is." "It went away? But you want to do de nasty again? 'N get it back?" "I, I, want to do 'de nasty'. With you. Tonight. Because, well, I, I, when I had the blackie taint I could, you know, umm, cum. An' I ain't been able to, cum, since you an' me did it." "Why, Miss Jannie, dat ain't de blackie taint. De blackie taint is when you cain't do but have a blackie's dick up in you. Black girls get de blackie taint, too, sometimes, 'n it most drives 'em crazy. You just did it wit' Massuh Jake, so, " "I told you I ain't did it with Jakie. Don't you dare think I did. I didn't." "Yes'm." He was properly chastened. Jannie began to remove her nightclothes. She softened her tone. "I, I, want you to make me cum, Blue. Like you done the other day." "Yes'm." Jannie lounged back on her bed and opened her lucious crimson bush to him. Blue noted that her pussy didn't look smashed. It looked pristine. Crisp. Inviting. Maybe she hadn't fucked her brother after all. "Miss Janice, if'n you don't mind, I, I wuz hopin' you would, suck, my dick fuh me. First. Like you stotted to do in de cellar. I likes dat." Jannie sat up expectantly. "Bring it here," she said. Blue stepped to her and offered his dick up to her face. It was only partially erect. It flopped about in his fist. He had to squeeze its base to force blood into it. Jannie examined his cock up close. She was continually amazed at his length and girth. "You like gettin' your, dick, sucked?" she asked. "Yes'm. I likes it. A lot." Jannie caressed his cockhead in both hands. "Who else around here has sucked your dick, Blue?" "Oh, a few. A few. Some 'um won't do it cause dey say dey cain't get it in dey mouvs." "I had trouble gettin' it in my mouf, too, Blue." "But you done good to get it as far as you done. Some 'um won't e'em get dat fuh." "It ain't hard as you had it earlier today, Blue. It ain't as big." She took it into her mouth. His sexual musk burned a memory into her olfactory nerves. "Do dat," he said. "'N Keep doin' dat. It'll get dere." Jannie brushed Blue's hands away from the base of his dick. She replaced his hands with her own and squeezed so that his cock ballooned into her face. His pudenda burgeoned forth from it enshrouding foreskin. She could see his urethra quivering like a panting puppy. She offered her tongue to it and, in doing so, tasted a whiff of the semen huff buried deep in his testes, priming for launch. She drew a deeper breath. The aroma of his sex, so close to her nostrils, lit a small, almost imperceptible flame in her genitals. "There it is," she sighed. "Finally! Where've you been?" She began licking his cockhead with feathery flicks and long, lavish laps designed to elicit a hands-free erection. A torrent of blood rushed into his tissues. She could feel it, could actually hear it filling out his erectile cavities. She watched his cock expand and lengthen into the golden beast whose legend had fostered this late night booty call. She released his base. His penis sprang outward magnificently, eschewing all artificial support. Jannie took his cockhead between her lips and French kissed it tenderly, as she might kiss a boyfriend, using her tongue to probe its smooth surfaces, helmet and valleys. Blue roiled his buttocks in small swirlets, returning her French kiss as best he could using his dick, praying that she'd open wider and go just a wee bit further down his shaft. He wanted to feel the heat of her tongue gracing his hypersensitive underpud. Soon enough, Jannie accommodated his wish. Too, she added a twist she'd learned from her cousin Annie. Using her soft lips, she gripped his shaggy foreskin and drew it up over his pud until the excess skin closed almost completely about it. Then, without releasing his shagginess, she pushed his foreskin back again with her lips. This simultaneously drew his cockhead deeper into her mouth. It also provided the desired softly heated friction to his underpud with her tongue. Jannie found that this method of fellatio received the best responses from the men she'd blown. Blue was no exception. His legs began to tremble excitedly. He preened up on his tiptoes to gain further purchase in her mouth. He buried both hands into her crimson tresses and pressed forward, striving to relieve himself in her esophagus. He hadn't been this close to a pre-mature ejaculation in years. Maybe there was something to this white girl after all. Jannie withdrew. "I thought you was goin' to make me cum," she chided him. "I cain't cum if you waste all your juice in my mouf on the first go, Blue." "Don't, stop," he whispered harshly. "Keep, going!" "No, Blue. You're gettin' ready to cum, ain't you? An' then you'll disappear like you done the last time. I looked up an' you was gone. Here, lick my pussy for a bit, an' calm down. Don't worry, I'll suck Mr. Elephant again before it's all over, an' you can shoot it in my mouf, if'n you want. Jist don't cum before I gets mine. OK?" Blue stepped back from her. His dick lunged upward, ready to spout jism into the first warm, wet edifice it encountered. Blue strained to regain his composure. This little ginger girl knew a thing or two about dick sucking, that much was obvious. She lay back on her bed and opened her legs to him. Reluctantly, he leaned forward to examine her puss. He fully expected the scent of another man's dick to greet him, despite the unruffled nature of her pubic mound. He leaned closer and closer. Only the feminine scent of cunt, laced with the faintly acrid odor of urine, rose to his nostrils. This was not a bath day. Blue marveled at the beauty of Jannie's cunt. Her full tuft of tangerine/crimson pubic hair formed a perfect triangle at the juncture of her thighs without sprawling past its angular boundaries. Yet he could see thick curls of pubic hair drifting into her ass, encircling her sphincter and northward, finally disappearing high up in her ass crack. He couldn't see her pussy lips. They were buried at the bottom of this furry jungle. But the rounded shape of her mound told him she was fully blooded, puffy with desire. Too, he noticed an unnatural, furtive movement in the thick forest at the center of her cushiony triangle. Using his index fingers, he pried her fur apart to unveil Jannie's crown jewel, a thumb-sized clitoris, complete with a hooded, bulbous clithead. Blue was taken aback. Jannie's clit resembled a small penis. It waggled anxiously beneath its furry shroud, begging to be sucked. Blue drifted his gaze up to meet Jannie's eyes. By now she was used to the shocked look men get upon first glimpsing her penis-shaped clitoris. It was a look that shrieked, "This bitch is a man!" Unperturbed, Jannie calmly queefed her vaginal scent into his nostrils. She'd learned that the fragrant scent of pussy is the best way to remind men that, while she might have a small dick at the pinnacle of her cleft, there was a vast, desirable chasm at the bottom of it. Jannie's sexual aroma brought Blue back into the moment. Somewhere deep in this forest there was a pussy to be reckoned with. His dick was still rock hard, throbbing for the stickiness. He needed to prime this pussy for entry. What this bitch wanted was a good ass-licking. It certainly wouldn't be the first pissy pussy he'd licked, nosirree bob! Blue probed forward. He flicked his tongue out tentatively. Jannie's clit lunged for it like a stalking spider. When the two organs met Jannie groaned audibly, a deep, soul-wrenching moan redolent of the depth of her arousal. Blue popped his head up in concern. It wouldn't do for her moans to bring a white person running. Silence was the order of the day. Jannie gave him a shushing hand signal to express her understanding of his foreboding. She pointed to her puss and ordered him back in. Blue obeyed. Soon he had the young woman bucking and arching in her bed. She spread her arms wide to grip the edges of her mattress and humped his mouth with a savage, wanton lust that hurtled them both to a soaring plateau. Under Blue's lavish tonguing, Jannie's pussy fire returned with a vengeance. It burned one hole after another into her churning, sweaty abdomen as Blue alternately sucked and licked her bobbing clit. Each time The Burn rose up to consume her, Blue scrambled up and slipped his aching penis into her heaving crimson snatch. Jannie took just a little bit more of his monster cock into her core each time he pried her open, sluicing her frothy cum into him and happily greeting the rampant lust she thought she'd lost. She whispered sibilant obscenities into his ear as his cock drove into her. She kissed him with the exuberant familiarity of a long-time lover, framing his bald head with her hands. "Suck me again, Blue! Lick me one more time!" she insisted breathlessly. Her unusual genital configuration allowed Jannie to experience both masculine and feminine sensations from their sex. Sucking her clit was akin to getting a good blowjob. Jannie could almost feel the fervent rush of her semen as Blue bobbed her clit gently with his thick lips. When his tongue wickered forth and slipped southward into her dripping hole, it drove her wild with desire. If only a regular dick were at once this softly firm and pliable! If only his tongue were as long as his dick, long enough to invade her pussy and tickle her deeper cushy pudding! Oh, to be able to squeeze and suckle his tongue with her full pussy! She humped Blue's mouth in a vain effort to accomplish just this outcome. Jannie achieved five thunderous orgasms before Blue mounted her filled her cunt with his hot, creamy cum. She managed two more before his second eruption. Her blackie taint hadn't abandoned her. It just needed a blackie to set it off. Jannie recalled the advice she'd received from her cousin Abby about lust for black dick: "Your heart's gon' hurt you for a little bit. An' then one mornin' you gon' wake up and say you druther have a stiff, fat black dick up in you than worry about what the biddies at church is sayin' 'bout you." It was true. Her conscience driven doubts had been subsumed, first by the manic burn of the blackie taint, and then by the cooling balm of Blue's lumbering blackie dick. "Okay. I see how it is now, Abby." Jannie finished up her session with Blue by sucking a huge burst of jism from him, just as she'd promised. She sucked him to the edge of paradise, paused briefly for theatrical effect, and then shoved him through the door to bliss with a foot up his ass. Jism rocketed from his cock in waves and slid down her throat, eventually coming to rest in her stomach, where it mixed sociably with her brother's issue. Blue's dick was so far down her throat when he came that Jannie almost choked from the volume of his semen. Soon Blue's ponderous cock waggled uselessly between his thighs, just inches above his knees. Excess semen dripped from his urethra. A cold puddle of his joy juice soaked Jannie's mattress. Little pellets of tapioca dotted the foot-wide wet spot. "Blue, I wanna do this again," she said. "Tonight, Miss Janice?" "No, silly. You gotta get outta here before someone wakes up. I mean another time, right here, if'n you ain't a-feared to come up." "When?" "I'll come get you when I need you." To be continued. By Bardot1990 for Literotica. The Antebellum Pussie Possie: Part 4

The ASX 200 has finished the day up 67 points (+0.86%) to 7830 in a broad rally covering all sectors. Telecom finished on top thanks to Telstra's 2.2% rise. Phone plan price increases announced from August. REA, CAR, and TPG joining in. Up 2.2%, 0.7% and 1.1%, respectively. Financials were next best as the CBA hit a record high, up 1.8%. WBC, NAB and ANZ up between 1.4% and 2%. Interest rate sensitive sectors strong. REITs played catch up to the weekend's drop in bond yields. SCG and SGP up 1.3% and 1.2%. WTC and NXT leading tech higher. Up 1.8% and 1.7%. Powell's commentary tonight at the senate banking committee will be closely watched. Discretionary stocks mixed. ALL up 1.7%, and JBH down 0.1%. Unperturbed by a drop in Consumer Sentiment. Health Care in the middle of the pack, and Staples up 0.33%, defensives underperforming.Why not sign up for a free trial? Get access to expert market insights and manage your investments with confidence. Ready to invest in yourself? Join the Marcus Today community. 

The South London singer-songwriter Raye joins Emma Barnett following her record-breaking six wins at the Brit awards last weekend. Raye tells us about her grandma Agatha who joined her on stage after winning Best Album for My 21st Century Blues. She also talks about being a woman in the music industry and the strength she has found from fellow female musician Charli XCX.A new documentary, Copa 71, follows the trailblazing women who headed to Mexico for an unofficial Women's World Cup in 1971. Woman's football had been banned in many countries including the UK for 50 years. Unperturbed 6 teams gathered and played in front of crowds of 100,000 fans. One of those players, Chris Lockwood joins Anita Rani alongside co-director of the film Rachel Ramsay.On the 3rd March 2021, Sarah Everard was murdered by Wayne Couzens, an off-duty police officer. The incident sparked national outrage and a surge in fighting violence against women and girls. Three years on, how much has changed? Emma Barnett speaks to the Detective Inspector who interviewed Wayne Couzens, Nick Harvey.Imelda May talks about her new documentary Lily and Lolly: The Forgotten Yeats Sisters, on Sky Arts. Elizabeth and Susan Yeats (also known as Lolly and Lily) founded a women-only arts and crafts guild to promote women's economic and cultural independence. Overshadowed by their famous brothers, W.B Yeats and Jack Butler Yeats…until now.The author Liz Jensen's son Raphael was a wildlife biologist, an environmental activist, and a prominent member of Extinction Rebellion. In 2020, at the age of 25, he unexpectedly collapsed and died due to an unknown heart condition. Liz speaks to Emma about her new memoir, Your Wild and Previous Life, about her process of grief, hope and rebellion.

A new documentary, Copa 71, follows the trailblazing women who headed to Mexico for an unofficial Women's World Cup in 1971. Woman's football had been banned in many countries including the UK for 50 years. Unperturbed 6 teams gathered and played in front of crowds of 100,000 fans. One of those players, Chris Lockwood joins Anita Rani alongside co-director of the film Rachel Ramsay.On International Woman's Day Maidenhead MP and former Prime Minister Theresa May has announced she is standing down at the next election, telling the Maidenhead Advertiser she has taken the “difficult decision” after 27 years representing the constituency. She becomes the 63rd Tory MP — and the most senior — to announce that they will not be standing again in 2024. She says that causes such as tackling modern slavery were taking an "increasing amount" of her time - as a reason for her stepping down now. We hear from David Lee - deputy editor for the Maidenhead Advertiser who broke the story and assistant editor at the Spectator Isabel Hardman.What's it like being the first, directly elected female Mayor of Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone? Yvonne Aki-Sawyerr talks about her career in politics and a new BBC Africa documentary which follows her run up to elections. New research suggests that female psychopaths could be up to 5 times more common that we previously thought. So what are the main differences between men and women when it comes to psychopathy? How do you deal with a woman who fits the bill? And what could the wider impacts of this study be in terms of our court systems and other societal sectors? We hear from Dr Clive Boddy, an Associate Professor of corporate psychology at the University of Anglia Ruskin who's conducted this research. And Estelle Moore, clinical and forensic psychologist and chair of the London Psychological Professions Network. The Radio 1 presenter and singer Mollie King joins Anita to discuss her Red Nose Day challenge for Comic Relief – a 500km cycle across England, setting off from London and crossing the finish line in Hull, the hometown of her late father. She explains it's the first time she's cycled on a road, how she plans to navigate busy city centres, winding country roads, and unsteady terrain, and her fitness journey since giving birth to her daughter in 2022. Presenter: Anita Rani Producer: Kirsty Starkey Studio Manager: Tim Heffer

What use is brute strength when the mind is under siege?A 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.Preface: A grim, brutal sword-and-sandal adventure in the style of Robert E Howard, creator of characters like Conan the Barbarian, Soloman Kane, and Red Sonya (whom we pay homage to in this tale).The grim visage of a snarling war goddess carved into the prow cut a foaming trough through a particularly high wave as fifty slaves grunted with the effort of dragging their oars through the churning waters, spurred on by the pounding drum and the sting of the lash. Slicing through the choppy sea with the practiced grace of a harem dancer, the sleek bireme stalked her prey, her sail taut and a firm hand on her tiller. With the salt wind in his hair and the brine spray on his face, Ambrose smiled.Gods willing, the Tyrant’s Blade, would finally overtake Kelgore the Despoiler today, putting an end to the pirate king’s bloody rampage and filling Ambrose’s purse with coin. The dreaded pirate had pillaged his way along the Xhastrian coast, uncannily avoiding his pursuers through guile, bribery and masterful seamanship. The merchants and nobles of Xhastria called out for the God-King to put an end to Kelgore’s atrocities. Despite unleashing the considerable naval might of Xhastria upon him, Kelgore still evaded justice.And so the heavy bounty levied on Kelgore’s head was enough to pique the interest of every mercenary who could stomach a rolling deck beneath their feet.Ambrose counted himself lucky to have cut a deal and joined forces with a warrior-witch whose renown, if not already legendary, was certain to become so. He had once seen Red Tsonia’s prowess in battle for himself and it made his heart glad that she sailed under his banner, and not Kelgore’s.Tsonia, flame-haired, long-limbed and clad in a woolen cloak against the stinging wind and spray, shot him a fierce glare. “The storm draws closer, Captain,” she stated flatly. In any other, Ambrose would have expected at least a note of worry in the statement.“Aye, and Kelgore sails into its teeth!” he replied.Leaden clouds hung but a hand’s breadth above the slate-gray, foam-crested waves and the sky between was hidden behind a curtain of distant rain. Less than a scant league ahead of them the silhouette of Kelgore’s ship drew low in the water, over-burdened by its plundered cargo. A lance of lightning bisected the sky to the west but still Kelgore’s crew pulled hard for the rain shroud.“He means to lose us in the maelstrom,” Ambrose continued, barely audible over the groan of the oars, the howl of the wind and the roar of the waves around them. “But Tyrant’s Blade is lighter. Faster. We’ll be on him before he’s swallowed by the storm.”“We’ll both be in the gullet of that storm if the winds change,” Tsonia observed, bracing a hand against the rail as a heavy swell rolled the deck beneath her feet. “But I’d rather die than let the last fortnight’s hunt go to waste. Kelgore the Despoiler dies today, come hell or high water.”Ambrose, steady as always, leaned against the rudder to climb the steep swell and keep Kelgore in sight. “You might have both if that storm catches us,” he replied. Then to his crew he shouted “Make ready to cut away the sail lines! We’ll not waste time furling if the winds shift!’The bireme pitched up another undulating hillock of water, smashed across its foamy crest, and plunged down the far side towards a deep valley. For the moment, Kelgore was lost to sight in the sea’s rolling hills. Tsonia cursed and clambered snarling up the aft castle but Ambrose merely grinned. A great warrior she might be, he thought to himself, but she cannot brook losing sight of her quarry because she cannot read the ocean.Down and down the Tyrant’s Blade dived, gaining speed as the oarsmen pulled and the sail snapped. Down, until the valley floor rose to meet them, as Ambrose knew it would. The deck yawed hard and pitched up suddenly. Above him, Ambrose heard Tsonia curse again. The rising swell had caught the ship on its back and bore her aloft towards the iron clouds above.As the turbulent waves fell away on either side, a great shout went up from the crew, for dead ahead was Kelgore’s ship, her sail fallen slack, as the wind had turned."Cleave the lines!” shouted Ambrose, though he needn’t have bothered. His crew knew their jobs and let heavy axes fall across the hempen cables at the first sign that the sail might falter and drag. The heavy canvass flapped away in the headwind, an expensive sacrifice, but dreams of wealth beyond counting had made Ambrose and his crew reckless in their thirst for Kelgore’s blood.“He turns!” shouted Tsonia from the aft castle. “Kelgore means to fight!”Thunder exploded and another fork of lightning stabbed at the sea, as if to portend the inevitable battle to come. Ahead, Ambrose could see the broadside of Kelgore’s ship turning towards them, two banks of oars dragging in the water on her port side. Kelgore’s limp sail suddenly snapped taut as it caught hold of the shifted headwind.“Ramming speed!" Ambrose bellowed. The tempo of the drum quickened and the oars beat a staccato rhythm through the violent sea. Tyrant’s Blade lurched forward into the wind like a mad dog broken free of its lead."To the bow Tsonia, and ready your blade!” he shouted up to the top of the castle.She leapt down from the roof and threw off her spray-sparkled cloak. In nothing more than a cropped halter of tarnished chainmail and a kilt of the same, Tsonia sprinted towards the front of the ship. Her sandaled step held her balance on the capricious deck and she drew a wickedly curved scimitar from its scabbard as she ran, the perfect weapon to maul unprotected flesh with quick, wide slashes.From the tiller, Ambrose couldn’t help but admire Red Tsonia’s shapely figure as she stood at the head of the mercenary crew, one hand braced against the ship’s high prow, the other idly testing the weight of her sword, her crimson locks tossed behind by the shrieking gale. Once again, lightning split the sky and thunder rolled a warning omen as the ship bore heedlessly down on its prey.“There’s a sight to daunt a man’s soul,” Ambrose said to the figure in the bright tangerine cloak who emerged from the castle. “Two fell goddesses bearing down on you with murder in their eyes. By the gods man, that’s a scene you ought to paint!”“Yes,” agreed Joras, taking in the volatile chaos unfolding before him and clinging tightly to a rail. “But to capture the proper perspective, I’d need to be on Kelgore’s ship.”Even amidst the roar of the waves and the booming thunderclaps, the impact of Tyrant’s Blade against Kelgore’s galley was ear-shattering. The heavy bronze-clad ram that the war goddess figurehead sat astride pierced the side of Kelgore’s ship in a cacophony of bursting planks, splintering oars, and wailing men as wood and flesh were torn asunder.Tsonia, nimble like a prowling cougar, used the force of the impact to propel herself onto the other ship’s deck feet first, toppling a bleeding sailor feebly clutching at half an oar sticking from his gut. She hoisted his mangled body up by an arm and tossed it towards a cluster of dumbfounded pirates stumbling in from the wounded ship’s prow, creating a gap big enough to allow Ambrose’s men to follow her onto the deck.And follow her they did, using a precariously placed boarding plank, hacking and stabbing at everything their short blades and heavy bludgeons could reach.“Keep them off me while I fetch Kelgore’s head!” she bellowed over the chaos just as sheets of rain began to pour from the roiling clouds above. Another peal of thunder rolled above the din, the deck heaved erratically beneath her feet, and Tsonia charged blindly into the deluge with no doubt she would find Kelgore at the helm, wrangling the ship and his men both.Her scimitar darted this way and that, finding ample bodies to carve open. Across the perilous deck Tsonia danced through the rainfall, plucking a wickedly barbed harpoon from the feebly twitching hand of a pirate she had just eviscerated.Over the cries of the wounded and dying and the drumming of the rain she heard a gurgling moan. Through the turmoil emerged a hulking, misshapen brute bearing down on her. A head taller and twice as wide as she, the grotesque creature hefted a gargantuan mace, the head a sharp-edged lump of dark matter lined with scintillating veins of a viridian mineral. Heedless if it hit friend or foe, the giant swept the weapon across the deck, felling a handful of his allies and clearing ample space for Tsonia.The visage of the brute was truly hideous, his features half-melted and covered in purulent boils of some fell disease. One eye was of a sickly green hue, the other of a brilliant blue. Unbridled rage flared in both as he roared, spit flying from swollen lips, rivulets of rain water trickling over thickly corded muscle. The mace came up to drive Tsonia through the deck like a nail but the flame-haired warrior was faster. With the force of a ballista she hurled the harpoon, the ghastly weapon tearing through the giant’s throat in a shower of gore. Like a grisly monument, the barbed head protruded from the back of his neck. Spewing blood and madly flailing at the object jutting from his jugular, the giant went to his knees. At last, he managed to grasp the heft of the weapon and pulled, ending his own miserable existence in self-defeating agony.A hail of arrows came down around Tsonia. Some missiles hit the fallen giant's back, others vanished overboard and into the roiling sea below. Tsonia peered through the torrent at the shadows of men atop the aft castle trying to unleash another volley of feathered death her way. For all the guile their master had displayed during his cunning evasion of the God-King’s might, his minions seemed to lack the fundamentals of warfare. No sound tactician would even consider archers in weather like this, but here they were.Chuckling to herself, Tsonia dashed towards the aft castle, her bloodstained weapon and fierce gaze enough to give pause to many a defender. Those too brave or foolish to flee she cut down as she ran, her curved blade carving horrible wounds into their bodies, only protected by wet cloth and unholy sigils tattooed onto their skin by blasphemous artists.By the time the third salvo scattered onto the precariously tilted deck, she dove headlong through the sodden curtain covering the castle’s entrance tucking into a shoulder-roll to avoid any hidden ambush. The sharpened prongs of a barbed trident scored the rain-splattered planks behind her and the anticipated defender readied his weapon for another attack. Tsonia lithely came to her feet. Her opponent, a half-naked Xhastrian with oiled skin and ceremonial braids in his coal-black hair had the greater reach, but he didn’t have her strength. She flung her scimitar spinning pommel over blade, causing him to evade to the side just as she expected. Grabbing his trident behind the viciously barbed tips, Tsonia pulled, breaking his balance and forcing him to stumble forwards or lose his weapon.The Xhastrian decided not to relinquish the trident and, thinking her unarmed and less dangerous, even put his weight behind it, hoping to put her off-balance. Tsonia let him push, allowing the weapon to glance off her shoulder. Too late the Xhastrian realized what her true plan was, but by the time he tried to pry her hands off his temples, it was too late. One quick snap to the side and the man’s neck broke. Tsonia tossed his limp body aside, scowling at the gash the trident had carved into her fair skin. The wound was already closing, her black blood hardening into a protective scab. In an hour, only the ghost of a scar would tell the tale of this exchange. A day later, even that ghost would only be a memory.Reclaiming her sword, Tsonia looked around. Another curtain covered the only other exit from the castle’s main cabin. Above the patter of rain and frantic footfalls on the roof above, Tsonia heard urgent muttering from beyond the curtain, syllables of a knotty language she knew all too well.Snarling in anger, Tsonia burst into the room beyond the curtain. Runes and sigils had been smeared onto the planks and the stink of death and magic was heavy in the air. A wizened old crone, naked but for bloody symbols painted onto her saggy skin, held the bleeding corpse of a young girl in her arms. A crimson gash on the girl’s throat told Tsonia all she needed to know. The storm tossing them about was not borne of nature, but of demonic forces.“Do not trifle with me, sell-sword,” the hag wheezed, brandishing a knife made from some large predator’s tooth. “I alone hold the storm’s true fury at bay.”The weather-witch rammed the blade into the girl’s chest, drawing thick red heart-blood. Like a living entity, the trail of blood curled upwards like a charmed serpent while the crone sang, enticing unspeakable powers from beyond the veil to do her bidding. Tsonia lunged forward to interrupt the unholy spell being invoked before her, the scimitar in her hand a crimson-stained arc of steel as she aimed for the crone’s neck.The weapon tore through flesh and bone, separating the still muttering skull from the neck it had sat upon. Blood fountained and the grinning head bounced off the floor, coming to rest near the veiled exit.“Take your lies to the Pits for all I care,” she growled, just as the planks beneath her feet rocked as if struck by an angry titan and the drumming rain above her intensified.There was a horrified yell from outside, even audible over the roar of the waves and the howl of the wind piercing every tiny opening in the ship’s hull. A moment later a horrible impact ripped through the aft castle. Beams cracked and planks split as a large weight slammed into the ceiling.“What in the Burning Hells have you done?” a cultured voice demanded to know.Tsonia tore her gaze away from the torrent of water sluicing through the shattered castle and pooling around her ankles. She saw his eyes first, black like twin obsidian beads piercing her with a gaze of dark nothingness. Behind those eyes, the man who clambered through the castle wreckage was tall and handsome despite sodden, battle-worn raiment. Long hair of sable hung wet and dripping past his sharp cheekbones and an angry snarl curled his thin lips as he snatched the severed head from the surging foam.“I have given your demon-kisser what she damn well deserved,” Tsonia spat, struggling to place her feet for a quick strike. But the heaving deck gave no quarter and left her clutching at the broken walls for balance.“You have damned us all, you stupid cow!” the empty-eyed man growled. “Like demons, storms are easy to summon but nigh impossible to control. And you just slew the one person who might have done so!”If possible, the hungry storm outside intensified, howling wind cutting through every tiny gap in the ship’s hull like the wail of unquiet dead. Ferocious waves tossed the ship. With a crash of splintering wood, a seismic wave shook the broken structure as the fragile ships were smashed together in the turbulent gale. There suddenly was the rush of water, very loud and very near.Tsonia found herself drawn to his stoic magnetism, and recognized the force of his presence instinctively. This man could be none other than Kelgore himself. His ebon eyes marked him as demonically debased, just as her own black blood marked her. It explained much about his wild success against the Xhastrians.“Since you seem to know so much about demons and storms, you must be Kelgore,” Tsonia bellowed over the clangor of the storm. “My hunt has come to an end at last!”Heedless of the precarious surroundings, Tsonia lunged, her blade aiming for the dread pirate’s heart. But the blow never connected.A murderous god’s fist shook the world as another mighty wave crashed down upon the interlocked and damaged ships. Already crippled, Kelgore’s vessel finally broke. Wood tore like paper, friend and foe were tossed like rice grains in a tornado. A widening circle of debris was tossed about by the raging waves. And Tsonia was in the midst of it all, sinking into the fathomless depths, the taunting smile of Kelgore still before her eyes.How had it all gone so wrong, Joras wondered as he clung to the rail of the tossing ship. Two weeks ago it had started out as such a pleasant adventure. The ocean breeze was warm and spiced with the scent of salt and pitch. The sea birds heralded Tyrant’s Blade as they followed the coastline under sail, saving the strength of the oarsmen. He’d filled pages of his sketchbook with Tsonia, Ambrose, and the crew.Why, he’d even managed to sketch a school of gamboling spout-fish as they playfully followed in the ship’s wake.But then two days ago the lookout had spotted the billowing smoke over the ruins of a fishing village, and soon after the lone ship that sailed away. The pleasant hunting cruise had turned into a grim pursuit as all aboard saw the Xhastrian reward close enough to claim. The seas grew choppy and the skies grew dark. The seabirds fell behind and the salt spray threatened his sketches as they chased Kelgore out into the open ocean.Joras was glad to have his precious pages wrapped in oil cloth and stowed safely in the aft castle, but it meant the image of Tsonia leaping from the crashing prow into the throng of pirates had to be roughed out in his memory alone and he always seemed to lose the little details that brought a painting of his muse to life.He wished he had the fortitude to follow Tsonia to the bow, to see and record the way Tyrant’s Blade pierced the other ship like a violent lover. From aft, he lost sight of Tsonia in the skirmish. All he could see was the feeble attempts of Kelgore’s oarsmen to dislodge the intruding ram. But the two small vessels were too tightly conjoined. Kelgore’s sail dragged the pair spiraling through the tempestuous waves and Ambrose held his rudder to pry deeper into the broken hull.With a crack of thunder the sky suddenly tore open and a deluge of rain overwhelmed sight and sound. Joras couldn’t make out more than shadows through the downpour. He clung to the railing as the deck dropped away beneath his feet, and then heaved upwards again.“The storm’s gotten worse,” he remarked with as casual a tone as he could muster while shouting to be heard.“It has,” agreed Ambrose, leaning all his weight against the tiller while straining to see the battle at the front of his ship.“Of course, I’m sure you’ve seen worse,” Joras added, trying to sound confident. “I’m sure you’ve survived dozens of squalls worse than this.”Thunder ripped the air again, and through the veil of rain Joras saw a blinding spike of lightning drive through the mast of Kelgore’s ship, shattering it like summer hay under the flail.“No,” Ambrose turned to face Joras and Joras saw the fear in the captain’s eyes. “No, this is the kind of storm that turns fishermen into farmers.”“It’s funny,” Joras yelled. “The farmers have the opposite saying about droughts.”Ambrose didn’t laugh. He abandoned the tiller to swing wildly to and fro at the whims of an angry ocean and joined Joras at the rail. Reaching into his soaking tunic, Ambrose tore a large key from the lanyard around his neck and forced into Joras hand.“Go below and free the oar-slaves,” he shouted. “None of us may survive, but I’ll not condemn them to certain death. I’ve got to tell the crew to save themselves.” With that grim instruction, Ambrose drew a brass-hilted cutlass and fought his way forward against the tide of the raging storm.The terror Joras had been wrestling with broke free and he felt its oppressive weight on his chest, buckling his knees and squeezing the air from his lungs. He’d faced peril and death often enough since he had decided to follow Red Tsonia on her quest for fame and glory, but always at the hands of a foe that could be defeated. How does one slay a storm? He could not depend on the unmatched prowess of his muse to save him this time. It was up to him.Joras summoned what courage he could find, and steeled himself to the task at hand. After Kelgore’s ship had been rammed, the crew had all gone to fight and had left the oar-slaves to recover their strength. Below his feet were fifty souls chained to their benches and Joras alone held their fates quite literally in his hand. Willing himself to release his iron grip on the rail, he charged across the pitching deck, lost his footing and tumbled through the open hatch and down the steep flight of stairs.He landed with a splash and clambered to his feet gasping for air in waist-deep water. If the maelstrom above was chaotic, the bedlam below was nightmarish. The howls of terrified men in the sightless dark drowned out the creak and groan of the stressed timber and the splash of churning water. The slaves pulled at their chains and beat at their restraints with chunks of broken wood or even their raw flesh. They knew Tyrant’s Blade was sinking, and that they had been abandoned to die.“Where are the locks!?” Joras cried over the din, desperately trying to get someone’s attention. “I have your key! By the gods, where are the locks?”As the water continued to rise, sloshing from side to side as the forsaken ship rolled in the angry storm, Joras was blindly herded towards the bow. With grasping hands guided by barely coherent cries of instruction, he found a stout padlock securing a heavy brass chain. It ran the length of the ship, passing through the shackle of each slave manning the twelve upper oars on that side. Fitting the key by touch, he turned it and released the chain.With a frantic jangle of metal, the first lucky group of oarsmen freed themselves and clambered over each other in a frenzied flight for the hatch. Those who remained bound wailed for their release even louder than before as Joras sought desperately in the dark for a matching lock on the opposite side of the hold. He found it at last, fumbled with the key, and was rewarded with a satisfying metallic clank.But as the second group of slaves fled the doomed vessel and the water crept up towards Joras’s chest, he realized with horror that the men on the lower banks of oars were secured with their own chains and locks, locks that were fastened under the churning floodwaters. Trapped below the benches of the upper oarsmen, the lower slaves were unable to even stand fully, and craned their necks to keep their shrieking faces above the rising water.Taking a deep breath, Joras dropped below the surface and found himself battered about by the surging flood. He clung to any handhold he could find in the dark, groping blindly for the hidden lock with the taste of metal on his tongue as he clenched the key in his teeth.His lungs began to burn and he feared his quest was in vain. His instincts screamed for the surface and life-giving air, but his will dwelt on the plight of those men who had no hope beyond him. Just as his will was foundering and his fear grew beyond his control, Joras’s fingers found the familiar curve of a padlock ring. Feeling for the keyhole with his thumb, he gracelessly jammed in the key and managed to turn it just as his instinct drove him back to the surface.There was no time to catch his breath. He had to go back for the key he’d left behind before he could even begin to search for the last lock. The inches of air that remained for the agonized men bound to the last oar benches waxed and waned as the waters sloshed back and forth with the rolling of the storm-tossed ship.And so back down Joras went, but in the swirling currents of the flooded hold he found that he had no more idea where to find the lock than he had the first time.Panic and guilt gripped Joras’s heart as he clawed desperately in the dark for the missing key. Had he really been so foolish as to lose it? Why had he not held his breath but a scant second longer? He endured the agony in his lungs to his very limit but had to come up for air empty-handed. The pitiful pleas of the doomed men that filled his ears sent him right back under the water with barely a breath.Then, through the crude woodwork he clung to, Joras felt more than heard the terrible creaking of timber and the shattering of the ship’s beam. He was suddenly seized by a mighty current that tore away his grip and flushed him tumbling through the dark water head over heels into the ravaged ocean until he lost all perception of up or down.Lungs aflame with need, Joras thrashed and fought in vain, weighed down by his sturdy traveling clothes and heavy orange cloak. He felt his consciousness collapsing, his limbs growing heavy, the water seeping towards his lungs. As the silence and the blackness took him, Joras found some small justice in knowing that he shared the same fate as the chained men he had failed.And suddenly there was blinding light and thunderous noise and wracking pain in his chest as he hacked and sputtered on the surface of the turbulent sea.“I should never have mocked your garish wardrobe!” shouted a familiar voice over the prattle of the rain. “The orange of your cloak is the only thing to be seen in this downpour!”“Kaela!" Joras gasped! "Gods be praised!”Tsonia dunked Joras back under the water before he had found breath. “I’ve told you not to call me that,” she admonished when she’d pulled him coughing back into the air. “And don’t give thanks too soon. This storm is ravenous, and we are still in its maw.”With powerful strokes, Tsonia dragged Joras through the rolling swells to a broken chunk of flotsam and there they clung as the witch’s storm raged around them.The first thing Ambrose saw when his senses returned was the war goddess, now a malformed, headless husk of bronze sitting astride a bent ram pointing at the churning skies above. Coughing up briny water, he forced himself into a sitting position and tried to comprehend the enormity of the destruction surrounding him.Tyrant’s Blade was no more. The prow, reinforced as it had been, loomed like a macabre monument over the bone-white beach he had found himself on. Dark shapes had washed up on the sand, splintered planks, scattered bodies, their limbs and spines twisted and broken, gulls pecking at their remains. Nothing seemed to move apart from the clouds overhead and the waves rushing up to meet the sand, occasionally depositing another piece of flotsam on the shore.Ambrose had been through his fair share of catastrophes, some self-inflicted, some visited upon him by his enemies or the capricious nature of the sea. None had even come close to the horrors he had witnessed in those last, lightning-struck moments. Torrential waves had washed men overboard screaming. Both ships had broken apart under the churning sea’s relentless assault. Ambrose too had been ripped from the deck of his trusty vessel into the pitch-black maws of the raging ocean and battered between broken timbers.Somehow, he had survived. The denizens of the deep didn’t fancy his soul this time. They didn’t let him off easy either.Moaning softly, he clutched his throbbing head. His fingers found a long gash along his temple. The cut was shallow but burned like the fires of hell. Breathing hurt too. With trembling fingers, Ambrose examined his sore rump, encountering bruises and cuts but thankfully no broken bones. Carefully testing his limbs, Ambrose fought to his knees and then his feet. His left ankle ached when he put weight upon it, but then his whole body sang in pain.Grabbing half an oar to steady himself, he dragged himself up the beach, away from the greedy ocean. Maybe fifty yards ahead, a veritable wall of green awaited him. Towering trees, sail-sized leaves and vines promised a nigh-impenetrable thicket, probably rife with sharp-toothed predators longing for easy prey. And beyond those viridian fortifications, spitting an ominous plume of smoke, a steep-sloped volcano loomed.Ambrose sighed. Finding his way off these inhospitable shores would be no easy feat. He had to assume he wasn’t the only survivor and there was a good chance that others might be Kelgore’s men, out to finish what the storm had started.Now further away from the crashing waves, Ambrose could hear other noises too, most of them unsettling and ominous. Echoing screeches or howls emanated from the jungle and a low, sonorous rumble seemed to come up through his feet, announcing that the volcano was much less quiet than he had hoped. His hand went to the sheath at his belt, but his prized blade had vanished in the maelstrom, torn from his fingers by the ravenous waters.He cast his gaze about in the vain hopes to spot it or something similar nearby, now keenly aware that he was among the few things moving on that beach and therefore easily spotted by friend and foe alike. Cursing his ankle, he hobbled back towards the shoreline, aiming for the closest pile of debris. There was no storage chest, no rack of weapons with blades, spears and axes to be found. Only a couple of pews, their construction sturdy enough to withstand a slave revolt were close at hand. A section of hull was still bolted to them. Ambrose couldn’t tell if it was a part of Tyrant’s Blade or Kelgore’s ship. There were no bodies he recognized either way. Sighing, he sank onto one of the pews, taking weight off his aching leg.Once more the stranded captain gazed at the sky. It was hard to tell the time of day, with the clouds roiling overhead. Even worse, it was hard to tell where he was. They had followed Kelgore’s ship along the Xhastrian coast before the pirate had steered away to the west, towards the open seas and out of the reach of the Green Cities. There shouldn’t have been any land in that direction, not even scattered islands were marked on the maps he had memorized so well in his years at the helm of Tyrant’s Blade. Yet here he was, on an unfamiliar beach with one leg impaired, no weapons to speak of, and a growing feeling of vulnerability and unease creeping up his spine. He would need food, water, and shelter to survive, warmth to dry himself and weapons to guard against his enemies, be they two- or four-legged.About to resume his trawl of the beach, he steadied himself for the inevitable stab of pain from his ankle when he heard voices coming closer. Muffled by the thick wood between himself and the voices, he couldn’t tell friend from foe. Bating his breath, he allowed them to pass him by, his body hidden in the shadow of the torn hull.And then Ambrose’s heart leapt with joy, for the scarlet tresses he saw could belong to only one person.“Tsaugh,” he croaked, not realizing how dry his throat was, or how blistered his lips. “Tson,” he tried again, but loud enough now to be heard over the crashing surf.Tsonia turned, and Joras with her. Both were sunburned and blistered, crusted with salt and sand. Joras leaned heavily on her shoulder, his footsteps faltering in the loose sand. Her hands were bloody to the wrist, and in one she carried a sandy thigh-bone that Ambrose preferred not to contemplate. Yet the smile that graced her lips was perhaps the loveliest thing he had ever laid eyes upon.“Do not try to speak,” she whispered when she had come back close enough to be heard. Her voice was dry and hoarse as well, but she gently sat Joras down upon the bench and leaned the two men into each other for support. The bloody femur she placed in Ambrose’s hand, closing his fingers around it like a cudgel.“Look after each other,” she wheezed. “I’ll find water and be back.”From his shoulder, Joras unslung an empty water gourd in a woven hanger, its stopper dangling by its tether. They must have found it washed ashore among the wreckage, or perhaps bobbing along with them as they drifted on the waves. Just as Joras handed the gourd up to Tsonia, they all looked up with a start.From the jungle came the sonorous rhythm of drums.“Where there are people,” Tsonia said with a smile, “there must be water.”The jungle canopy cast dancing shadows across the surface of the rippling pool that filled the hillside hollow. It was broad and deep, fed by a gurgling spring and surrounded by moss-covered stones and twisted tree roots. From the low end of the pond a trickle of water overflowed its basin and tumbled splashing down the hill, through the jungle, and eventually across the sandy beach to the sea. The small stream was too shallow and too sparse to slake a dying man’s thirst. Any who wished to drink deeply would have to follow the water upstream to the spring.And so by the spring, Kelgore waited.“The drums are moving,” he said. “They were coming from that direction. Now they’re over there.”“No, not moving,” came the reply. “Different drums. Different people. Only the message moves.”Kelgore thought about it and admitted silently to himself that it was probably true.“We should go. We should seek out those drums and turn the natives to our cause. Perhaps they can return us to civilized lands.”“No,” answered Kelgore. “We wait. Any of my men who wash ashore will find their way here. I would rather face the natives with a loyal force at my back.”“It’s dangerous. Any of the sell-swords who wash ashore will also find their way here.”“Then I will turn them to my cause or they will die.” Kelgore thumbed the blade of his knife before securing it snuggly back in its sheath.“Don’t be a fool, boy! You let your prejudice for culture and sophistication blind you. You were born to rule over all men, not just the civilized sheep of the Green Cities. Find these natives and lead them to the throne that is your destiny!”“Quiet, mother!" Kelgore snapped. "Someone’s coming.”The old corne’s severed head sat wedged in the crook of a tree branch where Kelgore hid watching the jungle pool. For too long the old witch had brow-beaten his obedience, but the tables had turned. It was she who was now dependent upon him. If he chose to feed her to the gulls or the fish, there was nothing she could do about it. He smirked with that confidence. Ignoring her scowl, he turned his attention back to the approaching footsteps.Through the jungle thicket across the pond, he spied her red hair first. He recognized her immediately, the vixen-warrior who had cut down his mother in cold blood and condemned them all to these savage shores. Unless he missed his guess, she was the mercenary known as Red Tsonia or Bloody Tsonia depending on who spun her tale. Kelgore once thought it presumptuous that she should take the name of the ancient warrior queen, but having seen her quality in person, he thought it might be apt after all.“Kill her!” hissed his mother, beneath the drone of the beating drums, the calls of tropical birds, and the rustle of the foliage in the sea breeze. “Avenge me!”“Shush!” he insisted.The flame-haired warrior spied the pool of sweet water and broke into a run. She dropped to her knees and scooped double handfuls to her mouth, letting the excess spill down her chest and stomach and thighs. When she had drunk her fill, she took an empty water gourd from her shoulder and plunged it bubbling beneath the surface.When she withdrew the gourd, Kelgore saw her hesitate before plugging it with its stopper. She looked back over her shoulder, then turned to face the drums in the distance. She sat for a moment in contemplation and then poured the water slowly over her own head, rolling her neck and massaging the clean water through her salt-stiffened hair.Tsonia closed her eyes, luxuriating in the cool water that rinsed away the ocean’s residue.Kelgore saw his chance to ambush her, to strike swiftly in her vulnerability, but he tarried.Tsonia filled the gourd again to finish rinsing her hair. She wiped the sand and grime from her face, and poured the last of the water down her chest. Kelgore could feel his manhood swell as Tsonia laid the gourd aside and pulled the ragged chainmail vest off over her head, exposing her ample breasts.“I would have her,” he murmured, as she bathed her bare shoulders, chest, and midriff by the burbling jungle spring. “I shall turn her to our cause and I shall have her.”“Fool!” spat his mother. “This is no fish-monger’s daughter, no doe-eyed waif. She is demon tainted, much as you were.”“Yes,” agreed Kelgore, feeling the lust rising in his chest as he watched Tsonia bathe. “But just think of the grandchildren she could give you.”“Dozens of bellies swell with my grandchildren all along the Xhastrian coast. How many grandchildren do I need?”“My mind is set and I shall not be dissuaded, mother. Now be silent, or will feed your tongue to the gulls!”“You’ve grown insolent since that bitch killed me,” he heard her grumble under her breath, but she said no more.Across the pond, Tsonia filled the gourd again, then stood and began to unfasten the chainmail skirt that hung from her shapely hips. Kelgore felt a certain satisfaction when he saw her jump as he stepped out from the cover of vines and thicket. He held his hands empty at his sides, but there was a hypnotic twinkle in his obsidian eyes.“You can be none other than Red Tsonia,” he called to her. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”Her eyes roamed over him, taking his measure. They lingered on his groin for a heartbeat before wandering higher, meeting his eye. Before he could exert his formidable will through his demon-tainted eyes though, she bent low and poured water from the gourd into her palm, continuing her bath. Kelgore exhaled slowly. Dumb luck made her evade his beguiling gaze this time, but there would be ample opportunity.“Sneaking up on me while I’m bathing isn’t the wisest course of action,” Tsonia said, her wet hands roaming her muscular thighs.“And yet, you seem oddly at ease for being naked and helpless,” Kelgore said.Tsonia poured more water, slowly rinsing her hips and the faint tuft of mousy brown fuzz covering her femininity.“What makes you think I’m helpless?” she wondered. “In less than a heartbeat, I could be at your throat, gutting you with that knife on your belt and you would be helpless to stop me.”Kelgore closed his hand around the bronze-wound hilt of his knife. “Then why don’t you? You were sent to kill me, were you not?”Unperturbed, Tsonia washed her sex, her face hidden by her unbound mane of fiery tresses. “Indeed. The God-King gave me ample reason to slay you on the spot. But until I know how to return to Xhastria to claim the reward, I’d rather not have to carry around a decaying corpse.” Her head came up, flashing a cocky smile.Kelgore cleared his throat, ready to employ his charming voice as he’d done so often with officials and paupers both, nudging their inhibitions aside, making them listen to what Kelgore deemed reasonable. “I might be willing to follow you,” he crooned, his sultry voice reverberating in a certain way. “There is no reason for us to be enemies, at least not for the time being. You will find me a very willing hostage. Let it be said that Kelgore knows how to please.”He relinquished the hilt of his knife and caressed the sizable bulge in his robes, the embers of lust flaring to fiery life. Not only did he relish the sight of the naked warrior before him, her ample curves and taut limbs promising exhausting revelry, but the feeling of his mind ensnaring hers, the delicious sensation of his hypnotic tendrils exerting their subtle, yet overwhelming influence. Oh how he would delight in ravishing her, coaxing unspeakable pleasure from her body and mind both!Tsonia had stopped washing herself. Instead she swayed gently to the cadence of his words, her hands wandering her body, as if she were presenting herself for his approval, a quizzical smile on her ruby lips. “What do you have in mind?” she wondered.“Take hold of me,” Kelgore murmured, parting the salt-stiffened fabric of his clothes and offering his throbbing lance for her fingers. His free hand touched her luxurious, wet mane of fiery tresses, guiding her face towards his yearning manhood. Her breath was hot on his skin and her lust rushed up through his fingertips as they touched her scalp.At her touch, Kelgore’s vision blurred as he latched on to one of her secrets, wrapped in shadows at the edge of her mind, but right at the surface where the most important secrets are always kept. Kelgore became Tsonia. He saw through her eyes, heard through her ears, and relived the memory she wanted to bury but couldn’t.He was bound naked to an altar made from some strange green rock. The surface had been polished smooth by aeons of use. Thousands of bodies had languished here until they met their demise. Icons wrought from ribs and spines and skulls adorned torch lit alcoves. Naked priests and priestesses, their bodies painted with unholy symbols writhed around the altar, their voices brittle from hours of chanting. And towering over him, confusion and lust flickering in its monstrous eyes, was the jackal-headed demon Q'alan, his jet-black skin slick with sweat, his prodigious erection dripping with hellish seed.“More.” Kelgore heard himself beg through Tsonia’s swollen lips. The burning taste of demon seed clogged his throat. Patches of the vile stuff caked his breasts, his stomach. A veritable lake of it pooled under his behind. And his hand wandered downwards, splaying open his hungry cunt for the demon to see. Thick rivulets of demonic seeds, mixed with virginal blood dribbled over his fingers and onto the stained altar.“Give me more,” Tsonia’s voice demanded as she spread her legs as far as the chains around her ankles allowed. She rammed two fingers into her sex, displacing another gob of the foul seed. “You are not sated yet, are you?”Her voice was hoarse and rough, but there was something in it, a force even the mighty Q'alan could not resist. Growling, hot spittle dripping from its jagged teeth, it grasped Tsonia’s hips. A large, bulbous sensation pressed against her rear, demanding entry to that as-of-yet unspoiled orifice. Tsonia groaned and wailed as the demonic phallus forced her open, but her moans turned to cries of ecstasy as Q'alan’s mighty spear filled her up. The demon gasped and frothed at the maw as it relentlessly pounded her, trying to break that insolent human who dared to challenge him.And yet, he couldn’t. He was as much a slave to her body as she was helpless to escape the pummeling Q'alan unleashed upon her.Hours passed in a moment of Kelgore’s memory. The jackal-headed demon took Tsonia every which way, pouring unending streams of his demonic seed down her throat, cunt, or ass. His claws left bloody furrows in her unblemished flesh, but the wounds seemed to heal as soon as he gouged them. And instead of tiring, becoming weaker under his monstrous assault, she seemed to thrive, urging him on for another fuck.And then the unthinkable happened. Q'alan tired. His rampant shaft, which had been erect for days and able to spew gallons of his demonic fluids, flagged. Tsonia, breasts heaving in heat, grinned wantonly up at him. One of the chains holding her arms to the altar had broken and she beckoned, curling her fingers at her cum-streaked lips.“Have me drink from your well once more, oh mighty Q'alan,” she groaned, her body making disgusting, sucking sounds as she slithered on the cum-slick stones. “Your seed is sweet nectar to me.”Q'alan threw his head about in irritation. The priests and priestesses, by now only whispering their binding chants in hoarse, broken voices, were barely able to stand. Snarling, he lashed out, cutting open a priest from head to groin. Hot, bloody intestines fell to the floor in sloshing tangles. The man was too hoarse to even scream as his life cascaded onto the befouled tiles. But the deed was done. The circle was broken. Q'alan was no longer bound.Spitting curses upon his inept cult, the jackal-headed monster vanished in a gout of foul-smelling vapor, leaving behind a tangle of confused and fear-stricken priests. When they saw Tsonia reach for the second chain holding her body to the altar, the cultists clambered over one another to flee from the torch lit catacomb.The chain broke as Tsonia flexed her arm, her body infused with Q'alan’s hellish strength. There were no wounds. There was no pain, not even from her ravaged nethers which the demon had abused for uncountable hours. Her bones were stronger than the rusted shackles tethering her to the soiled stone altar and she broke them with contemptuous ease.Tsonia came to her feet, wishing she could break her mother’s neck as easily as she could break these chains. Kelgore understood how Tsonia’s own mother had offered her virgin daughter to Q'alan for the promise of influence, riches and power.His vision snapped back, the flickering images of the underground crypt replaced with the twilit glade. There were no chanting priests, just the irritated chatter of jungle birds and the unceasing beat of the distant drums. He was standing next to the spring, his fingers entwined in Tsonia’s magnificent locks, her lips locked around his throbbing manhood, her tongue a fluttering sensation almost as sweet as the taste of the secret he had plucked from her.“Yes,” he purred, slowly rolling his hips forwards. “You and I shall make a fine pair. Demon-blessed, you and I. The world will tremble at our offspring’s might!”Her answer was a hungry growl deep in her throat. Strong hands dug into his buttocks and her mouth exerted delicious suction. This was different from the scared waifs he had coerced into his bedchambers, different from the docile noblewomen he had twisted and broken for his amusement.Kelgore found it hard to find words under Tsonia’s dexterous assault. One hand dove under his clothes, finding his sac. Expertly, her calloused fingers caressed his balls.He didn’t dare use his voice, for fear of inadvertently breaking the spell he had just put upon her. None of his prior victims had displayed such vigor under his control. But then, he never had tried charming another demon-touched being before.Tsonia’s growl had turned into a playful purr. One hand pumped his shaft, her other was busy between her own thighs. Kelgore slowly fucked her glorious mouth, amazed at how deep she was able to take his lance. She spurred him on with moans, with a clawed hand to his buttocks and he obliged, feeding her his shaft until his loins curled up in that all-too familiar sensation of imminent release.Once more he drove his lance home, eagerly devoured by the red-headed temptress kneeling by the spring, and hot spurts of seed poured from him. Kelgore loosened a triumphant yell as his body shook from an almighty climax, more satisfying and visceral than anything those tepid Xhastrian whores had been able to coax from him!A low, ominous growl answered him, shattering the magic of the moment. Kelgore’s spell, tenuous as it had been, faded away. Tsonia, Kelgore’s seed dripping down her chin, shook her head as if she had just woken from a perturbing dream. Her eyes caught him, robes wide open, his erection still proudly on display and a grim expression settled on her beautiful face, promising the inevitability of untold torment.A flicker of comprehension dawned and she flung herself at him, tearing his knife from its sheath as she barreled into him. They tumbled into the grass. Tsonia, gloriously naked and wet sat astride his prone form, one hand a crushing vise around his throat, the knife hovering above his eye, poised for a lethal descent.“I don’t know what fell magic's you employed on me, but I hope for your sake there is a good reason why I have your taste all over my mouth!”Kelgore, stunned by her sudden fury and for once at a loss for words, noticed movement in the branches above. A tall, man-like shadow watched with unknowable intent. Two more shades silently joined on adjacent branches. They carried nets made from vines and short spears tipped with stone points. Inquisitive eyes flicked this way and that. Their heads inclined as if in conversation, but whatever whispers they uttered were unheard over the rumble of the drums.There was no air to breathe. There was no air to bargain with. He could wait and hope the strangers would free him from Tsonia’s grasp, but Kelgore doubted he could hold on for that long. He’d rather take his chances with her than the ominous strangers. Croaking a warning, he raised his arm, pointing.Tsonia opened her mouth in a stillborn question. Before she could give words to her thoughts, a feathered dart sprouted from her neck. On instinct, Tsonia pulled it free, relinquishing Kelgore’s throat. Greedily, he sucked air into his burning lungs as Tsonia came to her feet, warily searching for the attackers.Ever the opportunist, Kelgore grasped the chance at freedom. He mustered his voice. “Drop the knife!”Tsonia obeyed, relinquishing his blade. Then her fighting instincts took over and she tumbled to the side, just as tall, muscular shapes arose from the undergrowth around them. Kelgore plucked his weapon from the ground and came to his feet in a scrabbling run, sprinting towards the tree where he had left his mother’s head. The first dart missed him by a finger’s breadth, but the second found its mark.A soothing calm fell over Kelgore as he stood there, watching Tsonia naked and grappling with a green-skinned savage. Slowly sinking to his knees, he was certain he saw Tsonia’s hips roll in a particular motion against that man’s groin. An irrational burst of jealousy gripped his heart. How could she still be so full of energy while he only wanted to sprawl on the floor and sleep until that beautiful tranquility had passed? How was she so willing to copulate with a beastly savage while he was here, still horribly aching for her body?The last thing Kelgore saw before sleep took him was a grinning face, tongue wagging as someone or something slung him over her shoulder.The stone blade was aimed at her ribs but Tsonia held it at bay and threw her weight to the left. The man or beast or whatever it was that grappled her shifted his feet to compensate. For the brief moment he was off balance, Tsonia caught hold of a jungle root, anchored herself, and with a mighty twist of her hips she sent her attacker sprawling to the ground.Was this creature even a man? Only the leather skin wrapped around his loins and the strap slung over one shoulder suggested any degree of civilization. His skin mottled in shades of olive, sage, and lime, was unlike anything he had seen before.Atop his powerfully muscled torso the head had a feral, beastial quality. Short fur rippled in the breeze and thin flews curled around canine teeth in a face that was more muzzle than mouth. The man’s arms ended in strong, clawed hands. A sinuous, striped tail curled from a shapely backside and the hind legs bent backwards were built for long, powerful strides and ferocious jumps.As Tsonia stood, the jungle seemed to twist around her, a verdant kaleidoscope of madness. The beast man didn’t regain his feet as much as he sort of oozed into an upright posture. The short spear undulated in his grip. The tangle of jungle roots beneath her feet shifted as if she stood upon a lattice of ship’s cables and the constant drum beat became muddled and lethargic.Tsonia shook her head to clear the dart’s poison from her vision, but it did no good.With a growl of anger, the beast man charged flapping like a banner in the wind. Tsonia leapt away from his attack leaving her feet and hands behind. She found herself next to the bouncing pool, next to her discarded chainmail top, which crawled into her hand and wrapped itself around her fingers.Before she could reorient her senses, her foe was upon her, clawed fingers at her throat and the point of his spear driving into her shoulder. Black blood hissed against the flint.With a roar of pain, Tsonia bashed him across his stubby snout with her handful of rubbery chainmail knocking loose a fang from his slavering lips. It left an arc of crimson hanging in the air like a sanguine rainbow. She brought a knee up into his groin where his twisted loincloth provided no protection. The beast howled but did not release his grip. She could feel his claws piercing her throat like gimlets twisted into cork. Again she brought the chainmail flailing down on his head, this time ripping away a pointed ear.The beast man released her throat, and caught her wrist in a grip like twine wrapped around bread dough. It was the opening Tsonia had hoped for, and she followed his motion adding her own considerable strength to his momentum, rolling the pair of them down the colorful brook that scarpered idly away from the spring pool.They tumbled down the slope and the world seemed reluctant to drag itself around in a spiral. Tsonia felt as if everything was made of honey as green and brown and claw and chain were mingled by a slow spoon. She saw the breath expelled from her lungs as she landed hard on top of her attacker, his fuzzy chest against the bare skin of her neck and shoulders. His arms wrapped around her and his clawed hands raked at her exposed throat and midriff.A bloody cry caught in Tsonia’s throat. She clutched at the beast’s pulpy arms, hoping to arrest their assault when she noticed the long, trailing appendage wavering gently from her shoulder. It must be the spear haft, still embedded within her like a spent lover.With all the focus she could muster, Tsonia released her attacker and took the spear in her grip. Clenching her teeth and straining wary thews with all her demon-blessed might, Tsonia forced the spear point through her shoulder, out of her back, and into the heaving chest of the screaming creature beneath her.For another moment he fought on, even as his life slipped away from him.Tsonia felt the flesh of her throat and her stomach melding, knitting together like a weaver’s handiwork. She yanked the spear out of her own body, black blood hissing and steaming along its length, and she pushed herself up and up and up to her feet. She hadn’t realized the ground was so low.The jungle continued to swirl around her, twisting and undulating. The spear felt pliant in her hand, as if made of soft leather, but she knew it could not be so. She shook her head again to clear the fog of the dart’s poison, but to no avail.Above her, a coarse series of syllables were barked in a language Tsonia didn’t know. She blinked into the twining tendrils of the jungle and saw another man, like this one, waiting by the flat ground by the pool. He carried a short spear in one hand and a net in the other. Both seemed to flutter in time to the sonorous beat of the distant drums.“So your people have honor of a sort?” Tsonia asked, mounting the hill. “You could have joined your friend and ganged up on me, but instead you waited for single combat. You have my respect, but not my mercy.”She was battered and bloody, her skin caked with mud and what must have been Kelgore’s seed. But she recognized a challenge when it was issued and while she didn’t know what would happen if she declined, she knew she was too vain to find out.“I don’t suppose you’d let me dress first?”The second foe barked a single word, hefted his spear and began to circle Tsonia cautiously, a wary eye on the captured spear and the chainmail hauberk she wielded.“No? No, I suppose you’re almost as naked as I am. Fair is fair after all.”Tsonia lowered her weight and readied for his attack, trying to hold her opponent in focus as the jungle blended and kneaded itself around them.The beast man lunged, stabbing with his spear, an experimental strike to gauge Tsonia’s speed. She parried it easily, although the spear shafts felt supple as they met, the clack of contact numb and muted. Whipping her handful of chainmail, she attempted to catch her

Dive into the engaging and insightful world of Lynita Mitchell-Blackwell, Esq., now an Intuitive Business Coach at Leading Through Living Community LLC. Lynita, once a champion of publishing, navigated the exciting realm of helping authors share their stories with the world. Here's a fun twist: a close friend of Lynita's needed help publishing a book. With a generous spirit and a knack for problem-solving, Lynita eagerly stepped up to the challenge. She shares a humorous and all-too-real insight in the podcast: "Lawyers make the worst clients." It turns out, she humorously overlooked switching from friend mode to client mode, skipping the formalities of a contract. The story takes a quirky turn when Lynita, expecting a manuscript, receives a PowerPoint presentation instead—her friend had composed the entire story on a phone! Unperturbed, Lynita adapts like a pro, transferring the content to a laptop for better accessibility. But there's a catch: the text is a labyrinth of incomplete sentences. Pushed to her limits but still maintaining her poise, Lynita's tale unfolds with a blend of laughter and learning. The full story, rich with more twists and sage advice about maintaining professional boundaries with friends and family, awaits. Get ready for an enjoyable and enlightening experience that blends professionalism with a touch of fun—this is a client horror story you wouldn't want to miss!   Morgan Friedman Lynita's Website Lynita's Linkedin Lynita's Facebook Lynita's Twitter Lynita's Instagram  

Dive into the engaging and insightful world of Lynita Mitchell-Blackwell, Esq., now an Intuitive Business Coach at Leading Through Living Community LLC. Lynita, once a champion of publishing, navigated the exciting realm of helping authors share their stories with the world. Here's a fun twist: a close friend of Lynita's needed help publishing a book. With a generous spirit and a knack for problem-solving, Lynita eagerly stepped up to the challenge. She shares a humorous and all-too-real insight in the podcast: "Lawyers make the worst clients." It turns out, she humorously overlooked switching from friend mode to client mode, skipping the formalities of a contract. The story takes a quirky turn when Lynita, expecting a manuscript, receives a PowerPoint presentation instead—her friend had composed the entire story on a phone! Unperturbed, Lynita adapts like a pro, transferring the content to a laptop for better accessibility. But there's a catch: the text is a labyrinth of incomplete sentences. Pushed to her limits but still maintaining her poise, Lynita's tale unfolds with a blend of laughter and learning. The full story, rich with more twists and sage advice about maintaining professional boundaries with friends and family, awaits. Get ready for an enjoyable and enlightening experience that blends professionalism with a touch of fun—this is a client horror story you wouldn't want to miss!   Morgan Friedman Lynita's Website Lynita's Linkedin Lynita's Facebook Lynita's Twitter Lynita's Instagram

This is the second installment in a now multi-part series on human and chimpanzee genetic differences. I had a lot of pushback from my last episode, including negative reviews posted by Gutsick Gibbon, Creation Myths, and Dapper Dinosaur. Unperturbed, I push on. Here, I lay out some of the arguments in more detail and discuss many of the problems people are having when using one particular program, BLAST, to assess similarity between the two species. I will address the results of Gutsick Gibbon specifically in Part 3, but this was filmed before I got most of my experimental results back. Links (many of these are for Part 3 also): Background: Creationist research is utter, utter poo, Roohif, 14 Sep 2018. “80% Chimpanzee” | The Bogus Creationism of Jeffery Tomkins, Gutsick Gibbon, 26 May 2023. Tomkins Responded to Me (Kinda?), Gutsick Gibon, 7 Jul 2023. Jeffrey Tomkins, The Creationist Who Can't Math: The Movie, Dapper Dinosaur, 24 Aug 2023. My first installment: Human vs Chimp: an honest appraisal of our differences, Biblical Genetics, 15 Aug 2023. The three attempted rebuttal videos: Professional Creationist RESPONDS to my Tomkins Debunk (kinda), 23 Aug 2023. Robert Carter, Liar | Creationists Have a Bad Relationship with Honesty: Part 2, Dapper Dinosaur, 23 Aug 2023. Creationists Behaving Badly: Dr. Rob Carter, Creation Myths, 23 Aug 2023.

Several anti-creationists have made a hobby out of attacking creationists. Their best efforts, however, have generally failed. For example, see: Sanford 2013 Critic ignores reality of Genetic Entropy: the author of a landmark book on genomic decay responds to unsustainable criticisms creation.com 7 Mar 2013. Price, Carter, and Sanford 2020, Responding to supposed refutations of genetic entropy from the ‘experts', creation.com, 1 Dec 2020. Unperturbed, "Gutsick Gibbon" has recently tried to discredit Dr Jeffrey Tomkins and his work on human-chimp genetic similarities: "80% Chimpanzee" | The Bogus Creationism of Jeffery Tomkins" 26 May 2023 youtube.com/watch?v=QtTHlqhRQi0. In my analysis of her analysis, I note several flaws in her logic. Note, however, that I deliberately ignored several of her main objections. This was not because I do not have answers, mind you, but because I wanted to focus on the most salient questions. Ignored were questions about why God would have included all the chimp-like non-coding DNA when he made humans and questions about properly weighting samples. The most recent comparison I am aware of claimed 96.6% similarity between humans and chimps: Seaman and Buggs 2020 FluentDNA: nucleotide visualization of whole genomes, annotations, and alignments, Frontiers in Genetics 30;11:292. This comes from the laboratory of Richard Buggs. This is much higher than Tomkins' estimates, that, with one exception, are generally in the 80s. However, I know the first author on that paper, so I called him up to discuss his methods. Sure enough, he used entirely different methodology than earlier work from that same laboratory (which arrived at an estimate of ~85%). To reach the higher percentage similarity, they cut out everything humans and chimps do not share, including the centromeres, telomeres, copy number variations of many annotated genes, and hundreds of thousands of small insertions and deletions that must be included to align the two genomes. This "apples to apples" comparison is fine, as long as everybody acknowledges that the true similarity is necessarily less than 96.6%. Yet, if the percent similarity is much less than 99%, there is no way, mathematically, to explain how so many millions of difference arose in the (imagined) 6.5 million years since our last common ancestor. Additional links: The Waiting Time Problem, BiblicalGenetics.com, 8 Jun 2021. Hierachical clustering complicates baraminiological analysis Carter 2021 Robert Carter gets everything wrong? Responding to even more ridiculous aspersions, creation.com, 10 July 2021. “Dr. Rob Carter Gets Everything Wrong (with Gutsick Gibbon)” 20 May 2021. Sibley and Alquist. 1991. The Phylogeny and Classification of Birds. King and Wilson. 1975. Evolution at two levels in humans and chimpanzees, Science 188(4184):107–116. Moorjani et al. 2016. Variation in the molecular clock of primates, PNAS 113(38):10607–10612. Sibley and Ahlquist. 1984. The phylogeny of the hominoid primates, as indicated by DNA-DNA hybridization, J Mol Evol 20(1):2–15. Sibley, Comstock, and Ahlquist. 1990. DNA hybridization evidence of hominoid phylogeny: a reanalysis of the data, J Mol Evol 30(3):202–36. Wikipedia page on DNA reassociation kinetics. Bergman and Tomkins 2012 Is the human genome nearly identical to chimpanzee?—a reassessment of the literature, Journal of Creation 26(1):54–60, Tomkins and Bergman 2012 Genomic monkey business—estimates of nearly identical human–chimp DNA similarity re-evaluated using omitted data, Journal of Creation 26(1):94–100, Tomkins 2013 Comprehensive analysis of chimpanzee and human chromosomes reveals average DNA similarity of 70%. Answers Research Journal 8:379–390. The version of BLAST he used for this paper had a flaw in the algorithm that only manifested when using extremely large data sets. Tomkins corresponded with the bioinformatics group at the NIH to get the BLAST...

Tata Consultancy Services or TCS -- as we know it – has been hit by a job scam. It has fired six employees after it was found that they received favours from staffing firms to recruit temporary employees. Six staffing firms too have been banned for the alleged wrongdoing, which Chairman N Chandrasekaran described as painful. So exactly what happened at India's top IT company? And what can be done to prevent its recurrence?  India's IT bellwether, in the meantime, is busy giving final touches to its Q1FY24 results. And some reports suggest that it may announce share buyback too with its financial numbers in a few days from now. Moving on, the decades-old debate around implementation of Uniform Civil Code has resurfaced. The BJP-led government has been advocating uniformity in laws governing divorce, succession, inheritance and adoption. It was one of its major poll promises too. So now, when Prime Minister Narendra Modi has made a strong pitch for it and the 22nd law commission is seeking views on it, we ask if India is ready for a UCC?  Unperturbed by political discourse, the country's benchmark indices are charting growth stories. The Sensex and Nifty have scaled new highs on the back of strong FII flows. In the last one month, the Sensex has surged over 2,000 points and breached the 65,000 mark on Monday, July 3. The Nifty50, on the other hand, has hit the 19,300 mark for the first time ever. So, how sustainable is this rally? Which sectors and stocks still offer some headroom? Puneet Wadhwa spoke with U R Bhat, co-founder and director, Alphaniti Fintech to know his views On Tuesday, the markets will look at global cues for direction. Some profit booking due to the sharp run up cannot be ruled out. Meanwhile, with Elon Musk at the helm, Twitter has become an interesting space to watch. In a social media post, Musk said last week that Twitter has applied temporary reading limits to address “extreme levels” of data scraping. But what is data scraping? Lets find out in this episode of the podcast. 

She had youth baseball to coach!  Chicago's best morning radio show now has a podcast! Don't forget to rate, review, and subscribe wherever you listen to podcasts and remember that the conversation always lives on the Q101 Facebook page.  The Q101 Morning Crew is live every morning from 6a-10a on Q101.    Subscribe to our channel HERE: https://www.youtube.com/@Q101 Like Q101 on Facebook HERE: https://www.facebook.com/q101chicago Follow Q101 on Twitter HERE: https://twitter.com/Q101Chicago Follow Q101 on Instagram HERE: https://www.instagram.com/q101chicago/?hl=enSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

She had youth baseball to coach!  Chicago's best morning radio show now has a podcast! Don't forget to rate, review, and subscribe wherever you listen to podcasts and remember that the conversation always lives on the Q101 Facebook page.  The Q101 Morning Crew is live every morning from 6a-10a on Q101.    Subscribe to our channel HERE: https://www.youtube.com/@Q101 Like Q101 on Facebook HERE: https://www.facebook.com/q101chicago Follow Q101 on Twitter HERE: https://twitter.com/Q101Chicago Follow Q101 on Instagram HERE: https://www.instagram.com/q101chicago/?hl=enSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Jonny proves it's possible to build the most competitive army in Bolt Action using only the Armies of Germany. Phil then disproves this theory. Unperturbed, Jonny has an Ace up his sleeve, which turns out to be a Joker. The pair then discuss all the fun that can be had using German units, before lamenting the dearth of the half track. Das Ende. If you are socially inclined, join us on facebook!

Katie Boyle and Chris Scopo join Luis J. Gomez and Zac Amico and discuss the appreciation of Jerry Seinfeld and reminding everyone that he was in a relationship with a 17 year old, Pedro Pascal - hot or not, Whatchya Snackin' On - San Diego edition, Luis seeing 50 Cent in a steam room, learning how miles, points and credit card benefits work, being an adult, having too much screen time, Toight Or Noight - the girl with M-cup boobs and so much more!(Air Date: March 27th, 2023)Support our sponsors!ZippixToothpicks.com - Click here and use the promo code: ASS10 to get 10% off your order!To advertise your product or service on GaS Digital podcasts please go to TheADSide.com and click on "Advertisers" for more information!Submit your artwork via postal mail to:GaS Digital Networkc/o Real Ass Podcast151 1st Ave, #311New York, NY 10003Real Ass Podcast merchandise is available at https://podcastmerch.com/collections/real-ass-podcastYou can watch Real Ass Podcast LIVE for FREE every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 11am ET at GaSDigitalNetwork.com/LIVEOnce you're there you can sign up at GaSDigitalNetwork.com with promo code: RAP for a 7-day FREE trial with access to every Real Ass Podcast show ever recorded! On top of that you'll also have the same access to ALL the shows that GaS Digital Network has to offer!Follow the whole show on social media!Katie BoyleTwitter: https://twitter.com/katieboylecomicInstagram: https://instagram.com/katieboylecomicChris ScopoTwitter: https://twitter.com/chrisscopoInstagram: https://instagram.com/chrisscopoLuis J. GomezTwitter: https://twitter.com/luisjgomezInstagram: https://instagram.com/gomezcomedyYouTube: https://www.youtube.com/c/LuisJGomezComedyTwitch: https://www.twitch.tv/prrattlesnakeWebsite: https://www.luisofskanks.comZac AmicoTwitter: https://twitter.com/ZASpookShowInstagram: https://instagram.com/zacisnotfunnySee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Hosts Lee Wingate and Paul Watson round up all the quirky, random and bizarre news and stories from across the 55 UEFA countries and beyond in the second half of February. Unperturbed by the foiled coup in their country, Sheriff Tiraspol become the first Moldovan club to reach the last 16 of a European competition, while Lech Poznań end a 32-year wait for Poland, Belgian clubs enjoy some penalty shootout success and there is a truly horrendous own goal in Denmark. Sion are in the spotlight after their 56th manager of the century is placed on gardening leave, Zdeněk Zeman returns to the coaching fold at Pescara and Luxembourg's league leaders are locked in a fierce dispute with the FA & UEFA over a potential BeNeLux league. Then there's a scandal in Somalia, an amazing achievement for Haiti's women, all the latest from the domestic cups in Sweden & Argentina, and a round-up of the Oceania Champions League preliminaries. RUNNING ORDER: PART 1 - Europa League & Europa Conference League chat (01:14) PART 2 - Coaching chaos across the continent (10:56) PART 3 - Global round-up: Africa, Central & South America in focus (26:19)

This podcast covers episodes 10,847 to 10,852. A chance case of unlawful detention gives Michael some childcare options while pushing some money in Gemma's direction. Max receives an icy welcome back to the street and David is shocked to learn his views remain firm. Frustrated at Daniel's lack of wedding enthusiasm, a drunken Daisy goes to extreme lengths to prove to him that she's a catch. An unfortunately timed retirement dinner for a dog sets events in motion that make Jacob's future on the street untenable. Unperturbed by last week's events, Maria worries Gary by doubling down on her commitment to the refugee centre. Dee Dee is quick to pounce on circumstance and makes Alya an offer. Billy discovers some troubling information about Mike but Summer's ears are deaf to his concerns. Toyah has paracetamol. Ken's hoovering. The Bistro's artichokes are off.

Meditate to Elevate Day 5: I prosper and flourish in everything I do “And he shall be like a tree firmly planted [and tended] by the streams of water, ready to bring forth its fruit in its season; its leaf also shall not fade or wither; and everything he does shall prosper [and come to maturity]. [Jer. 17:7, 8.]” ‭‭Psalm‬ ‭1‬:‭3‬ ‭AMPC‬‬ Whenever you want to start a new business or venture or expand into new territories, relocate abroad, start a new school, switch careers, embark on a new project etc, you are usually faced with the sense of uncertainty and your natural mind will question whether you are doing the right thing or not. The feeling of uncertainty you have is because the human brain is designed to preserve your life and thus maintain the status quo but to achieve greatness in life, you must dare to do what you have not done before. You must stretch and reach for bigger dreams. Growth is wired into your DNA by God. During this time, you need a verse that propels you forward to become all you were created to be. Meditate to Elevate Step into the theatre of your mind and imagine on the screen is a tree standing alone against the backdrop of the sky. Majestic. Strong. Unperturbed by the howling winds around. You wonder what makes the tree so different from its surroundings? At that instant, your eyes saw through the trunk to see the pulsating life of the tree - It is the water coursing through the tree. Your eyes travelled down to the root of the tree and you could see it tap deep in the earth to a vibrant river bed. Your eyes followed the water coursing from the river bed below and into the trunk, branches and leaves of the tree and instantly blossoming the fruit. What a beautiful sight! What a wonderful transformation! Now, imagine that tree is you. Your root tap deep into the River of Life. You are sustained by the River of Life. That River is the Holy Spirit! Mutter these words under your breath: I prosper and flourish in everything I do Action: How might this meditation help you to approach that seemingly daunting project, or business or “whatever” you planned to do knowing that you are like that tree - ever green, ever fruitful. Anytime you feel threatened, just repeat this exercise and say to yourself: “I always prosper in ALL that I do” READ: Psalm 1:3, Jer 17:7,8 --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/the-lights-house/message

Inspired by Ajahn Moneyyo's recent recitation of the Pārāyanavagga' (Chapter on Going to the Further Shore in Suttanipāta), Ajahn Dhammasiha offers reflections on verse #1054, 'Puṇṇaka's Question'. In this verse, the Buddha provides his answer to Puṇṇaka's question: Who has truly gone beyond rebirth and old age? "Saṅkhāya lokasmi paroparāni, yass'iñjitaṃ natthi kuhiñci loke; Santo vidhūmo anīgho nirāso Atāri so jātijaranti brūmī ti." "Having contemplated all the highs and lows in this world, Who is perturbed by nothing in this world; Peaceful, no longer fuming, without worries, without longing, He has crossed beyond rebirth and old age, I declare." https://www.dhammagiri.net https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCJINt0JJBfFm_x0FZcU9QJw https://tinyletter.com/dhammagiri/archive https://open.spotify.com/show/0SHWfWEGkO8OAtSWNJlqyD https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/dhammagiri-buddhist-podcasts/id1534539834 .

You can't say Neil Paine has created a trend with his wardrobe of colourful outfits because nobody else has followed a similar path. Unperturbed he'll continue to set the pace in his role as race day manager for the Waterhouse/Bott yard. Neil joins us on the podcast to talk about his riding career and his current role. He explains the origins of the race day apparel. Neil reflects on the Noumea race fall that ended his very successful riding career. He looks back on a lengthy rehabilitation and the phone call from Gai Waterhouse which would decide his life after race riding. Neil looks back on an association with the stable which began when Tommy Smith regularly provided him with rides. Gai continued to use Neil's services following her father's retirement. He talks about his involvement with trackwork and his role when representing the stable at outside meetings. The former jockey talks of the breach of Covid protocol which landed him in hot water on Golden Slipper day 2020. Neil pays tribute to his father Reg, a former champion country jockey who has been his greatest inspiration. He recalls a short stint in Brisbane under the tutelage of Colin and Pam O'Neill. Neil talks of his apprenticeship at Randwick to former successful trainer Albert McKenna, who had produced two top junior riders previously. Paine has never forgotten his first winning ride at a small Grenfell meeting, and the thrill of his first city win at Rosehill. He bent the rules in crossing from a wide gate. He looks back on a fairy tale win on bush filly Kisses For Kathy in the 1984 Silver Slipper. He remembers the filly's colourful trainer who met with a tragic accident a few years later. Neil still rues his unlucky defeat in the 1985 Epsom. He says it was the one that got away. He recalls an amazing win on a talented mare called Seeker's Gold from the Max Crockett stable. Memories of his first and only Gr 1 success remain vivid. He remembers his Orlando Classic victory for the Hayes stable. Neil thought he had another Gr 1 in the bag when he hit the front on Dandy Andy in the Queen Elizabeth Stakes. It was not to be. He looks back on another stakes win for David Hayes on Eastern Classic in the Hill Stakes. The popular horseman looks back on the most bittersweet experience of his racing career. Adherence to riding instructions cost him a win in the Inglis Classic at Rosehill in 1991- a defeat which cost him the ride on Tierce who would go on to clean sweep the 2YO races through the autumn of that year. Neil talks of his four children and the racing influence in the lives of his daughters Taylor, Sheridan, Shannon and son Blake. He acknowledges a brother-in-law and nephew who have made their marks as jockeys.  

Rebecca in her own words:   “First and foremost, I'm a mum of 5. However, I've always maintained and embraced sport throughout pregnancies and parenting.    My love of the outdoors and especially running, was instilled in me from an early age having grown up with a very sporty family. Many holiday was spent walking and camping in Scotland   I started running, ballet and horse riding at a very early age. I grew up in a small village in the north and if I wanted to see friends I'd walk, run, ride a bike or pony !    It wasn't really until 2014 that the ultra endurance big kicked in with full effect ! I wanted a new, bigger challenge to raise money for a charity which had helped me during one of my pregnancies. I'd heard about a brutal desert race ( the infamous Marathon Des Sables ) and decided that this would be a great challenge.    It's from here that the endurance bug really kicked in. I finished a respectable 10th lady on my first big challenge. What's better is that I'd found this incredible community of like minded people who loved being outside and running for hours on end !    I competed globally racing in Colorado, Himalayas, Spain, France - picking up the occasional podium on my travels.    Yet, it was the mountains which really set my heart on fire. Racing in the Himalayas, I'd often seen this beautiful mountain called ‘Ama Dablam'. I'd think to myself how wonderful it would be to climb it but I'd been told it was for really accomplished climbers only.    It is a technical mountain. Unperturbed, I decided ‘why not try?!'    A running friend put me in touch with his climbing friend and we worked together last year climbing in Wales - around the lockdown.    I summited Ama almost a year ago and from there, a love of high altitude mountain climbing was ignited.    To find myself completing the Everest and Lhotse ‘High Double' at the beginning of the season and then to summit K2' was simply a dream!”   Learn more about Rebecca and her love and passion for the outdoors.    New episodes of the Tough Girl Podcast go live every Tuesday at 7am UK time - Subscribe so you don't miss a single episode.    You can support the mission to increase the amount of female role models in the media. Visit www.patreon.com/toughgirlpodcast Thank you.   Show notes Who is Becks Being adopted and coming from a sporty family  Growing up in North Yorkshire on a farm/small holding Having sport parents Being encouraged to go outside and try new things Spending a lot of time with her dad  Exploring in the Peak District Spending 2 months in Australia at 15 Being active through her teenage years Her running journey  Looking for a running challenge in 2014 Running the Marathon des Sables (MDS) in 2015  Being told that it was a stupid idea Getting into the ultra running world Making great friends in the community Training by herself  Getting to know ultra runner (and previous Tough Girl Podcast guest - 29th December 2015) - Elisabet Barnes  Continuing to push herself with endurance challenges Running the Everest Trail Race, Nepal (2017) Feeling comfortable in the hills Being inspired by Ama Dablam (6,812 metres (22,349 ft)) and wanting to climb it Reducing her risk of injury, doing cross training, stretching, pilates, and gym work How the body performs during a multi-stage ultra race Nutrition and fuelling Making the transition from endurance running to mountain climbing Working with a high altitude expedition guide - Jon Gupta  Climbing Island Peak and Ama Dablam in Nepal Having the capacity to endure and keep going Going with the flow and wanting to do the things that she enjoys Preferring the quieter mountains Having the adventure blues after the MDS Adjusting back to normal life after expeditions Living in the present and making the most of everyday  How adventures and challenges can evolve Climbing for 3 months in Nepal (Everest, Lhotse (4th highest mountains in the world at 8,516 metres) & K2) Wanting to climb an 8,000 peak mountain and thinking about the “high double” Not summiting Makalu (5th highest mountain in the world at 8,485 metres) and the lessons learned  Struggling on the mountain and not feeling very well Summit night arriving at camp 3 and dealing with too much wind and snow and having to head back down Feeling proud of her achievement and never giving up Why it's more than just the summit Her children's thoughts on her climbing Having a birthday on the mountain K2 - “the savage mountain” Being aware of the danger Using oxygen  Being able to move quicker on the mountain and the benefits Feeling grateful in having the opportunity to climb such an incredible mountain   Social Media   Instagram: @becksferry   

Twelve hunters, three lovers, and one sexist lion - join us for the Brothers Grimm story The Twelve Huntsmen!   A prince and princess are happily engaged. But when the prince's dying father makes him promise to marry another, the princess is cast aside. Unperturbed, the princess gathers together twelve doppelgangers and gets the team employed as her ex's huntsmen. But when a magical sexist lion threatens to reveal her identity, she finds herself facing two impossible challenges.    Will the game be up? And what does the new bride think of all these shenanigans? Find out (or possibly don't find out) in this week's exciting Grimm tale.    After the story, we unpick the manifold plot holes before exploring the 'forgotten fiancé' trope in an erased Grimm tale called Prince Swan.   Twitter Facebook Instagram Patreon   grimmreadingpodcast@gmail.com Theme music: Bicycle Waltz by Goodbye Kumiko Other Music: Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 18 in E Flat Major 'The Hunt', Op. 31 no. 3 - II. performed by Paul Pitman

DY22 - Unperturbed - The Toxic Side of SBW --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/c4challenge/message

Day 21 - Unperturbed - Pour From Empty Cup --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/c4challenge/message

Steve Waddell shares the inspirational journey that led to him developing an innovative bathroom faucet that saves water while improving functionality. It was a rollercoaster ride of tremendous highs, such as winning $50k on Steve Harvey's Funderdome TV show, only to discover he would have to wait one year to receive his winnings. Unperturbed, listen as Waddel shares his engaging story of how he managed to secure a credit card for $50k to develop engineered designs and the first production prototypes of his faucets, knowing he could pay it all off when the check came at the end of the year. Today, the resulting product, Nasoni's award-winning fountain faucet, is an industry-leading bathroom faucet known for product innovation and customer satisfaction.  Don't miss this episode!

Day 9 - Unperturbed - Circle Check (Ep6) --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/c4challenge/message

Day 8 - Unperturbed - Twice As Hard, Almost As Good (Ep5) --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/c4challenge/message

Day 3 - Unperturbed - Self Care pt2 (Ep3) --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/c4challenge/message

Day 2 - Unperturbed - Launch (Ep1) --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/c4challenge/message

Day 1 - Unperturbed - Launch (Ep1) --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/c4challenge/message

November 28, 2021 - Rev. Alexander Brown

Deep and spaciously detailed night quiet, at the edge of the tidal river Crouch in rural Essex. Wind on water. Rain on water. Night birds over water. Water upon water. A real piece of time, captured from one rainy inclement night in August by a pair of weatherproofed microphones tied to a seawall railing in Burnham-on-Crouch. Over time, and as the weather front rolls in, the delicate shifting movements of the water fill, and become richer and more pronounced. Unperturbed, curlew, redshank and distant geese patrol the black, empty night air. Their calls carry far, in long natural intervals, across the wide open space. It's the waiting, between the calls, that refreshes the mind. Three step listener guide:  1. Ear/headphones enable you to hear the detail and panorama of the captured sound.  2. On a phone or tablet try setting volume in the middle but if you hear nothing nudge volume up, bit by bit, until you feel immersed in the light rippling washes of waves. Not loud, they should feel delicate to start with, because the soundscape is real.  3. Unlike music or speech audio, playing back the detail and space of a naturally recorded soundscape is greatly enhanced, in addition to headphones, when your surroundings are conducive too. It's the listening equivalent of dimming the lights, closing the curtains and settling down to watch an atmospheric film. These are not sound effects, they are all 100% original and natural recordings from real places.

Hey Identifier, https://www.newsweek.com/ryan-bartels-identified-subway-anti-masker-yelled-1776-old-woman-1620078 The video begins with Bartels standing over the woman, smiling at her, as she tells him: "I wish the police would give you a $50 fine." Under New York City mandates, anyone found on the subway riding without a mask faces a $50 fine. Unperturbed, Bartels leans further forward telling her in a sarcastic high-pitched voice: "I'm so afraid," while a bearded unmasked man in a red T-shirt and backwards baseball cap watches on. #RyanBartels #CancelCulture #coward Leave us a Voice Mail or Support https://anchor.fm/the-identity-booth/message https://anchor.fm/the-identity-booth/support Sub to the channel here https://www.twitch.tv/theidentitybooth Donate https://streamlabs.com/projecteto/tip The Goal: Try to Identify with you as you try to Identify with me. Find Heero here: https://linktr.ee/the_identity_Booth Find Eric here: https://www.instagram.com/etfactz/?hl=en Take Care --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/the-identity-booth/message Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/the-identity-booth/support

This week Danielle brings us our first Sandra Bullock film with the 1995 cyber-thriller The Net. Angela Bennett is an average cyber-security employee/freelancer/contractor/thing who is a consummate recluse. She does out there things such as chatting in message groups and ordering pizza online, the horror. When a mysterious floppy disk (look it up, kids) is mailed to her house she finds it contains links to a mysterious backdoor that lets her access supposedly secure systems. The colleague who mailed her the disk flies his one-man aircraft out to see her, but dies in a suspicious crash before arriving. Unperturbed by his sudden death, or chaos at the airport due to a seemingly unrelated hacking, Angela jets off on a vacation to Mexico. There she encounters the sexy nerd Jack and they quickly hit it off on his boat, but just when Jack is about to kill her for that floppy disk (which she inexplicably brought) Angela escapes. That's when Angela discovers her identity has been erased and replaced with a different identity that marks her as a criminal. Now Angela must find out about the shadowy organization behind her identity erasure and how their magic wizard computer powers work. Also, if she could find out what their motivations are, that would be great too, because we can't figure that out. So dive into what Hollywood thought computers were in 1995, and join Sam and Danielle as they struggle to answer the film's biggest question: Who is Cyberbob?

Today, dear listeners, Munro doesn't care about you. We're terribly sorry. Please direct all hate-mail to him either at his home or (preferably) his place of work. Unperturbed as always, though, we simply whip out the ol' bench-warmer for a starting position. With him firmly on the mic, we discuss a boatload of topics including serial killers' parents, teaching primates to tie shoes, humans' crucial feature, the point of sex, a persistent drug myth, being wrong, The Bachelorette, talented children, and wasting one's time. Óli also casts more light on the latest and greatest development in modern-day podcasting: Dungeons and Demons Inc! We hope Munro hasn't ruined your week, and don't believe anything he says about it being due to Ragnar's last minute change of schedule or something equally crazy.

RBI has left its policy rate and stance untouched in its latest meeting. Contrary to market expectation, it has not indicated a change in its liquidity stance either. While this has relieved markets, economists are calling it curtains down for rate cuts.

Link to bioRxiv paper: http://biorxiv.org/cgi/content/short/2020.10.19.345934v1?rss=1 Authors: Nestico, J., Novak, A., Perry, S. D., Mansfield, A. Abstract: Background: Currently, there is uncertainty as to whether movement variability is errorful or exploratory. Research question: This study aimed to determine if gait variability represents exploration to improve stability. We hypothesized that 1) spatiotemporal gait features will be more variable prior to an expected perturbation than during unperturbed walking, and 2) increased spatiotemporal gait variability pre-perturbation will correlate with improved stability post-perturbation. Methods: Sixteen healthy young adults completed 15 treadmill walking trials within a motion simulator under two conditions: unperturbed and expecting a perturbation. Participants were instructed not to expect a perturbation for unperturbed trials, and to expect a single transient medio-lateral balance perturbation for perturbed trials. Kinematic data were collected during the trials. Twenty steps were recorded post-perturbation. Unperturbed and pre-perturbation gait variabilities were defined by the short- and long-term variabilities of step length, width, and time, using 100 steps from pre-perturbation and unperturbed trials. Paired t-tests identified between-condition differences in variabilities. Stability was defined as the number of steps to centre of mass restabilization post-perturbation. Multiple regression analyses determined the effect of pre-perturbation variability on stability. Results: Long-term step width variability was significantly higher pre-perturbation compared to unperturbed walking (mean difference=0.28cm, p=0.0073), with no significant differences between conditions for step length or time variabilities. There was no significant relationship between pre-perturbation variability and post-perturbation restabilization. Significance: Increased pre-perturbation step width variability was neither beneficial nor detrimental to stability. However, the increased variability in medio-lateral foot placement suggests that participants adopted an exploratory strategy in anticipation of a perturbation. Copy rights belong to original authors. Visit the link for more info

So, we recently learned that you can make a living, sitting on your behind and shooting at virtual characters… even in Iran. To help us get out heads around this, we chatted with ‘Yeggiz’, an Iranian gamer-girl, who is doing just that. Unperturbed by the many issues faced by Iranian gamers, she’s been gaming, streaming, and vlogging since the pandemic hit. We invited her on the show to not only help bring us up to date but to also help our audience understand the fun and the frustration of gaming in Iran. So are Iranian girls players? Read more here. During this episode we also get answers to these questions Is during a pandemic the best time for Iranians to get married?Are Iranian girls players?Is mobile-gaming considered gaming?What does FPS mean in gaming = “First Person Shooter”What e-sport games can I get contracts through?Do Iranians actually really shoot real living people, outside of games?How do I make money as a gamer in Iran?What technical issues do Iranians face when gaming in Iran?How have sanctions against Iran effected gamers in Iran?Who is Kevin? [unfortunately left unanswered] Music credit: “Mahvash, Parivash”, Jalal Hemmati | “Prince of Persia”, from the video game Prince of Persia – 1989 Francis Mechner Read more and find the links at ASKANIRANIAN.COM Check the merchandise out on: ASKANIRANIAN.COM/SHOP

In episode 7, the party ventures into a dwarven mine and encounter an overgrown denizen of the caves. They do not make friends with it.

The Damsels are on the road from Gundrick to Toril. They saved a crew of sailors who had crashed against the rocks and was caught in a rip tide. One of the survivors, Drake, warned the group of mysterious disembodied voices that echo in the hills. Unperturbed, the Damsels move forward and down the road. Luna strikes up a conversation with Ryurick and it turns out he has his own secrets to spill. Next, they find a strange man in the hills and Keyanthi runs after him. They discover a cave that Ellie's spirit friends pull Ellie towards. Xenia has a shining moment. Adlanna reveals a bit about herself and her current health condition. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Lean, not to be confused with a lien, is a business practice designed to increase efficiency, eliminate wasteful applications, and utilize human effort to the best of its ability. Lean has been implemented across industries with great success...that is, until it encountered the construction industry. Unperturbed by the challenges of bringing traditional efficient operations to the industry, Flintco soldiered on, implementing lean practices with great success. On this episode of Flintco Forward, we found out how the company did it and why it works with Melanie Gilbertson, lean manager, and Peter Kozicz, president & CEO of Flintco. After speaking with other construction companies about lean, Kozicz noted that "they understand why it would work in the context of a manufacturing facility, but [they believed] there’s no way it will work on a construction site because there are too many things that are unpredictable.” The team at Flintco decided to challenge this notion. Lean has never been more critical for the industry; labor shortages plague the construction industry, and labor productivity hindering its success. “Labor productivity in the construction industry runs at about 40%," Kozicz said. “Why not address labor productivity issues first?” Today, Flintco has designed a construction industry-specific version of Lean--Lean 2.0. Gilbertson dove into the five principles that make Lean 2.0 successful in this unique marketplace. At the heart of Lean 2.0 is an ethos for teamwork and team satisfaction, something missing in the heavy contractor world of construction. What's more, Lean 2.0 acknowledges that each project is different, with different parameters and a different team on every site. This individualized approach with a dogmatic, can-do attitude is what sets Lean 2.0 apart from its predecessor. “Complacency is not part of our culture," Gilberston said.

André Cointreau had a very privileged start in life, born into two illustrious French drinks dynasties - Cointreau and Rémy Martin. But his decision to buy a food business didn't go down well with the whole family. Unperturbed, he went on to become the chief executive of Le Cordon Bleu, transforming a small Parisian cookery school into a global culinary empire that has trained some of the world's most famous chefs. In this episode he tells Emily Thomas about his life through five memorable dishes. But despite his company teaching the virtues of classic French cooking techniques there's not a single soufflé to be seen. Instead he takes us all over the rest of the world, from Australian kangaroo meat to Korean kimchi. Find out what André Cointreau says about Le Cordon Bleu’s eye-watering fees, and why he never gets his hands dirty in the kitchen. (Picture: André Cointreau. Credit: BBC)

Joining Isaac and Omar this week is the delightful Portia Ferrari, a firebrand fusion of creativity, activity and hustle. She’s also a huge gangster film fan so it was fitting that she brought us the Martin Scorsese epic, Gangs Of New York. This episode was also recorded on World Vegan Day so it made sense to have another Vegan visit Omar’s studio and join us on the Sofa. However World Vegan day probably wasn’t the best time to watch a film filled with blood that features characters called Bill The Butcher and The Dead Rabbits. Unperturbed we settled in to watch it, in its nearly two and half hour glory. After a few DVD glitches and plenty of chilli peanuts we found a film worthy of reappraisal 15 years on. Please remember to review, share and comment where you get your podcasts. FOLLOW US ONLINE. WEBSITE http://anicesouvenir.com INSTAGRAM @iceydirector @omar_abidi @portiaferrari TWITTER @anicesouvenir — THANKS TO 33 AUDIO & LOGISTICS SOLUTIONS https://www.33als.com — INDIAN VEG https://theindianveg.wordpress.com GANGS OF NEW YORK https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHVUPri5tjA GANGS OF NEW YORK IMDB https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0217505/ LION KING TRAILER https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ujGv5dhGfk CLUELESS https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RS0KyTZ3Ie4 POUNDLAND DALSTON https://stores.poundland.co.uk/greater-london/dalston/64-kingsland-high-street GANGS OF NEW YORK FACTS http://mentalfloss.com/article/78970/14-epic-facts-about-gangs-new-york GANGS OF NEW YORK TV SERIES https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/martin-scorsese-miramax-developing-gangs-431621 GANGS OF NEW YORK FIGHT https://www.nytimes.com/2002/04/07/business/2-hollywood-titans-brawl-over-a-gang-epic.html REVISITING GANGS OF NEW YORK https://timesofsandiego.com/arts/2018/04/28/revisiting-martin-scorseses-gangs-of-new-york-16-years-later/

Jamie and Scott are joined by Iain from Light Reading this week and they start by discussing the pros and cons of becoming a communications-slash-content provider. Is convergence a sound business strategy or is it better to just stick with what your company’s best at? Is it good for you to consume a lot of VOD? Not during a podcast it would seem as Iain and Scott are forced to improvise while Jamie literally goes for a slash. Unperturbed they move onto the ongoing subject of Chinese vendors getting a hard time from western authorities, with ZTE coming under so much fire it might have to slash its operations significantly. They conclude with a look Amazon, which thanks to a convergent strategy for its Prime premium service has managed to acquire over 100,000 subscribers. The guys speculate about why Amazon has decided to release this data but conclude it’s unlikely to slash its heavy investment anytime soon.

Unperturbed by Bobbi and Sam’s attempts at sabotage, Mort is back yet again to kick things into gear in this industrious episode of Pitching and Moaning! This episode, Jake, Taylor, and Mort discuss: Graffiti, condoms adorned with gears, super ridiculously oily teen robots, the Borg, koalas- RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. JOIN THE COLLECTIVE, LISTENER.

The Roosters are reeling after the mid-season merger of the Swampmen and the Peacocks. The League controversially add the teams points together lifting the new look Swampcocks into the final four at the expense of Bodgy Creek. Unperturbed, coach Troy Carrington calls on the boys to uphold the Olympic spirit and asks the team to … SE1 EP6 – Olympics Round Read More »

Gordano! If I've told you once, then I've told you a million billion quadrillion times - You look rough this morning your honour. Now, here's the thing: Due to forces beyond our control (not the police force*) this show, broadcast on the 16th October 2015, has a slightly wonkier than normal feel to it as William was not in the studio but on the other end of a telephone line. A telephone line that played merry hell with the audio output. Unperturbed, we ploughed on, reasoning that the majority of the content we throw your way is of such a poor quality anyway that the migraine inducing buzzing, clicking and volume inconsistencies really wouldn't make things too much worse. To hear the version with the music on it (innit) then go to mixcloud.com. And don't forget to register your delight at the news that Bobby Ball is to be the new Prime Minister of Equatorial Guinea at www.sorrynotinservice.com Gordano! * Old Trev & Simon joke (ask your parents)

Sangduen 'Lek' Chailert comes from the small hill tribe village of Baan Lao in northern Thailand. At a young age she heard the screams of an elephant that was being forced to work in terrible conditions for the logging industry. Lek felt compelled to help it. Although she had no training she bought some medicine and soon she was being called upon to treat other local elephants. She later formed the Save Elephant Foundation to advocate for the rights of these animals in Thailand and the Elephant Nature Park, a protected area where rescued elephants receive protection and form new herds. Lek says that rebuilding an elephant's trust in humans can be a challenge - 'they never forget' - but she's found a novel technique: singing them lullabies. Saba Douglas-Hamilton was born in Kenya where her father worked as a prominent elephant conservationist. In fact she says she was 'baptised in elephant's breath' as her mother introduced her to wild elephants when she was a baby. Today she works for the charity her family started, Save the Elephants, which researches their behaviour and works with local people to promote human-elephant co-existence. She once feared for her life when she woke in the night to find a wild bull elephant towering over her mattress. Unperturbed by this, she says 'I find elephants endlessly fascinating…We recognise in them, and they recognise in us, a parallel intelligence'. (L) Saba Douglas-Hamilton. Credit: Sam Gracey (R) Sangduen 'Lek' Chailert. Credit: Save Elephant Foundation

Unperturbed by the lack of matches this weekend, the boys make a bumper podcast discussing some of the issues that have caught their eye in the past week.

Stars do not form in isolation, they form in groups known as star clusters. Star clusters are seen in a wide range of galaxies and environments. Their presence reveals the history of the host galaxy and the processes of its star formation. During the last years star clusters have been deeply investigated in violent environments, while the properties of star clusters in more quiet environments have received less attention. Among all unperturbed environments we focus on 5 spiral galaxies with no signs of external perturbations: NGC 45, NGC 1313, NGC 4395, NGC 5236 and NGC 7793. Star clusters lying in these galaxies were observed through HST imaging and VLT spectroscopy. The analysis of star cluster masses, ages, sizes, and their positions on the galaxies, showed that star cluster formation is an ongoing process that depends on the local conditions. The observed star cluster luminosity functions show values consistent with the expected alpha~-2. We found an important number of globular clusters in NGC 45. Their properties are analyzed through photometry and spectroscopy. Photometry suggests that these globular clusters belong to a single metal poor population. Spectroscopy confirmed this for the 8 brightest ones. Velocities indicate halo or bulge kinematics. Absorption spectrum features indicate ages of the order of Gyr and [alpha/Fe] values lower than the Milky Way globular clusters, but similar to dwarf galaxies in the local group.