I have fantasies of suffocating my wife with cling wrap while she is sleeping.

Id love to have her suffocate me with her juicy ass

Poor girl moments before getting grabbed suffocated by a plastic bag 

i confess im writting a suicide note...Please refrain from any type of sorrow,
If you feel like crying save the tears for tomorrow.
I made the decision to end my life for no particular reason
None at all, I just got tired of living.
That's all.
Life lost its flavor to me,
everything started looking so bland.
It felt so pointless living in a world smeared with bullshit
Everywhere I walked I'd be steppin' in it.
I feel that for myself death will be better than life,
suffocation better than breathe..
I'm just tired of being ethical in a completely unethical world.
I'm tired of being told to take the straight path
when I'm the most crooked person I know.
I no longer want to live in a world where I'm afraid to love who
I choose to love.
I'm no longer interested in a world where war of skin color is a bigger
battle then WWI and WWII put together.
I refuse to live in a world where trees are illegal and cigarettes
aren't--An herbal essence
versus
A pile of toxic shit.
I refuse to live in a world where the p********s oral recreation is a
bigger deal then the poverty laying less then 420 ft. from
the white house itself.
A world where millions & millions of dollars are shredded on a daily
basis-now tell me what kind of sense does that make?
A world where hate has become the basis for living,
a place where happiness no longer exist.
I can no longer live to die
I'd rather just not live at all
With death I'm looking for a sounder way of living
Be glad foe me because I am no longer suffering-
Be glad for me I have found complete peace by now.
Live on and live strong
Let bravery stand across your chest since it missed mine
Wipe your tears,
I'm dead,it's over. I have no fears

A little cock nigger faggot like me will swallow slobber slurp gag chock and dry any white cock pulled out in my face white cock is all that makes me happy I am superior to the cock alone not just person it's attached to I only get horny getting my face fucked suffocating making love to a big cock with my big nigger lips wrapped around that ten inch white cock

Ladies do you want me to sit on your face? Suffocate you in my ass? If so leave me your contact

Jamilla’s crucifixion

Jamilla was already awake when the sunlight entered her cell. After the Romans had captured her a week ago at the villa of her master, they had locked her up in there. They had stripped her and tied her up tightly, her hands behind her back, she was forced to sit here in this dark cell. She have had a lot of time to think about what has happened, and, more important, the things to come. At first she had been scared to death by the thought of being crucified, but right now she had found peace with it. Jamilla knew what she had done, and she also knew that she deserved nothing better. There was no doubt that, if she was to be killed, it would happen out there for every one to see. She was just to beautiful to let her die in here. After all she was the most beautiful girl in and around the city, In fact the thought of starving in here scared her even more than a public humiliation. Being tied up all the time and at least raped and tortured, imagine taht! No, no, all well considered, crucifixion was the best she could hope for. At least her pain would be over in a few days instead of years. She didn’t dare to think that the soldiers wouldn’t come for her.

But then the door opened and a couple of men gave entered her cell and removed the ropes from her hands and feet. Jamilla felt some sort of relief when she left the cell. They would not let her starve. Thus far she had been very lucky. It was only now that she realized that nobody had abused her until now. She wasn’t raped, she hadn’t been whipped. The fact of being nude don’t scare her, as a slave girl she has experienced this form of humilation many times, it was usual for the female to walk nude trough the city up tot he crucifixion side, while the men are allowed to wear a loincloth.

As they came out of the dark hallways into the inner yard of the camp, Jamilla spotted a long, thin, wooden cross lying on the ground. “Pick it up!” one of the soldiers said. Jamilla walked towards the cross and lifted it on her shoulder. There was no use in trying to resist, which would only make it worse for her. Two soldiers came standing next to her and one of them hung a wooden plate around her neck with her name, her age and her crime carved in it. Jamilla expected them to push her forward in to the streets of the city, but they didn’t. Both of the soldiers were looking at a little door behind them. As Jamilla looked at it as well, she saw an other soldier coming out with a hammer, a ladder and a basket with nails. Long heavy spikes…

“So it ’s going to be a full nailing” Jamilla said to herself. Until now she had hoped that they would only use ropes or at least only nail her hands, but as she could count more than two nails, she knew she wouldn’t be that lucky. The soldier loaded the gear on a donkey and the other two gave Jamilla a gentile push on her shoulder. “Let’s go.” They said and the campgates opened.

Jamilla carried her cross through the narrow streets of the city. It wasn’t very heavy but despite the early hour the sun was already shining hot. As she came closer to the crucifixion site, more and more people were watching and following her, yelling things at her. She noted the views of the men, on her slim body, her well-shaped breasts, with the long nipples. Her master has pierced them years ago, she has to wear rings there, and the nipples has grown considerably. Except her long hair, her body has been shaved completely, even if the pubic hair has started to grow back, her crotch is visible for everyone.

“Look at you, you stupid basterds,” Jamilla said to herself “ shouldn’t you be working? No you just want to see me suffer, you want to hear me scream on the cross, you want to see the extreme fear in my eyes when they nail me to it. Well screw you! You think I’m afraid but I’m not, you think I’ll beg them for mercy, beg them not to nail my feet, but you’re wrong, wrong, wrong! I won’t. In fact I’ll show you that it doesn’t scare me, I’ll show you how a proud girl faces her destiny!”

As she took the last turn to the marketplace, Jamilla felt this strange sensation in her underbelly. She knew she was walking her last few steps ever. On the market place, one of the soldiers gave the order to stop right in the middle of the square. She let her cross slip to the ground, took a few steps back and looked at the people that came to see her humiliation. One soldier held a hand on her shoulder and took back the wooden plate as the other one unpacked the gear. The third one began to declare her verdict and why she deserved it. During that time Jamilla realized that the strange feeling in her underbelly wasn’t fear as she thought it was, but pleasure. Her crotch has become wet, she noticed it. Every single person on the square wanted to see her young, nude body exposed on the cross. She knew she turned on every man that came to see her today, but none of them would ever have her. She would remain an unreachable ideal forever. She knew she could give them a spectacle they would never forget, that would make every other women look like durt.

Right now Jamilla realized that her time had come. The third soldier reached the end of his speech.

Jamilla knew what she had to do, she would show the crowd she was not afraid. Slowly she walked towards the cross, looking at the soldiers. Then she turned around, looked at he crowd and went lying down on her cross. Before one of the soldiers could grab her, she placed both of her wrists on the crossbeam, waiting for the nails.

The soldier that was going to nail her held back his two accompagnons. “No, no, don’t grab her. I want to see if she really can take this.” Jamilla looked at him as he put the first heavy spike right on top of her wrist. There was no one holding her wrists in place, yet she did not pulled them away, when the soldier raised his hammer for the first blow. Jamilla looked closely as the point of the first nail was driven into her wrist. “Aagh!” The pain was more than unbearable, it didn’t just stay in her wrist. Like water spilled on a flat stone, the pain started to run in various directions, all through her body. Yet the nail had only cut a few muscles and flesh. Right now he was only pushing on her wristbones, slightly driving them apart. As much as Jamilla was suffering, she couldn’t move her arms. She could only watch how the hammer came down a second time. This time the nail crushed her wristbones. Jamilla could feel the couldnes of the steel against her bones. Again she could not hold back a short scream. The pain had now turned into a supernatural form of agony. One of the soldiers who was standing next to the cross, noticed how Jamilla was rubbing her beautiful bare feet over the sand in a useless attempt to lighten the pain. Although the nail hadn’t reached the beam yet, she managed to keep her tortured wrist in place. Her most beautiful body was already covered with sweat when the hammer came down for the third time. Finally the nail came out of her wrist again and made his first contact with the crossbeam. Jamilla felt a bit relieved because she thought the wrist part was over. Once the nail was through, it would be easier to bare. But she was wrong. The hardness of the wood made it very hard to finish the job. The executioner needed six more blows to get her wrist fully nailed to the beam, every blow causing Jamilla more and more pain in addition to the already unbearable agony…

At the first blow, Jamilla had pulled back her second wrist. “Aagh!” A short scream escaped her mouth every time the nail went deeper. Finally the last blow was given and the executioner stood up. Shortly he admired his work, then he walked over to the other side of the beam to nail her other wrist. Jamilla didn’t know how she did it, but she had managed not to cry. Although only one of the four nails was in place, she was already covered with sweat. She looked at her unnailed wrist once more, then she placed it on the crossbeam as she saw the executioner approached with the second nail. He looked at her beautiful young face while he went across her wrist with his fingers to locate the bones. When he found the right spot, he place the nail on it, held his hammer high up in the sky. Then he waited for a moment to see if Jamilla really wouldn’t pull down her arm now that she knew what it felt like to have one nailed wrist. Then he started his horrible job.

Jamilla thought she knew what she had to expect, but no one could ever get used to a sudden explosion of pure pain like that. Again her short screams filled the air, again her beautiful bare feet rubbed against the sand, but yet the agony seemed like at least a thousand times worse. Again she felt how the nail crushed some of her bones and drove others apart. It was in this pure sensation of nothing-but-absolute-agony- that Jamilla realized something strange. With every blow she screamed her little “AaAgh’s” as a message to every one on the square that she couldn’t take it any more. But now she realized, as her pain reached a new, horrible peak with every other blow that she wanted more. Though the agony made it quite impossible to keep her wrist in place, as long as the nail hadn’t pinned it to the wood, Jamilla realized she was able to do so, because she loved it. From this moment one, she could kill and love the executioner for what he was doing to her at the same time. She hated and admired him because he was able of hurting her like this. Though her agony reached unknown hights with every blow, she couldn’t wait for the next one. She watched closely how the nail disappeared deeper into her wrist and into the wood. When the executioner stood up after the nailing, Jamilla felt relieved and disappointed at the same time. Her body was under tension, shivering, excited, despite the heat her nipples remain hard all the time, and she notes that her juice has started to leak.

Jamilla looked at her beautiful nude body as the soldiers made preparations to pull up the cross. With her arms spread out like this above her head and her legs a bit opened to feel the sand under her feet for the last time, both her beautiful small breasts with their long and hard nipples and shaven pubic were exposed to the crowd. Yet Jamilla felt no shame, she felt only pain and a deep desire for more pain. Two soldiers were tying ropes to both ends of the crossbeam while the third one was placing some small pieces of wood at the bottom of the longpole so that the cross wouldn’t slide over the sand when they tried to raise it. Then they attached the ropes to their donkey as well. Then the executioner kneeled down at Jamilla’s feet. He grabbed them by the ankles and measured the length of her legs. He placed her feet on the longpole, right next to each other, so that her legs were slightly bent. He looked at it, changed the pose a bit, released her feet and carved a little bit of wood out of the pole, where he wanted her feet to be when he nailed them. Jamilla had observed his actions very well. For a moment she thought he was going to nail her feet before they raised the cross. She had loved the feeling of his hand around her feet. The two soldiers made the donkey pull up the cross while the executioner made sure the longpole would slip into the hole that was dug for it. As they raised her cross and her feet left the ground for the last time, Jamilla felt how her weight was no longer carried by the thin longpole but only by the two spikes that pierced her wrists. She had to scream. Little yelps of both extreme agony and pleasure escaped her mouth while the donkey was raising her cross. As her cross was almost in a complete vertical position, Jamilla spotted the carve made by the executioner to indicate the intended position of her feet. While the soldiers were making sure the cross wouldn’t fall back if they cut the ropes, Jamilla tried out her final footpose. With her feet against the longpole and her legs opened widely because of the roundness of the longole, she decided that it was both a humiliating and an exciting pose. Jamilla looked at her elegant ankles and her adorable toes. Soon her most beautiful feet would be nailed. To feel once more the pain of really hanging on a cross, she moved her legs away from the longpole, so that they were just hanging on either side of it. Now the executioner placed his ladder against the cross and climbed up to fulfill his duty.

As the executioner reached the final step of the ladder, Jamilla lowered her left foot and placed it right on the spot the executioner wanted it to be. He put the nail right on the most central spot of her foot, slightly adapted its pose so that the toes were really pointing towards the ground. Then he began the nailing. Once again Jamilla experienced a wave of fresh agony running through her body. Again she felt how the nail pushed against the bones of her foot and crushed them with the second blow. Again she let out her little yells every time the nail went a bit deeper. Even when the nail entered the wood after the third blow, she didn’t dare to put any weight on it. Her foot was causing her the same amount of agony as both her wrists. Oooh, she loved crucifixion right now; She thanked the people that invented this heavenly torture from the bottom of her heart as the final blows were given. As the executioner finished the nailing of her left foot, Jamilla felt a bit sad. Now her other foot was the only thing left. After that, her agony would slowly fade away … So she put her other foot right next to her nailed one. The executioner brought out the last nail. Jamilla closed her eyes as her bully raised his hammer. Very intensely she tried to analyze the waves of pain that were caused by the final spike. As the bones of her right foot were crushed she couldn’t hold back a small yelp. Also when she felt how the nail tore the skin of here sole apart, she simply had to release a little “ Ôah!” As the nail was driven further into her foot and the wood of the longpole, Jamilla first realized she was being put to death in the most cruel, horrible and agonizing way known in the whole of the Roman Empire, and that she just loved it. The soldier smashed the nail a bit deeper for the last time. Then he went down a few steps and nailed the wooden plate that quoted Jamill’s crime, name and age to the longpole, right underneath her beautiful, nailed feet. “Jamilla, twenty one year old, blonde slave, murder, theft and arson.” Then he stepped down, took away his ladder and together with one of his fellows he went back to the camp. The third one staid to guard Jamilla so that no one would get her down of there.

Although it had seamed a lot longer, her crucifixion had only taken half an hour. Now most of the spectators resumed their work on the market. For Jamilla, the real horror of crucifixion was about to begin. Right now she realized that the pain in her wrists became too much to bare, even for someone who loved it, so Jamilla had to push up on her feet. Putting her entire weight on the nails piercing her feet caused her a wonderful amount of pain, yet she had to let go, if she didn’t want to faint, and she fell back on her wrists. But very soon, again, the pain in her wrists forced her to retry the push up. The Romans had spiked her in a very ingenious way. By bending her legs just a little bit, Jamilla had to face the problem where to put her weight, but she couldn’t suffocate that easy. As she looked around to see what the other people who had watched her crucifixion were doing. Some people were still looking at her, pointing out to each other how well she was nailed. Jamilla herself was also admiring the work of her bully. While she was at it, she saw that she wasn’t bleeding as much as she thought. The only blood Yamilla saw was the blood that had run out of the wounds when the nails were still driven in. Meanwhile the soldier that staid behind walked over to the fountain and took a drink. He didn’t return to the cross but went strait to one of the stalls on the market. He decided to watch over her from there, in the shadow. On the cross, Jamilla was exposed to the sun. Very slowly her bronzed skin was burning. As she saw the guard take a drink, Jamilla became aware of her own thirst. She wondered whether she could ask for some water as well. After a while her thirst became so big she decided to risk it. “Can…can I have some water to, please…?” she moaned. The guard fulfilled her request and put a cup filled with water on the top of his spear. Jamilla drunk it all and asked for more several times, especially around noon when the sun was burning every drop of liquid out of her.

Jamilla now realized that the pain wasn’t fading away at all. She didn’t know why but the spikes kept hurting her as much as they did when they were driven into place. She looked once more to the nails piercing her body. As she could clearly feel, al four of them were smashed through some bones. “I wonder…” she thought. Jamilla tried to move her fingers, but some of them didn’t react to her command. Also her toes weren’t completely movable. The sight of the spikes entering her feet and wrists fascinated her. Jamilla tried to reach the head of the nails in her wrists. Her fingers could only touch the top of the nails. Her excitement still remains, and her crotch has started to leak, she notes the liquid running down the lips, and the it drops down to the sand.

As the sun went down and the market became empty, Jamilla first realized she would never leave her cross again. Even her corpse would be left up there after she died. She wondered what it would be like, if she died. Would she pass out and never awake again? She didn’t know.

Jamilla’s first night on the cross was filled with agony. There was now way of getting some sleep up there. If the pain didn’t keep her awake, then the coldness of the night would make sure she didn’t sleep. The hours passed slowly, way to slowly, but when Jamilla finally thought she was used to it, the first rays of sunlight announced a new day….

As the market became crowded again, people returned to her cross to see how she was doing. "You 're realy enjoying this, aren't you?" Jamilla managed to ask her public. Of course they did. "Guess what," Jamilla moaned as a reply, "so do I..."

According to some spectators who had seen a few crucifixions already, Jamilla was “dancing” real nice. She was pushing herself up on the spikes piercing her feet and falling back on her wrists al the time. Even if she didn’t had to push up to get some fresh air, she still forced herself to do so. It largely increased her pain. It was her second day on the cross, but Jamilla felt far from exhausted. Now she knew why she hadn’t been raped or whipped: If she were still strong when they nailed her to her cross, she would last longer. Once again Jamilla looked at her beautiful body. The nails fascinated her, how they disappeared in her wrists and feet. Only four nails, but they put her in hell. Right now the thought crossed her mind that despite of the fact that she had been drinking quite a lot yesterday, she didn’t have to pee. The sun burned away every single drop of liquid, even the water from the fountain. In the afternoon, Jamilla felt how she was becoming weaker and weaker, how the pain slowly faded. Right now she wished she could live through it al again, from the cell, to the first nail, the moment of triumph when she exposed her completely nude body to the overwhelmed crowd, the nailing of her wrists and feet, her complete crucifixion. Later that day Jamilla lost conscience. She didn’t saw how a rich salesman paid of the guarding soldier and ordered his men to get Jamilla down from her cross. She didn’t even realized the nails were pulled out.

Jamilla looked out of the window as the sun came up. Six months had passed since her crucifixion. Her wounds had completely healed. The salesman had dropped her of at one of his houses in a small village while she was still unconscious. An other girl slave had told her everything. She had never seen him until now. He was standing in the inner yard, saying goodbye to someone. Then he entered Jamilla’s room. “You’re so beautiful” he said. “You’re so beautiful that you can ask me anything. Ask me and I’ll do it!” Jamilla looked at him as he touched her face. “Well, there is one thing you could do…” She answered.

Later that morning, the entire village watched how Jamilla publicly undressed herself. Completely nude, she walked over to the cross and went lying down on it. She smiled at the salesman as he approached with the hammer and the nails. “Nail me!” she said.

S.P.I.R.I.T. - Southern Plantation InterRacial Interactive Tradition
SPIRIT is a genre of heterosexual erotica involving dominant whites exercising their social southern tradition of sexual rights over respectfully submissive blacks who are willing servants, not slaves, and always answer their dominators with "Sir" or "Ma'am", but never "Master".
Although the terms nigger, niggerbull, boy, niggerlupa, bitch, girl, whore, are accepted as standard designations, domination never involves humiliation or physical abuse (such as gagging, slapping, choking, suffocating, spitting, cumming anywhere outside of a woman, pussy/ass to mouth, homosexual acts, etc.) as the niggers are always treated as valued breeding stock and pets. Complete submission is always achieved upon the firm gentile grip of a white person's hand upon a nigger's genitals and then upon the nigger's head exhibiting the social authority of white power as the nigger goes down to their knees to give head in the sacred act of nigger communion.
The practice of albadominus (white sexual dominance) is enabled by the lifestyle of nigerservus (black sexual service) in which blacks accept their social purpose of sexual subservience to be the natural result of ancestral breeding on the southern plantations. As the careful breeding of enslaved black women had produced black bitches who could not resist white cock, so too had such breeding inadvertently produced niggerbulls aroused by the sight of the plantation pairing with their nigger wives while never being able to resist the lure of a white cunt. As the genetic disposition of the black bitch predisposes her to sexually seek the personal comfort of the social protection and provision that can only be provided by a white man (socially referred to as white power), the black bitch always experiences powerful orgasms from the idealistic fantasy of being safely owned by a white man along with the actual sense of complete security that she can only experience from having the white man's cock deep inside her. Likewise, as the genetic disposition of the niggerbull predisposes him to be a committed servant and protector of the white woman, nothing arouses the niggerbull more than feeding at the white cunt of life before devoutly offering his massive load of niggerseed at the pleasure of the dominant white woman.

S.P.I.R.A.L. - Southern Plantation InterRacial Antebellum Lifestyle
SPIRAL is a sub-genre of SPIRIT pertaining to niggers who choose to give up their jobs and possessions to go live naked (though not barefoot) on southern plantations where they are taken care of as breeding stock.
Divided into house niggers and field niggers, house niggers live in the big house and perform casual housework tasks in addition to their sexual obligations while field niggers live in the stables and perform casual gardening tasks in addition to their sexual obligations. SPIRAL also takes place away from the plantations in the urban centers where single niggers and nigger couples live with their white homeowners. SPIRAL ultimately occurs in secret, off of the road, niggertowns, where every household has niggers who regularly walk about the town naked and where niggerbreeding is at the foundation of the local economy.

S.P.A.M.M. - Swirl Pearls And Mature Mandingos
SPAMM is the SPIRIT sub-genre of spoiled, interracial desiring (swirl), petite teen white girls (pearls), sexually dominating mature Mandingos (M&Ms) whose duty to them is to protect and serve them addressing them as princesses.
Any conceptions to occur results in the pearls deciding the fates of the babies with no involvement from the fathers.

P B & J - Polar Bears & Jungle Bunnies
PB&J is the sub-genre of SPIRIT erotica pertaining to stout mature white men (polar bears) sexually dominating and breeding willing younger black women (jungle bunnies) usually with both of them in their socks and t-shirts in front of the jungle bunnies' nigger husbands.
Jungle bunnies always have un-straitened hair and hair surrounding their vaginas and refer to their first polar bear as 'Sire' as he will always retain primary sexual rights to her and will present her with a collar that she will always proudly wear in acknowledgement of his rights over her.
When a sexually active black woman is taken by a white man for the very first time, the event is referred to as being an A.R. or Antebellum Reunion in which the black woman is said to have been 'restored' to her proper place and function.
Any conceptions to occur results in the sale of the zygotes to an underground adoption agency for $10,000 to be divided between the bear and the bunny. This modernized honored southern tradition is known as niggerbreeding and allows the polar bear to form partnerships with several jungle bunnies to provide an adequate source of income on the black market for both himself and their families who acknowledge his white seed and white power as making him their household's primary income provider as well as the actual man of the house.

B.A.J. - Buckras And Jungle Bunnies
The BAJ SPIRIT sub-genre celebrates the coming of age tradition of virgin teen white boys (buckras) encouraged by their fathers to sexually dominate and breed a grown jungle bunny in front of her nigger husband to earn the badge of white manhood for which it is always a great honor for the jungle bunny to have been utilized in enabling a white boy to become a white man.
On very rare occasions, a buckra may actually meet the challenge of earning his badge of white manhood through a disrespectful black woman with whom he will seduce into submission to having an A.R. to teach her proper respect and restore her to her proper place and function in front of her nigger husband (if she's married). On such rare occasions, the restored niggress will usually become the devoted black bitch of the young buckra who thereby becomes her sire.
Any conceptions to occur results in the sale of the zygotes to an underground adoption agency for $10,000 to be divided between the buckra and the bunny unless the bunny is a restored married niggress who enthusiastically accepts the honor of baring and raising her young sire's child.

Avrila
The Avrila is the SPIRIT sub-genre celebrating the coming of age tradition of teen black girls who are presented by their mothers for deflowering by polar bears to officially become proud black bitches.
If the mother is without a polar bear to call upon, when time and finances allow, the mothers will coach their daughters while they're vacationing out of town at a motel or hotel on how to present themselves to an available white man for deflowering.
Any conceptions to occur results in the black bitches keeping their babies with no involvement from the fathers unless the black bitch is fortunate enough to become the personal breeding bitch of her deflowerer who then becomes her sire.

Real Queens of Spades
The sub-genre of SPIRIT for Real Queens of Spades refers to established white women known as either queens or albadoms sexually dominating niggerbulls for pleasure and occasional breeding.
The symbol of the queens is a crown atop of a spade bearing the emblem of a 'Q' and usually displayed at the center of a Confederate flag.
Niggerbulls often serve as butlers wearing bowties, tight t-shirts, and footwear, at albadom functions casually providing them with head upon demand. The niggerbulls are usually trained in the service of the Daughters of Freya, a religious fertility cult of white women devoted to the goddess Freya by maintaining stables of devout niggerbulls trained to worship white women as goddesses for sexual pleasure and breeding and holding every act of giving or receiving head from the white goddesses as being the giving of a blessing. Other niggerbulls are trained by albadoms; independent white women who train niggers from off of the streets to become devoted niggerbulls.
Any conceptions to occur from breeding results in the queens keeping the babies with no involvement from the fathers.

I confess that I want to be pegged till I cum all over myself by a fat dirty bitch with a hairy pussy and after that she would suffocate me in hairy fat pussy till I almost asphyxiate

Mistress  is suffocating

Want mommy to suffocate me in her pussy and ride my mouth until she cums, while all of her and daddy's friends watch.