I was taking an advanced remote viewing course at the Monroe Institute a handful of years ago and we were doing exercises to build up remote physical interaction skills. I didn't followed the instructions and tried to remotely stimulate the pussy / clit of a cute MILF in the class. But there was some kind of temporal abnormality, because it effected her like 3 hours later during dinner and she had an embarrassingly loud orgasm right at the dinner table in front of like 12 of us.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5838421&forum_id=2...#49695344)

bouncers took him aside to speak with him and inspect his pants which were clearly darkened and wet.

dude undoes his button and fly and isn't wearing underwear. in his altered state, he didn't realize that the constant grinding had mangled his dick on his zipper like it was a cheese grater. blood all over.

not sure if he came.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5838421&forum_id=2...#49695745)

Date: October 13th, 2023 1:41 AM

Author: Bull Headed Flushed Giraffe Hall

Oh how I wish this was flame but it isn't. Last year I relocated to a more rural area to get away from packed suburbs and got a nice house in a gated community on two acres with lots of native trees. I visit the house numerous times prior to closing for viewings, inspections, walkthrough, etc. and nothing seems amiss. A few days after we move in, wife is exploring near the back of the lot and starts howling about a bug on an old tarp. I go to check and see that the screaming is justified--a giant black centipede with orange legs and an engorged, blood-red head is sauntering around like it owns the place.

I start researching them and it turns out that these are bad motherfuckers. They are extremely fast, highly aggressive, their legs can cut you and inject poison just by *walking* on you, and their bites produce the most searing agony of any bug. Although the centipedecuck apologists at wikipedia proudly proclaim "no deaths," in the very next sentence they concede that bites have caused heart attacks and kidney failures. In other words, you do not want to FUCK with these, as I later found out...literally. If you want to see one, the full scientific name of the exact variant in my backyard is Scolopendra Heros Castaneiceps, and this discussion has a detailed assessment of their fatality potential along with a harrowing firsthand account of a bite:

https://bugguide.net/node/view/565413

Immediately I understood why my home had seemed "underpriced" and knew that day would not be my last Scolopendra encounter. I waited for months and months to see what form their next revelation would take until I had all but forgotten the beasts lurking in my yard. Then the season changed, and the weather changed, and this is often what prompts Scolopendra to mobilize because they are very sensitive to changes in moisture. And one night as I came back from the kitchen munching on some Pringles, I saw one ambling along the wall a few feet from the front door, about 6 inches long.

Chaos ensued. This house has an absurd number of light switches and I haven't bothered to memorize what they all do, so even lighting the battlefield was a problem. And I had never bothered to unpack the bug spray or any other type of chemical weapons, so I had no choice but to enter melee range. I was hesitant to try to smash it on the wall because Scolopendra are armored and I saw some possibility that it might bounce off and land on me, so I settled on a strategy of knocking it into a plastic bin so I could make the call of execution or release after additional observation. By the time everything was set up and well-lit, the Scolopendra had already moved and I was at a tactical disadvantage.

The operation immediately went horribly, horribly wrong. All of those legs can apparently keep a tight grip on stone walls, and he made it into a corner--by the time I knocked him off he managed to clear the bin. I kicked it out of the way, but somehow he just...disappeared. Everything in an adjacent coat closet deemed the most likely escape path was moved into the outdoor storage, but he was nowhere to be found. The next several days were very tense, but I never saw him again. Eventually I let my guard down and started to relax.

A few weeks later, I decide I want something more than just a standard jerkoff session, so I broke out the Fleshlights. There is a bit of a ritual with these--you put them in a sink with hot water to warm them and soften them up, then you lube them and go to town. And going to town I was, as I perused the archives of my favorite chaturbate model. The head of my cock was glutted, dripping with precum, reminiscent of the night the NYT election forecast dial collapsed and our God-Emperor was crowned:

http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3417567&mc=162&forum_id=2

I was edging hard, ready to slip into the Fleshlight and go buckwild pumping out gallons of cum. Finally I let myself go, and three inches in, I felt the most agonizing pain imaginable, as if the torture from an entire execution by scaphism was concentrated in a single bodypart, compressed across time into a single moment. I recoiled from the Fleshlight in pain and withdrew adorned by that FUCKING SCOLOPENDRA, dangling from my cockhead by the fangs. Apparently its penchant for dark, moist environments had led it straight to a Fleshlight I should have dried better after the last session, and it was all riled up from being dumped in a sink full of scalding water.

I was momentarily stunned as it swung around by the neck, coiling around my shaft and stabbing it all over with the venom sheathes on each of its 46 legs. Now that it had established leverage and was no longer swinging free, it started wrenching its mandibles back and forth, deepening the wound. I yanked it off screaming bloody murder and a couple of necrosed flesh-pieces stayed stuck to the fangs, leaving two little holes in my now tiny pink penis-head, leaking dual streams of blood. I hurled it across the room and it hissed at me, then scurried under a baseboard. The whole thing is turning purple now and looks like a misshapen sausage--it has the size of an erect penis but the consistency of a flaccid one. I'm sitting here waiting for the pain to die down and poasting is the only thing helping me hold it together. Taking Q's.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5426544&forum_id=2#46928575)

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5838421&forum_id=2...#49695770)

This is really common in some areas of south-east England, they call it 'journeyman's arm' and treating it was one of the original arguments for creating a National Health Service

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5838421&forum_id=2...#49698583)