Blog entries by mch5

[NIGHT – Dinner in Eilat, promenade food zone. On the table: half-eaten spicy wings and beer bottles. In the background, laughter and tourist chatter. Meanwhile, inside my head: the BRAIN CONTROL ROOM hums lazily, operators slouched in their chairs. Suddenly, alarms blare. On the massive...

The conversation has been hammered to death, or even beyond. The eternal debate of “What if there were no consequences?” mixed with the “Darkest Fantasy” has been dissected from every possible angle. But… let me drag you somewhere slightly different: the world of Imaginary-yet-Probable. Look...

No, I won’t change it for anything! It is what it is and I am what I am. This fetish is part of me, it's an integral part of who I am, and I enjoy it. I love it! But… I’m also that stubborn weirdo who constantly analyzes himself mercilessly. So the thought comes up quite often: this is fucking...

Yes, I've tricked You. I've tricked you into reading this, and now I've captured You. But the worst part, is that deep inside... that's exactly what You wanted. That is exactly Your Fantasy. The Fantasy of falling into my Trap. And now it's too late. Too late because I have captured You...

Laughter. Damn, I love it. It can flip every dirty switch inside me, set off fireworks in my mind, make my skin hum, and yeah, spark that familiar heat below the belt. Obviously it's my fetish, but it’s also something way deeper than that. Not just a trigger. Not just a kink. Something that...

I know, I’m nothing like you. And at the same time, I’m exactly like you. We both have this fetish. We both want to live it, not just dream it. but for you, almighty bipeds, it’s probably easier. You’re not stuck in fantasy the way I am. And no, it’s not just about tickling a pinky and...

You already know my fetish, it’s not about feet, or orgasms, or screaming. It’s about laughter. Helpless, uncontrollable, body-wracking laughter. Tickling is my favorite tool, the most beautiful. But it’s not the only one. I have others, crueler tools, to extract laughter, to push the body...

There’s something about laughter. I don’t mean the polite kind or the fake chuckles we all toss out in conversations. I mean the real kind. The kind that takes over her whole body like a wave. The kind that leaves her breathless, writhing, completely undone. When a woman laughs like that...

I was maybe four or five, in kindergarten. Stuck in a clunky wheelchair, oversized for my body and unmoving. The other kids were running wild, laughing, climbing, roughhousing, all things I couldn’t do. I sat in front of the sandbox. Observing. Always observing. And then it happened. Two boys...