TL;DR
Was the final set with her head cut off?
In 21-th century photo lab guy is replaced with computer repair guy. You could not imagine what pictures or IM conversations/e-mails girls have on computers. Almost every girl who have both computer and camera have naked pictures. If not found, search deleted space on harddrive for remains.
One thing is hacking some unknown girl trough some RAT and see all her private data and pictures. But whole different thing is repairing PC for beautiful girl standing right next to you. And You know how her vagina and asshole looks and what she talks with her friends and how she lost her virginity. Unmasked two local girls who were working as high-end prostitutes but told everyone they are working as maids in hotel.
Topic: Story about photo lab job [NSFW] - page 2. (Read 1420 times)
I've already shown that that not his work. It's at least 2 months old from Reddit.
I worked in a photo lab when I was in college. This was back before digital cameras were in wide use. People would take photos at college parties and drop them off for one hour development.
Most of the photos were pretty boring. A group of guys or girls posing, obviously drunk. Beer cans, Solo cups. A couple bongs. And the occasional topless girl or someone puking. Nothing too unexpected.
But there was one guy that came in on a regular basis. His photos were always hardcore pornography. Spread eagle shots, blowjobs, facials. Gaping vaginas and assholes. I fucking loved printing this guy's stuff and put extra effort into getting the color balance and exposure just right. It got so that he'd ask for me every time he dropped film off.
He started showing up to the shop with a girl on his arm. The same one every time. He called her Amber, though I suspect that wasn't her real name. Let's just say that I already knew Amber more intimately than did her gynecologist. Nearly all the photos coming in at this point from this guy were of Amber.
As time went on, the photos got more and more extreme. At first, it was just her getting fucked or spreading her ass open. Pretty soon, a dick shoved down her throat and tears streaming down her face, her heavily-applied mascara smeared in an almost comical fashion. I printed one of these for my own pleasure and added the caption "Harlequin."
Pretty soon, it appeared, my favorite customer got involved in hardcore BDSM. Photos of Amber tied to the floor, helpless. Butt plugs that appeared to increase in size every time he came in. Clothespins on her nipples, down the backs of her arms. She still had bruising from these when I saw her once. She saw me admiring her love marks and gave me an almost demure wink.
Fisting. Double fisting. Gapes so large it looked like she just shit a watermelon. And then started the erotic knife play. Photos of Amber with a knife to her throat, red marks on her skin, then small cuts. Tears still streaming down her face. And every time I'd admire a scar when I saw her in person, she'd smile at me and whisper knowingly to my favorite photographer.
I graduated before I got to see where all this was going. Every time this couple would come in, I'd find myself furiously masturbating in the back room of the photo lab. She ruined me for other women. Sweet, innocent college girls would show me their tits or go down on me. But it was never quite enough. I dreamed of the horrible things I could do to a girl. I dreamed of my own Amber.
To this day, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied that I've found The One until I can reach inside her through her anus and feel her intestines moving her waste rhythmically, romantically, through her body. I don't think I can be happy until I can crawl inside her digestive system and hide from the world.
But isn't that ultimately what we all want? To find someone that we care about so dearly that the rest of the world doesn't matter?
All joking aside-you need some real help. Most of the photos were pretty boring. A group of guys or girls posing, obviously drunk. Beer cans, Solo cups. A couple bongs. And the occasional topless girl or someone puking. Nothing too unexpected.
But there was one guy that came in on a regular basis. His photos were always hardcore pornography. Spread eagle shots, blowjobs, facials. Gaping vaginas and assholes. I fucking loved printing this guy's stuff and put extra effort into getting the color balance and exposure just right. It got so that he'd ask for me every time he dropped film off.
He started showing up to the shop with a girl on his arm. The same one every time. He called her Amber, though I suspect that wasn't her real name. Let's just say that I already knew Amber more intimately than did her gynecologist. Nearly all the photos coming in at this point from this guy were of Amber.
As time went on, the photos got more and more extreme. At first, it was just her getting fucked or spreading her ass open. Pretty soon, a dick shoved down her throat and tears streaming down her face, her heavily-applied mascara smeared in an almost comical fashion. I printed one of these for my own pleasure and added the caption "Harlequin."
Pretty soon, it appeared, my favorite customer got involved in hardcore BDSM. Photos of Amber tied to the floor, helpless. Butt plugs that appeared to increase in size every time he came in. Clothespins on her nipples, down the backs of her arms. She still had bruising from these when I saw her once. She saw me admiring her love marks and gave me an almost demure wink.
Fisting. Double fisting. Gapes so large it looked like she just shit a watermelon. And then started the erotic knife play. Photos of Amber with a knife to her throat, red marks on her skin, then small cuts. Tears still streaming down her face. And every time I'd admire a scar when I saw her in person, she'd smile at me and whisper knowingly to my favorite photographer.
I graduated before I got to see where all this was going. Every time this couple would come in, I'd find myself furiously masturbating in the back room of the photo lab. She ruined me for other women. Sweet, innocent college girls would show me their tits or go down on me. But it was never quite enough. I dreamed of the horrible things I could do to a girl. I dreamed of my own Amber.
To this day, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied that I've found The One until I can reach inside her through her anus and feel her intestines moving her waste rhythmically, romantically, through her body. I don't think I can be happy until I can crawl inside her digestive system and hide from the world.
But isn't that ultimately what we all want? To find someone that we care about so dearly that the rest of the world doesn't matter?
Why the nsfw tag?
Some workplaces might have packet-filtering looking for words that they don't like?
hmm interesting
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Why the nsfw tag?
Maybe it's NSFW for people who work in photo labs.
Why the nsfw tag?
I worked in a photo lab when I was in college. This was back before digital cameras were in wide use. People would take photos at college parties and drop them off for one hour development.
Most of the photos were pretty boring. A group of guys or girls posing, obviously drunk. Beer cans, Solo cups. A couple bongs. And the occasional topless girl or someone puking. Nothing too unexpected.
But there was one guy that came in on a regular basis. His photos were always hardcore pornography. Spread eagle shots, blowjobs, facials. Gaping vaginas and assholes. I fucking loved printing this guy's stuff and put extra effort into getting the color balance and exposure just right. It got so that he'd ask for me every time he dropped film off.
He started showing up to the shop with a girl on his arm. The same one every time. He called her Amber, though I suspect that wasn't her real name. Let's just say that I already knew Amber more intimately than did her gynecologist. Nearly all the photos coming in at this point from this guy were of Amber.
As time went on, the photos got more and more extreme. At first, it was just her getting fucked or spreading her ass open. Pretty soon, a dick shoved down her throat and tears streaming down her face, her heavily-applied mascara smeared in an almost comical fashion. I printed one of these for my own pleasure and added the caption "Harlequin."
Pretty soon, it appeared, my favorite customer got involved in hardcore BDSM. Photos of Amber tied to the floor, helpless. Butt plugs that appeared to increase in size every time he came in. Clothespins on her nipples, down the backs of her arms. She still had bruising from these when I saw her once. She saw me admiring her love marks and gave me an almost demure wink.
Fisting. Double fisting. Gapes so large it looked like she just shit a watermelon. And then started the erotic knife play. Photos of Amber with a knife to her throat, red marks on her skin, then small cuts. Tears still streaming down her face. And every time I'd admire a scar when I saw her in person, she'd smile at me and whisper knowingly to my favorite photographer.
I graduated before I got to see where all this was going. Every time this couple would come in, I'd find myself furiously masturbating in the back room of the photo lab. She ruined me for other women. Sweet, innocent college girls would show me their tits or go down on me. But it was never quite enough. I dreamed of the horrible things I could do to a girl. I dreamed of my own Amber.
To this day, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied that I've found The One until I can reach inside her through her anus and feel her intestines moving her waste rhythmically, romantically, through her body. I don't think I can be happy until I can crawl inside her digestive system and hide from the world.
But isn't that ultimately what we all want? To find someone that we care about so dearly that the rest of the world doesn't matter?
Most of the photos were pretty boring. A group of guys or girls posing, obviously drunk. Beer cans, Solo cups. A couple bongs. And the occasional topless girl or someone puking. Nothing too unexpected.
But there was one guy that came in on a regular basis. His photos were always hardcore pornography. Spread eagle shots, blowjobs, facials. Gaping vaginas and assholes. I fucking loved printing this guy's stuff and put extra effort into getting the color balance and exposure just right. It got so that he'd ask for me every time he dropped film off.
He started showing up to the shop with a girl on his arm. The same one every time. He called her Amber, though I suspect that wasn't her real name. Let's just say that I already knew Amber more intimately than did her gynecologist. Nearly all the photos coming in at this point from this guy were of Amber.
As time went on, the photos got more and more extreme. At first, it was just her getting fucked or spreading her ass open. Pretty soon, a dick shoved down her throat and tears streaming down her face, her heavily-applied mascara smeared in an almost comical fashion. I printed one of these for my own pleasure and added the caption "Harlequin."
Pretty soon, it appeared, my favorite customer got involved in hardcore BDSM. Photos of Amber tied to the floor, helpless. Butt plugs that appeared to increase in size every time he came in. Clothespins on her nipples, down the backs of her arms. She still had bruising from these when I saw her once. She saw me admiring her love marks and gave me an almost demure wink.
Fisting. Double fisting. Gapes so large it looked like she just shit a watermelon. And then started the erotic knife play. Photos of Amber with a knife to her throat, red marks on her skin, then small cuts. Tears still streaming down her face. And every time I'd admire a scar when I saw her in person, she'd smile at me and whisper knowingly to my favorite photographer.
I graduated before I got to see where all this was going. Every time this couple would come in, I'd find myself furiously masturbating in the back room of the photo lab. She ruined me for other women. Sweet, innocent college girls would show me their tits or go down on me. But it was never quite enough. I dreamed of the horrible things I could do to a girl. I dreamed of my own Amber.
To this day, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied that I've found The One until I can reach inside her through her anus and feel her intestines moving her waste rhythmically, romantically, through her body. I don't think I can be happy until I can crawl inside her digestive system and hide from the world.
But isn't that ultimately what we all want? To find someone that we care about so dearly that the rest of the world doesn't matter?
Ok.......
...............
'moving her waste rhythmically, romantically, through her body.'
Mind blown.
Amazingly, another guy had the same exact story 2 months ago on Reddit: http://www.reddit.com/r/circlejerk/comments/1aqcdt/i_find_these_recent_reports_of_indian_rape_to_be/
What are the odds?
What are the odds?
Thank you
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Activity: 588
Merit: 500
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Rofl. Just rofl.
Thank you
I subscribe to motherless currently however even that has lost its edge for me.
I subscribe to motherless currently however even that has lost its edge for me.
Rich, and compelling. *Anchorman Voice*
It appears you are obliged to a life of hardcore torture porn for the rest of your days.
It appears you are obliged to a life of hardcore torture porn for the rest of your days.
I worked in a photo lab when I was in college. This was back before digital cameras were in wide use. People would take photos at college parties and drop them off for one hour development.
Most of the photos were pretty boring. A group of guys or girls posing, obviously drunk. Beer cans, Solo cups. A couple bongs. And the occasional topless girl or someone puking. Nothing too unexpected.
But there was one guy that came in on a regular basis. His photos were always hardcore pornography. Spread eagle shots, blowjobs, facials. Gaping vaginas and assholes. I fucking loved printing this guy's stuff and put extra effort into getting the color balance and exposure just right. It got so that he'd ask for me every time he dropped film off.
He started showing up to the shop with a girl on his arm. The same one every time. He called her Amber, though I suspect that wasn't her real name. Let's just say that I already knew Amber more intimately than did her gynecologist. Nearly all the photos coming in at this point from this guy were of Amber.
As time went on, the photos got more and more extreme. At first, it was just her getting fucked or spreading her ass open. Pretty soon, a dick shoved down her throat and tears streaming down her face, her heavily-applied mascara smeared in an almost comical fashion. I printed one of these for my own pleasure and added the caption "Harlequin."
Pretty soon, it appeared, my favorite customer got involved in hardcore BDSM. Photos of Amber tied to the floor, helpless. Butt plugs that appeared to increase in size every time he came in. Clothespins on her nipples, down the backs of her arms. She still had bruising from these when I saw her once. She saw me admiring her love marks and gave me an almost demure wink.
Fisting. Double fisting. Gapes so large it looked like she just shit a watermelon. And then started the erotic knife play. Photos of Amber with a knife to her throat, red marks on her skin, then small cuts. Tears still streaming down her face. And every time I'd admire a scar when I saw her in person, she'd smile at me and whisper knowingly to my favorite photographer.
I graduated before I got to see where all this was going. Every time this couple would come in, I'd find myself furiously masturbating in the back room of the photo lab. She ruined me for other women. Sweet, innocent college girls would show me their tits or go down on me. But it was never quite enough. I dreamed of the horrible things I could do to a girl. I dreamed of my own Amber.
To this day, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied that I've found The One until I can reach inside her through her anus and feel her intestines moving her waste rhythmically, romantically, through her body. I don't think I can be happy until I can crawl inside her digestive system and hide from the world.
But isn't that ultimately what we all want? To find someone that we care about so dearly that the rest of the world doesn't matter?
Most of the photos were pretty boring. A group of guys or girls posing, obviously drunk. Beer cans, Solo cups. A couple bongs. And the occasional topless girl or someone puking. Nothing too unexpected.
But there was one guy that came in on a regular basis. His photos were always hardcore pornography. Spread eagle shots, blowjobs, facials. Gaping vaginas and assholes. I fucking loved printing this guy's stuff and put extra effort into getting the color balance and exposure just right. It got so that he'd ask for me every time he dropped film off.
He started showing up to the shop with a girl on his arm. The same one every time. He called her Amber, though I suspect that wasn't her real name. Let's just say that I already knew Amber more intimately than did her gynecologist. Nearly all the photos coming in at this point from this guy were of Amber.
As time went on, the photos got more and more extreme. At first, it was just her getting fucked or spreading her ass open. Pretty soon, a dick shoved down her throat and tears streaming down her face, her heavily-applied mascara smeared in an almost comical fashion. I printed one of these for my own pleasure and added the caption "Harlequin."
Pretty soon, it appeared, my favorite customer got involved in hardcore BDSM. Photos of Amber tied to the floor, helpless. Butt plugs that appeared to increase in size every time he came in. Clothespins on her nipples, down the backs of her arms. She still had bruising from these when I saw her once. She saw me admiring her love marks and gave me an almost demure wink.
Fisting. Double fisting. Gapes so large it looked like she just shit a watermelon. And then started the erotic knife play. Photos of Amber with a knife to her throat, red marks on her skin, then small cuts. Tears still streaming down her face. And every time I'd admire a scar when I saw her in person, she'd smile at me and whisper knowingly to my favorite photographer.
I graduated before I got to see where all this was going. Every time this couple would come in, I'd find myself furiously masturbating in the back room of the photo lab. She ruined me for other women. Sweet, innocent college girls would show me their tits or go down on me. But it was never quite enough. I dreamed of the horrible things I could do to a girl. I dreamed of my own Amber.
To this day, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied that I've found The One until I can reach inside her through her anus and feel her intestines moving her waste rhythmically, romantically, through her body. I don't think I can be happy until I can crawl inside her digestive system and hide from the world.
But isn't that ultimately what we all want? To find someone that we care about so dearly that the rest of the world doesn't matter?
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