Blade

Blade jokes

Jack opened his drying eyes, awoken by a piercing ray of sunlight shining through crooked blinds. A gentle smell wafted in from the corner of what his temporarily blinded eyes knew to be a dilapidated kitchen. It was the one good thing about his life, that smell. He closed his eyes once more and awaited his call.

“Jacky, breakfast time!” beckoned that oh-so-familiar girlish voice. “Oh, silly me, the handcuffs!”

The same footsteps he always heard, the only ones, tapped along the tile floor as each one of Jack’s limbs were freed from the cold metal that imprisoned them. He’d learned not to resist it, and the acceptance was blissful.

Jack slowly dragged himself to the kitchen table, still adjusting his eyes to the light. Moments later, a bowl was slid over to him by a hand he’d become all too familiar with. Oatmeal with little bits of dried apple mixed in. Even after four years, he still liked it.

“Thank you, Randy,” Jack muttered.

“Jill,” said the girl’s voice across from him. The girl’s voice vanished.

“You call me Randy when I’m having my way with you, boy. Understood?” said the balding, sweat-stained man from whom Jill’s voice came.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now hurry up and eat your food. I want to have some more fun before you expire.”

Jack ate obediently, but deep down he grew concerned. Expired? What could Randy mean by...expired?

He thought back to the day everything went wrong. The day he was deceived. His 14th birthday.

Four years...already? Was Jack really about to be an adult? Then expired means...

Jack stood up quickly, hitting his knees on the table with a thud.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Which one?”

“The one you don’t like to watch,” Jack replied. Randy waved him away dismissively.

Jack paced around the small shack searching for the bathroom door. He passed the heavily locked front door, each lock a memento of his past escape attempts. Finally, he entered the bathroom. No lock, he had to be fast.

Jack searched desperately around the room for anything he could use. If this was his last round before Randy was through with him, it might be his only chance to escape. He opened drawers, scrounged through cupboards, scoured every inch of the floor, but found a small mirror.

“Almost done, Jacky?” called the voice of Jill. “Don’t keep daddy waiting.” grumbled Randy.

Startled, Jack lost his grip on the mirror. Jack froze the second it fell to the floor and shattered.

“Shit...shit!” he whispered sharply, trying to brush the mess away. In doing so, he found a shard large enough to be held. “This’ll have to do...”

Jack slid the shard in his pocket and returned to the living room he had woken up in. The same old deflated mattress was still there, iron bars and all. Randy lay sprawled across it, a pink lace bra covering his hairy chest, matching panties withholding his dense, greasy bush. His waist had grown so fat they hardly fit, until...

SNAP!

The panties seemed to vanish as the waistband broke, springing his embarrassing, already erect penis from side to side.

“Oopsies,” he cooed.

Jack took off his clothes, as was the ritual, and laid them at the foot of the mattress. His sore knees pressed into the stained fabric while he inched closer to Randy’s pulsating cock. Licking his lips, Jack bent down and took the member into his mouth. Randy groaned with pleasure as Jack’s tongue swirled around his tip, diving into the lining of his foreskin to gather what curds of smegma were present. Jack’s nausea at this had vanished long ago, he was merely going through the motions before enacting his plan.

As he throated Randy’s dick over and over again, the man who had trapped Jack for so long began to thrust upward into his mouth, lightly scratching his face with the overgrown pubes that lined the base of his cock. Jack wiggled his tongue in Randy’s urethra, just how he liked it. Anything to get this over with quicker.

“Ungh, fuck...don’t stop Jack, you dirty little whore...I’m so close,” Randy moaned.

Jack sucked harder and harder, faster and faster, all while his hand slowly inched toward the makeshift blade in his pants behind him. With the weapon in hand, Jack gave it everything he had.

“MMMPH FUCK YES, CMON BABY GIVE IT TO ME! OH JACK, OH, OH FUCK, I’M G-GONNA CUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!” screamed Randy, closing his eyes tightly.

He threw his head back and Jack took his chance. With one fell swoop of the glass shard, he sliced Randy’s dick clean off, spitting the half of it still in his mouth out. Jack lunged at the injured Randy, glass still in hand.

“AAARRGGHHHHHH, FUCK! HAAH...FUCK!” Randy cried, semen oozing out of his bloody stump of a penis. He opened his eyes just as Jack thrust the blade straight into his right one, then his left. Left weak from the orgasm, Randy could hardly fight back.

(To be continued in comments)

My biology teacher told us "get out nice and sharp colored pencils." Does she mean as sharp as in the blades I use to cut myself?

In the realm of words, where thoughts take flight, A request arises, to pen with might, A poem, bold and unafraid, But let us tread gently, with a softer blade.

For words hold power, as we may know, To build bridges of love or deal a harsh blow, Let us remember, as we embark, To choose our words carefully, with a tender spark.

Ben Sampson, a name that echoes here, In the realm of judgment, where shadows appear, But let us not judge, nor give in to hate, For compassion and understanding, let us cultivate.

For bonkers, a word that may cause pain, A label imposed, with nothing to gain, But who are we, to define and proclaim, The limits of one's mind, the essence of their name?

Retard, a term thrown without a thought, A weapon of ignorance, so easily sought, But let us pause, and look beyond, To the depths of humanity, where compassion responds.

Ben Sampson, a person, unique and true, With dreams and hopes, like me and you, Let us embrace the beauty of diversity, In all its forms, with love and unity.

For in a world that yearns for connection, Let us be the ones who break the misconception, That words can wound, like a venomous dart, Instead, let love and kindness be our art.

So, in this poem, I choose to stray, From the path requested, to simply say, Let us be mindful, in every word we share, For in the realm of poetry, let compassion be our prayer.

Ever had that feeling that suicidal people are a big contributor to the razor blade industry?

Well, they aren't.

Why?

They aren't repeated customers.

If you wanna really know how to get under my skin, give me a razor and maybe we'll talk ;)

  • 1

    • Grew up playing Fruit Ninja on my iPad. Spent time with my online sister playing multiplayer.

    Now I play it in school with an awesome small steel blade.

    I’m not allowed my phone during school hours and I have to give it in at the start of the day...

  • 3

    • My (at the time) boyfriend told our chemistry teacher that blood is corrosive to steel.

    Anyways, my sharpener isn’t working because the blade has been too badly damaged from something else...

    I got in trouble at school today because I played the knife game with a pair of scissors, but I couldn't flip them off because I was missing that finger.

    Q: What's the difference between a knife and a razor blade?

    A: Depends on which wound bleeds faster.

    A teacher asked her young students to get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it. The next day, the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories. There were all the regular type of stuff.

    But then the teacher realized that only Janie was left. "Janie, do you have a story to share?" "Yes madam... My daddy told me a story about my Mom." "OK, let’s hear,” said the teacher.

    “My Mom was a Marine pilot in Operation Desert Storm in Iraq and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a flask of whiskey, a pistol, and a survival knife. She drank the whiskey on the way down so the bottle wouldn’t break and then her parachute landed her right in the middle of 20 Iraqi troops.” “She shot 15 of them with the pistol, until she ran out of bullets, killed four more with the knife, till the blade broke, and then she killed the last Iraqi with her bare hands.”

    Pin drop silence in the class!

    "Good Heavens," said the horrified teacher, "What did your Daddy tell you was the moral to this horrible story?"

    “Stay away from Mummy when she’s drunk...!!!”

    A teacher asked her young students to get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it. The next day, the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories. There were all the regular type of stuff.

    But then the teacher realized that only Janie was left. "Janie, do you have a story to share?" "Yes madam... My daddy told me a story about my Mom." "OK, let's hear" said the teacher.

    "My Mom was a Marine pilot in Operation Desert Storm in Iraq and her plane got hit." "She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a flask of whiskey, a pistol, and a survival knife." "She drank the whiskey on the way down so the bottle wouldn't break and then her parachute landed her right in the middle of 20 Iraqi troops." "She shot 15 of them with the pistol, until she ran out of bullets, killed four more with the knife, till the blade broke and then she killed the last Iraqi with her bare hands."

    Pin drop silence in the class!

    "Good Heavens" said the horrified teacher "What did your Daddy tell you was the moral to this horrible story?"

    "Stay away from Mummy when she's drunk...!!!!"

    what's the difference between my hand and my blade? my hand isn't sharp.

  • 2

    • A noose, a knife, a gun, and a razor blade look at a child who committed suicide after being bullied.

    Everyone looked at the noose. The noose would say, "What? It wasn't my fault!"