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Found 4 results

  1. 465 downloads

    So here is the classic Pinky Violence film, its got a lot of gore and violence with Schoolgirls and features on wetting scene as well, Here is the link from Patches with the wetting scenes flagged: http://174.133.81.218:8080/pml/full.do?movieId=TerrifyingGirlsHighSchool Enjoy everyone! Rach
    Free
  2. 995 downloads

    This is classic Japanese Pinky porn violence. Patches provides this link: http://174.133.81.218:8080/pml/full.do?movieId=TerrifyingGirlsHighSchool Which has a link to the wetting scene, but as I've talked about elsewhere, I like seeing the whole thing, I can't find subtitles to this one so I'm not sure whats going on, if someone does I would be much obliged! Basically http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0451788/ Schoolgirls being violent to one another, empowering to women? Hard to say. In the scene girls force this one girl to drink lots of water and then prevent her from leaving class, she eventually wets herself and is terribly shamed. The scene is decently long and the rest of the film is VERY VIOLENT. Enjoy. Rachel
    Free
  3. Thorn177

    Chapter 3

    Spider-Man doesn’t like us. He didn’t want tacos. Exactly. Who doesn’t want tacos? He hates us, just like everybody else does. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Wade groans, ‘will you quit it with the angsty emo bullshit already? It doesn’t matter! I don’t expect him to like me.’ The chair Wade is sitting in was salvaged from a junkyard, one of the few pieces of furniture in his apartment. It’s full of mystery stains, and all the febreeze in the world couldn’t make it not smell like ass, but it’s comfortable enough. Less so when his mind refuses to leave him alone, though. Face it Wilson. No matter how much we want to be a hero, no one will ever accept us as one. Wade sighs exasperatedly. ‘Seriously, do I have to blow my own brains out to get some peace and quiet around here?’ Probably. ‘Fine!’ Wade stands up from his chair abruptly and stalks over to his weapons locker, next to the mattress he (sometimes) sleeps on. He pulls out the shiny new handgun he lifted from that crate in the trafficking ring’s warehouse, releases the safety, and presses the barrel to the underside of his chin. Really? We’re actually doing this? ‘Half an hour of blissful silence while my brain grows back? Worth it.’ He pulls the trigger. ————— His first conscious thought is that it’s going to be a total bitch to clean the brain matter off the ceiling. The second is that the soreness in his jaw where the bone is resetting feels kind of good. The third is the realisation that it’s light outside, which means he’s been out for a couple of hours. The equivalent of a good night’s sleep for him. He feels strangely rejuvenated as he sits up from where he fell on the floor. Wade feels the back of his head. It’s a little squishy still, but otherwise healed. He gets to his feet with a groan and a stretch and walks to the bathroom. He glances at himself in the grimy mirror, just long enough to see that his jaw and neck are splattered with dried blood. A shower, then. He listens while he gets undressed, listens to his mind. It’s quiet. Wade opens the cabinet above the sink, more to not have to see his own reflection than anything else. He finds a rusted razor blade on a shelf inside. ‘Is it still self-harm if you don’t actually take any harm from it?’ he wonders out loud, picking up the razor blade. There’s no reply. ‘So, my brain’s giving me the silent treatment, is that it?’ He cuts a gash across his chest with the razor and watches it heal over flawlessly, leaving the same scarred and blotchy skin behind. It seems like an oxymoron that his healing factor can heal any new wound he gets without leaving a mark, but can’t put his skin back the way it used to be. Wade gets in the shower. The water shifts between boiling and freezing. Old shitty pipes in an old shitty building. Still, the changes in temperature are oddly stimulating. He cleans off the blood and grime, until the water pooling in the bottom of the tub is rust coloured and opaque. With no one to talk to and no interruptions, Wade’s mind wanders and eventually ends up in the only logical place: thinking about Spider-Man. Wade has seen the lower part of his face exposed, so he knows him to have fair skin and pink, soft-looking lips. He’s even felt that smooth skin under his fingertips, when he changed their costumes around last year. It’s more than enough to work with, and he takes himself in hand. It’s been a while, so it doesn’t take very long, not when he’s imagining Spidey’s pink lips on his body, and he comes with a gasp. Fuck yeah, Spidey, suck my hard cock, bitch! ‘Knew it was too good to be true,’ Wade mutters, cleaning the cum off his hand in the shower stream. ‘And don’t talk about Spider-Man that way, okay? He’s nobody’s bitch.’ Dat ass, though. Dat ass! ‘Dat ass,’ Wade agrees wistfully. He turns off the water and gets out of the shower. If he stays in his apartment all day he’ll just end up blowing his own brains out again, in all its futility, so he dresses in civvies—jeans and a Captain America hoodie to cover as much of his face as possible without his mask—and steps outside into the brisk, autumnal New York morning. Breakfast is definitely the way to go. Preferably pancakes. ————— So, we get off on violence, we get off on the adrenaline high of a good fight. That’s old news. But pain? Dude, pain sucks! ‘Hey, don’t ask me to explain it,’ Wade mutters to himself as he strolls through the streets of Manhattan. ‘I’m not a shrink.’ A few people look at him curiously. (Probably tourists—real New Yorkers are damn near pathological about minding their own business.) In this day and age of bluetooth, you’d think people would be used to other people seemingly talking to themselves. A need to feel, perhaps? A way to battle the boring numbness and repetitiveness of invulnerability. We’re not invulnerable, doofus, we just heal real fast. Wade stops in front of a news stand. The Bugle has a way too good picture of Spider-Man on the front page, under some headline about masked vigilantes and how they’re bad for New York. But giving ourselves pain isn’t really enough, is it? Logical next step: wanting someone else to give us pain. Hence goading Spider-Man into that punch last night. He picks up the paper and scans the front page without really reading. ’A gamble. Either I’d have gotten that kiss, which would have been awesome, or he would have punched me, which, also pretty awesome.’ Wade sighs and puts the paper back, resuming his aimless ramble. ‘Man, I’d like to spar with him . . . If you know what I mean.’ Ooh, we should do that next time we see him! It’s better if it’s natural, though. If we piss him off first so he doesn’t hold back. ‘He’ll always hold back. Hero, remember?’ He stops at a hotdog stand. It hasn’t been long since breakfast, but then again, hotdogs. No other reason needed, really. Setting off again he munches the hotdog happily. Nothing like meat in his mouth to cheer him up. So, if we’re into pain . . . Does that mean when we get turned on after a fight, it’s really the pain that turns us on? Fighting turns us on whether we get injured or not. True enough. Wade ignores his boxes and instead focuses on savouring the taste of cheap yellow mustard. The mustard’s his favourite part. If he adds enough it makes his nose tingle. He takes the subway. Not because he wants to go anywhere in particular, but because it feels like the thing to do. Days are boring. Days usually involve watching TV, but his new place doesn’t have one yet. ‘Maybe I should buy a TV.’ Buy a TV? You mean, spend money on one? Why? Because heroes don’t steal. Duh. Heroes pay for stuff. Seems like a waste of money . . . Wade’s thoughts are interrupted when he hears a scuffle towards the back of a subway car. Three tall, burly teenage boys are surrounding a third, smaller one. One of them shoves the kid backwards into a seat while another cracks his knuckles menacingly at him. By the looks of them, they should all be in high school. Cutting class, no doubt. Wade stands up and saunters over to the group, listening in on their conversation. ‘You either pay up or we take it out in blood, shrimp!’ the closest one growls. ‘B-but,’ the smaller kid stutters, ‘I haven’t got any money! Y-you took it all last week, and I won’t get any more until—’ ‘Shut up!’ the one who shoved him snaps, and lands a punch in the kid’s stomach. The victim lets out an ‘Oof!’ as the air is knocked out of him, and screws up his brown eyes, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. He swats them away with a brown hand. ‘Aww, widdle baby!’ the third of his tormentors taunts. ‘Hey!’ says Wade cheerfully, clapping his hand down on the shoulder of the closest bully. ‘Just a suggestion, but I really think you guys should leave the kid alone.’ ‘Oh yeah?’ The largest of the bullies squares his shoulders. ‘And who’s gonna make us?’ ‘I am!’ says Wade, smiling. ‘You and whose army?’ one of the others asks. Wade drops his hood. Two of the bullies recoil in horror as his bald, scarred head is revealed, but the third, the largest, stands his ground. ‘Motherfucker!’ he exclaims. ‘Did you get hit by the ugly train, or what?’ ‘Oh,’ says Wade, unfazed, ‘you wanna know how I got like this? Let me show you!’ He reaches down the back of his jeans and pulls out his handgun. Without blinking, he releases the safety and presses the barrel to the bully’s forehead. The change is instantaneous. Every hint of bravado vanishes from his face. His blue eyes go wide and scared, and he starts trembling. ‘No! God, please, no, I don’t wanna die!’ ‘Apologise,’ says Wade calmly. ‘All right! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me!’ the boy sobs, real tears streaming down his face. Judging by the smell, he’s already shit himself. The subway train slows, pulling into a station. Wade lifts his gun and says, ‘Get the fuck out of here!’ As the bullies run off the train like bats out of hell, Wade calmly puts the safety back on and returns the gun to its make-shift holster. The subway doors close and the train starts moving again, and Wade looks down at the kid on the floor. The boy looks up at him with wide chocolate eyes. He looks scared. ‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t really gonna shoot him,’ says Wade, pulling his hood back up and returning his face to shadow. ‘I don’t kill kids, even if they deserve it. That’s just not me.’ He turns away and starts walking back towards his seat. By the looks of the handful of passengers who witnessed the scene, though, he should probably get off at the first opportunity, before someone thinks to call the cops. ‘Hey,’ says a quavery voice behind him. ‘H-hey, mister!’ Wade stops and turns his head to look at the kid, who’s now picked himself up off the floor and is dusting himself off. ‘Th-thanks,’ the kid stutters, and a blush creeps into his cheeks. Wade is so surprised by this it takes him a moment to find his voice. Once he does, he says, ‘No problem, kid. You, uh . . . You stay in school, okay?’ The train pulls into the next station, and Wade gets off quickly, disappearing into the crowd of commuters.
  4. Set as a prequel to the the Tron: Legacy movie. I apologize upfront for any movie inaccuracies up front. This is based on my presumption that programs use the bathroom since they obviously eat and drink. Enjoy. Where was I? Who was I? The effects were immediate on the beautiful program. One second she was herself, the next she was gone. Her memory swiped. She knew basic things. She was on the grid. Clue was in charge. She was a stray That was fairly obvious. Anything personal from her memory no longer existed. Her name, her friends, her job. gone. Judging by her attire-She was dressed in a skintight, seductive black suit that was designed slightly differently than typical programs attire-she most likely was a siren at one point. But after losing her disc she was nothing but an amnesiac. She did know one thing personal to herself for sure. She must have been holding in her urine for a long time, judging by the sharp pain inher bladder and the prickling sensation in her urethra of pent up pee. She blushed softly. That wasn't important though. The bright search light sweeping towards her, however, was important. Her legs trembled as she ran. However she didn't stand a chance, and soon the light had over taken her. Peices of the grid sank around her, isolating her on a single octagonal pillar. Her heat fell as she gazed upwards. I'm going to be deresed. Her hope of survival had fleeted in moments. The grid had no room for strays. They were corruptible and disrupted the order of things. Prehaps I could get lucky. Survive the games. The games, were almost worse than simply being deresed. Though death wasn't as certain in the games, it would be painful if you died. Deresolution itself was a typically painless process. However when acted upon by a light weapon, it almost always hurt. The games were a terrifying event and no one ever hoped for it. The program began to squirm violently,not wanting to wet herself and prove she was worth less than the typical stray. I need the games. She thought oddly enough. She had a will to survive uncommon to programs in general. She stiffened up as the squarish arch landed, leaving her in the center of both legs. Within seconds the police apprehended the stray and she was locked up along with a group of stays. With limited movements due to the restrains she fought ever so desperately to contain her bladder by jiggling her legs, curling her toes and balling her fists and made subtle squirming motions as they approached the landing zone. Finally the restrains were released, though no one dared to move. A single guard marched from left to right, inspecting each prisoner. Before moving on to the next stray he would announce "Deres." or "Games." The has been siren stiffened up, as the guard approached her. While she kept her body calm and reserved, hot pee began to leak out and cascade down her thighs. The golden liquid slowly seeped into the fabric, but gave no visible sign of the occurrence. "Games." He announced. She was given a temporary sensation as relief as she stemmed the flow of urine, not losing even half her capacity before another pair of guards took her by her arms an led her to a circular platform. Binds snapped over her feet and the platform descended. As soon as she was out of sight she began to squirm violently, with her feet bound she forced her hands against her lap. She doubled over and moaned softly until she emerged in a room. Three corners of the room lit up and three beautiful woman, two dark skinned and one pale brunette quickly assessed her, before making slight alterations to her costume. The missing fourth siren proved her suspicions, that she used to be a siren. They quickly placed a new disc on her back, causing her eyes to briefly flash and a long spurt released into her white panties. Finally they showed her reflection in a mirror. She gave herself a once over. She had a slender, yet voluptuous body, covered by a skin tight white suit with blue neon lines lacing along her body. Her hair was light blonde and done up in a fashionable bun, her skin practically glowing, slight glitter spread out along her flesh. Bright blue mascara surrounded her equally as blue eyes. her sleeves were detached from the rest of her suite, giving a tiny glimpse at her toned arms. Her legs were long and equally as toned, the shoes built into her suit were based off wedge shoes and gave her more height. She approved. She made her way towards the door when a dark skinned girl caught her arm. "Laraa... be careful." Laraa nodded as information slowly surged through her body as her life was redesigned. re-purposed, and her current purpose was too survive. She remained solemn as she headed out and was instantly transported to a rectangular prism, floating above an arena. Opposite of her was another program. Her opponent. Above her and below her were several other prisms. She didn't have much time to take it in as the games began. She was honestly glad to be allowed to move freely, the movement helped her contain her pent up urine as she made, desperate pacing movements. Her opponent made the first move, launching her disc for her head. Her left slid left, at a diagonal angle, her right leg bent and her left hand planted between her legs. She disc passed above her head, ricocheted across several wall before returning to the other program. She hopped upwards as another spurt was released. He hurtled her own disc back downwards. It skimmed his ankles sending blue-ish shards flying. The program howled in pain as the disc returned to Laraa, the rest of the battle was tipped in the favor of Laraa as she quickly won. The rest of her opponents fell by her hand, with varying degrees of difficulty. Finally she was the final program and had the honor of versing Rizzler. TH=here arena resembled a cross and was much larger than her previous battlefield. She studied the angles possible for her to attack from. She didn't get much of her assement done before she had to clamp down on her third leak since the games began. Then the final round began. Rizzler didn't waste anytime hesitating. Her split his disc into two and sent both flying towards Laraa. She dodged his flurry of attacks, not getting any of her own in. Instead she spent her time dodging and running. While helpful to her bursting bladder, it proved to only prolong the inevitable. A disc sliced a strand of her own hair, tiny shards hailed to the grid. Fear contracted and even more urine seeped into her suit, the warmth lasting long after that. She took an opportunity to send her disc in an ark towards Rizzler's feet. It shattered the platform below him, sending him falling. However at the last second he grasped the edge of the hole. He hung suspended, at Laraa's mercy. Laraa approached his position with avseductive sway to her hip as an alarm sound. Her face was smug as she knelt down near his handhold. She drew her disc prepared to slice his fingers when the arena flipped. She landed on her back with a thud. Rizzler landed in a kneel, his legs straddling her body and his right hand grasping a disc, hanging it above her face threateningly. Those events that occurred in the few seconds caused her bladder to give out. Hot pee poured out of her urethra, soaking through her panties and rolling across the groin area between her legs as it began to pool beneath her shapely butt. The hot pee began to spread down her legs and up the bottom of her back as it slowly seeped into the fabric of her suit. There was a distinct trickle sound as the urine flowed from her urethra forcefully and even began to darken the outside of the fabric as the suit couldn't hold the amount of liquid and a puddle began to pool between her legs. The puddle was small but noticeable. However Rizzler wasn't focused on that detail. He was more concerned with the strange reaction from the crowd. They called for Rizzler to spare her. He reluctantly obliged and helped Laraa to her feet as she was escorted to Clu. They were transported to his headquarters above the arena where Clu was waiting them with an amused smiled. "You are very lucky..." "Laraa." She spoke. "Right. Well miss Laraa, the audience seems to enjoy your performance, aside from your lack of bladder control." He said examining the dark glistening patch along her inner thighs and crotch. "However, you are not free from the cycle. Each cycle you will be apart of the games. Granted you will no longer go against Rizzler. However you will not be spared again. You will live in luxury between each cycle, so enjoy it." Laraa nodded reluctantly. She was then escorted to a hotel, given a large and sleek suite where she would live. Once the guards were gone she stripped from her clothing, still warm with urine. She tossed them aside and slipped into a shower, wishing she could once again forget who she was. I hope you enjoyed this. Please leave feedback:)
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