XPost: tor.general, soc.culture.canada   
   From: LisaMcVay-Henske@anti.KenMcVay.com   
      
   Why Does McVay Openly Support Kiddie Porn - Is He Also A  Kiddie Diddler?   
   Will He Soon LOSE the  OBC from B.C. Government?   
      
   Was McVay kicked out of US Army because of kiddie molesting?   
      
   Why Did Harry Mazal & SAAF give McVay hundreds of thousands of dollars?   
   Hmmm.... To pay for McVay's perversions maybe?   
      
   James Fenimoore  May 27 2007, 4:13 pm   
   On Sun, 27 May 2007 23:11:15 +0200,   
      
   Anonymous  wrote:   
   >Subject: My Master holds the rope just so by Sara Salzman   
   >From: Anonymous   
   >Date: Sun, 27 May 2007 23:11:15 +0200   
   >Message-ID:   
   >Bytes: 5834   
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   >Organization: Bananasplit - Mail2News   
   >Path:news5.newsguy.com!extra.newsguy.com!out.nntp.be!sp6iad.superfeed.net!   
   >news-in2.newsgroups.com!news.bananasplit.info!mail2news-x2!mail2news   
   >Newsgroups: alt.revisionism,soc.culture.jewish   
   >Comments: This message did not originate from the Sender address above.   
   > It was remailed automatically by anonymizing remailer software.   
   > Please report problems or inappropriate use to the   
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   >X-Newsreader: trn 4.0-test76 (Apr 2, 2001)   
   >X-Originator: kmcvay @ shell.vex.net (Kenneth McVay OBC)   
      
   Did anyone notice what I noticed about the headers?   
   Another proof that the Jews and their allies post such   
   stuff to prove their victimhood and to get sympathy.   
   Looks like Kenneth McBray got careless this time.   
      
   JF   
      
   >Cc: mail2n...@bananasplit.info, mail2n...@news.demon.co.uk,   
   mail2n...@news.gradwell.net, mail2n...@nym.alias.net   
   >X-Abuse-Contact: ab...@bananasplit.info   
   >Xref: news5.newsguy.com alt.revisionism:1596418 soc.culture.jewish:1801795   
   >X-Received-Date: Sun, 27 May 2007 17:11:47 EDT (beE1)   
   >My Master holds the rope just so by Sara Salzman   
      
   >He knows me. Knows my moods. Knows the fear behind my eyes, both real and   
   >imagined.   
      
   >Those eyes widen as he gently lays the rope down, as he carefully,   
   >methodically, systematically, lays the toys down on the bed.   
      
   >Soft moans escape from behind gagged lips. I have been told to watch.   
   >To see each and know that soon each will touch me.   
      
   >He looks up briefly as he lays each down on the bed. Checking reactions.   
   >Watching.   
      
   >The short whip. A sigh.   
   >The deerskin. The suede.   
      
   >The small braided thong, the one that stings. A short moan.   
      
   >The horsehair that stings but never marks.   
      
   >The canes. The paddles. A pause.   
      
   >I wait, knowing.   
      
   >The small velvet bag that holds clamps. Clamps too severe for my breasts,   
   >yet applied anyway.   
      
   >A gasp. And then his smile.   
      
   >He knows me. He knows I will take the pain to please him. He knows the   
   >sacrifice I make to his Gods of Pain. He sees the torment in my eyes. The   
   >desire to please. The love. The fear of the pain.   
      
   >My Master holds the rope just so.   
      
   >Through his fingers, around my wrists, making delicate rings softer than   
   >steel. Stronger than steel. One on each wrist, a gentle bracelet that is   
   >soon pulled tight, stretched to the bedposts and wrapped tightly. One on   
   >each ankle. No matter how I tighten my muscles as he wraps the rope, still   
   >it is perfectly tight. The circulation moves.   
   >The ankle does not.   
      
   >I lie face-up on the bed, my body a perfect X. Face up. Oh, Goddess, he's   
   >going to whip my breasts.   
      
   >But first, two small wooden clothespins bob before my eyes. I turn my   
   >head, remember I am instructed to watch, turn back. The clothespins bite   
   >the delicate flesh of each nipple. Grasp. Sting. Burn. He waits.   
      
   >My Master knows me. Knows he can whip me, clothespins and all. Knows the   
   >pain, where it will hurt the most, what I can and cannot take.   
   >He waits.   
      
   >The burning increases as the pins are removed. Ah, he will not whip me   
   >with clothespins in place. But the moment when I was unsure, when the   
   >blood pounded in my temples and the fear covered me like a shroud, then he   
   >watched my eyes.   
      
   >The whip falls. Which one is it now? I cannot turn my head to see which he   
   >reaches for. But I know them all. I arch my back, try to stay still.   
      
   >My Master knows me. Knows I will hold position as long as possible, before   
   >the pain forces me to writhe, to turn, to try in vain to shield my   
   >breasts. Knows the moment when I can no longer stay still. And precisely   
   >then, says gently, "Don't move."   
      
   >My Master holds the rope just so. Gently tugging at the knots, to release   
   >arms and legs from bondage. Gently unwraps each wrist, each ankle. Rubs   
   >each, and kisses the places where the rope has left its mark. The gag is   
   >removed. I swallow.   
      
   >"Kneel."   
      
   >I crouch on the bed, head down, ass up, as he mounts the bed behind me.   
   >His hands caress my ass softly, then spank sharply. Slowly, quickly, his   
   >hand falls upon my ass. I wait for the moment, the pain/pleasure as he   
   >will enter me. But not yet. First a gentle tapping, soft touch, as he   
   >marks the place the cane will fall. I brace myself, plead with myself to   
   >hold position, knowing each stroke brings a fire hotter than any flame.   
      
   >Five strokes. Six. I have not moved. As the pain from each begins to   
   >subside, a soft, half-sob. "Thank you, Master."   
      
   >Eight. Nine. My knees give out, and I fall to the bed, sobbing. But   
   >immediately back on my knees again. "Thank you, Master."   
      
   >Ten. I am aware of nothing, save the pain. And his voice, as I am   
   >commanded to orgasm, not from stimulation, not from his fingers or his   
   >cock, but from pain alone. My body responds without hesitation. My   
   >pleasure is screamed out for his pleasure.   
      
   >Later, I will feel his cock inside me. I will feel the force as he thrusts   
   >deep into me, bruising the tender flesh with his strength. Later I will   
   >come, and come, and come, but only by his command. Later, we will lie   
   >back, exhausted, as he cradles me in his arms, strokes me gently, whispers   
   >in my ear.   
      
   >But not yet.   
      
   >Now he rises from the bed, returns to the toys so carefully laid out   
   before   
   >me.   
      
   >My Master holds the rope just so.   
      
   >finis   
      
   >Ms. Salzman has served on the board of The Holocaust History Project,   
   >has been a contributor of articles to The Nizkor Project, has aided   
   >B'nai Brith and the Anti-Defamation League in their fight against   
   >Holocaust Denial and anti-semitism. Ms. Salzman is a resident of   
   >the Denver, Colorado area. Ms. Salzman's first hand expertise in torture   
   >techniques and her immense knowledge of Nazi atrocities inspired her   
   >to compose the artistic work featured above.   
   >http://groups.google.com/group/soc.culture.jewish/msg/b5ef4abf9b586f0...   
      
   >Contact Info of Authoress   
      
   >Sara D. Salzman   
   >4015 S Killarney Way   
   >Aurora, CO 80013   
   >United States   
   >Tel 303 617 9412   
   >http://www.westword.com/issues/2000-08-10/news/feature3_4.gif   
      
      
   James Fenimoore   May 28 2007, 12:31 am   
      
   On Mon, 28 May 2007 16:17:10 +1000,   
   ,   
   "Binjamin Cram'er"  wrote:   
   > wrote in message   
   >news:a%s6i.31021$UD2.22465@trnddc05...   
   >> Interesting how there's no proof she wrote it....   
   >> (or, even if she did, how it refutes NOTHING she's ever said....)   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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