#lupanare

[hellenic-whore]

Mt Vesuvius about to make me a vast avatar-

@emperornero

Also I went in the brothel

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Il Mattino di Oggi lunedì, 26 agosto 2024

[valentina-lauricella]

Da "Partitura" di Enzo Moscato (1988)

L'origine della controversa scena del lupanare ("S'agapò") nel film "Il giovane favoloso"

Hic Moritur Angelus: l'ho detto ccà schiatta 'o Ranavuottolo Il Rospo forestiero brutto, che scrive d'idilli e di splendide Aspasie Ccà iette 'o sanghe lo Scriba, maleodorante e scartellato, l'èlève des Materialistes, trainè a la chaine fino agli arenili azzurri fino ai sassi più consunti del golfo delle Bugie! Napoli, sono io il tuo prezioso ago nel pagliaio sono io l'anonimo, il nascosto, l'introvabile. Sono io questa carne queste ossa questi pensieri da giocare al lotto, edificante meraviglia di me si cerca, quando si cerca, una tomba, nu fuosso da nessuna parte posti. Mi faranno autopsie lo sai. Sono io l'incerta Graziella, suicida dalle rupi di Vivara io, la Ginestra, 'e pontone, muta. Io, lo schernito disgustoso sembiante dei diari d'amore di Rainer quell'amico, mio infermiere, mio aguzzino. […] Ho spesso pregato in cuor mio che Rainer - il mio ineffabile amico - l'esule impuro che trascrive i miei pensieri - non mi trascinasse, qualche sera, su quella casa ai Ventaglieri - quel lupanare dal lumicino rosso sul davanzale di finestra. Le donnacce già mi aspettavano ansiose, sedute, ma, dovrei dire meglio, sguaiatamente aperte su delle poltroncine ricamate. Ridevano e sgranocchiavano dolciumi, squadrandomi da capo a piedi con la falsa ironica pietà che si porge ad un cadavere, già attardatosi a crepare parecchio. Capii subito che Rainer le aveva informate di tutto. Addirittura leggevo nei loro sguardi i nomi scritti dei miei bizzarri, infelici amori: Fanny, Gertrude, Teresa, e i capoversi, le righe, le cancellature del mio tradito dolore. Feci l'atto di alzarmi dalla sedia, dove mi avevano costretto a guardarle divertirsi, quando una di esse mi prese la mano e "Allora?" mi disse, indicandomi una porta, "Llà??". Aveva le labbra dipinte di viola, gli occhi fieramente bistrati; un sesso decapitato, dalle calze rosa, ornate d'oro, rettile, impudico frutto dei mercati di questa città, innominabile. "S'agapò! S'agapò!" gli aveva suggerito di sospirarmi Rainer a perfido spregio del mio amore per la lingua e il mito dei greci "S'agapò, pauetà, s'agapò" e mi venne dietro oltre la porta oltre la risata delle sue grasse amiche e di Rainer gli occhi intontiti dal rosolio e dal fumo dei sigari E questa esclamazione di sfottente, indecente amore "S'agapò" questa pernacchia alla mia gobba questo epitaffio pagato in anticipo ai miei restanti giorni si sparse ben presto per i vicoli, come un eco pulcinellesca per la salita di Spezzano, per l'ansa di Pontecorvo per lo spiazzo della Cesàrea su, su, fino al vicolo del Pero, dovunque lo sberleffo del mio turpe persecutore/persecutrice fece adepti, ciurmaglia canora: "S'agapò, s'agapò, s'agapò" tarantellavano gli scugnizzi arrancandomi dietro "S'agapò, s'agapò, s'agapò…s'agapò s'agapò s'agapò" e neppure sapevano che volesse dire ti amo o che nella più viva delle carni iniettassero quel grido come il più indelebile veleno.

[museum-of-artifacts]

Lupanar (Brothel) Sign, Pompeii :

In Pompeii; Penises can be found not only as graffiti roughly drawn and carved onto public walls, but built into the roads as well.

It is guessed that phallic symbols on the streets point towards nearest brothel, to direct foreign sailors who may be heavily intoxicated and/or unable to speak the local language.

Blog https://bio.link/museumofartifacts

[munstysmind]

WARNING/S: non-con, rape, loss of virginity, rough sex, rough vaginal sex, rough oral sex, rough anal sex, unprotected sex, multiple men, blood, assault, abuse, slavery, trauma, threats of forced prostitution, mentions of kidnapping/abduction, mentions of death, mentions or murder, mentions of injuries, mentions of suicide. If I’ve missed anything, please let me know.

DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT

THIS IS A DARK FIC, DO NOT READ IF THIS TYPE OF CONTENT TRIGGERS OR OFFENDS YOU.

You and you alone are responsible for what you choose to consume online.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Thank you to @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure for being my ideas gremlin, and @themaradwrites for beta-ing. This wouldn’t have been written without your help.

MAIN MASTERLIST

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CH. 1 - THEIR REWARD

{54 BC}

Her heart pounds in her chest as she slowly walks down the hall towards the man she despises more than anything in this world.

Dominus Julius Fabius. Her owner. Her master.

She wishes she could stick him in the neck with a dagger and watch him bleed to death, just like all the men he condemns when he forces them into the arena.

He’s pure evil.

The kind of evil Orcus uses to make an example of. The God of punishment and the Underworld is going to have fun with her master when he passes into the afterlife.

She’s lost count of how long it’s been. Five years? Probably more, if she’s being honest with herself. She doesn’t even know who she is anymore.

Except her name.

Amina.

To everyone around her, she’s a thing. An object meant to do as she’s told. No exceptions.

She runs her finger along the cold iron bolted around her neck, her slave collar.

Thirty coins. That’s what he paid for her. She didn’t know you could put a price on someone’s life but that’s what hers was worth, thirty whole coins.

“There you are girl” he growls as he grabs her wrist tightly and drags her towards a door at the end of the hall “I’m in a right mind to give you a lashing for making me wait”

“I’m sorry, they… they wanted to make sure everything was perfect” she mumbles, keeping her eyes on the floor to help hide her tears as she recalls the looks of pity on the faces of the women who got her ready.

She knows they know what her Master’s plans are, and she suspects the reason they took so long was to keep her from her fate for as long as they possibly could.

“I don’t care. Those fighters in there won me a lot of denarii today. You’re going to let them do whatever they want to you. All. Night” her master tells her, getting so close to her she can feel his warm, vile breath across her face.

“I… I’ve never…” she stammers, her eyes going wide as she realises what he’s saying.

“I know. I know you’ve never laid with a man before, they checked you when I brought you. That’s why I chose you” he says, a smirk spreading across his face. “Maybe I should put you in the Lupanar and whore you out after they’ve broken you in. Gods know you’d make me a fortune”

It takes everything in her not to turn and run as fast as she can as she swallows down the bile rising in her throat.

It would be pointless though, there’s guards everywhere. She wouldn’t make it to the end of the hall before they caught her. She’d be guaranteed a lashing too, a public one at that. Just like Vesta.

“I mean it girl. You’re theirs tonight. I don’t care if it hurts… in fact, I want it to. A lot” he whispers, pulling out a small dagger and cutting one of the shoulders of her dress, exposing her breast.

He runs the dagger tip over her nipple, pressing it into the sensitive bud until it breaks the skin, making her let out a small whimper of pain.

“If you resist, or put up a fight, you’ll be punished, and it’ll be much worse than what they’re going to do” he growls before pushing her into the room.

She can’t help but flinch as the large wooden door is slammed in her face, the echo of the metal latch being closed ringing in her ears.

She just stands there, staring at it as she takes shuddery breaths.

She knows what’s about to happen. What she’s about to go through. And there’s nothing she can do about it.

She’s trapped.

Locked in a room with three blood covered fighters.

Their reward for winning their master 5000 coin.

She’s their prize.

“Turn around” a deep voice commands, making her jump.

She closes her eyes, praying to the Gods that she wakes up from this nightmare as she slowly turns around.

She sees the man the voice belongs to and her breath catches in her throat as she fights back tears.

He’s the one who killed her brother.

Champion gladiator August.

“Name” he growls, slowly approaching her with a look similar to the lions in the arena before they attack.

“Am… Amina” she stammers, stumbling back against the door as he towers over her.

She can smell death on him. The twang of iron, of blood. Was it her brothers?

Her stomach churns at the thought and she wants to be sick.

“Amina” he repeats “honest, faithful. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman”

Under any other circumstance she might have smiled and thanked him for his compliment, just like she was taught, but not this time. She just can’t.

“I like to know their names before I take what I want” he tells her with a smirk.

He remembers them, every name. All the women he’s taken this way. Amina’s the latest entry on his ever growing list.

He grabs her dress and tears it off her body, letting the fabric crumple to the floor.

She instinctively tries to cover herself, but he stops her, prying her hands away from her body before grasping her breasts and squeezing.

A grin spreads across his face as he continues to grope her, pinching and rolling her nipples tightly between his fingers, making her whimper in pain.

The noise makes him let out a low growl from deep in his chest and his eyes go dark, almost black.

Before she can fully register what’s happening, he grabs her by the back of her neck and yanks her towards the small table on the other side of the room, forcing her onto her back.

He takes her legs behind the knees and pushes them open, exposing her to not only him, but the other two men in the room who are now standing behind him and looking over his shoulder.

Her stomach churns as she stares at the ceiling, her face burning with embarrassment as she tries to think of anything to distract her from the way he’s inspecting her.

She bites back a whimper as he touches her, his fingers playing with her most intimate area before spreading it open.

He lets out a satisfied hum, a smirk spreading across his face when he sees she’s intact, just like their Master promised.

“I’ve never had a pure one before” he says, to no one in particular as he pinches the small bundle of nerves above her opening, making her gasp loudly.

“They’re my favourite. Oh, the noises they make” one of the other men says excitedly, much to August’s annoyance.

“She’s mine, Lloyd” he growls, glaring at the man before turning his attention back to her, really looking at her for the first time since she entered the room.

And as much as she tries to look away, to look anywhere but the face of the man that’s about to brutalise her, she can't. Her green, terror filled eyes just stare at him, transfixed.

He’s seen her eyes, and that look, before. He knows he has. There’s something so familiar about them and it takes him a minute to place it. The man he killed in the arena a mere hours before. Her brother.

“You’ve got his eyes” he tells her before turning his gaze back between her legs.

She’s so caught up in the flood of emotions at what he just said that she doesn’t notice his finger pushing into her until it’s too late.

She lets out a loud yelp at the sudden pain between her legs, her body instinctively trying to close her legs and move away from the beast of a man in front of her.

He lets out an angry growl and yanks her up by her arm, turning her around and bending her over the table with so much force all the air leaves her lungs when her chest makes contact with the wooden surface.

“Don’t move” he growls, kicking her legs apart with his feet.

She grips the edge of the table, so tightly her fingers hurt, as tears well in her eyes. She prays the talk of his stamina is wrong, that it will be over quickly.

But it won’t.

When he’s done with her, there’s two more waiting.

And they have her all night…

The sound of his armour dropping onto the ground behind her makes her heart pound.

It’s happening.

Right now.

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying her best to relax when she feels him prod at her again, but it doesn’t matter.

He snaps his hips forward and tears into her with force, pulling a scream of pain from her that makes him grin.

In all the beatings she’s gotten over the years, she’s never felt pain like this.

It’s like a searing hot poker being forced into her over and over as she’s split in two.

The tears in her eyes escape and spill onto the table as he thrusts into her, over and over and over again. It feels like the more she cries, the harder his thrusts become.

“Best one I’ve had yet” he grunts as he lays over her, pressing her against the table with his full body weight, and starts grinding into her, moaning loudly in her ear.

He’s enjoying this, getting pleasure out of hurting her. How can he not? He’s a sadistic bastard!

Little does she know she’s not the first woman he’s forced himself into. It’s the whole reason he’s stuck fighting in that gods forsaken arena in the first place. And unless he dies there, she won’t be the last.

“You’re mine now, gonna take you like this whenever I want” he pants, making her let out a loud sob at the thought of him doing this to her over and over.

It all becomes too much and her stomach churns as bile rises in her throat, burning it as she chokes and coughs it up.

His moans start becoming louder as he ruts into her hard, his hips slamming her body into the table over and over and over.

“Oh Gods!” he roars, moaning loudly as his hips stutter then still before he thrusts into her as hard as he can, filling her with a strange warmth.

He says something to her, but she doesn’t hear a word of it, unable to hear anything except the loud ringing in her ears.

She lets out a loud whimper as he pulls out of her before kneeling and pushing her legs wider, smirking at the blood mixed with his spend dripping out of her.

He catches some with his fingers and pushes them inside her, forcing it back into her as she lies on the table, her entire body shaking and twitching from shock as she takes shallow, gasping breaths.

“My turn” the second of the men says, all but pushing August out of the way before grasping her by her hair and pulling her to her feet, making her cry out.

He pushes her to her knees, making quick work of removing his armour as she glances behind him at August drinking wine from a goblet and sees the size of him for the first time, enough to make Priapus himself blush.

She looks back at the second man, terror spreading through her yet again as she comes face to face with his member.

She can’t tell if he’s bigger, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to defile her the same way August did without a care for her.

He hooks his finger into her mouth and forces it open before pushing himself in until she starts to gag.

He holds onto the sides of her head and starts thrusting, hitting the back of her throat with each snap of his hips.

A smirk spreads across his face as he moves one of his hands to the back of her head and forces her down onto him, deep throating her.

He holds her there, moaning at the feeling of the muscles in her throat squeezing him as she chokes.

“We can’t kill her, Lloyd” August warns as she starts scratching at his legs, trying desperately to get air.

He lets out a growl as he pulls himself out of her mouth and slaps her hard across the face before grabbing it and pulling her to her feet.

“You’re going to pay for that” he hisses, manhandling her onto the small bed in the corner of the room.

He climbs on after her, roughly pulling her hips up and slamming into her from behind.

“Gods, I’ve not taken a woman this good in years” he moans, throwing his head back and gripping her hips tightly as he thrusts hard, spurred on by her cries.

“I wonder if her other hole’s just as good?” August says with a smirk, leaning against the table he just had her bent over.

“Let’s find out” Lloyd replies, spitting on her ass. He pulls out and lines himself up with her tiny puckered hole before pushing himself into her, moaning loudly at the muscles squeezing him tightly in an attempt to force him out.

She lets out a shriek of pain, her body going rigid as she tries, and fails, to get away from the man violating her in a way she didn’t think was possible.

He lets out an evil laugh and pushes her face into the bed as he starts thrusting, going out of his way to hurt her as much as he can.

The noises leaving him as he uses her body for his pleasure are burned into her mind as she prays to the Gods to take her and put an end to the indescribable pain coursing through her body.

He looks down at where he’s thrusting in and out of her and smirks proudly at the sight of blood.

“It’s even better” he grunts to August, gripping her hips so tightly his nails break her skin.

“I’ll have to try it next” August says, slowly stroking himself as he watches Lloyd pound into the woman at their mercy over and over again, moaning to himself at the sound of her cries.

Lloyd lifts her hips higher, thrusting as hard as he can into her at the new angle, turning her cries into screams with every snap of his hip.

He lets out a long moan, throwing his head back as he cums hard, filling her with the same strange warmth August did.

“Gods, I’m doing that again” he pants as he slowly pulls himself out of her bloody back passage before slapping her ass, making her yelp as she collapses into the bed.

“You’ll get your chance. It’s your turn, Nick” August says, getting the attention of the third man standing on the other side of the room.

Until now, he’s not paid much attention to the events happening in the small room, trying to drown out her cries and think of anything other than what he wants to do to her.

It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong, but he doesn’t care. He wants her. And it’s his turn to take her.

He slowly walks towards her, removing his armour as he does before gently turning her over and climbing into the bed.

“No more… please” she begs quietly as he spreads her legs with his knees and settles between them.

Asking for mercy is useless, she knows that. All she is to them is an object to seek pleasure from, to defile.

The only thing she can do is close her eyes and brace herself for the pain as he slowly pushes in, a long moan leaving him as he fills her.

But when he starts to move, the pain doesn't come.

She opens her eyes and stares at him, confused, and scared, by what she's feeling.

Why doesn’t it hurt?

Why is it so different?

Why does it feel… nice?

“Gods” she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut as he starts to speed up, letting out a moan that drowns out the one that slips past her lips.

She has no idea what he’s doing differently to August and Lloyd but she prays he keeps doing it because it feels good, amazing even.

Her mind races as she tries to understand what’s happening. Why does she feel bad, so embarrassed and ashamed, when what’s happening right now feels so good?

He moves his hips faster, harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he gropes one of her breasts before pinching her nipple hard, pulling another moan from her.

He slowly glides his hand up her chest to around her neck, squeezing the sides. The sudden restriction of air makes her panic and start clawing at his hands, making him squeeze even more.

Her eyes roll back as a weird pressure builds between her legs, making whatever he’s doing to her feel even better.

It suddenly breaks, making her moan loudly as a pleasant burning sensation washes over her, before everything goes black…

VENERIS FILIA TAG LIST: @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @themaradwrites @secretaryunpaid @pixie88 @aussieez @identity2212 @fanfics-r-us-official @km-ffluv @ktficworld @sillyrabbit81 @juliaorplI78 @kingliam2019 @thebejeweledwatercat @red-write-hand @queenzee27 @therockandaroll

[perdrelacellule]

Un des trucs qui me désolent le plus c'est que toutes les séries qui se passent dans la Rome antique finissent par être annulées (ou alors elles sont nulles). Laissez moi voir des consuls s'empoisonner entre deux tours au lupanar s'il vous plaît c'est un besoin vital.

[libero-de-mente]

Dear RAI, I tengo an idea.

A grand idea.

I credev, dopo la suspension of Noos and the success of Temptation Island, che we tutt'nnoi avessimo touch the found. Si il "found", il fondo pe' capisse.

Ma after avery visto la ceremony of the 2024 Olympics Games in Paris, agg' compreso che non c'é end al bad gusto.

Ora, torniamo alla mia great idea. (si legge "aidea" come "aigor")

Perché non metti on the air Temptatio Insulam next year?

Is fyco. (Si legge "is faico")

- Spiegazione:

Alberto Angela sarebbe conduttore, tentatore e narratore.

- Località:

Necropoli di Tarquinia / Lupanare di Pompei / catacombe di Priscilla e Colosseo /l'isola di Procida con i proci in piena prociaggine / città di Troi@ dove le troiane troiano / isola di Lesbo / isola di Creta

- Svolgimento:

Alcune coppie dovranno dimostrare il loro vero amore. (Per la cultura)

Verranno separate le coppie. Gli uomini andranno nelle lupanare di Pompei dove ci saranno le poppee, invece le donne nel Colosseo dove ci saranno i gladiatori. Quelli con il mirmillone assai pronunciato.

In qualsiasi momento un membro di una coppia può, tramite piccione viaggiatore, richiedere il falò dell'oracolo di Delfi.

Qui, alla presenza di Alberto Angela, la coppia si confronterà.

Se entrambi decideranno di mettersi alla prova, per sicurezza, l'uomo verrà mandato a Troi@ ("Ciao Penelope, vado a Troi@" -cit.; "Ma che pe' davero? E me lasci sola co' sti Proci?" -cit.), mentre la donna andrà a Cnosso dove c'è il Minotauro dotato. In un labirinto arredato con molto gusto da Arianna. Carinissimo, proprio... vorresti non uscirne più.

Se resisteranno alle tentazioni, ma sarà un'Odissea riuscirci, la coppia si ricongiungerà e usciranno di scena su una biga phiga che sfila senza sfiga in mezzo alla folla nel Circo Massimo.

Se la coppia non resisterà, l'uomo andrà a scontare le Forche Caudine a Procida con in Proci, la donna finirà sull'isola di Lesbo, indossando l'originale cintura di castità della Regina di Francia Caterina de' Medici, deve Saffo e le saffiche scrivono poesie e testi delle canzoni trap tutto il giorno.

-Finale:

Alla fine vincerà chi, tra le coppie riuscirà a dire correttamente, davanti ad Alberto Angela, i nomi de:

- i 7 re di Roma

- i 7 colli di Roma

- i 7 nani

- le 10 piaghe d'Egitto

- le 3 tentazioni di Cristo

- le 5 dita del piede sinistro

- le 5 Terre

Bonus: ripetere il nome dell'antico dio Maya "K'ukulk'an" in dialetto calabrese, guardandosi negli occhi senza ridere.

Dear RAI, what do you pens di questa my idea?

Is verry faiga second me.

Non ce ne sarebbe for anyone, all concorenza spazzata street (via).

Pensacete, think about it, atriment we're all cornut.

With love.

p.s. la scritta "Temptatio Insulam" non è grammaticamente corretta, sarebbe stato più giusto "Insula Tentationis", ma la prima scritta, seppur errata, assomiglia di più alla scritta originale di Temptation Island. ☺

[juanitasupreme]

No one cares about it : Spice Girls' ranking of how much their accents changed (basically how more posh they sound)

Geri : I say this with the most respect in my heart but Geri used to sound like the most sophisticated woman of the lupanar, who smokes two packs a day. Nowadays, she is cosplaying as the lady of the castle and her pretend-to-be-posh-since-birth accent is something else

Victoria : obviously Posh sounds posh but yeah it got upgraded. Even though I saw some old ass comments from brits [derogatory] saying she wasn't legitimate as Posh because she is from Essex or something (brits are weird)

Mel C : honestly, it was for the best because up to 2007 I didn't understand half of the things coming out of her mouth

Emma/Mel B : they just grew in their normal voices/accents

[eddy25960]

Nureyev y Erick Bruhn ambos talentosos primeros bailarines tuvieron una intensa y apasionada relación sentimental, Erick sentía una verdadera pasión por el caucásico ruso al que profesó casi una adoración en el plano artísticos sentimental y profesional, ambos eran bellísimos y jóvenes, pero Nureyev no era monógamo, gustaba de aventuras eventuales, amores furtivos y buscaba encuentros con otros chicos en los bares, lupanares e inclusive en sitios a veces marginales; le gustaban los encuentros furtivos, riesgosos y sin complicación sentimental, solía inventar excusas y se escapaba en busca de otros estímulos más allá de la pareja, aunque muchos biógrafos aseguran que Erick lo aceptaba calladamente y que prefería simular que nada sucedía. Erick sabía que Nureyev era epicúreo y hedonista, finalmente ésto y otras trifulcas entre ambos quebrantó profundamente la relación sentimental hasta que terminó. Pero como los grandes artístas que fueron la separación no quebrantó la amistad, ni la mutua admiración que ambos se profesaban.

(Angel A. Padron Hernandez publication)

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Il Mattino di Oggi lunedì, 26 agosto 2024

[deromanuscoven]

༯𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕱𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊 𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖚𝖘 𝕮𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖓༯

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕱𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖑 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊𝖌𝖎𝖓 𝖔𝖓 𝕬𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖑 24 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖚𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝕸𝖆𝖞 8 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖓𝖚𝖘 𝖉𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖚𝖉𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖆𝖞 9.

-IMPORTANT- 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀: 𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟭 - 𝗔𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗹 𝟮𝟰 𝘁𝗼 𝗠𝗮𝘆 𝟬𝟭 𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟮 - 𝗠𝗮𝘆 𝟬𝟮 𝘁𝗼 𝗠𝗮𝘆 𝟬𝟵 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴.

-Important-𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘈𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘭 24 𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘢𝘺 01.

-The poster for the second week of the event will be posted on the Coven blog on May 02, it will contain all the prompts for the second week of the event, until its conclusion.

-𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊, 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖇𝖞 𝖓𝖔𝖜, 𝖎𝖘 𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕬𝖓𝖓𝖊 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖊'𝖘 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘍𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘯𝘯𝘦 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘈𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘴.

༯𝘈𝘯𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘴, 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘵𝘤….

༯𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵.𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴!-

༯𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘣𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘪𝘵.

༯𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 '𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴' 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.

-𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒔𝒆, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴!

-A very special and heartfelt thank you to @shittyravencarcosa and @herbeloved82 for preparing and working passionately on the prompts. Thank you for your efforts, and thank you for the prompts.

-Below are the prompts that will accompany us during the duration of the Festival:

༯𝖉𝖆𝖞 1༯ - Fuck like a God/Venus as a boy

༯𝖉𝖆𝖞 2༯ - Lupanare/Little satyr god of the woods

༯𝖉𝖆𝖞 3༯ - Quotation from "Blood & Gold"/ On the concept of resurection

༯𝖉𝖆𝖞 4༯ - I want only love or death/Self improvement is masturbation

༯𝖉𝖆𝖞 5༯ - Petit mort/Light of my life,fire of my loins, my sin,mysoul

༯𝖉𝖆𝖞 6༯ - Floralia/Bed of roses and thorns

༯𝖉𝖆𝖞 7༯ - Rose mouth/The ballad of blind love

༯𝖉𝖆𝖞 8༯ - Loved by the god of love/Cold like a statue, burning like fire

[waltfrasescazadordepalabras]

Franz Kafka solía frecuentar los prostíbulos de Praga. Desde muy joven, su padre le había aconsejado acudir a una meretriz. Después de una primera y rotunda negativa (él siempre intentó ser lo opuesto a su padre), en 1912, cuando dejó su papel como lector y empezó realmente a escribir, también exploró otra inquietud. Mientras viajaba por Europa con su amigo Max Brod, además de realizar unos dibujos curiosísimos y asistir a playas nudistas, visitó diversos burdeles, lo cual terminó convirtiéndose en un hábito. Kafka disfrutaba de la playa, jugaba al tenis y a menudo se lo veía sonriente. Manejaba su motocicleta a toda velocidad rumbo a los lupanares. Le escribe a Max Brod: “Ayer, de pura soledad, me llevé a una prostituta a un hotel. Era demasiado vieja para seguir siendo melancólica. Y solo le apenaba que los hombres no fueran tan cariñosos con las prostitutas como lo son con sus amantes. Y no la consolé porque ella tampoco me consoló.” Lo anterior puede chocar con la imagen idealizada que se ha difundido de él: el genio oscuro de laberintos opresivos, el asceta lumínico que nos libra de su revelación. El monje, el monasterio que es Franz Kafka. También se lo suele ver, al igual que a Poe, como un escritor atormentadísimo que solo retrata sus miserias. En lo personal, yo he visto otra imagen: la de un genio que puede leer este mundo, pero también la de un artista que juega y, desde una recóndita y lúcida imaginación, impone sus visiones infantiles y terriblemente hilarantes. Si hay alguien que me ha hecho reír, tiene que ser él. Hay un cuento que se titula "La cigüeña". Un personaje encuentra un huevo de cigüeña encima de su mesa, así que se propone alimentarlo y lo hace con pescado podrido. Todo con la condición de que, cuando el pájaro crezca, lo lleve volando hacia las tierras del sur. Como no confía completamente en el ave, y para mayor seguridad, le pone una pluma en el pico y la obliga a firmar un contrato. No solo en su biografía, sino también en su obra, podemos entender que en realidad no se parece a la imágen mítica, atormentada y sacrosanta que quieren hacernos creer. Lo veo mucho más extrovertido y cómico, renuente al aislamiento y en busca de placer carnal. Mientras escribía, solía beber leche azucarada.

Escrito por Francisco Sandoval

[greekmythcomix]

For an ongoing commission: a very quick sketch of the fresco of men gambling from the Bar-Lupanar Osteria della Via di Mercurio Pompeii VI 10, 1-19 (photograph by Nicolas Monteix 2003)

I had to move the right hand side figure in for the image, but otherwise this is my attempt at a faithful rendition. The final image has less cartoonish faces, but I think they’re cute!

[aurevoirmonty]

Les grands lupanars d’arts modernes, les immenses clans hollywoodiens, toutes les sous-galères de l’art robot, ne manqueront jamais de ces saltimbanques dépravés… Le recrutement est infini. Le lecteur moyen, l’amateur rafignolesque, le snob cocktailien, le public enfin, la horde abjecte cinéphage, les abrutis-radios, les fanatiques envedettés, cet international prodigieux, glapissant, grouillement de jobards ivrognes et cocus, constitue la base piétinable à travers villes et continents, l’humus magnifique le terreau miraculeux, dans lequel les merdes publicitaires vont resplendir, séduire, ensorceler comme jamais. 

Louis-Ferdinand Céline

[armatofu]

LA EMPERATRIZ MESALINA " Y LA COMPETENCIA SEXUAL MÁS GRANDE DE LA HISTORIA DE ROMA

La historia de Mesalina, la emperatriz romana, está envuelta en una atmósfera de escándalo y lujuria. Su nombre se ha convertido en sinónimo de libertinaje y desenfreno sexual, y sus hazañas se han transmitido a través de los siglos, convirtiéndola en una figura legendaria.

Mesalina, la tercera esposa del emperador Claudio, era conocida por su belleza y su apetito insaciable por el placer. Se dice que organizaba orgías desmesuradas en el Palacio Imperial, donde se entregaba a múltiples amantes, desafiando la moral y las convenciones sociales de la época.

Una de las historias más famosas sobre Mesalina cuenta que organizó una competencia sexual pública en el jardín de Lucullus, donde se enfrentó a una prostituta llamada "Scilla" en un concurso de resistencia. La leyenda cuenta que Mesalina logró superar a Scilla en la batalla de placer, y que incluso se atrevió a desafiar a la propia Venus, la diosa romana del amor, en un concurso de belleza.

LA COMPETENCIA SEXUAL JAMÁS VISTA

El escenario romano en el palacio del emperador Claudio estaba listo esa noche para la más desafiante y feroz competencia sexual jamás vista.

La iniciativa había sido inspirada por Valeria Mesalina, la esposa del propio Claudio, aprovechando que este se encontraba fuera de Roma en una impostergable misión política y militar para someter a la isla de Britania.

El reto no podía ser más escandaloso, aunque a la vez provocativo, para la ilustre comunidad de hombres y mujeres de la corte invitados al acto por la audaz y desenfrenada emperatriz.

El sueño, por no decir la locura de Mesalina, consistía en disputar con otra mujer, cualquiera que se considerara valiente y decidida, una carrera de sexo para ver cuál era capaz de tener relaciones sexuales con más hombres en una sola noche.

Como reconocida ninfómana que era en el barrio de Subura y más allá, retó al gremio de prostitutas de Roma a que se enfrentaran a ella para, de una vez por todas, zanjar quién era quién en las lides del sexo abierto, masivo y sin tapujos.

Dicho y hecho, la legión de mujeres de la vida alegre romana aceptó el duelo y, a sabiendas de la fama legendaria de su rival, eligieron para que las representara ni más ni menos que a la siciliana Escila, toda una «comehombres» que sembraba el terror en aquella Roma procaz y lujuriosa.

Sería aquella una batalla a morir entre las dos reconocidas prostitutas, cada una con una trayectoria en las artes amatorias y sexuales sin parangón en la historia de la humanidad.

Mesalina, jovencita y de una belleza sin igual, cautivaba en la Antigua Roma. Lucía pelo negro azabache, piel angelical, caderas de tractor y una sonrisa demoledora de hombres.

A pesar de estar emparentada con la familia imperial, era pobre y desvalida de lujos hasta que Claudio se enamoró de ella y se casaron con tan buena suerte que, al ser asesinado Calígula, su sobrino, aquel se convirtió en el nuevo emperador gracias a que el ejército le apoyó.

No bien llegó a la corte, Mesalina hizo y deshizo. No era para menos ante un esposo 36 años mayor, feo, chueco, tartamudo y cojo, y a quien siempre le fue infiel acostándose con toda la nobleza romana, desde soldados y actores hasta gladiadores.

Era tan mal hecho el pobre Claudio que, según los historiadores, su propia madre le llamaba «aborto inconcluso». Debe haber sido por eso que, en uno de sus tantos arrebatos de ninfomanía, Mesalina se desquitó acostándose con mil hombres de la guardia pretoriana.

Así las cosas, en cuanto se percataba de que su marido dormía como un bendito, Mesalina bajaba en las noches envuelta en una capa a los lupanares públicos donde bajo el nombre de Licisca (mujer loba), se disfrazaba con una peluca rubia y los pezones pintados con panes de oro.

Por su parte, la contrincante no se le quedaba nada atrás pues, mal que bien, era la prostituta de moda y de más renombre en la Roma hedonista y lasciva de entonces, lo cual era ya mucho decir.

Su solo nombre, Escila, infundía temor y respeto debido a que se trataba del mismo nombre del monstruo femenino que citaba Homero en su obra La Odisea, famoso por tragarse enteros a los hombres sin importar procedencia ni corpulencia.

El caso es que esa famosa y memorable noche, tras el banderazo de salida o pitazo del juez, cada una entró en acción a toda turbina teniendo por delante una interminable fila de hombres a la espera de su turno para ser atendidos.

No obstante, conforme la noche avanzaba en medio del fragor de la batalla sexual de aquellas dos ninfas, las caderas de Escila empezaron a flaquear y perder fuelle hasta que ella, exhausta, tiró la toalla cuando apenas contabilizaba 25 hombres en el marcador.

No pudo más a pesar de que su propia rival la animaba una y otra vez a no desmayar. «Esto apenas empieza», le debe de haber gritado Mesalina, en medio de sus convulsiones y espasmos de placer, desde la cama contigua.

Pero, no obstante haber ganado ante el inesperado retiro de Escila, Mesalina siguió adelante devorando víctima tras víctima al punto de que, al amanecer, coleccionaba ya 70 trofeos de carne y hueso contra los 25 de su oponente.

No contenta aún con el inédito triunfo, pues más que agotada se sentía sexualmente insatisfecha, Mesalina continuó la faena a lo largo del nuevo día hasta llegar al record, que se sepa aún imbatido, de 200 hombres «despachados» uno tras otro en pocas horas.

La historia de Mesalina es una mezcla de realidad y leyenda. Si bien es cierto que fue una figura controvertida y que su comportamiento escandaloso la convirtió en una figura legendaria, también es importante recordar que su historia está llena de sesgos y propaganda política. La verdad sobre Mesalina, como la verdad sobre muchas figuras históricas, se ha perdido en el tiempo, dejando solo una sombra de la mujer que fue.

Toda una dama insaciable quien, dada la prolongada ausencia de Claudio, se casó pronto con su amante el cónsul Cayo Silio y tramó con este una conspiración para liquidar a su esposo.

Pero Claudio, enterado de la bigamia de ella y de su intento por bajarlo del trono, condenó a ambos a suicidarse. Sin embargo, como al intentarlo Mesalina no pasó de unos cuantos rasguños en su cuerpo, la decapitó a sus tiernos 23 años de edad en el año 48 d.C.

No solo eso: borró sus huellas y presencia pública para que nunca más nadie la recordara.

Harto y decepcionado de lo ocurrido, Claudio no solo prometió nunca más volverse a casar, sino que le pidió a su propio ejército que lo matara si incumplía su palabra.

Hasta que, bueno… conoció a su sobrina Agripina, madre de Nerón, y se tragó el juramento que, según los historiadores, había hecho en medio de una soberana borrachera.

[jartita-me-teneis]

Franz Kafka solía frecuentar los prostíbulos de Praga. Desde muy joven, su padre le había aconsejado acudir a una meretriz. Después de una primera y rotunda negativa (él siempre intentó ser lo opuesto a su padre), en 1912, cuando dejó su papel como lector y empezó realmente a escribir, también exploró otra inquietud. Mientras viajaba por Europa con su amigo Max Brod, además de realizar unos dibujos curiosísimos y asistir a playas nudistas, visitó diversos burdeles, lo cual terminó convirtiéndose en un hábito. Kafka disfrutaba de la playa, jugaba al tenis y a menudo se lo veía sonriente. Manejaba su motocicleta a toda velocidad rumbo a los lupanares.

Le escribe a Max Brod: “Ayer, de pura soledad, me llevé a una prostituta a un hotel. Era demasiado vieja para seguir siendo melancólica. Y solo le apenaba que los hombres no fueran tan cariñosos con las prostitutas como lo son con sus amantes. Y no la consolé porque ella tampoco me consoló.”

Lo anterior puede chocar con la imagen idealizada que se ha difundido de él: el genio oscuro de laberintos opresivos, el asceta lumínico que nos libra de su revelación. El monje, el monasterio que es Franz Kafka. También se lo suele ver, al igual que a Poe, como un escritor atormentadísimo que solo retrata sus miserias.

En lo personal, yo he visto otra imagen: la de un genio que puede leer este mundo, pero también la de un artista que juega y, desde una recóndita y lúcida imaginación, impone sus visiones infantiles y terriblemente hilarantes. Si hay alguien que me ha hecho reír, tiene que ser él. Hay un cuento que se titula "La cigüeña". Un personaje encuentra un huevo de cigüeña encima de su mesa, así que se propone alimentarlo y lo hace con pescado podrido. Todo con la condición de que, cuando el pájaro crezca, lo lleve volando hacia las tierras del sur. Como no confía completamente en el ave, y para mayor seguridad, le pone una pluma en el pico y la obliga a firmar un contrato.

No solo en su biografía, sino también en su obra, podemos entender que en realidad no se parece a la imágen mítica, atormentada y sacrosanta que quieren hacernos creer. Lo veo mucho más extrovertido y cómico, renuente al aislamiento y en busca de placer carnal.

Mientras escribía, solía beber leche azucarada.

Escrito por Francisco Sandoval