Clare bought him an island in Fiji in case they needed to escape and be alone.
The Cult of Keith Raniere Uncategorized

Part 4: Night of the Vanguard

Part 4: Night of the Vanguard


By Rosa de le Pussy-Organista [not a real name] [Editor’s note: The following story is fiction.  It is an awful, plagiarizing mixture of romance writers’ submissions to the Purple Prose Contest and platitudes from the New Age Bullshit Generator.]


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3: 

Urging his own buttons to part. I could not tear my eyes from his manly acorns, nestled in a wiry thatch of dark hair. His manhood plopped out into the cool evening air. He placed it softly on my skim milk-white breast.

I felt a pearlescent drip of masculinity-sprinkled-dewdrops on my bulbous breasts and thirstily erect nipples, eager now for his glans to engorge and raise up his genital pride.

“The ultrasonic energy consumes the ionic cosmic supra-sacred consciousness,” he said. “If you never experienced the quantum leap, it can be difficult to exist without me.”

I whimpered and writhed, distracted by the rising need he created for him to plunge into that chalice of heaven-sent pleasure and encircle like a raptor on thermal winds. I spread my legs and closed my eyes waiting, quivering in anticipation of my own sweet honeyed libations of pleasure. My love juices had begun to flow and needed now only his enlightened manroot.

He trailed his strong hand up my soft, buttery thighs drawing a long low moan from my lips as he brought his turgid tumescent appendage, its tip gleaming with unshed pearly drops of manseed, toward the fragile pallor of the perfect complexion of my face.

I lowered my hand and cupped him. “What do you call these?”, I inquired.

‘They are my love sacs,” Vanguard said mightily. ‘The big one I call mama, and the little one I call baby.”

Meanwhile, his questing fingers found their way home amidst my dewy moist petals, allowing the bud to almost bloom under his expert ministrations.

“Oh, my Vanguard, you make me feel strange things in my untouched parts,” I said and closed my eyes waiting for his shaft of pleasure to enter.

He took his turgid, tumescent beast of carnality in his hairless hand and quickly laved my panting breasts then cried out as he found his own earth shattering release: a teaspoon measure of white fertile seed. The shock of those tiny drops of hot rain on my face made my hips squirm.

I dreamily opened my eyes, but my expression went from ardor to confusion, as I saw him putting on his Tommy Hilfiger shorts, and then his trousers.

“We have to go now,” he said. “You are now mine forever for I have delivered unto you the quantum elixir. From this day forward you may never be with another man.”

I said, “I knew when you circled the smoothness of my areolas with your tongue”, and I purred “I am yours forever” and we embraced passionately, wantonly, allowing the gentle ferocity of the moment to convey feelings that we could never express in words that–

Vanguard interrupted, “Yeah, yeah, but could you get dressed a little quicker? They are waiting for us at Nancy’s party.”

[to be continued].




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  • I’m worried these works of fiction are presenting Keith Raniere in a positive light. Does this not enlarge his fragile ego rather than reveal him as the insecure little man he is?
    When I was intimate with him many moons ago it was not a memorable affair in any positive sense. Let’s just say he’s not a sex god in size or skill. It was one of the most boring sexual experiences and the only memorable thing about it was that for a long time after I smelt of what seemed like multiple other women’s vaginas. If you’re going to publish things of this nature please at least be sure to give an accurate depiction.

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