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      "writing": "[center][b][u]Espresso Shot Shorts[/u][/b][/center]\n[center][b]Sheriff / Hunter[/b][/center]\n[center][u]Part 1: Hunter[/u][/center]\n[center]By XP Author[/center]\n\n27 years. He had sacrificed 27 years of his life to the nation, and for what? He had been a loyal soldier for Vesta since he first started training at age 9. He had proudly fought in the many battles against Vesta's enemies. Even when he was captured and imprisoned in a Salansil dungeon as a prisoner of war, he never lost his loyalty. He had never broken. Five years he spent in a stinking dungeon, left to rot, all but forgotten. Then one day, he was told he was free. His chains were released, he was given ill-fitting clothing, and shoved onto the road, told only to leave Salansil. He made his way home... or what he thought would be home.\n\nHe learned quickly that Vesta was no more. Jyn had invaded his home nation and taken over two years prior. Now, what had been a proud nation was little more than an occupied land, under the control of a foreign power. There was no army for him to return to, no welcome for a wayward son, and no home to claim as his own. He had no house of his own, having lived in the barracks since he was a boy. Those barracks not broken and burnt to cinder instead housed soldiers of a foreign land. He was a stranger in his own home.\n\nThe bitter irony was he had been treated better in the dirty dungeon of a foreign land than he had in his own home town. Not that the small city of Ralnara was much home to him anymore. He had been forced to live on the streets. There was no kindness for a former soldier. They had lost the nation to the invaders, and would not care that he was in prison when the invasion happened. He was still to blame to them. Such was his new life, little more than a vagrant, a dirty retch rotting in a gutter. His bitterness grew by the day, by the hour, and by every sour look cast his way.\n\nOne night, things changed. His chosen corner had been outside of a bakery. He would eat the scraps they threw away. But that day, the baker's daughter would chase him away. The doe had always been disgusted by him, but that day, she had swatted at him with a broom, the way one might try to shoo away wild pests in the larder or chase away the birds. It was the last straw for him. He made his choice. He would no longer live only on scraps. He would take what he wanted. And he would take it with force.\n\nThat night, he waited. The baker's daughter was left to clean up, as she always did. He hid within the shadows as the young woman stepped outside. She seemed relieved that he was not there, at least where she could see him. She tossed the crumbs and scraps of bread from the day out back, for the birds to feed upon. It was when she turned that he struck. He had found a short, curved blade among the scrap where the barracks had once been. He had honed the edge to its former keen sharpness. When he darted out of the shadows and swung, it struck true. The curve caught the woman in the neck, cutting deep into her throat before she could think to scream. Blood poured out of her neck, soaking into her clothing as she fell to the ground. He was not done, cutting at her neck again, widening the wound.\n\nIt took several more hacks to remove her head entirely. Holding it up by her hair, he looked into her eyes. They were wide, staring not at him, but at a point somewhere past him. Her mouth remained slack and open, the scream she never got to make lost on her open lips. \"This is what you get for scorning me, you cunt.\" He dropped her head, his attention turned instead to her body. Using his blade, he carved her dress open, revealing her heavy breasts, thin belly, and slender legs. She had pissed herself in her death, but he cared little about that, still staring at the exposed sex before him.\n\nBefore he knew what he was doing, he had stripped himself and plunged his shaft deep into that cooling pussy. It had been so long since he had fucked anything that he lasted only seconds, blasting a load deep inside of her. But he had much more to give, ramming himself into her over and over, even as his first load was spitting and spraying against her womb. With a second load given, he switched instead to her neck, shoving his cock down the opening. It was a new favorite instantly, the tightness like no other hole he had ever fucked. He used her heavy tits to drag her body back to slam himself into her over and over, until he gave a third blast.\n\nHer head was not safe from his use, either. At first, he used her slack mouth, but then got a new idea. Flipping the head over, he fucked up her neck, the head of his cock popping out of her mouth and rubbing against her tongue. He moaned and used her head as a toy for his pleasure. It took more work, but he milked a fourth and final orgasm out of himself, his cum spraying out of her open mouth and onto her heavy tits, mixing with the blood already splattered about and soaked into her fur. He panted heavily, spent in many ways. As his cock finally deflated, her head slid off, landing on the ground with a thud.\n\nHe was not done yet, however. A woman found dead and raped was a shock, but hardly enough of note. He would not be forgotten again, but remain as a shadow. None would know his name, his likeness, or his species. But they would fear him. A shadow of Ralnara. To the end, he would use her body one last time. Not for sex, but as a calling card. He dragged her body into the bakery, posing it in front of the counter, legs spread for his cum to leak out onto the floor. He then placed her head on the display shelf, as if it were just another baked good for sale. Lastly, he used her blood to write upon a piece of parchment from the back room.\n\n[i]One[/i]\n[i]A pretty display piece[/i]\n\nHe did not sign it, but left the note next to her head on the display shelf. With that, he was done, and took his leave. He would wash himself in the river outside of town before morning. But he would make sure to find a place to hide and watch when she was found. While he was there, he might try and find who would be number two.\n\n[center]*     *     *[/center]"
    },
    ".description.json": {
      "description": "A new series in a new format! my Espresso Shot Shorts! They are stories that are 2k or under, shorter than my coffee break stories. As regular readers know, I like to break my stories up into sections. Well, these are those sections posted individually. This way, I can put out more content, instead of waiting for a long time between longer stories!\n\nThis story will be an 11 part series, taking place in my medieval setting (now officially called The Mediverse), so it's long by the end, but you'll get one part daily for the next week and a half. It follows two perspectives, a serial killer and the authority trying to find him. This first part is the killer, taking his first victim.\n\nThe lack of a description for the killer is intentional.\n\nParts:\n[s]<< First[/s] | [s]< Previous[/s] | [url=https://inkbunny.net/s/3576546]Next >[/url] | [url=https://inkbunny.net/s/3584272]Last >>[/url] \n\n- - - - -\n\nA massive thank you to my top tier subscribers:\nSedyna | [fa]jafferroshak[/fa] | RoleplayCentral | [fa]akinkyyfox[/fa]\n\nIf you would like early access to my stories, weekly previews and updates, access to my private discord, chance to have your character become part of the lore, and other bonus content, please consider subscribing to my [url=https://subscribestar.adult/xp_author]SubscribeStar[/url]"
    },
    ".writing.json": {
      "writing": "[center][b][u]Espresso Shot Shorts[/u][/b][/center]\n[center][b]Sheriff / Hunter[/b][/center]\n[center][u]Part 1: Hunter[/u][/center]\n[center]By XP Author[/center]\n\n27 years. He had sacrificed 27 years of his life to the nation, and for what? He had been a loyal soldier for Vesta since he first started training at age 9. He had proudly fought in the many battles against Vesta's enemies. Even when he was captured and imprisoned in a Salansil dungeon as a prisoner of war, he never lost his loyalty. He had never broken. Five years he spent in a stinking dungeon, left to rot, all but forgotten. Then one day, he was told he was free. His chains were released, he was given ill-fitting clothing, and shoved onto the road, told only to leave Salansil. He made his way home... or what he thought would be home.\n\nHe learned quickly that Vesta was no more. Jyn had invaded his home nation and taken over two years prior. Now, what had been a proud nation was little more than an occupied land, under the control of a foreign power. There was no army for him to return to, no welcome for a wayward son, and no home to claim as his own. He had no house of his own, having lived in the barracks since he was a boy. Those barracks not broken and burnt to cinder instead housed soldiers of a foreign land. He was a stranger in his own home.\n\nThe bitter irony was he had been treated better in the dirty dungeon of a foreign land than he had in his own home town. Not that the small city of Ralnara was much home to him anymore. He had been forced to live on the streets. There was no kindness for a former soldier. They had lost the nation to the invaders, and would not care that he was in prison when the invasion happened. He was still to blame to them. Such was his new life, little more than a vagrant, a dirty retch rotting in a gutter. His bitterness grew by the day, by the hour, and by every sour look cast his way.\n\nOne night, things changed. His chosen corner had been outside of a bakery. He would eat the scraps they threw away. But that day, the baker's daughter would chase him away. The doe had always been disgusted by him, but that day, she had swatted at him with a broom, the way one might try to shoo away wild pests in the larder or chase away the birds. It was the last straw for him. He made his choice. He would no longer live only on scraps. He would take what he wanted. And he would take it with force.\n\nThat night, he waited. The baker's daughter was left to clean up, as she always did. He hid within the shadows as the young woman stepped outside. She seemed relieved that he was not there, at least where she could see him. She tossed the crumbs and scraps of bread from the day out back, for the birds to feed upon. It was when she turned that he struck. He had found a short, curved blade among the scrap where the barracks had once been. He had honed the edge to its former keen sharpness. When he darted out of the shadows and swung, it struck true. The curve caught the woman in the neck, cutting deep into her throat before she could think to scream. Blood poured out of her neck, soaking into her clothing as she fell to the ground. He was not done, cutting at her neck again, widening the wound.\n\nIt took several more hacks to remove her head entirely. Holding it up by her hair, he looked into her eyes. They were wide, staring not at him, but at a point somewhere past him. Her mouth remained slack and open, the scream she never got to make lost on her open lips. \"This is what you get for scorning me, you cunt.\" He dropped her head, his attention turned instead to her body. Using his blade, he carved her dress open, revealing her heavy breasts, thin belly, and slender legs. She had pissed herself in her death, but he cared little about that, still staring at the exposed sex before him.\n\nBefore he knew what he was doing, he had stripped himself and plunged his shaft deep into that cooling pussy. It had been so long since he had fucked anything that he lasted only seconds, blasting a load deep inside of her. But he had much more to give, ramming himself into her over and over, even as his first load was spitting and spraying against her womb. With a second load given, he switched instead to her neck, shoving his cock down the opening. It was a new favorite instantly, the tightness like no other hole he had ever fucked. He used her heavy tits to drag her body back to slam himself into her over and over, until he gave a third blast.\n\nHer head was not safe from his use, either. At first, he used her slack mouth, but then got a new idea. Flipping the head over, he fucked up her neck, the head of his cock popping out of her mouth and rubbing against her tongue. He moaned and used her head as a toy for his pleasure. It took more work, but he milked a fourth and final orgasm out of himself, his cum spraying out of her open mouth and onto her heavy tits, mixing with the blood already splattered about and soaked into her fur. He panted heavily, spent in many ways. As his cock finally deflated, her head slid off, landing on the ground with a thud.\n\nHe was not done yet, however. A woman found dead and raped was a shock, but hardly enough of note. He would not be forgotten again, but remain as a shadow. None would know his name, his likeness, or his species. But they would fear him. A shadow of Ralnara. To the end, he would use her body one last time. Not for sex, but as a calling card. He dragged her body into the bakery, posing it in front of the counter, legs spread for his cum to leak out onto the floor. He then placed her head on the display shelf, as if it were just another baked good for sale. Lastly, he used her blood to write upon a piece of parchment from the back room.\n\n[i]One[/i]\n[i]A pretty display piece[/i]\n\nHe did not sign it, but left the note next to her head on the display shelf. With that, he was done, and took his leave. He would wash himself in the river outside of town before morning. But he would make sure to find a place to hide and watch when she was found. While he was there, he might try and find who would be number two.\n\n[center]*     *     *[/center]"
    }
  }
}