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About Literature / Hobbyist OC Damsels in DistressMale/United States Groups :iconjobberific-ocdamsels: Jobberific-OCDamsels
 
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Unfortunately I know absolutely nothing about the characters or their backstories, so I've no idea why this fetching young lady is seat...


As the commissioner of this wonderful artwork, I'm able to put the scenario in context for those of you who may need some "backstory." ...


Revised critique: please correct me if I'm wrong, but the whole setup here says "hotel." Perhaps I'm basing this on what appears to be ...

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We Now Resume our Scheduled Programming

'm back to writing and posting DiD stories after a long period of inactivity.  I was down to one unreliable laptop--for the record, it was a Dell Inspiron--and it finally crashed on me for good in late January.  I saved my nickels and dimes and purchased a new Hewlett Packard the week before last.  In the interim I've been collaborating with the incomparable Daniel of :icondaniel-remo-art: who did such a wonderful job recreating Stana Katic of the late, lamented Castle for me.  Daniel was good enough to come up with Angie Harmon (Law & Order, Rizzoli & Isles) and Daniela Ruah (NCIS: Los Angeles) so Stana will have some company in captivity.  This is a teaser for a story I'm working on with the working title WILES Weekend.  The premise is that Kate Beckett, Jane Rizzoli and Kelsi Blye accept an invitation to a weekend retreat at a secluded, women-only resort sponsored by WILE
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Greg and Jillian: Weekend on Brigand Cay Prologue

Eight hours and 120 nautical miles out of Tortuga, Greg Stallard felt guardedly optimistic that he and Jillian were no longer in imminent danger of capsizing the goddamn boat and becoming shark chow.  He resolved that if he and his Brit girlfriend made it home unscathed he would write an account of their voyage titled Everything I Know About Sailing I Learned from YouTube.  That wasn't entirely true of course; Jillian Kensett had patiently imparted to him the skill set acquired years earlier from her late Uncle Lionel.  A widower estranged from his own children, Lionel Fleetwood doted on Jillian as a little girl and took her boating as a teenager, literally teaching her the ropes during their summer cruises in the shallow waters of Dogger Bank.  When Jillian learned from Uncle Lionel's solicitor that he'd left her Tempest in his will, she and Greg burned through some vacation days to fly to his retirement h
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Detective Dana in Distress: Unholy Matrimony 05

Thelma the Shark--or perhaps Louise, Dana had no way of telling them apart--erupted from the water like a submarine-launched ballistic missile.  Even the silicon ball gag lodged in Dana's mouth could not contain a scream of mortal terror as Thelma's jaws clashed shut around the spreader bag locked to her ankles.  Her bare toes now hung mere inches over the surface of the pool  Sooner rather than later it would dimly register in the Mako shark's primitive brain that trying to chew through tempered steel was a waste of energy when Dana's feet and lower legs were in easy reach.  Best case scenario was that the shock of her legs being severed below the knees would kill her outright, thus sparing Dana the agony of being devoured alive.           
     Kit, I love you so much, she thought despairingly.  Don't grieve too long before tryin
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Marshal Laramie and Cowgirl Cheyenne 03 by Bound2theTrax

"Now I call this a stroke of luck," chirps Cowgirl Cheyenne.  "Turns out the feller who built this place, a retired lawyer name of Hastings, collects vintage cars.  I found this Cadillac Deville parked in his climate-controlled garage with the gas tank topped off.  He's taken such good care of it you'd never know it rolled off the line in Dee-troit close to forty years ago.  We'll be able to travel in style!" 
     "Mmmph!" wails Deputy U.S. Marshal Laramie James through her ball gag.  Trussed into an uncompromising West Texas hogtie inside the Caddy's trunk, she strains desperately at the unyielding ropes.  The textbook bow knots hold fast.  Laramie's heart seizes as her captor draws a wickedly sharp knife from a sheath on her right hip.
     "Decided I prefer you bare-ass naked," explains Cowgirl Cheyenne.  With surprising delicacy she slices apart Laramie's thong, divesting the tautly bound deputy marshal of her last article of clothing along with her last shred of dignity and modesty.  "Keepin' this as a souvenir, your badge and duty weapon too.  You won't be needin' your police toys anymore.  Or clothes, for that matter."
     "Unnngh!"
    
"Don't be gettin' no bright ideas about openin' the trunk from the inside.  Even if you untie yourself somehow, they built this bad boy years before new cars had to come with internal release levers.  Not that I worry about you gettin' loose; your ass is roped up nice and tight, Laramie Darlin'.  What do they say on Star Trek, resistance is futile?  Sooner you accept that you're now my personal sex slave the happier you'll be in the long run."
     Cowgirl Cheyenne closes the trunk lid, hearing it latch with a satisfying thump.  Sliding behind the wheel she cranks the ignition and is rewarded by the thrum of a V8 powerplant displacing 425 cubic inches.  She tugs the brim of her creased and sweat-stained Stetson down over her eyes and punches the accelerator, leaving a rooster tail of gravel and dust in her wake.  Once she reaches the highway, Cowgirl Cheyenne starts humming the Willie Nelson standard "On the Road Again," enjoying the wind on her face and the bracing scent of lodgepole pine...while behind her, bound, gagged and naked in the absolute darkness of the locked trunk, Laramie James struggles valiantly but in vain to free herself from the punishing hogtie, as yet unwilling to confront the implacable reality that she is destined for a life of sexual servitude.                     

      
Confession time: I came up with the whole "Laramie and Cheyenne" idea on the spur of the moment, so I'm gratified that it's generating positive feedback from my loyal Watchers.  None of it would be possible were it not for my equally warped collaborator on the other side of the Pond, :icondarklordmenchi:  Please Note him if you're in need of a special commission; he would very much appreciate the work.       
   

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Marshal Laramie  Cowgirl Cheyenne 02 by Bound2theTrax

"Well, goddamn, you look real pretty tied up like that," observes Cowgirl Cheyenne as she fastened the final escape-proof knot.  Stripped to her thong, Deputy U.S. Marshal Laramie James is now anchored with multiple lengths of expertly cinched rope to an upright wooden beam supporting the roof of the derelict pole barn.  Cowgirl Cheyenne has taken especial care in tying her knots well beyond reach of Laramie's scrabbling fingers.  As Laramie struggles hopelessly in her bonds, the leather-clad outlaw avails herself of the opportunity to toy with the captive marshal's 34D breasts, thumbs tracing one exquisite coral nipple then the other.
     "Bitch, keep your filthy fucking hands to yourself," seethes Laramie.
     "And what're you gonna do about it?" sneers Cowgirl Cheyenne.  Her free hand finds its way inside Laramie's thong, fingertips stroking her warm enticing cleft.  Laramie inhales raggedly.  "Shit, you're enjoying this near as much as I am.  Admit it."
     Laramie writhes at the sensation of Cowgirl Cheyenne gently yet insistently probing her tender inner folds.  "What makes you think you can get away with kidnapping a federal marshal?"
     "I already have, darlin'.  No one back at your office knows you were headed this way, and once I rip the GPS out of your car they won't have no way of tracking you.  I got me a cozy little hideaway the other side of Falcon Ridge where you won't ever be found, you can take that to the bank."
     "What do you plan on doing with me?"
     "Anything I want, sweetie.  Anything I want."  No sooner has she uttered these words than Cowgirl Cheyenne locates Laramie's oh-so-sensitive clit, eliciting an involuntary groan of pleasure from the bound and helpless marshal.  "I ain't takin' any chances on you making a break for it, so I'm keeping you chained or tied up almost every wakin' hour.  Better get used to it."
    "I'll see you fry in fucking Hell for this," vows Laramie.
    Cowgirl Cheyenne abruptly withdraws her fingers.  "I don't believe I appreciate your piss-poor attitude.  I know I don't appreciate your language.  Lucky I got a quick fix for that."  Cowgirl Cheyenne produces a black silicon ball gag, tamping it between Laramie's teeth before strapping it snugly in place.
     "Nnnnnngh!" mewls Laramie.
      "You just relax a spell while I take care of your GPS," says Cowgirl Cheyenne.  On her way out the door she adds, "I'll be back before you know it."


3D Render by my good friend :icondarklordmenchi:

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Laramie Bad Tip By Darklordmenchi-db0xqih by Bound2theTrax

An anonymous telephone call leads Deputy U.S. Marshal Laramie James to a remote cabin in the Sawtooth Hills near the Montana-Wyoming border.  Laramie's informant claims to be able to pinpoint the hideout of the flamboyant outlaw calling herself Cowgirl Cheyenne, whose crime spree has made headlines across five Western states.  Determined to bring in her quarry single-handed, Laramie disregards USMS protocol by driving to the rendezvous alone.  She arrives to find the cabin apparently deserted.  Rightly suspecting a trap, Laramie draws her duty weapon and begins prowling the grounds--only to be bushwhacked by Cowgirl Cheyenne herself.  The intrepid deputy marshal is swiftly disarmed.   
     "I hear tell you've been on my trail from Tucumcari to Bozeman," says Cowgirl Cheyenne in a folksy twang.  "Figured it was high time you and I got better acquainted.  How about you strip down for me, Marshal?"
     "Suppose I tell you to eat shit and die?" suggests Laramie.
     Cowgirl Cheyenne presses the muzzle of her authentic Colt Peacemaker deeper into Laramie's lower back.  "Suppose I blow a hole in you big enough to drive an eighteen-wheeler through?  Get out of your clothes, goddamn it.  You can keep your panties for now."
     Laramie regrets her decision to wear thong underwear today.  She disrobes in tight-lipped silence until she stands all but naked before her captor.  "Just as well you brought transportation," remarks Cowgirl Cheyenne.  "My old Jeep Wrangler lost a fan belt on the drive up here."  The leather-clad desperado produces a bundle of braided manila rope.  "March yourself into that old pole barn over yonder.  I'm gonna tie your sweet ass up nice and tight while I disable the GPS on your ride."  

     
Unlike some of my more "serious" fare, I conceived Marshal Laramie & Cowgirl Cheyenne as good, goofy fun.  Props as always to my British partner in bondage mayhem :icondarklordmenchi: for bringing the characters of Marshal Laramie and Cowgirl Cheyenne to life for me. 
    
Group - Final by Bound2theTrax

'm back to writing and posting DiD stories after a long period of inactivity.  I was down to one unreliable laptop--for the record, it was a Dell Inspiron--and it finally crashed on me for good in late January.  I saved my nickels and dimes and purchased a new Hewlett Packard the week before last.  In the interim I've been collaborating with the incomparable Daniel of :icondaniel-remo-art: who did such a wonderful job recreating Stana Katic of the late, lamented Castle for me.  Daniel was good enough to come up with Angie Harmon (Law & Order, Rizzoli & Isles) and Daniela Ruah (NCIS: Los Angeles) so Stana will have some company in captivity.  This is a teaser for a story I'm working on with the working title WILES Weekend.  The premise is that Kate Beckett, Jane Rizzoli and Kelsi Blye accept an invitation to a weekend retreat at a secluded, women-only resort sponsored by WILES (Women In Law Enforcement Society)  Little do they suspect they're walking into a trap arranged by the deliciously evil Mistress Tatiana, seen here relishing the abject helplessness of our bound and beleaguered beauties.  Stay tuned.  Thank you for your patience during my absence.          

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   .  Beckett Home Invasion Alt  By Darklordmenchi-dax4s by Bound2theTrax

Lying awake and very much alone in bed, Detective 2nd Grade Katherine Beckett reflected on the speed with which her off-duty life had turned to shit.  After two years of missed signals, squandered opportunities and cosmically bad timing she had finally acknowledged her undeniable if unspoken attraction to Richard Castle, crime novelist and self-appointed consultant to the NYPD.  Castle, who endlessly aggravated her with his frat-boy attitude and inappropriate behavior, even as his thinking-outside-the-box approach to homicide investigation enabled Kate to maintain the highest clearance rate in the five boroughs.  Acting on her feelings for Rick meant first breaking up with her current beau, Detective Tom Demming, with whom she'd spent many an enjoyable night--to say nothing of mornings and afternoons--between the sheets.  Her heart still clenched at the memory of Tom's bewildered anguish as she informed him they were through.  She consoled herself with the certainty that in time Tom would find someone else, that she and Castle were meant to be...only to watch in shattered disbelief as Rick left the 12th Precinct that day with his ex-wife Gina on his arm.  Unbeknownst to Kate the two had reconciled and would be summering together at his oceanfront manse in the Hamptons.
     Javi Esposito had waited a decent interval before turning to Kate with an I told you so look.  Thankfully he refrained from sermonizing afterward; that was Lanie Parish's department.  Girl, what did you expect? she scolded late one night while a despondent Kate nursed her third glass of Beaujolais on Lanie's living room sofa.  Rick Castle trails you from one crime scene to the next, spends so much time at the precinct I'm surprised Captain Montgomery doesn't charge him rent, dedicates a book to you, and it took you this long to figure out the man was in love with you?  How long did you think he'd wait for you to choose between him and Tom Demming?  And now you don't have either one.
     
True fact, Kate thought dismally.  Castle had offered her his heart and received the back of her hand in return.  The collateral damage she'd inflicted on Tom Demming only compounded her sense of guilt.  She rolled from her back onto her side, squinting at the spidery green digits of her alarm clock.  Christ, quarter to four in the morning.  Just as well she was scheduled off the next two days; Captain Montgomery would take a dim view of her drifting off to sleep in the squad room.  Squeezing her eyes shut Kate buried her face in the pillow she still thought of as Tom's.  The faint smell of his cologne triggered memories of how he used to kiss the delicate hollow at the base of her throat before lavishing attention on her taut nipples with his lips and tongue, the same tongue he used to patiently explore her moist inner folds and tease her swollen, oh-so-sensitive clit...
     Kate's erotic reverie was interrupted by the sensation of something cold and metallic pressing against the back of her neck.  "Hello, Kate," said Detective Tom Demming pleasantly enough.  "No sudden movements, please.  I'd hate for Espo or Ryan to see your brain matter all over the headboard."
     A spasm of raw fear traveled the length of Kate's body.  "Tom, what the fuck?" she hissed. 
     "Don't cry out, either.  I'm perfectly willing to put a hollow-point round through your skull should you force me to."
     "How the fuck did you get into my apartment?"     
     "We exchanged keys, remember?  You gave me a key to your apartment and I gave you the key to my heart, which you promptly ripped out and stomped on.  Is it starting to come back to you, Kate?"
     "Tom..."  Kate inhaled raggedly, hoping to steady her nerves before she continued.  "I understand that I hurt you--"
     "Oh, you did more than hurt me, you treacherous cunt.  First you fucked me, then you fucked me over.  Strung me along, gave me your word I wasn't just another notch on your bedpost, that we were in this for the long haul.  And the whole time your plan was to charm that smirking asshole Rick Castle into bed with you."  Tom laughed mirthlessly.  "Can't blame you, I suppose.  Read somewhere Castle's publisher paid him a quarter-million dollar advance on his next book, the one he's basing on you, before he writes a single word.  He earns more in one afternoon than I do in five years. Shit, why settle for hamburger when you have a chance to dine on filet mignon?"   
     "Tom, this was never about money."  She swallowed.  "Regardless of what I did to you, what you're doing now is wrong on so many levels.  You're a decorated police officer, for Christ's sake!"       
     "I'm also a man.  Any real man understands that when he's wronged it's only natural to want payback.  You're off-duty until Wednesday, Kate.  That leaves me a whole forty-eight hours before anyone at the precinct misses you.  Now place your hands behind your back, palms together."  What choice did she have with a loaded gun at her head?  Kate flinched at the feel of case-hardened steel on her skin as Tom Demming locked her wrists behind her with NYPD issue handcuffs.  "You can sit up now."
     "Thanks," Kate said sourly.  Tom switched on her bedside reading lamp before producing a tool she recognized as paramedic shears.  He sliced apart the panties and camisole top she'd worn to bed, leaving her naked save for the matte black handcuffs.  "Tom, let me go now or you'll spend the next twenty to twenty-five years in prison.  NYPD will make an example of you."
     "First they have to catch me," he said with a grin.  "I have an accomplice you have yet to meet, though I hope to introduce you to him shortly.  He's an expert at creating new identities for himself and others."  As Tom spoke he fished an eight foot length of braided manila rope from a side pocket of his cargo pants.  He ordered Kate to lie on her side while he lashed her ankles firmly together and made them fast to her wrists in a punishingly tight hogtie.  She was now utterly helpless.  Even so she struggled as Tom lifted her from the bed and planted her in a kneeling position on the floor.  Her most gruesome nightmares paled by comparison with the waking reality she now found herself in.
     "Castle's meeting me for a working lunch tomorrow," she said, a desperate bluff but the best she could manage on short notice.  "When I don't show up he'll come looking for me."
     "Frankly I doubt that," said Tom, shrugging out of his Police Academy tee shirt.  "He's way out on the Hamptons bonding with his ex.  Heard the whole story from Esposito.  Nice try, Beckett."  He removed shoes and socks, followed by his cargo pants.  The conspicuous tent shape in his cotton boxers made his intentions all too apparent.  Kate had considerable experience pleasuring Tom with her mouth, but never while handcuffed and certainly not at gunpoint.                
     Steel clashed on steel as she wrenched uselessly at her cuffs.  "You can't possibly believe you'll get away with this."
     Tom shed his boxers to unveil a prick of heroic proportions.  Fully erect it bobbed menacingly before her eyes.  "The night you dumped me I lay awake in bed fantasizing how I'd get even with you.  I dreamed about tying your ass up and forcing you to suck me off.  I guess this is proof that sometimes wishes come true."  He seized a fistful of Kate's glossy sorrel hair in his right hand, holding the pistol to her right temple.  "My cock in your mouth or your brains on the floor, you choose."
     No sooner had Kate reluctantly parted her lips than Tom buried his erection deep inside her, smiling as she gagged on his fearsome length.  He ground her face into his pubic thatch.  "Make it good, Beckett.  If it helps, close your eyes and pretend I'm Castle."                    
     Tom proceeded to deep throat Kate Beckett, a ruthless and methodical act of oral rape that she endured in silence--not that speech was possible with a mouthful of ramrod-stiff cock.  Prior to this he had been gentlemanly enough not to come in Kate's mouth, knowing full well she did not care for the taste of warm semen.  She rightly suspected that on this occasion he would not be nearly as chivalrous.
     "Goddamn, I know you can do better than that," Tom scolded mildly.  "Use that talented tongue of yours."  Kate circled the velvety head of his cock with her tongue, then traced the engorged vein on the underside of his shaft, Tom thrusting harder and deeper in response.  His stamina was inhuman.  All too soon Kate felt a brackish ooze clotting at the back of her throat.  When Tom spent himself at last in a cum shot of volcanic scale her mouth was so full of semen she had no choice but to swallow it or choke.
     "I'll give you seven on a scale of ten," commented her captor as Kate knelt sobbing in shame before him. 
     "You evil son of a bitch," she said in an enraged whisper.  "I can't wait to testify at your trial."
     "You'll never have the chance."  Scooping Kate's ruined panties off the bed, Tom wadded them in his fist before stuffing them deep into her  mouth.  He produced a roll of duct tape--good old duct tape, a thousand and one uses--tearing off a generous swatch and molding it to her lips to seal the gag in place.         
     "Mmmmphh!" Kate mewled.
     "That accomplice I mentioned?  He should be joining us by daybreak if not before.  Name's Jerry Tyson.  You probably know him better as 3XK, the Triple Killer.  And you, Detective Kate Beckett, have the honor of being his next victim."        


Author's Note: I've been sidelined since roughly the second week of January after the latest in a series of Dell laptops crashed on me.  I've since invested in a Hewlett-Packard and hope to make up for my long absence now that I have a reliable computer again.  Daniel from :icondaniel-remo-art: has created his versions of the lovely Angie Harmon from Rizzoli & Isles and Daniela Ruah from NCIS: Los Angeles to keep Kate Beckett company in captivity.  Hope to post that story soon.  Artwork for this installment provided by :icondarklordmenchi:, who probably thinks I died or something since I haven't contacted him in so long.  My apologies, DLM.       


 




           


Pageview - Final by Bound2theTrax


I regret not being more productive over the past month.  Real Life can be held at bay only so long, leaving me little time to be creative.  My hope is some issues on the home front, most related to an illness in the family, will be resolved one way or another and I'll be able to sit down at my computer again.  Until then, I wanted to express my appreciation to all those whose interest in my sordid little bondage tales bumped me over the 25,000 page view threshold sometime last week.  To that end I asked Daniel of :icondaniel-remo-art: to work up his own version of my kidnap-prone OCs Jenna Coverdale and Laurel Haines.  Here they are, along with Jillian Kensett, involuntary guests in the lair of my favorite villainess Mistress Tatiana.  Were it not for the fact all three are bound and ball-gagged, I'm confident they would join me in thanking you for your continued loyalty, encouragement and support.       

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:iconbandmachart:
BandMachArt Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Sorry I've been incommunicado for the last weeks. Insanely busy. Wanting to read the "Blue Avenue" stuff, and promise I will. Be patient with me.
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:iconbound2thetrax:
Bound2theTrax Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
I am nothing if not patient.  "Blue Avenues" may strike you as a tad self-indulgent, what with the references to everything from Prairie Home Companion to Castle to Star Trek Classic.  I'm pleased that the new artwork seems to be drawing attention.  Not that there was anything wrong with Daniel's interpretation of Greg and Jillian, but Redg did a masterful job, particularly where "J.K." is concerned.  The finished "cover art" cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of 100.00 US (Redg lives in the Philippines) but I think you'll agree it was worth every penny.

"Blue Avenues" has its genesis with an article I read in the New York Times some years ago entitled "Our Lives, Run from Some Guy's Couch."  I'm sure a Google search will bring it up for you.  There is a school of thought that what we perceive as reality is in fact a planetary scale simulation being run on quantum computers by our transhuman or post-human descendants centuries from now.  It's roughly analogous to playing World of Warcraft of tinkering with an HO scale model train layout in the basement.  In fact, Greg's late Uncle Blake was a rail buff who once remarked that running a railroad empire in miniature "is rather like being God."  I'm having fun writing it, and if I can entertain my brother and sister Deviants in the process it's a win-win.    
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BandMachArt Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the background. I remember the NYT article, from 8/7/2007, wirtten by Jpohn Tierney, and discussing the theories of philosopher Nick Bostrom.

You've surely considered, I hope, the "infinite regression" possibilities of the "Our Lives" concept. To wit: that the guy on the couch is simply part of another guy's simluation sitting on another couch...etc. etc.

My feeling is we've got enough to worry about as it is....   :D

I just remembered that we've been shopping for a new couch. Wonder what that implies, cosmologically?
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:iconbound2thetrax:
Bound2theTrax Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Why am I not surprised that you not only recall the date the article first appeared, but the author's name and that of Nick Bostrom.  The latter is actually the template for a character I've named Reginald Owensby, a lecturer at East Anglia College in the UK.  He's a supporting player but plays a critical role. 

One of the points made in the story, as I recall, was that "stacking realities," i.e. creating a universe within a universe would lead to so many complications that the post-humans would abort the whole simulation, bringing down the curtain on our reality. 
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carmag34 Featured By Owner Nov 4, 2016
thanks for fav :) (Smile)
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SciFiZone Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave 😎
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DestroXXIV Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Happy birthday friend!
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:iconbound2thetrax:
Bound2theTrax Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
How nice of you to remember.  And you are my friend, though I understand the likelihood of our ever meeting in person is remote at best. 
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:iconthe-nightposter:
the-nightposter Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy Birthday!!
Birthday cake  icon fella's Gobbler (Party) fella Gift (Party) Cheers fella (party) Happy Birthday Grin 

Enjoy your day!!
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:iconbound2thetrax:
Bound2theTrax Featured By Owner Jun 3, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Love the Emoticon card.  Thank you so much for remembering.
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