It has recently fallen into the hands of the Daily Rake an audio tape of Gary Bettman having something approaching human intercourse with the unfortunate woman known as his wife. This tape appeared in our mailbox with the inscription “Help me Obi-wan Shekelstein, you’re my only hope.” The audio tape has been analysed here by our experts.
Skipping ahead to the crucial part, we hear the sound of Gary Bettman’s tiny peg-like feet scurrying across a carpet.
“Oh yeah, looks like someone’s excited for me,” he whines in his nasally child voice as his beady eyes appreciate the sight of the unfortunate woman known as Mrs. Bettman.
“Oh yeah, I want you so badly,” the woman’s voice responds, poorly masked fear and trepidation.
The wet sound of Bettman giving cunnilingus to the poor Orthodox Jew Girl who fate cruelly placed in front of him can be heard, sounding kind of like wet, slimy fruit being mashed together. Bettman’s hooked jew nose penetrating deeper into his wife than his little jew cock ever will. Mrs. Bettman’s obligatory moans dominate the audio. Actually the audio is dominated by the gross sound of Bettman’s lips and tongue escaping his mouth and leaving a layer of thick slimy saliva over the unfortunate girl. We didn’t want to have to report that, but for the sake of honesty you can hear it really clearly and it’s fucking disgusting. Mercifully the mouth “pleasuring,” stops and Bettman can be heard shifting his weight back onto his peg feet.
“Oh my, what a beautiful woman,” he says with that offbeat cadence he has that makes everything even creepier. Although not present on the audio, those beady eyes violating the body of Mrs. Bettman can be felt, if not heard. Shuffling around ensues, and then the unmistakable sound of Bettman moaning in pleasure as the sound of tiny, spasmatic thrusting fills the audio. There is a brief moment where Mrs. Bettman remains completely silent save a very muffled sob of utter horror. Sort of like what one might do if looking down and seeing a rat gnawing on your bloody feet.
“You like that,” the skinny-fat zionist says to the poor woman.
“Oh yeah, baby, I love having sex with you,” Mrs. Bettman responds after being prompted.
“Tell me I’m hotter than that filthy goy Sidney Crosby!”
Mrs. Bettman wanted to agree for the sake of her marriage, she had been raised to have an unfortunate loyalty to the jew monster between her legs. But she had also been raised to be honest, and she couldn’t tell a lie of that magnitude. She quickly thought on her feet for a sidestep.
“I’m too horny to talk,” she says, clearly and with proper enunciation.
“Oh yeah baby, take my thick 2 inch jew cock,” Bettman, crawling all over her.
“Oh baby, it’s so deep inside of me, it feels like it’s at least 4 inches,” she lies.
“Oh. Oh. Oh. Yeah take that load.” There is now complete silence, other than Bettman desperately gulping down air as his orgasm courses through his body. It sounds kind of like moist reverse burping. Then there is momentary silence, other than the moist noises his cold sweat, thick like a mucal layer, makes as he squirms his body against hers. The sound of Bettman rolling his tiny pudgy jew body off the unfortunate woman can be heard.
“Oh baby you really filled me up with your cum!” Mrs. Bettman says flatly, a memorized line from a porno, despite her palpable repulsion at the weak yet strong smelling product of Garry Bettman’s tiny jew balls.
“Yeah that was a nice fat load you took,” the tiny hooknosed jew says with clear excitement. He feels almost like a real man in this moment.
“My lust has been sated,” she says flatly.
Bettman can be heard in the distance using his dumpy 4’10 skinny-fat body to collect and put on his fancy clothes that he pretends makes him look masculine and powerful. He leaves the room, and after a minute or two of silence the soft sound of muffled whimpers can be heard emanating from Mrs. Bettman. Whimpers that turn into sobs. Sobs that turn into full blown crying. Mrs. Bettman cries until she falls asleep, and then inwardly she begins to dream.
“Snnnnnneeeyyyyy,” a deep throated gurgle. Unintelligible.
“Siiinnnneeeyyyy,” she repeats.
“Siiiidddddnnnneeeeyyyy,” she says, talking in her sleep about the focus of her dreams.
“Siiddney Crosby, you look so hot in that,” Mrs. Bettman says, describing her dream, as Sidney Crosby’s beautiful goy face crosses her dream vision. She describes Sidney Crosby, naked from the waist up, smiling in angelic garb as his lips move to form one word.
“Shelli.”
Shelli twitches her legs through her sleep in sheer excitement as she stirs to the sound of Dream Sidney Crosby. She unclearly sleep-talk describes the next part, but a minute later she clearly describes her sexual dream. Dream Sidney Crosby’s goy tongue is pleasuring her while Nathan McKinnon shoves his cock in her mouth while Tyler Seguin makes tea and cookies in the oven with an apron on and gives her a winning smile in a typical pastoral scene.
Shelli’s hand speeds up, and she moans with true pleasure for the first time in months. She grabs Sidney Crosby by his elephant ears, bringing him up and down her floppy jew pussy.
“Hey babe,” Bettman’s nasaly voice can be heard as his peg feet bring him to re-enter the room.
“Huh,” Shellie says, blinking, rudely awakened to her cruel Crosby-less reality, her hand still subconsciously pleasuring herself.
“Oooooooohhhh yeah,” Bettman, giddy, runs up to her like a child at a candy store. “Someone wants seconds,” he says, referring to the mess her moist vagina has made on the bedsheets.
And with that, Bettman climbs up on top of her, his tiny little hands reaching up and pawing at her body, his face seeking hers. Mrs. Bettman can’t help herself from subconsciously turning away from his cold wet lips as he slobbers on her face. An action Bettman delusionally infers as playing hard to get.
“Oh yeah,” that nasally child voice, “somebody wants to play.”
He says that last part like he’s talking to a dog. It’s really weird and gross.
“Yes I want to play,” the response. Flat, resigned, a woman who’s given up on life.
“You’re lucky I have the stamina for seconds,” he excitedly exclaims, before burying his face in her neck, his lips not reaching higher because of his tiny effeminate body. The sound of tiny thrusting fills the room, along with Bettman’s heavy breathing as Shelli’s sobs get mistaken for ecstasy.
“I’m so lucky,” she says, the emotion masked but not hidden, as her voice quavers with anger and resignation. There is a moment of silence, punctuated only by Bettman’s wheezing and tiny thrusting.
“I’m so lucky,” she repeats, softer now, as the tears stream down her face.
Wow, it truly is impressive how we managed to get all of Mrs. Bettman’s thoughts on nothing more than an audio tape. Kudos to our audio experts here at Daily Rake for somehow managing to get that.
[…] Pajeet. I also published the two pieces that were supposedly “pornographic,” here, and here. I fully expected that as I sat down to write this I would be ranting that he had still not […]