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2024-06-08 at 6:34 PM UTCTake in as much air as you can. This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and
then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.
A friend of mine, when he was 13 years old he heard about "pegging." This is when a guy gets banged
up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have
explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a
better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a
little private research. Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkout counter, the
lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All
the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned.
So my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And
Vaseline.
Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt.
At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on
it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts.
Then, this kid, his mom yells it's supper time. She says to come down, right now.
He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed.
After dinner, he goes to find the carrot, and it's gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom
grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring
knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky.
This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they
nev¬er do. Ever. Even now that he's grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas
dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost
carrot is hovering over all of them. That something too awful to name.
People in France have a phrase: "staircase wit." In French: esprit de l'escalier. It means that moment
when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a par¬ty and someone insults you. You have
to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the
moment you leave the party....
As you start down the stairway, then-magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should've said.
The perfect crippling put-down.
That’s the spirit of the stairway.
The trouble is, even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under
pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do.
Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about.
Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide
was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around their
kid's neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm every¬where. Of
course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look ... better. Intentional
at least. The regular kind of sad teen suicide.
Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle
East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the
public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of pol¬ished
brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, ei¬ther a big metal ball or the
kind of fan¬cy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their
dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the
rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense.
It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases.
Helpful jack-off tips.
After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I'll pick
up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he's in the hospital.
He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to
share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the
phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy.
On the phone, the kid says how-the day before-he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he
was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines,
getting ready to beat off. This is after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how
Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ballpoint pen's too big. A
pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax
that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle.
He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin.
Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a
good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work.
Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally reinvented jacking off. Flat
on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't keep track of the wax. He's one good
squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn't sticking out anymore.
The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't even feel the lump of it
inside his piss tube.
From downstairs, his mom shouts it's supper time. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid
and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life.
It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax, so he figured it would just melt inside him and
he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kid¬neys. He can't stand straight.
This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people
scream¬ing. Game shows.
The X-rays show the truth, some¬thing long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V
inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's getting bigger and rougher, coated with
crystals of calci¬um, it's bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss
from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood.
This kid and his folks, his whole fam¬ily, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the
nurses stand¬ing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth.
The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy.
On the phone, right now, he starts to cry.
They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mis¬take, and now he'll never be
a lawyer.
Sticking stuff inside yourself. Stick¬ing yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a
noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble.
What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the
bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I'd kick my way to the
bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there for two, three, four minutes.
Just from jacking oft' I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd do this all afternoon.
After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs.
After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each hand¬ful in a towel. That's why it
was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty,
my mom.
That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, think¬ing she's just getting fat,
then giving birth to a two-headed, retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father and the
uncle. In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you.
The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool enhancement and the circulation pump.
The best part was getting naked and sit¬ting on it.
As the French would say, Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked? Still, one minute you're just a kid
getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer.
One minute I'm settling on the pool bottom and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water
above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellow¬striped swim trunks
are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to
ask why I skipped foot¬ball practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm
grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling.
One minute I've got enough air and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my
sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours.
My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch an¬other big breath. I dive down
and settle on the bottom.
I do this again and again.
This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My
dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until
bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee
rubbed raw against the concrete bot¬tom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from
being so long in the water.
And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls. It's then I need some air. But
when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get my feet under me. My ass is stuck.
Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a
circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're going to drown. Every year, tons
of people do. Most of them in Florida.
People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about everything. Getting one knee up,
getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Get¬ting
my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but
not getting to the air, either.
Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher.
The heartbeat in¬side my head getting loud and fast.
The bright sparks of light crossing and crisscrossing my eyes, I turn and look back ... but it doesn't
make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue¬white and braided with veins, has come up out
of the pool drain and it's holding on to my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that
looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails
away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake's thin, blue¬white skin you can see lumps of
some half-digested meal.
That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that's
never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me.
So ...I kick at it, at the slippery, rub¬bery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out
of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butt¬hole. With
another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an
inch closer to my escape.
Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It's
the kind of horse¬pill vitamin my dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football
scholarship. With extra iron and omega¬three fatty acids.
It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life.
It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call prolapsed. It's my
guts sucked into the drain.
Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That's about
400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together inside. Your ass is just the
far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working-unravel¬ing my insides-until it's got my
tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound shit and you can see how this might turn you inside out.
What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you're
digesting, doctors call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin, runny mess studded with
corn and peanuts and round green peas.
That's all this soup of blood and corn, shit and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my
guts unravel¬ing out my ass, me holding on to what's left, even then my first want is to some¬how get
my swimsuit back on.
God forbid my folks see my dick.
My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow¬striped swim trunks and
pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible.
You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lambskin condoms. Take one out and unroll it.
Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then try to tear it. Try
to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery. It's so slimy you can't hold on.
A lambskin condom, that's just plain old intestine.
You can see what I'm up against.
You let go for a second and you're gutted.
You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted.
You don't swim and you drown.
It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now.
What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of
their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of
a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital
13 years ago. Here's the kid they hoped would snag a football schol¬arship and get an MBA. Who'd
care for them in their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All
around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm.
Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the
kitchen tele¬phone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellow¬striped
swim trunks.
What even the French won't talk about.
That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say,
"I need that like I need a hole in my head...," Russian people say, "I need that like I need teeth in my
asshole......
Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse.
Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you
a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead.
Hell ... even if you're Russian, someday you just might want those teeth.
Otherwise, what you have to do is¬you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee
and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air and you will
chew through anything to get that next breath.
It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night. If I told
you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari.
It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trou¬ble or how I'd saved
myself. After the hospital, my mom said, "You didn't know what you were doing, honey. You were in
shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs.
All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me....
I need that like I need teeth in my asshole.
Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off
when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around
inside my guts for longer than a couple of hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or
chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet.
After you have a radical bowel resec¬tioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most people, you have
five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inch¬es. So I never got a football scholarship.
Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've
never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was 13.
Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swim¬ming pool. In the end my
dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled
into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the enhancement casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a
watery hank of intestine with a big orange vita¬min pill still inside, even then my dad just said, "That
dog was fucking nuts."
Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my dad say, "We couldn't trust that dog alone
for a second...."
Then my sister missed her period.
Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state,
after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never men¬tioned it again.
Ever.
That is our invisible carrot.
You. Now you can take a good, deep breath.
I still have not.The following users say it would be alright if the author of this post didn't die in a fire! -
2024-06-08 at 8:40 PM UTC
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2024-06-08 at 9:02 PM UTCUmm.
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2024-06-08 at 9:44 PM UTCGood thread. Would read again.
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2024-06-08 at 9:45 PM UTCMaggot Story
Here is my maggot story. The one I didn't lose, anyway. I wrote this about two weeks after my first experience with maggots, about five years ago. I didn't realize people would ask me to repost it so soon! Hope you enjoy it.
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Sunday was warm and sunny, just how I always fantasized it would be when I finally went through with it. I stared walking to the dumpster again, I think about 2pm, and I was really excited and nervous. I felt butterflies in my tummy, just anticipating what I was about to do.
The dumpster is in the alley behind a restaurant near my house. It gets emptied on Tuesdays, so by Sunday it's pretty stinky and there are flies buzzing around. Which means there are things rotting inside there and that's just perfect for me. A few times in the past I climbed into that dumpster and masturbated. Nothing too intense. Most I'd ever done was take off my pants and hump against the dirty garbage bags. And one time I laid there with my legs spread, watching the flies land on me.
So anyway, I walked down the alley to the dumpster, and as usual I made sure nobody was around, just to be extra careful. You have to go behind a tall wooden fence to even see the dumpster, and the restaurant is closed on Sunday anyway, so I knew I wouldn't be noticed. But this time there's no way I want to be disturbed. I climbed up and over the side and onto my hands and knees into the mass of plastic garbage bags and other miscellaneous rubbish. The bags felt warm from the sun. The smell in there was extremely foul, much worse than usual, and I knew it was because of my rotting meat. I sat and tried to get myself to relax for a few minutes. There was no reason to hurry. When I was ready, I calmly took off my sandals, my jeans, and my panties. Both pairs. I was wearing two pairs of tight panties with a bunch of my panty liners in the crotch, which keeps anything in my vagina from coming out when I move around. But I was going "all the way" this time, so I went ahead and got completely naked. That was a weird feeling, being totally nude inside the dumpster. It seemed very erotic to me. The sun felt warm on my skin, especially my boobs, which pretty much never see the sun.
I took a pair of rubber kitchen gloves out of my pants pocket and put them on. There was no way I could bring myself to actually touch a maggot with my bare hands. Lying with my back against the side of the dumpster, I fingered my pussy. I was really wet already. I knew I would be. The sensation of the rubber glove against my clit felt unusual, and I kind of liked it. I did that for a little while, just thinking about what I was about to do, while staring at the smaller garbage bag in the far corner of the dumpster where I'd left it yesterday. I still felt the butterflies in my tummy. I kept thinking to myself that I can't wimp out, that I had to go through with this. I wished for a moment that someone else was there to force me to do it, but decided that it was somehow much more sick and depraved to do it to myself willingly. And I thought, yeah, that's me. That's what I want. I deserve this. And so I knew it was time to do it
I got back on my hands and knees and crawled to the other side of the dumpster. I sat down next to my garbage bag, gently picked it up and placed it in front of me. The terrible smell was already stronger. Carefully, I tore the bag open. And there they were. There had to be thousands of maggots, kind of beige-yellow with little black spots on them, all writhing in a large mass. I couldn't even see the rotting meat underneath them. Dozens more maggots clung to the inside of the black plastic, which was coated with a thick light-brown slime. It was such a repulsive sight I thought I was going to throw up right there. But I didn't. I took a few minutes to get control of myself, fingering my clit while staring at the maggots, trying to work up the courage to continue.
I scooped up some of the slime on my gloved finger and brought it to my nose. I knew what it was from the reading I'd done before. It was digestive juices from the maggots, full of bacteria. And it smelled just horrible. I thought to myself, that's what I'm going to smell like. That's the stench that's going to come from my vagina. I want that, I thought, spreading my legs wide apart. I dragged my slimy finger between my pussy lips. My clit felt like a hard little pebble beneath the slime. I didn't want to cum right then, though, and I was still right on the edge of gagging, too. But I knew there was no turning back now, so I let my fingers lightly touch the top of the maggot mass. The maggots felt like nothing I'd experienced before. They seemed to have such energy, totally different from picking up an earthworm or something. And they felt so alive. I was fascinated and nauseated at the same time. Sinking my fingers into the mass, I felt the solid meat beneath. Gently breaking it apart, I could see that the meat had turned gray except for the very center which was still pink, and that the maggots had penetrated into it but not too deeply yet. There was still plenty of food for my filthy little babies. I broke off a small chunk of meat that was covered on one side with maggots and held it for a moment while I fought back another urge to vomit. It was finally time, I thought. I leaned forward, and holding my pussy lips apart with one hand, I gritted my teeth and pushed the maggot-covered chunk of meat into my vagina. And then, totally without expecting it, I had an orgasm. A quick, sharp one that only made me want more.
And more was coming. I broke off another small chunk of meat, along with another part of the maggot mass and pushed it inside me. This one had more maggots on it, and I stopped for a moment to see if I could feel them inside me. I wasn't sure I could, but it didn't matter. I wanted them all. I needed to take them all inside me. With that thought, I went sort of wild. I started pushing bigger chunks of meat and maggots, and even handfuls of just maggots into me, over and over. I was practically hyperventilating, too. I wasn't thinking at all about the noise I must have been making. But now I could definitely feel the maggots squirming inside my vagina. Just the idea of it made me cum again.
Finally, once I had crammed all of the rotten meat, and all of the maggots I could inside me, I felt so filthy, so disgusting, like I'd turned myself into some low, depraved sort of beast. And that made me so incredibly hot, together with the constant movement of the maggots inside me. But it was time to go. Holding my hand over my crotch, I slowly crawled back to my clothes and managed to get dressed again without anything coming out. I put the gloves back into my pocket and climbed out of the dumpster. And right then I could hold back the revulsion of what I'd just done no longer. Holding myself up against the side of the dumpster, I threw up. Ever vomited while you were horny? It's weird.
Walking home down the alley, I felt like I was in a daze. I kept asking myself how I could have done this to myself, but then asking why I'd waited so long. I had to walk slowly to make sure nothing got squeezed out of my vagina, but also to keep from cumming again. I found myself amazed at the whole thing, that I'd stuffed the most intimate part of myself with these things that were too disgusting to even touch without gloves. And that I was totally getting off on it.
Once I was home, I locked myself in my bedroom, took off my clothes, except for my double-panties, and got into bed. I closed my eyes and just let myself feel the maggots squirming inside me. For a while I tried to watch TV, but I could really pay attention to it. The maggots were too wonderfully distracting. I skipped dinner. Later on, when I really had to pee, I did it by taking down my panties and holding my hand over my crotch, wearing the rubber gloves, of course.
The next morning I called off of work after being awake most of the night. I mainly stayed naked in my bed all day masturbating, barely getting up for anything. I wanted to do nothing but let my nauseating little babies grow inside my pussy. Pretty early, though, I realized the smell was getting really horrible. I opened the window. I also wet a bath towel and stuffed it under my bedroom door. I didn't want my parents to get suspicious.
A little later on I realized that I didn't need the panties to hold the maggots and the meat inside me. The mass pretty much stayed in place as long as I laid kind of still. I thought hey, I guess that means I'm infested, which made me cum again. I was always right on the edge of orgasm, and it didn't take much to go over the edge. I also noticed that the maggots seemed to be more active if I kept my legs apart and realized that they probably needed to breathe. So that's how I stayed a lot of the time. I did get up and read my email and posted an update on my web page but I couldn't seem to think clearly enough to write much. Then I had to pee again, but I just didn't want to get up. So I just peed in the bed. It made me cum. I just wanted to keep feeling the maggots moving. And they were. They seemed even stronger, in anything. I was totally in heaven with it. I didn't eat at all, either.
I heard my parents come home from work. During the evening my mom said hello through the door and wondered why I was staying in my room like a hermit. I said I was reading a novel all the way through at once, which I actually do sometimes. She left me alone. I hoped she didn't smell anything. I surfed the Web for a while that night and looked at porn. I came a few more times. I decided to go ahead and take a shit in my bed, right where I was. That just made me more turned on and I ended up smearing some of my shit over my thighs and my pussy and cumming again. I noticed that the maggots started coming out a bit. Maybe they liked the shit. A couple tmes one would creep up on my belly. I'd just flick it back down between my legs.
I was getting tired at that point. It really was time to sleep and my vagina was throbbing and kind of sore from all of the attention. But I was most worried about making sure my maggots could breathe while I was sleeping. Somehow, I managed to find the energy to place a chair on either side of my bed and use sheets to tie my ankles to them. That would keep my legs apart during the night. I pulled the blankets over myself and dozed off lying in my piss and shit.
For the most part I slept through the night, but I kept waking up sweating, with my vagina throbbing worse. I knew I was getting a bad infection from this, but I didn't care. I was not thinking right. I could also feel maggots crawling all over me. I guess I decided I liked that and I'd play with my clit until I came again. I don't know if I realized at the time that I wasn't wearing the rubber gloves anymore. I'd fall back to sleep and wake up again later with little phrases running through my head. Other girls have babies but I give birth to decay and filth, I'd keep thinking to myself. Or I'd say I'm probably ruining my womb and I don't care, I want to be ruined. I know I must have been hallucinating from the infection. I was hoping the maggots had given up on the rotten meat and were eating my vagina instead. My fingers were buried inside my vagina, with my fingertips against part of the meat. Whenever I pressed on it, the maggots would squirm faster and I'd climax again. I could do it over and over and keep cumming.
Finally it was Tuesday morning and sunlight made me wake up. I knew I was really, really sick at that point. I felt weak and dizzy, I knew I had a fever, and now my whole lower belly was sore and throbbing. Despite all that I was still horny and I was still right on the edge of cumming. And then for some reason, all I wanted to do was see my maggots.
I pulled the blankets aside and saw that I really did have maggots crawling all over my body. I was so whacked out I loved it. But I also saw that I had a rash spreading over my tummy and my thighs, and I was soaked with sweat. And then suddenly I needed to see what it looked like between my legs. I sat up a little, picked up the hand mirror I have on the table next to my bed, and held it between my thighs.
My pussy was totally gaped wide open. I'd never seen it like that before. It reminded me of a mouth in a sick, gagging expression. My inner lips were swollen and dark purple, almost black, while my outer lips were cherry red and I was losing a layer of dead skin, like a sunburn. A stream of the light brown slime was oozing from inside my vagina and down my butt crack onto the shitty mattress. Although I could still feel a large mass of maggots and rotten meat inside me, there were maggots everywhere between my legs. Hundreds of them.
And then I saw my fingers on my pussy. They plunged deep into my vagina and dragged out a wad of slime and maggots, which I pressed hard against my clit. I remember having a huge orgasm right then, and I must have passed out. I think I was sobbing too, but I'm not sure.
That's all I remember until I woke up in the hospital.The following users say it would be alright if the author of this post didn't die in a fire! -
2024-06-08 at 10:03 PM UTCThis thread delivers
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2024-06-08 at 10:05 PM UTCOP inhales weiners
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2024-06-08 at 10:08 PM UTC
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2024-06-11 at 5:59 AM UTCI create Lolita Slave Toys. In case you are wondering what I mean; it is very simple: I transform young girls in easy manageable sex toys. That's it. The girls can not walk away, can not resist, can not tell anything; they are just there for your sadistic amusement. Curious how?
I am a surgeon living in one of those countries at the eastern outskirts of Europe. A pretty rough society still, poverty is enormous and unless you have money and connections, you are fucked. Needless to say I have both. We also have beautiful girls here, eastern European countries are well known for that. Fortunately (for me) some of these girls don't have parents or relatives anymore and live in orphanages. Actually I would not call that living, it is unbelievable what you will find there. Some very young girls are lucky and get adopted, but at an age of 8 or 9 they are too old. Some of the more pretty girls get sold into prostitution and you could consider it luck for them too; instead of slowly fading away in filth and poverty. And a few girls I buy. I generally pick the attractive girls around 9 or 10 years, before puberty starts. The orphanage is very cooperative, they are glad they have one mouth less to feed, one new place to fill. They also gladly accept my donations for the girls.
They never ask and I never tell. They know I am a surgeon; they probably think I do some experiments with the girls or cut out and sell their organs.
But no, I found a much more profitable business; I turn the girls into sex toys.
You can order a Lolita Slave Toy if you want. They are not cheap; I charge in between 30.000 and 40.000 US dollar for a toy. That is without shipping costs.
But: You will have a Lolita Slave Sex Toy that will give you satisfaction for many years, she is like a doll, but she is a living doll!
Let me tell you how I turn a young orphan girl into a living doll. When I have found a new, suitable girl I will ask the orphanage to deliver her at my villa. She will arrive naked, tied and blindfolded. After a brief inspection and a quick medical check I will take her to my special clinic in my villa. First I will clean her very thoroughly. These girls really smell and are filthy; they have not seen a bath for ages and they are really neglected. When she is finally clean I put her in a hospital bed and give her an injection that will put her to sleep.
I will create her a new identity and give her a new name - I don't know the girls real names, I just know their age; that's all I need. At he orphanage any data they have from her will be destroyed. She never existed. She will from now on only exist as a toy. I have a couple of Lolita Slave Toys myself; Dasha who is 11 years old and is just in the final stage of her transformation, Tanya, who is now 12 years old; two years since I created her and Luda, who is 14 years old and 4 months pregnant.
The next morning is the big operation day. The girl will be still sleeping because of the anesthetic from last night. I put her on the operation table and administer anesthetics for the operation to come. So if you were wondering why my Slave Toy will not resist or walk away; very simple: I amputate her legs and arms! I will amputate her arms right above her elbows and her legs right above her knees. Easy isn't it? This girl will never run away from you...
For the girl this is a very heavy operation and it is probably the most critical step in the transformation process. But most of the times they survive.
Now I am not just leaving the girls with stumps on their arms and legs. I will attach a 5 cm metal bar very tightly to the bone or her arm and legs before stitching up the wounds. The other end of the metal bar has a screw-thread, where I can attach an o-ring. When she is ready you easily secure her with a chain or padlock to any object you like! My Tanya and Luda normally have a chain behind her back attached to both o-rings on the stumps of her arms. It will keep her arms nicely close to her body.
In the beginning you have to really take care of the wounds on the stumps to prevent infections. Once the wound is healed completely will place a silicone cover over the stump. The outside of the of the cover is covered with white velvet and this actually looks quite sweet, despite the rather cruel o-rings at the end of what is left of her arms and legs. After a few months, when the legs and arms have fully recovered you can put some more strain on the o-rings. I started a year ago to hang Tanya and Luda on their arms and legs from the ceiling. It is such an interesting form of decoration in your room to have a naked Lolita hanging from your ceiling! And it is very nice to use her cunt or mouth when she is hanging like that.
But before that it is a long way to go. The operation is not ready yet with amputating her arms and legs. Next I will also cut her vocal cords, so she can no longer speak or even make noises and remove her teeth from her mouth. When I have removed all her teeth I implant a silicone layer with a soft top layer on her jaws. She will still be able to give blow jobs, but she can no longer bite on your dick. It is actually quite nice now when she more or less chews a little bit on your cock; the soft top layer gives you a kind of massage.
The silicone implant is however absolutely necessary; if not her mouth would look like a toothless granny. This will keep her good looks. To further keep her mouth in good shape she will wear a ball gag most of the time. That does sound somewhat obsolete because I cut her vocal chord and she cannot speak anyway, but this is just because of esthetics. A gagged girl simply looks good and besides feeding, drinking and fucking she does not need her mouth anymore.
Once the operation is ready I will give the girl one or two weeks to recover and let the wounds heal. Than her training begins.
She is is no longer an ordinary girl but became a toy, there are a lot of things she has to learn. Since she has no teeth anymore she can not eat. She has to be fed again like a baby. I actually feed her once a day with a baby bottle and infant formula, because it contains all minerals and vitamins. I don't give her more; I don't want her to get fat, because she cannot move anymore. You have to be careful with that.
She gets to drink a baby bottle with water, tea or lemonade three or four times a day, so she gets at least 2 liters of liquid per day. That is sufficient to keep her healthy. In the beginning I will put the bottle in her mouth but pretty soon I will just put the bottle next to her, so she has to put it in her mouth herself. It takes some practice to get the bottle in her mouth herself without having arms, but eventually she manages to grab a bottle with her mouth, roll on her back and drink. Once she gets the trick I will blindfold her before she gets her bottle; before her training is finished she must be able to find the bottle and drink it without being able to see.
The food and drink has to come out again too, so you have to put her on the toilet a few times per day. Since she cannot move you have to lift her up and bring her to the toilet. When I am out for business I normally put a catheter in her urinary track. Since she does not eat much, she does not shit much either.
Although she can no longer speak I can still communicate with her so teach her some elementary things. I will teach her to give a proper blow job, I will teach her to enjoy sex when her clit and labia are stimulated with a vibrator. I will also teach her what it means to be a slave. I will whip her pussy every day, mostly in combination with using a vibrator so she will at some point in time no longer be able to discriminate between pain and pleasure. I will put clamps and pegs on her nipples and labia, stretch her labia. I will intensify her training when I treat her pussy with more and more needles. Her pussy will be treated with hot wax, her clit will be tortured with needles, her cunt will be electrocuted, her cunt will be sewn shut. Any possible form of torture she will have to endure before she gets to the next stage of her transformation. In this phase I will blindfold her most of the time, but I will take care she will also actually see how I torture her. I have a camera running most of the time and she will have to watch her own torture plus some more really hardcore torture movies at least an hour per day.
At some point in time she is not only physically a slave but also became mentally a slave. Her mind no longer resists, she has become totally submissive. Then I will make the last modifications to make her to a Slave Toy. She is already immobilized and unable to communicate herself, because no longer able to speak. Until now she was still able to see and to hear, she was not completely sensory deprived. A true slave toy can no longer move, speak, see of hear but only feel.
Before depriving her of her last senses I give her a mild anesthetic. Than I put headphones on her ears and play for several hours extremely loud noises on the headphones. This will be sufficient to damage her hearing for good, she will not be able to hear anymore. As a final touch I will treat her eyes with a laser. She will not be completely blind. My Tanya and Luda still react on strong lights and I guess they can still see some faint shadows, but they can not recognize anything anymore and they are almost deaf. Nevertheless I blindfold them most of the time, but that is because I like a blindfolded girl. They are completely numb, they don't even make noises when I torture them. I can only see from the reactions of her body, the increased speed of breathing and the expression in her face she is suffering pain.
When she has recovered from this she is now transformed in a helpless little toy and ready for sale. They are very easy to keep; just a little bit of food, need only a little bit of care (daily cleaning). They are immobilized, you can attach them to any object and even make "decoration" out of them. They cannot speak, hear or see; they are completely sensory deprived. The Slave Toys that are for sale are still virgin and just entering puberty. Nevertheless the are well trained for oral sex and have been tortured and abused heavily. They can get pregnant, so anti conception is advised unless you enjoy to have a pregnant slave toy. Just let me know if you want to order one.
