This is all I have. If you have something that's not here, please share.

My mommy had me when she was younger than I was when I killed her.

She hit me a lot. She never really slapped me, but she threw me on the wall and grabbed my arm and slammed me into the wall again and again, and always put me down, blaming me for being a bastard who's father wasn't good to her.
...And other friends of hers hit me a lot. I don't know how she knew them, but they did jobs for her and she fucked them a lot. I got really sick of it.

She also fondled me and my older sister a lot. I overheard my sister and her slightly older friend discussing how that happened to both of them but usually the daddy or uncle does it. We didn't have such a dad so it fell to my mother to abuse us.

"We should kill her." Era had almost murdered her own father, from what my sister Sandy said to a different friend. Sandy was shaking her head but Era continued. "Run her over. I'm real."

"No! I know you are. We're not doing that."

"Worked for me."


Comment too long, view post No.11788 to see the full comment.

Hi guys. I'm really new to this scene, and there are a couple of things I'm wondering about that I hope you can help me with.

A common theme I see across guro is loss of bladder control. Girls almost always pee as they're dying. At first I thought it was just asphyxia, but it seems to cross all fetish lines. Strangled? *trickle* Decapitated? *splash* Drowning? cute little golden cloud.

And as a girl, and a girl who's fantasies revolve around her being the victim, that leaves me curious. Do we really pee when we die, and if so what causes it? And I feel a little shy asking this, but would I feel it?

Thanks, sorry for the weird question.

I am actually in a position where in I could get meat, which I'd like her to eat unknowingly or not.

Anyone else find this cool?

I have kik too, Lukesixx6

LostDragon01 made this gif but never colored or finished it. can some one do that, it's there OC getting sucked by a fish, then swimming away after biting off his horse's cock.

Alright, since Killer and Victim is essentially dead, I've decided to recreate the game. Hopefully my changes will be enough to keep it alive.

The concept is mostly the same; Person 1 creates a character, and decides if that character is a killer or a victim. If Person 1's character is a killer, then Person 2 creates a scenario in which their own character is killed by Person 1's character. If Person 1's character is a victim, then Person 2's character will kill them. After Person 2 writes out the scenario, they create their own character and allow the next person to write a scenario.

Some basic rules;

Although the original paragraph is singular when it comes to characters, you may have up to three characters in a scenario. The only restriction is that you cannot mix them; 3 killers or 3 victims, not 2 Killers and 1 victim.

Write out the scenario above you before posting your own. However, if it has been more than one month since it was posted, you may create a new scenario without replying to the previous one.

Original characters only!

No characters under the age of 18. At some point I will make a version of this game to allow for younger characters.

Comment too long, view post No.3317 to see the full comment.

Feel free to send all of your shark gores!
Cut or not!
Because sharks are tasty.

The Discreet Brothel: a report on recent occurrences at the Velvet Glove Social Club, based on interrogations and surveillance camera files.

The evening of October 31 proved to be far more remarkable at the Velvet Glove Social Club than anyone had expected, even considering it was Halloween and Madame Solange had arranged some special entertainments for the delectation of a clientele whose sophistication should have prevented it from taking any notice of a holiday intended for small children. Nothing of the exterior suggested anything of the decadent activities to be enjoyed within. The club presented an austere, though somewhat foreboding front to the view of non-initiates who drove or walked past. Located in a brownstone on a nondescript side street, its windows were muffled by heavy, deep purple draperies. A small, simple brass plate on the door announced the club’s unusual name, and a plain black button to the right of the door enabled a visitor to ring for admittance. A cone-shaped fixture emitted just enough sour yellow light to illuminate the top step in front of the door, leaving the rest of the building’s front in dim obscurity. No light penetrated from around window draperies. Beginning at eleven, anyone standing across the street would have viewed a slow trickle of well-dressed men, and a few richly outfitted women, filtering along the street front alone or in groups of two or three, or disgorged from expensive but nondescript chauffeured automobiles, who climbed the steps, rang for admittance, and disappeared into a briefly illuminated gap in the doorway.

Once inside, they found themselves in a dazzlingly rich entry hall, enveloped in draperies and tapestries of deep burgundy, gold, navy blue, sparkling with brilliantly candle-lit crystal chandeliers, leading up a staircase carpeted in deep blood-red plush along a curving mahogany banister. The wall upward was lined with obscurely rendered paintings portraying intricately detailed erotic entanglements of a disturbing quality, hinting at bodily distortions and couplings not found in any normal dimension. An array of accommodating, compliant hostesses, young women draped in the scantiest of costumes—all protuberant bosoms, bottoms, nipples, and clitorises, curving thighs, black velvet on pale alabaster skin, ivory baubles strung over lush expanses of ebony skin, outrageously contrived hairstyles, musical voices edged with a note of hysteria—accompanied the guests up the stairs, arms entwined, hands groping and fondling, eyes brittle as ice offering the hint of reality at odds with the exuberant mood.

When they reached the top of the grand staircase, patrons were met by Madame Solange, a ruined beauty in an exotic antique kimono whose porcelain makeup just managed to obscure evidence of far too many facelifts and Botox injections, whose age seemed to be mid 50s but might just as easily have lain somewhere in the mid 70s, and who managed to convey to each individual guest in just a few words that he or she would find within the club’s warren of rooms—containing an infinity of forms of feminine enticement, of every race and hue, color and language, level of erotic proficiency and kink—precisely that particular decadence that would first arouse and then satisfy ultimately unspeakable desires. Madame Solange conveyed some guests to the bar, where exotic fillies of every nation, wearing nothing more than festoons of rhinestones, feathers, and carnival beads, with ornate gold piercings through surgically enhanced nipples and labia, served cocktails of rare liqueurs whose importation and sale were still legally outlawed—with vaginal secretions and in some cases menstrual blood smeared along the rim of each glass by a perfectly nailed finger. Other guests repaired to a small theater, lushly upholstered in deep blood-colored burgundy plush on walls, floor, and seats, to watch an endlessly shifting ballet of copulating couples (gymnasts hired away from Cirque du Soleil whose gyrating contortions, performed while hanging from rings, standing on their heads, or riding unicycles, left their viewers feeling dizzy and even vaguely disembodied). As the guests gazed in stunned silence at this arousing tableau, pubescent nymphs, crouching on their knees, one to a patron, with surgically modified lips sucked and vacuumed flaccid middle-aged penises or suctioned deep within the collapsed membranes of post-menopausal vaginas. Still other guests were escorted, in ones or twos, and sometimes threes, through winding hallways to the dim doorways behind which each patron would find the world’s only courtesan whose special talent meshed precisely with their own individual fetishes.

After the house lights came up in the theater, a half dozen or so patrons remained seated, for Madame Solange had previously whispered they should stay for a special attraction. A brief intermission to allow patrons to refresh their drinks and peruse a leather-bound catalogue of Fine Leathers fetishwear, including gloves, dildos, and artificial vaginas crafted from human skin, the lights dimmed and a hush fell over the scene as the music of a theremin floated through the room, carrying the unearthly strains of an entirely new musical composition whose gradually quickening pace and rising volume were vaguely reminiscent of Ravel’s Bolero, though hardly as obvious, even ethereal. Indeed, some patrons seemed to have fallen into trancelike sleep under the music’s insidious effect. Two dancers appeared in the stark, bright cone of a narrow spotlight, their cross-lit shadows hugely projected on an apparent burst of fog. One dancer, a lush brunette, was announced as Marjana by a discreet placard to the side of the stage. She appeared, moving slowly but seamlessly in a slow tango with her black-clad male partner, in a tight, skin-fitting burgundy body suit, its silk fabric, thin and translucent enough to reveal every shifting texture, fold, and shape from nipple and collarbone to vulva and tailbone. She appeared as a floating nude vision from some other, perhaps hellish, dimension. Both dancers wore discreet carnival masks outlining their eyes only, which seemed to gleam an unearthly greenish yellow with catlike intensity. As the tango continued, their limbs entwined and parted in motions simulating copulation, with Marjana always eluding her partner at just that moment when it seemed he would certainly drape his arms and legs round her in a final orgasmic convulsion. As she bent and turned, her heavy and pendulous but firm, self-supporting breasts moved with her in a constant slow jiggle, the burgundy fabric emphasizing hard taut nipples with a nearly holographic sheen, and the minute ripples of stomach and inner thigh muscles accentuating the tremulous movements of her genitals, but always within the smooth continuous flow of her overall dance, feinting and teasing her partner, enticing and nearly submitting, but always shifting away at the last moment, following the slowly syncopated rhythms of the music.

As the theremin piece gradually increased in tempo and volume, the male dancer, with his organ now fully erect though still seamlessly clad in its smooth second skin of burgundy silk, removed a small damascene dagger from its inconspicuous sheath and waved it discreetly but dramatically from left to right in front of the audience, causing a ripple of gasps and flutters of hands to ripple through the patrons in the same direction—almost as if a conductor had waved a baton across the members of an orchestra. Now circling, now sweeping close to the still obliviously gliding Marjana, now easing back, he brandished the dagger, more of a stiletto really, its two edges razor sharp, its point capable of cutting flesh as if it were soft butter, glittering like ice as it was picked out in the spotlit fog. His curving slices, now wide and generous, now subtly focused and swift, carved out an unimaginably narrow swath of air just above Marjana’s ever twisting and turning form, seeming to brush so close to her as to shave the delicate fuzz of arms, thighs, calves and ass, were they not still sheathed in the immeasurably thin burgundy silk. Surely, it seemed, he must eventually slice her clear skin, her perfect sculptural curves, always in motion. And he nearly did, as they continued to revolve, clinch, part, and turn, brushing their bodies with a nearly inaudible low squeal of silk caressing silk, in a pantomime of seduction, pursuit, flight, and occasional copulation as his hard, thick, silk-covered organ slid ever so briefly into her gaping, ravenous, but still delicate, silk-lined vagina, and then out again when the fluid Marjana swung away from him.

With the music nearing its haunting, unearthly crescendo, the stiletto caressed ever closer, eventually appearing to shave the burgundy skin from the pear-like curve of Marjana’s left breast, then shaving sculpturally round the perfectly molded arc of her right buttock, then here, and there, and as quickly there, and seemingly everywhere at once, as Marjana spun ever faster, amidst rising gasps of disbelief from the patrons. Scalloped strips of blood-colored burgundy silk backed with what appeared to be her natural skin flew upward from the stiletto and slowly drifted down among the audience. The continuing elegance of the dancers’ movements allayed the fears of some patrons, while the stiletto continued its sweeping arcs, stripping ever more of Marjana’s burgundy skin as she continued her own sweeping arcs of escape and recapture. Other patrons gasped in astonishment, however, or nearly stopped breathing, as Marjana’s movements grew ever slower, even as the blizzard of scarlet strips of skin continued to rain down on them. At the final moment, with the music ending on an abrupt high note, the male slid behind her, wrapped has arms gracefully around her, supporting her as she, with the last dying energy she could muster, bowed her head to the patrons, looked up briefly with a shining hint of transcendence in her face, then fell still, her torso and head falling forward over the male’s arms, the breath of life apparently having left her. The stage plunged into pitch black, the audience heaved a mournful sight at the loss of such a wondrously vibrant, sensuous life, such a perfect specimen of erotic embodiment, and then, miraculously, a cone of light revealed them both alive and laughing, bowing to the audience, and, as the light caressed her glowing curves, she and her companion exultantly tossed their heads back, raised their arms high, and then rushed backstage together. A murmur rose from the audience, whose more alert members were beginning to realize that the strips of skin raining down on them like long curved parings from an apple were actually only strips of silk. The colorants of a water-based temporary dye in the thin fabric had merged with the fine sheen of perspiration suffusing her skin as she danced, and had interacted chemically to create a glistening film of bright scarlet fluid, creating the illusion that she had been flayed alive as she twirled, and that she had expired at the very climax of the music. Some patrons, it must be admitted, felt disappointed, even cheated. But a few were pleased that they would still be able to experience the pleasures of Marjana’s famously thick, long, muscular, agile tongue unfurling from such a wholesome face and attractive body to caress their swollen genitals.

Comment too long, view post No.11806 to see the full comment.

Looking for additional information on Lilith's Blessing

This was done as part of a collaboration/trade with another Author who goes by Ms. Masterson on Hentaifoundry (hxxp://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/MsMasterson/profile). This was my end, and in return I got a really neat schoolgirl story that I helped her write and edit. I'll probably post it here at some point...

Anyway! enough explanation, here's' the story:

Roasted Asari Tits

Tags: F/self, Xenophilia, Debreasting, cooking, microwave, hints of cannibalism and incest, Mass Effect Setting

Ryelle looked at the microwave oven, checking to make sure that she'd managed to install the new timers correctly. The oven was small, not really large enough to prepare a meal for a family. It was awkward too, the entire front was made of a clear glass, specially treated to contain the microwave radiation. The main opening was the front of the machine, which swung upwards to provide access to its contents, but there were also a pair of openings in the back of the oven, two perfectly circular holes that irised open and closed with inflatable rubber gaskets in the rims.

Ryelle had gotten the device at an estate sale and once she found out what it was, she'd bought it, mostly on a lark.

A breast cooking oven.


Comment too long, view post No.11772 to see the full comment.

Hello! I'm looking to see if anyone wants to do an erotic guro rp with me over Discord! I've been itching to have my adorable, submissive character be dominated and killed silly, brutal ways!

I like to 3rd person rps that are detailed! Is 6987 Quill

DM me for specifics x3

This is a continuation of the ultra short story I made on the USS thread. I like the concept very much, but at the end, this took many months to finish. Enjoy, and do leave comments of any kind!

---


I lied in the bathtub. My feet rested on the head rest, my camera sitting next to it. The tap dripped hot water onto my face, its wisps of steam condensing on my boxcutter's fine blade. "Bye, world."

I grasped my neck and felt my pulse. Two arteries, two cuts. It hurt, but I didn't care anymore. The hot water washed the blood away, carrying my life within.

I felt my body cooling.

I embraced death's lethargy.


Comment too long, view post No.9817 to see the full comment.

Commissions back open~

CBT Shorts, Number 1

Four short stories: Pool Party, Glory, Softballs, and Cleaver, with a general theme of casual male genital abuse and destruction, usually with implied cannibalism.

1 - Pool Party

 Jeremy opened the door to the backyard and peered out at the lawn and pool a bit apprehensively. His sister was having all of her friends over for a pool party, and she had absolutely forbidden him from going back there this particular afternoon. She had told him, quite emphatically, that he wasn't to try to speak to any of her guests, to disturb them in any way, or to even sneak looks out at them through a window. She had seemed rather firm on the subject, too, glaring at him through narrowed eyes as she'd spelled out exactly what dire fate would befall him should he breach the sanctity of the backyard during her party.

 So, with thoughts of the potential consequences to his life and safety foremost in his mind, he decided to wait until he was noticed by his sister, rather than to try to draw her attention to himself by yelling for her. He figured that he could minimize the chances for earning her ire if he broke as little of the spirit of her commands as possible, while breaking the letter of them.

 The girls who had been invited over by his sister were, one and all, gorgeous. Of an age with his slightly older sibling, they seemed to him to be glorious angels of feminine beauty, descended from on high. Granted, his perceptions were probably more-than-slightly colored on the issue, considering that most of the girls were wearing rather skimpy one or two piece bathing suits and nothing else. The fact that they were glistening and sparkling in the sunlight, slick and wet from multiple dips in the cold, refreshing water of the pool, only helped emphasize the allure that their taut and toned teenage bodies held for him.

 Finally, his sister noticed him lurking in the doorway and trying not to stare, and she stalked over to him. Her suspicious, rather severe frown made him gulp as she approached.

Comment too long, view post No.11657 to see the full comment.

I'm pretty sure this is where this thread would go? Anyways, I love braces. There's a girls with braces thread, but not a guys with braces thread. I'd like to fix that.

Does someone have the source or the character name?

I guess I will also leave my email and my Discord if a furry master is up for me:
- [email protected]
- Julie#6176

Does anyone have a source on this? It doesn't seem to be from pixiv.

I'd love to get the site of this image--last I checked it was still up, but I lost the link (it's been around a while, one of the first guro sites I found a long time ago). I think the artist has been on pixiv since then, but not sure if he has any guro stuff uploaded there. Reverse search hasn't turned anything up, unfortunately. I'd appreciate any help, thank you!

Cyber Six

Adjusting her glasses, a tall and lithe blonde with stringy hair--parted to one side with the bangs bouncing off her cheek--walks confidently along the street to her apartment, glad to be away from the office for the day and nearer to home; but for no simple reason of relief from the stress and grind of office work, but for another, wholly selfish and carnal reason. As she turns a corner onto her street, feet carrying her absent-mindedly along her daily routine, her mind wanders already to what awaits in her innermost sanctum, at the computer tucked away in a small nook of her study: Sector X, that private and unmoderated region of virtual cyberspace built for deviants just such as she. Already the door is locked behind her, and already her clothes are off, the loose, buttoned-up pant suit gone in favor of a lively number meant for bedroom viewing; and in only a moment she's plugged into the cyber world, her virtual reality goggles displaying the welcome screen just long enough to make her impatient.

Log in, she selects, and her next selection is the script she wrote for accessing the backdoor to Sector X, complete with her custom configuration settings. Tapping a finger with a sigh, she waits until the view changes before relaxing, sinking down into her chair as the interface takes hold, allowing her total control over her avatar as its classical senses and limbs flare to life in her mind; and she's in. Here, in Sector X, she is without her glasses, without her neatly-pressed suit, and without her well-kept hair; here, her hair is voluminous and flowing, and her suit replaced by a taut, black leather catsuit that accentuates all her womanly curves, its form pressing tightly down and lifting her full, round breasts up to greet her eager admirers, with a crotchless groin and holes over her erect nipples. The street around her is busy already with passers-by--an abundance of persons from nationalities near and far--each strolling about or stopped for an early evening rendezvous, some arm-in-arm with their partners, and some already publicly copulating, giving no care to the eyes watching them in passing. The moans and grunts of the lovers are immediately exciting, and she licks dry lips in anticipation of her own pleasure to come.

It is a fantasy life she lives here, where she and her partners can explore all the erotic and taboo carnal pleasures denied in the real world, with all of the exquisite joy and none of the physical consequences; you cannot get the mind pregnant, nor can you damage the body. Her heels are already clicking along the concrete, and soon she enters an abandoned warehouse near the public district, one built and maintained by herself and her men; and there, patiently waiting, are her five studs gathered about a wicked-looking steel table, with chains and straps attached on all sides of it. A fresh and warm swell flushes through her loins, and a brief skip in her heart causes her to breathe in sharply, but her outward demeanor is calm and catlike, and she approaches with even, measured steps, letting her heels click sharply over the floor until she stands by the contraption ... and there, surrounded by her lovers, she is immediately set upon, their hands reaching in and groping, caressing, and fondling her from neck to cunt; their fingers pushing into and around her exposed clit and rectum while one hand strokes and chokes her throat alternately.

Her breath comes in faster and shorter gasps, escaping her lips finally as moans when they grip, pinch, and tug on her nipples, when gruff hands push her back into the table and quickly go about strapping and chaining her down. She breathes faster, but not of fear--but of excitement. Soon they work a lever, and the table lifts and rotates, until she is rolled forward such that she hangs parallel to the floor, facing it while they gather about her. A fleeting rush of cold joy runs through her in anticipation of what comes next, when her voice is taken away by a fat cock plugging her mouth, and a heavy pressure heaves into her ass and plunges down until a solid mass presses against her cheeks. She breathes a muffled moan, and the cocks begin pumping and pumping; slowly at first, then faster and faster until their balls are slapping against her chin and ass, and she breathes a sharper, more excited moan against the cock on her tongue when she feels a stiff, powerful weight pushing her cunt, its many sharp and blunt features unmistakably telling of the fist forcing its way into her womanhood. She feels it ram and shove mercilessly into her body, until the crook of an elbow stops its travel and the fist clenches and turns inside her womb--having penetrated to maximum depth against her body's better wishes--and the unforgiving strength of his arm causes cold shivers of arousal to shake her chest as her juice sprays all over him.

In and out they pump, her mouth stretching about the fat cock in it, her ass sore from the pounding inside it, and her cunt roaring with pained fire from the fist ramming and twisting within her, until her increasingly excited and growling moans cause the two men to orgasm, spilling their seed until she drinks the cum in her mouth and the dick milk in her ass spills out wetly about the edges and drips off her vulva. They finally pull out, just as she edges painfully close to her own orgasm, causing wet pops to sound and a string of cum to slide from her tongue; there she gasps, panting and quietly moaning, when they rotate the table in the opposite direction, spinning her now to face upward ... where she waits but a moment for a fresh cock to plug her face, and another to plunge into her freshly-loosened cat. Again they pump, mercilessly pounding and grunting and moaning, and the arm returns to her body, forcing its way into her ass this time and stretching the tight thing relentlessly around it until it again buries itself to the elbow; and again she is helpless and prone, able only to moan to them her pleasure and excitement as they pound and ream her body, every second of pain amplifying the fire in her loins and her sore clit until she edges closer and closer to orgasm, when their load again explodes into her mouth and cunt, forcing her to stop and drink while her building release throbs and ebbs, stopping just barely shy of exploding through her senses.

They're good, she marvels, and again they pull out of her orifices, letting cum dangle in strings for just a moment before stepping away. Already shivering and panting from exhausted excitement, she can only breathe and wait while they spin her back to an upright position, then work levers which raise her legs to a seated position; and now, at long last, the fifth and starring partner steps forward, with a dick sized for a horse and balls big enough for her to palm. What he had done to hack the system she could never figure out, but she loves every inch of his cock, and is glad to have it all to herself ... and she knows he is glad to punish her with it. He approaches with a pair of long, gleaming knives, however, and a fearful skip in her heart precedes a flash and a fiery pain in her breasts, causing her to cry out sharply as he embeds the blades hilt-deep in her nipples, the guards flattening down against her flesh and pressing her breasts into taut, smooshed-up balls. The mental image of blood dripping off the exposed tips pointing from her back only excites her, however, as does the sight of him greedily piercing her breasts, and the pain of him twisting and yanking and grinding the blades within her flesh only causes a carnal lust to flush through her veins, gathering as a series of sharp twitches in her cunt as he works his cock up towards it; and, finally, plunges it in.

Comment too long, view post No.11112 to see the full comment.