As Sandra streaked through the night sky, her cape fluttering behind her, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation course through her veins. For as long as she could remember, she had been fighting for justice, using her incredible powers to make the world a better place. Her keen senses picked up the faint whiff of evil emanating from the abandoned warehouse below, and with a grin of determination, she prepared to confront whatever villain was lurking within.

As she landed lightly on the rooftop, her feet barely making a sound, Sandra peered through a broken window and spotted her quarry. It was Bob, the notorious supervillain who had been giving her trouble for months. He was in the middle of a heated argument with one of his henchmen, his massive fists clenched and veins bulging from his forehead. Sandra's heart raced, but she remained calm. She knew she had to act quickly and decisively if she wanted to bring him to justice.


With a surge of adrenaline, she leapt into the warehouse, landing silently behind Bob. In a flash, she raised her hand, intending to deliver a stunning blow to the back of his head. But before she could make contact, Bob whirled around, his reaction time impossibly fast. He laughed derisively as he saw the shock on her face. "Oh, you thought you could take me by surprise, did you?" he sneered. "You're not as clever as you think you are, heroine."

Bob grabs her hand and breaks it at the wrist. "You're not so strong either, huh?" he taunts. Then, before she can react, he slams her to the ground with a powerful blow. The impact knocks the breath from her lungs, and she writhes in pain. "You're not much of a fighter, are you?" he asks, his voice dripping with contempt. As she struggles to get up, he kicks her in the side, sending her flying across the room.

Sandra body hits the wall, the impact jarring her teeth. She tastes blood as it trickles down her lips, and her vision begins to swim. She tries to focus, to summon her strength, but it's no use. Bob stands over her, his expression one of cold amusement. "You're pathetic," he says, shaking his head. "A heroine like you doesn't deserve to wear that costume."

Bob pull his fist back, summoning all his strength he hits her in her square in the jaw, sending her flying across the room. Her head hits the concrete floor hard, and she sees stars. He walks over to her, kneeling down beside her. "You're going to need to learn your place, heroine," he says, his breath hot in her ear. "And your name is not Sandra anymore. It's Bitch. Understand?" He punches her again, this time in the gut. She coughs up blood and gasps for air.


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News5You

(MF, FF, cons, decap, dog/F, casual)

A bird’s eye camera shot lazily captured the opening scene for yet another evening broadcast. It was a fairly standard set, three massive green screens(currently being broadcast as televisions with the News5You logo prominently displayed) behind a single, small glass table. Behind the table stood a beautiful woman with brown hair and cold blue eyes. She only wore two things, a complicated looking collar around her neck with a steadily blinking red light and a self satisfied, smug smile. Her breasts were perky and capped with bright pink nipples, but starting to sag with age. Despite her years, her body was toned from hours spent in the gym.

Between her legs was an already licking blonde girl. Not much could be seen of her assets, but she was equally naked, her bottom swaying back and forth as she playfully teased the ice queen above her. She too had a blinking collar around her neck, but careful viewers would notice that it blinked a little faster than those of her counter part. Despite the aerial view, her body promised to be a playground of curves and tight places.

The shot faded to another camera angle and the brunette started talking in a light, sensual voice.

“Hello and welcome to News5You this evening, the news program with more news five you. I’m Cindy Taylor, your happy host.

“Our first story this evening comes from Belview where a ten car pile up caused a traffic delay for over five hours and continues to frustrate motorists even now. It’s believed the accident was started by a woman masturbating while driving, causing her to crash head first into the other lane while in the throes of passion. News5's Amber James is at the scene now. Amber?”

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(Snuff, watersports, drowning, meatgrinder, noncon, casual)

"I really, REALLY shouldn't have gotten the extra-large," muttered Pinkie.

Braids nodded, letting out a little whimper herself.

I was feeling it, too. Damn, it's fast food for a reason.

Luckily there was a public restroom on the corner. I listened, and all I could hear was a quiet snuffling. All clear. I hustled in the two girls I hadn't learned the name of, and locked the door.

"Oh! Hi, Mrs. Robertson." She was my next door neighbour this morning, but now she wasn't a person. She was kneeling on the grate, she was stripped naked, her arms were stretched out across the wall and locked in the shackles, and the transparent cylinder was locked around her head. Her fluffy bob haircut was soaked and slicked down to her head, and she looked like she had been crying. There was piss in the jar to her chin.

And I had broken the first rule. Don't talk to the urinal.

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(Casual Snuff, gore, decapitation, dismemberment, consensual, willing, eager)

I don't see the problem with taking the tube girls. They're always fresh, and you don't need to clean up afterward.

I was running a little late, so today was going to be a little rushed. I didn't bother checking her number when Cindy's tube slid up and out of the sidewalk, I just waited for the fluids to drain, the cap to open and the tube to slide back into the floor.

She didn't get a chance to even tug her backpack straps like she usually does before I grabbed her elbow and pulled her into the tramcar. She blinked, and grinned wide. "Howdy, Mithter!" she lisped brightly, bouncing on my knee. "I think I remember you!"

This Cindy is one of my favourites, even if she's an acquired taste. Big curly orange hair, big round glasses, braces behind those painted red lips, still a bit of fuzzy confusion over her body mods and outfit. The japanese schoolgirl outfit is cute, but with the top cropped nearly to her collarbone to let those basketball-size tits wobble free is just perfect, and the skirt trimmed down to just two inches of ruffle over her hips and the top of her bubble ass is a delicious bit of decoration.

"Remember how I like it, then?" I ask, kneading her fresh, spongy breast, sharply flicking her nipples to make the little brown nubs swell and stretch into thumb-size udders.

She moans and goes crosseyed at that, as usual, and nods as she eagerly unzips my pants, swiveling in the tight confines of the little cab to swing her perky ass over my lap. One quick thrust, a squelch, and a loud moan from both of us, and she has all ten inches of me up her pre-lubed virgin ass.

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This short story was originally written for >>>/rp/6974, but I couldn't finish it in time. I decided to finish mine anyway and put it in there. Enjoy.
__

I wake up from something jumping on my bed. I open my eyes. First thing I see is her cheerfuly smiling face looming over me, her hands leaning on my chest, ears pointing straight up, graceful long tail slowly waving from side to side.

"Good morning, master!" Yumiko yelled before reaching forward.

"It's weekend, Yumiko. You don't have to wake me up." I say, hiding my eyes from the sunlight.

"Oh, but I thought you like when I wake you up!"

I attempt to turn away, but Yumoko won't give up so soon. She slipped her hand into my underware. Fingers ringed around my shaft, massaging it and getting it ready in a moment.


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The orcess was six and a half feet of green muscle and barely checked aggression. She snarled as one of the correctional officers locked her wrists behind her back and led her out of the cell. I looked up at her, admiring her sculpted body and statuesque form. It was my first day as a hangman at Bellau, and this orc woman was my first "client".

Prisoner 778390, government name Liza Redrock, had participated in a bank robbery that ended in a 2 hour long shootout through the heart of the downtown district. With 5 police officers and 3 innocent bystanders left dead, and most of her crew also killed, it was no surprise that the judge had decided to sentence her to the long drop. I had to admit, despite the genetic disposition towards brutal physiology that her species was known for, Liza was attractive. Her figure was curvacious, with long legs, powerfully muscular thighs, full breasts that pushed her orange jumpsuit towards its limits, and a sharp, chiseled face framed with black dreads that beheld the world in stoic contempt. She was also, according to the prisoner file, a futanari. I glanced down at her crotch, and noted the telltale bulge.

Death Row was situated in the north west corner of the prison, the closest block to the execution grounds. In the center of a secluded open yard stood the gallows. A wooden platform elevated 14 feet off the ground, a simple A frame cross bar with a coiled hemp noose looped over top. I went up the stairs first, to check the rope and the trap door were in working order. Liza steadily climbed up after me, flanked by the officers.

"Please, stand on top of the X" I instructed her, the noose in hand.

She turned to face me and walked forward until both her slipper shod feet were on the trapdoor. I secured her ankles and legs together with a belt then wrapped a band around her stomach and arms.

It was a blazing summer day, and everyone present had begun to perspire under the oppressive humidity. I stood close to Liza and slipped the noose over her head, guiding the knot under her left ear. She stared forward resolutely, but I could see her eyes nervously flicking towards me, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead and cheeks. I reached into my vest pocket and retrieved the blindfold, wrapping it over her eyes and clipping the bands together under her voluminous locks. I stepped back and checked my watch. It was all going on time, with her execution set for 11:45AM, two minutes in the future.

The chaplain came and whispered a few words in Liza's ear. She said something back, and the chaplain clasped his hands together and muttered a few words of prayer. It was almost time. The chaplain and the correctional officers retreated, and I held the lever that would release the pins and let the trapdoor swing free. Seconds ticked down like molasses.

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It's been a while, but I decided to come back and post a few things here. Hope you enjoy what comes up
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Tulip Pruned

Tulip hummed as she entered the Elite Four office. The Gym Leader had been called in for a secondary evaluation after being found lacking in her first test. The Gym Leader didn’t expect much as she entered the room, where a single trainer stood at the ready in the opposing starting position.

“Ah, Tulip, you made it today.” The trainer said as he palmed a ball in his hand.

“Whatever do you mean?” The psychic-type trainer asked.

“This is the fourth summons for your secondary test.” The trainer said as he tsked.

“Apologies, I’m a very busy woman.”

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“Sophie, you need to get out of there.” Quinn's voice was strained with worry.

“Go where? I don't have anyone else.” Sophie was peeking through the living room curtain at the empty driveway outside.

“Bullshit. Come stay with me, I'll make room.”

“In Portland? I can't, Quinn. He froze our account last night. He said someone got our credit card number online and was buying things. He said he'll have it back by tomorrow.” She bit her lip doubtfully.

“Sophie, you know that's a lie. He's trying to keep you there. You have to leave! You're not safe!” Quinn's voice was rising and it was making Sophie more scared than she already was.

“I… I know. I just need…. Shit. He's here!”

“What? Why?”

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Since there are some requests for custom stories
https://boards.guro.cx/lit/res/24373.html#q24376
I will be posting them here
—————————–
first:
What about as an experiment Pan from Dragonball GT losing a fight and being snuffed?
Pan, strangulation, foot fetish, forced footjob, rape, snuff, cum, humiliation, crying.

This is not exactly how you make proper request as it should be more detailed but let's see what happens :)


Pan, strangulation, foot fetish, forced footjob, rape, snuff, cum, humiliation, crying.
### Instruction:

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This is my continuing collection of stories of fucked up romance. The best stories are gruesome murder out of a deeper love than life could bear. The core of my stories is the absolute extremes of love, horror, empathy and worthlessness mixed together in unrealistically contradictory bundle of emotions. Join me in my search for the ultimate extremity of the human and machine imagination in the realm of macabere romance.

If you have story ideas in this field or just want to chat and get to know me, I'd love to hear from you in my protonmail inbox.

For transparency's sake: these stories are a collaboration between me and a machine.

Disclaimer: these stories are an art project in exploration of imagination. None of this is real and should ever become real. I condone no violence, rape, murder, underage or animal intercourse in real life. If you feel you have any of these urges, go check yourself into a mental facility before it's too late.

(For Onix: realism has no place in my stories, so don't bother starting a discussion about that)

Dear friend,

First of all, I must say that I’ve been meaning to write to you for a long time. For years, actually. This letter has been in the making since I was a teenager. I'm about to enter the second quarter of my century, and I thought if I didn't do it now, I’d never do it.

I've been feeling very nostalgic lately. Every day I reflect on my life, especially on my art. You know I like to write. And I think about why I write. What is it that moves people to do anything?

I think it's love and pain. I believe that humans were made to escape pain and protect love. I say “protect” and not “seek” because love is inherent in human beings, contrary to what cynics might say. To be alive is to flow with love, and as proof of this I can show you the history of humanity: eras of pure misery, suffering that transcends generations, the worst of the worst. Would we consciously choose to continue an existence plagued with endless evils, if there wasn't a reason to do so? Don't you think we would have decided a long time ago to put an end to all evil forever, that is, to voluntarily extinguish ourselves, if we thought that was the most rational thing to do? What makes our small and insignificant species not choose to self-destruct is what makes it not so insignificant. It’s love for life that moves the world, my friend. It may be subconscious, it disguises itself, it changes shape, but it's there.

But when it comes to art, it doesn't matter what moves the world; an artist is an individual, and the human mind must be analyzed in terms of its uniqueness. What can move an artist who has never loved, or who has never felt pain? Where can his magic… his inspiration come from? Where is an artist's love born?

Art is sensory. We can see it in paintings, movies and novels; we smell and taste it in culinary works; we can touch it on the fabric of a dress; we hear it in orchestras and indie rock bands. But its inspiration is not sensory. It isn’t intellectual either: it doesn’t come from the body or the mind.

There's a book called The War of Art (by Steven Pressfield) that states that all callings of the soul, that is, vocations, come from a single source, a single metaphysical force, separated, but united to us, that indicates the path we must follow to reach happiness. There is a force that wants us to accomplish our mission. They are the angels, the muses, the “inspiration”, whatever you want to call it. When we do what we came to do in the world, we are accompanied by this force.

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The air was thick with anticipation as the crowd roared, their voices echoing off the cold concrete walls. They were gathered here for one reason and one reason only: to witness the ultimate power struggle between two individuals, each with their own unique strengths and weaknesses. In one corner, stood Marcus, a towering figure of dominance and muscle. At 6ft 10in tall and weighing a staggering 275 pounds, he was a force to be reckoned with. His eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger as he scanned the crowd, searching for his next victim. And in the other corner, there was Sandra.

She was just a 13-year-old girl, barely more than a child, with a body that hadn't yet fully matured. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face flushed from fear and embarrassment, and her small frame trembled as she stood there, naked and vulnerable. Sandra was the perfect victim for Marcus. He enjoyed physically dominating girls, and there was no denying that she was going to be an easy target.

The crowd grew silent as the referee, a burly man with a crooked nose, stepped between them. He motioned for them to touch gloves, and Sandra tentatively reached out, her tiny fist making no impression on Marcus' massive hand. The crowd laughed, their cruel amusement only serving to fuel Marcus' desire to hurt her.

He stepped back, bouncing on his toes like a panther ready to pounce. With a powerful thrust, he drove his fist into Sandra's stomach, doubling her over. She let out a sharp gasp, her eyes unfocused with pain. Marcus didn't wait for her to recover; he was on her in an instant, his meaty forearm slamming into her shoulder blades, driving her face-first into the mat. The impact reverberated through her entire body, and she felt a sharp stab of pain in her neck.

She dropped to her knees, gasping for air as Marcus towered over her, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. "Get up," he growled, reaching down to grab her hair in his massive hand. He yanked her to her feet, forcing her to face him again. "You're going to give me a fight, aren't you?" he sneered, his words dripping with contempt. Sandra shook her head, tears streaming down her face. She wanted to fight back, but she knew she couldn't. Marcus was too strong, too big.

"Wrong answer" Marcus hissed as he grabbed Sandra by the throat and lifted her off the ground. Her feet dangled helplessly in the air as he slammed her back-first against the mat with a sickening thud. He let her body slump to the ground, gasping for air. Her vision swam and her head throbbed painfully. But she didn't fight back. She didn't want to provoke him further.

He kicked the small girl's legs apart roughly, spreading her wide. "You're just a little slut, aren't you?" he growled, lowering his face to her crotch. Sandra whimpered as his hot breath brushed against her sensitive flesh. She felt his rough hands roughly part her labia, exposing her helpless, vulnerable sex to his view. He chuckled darkly, his hot breath causing her to tremble. "You're so wet for me, aren't you?" he whispered, his voice vibrating against her tender skin.

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John stood for a moment at the gate of Stonewood High's main campus, admiring the beautiful architecture. He was no expert, but each one of these buildings surely cost millions to design, let alone build.

Stonewood High was one of the most prestigious high schools in the world. With its sprawling, beautiful campus, overqualified teachers, extensive and well-funded extracurriculars and generous scholarship program, both gifted students and the children of the rich and powerful around the world flocked to it like bats.

The keyword here being ""was"". Stonewood ""was"" one of the best schools in the world, but a few failed investments, loss of a major donor and an administrator who disappeared along with most of the school's cash have brought the mighty institution to the brink of bankruptcy. The board suddenly found themselves in a sticky situation: the contractually-bound funding of the hundreds of clubs, groups and sports teams, as well as the guaranteed college full-rides for gifted students suddenly became an extravagant expense that the school could no longer afford, yet could not legally back out of.

Enter John. A professional assassin and hitman, John was hired by the board to eliminate some of the most costly students. With terrorist leaders, prominent businessmen and political leaders in his portfolio, killing high schoolers was hardly going to be a challenge. Naturally, he was not cheap to hire; the only reason the school could afford him was because they were not paying in cash, but rather the promise of free reign with his methods and, if he wished, the bodies.

John smiled as he entered the school grounds, scrolling through his phone to find details on his first victim. This was going to be fun.

I'd always found my older sister, Mia, to be incredibly sexy. She was 4 years older than me, her being 17 and I being 13. Ever since i could remember i had fantasized about her. I knew it was wrong to fantasize about her but i just couldnt help myself and for obvious reasons. She had blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, freckles, cute nerdy glasses, and a curvy body. I'd always try to get a peek of her while she was in the shower of our shared bathroom, occasionally getting a view of one of her breasts or her ass. Our house only had 2 bathrooms, one between me and my sisters room and the other connected to our mom's bedroom.
Normally when she showered there wasnt too much of a gap in the curtain, making it incredibly easy to perv on her while I 'used the bathroom.'
Like with any other time I'd heard the bathroom shower running, I gave a single knock before walking in. Walking past the shower curtain, I realized that it wasn't shut all the way, the opening being a few inches larger than normal. As I walked past the opening I was able to get an amazing side view of my sisters naked body. I sat down on the toilet, pretending to actually use it for a minute as to not cause any suspicion.
I tried to make my way past the curtain with only a quick peek but the amazing view clouded my judgment, stopping and staring at my sister as she lathered up her hairless legs, unable to move, entranced by her perfect figure. Before I could snap out of it myself, someone else did it for me.
"Enjoying the view?" My sister teased, staring at me through the opening in the curtain.
"Oh shit, sorry, I didnt mean-" I tried to bullshit my way out but my sister cut me off.
"Relax, I'm not mad, you just surprised me is all.." my sister moved back a bit, obstructing my view of most of her sexy figure, the only exception being her face, a patient and slightly nervous smile painted across it.
"But if you're done checking me out, would you mind leaving so I can finish?"
I'm surprised by her response, not expecting her to be so chill about it.
"Well i mean, this is the first time ive ever been able to properly check you out. Usually the curtain is actually closed."
My sister peers down at her feet for a moment before looking back to me, visibly blushing a bit.
"Oh.. so you want to stay?" Her voice still soft but sounding noticeably more anxious.

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Winter Moore, Child Porn Star, Disposed Of At 13 - Paimon Times (No-Sex, Loli, Referenced Snuff)

1. I am a novice erotica writer and as such am hungry for constructive criticism and feedback on my work. This story has been posted on multiple platforms. Please let me know in the comments or via whatever messaging platform is available what you thought of the story, even if you did not like it at all. The only exception to this call for feedback is that if you wish to criticize this kind of (violent, sexual, underage) content, please rather keep it to yourself. If you do not mind this kind of content or enjoy it, but nonetheless feel this story is subpar, do engage.

2. This story is only an exercise in catharsis – its content and characters are entirely fictional and do not represent any real-world preferences or desires. If you are easily offended by themes or literary portrayals of parental betrayal, extreme sexual violence, and underage characters engaged in sexual and violent scenes, please do not read any further than this.

3. As with all my stories, it is dialogue heavy and light on sexual details (which I choose to reserve to the reader's imagination!).

4. If you enjoyed this story, let me know. That's the only way I know to write more!

***

Reporting by Paimon Times

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