I am garbage. I am a piece of trash. Entirely without worth as a living breathing thing, and much more useful as an object to be used and thrown away, in that anyone gets any use at all out of me. I am the kind of fetid trash that is so repugnant it can only be immediately carted far away from a well kept home as not to offend its occupants. Im not a special piece of trash, not even valid as a conversation piece or memory. Im common trash, daily trash, entirely unmemorable.

I lay, with other replaceable trash like me, beside the city street. Thrown from my home, where I could not be of service, where my presence made my keepers upper lip raise on one side towards their nose as if trying to seal it off from a rank smell. I lay now with my shoulderblades on cold cement and my eyes blankly staring towards the sky. I think my eyes are blank, I hope theyre blank. Blank and gray. So that a glance could inform passersby that nothing of significance is taking place behind them. Trash swarms over me, trash like me. I feel what I imagine to be a roach crawl over my forearm. I hate roaches, I find them to be the most deploreable. I envy them. They neednt consider their lot in life. They ask themselves no questions and are not sensitive to answers.

I feel a tug at my shin, and the sky above me moves. Good, turn me over, I dont deserve to see the sky. My useless body flops to its stomach and I feel my rear end raised. Useful. This is what Im useful for. The assailant grabs my hair and lifts my face from the cement, he looks at me. I look past him. Some part of me is dead, and has stopped searching for human connection. I dont feel the inclination to meet his eyes, the natural will to has died somehow. I just watch him glance over me from my peripherals. He kisses me. He must approve of me. I let him play with my limp and listless tongue until thin strands of saliva drip down my chin and hug my neck. He drops me when he becomes bored. I dont make any effort to catch myself, so my head quickly smacks into the ground. I chip a tooth. It hurts. I let out the slightest of mumbles, a light murmer to satisfy mt bodies desire for me to do something about the pain. He says something about me being alive, and I feel him punch me twice in the back of the head. It hurts less than the tooth. But yes. This is right. Use me like this. I want my worthless shell to be made useful by you, to be recycled, to have some second hand value to even just a stranger. Make me a punching bag. Enjoy

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Hello, first time poster on gurochan. My name is pusmonster and i write sadistic torture stories focused on women’s feminine parts. This is one of my requests about a girl named Taylor. Enjoy and let me know what you think.
WARNING- there is no sex in this story, it is purely torture so if you are into that-

TAYLOR
Descripton- Taylor is a girl in her early twenties with bright blue eyes and brown-red curly hair down to her breasts, which are around a size C.

Taylor is sitting in her room at her dresser getting ready to go out. Shes looking at her own pretty face framed with curls in the mirror and is waiting for her hair straightener to heat up. Taylor hasn't gotten to go out in a while because of work and world circumstances so shes excited to meet her friends and go out to a nightclub for a well earned break. Maybe she could even find a cute guy and bring some adventure back to her life.
Little did Taylor know that I have been watching her through a crack in her door, slowly stroking my cock and looking around her room thinking of ways to make her life a lot worse and mine a lot more fun.
While Taylor is preoccupied looking down and painting her nails, I realise its my opportunity to strike. I thank god these young sluts nowadays always wear their airpods listening to trash music, just so I could make my entrance more dramatic. I slowly open the door and creep towards her until im a foot behind her, looking down at her little shoulders, with her blissfully - of how different her life would soon be.

Suddenly I violently yank on her little necklace backward, causing Taylor to make an amusing choked yelp of surprise as her necklace breaks and she falls backwards off her stool and lands on her back facing up right between my legs. For a second there she is, in a momentary shock, lying on the ground with her beautiful big blue eyes staring straight up at the balls of her worst nightmare. As she gulps in air preparing to scream, I suddenly sit down on her face, mashing the bottom of my cock and balls into her pretty features smearing her mascara and lipstick. I quicly grab her arms and tuck them under my legs, immobilising her upper body. Now she is all mine. Her legs are trashing violently and her muffled screams are pleasuring my junk but she is unable to protect her vulnerable front. my hands descend on her young perky clothed tits with viciousness. I find her nipples and then cruelly twist them in opposing directions. This makes her scream louder into my bulge, sending vibrations of pleasure. while keeping a twisted grip on her nipples, I start alternatively pulling them away from her body and then mushing them into her ribcage, causing indescribable pain to poor Taylor- who had only had so much as been slapped a couple times in her life. I suddenly let them go, and then start smacking them hard with downward motions like im playing the bongo.

Im glad Taylor chose to wear sheer stockings today, as I could easily use my strength to tear them off her kicking legs. then I grab her pink panties on either side and YANK them towards me, causing a cruel wedgie straight up her cunt. Her legs straighten for a bit as she lifts her ass off the floor to subside the sharp pain in her privates. This is when her panties deicide to also snap, freeing her womanly parts for my viewing and torturing pleasure. Before I get to work on her though I have to tie her up. I get off Taylor, and on cue she starts screaming at the top of her voice, trying to push me away with one hand and covering her pussy with the other. I quickly wrestle her into a headlock and choke her with my arms till she passes out.

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The rebels did not have a chance. Tired after a week-long march and most still bearing their burdens they mustered little in the way of a defense, those who drew their weapons were quickly cut down. The camp was swiftly surrounded, the rebel men were given no quarter and were swiftly put to the sword, the river on the banks of which the camp was just being established ran red with their blood. I want to spare the my dear readers the description of the horrible torments inflicted upon the leader of the rebellion but suffice it to say that by the time he started to pray for death, the king’s executioners were only halfway done with their work and at the end of it his corpse hardly resembled a human being. The children of the camp were declared outlaws and prohibited from ever returning to civilization under pain of death, then allowed to run away. For the wives, adult daughters however, the commanders had something special in mind to make sure no further rebellions would spring up in this remote part of the kingdom. The rough soldiers, still bloodied from killing their male relatives forcibly removed their clothes, leaving them in naught but their shifts. The unfortunate rebel women were also ordered to remove their shoes and stockings to ensure against flight and prevent them from strangling each other to avoid the king’s justice. Females unwilling to undress themselves or bare their feet were effectively “encouraged". Loud wailing and screaming from fear, humiliation and grief could be heard throughout the camp, much to the amusement of the hardened soldiers.
The next town was situated a three day's march away from the rebel camp. Horsemen were sent out who could make the trip in a day. Meanwhile, canes and whips were used to drive the unfortunate barefoot and almost naked prisoners to their fate. It was obvious that the march would not be a quick one as the rebel wives and daughters rightfully suspected they were headed towards a painful and, even more importantly to most of them, extremely humiliating end. About twenty out of the two hundred and fifty captured women tried to escape but none succeeded, barefoot and exhausted with most of the road leading through dense forests the bloodhounds would quickly catch up with them and just as quickly, their already flimsy shifts ripped and bloodied, they would rejoin the rest of the doomed wenches on the way towards their destiny. Heart-breaking scenes could be witnessed among the doomed women and girls, a mother tried to strangle her two twin daughters with her bare hands before soldiers intervened and separated the crying family members before they could do real damage to themselves.
Meanwhile, the Royal horsemen had arrived in the town and immediately went to work. Every man able to lift a saw, hammer or shovel was pressed into service but promised a fair wage at the end of it all. Soon the entire town was working to prepare the upcoming mass hanging of the rebel wives and daughters. Construction on a huge gallows spanning the whole town square lengthwise, big enough to accommodate 250 women began and a mass grave just outside the town to accommodate 250 female corpses stacked one on top of each other was dug. The town had quite a large rope-making industry so there was no shortage of this most cruel and humiliating means of execution. The women of the town were tasked with tying the nooses that would ensnare the necks of the defeated rebel wenches, there was no time for elaborate hangman’s nooses so when the time would come, the sinful women’s necks would be ensnared by simple slipknots, lengths of rope used to bind their wrists behind their backs as a mark of their captivity and humiliation were also cut to size. Crude benches would have to be hammered together as a last perch for the bare feet of the doomed women and girls before a series of swift kicks would send them them dancing on their way to oblivion.
The sounds of the doomed females preceded their shameful procession, there was much screaming, wailing and praying caused by their shameful fate as well as the grief from losing their sons, brothers, fathers and husbands. Then the first of the miserable creatures emerged, then another and another. Their white and grey shifts, faces pale from fear and bare, dusty feet made them look more like ghostly apparitions than human beings. And so the sorry procession slowly made it’s way into the settlement. Before they are led to the gallows, there is one more humiliation the poor lasses needed to endure. Slender wrists were chafed by rough ropes, hands made fists to test the unforgiving bindings. A few young women broke down as they were bound, attempting to escape, trying to fight the guards or just pressing their slender arms against their chest, piteously begging the guards for mercy but the overwhelming majority of the doomed females took this new humiliation about as well as anything that came before it.
With the gallows birds securely trussed up it was time to drive them forward towards their fate one last time. As the gallows came into view wails and screams rose once more in volume, about five of the doomed wenches wet themselves in fear of the waiting nooses and the slow and humiliating deaths they would bring. Without ceremony, the unfortunate girls were marched towards the long benches, forced up and then with an almost industrial routine nooses were put around their necks, long hair was removed from within after which the nooses were tightened, ready to seal their windpipes and with that, their collective fate.
Getting all of the future “brides of the noose" ready to dance their shameful dance at the end of short hempen ropes for the amusement of the King's men and the deterrent of the townsmen and women did not present a quick task, a surprising number of townsmen and more than a few women however derived pleasure from seeing the prisoners treated in such a way. It is to be noted that the shifts of some of the wenches were ripped as a result of the cruel journey and without means of covering themselves, they were presenting their bare breasts, nipples erect and covered in goosebumps from fear and the cold of the morning.
Having to wait for the preparation of their fellow prisoners was a form of torture within itself because it prolonged and worsened the fear of the prisoners and gave them more time to further dishonor themselves by crying, screaming and begging to be spared the humiliation of dancing the Tyburn jig in front of the whole town. Again, a few of the terrified captives could not control their bladders and their contents formed puddles on the benches, since they were placed close to each other, this meant that their neighbors too would have to suffer the smell and the discomfort and humiliation of standing with bare feet in a stinking yellow puddle. A particularly unfortunate creature, the daughter of a rebel lieutenant, a raven-haired, doe-eyed beauty of 21 summers named Elizabeth who’s delicate features and small but incredibly well formed breasts with nipples that seemed ready to burst through her thin, white shift, suffered the worst humiliation. She tried to pray to calm herself but in the end panic won and she evacuated herself down her slender, trembling legs. She gasped in shame, her face blushed intensively and tears started to flow down her face and, without any means of wiping them away, fell down onto the bench, mixing with her leavings. She tried to move her dainty, now soiled feet away from the disgusting pile but the dimensions of the bench and the tightness of the rope did not allow any meaningful escape. The four other females on the bench wrinkled their nose and the sound of suppressed gagging came from her immediate neighbours while poor Elizabeth was left to stand in her shame with the noose around her delicate neck reminding her of even more suffering that was to come.
Then it is all ready. 250 necks are now surrounded by rough hemp, 250 pairs of bare, dusty feet are perched uneasily on rickety, crowded stools. 250 hearts beat as quickly as they can, 250 chests heave with the last breaths. Some are silent, some still pray, beg and cry but none of that makes any difference now, their fate is the same. Initially it had been considered to kick away the benches one at a time but the fact that the execution, were it conducted in that manner, would take up the whole day plainly argued against it and so it was decided that all of the prisoners would loose their footing and commence their shameful "wedding dance" at the same time. There is no need for a sentence to be read as the king himself had proclaimed that any man or woman joining the rebel cause would immediately forfeit their life. 50 of the King's men, chosen at random step forward and slowly walk behind each of the benches and put their heavy military boots against the last support for vulnerable bare feet. At this moment the mental anguish of the rebel wenches reaches its apex. The flow of liquid can be heard again. Some faint but the ropes stop them from falling. All sorts of emotions were painted across the faces of the condemned women: fear, grief, sadness, despair, anger, shame, disgust and everything in between. Jaws tremble, naked toes scratch the rough wood, hair is plastered to pale foreheads with the sweat of fear, breasts heave with final breaths, lips utter their last curses, prayers, pleas and barely coherent babbles. The town clock strikes ten.

BANG!!!

50 benches fly forwards as one, 250 necks now know the weight of the bodies that are supposed to carry them. Bare legs kick, gurgling of all volumes and pitches can be heard throughout the whole town, they form one collective, desperate plea for air, a cacophony of suffering beyond imagination. Some of the suffering prisoners kick each other or attempt to wrap their bare legs around their neighbour to escape the deadly pressure of the noose that way. Heads are forced into various, sometimes unnatural angles. Desperation fills the eyes of the poor wenches, efforts to free bound hands lead to nothing but bleeding wrists. Shifts are kicked far and wide, sometimes tearing leaving poor sufferers with their breasts exposed and in a few instances even utterly naked.
Gradually and with a few exceptions the kicking is replaced with twitching. Faces turn blue, tongues make their way through discoloured lips. Bare, dirty feet point down in the vain hope of finding support. Squeaks replace gurgling, clicking replaces squeaks. Eyes once filled with life become grotesque, with broken capillaries but still tell the tale of the horrible suffering felt by the poor lasses. Bladders and bowels void themselves en masse down twitching legs, sometimes accompanied by last grunts of shame and sometimes it is quite obvious that the utterly dishonoured wenches no longer care. Literal puddles and small mounds of excrement form themselves under the unhappy rebel wives and daughters. A disgusting smell permeates throughout the town heralding the utter defeat and humiliation of the rebels. The last to stop her looking fight against the noose is the 22 year old flaxen-haired daughter of the rebel leader, a spirited girl, sometimes acting as her father's commander. Before darkness envelops her the rope turns her to the left, then the right. She sees all of those women who put their trust into her father and herself turned into corpses, shifting and pissing themselves in death. A last strangled sob makes it’s way through her constricted throat, then there is silence. Some of the condemned die a “clean death" but it is an exception not a rule.

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When Tim walked into the butcher shop, he was obviously terrified. Holding the red ticket in his hands, he was on the verge of tears when he heard the tiny bell jingle above the door. In the window several butchered boys just the same age as him were hanging by hooks, their naked bodies in clean pieces with prices stuck into their flesh with pins. Slowly he walked up to the currently empty counter. "Hello?" He called out. "My mommy told me I had to come here?" A few moments later an older man came from behind the counter and greeted Tim.

"Hi there little one! What's your name?" Asked the man gently.

"Tim," answered timidly, still holding the ticket.

The child handed the ticket over to the butcher. It was a notice from the Department of Population Control - Tim had been randomly selected to be culled for his meat in order to address the food shortage the area was facing. A half dozen boys came in each day with tickets like this. Each boy would then be taken back to the front of the store where they'd have their bodies weighed, measured, and inspected before being prepared for slaughter. The inspectors were not gentle men, most of them having spent their entire lives hunting, killing, and butchering people just like Tim. They were all looking forward to breaking this small child down so that they could enjoy a hot meal tonight.

"Well, well, well... Tim. Lets see if you're a big enough boy to become dinner!"

"Ok, what do I have to do?" The nervous child said.

"Well, first off we'll need you to strip."

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>This story was written for an anonymous commissioner.
>It is fully written, at 29,000 words, and will be posted in parts.
>Each part will have more specific content tags in the subject line.

“Without a doubt, it was some of the most fun I’ve had in my entire life, and I like to think I lead a pretty exciting life.”

The reporter blinked, her lipsticked mouth hanging open in a slight gape. Her grip tightened around the long handle of her microphone, shaking slightly, but she didn’t pull it back or think to interrupt, and John’s grin only grew wider.

“The last one begged me to live,” he continued. He spoke casually but with energy, like a father recounting an old story. “She told me she’d do anything, you know. Offered to suck me off every morning, clean my ass with her tongue, even cook breakfast and dinner! I told her I’d let her go if she could get me off three times in one hour, and you know what? She did!”

The reporter licked her lips. She glanced towards the camera uncertainly. “And then…?”

“Then I slit her throat and fucked the hole.”

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This little girl is so cute and shy. Her big blue eyes look at the executioner waiting for instructions. Even if she is dying of shame for being completely naked, she do her best to stand to the crowd. Her pink nipples and soft pussy are seen by everyone, but she will not be a wife anyway

She is shivering and sobbing, but she is determinated to die with honor. Her short silky hair is tied in twintails with blue bows so her little neck is completely exposed to the sword. Her hands are tied up in her back, she close them tightly while trying to calm down.

Her feet are free, but she will not try to escape. She has accepted to be executed and is waiting for it. Around the scaffold, hundred of people of the town has gathered to witness her last minutes of life. Of course, people appreciate her youth, beauty and courage, but no one protest her fate, not even her family.

The executioner is tall and strong. This makes the little girl to look even more small and defenseless to his side. She is looking at him, but he is looking at the town's judge. He assents, so the executioner look at the girl, straight to her beautiful expecting eyes, and then he points down, in a gesture the she understands.

she calmly kneels, sitting on her ankles, while she has her back straight and her head high. She look at the executioner again, but he is not there. suddenly all the chatteris silent. She can only hear her own upbeated heart and breathing. She then knows he is behind him, holding the sword.

-I'm ready... please dispatch me quickly - her voice is very cute but full of bravery and even challenging

-Are those your last words? - The executioner is holding the sword high, ready to strike her neck from the right side.

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"Stop Fussing" (No-Sex Loli Incest Snuff Murder Betrayal)

1. This is my very first attempt at writing a story of this nature (originally posted on Ravishment University some time ago). I don't know if I am any good at it. Emotional and psychological abuse, betrayal, and questionable parental morality (in fiction) appeals heavily to me, so my story dwells more on that than on any kind of sex.

2. 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, loli) 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.

3. 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 lolis engaged in sexual and violent scenes, please do not read any further than this.

***

"Stop your fussing!" my wife Julie chastized our crying daughter Krissy. "Pack up your things!"

Krissy had just gotten back from school when her mother politely asked her to start packing. The 11 year old immediately started balling her eyes out. I had to retreat to my home office, but could clearly hear all the commotion as our daughter was having her fit. Julie was better suited to taking care of tantrums than I ever was.

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"Where's Clara?" (Incest Snuff Loli Guro Cannibalism)

1. This is an unofficial, unauthorized, non-canon (fandom) sequel to Quivering Flesh’s 2004 “But Why Me Mommy?” as published on Asstr.org. I own no rights to the characters in this story, and invite Quivering Flesh to contact me if they would prefer the story be removed or revised.

2. Despite earnest attempts to pay homage to Quivering Flesh’s style, this story is dialogue heavy and, compared to “But Why Me Mommy?”, light on sexual details.

3. 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, loli) 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.

4. 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 lolis engaged in sexual and violent scenes, please do not read any further than this.

5. If you have not already, you are encouraged to read “But Why Me Mommy?” by Quivering Flesh before reading this story, but that is not strictly necessary. You might also read “But Why Me Mommy?” afterwards as a “flashback” by the narrator. “But Why Me Mommy?” can be read here: https://asstr.org/files/Authors/quivering_flesh/But%20Why%20Me%20Mommy%20(MFg%20pedo%20incest%20torture%20snuff).txt

***

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(this part is exposition heavy because it’s a world I want to write in more, I have a ton of ideas for it. It’s more interesting to me than more generic worlds because it does have a bit more structure and conflict. I don’t plan to lose interest in it, I have other sections half written. Let me know what you think as I go along. :) )
Introduction- snuff, dubcon/ soft noncon, shooting (other methods coming).
In the future, fertility rates have gone haywire. Women can still get pregnant, but natural pregnancies are rare and most women are cloned, because men are rare. Men are not ‘uncommon’ where a college might only have one or two. They were -rare-. India has four, China has four, the US has 3, many countries have a single man, or none at all. These men are added to the list of celebrities, most of them were as well known as major actors. Women are more numerous than ever before, they hold the jobs, they are the politicians, the President of the United States has been a woman every year for over a century. Every store, every bank, all owned by women, and men still held the power.
Men didn’t work, laws didn’t apply to them, they didn’t use money, and they were obeyed. They weren’t seen as the other side of the same species, they were seen as gods. Male births only came from natural births, to be fucked by a man was a huge honor, to get pregnant by him was a point of pride that would carry through a lifetime. Even by a man, the odds of a male baby were exceptionally low, and the woman who gave birth to a boy was a superstar, people would ask for her autograph decades later.
It was into this world that Jacob Murray had been born. He was raised to be aware of how special he was. He watched the news, he knew that there were too many people in the world, overpopulation was causing problems, but he was raised by a kind mother she never told him no, he was never refused anything that wouldn’t put him in danger, but she tried to teach him that he had virtually unlimited influence in the world and he should try to use that to make it a better place. Hedonism and cruelty on smaller scales were fine and expected of him, but she tried to teach him to spare a thought for bigger picture issues, fixing problems.
Of course, in a world this odd, that meant something different to him that it once might have.
He was walking down the street in a new town one night, whistling and smiling under the clear, starry sky. It was a nice spring evening and he was looking around. Like most men, he didn’t have one home that was his, he was welcome to stay in any home he liked, wherever he happened to be when he felt like it, by law. It was customary to establish sort of a home base when he came to a town, but he had just driven in and was seeing what fun stuff they had to do.
He heard what sounded like crying and pleading and went to investigate. There were two women on the next street, one was probably 40, very pretty and still in excellent shape, while the other was a teenage punk, skinny and pale with dyed black hair and several piercings. The punk was holding the woman at gunpoint, her hand shaking, but her eyes hard. The woman pleaded “Please, please don’t do this! I can give you money. Please, I have a family waiting at home.” she looked so frightened.
The young punk didn’t lower the gun “It’s nothing personal, I have nowhere to go, I have no options but joining the gang, and they won’t let me unless I prove loyalty.”
Jacob stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Good evening ladies.” Both jumped, turning to him and staring in shock. “You’re…you’re Jacob Murray” the young punk said in awe. The older woman had seemingly forgotten her danger. Most women went their entire life without ever seeing a real man in person. Jacob nodded “I am, see?” He unzipped and dropped his pants, both were more amazed at the sight of a real cock than they would have been if he had been packing a gold bar in his pants instead. Years of conditioning and indoctrination kicked in and both girls were struck by an urge to touch and worship it, and him in general.
Jacob smiled and looked pointedly at the gun. “Now that isn’t very nice, is it?” The would be killer lowered her hands. “I’m sorry sir..there’s just so many women, not enough jobs….I got desperate.”
He nodded “I understand. The world isn’t a perfect place.” He held out a hand “Give it to me.” She handed him the weapon without hesitation, the idea of disobeying never crossed her mind. He smiled “Good girl” her cheeks flushed red and her belly felt warm at the praise. He continued “Now get on your knees, I’m going to shoot you in the head, for being mean and to start fixing the overpopulation.”
The red flush in her cheeks drained immediately and the girl paled. “Sir? Please sir….can’t I just leave? Please?” She looked as frightened as the older woman had a couple minutes earlier.

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Wanting to grease my writing gears. Basically I need some guro kinks for a story I want to write. Origunally was an RP scenerio I wanted to do, but I get bored with that pretty easy soo I'd rather just write it myself. Warning that the sub involved is anthro/furry since I don't really use human characters.

Prompt is: My character is a prostitute. The buyer has an hour to do what they want with them. Anything goes.

Other details:
-will probably be mxm
-the buyer will probably be a generic human male (unless you'd like to fill in those details too)

Any kinks are alright but death is not intended to be the final result so nothing that would directly lead to death/extreme kinks.
Oh yeah and I'm pretty literate, so it'll be nice and descriptive.

A story I wrote a long time ago. Upon rereading, I thought it might be suitable to post here. I've mostly moved on from this type of writing and from violence in general, but perhaps this story can still be enjoyed here.

---

The warm dirt squished between Rin's toes, and she smiled gleefully as she frollicked through her jungle home with exeptional agility. The cat-girl was no beginner when it came to dodging branches and swining from vines, but as the youngest neko in her tribe she still had much to learn.
Rin was a short, beatiful neko of about 15 years, with short blue hair, large blue ears, and with eyes like the bright afternoon sky; calm, blue spheres without grief or worry. As was tradition in her tribe, Rin was completely nude except for her fuzzy ears and long blue tail that whipped to and fro as she ran. Her body was fine and rounded, with a small but plump buttocks and a pair of small, pale, perky breasts. Her skin was white and unmarred, and her face was lovelier than most other nekos.
The jungle around her was thick and dark with enormous trees that towered high above her and hid the bright sky above. Wildly coloured birds perched on tree branches above various apes and mammals while the vivpers lay on their bellies beneath leaves, waiting for their prey to show themselves. Even deeper in the jungle were vicious beasts who only came out at night to hunt. None of these seemed to concern the neko who continued her run, though. Such creatures were no threat to her or her tribe.
After a few hours of exploring, Rin decided to return home to her tribe. It only took her a few moments, and when she arrived she made her way to a small den in the ground she called home. She crawled into it and curled up. Purring softly, she began to fall asleep and dream of more wild adventures...
"Rin!" A beastial shout echoed outside of her den and Rin was startled from her slumber. "Get out here now!" The shaken young neko made her way out of the den. She crawled slowly, her head down and her mouth fixed in a frown.
"Y-yes daddy?" She stuttered as she finally made it outside. Before her stood a 7 foot tall beast of a man, with ears twice as large as Rin's and a thick black mane around his face. His body was lean and heavily muscled, and between his legs hung an enormous length that Rin had long admired. As usual, her gaze moved first to his enormous manhood, then up his finely chizeled abs and over his soft and furry chest, then up to the rugged, manly face which belonged to her father.
"Where have you been? We've been looking all over for you." He said sternly, but with a hint of compassion in his voice. Rin looked up at him and choked on her words. "Don't tell me you were running through the jungle alone again. I've told you hundreds of times! There are vicious beasts out there that will devour you whole! I can't protect you when you don't tell me where you're going!"
Rin's eyes began to water, and she jumped up and wrapped her arms around her father, pressing her naked body against his. "I'm so sorry daddy! I won't do it again, I promise!" She pressed her belly against his penis and she could feel it getting erect against her. Her father began stroking her hair softly.


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The man was unassuming, 5’ 10”, brown eyes and hair, normal build. But he was hired for a very specific job. In his hands he held a device that significant money had been invested. It released a series of flashing lights that instantly hypnotized whoever it was directed at, taking away all willpower such that the victims had to do whatever they were told. But the investors had very specific demands, and he was setting out to fulfill them. To make sure he met what was stipulated, he set out at a local beach so he could best assess whether the targets met requirements. He evaluated what he saw, but it was still several hours until he finally found what he needed. A woman, who looked to be in her thirties, was sunning herself while two girls, presumedly her daughters, were building a sand castle beside her. Smiling to himself he confidently strode up. “Excuse me…” and when the three of them looked up he immediately turned on the device, lights flashing in their eyes and seeing them glaze over. Looking around to ensure they were far enough away from others on the beach he returned his gaze to the three subjects.

“Tell me your names and ages, oldest to youngest” he ordered. “Mari, 41” the mother replied. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The woman obviously had taken care of herself, her breasts large in her one piece black swimsuit but body slim and looking closer to 30 than 40. Her brown hair was just past her shoulders, her eyes green as she looked up at him. His orders were for a mom in her twenties or thirties, but he decided that she fulfilled the intent of the orders. “Ava, 9” the older daughter replied. He smiled, she was perfect. Her dirty blonde hair was in a bob, her eyes blue, but she was obviously in great shape. She wore a sporty bikini, the lines of muscles on her tummy faintly visible, her ass exceptionally round and muscular. She defiantly met what was defined. “Morgan, 6”. The youngest replied as his eyes shifted to her. She also had dirty blonde hair, though it was longer and slightly curly and her glasses magnified her blue eyes. Her body was not as fit as her sister but still slim, and her slightly too small purple one piece swimsuit hinted at a very chubby pussy.

“You will come with me” he said, turning and walking to the van parked a little ways away. Leaving their belongings the three sun jests followed him immediately, getting in the van and settling in the back. He drove off, confident he wouldn’t be pulled over due to the investors

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mistress hands the little slave a meat cleaver and position's the girl's dominant hand on the cutting board. The cute girl is hyperventilating, blushing, pupils dilated, terrified and aroused.

as she slowly builds the nerve to permanently sever her right hand, the girl begins to writhe, humping mistress's thigh more and more vigorously, moaning louder and louder, fear obvious in her voice. the sheer intensity of the situation! the permanence! the submission! to be made *lesser* like this - forever! the little girl bites her lip and scream-moans as she arches her spine and circles her hips, grinding deeper and deeper.

then, before she can lose her nerve, she brings down the meat cleaver with all her might - and it goes through! her hand is off! the girl screams! she looks in disbelief at the reality of it, her hand actually severed, bleeding, no longer attached to her - *no longer part of her body!* the adorable little girl begins to cum while still screaming, screaming as much from the intensity of the situation as from the pain. she pressed her tiny body against her mistress and cums and cums.

mistress comforts her, strokes her face, and whispers "i'm going to take the other one."

the sweet little girl doesn't resist as her other hand is placed on the cutting board. the young slave continues to hump mistress's thigh. the girl starts to come out of her delirium a bit and realize that she is really going to lose her other hand - to have no hands for the rest of her life, just to please this woman. the cute little darling explosively climaxes.

losing her nerve for a moment, she timidly withdraws her left hand, then... even more timidly... puts it back down, breathing really hard, her adorable breasts rising and falling.

mistress brings the blade down - it goes through! both hands are off!

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Mummy! My tummy hurts!” Jodie whined, leaning her head on her mum’s shoulder. “I’m really hungry!”

“I know, honey.” Paula stroked her little girl’s hair. “I am too.” It had been three weeks now since the accident and there was still no sign of rescue. The island was small and its resources limited. At first Paula had shared the berries and edible roots she found with Jodie but, as they had grown more and more scarce, she had stopped eating herself, giving everything she found to her four year old. It had been five days since she had eaten anything at all, two for Jodie.

“Let me do something nice for you!” she smiled, laying her daughter down on the soft, mossy earth. The only way she had found to distract herself from her own hunger was to pleasure herself with her fingers but they were rough now, dry, and almost like sandpaper – far too rough to use on her little girl’s sensitive genitals.

While Paula tried to maintain a veneer of modesty, still desperately hoping for rescue, Jodie had not worn any kind of clothing since their third day on the island. Now she lay back, her still-chubby little legs parted as her mother lowered her face between her thighs and began to lick.

The little girl moaned sweetly, momentarily distracted from her hunger as her mother had hoped. Paula licked gently, her tongue flicking her daughter’s tiny clit and causing her thick honey to flow. The little girl’s lubrication tasted so delicious on her starved tongue. How long could they go on like this? Paula thought to herself. There was no more food. Nothing. If they went even a few more days without rescue she would surely die then, with nobody to care for her, Jodie would die too. The hopelessness of the situation washed over her even as she pleasured her happily moaning daughter. Her constricted and knotted stomach growled, sensing the licking sensation and readying itself for much needed food. Food that would never come. Unless…

They were both dead already, weren’t they? If she did nothing, her little girl had maybe days left, four at most. And then what? There were no wild beasts on the island… Their dead bodies would lay side by side, bloated and rotting in the sun and fed on by nothing but flies. A total waste. Jodie was small and tender and, despite the days of hunger, still quite plump. There was no moment when she decided, no decision she made, yet as her tongue withdrew from her daughter’s tight, moist little slit, she bit down, hard, tearing the tender flesh of Jodie’s vulva.

The little girl let out a sharp yelp as her mother chewed and swallowed her sweet young meat.

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was overwhelmed by gigantic, amorphous, Eldritch Abominations with long tentaculoid appendages terminating in loathsome, grotesque phallus's. They began to entwine and entangle my body. I felt one of the cocks enter my mouth and delve deep down my throat. Gagging and choking, my vision swam and I nearly lost consciousness. Another cock probed my anal spinchter and entered my ass. Waves of pleasure passed over me as I felt my prostate stimulated. My own cock hardened. Then the phallus's began pumping me full of vile, verminous seminal fluid. It overflowed and I felt it trickle out from my anus and mouth, drenching my body. I came as I was ravished in transports of ecstasy. I entered an odd, surreal altered state of consciousness as I experienced mindbreak at the height of utter bliss and lost all control of my faculties.