I started a new thread so I could tag it. Original thread is here: https://www.gurochan.cx/lit/res/15167.html#15186



I'm using the name KittyBoy because of the suggestion that I call these folks "pets". I've written out the first chapter- not a lot happens, it's mostly set-up.



Notes: I got the name "Cupcake" off a cat name generator.



Chapter 1

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Hi all, so I am planning on writing a story that will involve female users on this site as characters. I could simply ask them for permission but that's a lot less fun and ruins the surprise. I would like to know if writing tribute stories to other users is in keeping with the culture here, since I am new to this place. If that is not something people appreciate on this forum then I will be sure to ask the relevant people for permission to involve them. But if it is something people enjoy, then I would rather make a surprise contribution.

Part One: Tara

King Harold took a sip from his goblet of Zinfandel and grimaced as he perused the medical reports. Out of the 5 women in his harem that had managed to get pregnant, all of them had borne him girls. Not a single son, he thought to himself. Outrageous!

He looked out the window, at the slowly swinging corpses of the 5 concubines hanging from the old oak in the castle square. Their graceful forms swollen with babies that would never be born, they had accepted their nooses with resigned dignity. Of course he had forced the other 15 concubines to watch, an example of what would happen to those who failed him in that most vital task of creating a male successor. One that would carry the kingdom onwards to future glory.

The king tossed the medical reports into the trash bin beside his desk, and keyed the intercom system. He cleared his throat.

"Could all members of my harem report to my office? I have an announcement to make".

Not more than 3 minutes later, all of his remaining concubines were standing rigidly before him, trying their best to avoid eye contact. King Harold stood up and walked around them, admiring their fresh young bodies. Beauties from every corner of his kingdom, duty bound to satisfy his every whim. Diverse in every sense of the word, there were short girls, tall girls, buxom girls, slender girls, girls with short hair, girls with long hair, girls with curly locks, tanned girls, pale girls the color of skim milk, chocolate brown girls, devout girls and girls that were sluts.

He locked eyes with a curvy, fair blonde. She was brand new, had arrived a week before.

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The night sky glowed orange and red, the smoke and embers from the raging fires casting a hellish light. What had taken a thousand years to build had only taken 3 hours to burn to the ground, converted into twisted metal and charred ash. Soldiers from the Republican forces drank beer from looted bars, whooping and hollering as they let loose, the weight of 5 years of constant fighting melting away.

Corporal Falsenn chewed on his unlit cigarette, engrossed in the view. He turned and looked at his young charge, the former Princess of the deposed Imperial Family. The Princess had been stripped of clothing and her hands tied behind her back tightly. She stared at the ruins of her ancestral home, her eyes wet with tears. The Corporal felt a twinge of pity. His own daughter was around the Princess's age, and he felt a shiver of discomfort pass through him as he thought of what was to come next.

"How are you holding up, miss?", the Corporal asked gently.

The Princess turned and looked up at him, her doe-like eyes tinged with red, snot running down her nose. She had been quietly crying all night long, and Falsenn couldn't blame her. Everything she had ever known had been taken and destroyed, and even if what she had known was exploitative, he couldn't blame an innocent teenage girl for it.

"Fine", she whispered, her soft voice ragged with fear.

The Corporal nodded awkwardly, reached for his belt and unhooked his canteen. He twisted the cap off and offered it to the Princess. Demurely, she opened her mouth and accepted the swig of water.

After the Princess drank her fill, the grizzled soldier placed the canteen back on his belt. For a moment, the pair both stared at the apocalyptic backdrop of the burning city, silent in contemplation.

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A Looter's Experiment
-MK

Levy militia were chickenshit scum half the time. Roderick knew this by being one conscripted peasant himself. Whenever he and the rest of the unlucky schmucks were in the field, he made sure to stick to the sides and a little bit to the rear. Staying at the rear was an amateur mistake; the ones at the very back were always pushed aside and trampled on once the rout started. That’s not to mention the fact that the commanding nobleman - whoever it was at the time - often picked out the ones at the rear and made examples of them.

Said nobleman - Roderick really couldn’t remember his name - was currently showing the world his guts by the city gates. To nobody’s surprise, the levy under his command had scattered in the wind, away from the city where the fighting was fierce. Most of them except for Roderick, that was. He was wily enough to understand that opportunities were to be had that outweighed the risk of death. He wasn’t that much of a coward.

Life was rough as a peasant, Roderick knew. Nothing but the constant drudgery of the fields, grazing of livestock and the fear of starvation if whatever lord that was currently ruling over his village had decided that feasting in the winter was the best way to ration the food stores.

The sacking of this city might just provide him enough money to live comfortably by himself.

And here Roderick was, scouring through the corpses in an empty street by the poor residences with a large burlap sack he had hidden beneath his tunic and passed off as ‘extra padding’. His gaze skipped over finely forged swords and plate and honed in instead on coin pouches, jewelry, and the daggers he found on noble warriors that were sure to fetch more than a few shiny silvers with the right buyers.


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Hi all, I know this is a niche of a niche but I am looking for recommendations on stories featuring casual snuff of young girls, that do not feature cannibalism or dolcett. Ideally, there should be a "free-use" kind of air to the story with the girl not exactly wanting to be snuffed but going along with it anyway; though willingly participating would be fine too.

Examples of what I'm looking for are:
- Freedom to Snuff by SexistAliien (https://www.gurochan.cx/lit/res/2522.html) (specifically the first entry in the story)
- School Festival by AbbotTar (https://www.gurochan.cx/lit/res/8041.html)

After repairing all links to gurochan stories I don't found this masterpiece. So for greater justice I ressurect it^^
I hope author of this great story is doing fine.

[Lord of Pancakes] Ol' McJohnny had a Farm [2016]
(loli, straight shota, beheading)

12 year old Jenny was on her way to Johnny's family farm to play with his 9 year old sister Cindy. Cindy and Jenny had been friends for many years and it was Jenny's idea for Cindy to lose her virginity to Johnny a year ago. Since then, there playdates always involved Johnny and sex, so Jenny was excited as always. Her little pussy started to tingle at the thought of another 3 way with Johnny and Cindy, Jenny started running down the road.

Jenny finally made it to Johnny's house, as she was walking up the path she saw a note on the door. Jenny grabbed it and read it:
“Jenny,
Johnny and I are out back in the barn playing Farmer! I just learned about farms and animals in school. I came up with a great game for us to play!
Cindy”


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In particle physics there are a set of measurements known as the Planck units. These measurements are extrapolated from the physical constants of reality, such as the speed of light and the Boltzman constant, which describes the mathematics of entropy. A Planck length is the distance a massless particle will travel at the speed of light (the Planck speed) and consequently the Planck time is the amount of time it will take for a particle to travel the Planck length at the speed of light. In the minds of many physicists, the Planck units are the smallest measurements of consequence in our reality, as the laws of physics as we understand cease to have relevance below these measurements within most models and theories. Because of this, the Planck units may be thought of somewhat like the underlying “grid” within our universe, on which the pixels of reality move. Perhaps a single unit of Planck time is the closest we can come to truly defining a “moment” in our world.

Rebecca stared blankly at her showerhead as the blisteringly hot spray loosened the blood from her supple skin and carried it down her hourglass form and swirling into the drain. She stood there for a long time, mouth slightly agape, eyes defocused as the water scalded her, punishing her for her sins, even as it comforted her, held tight and purified her. Took away the blood. She didn’t try hard to understand what she had done only minutes before, instead simply embracing the heat wrapping around her like a second skin and causing billowing waves of steam to emerge from her apartment’s open bathroom door and into the cool night air past her balcony. Closing her eyes, she felt at peace for the first time in the last… what was it now? Three weeks? A month? It didn’t matter now. A slight smile curled around her lips. All was well now. All could end now. The young woman reached down and gently twisted the two knobs at her waist level, causing the water to spurt to a trickle and for a sudden gust of cool air to run over her from outside.

She turned and opened her eyes, suddenly realizing she hadn’t even slid her shower door shut in her daze. Slowly, gracefully, her calm figure stepped from the tiled floor onto the fuzzy pink mat a couple steps away, where she stood for a moment and felt the soft strands of synthetic fabric tickle her dripping feet. It was the same sensation she had loved since she was a little girl, just as special as ever this time. Her smile widened. A genuine, sweet, kind smile. She turned once more, this time to the body-height mirror in the corner of the bathroom. She was beautiful, her ivory skin glistening and her perfect blonde hair draping over her shoulders and breasts and wrapping around the curvature of her body like a patient and caring lover in the reflection. She took another silent moment to examine her motherly hips, flared to perfection and curving into her flawless thighs, pressed against each other just enough to highlight the softness of her skin and the pristine balance of fat throughout her body. Her usually modest breasts presented a colorful, tantalizing contrast to her otherwise pale figure, swollen with breastmilk and taking a pinkish hue, shiny and ripe from the internal pressure that was stretching them into beautiful fruit.

Suddenly her eyes caught the pacifier laying by the toilet in the reflection, a few specks of blood still spatter across its soft plastic surface. Her expression changed for a few moments into, not a frown, but an emptiness. A void of emotion, of thought… characterlessness. But as soon as this transformation had taken place, it was reversed, and her gentle, motherly smile returned. “I love you,” she said silently into the mirror. To whom was unknown even to her. It just seemed a beautiful thing to say in the moment, as the cool night breeze played across her body and caused tiny spots of color to raise across her gorgeous arms and legs, nipples hardening, pointing up slightly from her immaculate breasts. For a moment she felt a thrill, and glanced down almost teasingly at her own lips, barely visible between her silky thighs. She could feel a rush of blood, warmth inside her, contrasting with the cold air as her sex prepared for something that would not come. Not now, not ever again.

The mother- the girl- the woman, walked with silent, perfect grace through her quiet one-person bedroom, careful not to step in the blood-stains on the carpet as she approached the balcony, hips swaying with the taunting sensuality of a succubus. Her pupils contracted as she exited her room to the neon lights of the city outside, and she took a deep breath of the midnight air, allowing it to play in her lungs for a few moments the way an addict would return to the smoke of a cigar after weeks of a miserable attempt at quitting. It gave her life. Grounded her in the beautiful world around her. And yet, it wasn’t enough. Or rather, it wasn’t a reason to continue. She was happy for this to be her time, her last mark on the world she’d loved living in until now.

Suddenly she heard a shout. Coming from in front and above her. She glanced up, and caught sight of a young man, appearing to be in his mid twenties, standing on the balcony directly opposite and one floor above hers. “Hey sweetheart,” he intoned with obvious intent. “Saw you out here the other night, but didn’t get a chance to talk.” She could sense his eyes on her naked, dripping breasts, and took no offense, instead smiling sweetly up at him.

“Enjoy it,” she spoke just loud enough for him to hear, her dark, smooth voice travelling the cool night air in two small, echoing waves. The depth of passion in her voice was unbelievable, and the man felt his heart, and his cock, pounding in his chest and pants. The words of the hauntingly beautiful woman were spoken as if she were instruction, with real power, her lover to enjoy their climax inside of her. He stared at her silently, unable to understand what was happening, awestruck by her beauty, as she lifted herself onto the railing of her balcony and stood up straight, wet hair blowing in the cold night wind around her like a sail in a storm. He tried to speak as he watched lean forward, her smile disappearing under her nose, but his heart had stopped for a moment, and his lungs failed him when he wanted to shout, to call out, to cry to her… “no”.

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Sorry there's nothing remotely "guro" in this introduction, other than by implication, but I needed to set the scene. Should get more "interesting" as it progresses ;-)

Pt 1

“Hey! This is new!” Chloe exclaimed to Abi as they rounded the corner of the mall and saw the double store-front with the stylised “F” above the entrance. The window display featured mannequins of girls aged from five or six up to young adult but most seemed to be effigies of girls their own age, albeit the impossibly thin, faceless type common to such stores. All seemed to be dressed in fancy leather clothing, from mini-shirts and crop-tops to slinky cocktail dresses and coats that swept the floor, worn over what could either be a leather bikini or underwear set. “Wanna check it out?”

“I don’t know…” Abi looked uncertainly at the fancy goods in the window. She was pretty sure there was nothing in there a twelve year old girl could afford to buy for herself, not unless she was the daughter of a movie star or something! “Looks expensive.”

“So?” laughed Chloe, “It’s not like we have to actually buy anything. What’s wrong?” she asked, “You never pretended to be rich before?”

“Well, when you put it like that!” Abi chuckled and followed her friend through automatic door. The air inside was pleasantly warm and had the comforting aroma of all leather shops mixed with something else the girls could not quite put their finger on. Sandlewood perhaps?

“Hello, ladies.” A smartly-dressed sales assistant approached them as they came in, her mouth fixed in a customer-service smile that did not extend to her eyes. “Welcome to Falquin’s Fine Leather Emporium. Can I assist you in any way?”

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Do you know of any writers accepting commissions? Am looking for someone to put into good words a story of mine. I have every scene plotted out already. Need someone who can describe feelings, pain and various guro stuff well. Must be prepared for some revisions to my liking. Can shell up to $50 depending on length.

You can drop your profile and work here or shill for someone else. We might even use this thread to list all writers accepting commissions. Thanks folks!

(Lez/ denial/ con/ fgm/ femcirc/ bodymod/ chastity)

—–

Interesting products

Working at the pre-marketing firm was very pleasant for Charlotte. She had landed a very interesting job straight out of high school, thanks to her language skills. She got to work with a supportive team, all of whom had become very close friends to her over the past two years. The firm was large, with dozens of different teams working of hundreds of different consumer products before they were passed on to different marketing firms.

Her team consisted of her and four other girls. There was Vivianne, the team leader, a cute short brunette in her late twenties. Then there were Codi and Klara, stunning blonde twins from Canada who mostly worked their phone lines. The two were about Charlotte’s age, with gorgeous 80s luscious hairstyles. They had a thing for vintage fashion and the natural beauty to pull it off. The twins were the stuff of dreams. They were taller than Charlotte and had sizable tits. Not as big as Charlotte’s of course. She was abnormally large. Her Italian heritage blessed her with beautiful olive skin, dark brown eyes, a captivating smile and tits that almost looked out of place on her short frame but seemed to defy gravity.

Lastly, there was Amber. Amber’s parents were from Russia and she used her knowledge of the Russian language when working with many of the importers and manufacturers. She also did a lot of marketing concepts for products going to targeted segments. Amber was a tall rocker girl with bright red dyed curly hair reaching all the way down to her hips, a sizable septum piercing and often wearing punkish, quite provocative clothing such as fishnets, collars and spiky high heels.

Charlotte and Amber were very close, more than just friends. Charlotte had not known she was into girls before but when Amber came into her cubicle one late evening with a bottle of wine the two soon found themselves drawing closer to each other, feeling each other’s breath on their skin and eventually their lips touching. They ended up at Amber’s place. Their office romance was no secret.

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Accidentally posted this in another thread instead of its own thread so fixing that now.

Jessica for Dinner
Tags: Kidnapping, Bondage, Lesbians, Cannibalism, Knifeplay, Cooking, Semi-consensual, Drunk.

As she slowly returned to wakefulness the first thing that Jessica noticed was that her head hurt. Not just in the sense of a headache, but all of it, down to her jaw which felt strained and over-stretched. Her mouth was open, open wide, and there was something in it. She couldn't quite see what it was, just a flicker of red at the corner of her vision, but she could feel it with her tongue. Whatever it was was large and round and smooth. Like a giant jawbreaker, but it seemed less firm.

Jessica's addled mind put it aside as she noticed the next thing. She couldn't move her arms. They were locked in place; her hands up by her head and her elbows at right angles. It was pushing out her chest, and now that she realized that; looking down she noticed that her beautiful peach-colored breasts were naked, and so was the rest of her!

"Ah! You're up!" The sudden interjection drew Jessica's attention to the speaker. It was an Indian girl, younger than her, 18 maybe? Though she could be in her early twenties. She was wearing a cute white tube top through which Jessica could see her jutting brown nipples and a pair of skin-tight blue jeans. The girl looked incredible; her skin smooth and glowing and her smile wide and inviting.

"I'm Myra," she explained with the same radiant smile. "Don't worry about telling me your name, it doesn't really matter. Meat doesn't need a name, and really all removing that gag would do would be to let you scream and ask questions whose answers you won't have any use for after tonight. So as far as I'm concerned, you're dinner, and that's all the name you'll need, okay?"


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The entire point is so we can identify things we either preferentially want to read, or absolutely want to avoid at all costs, WITHOUT clicking through to the actual thread and scrolling down to wherever the tags are hidden. Sort it out.

Clarissa sat on the plush couch, her finger nervously twirling a stray bang of her golden blonde hair. The waiting room was minimalist, consisting of plain white walls, ceiling, and floor, and containing only the couch, a small table with a scattering of magazines, and a bottle of water. She reached over and grabbed the bottle, unscrewing the cap and taking a deep gulp of water. It was unseasonably hot, and her sweat stuck to her shirt, causing it to cling tightly to her breasts.

The young single mother grimaced as she thought back to the events that brought her to the room. It started with a letter in her mailbox. The royal stamp was on it, so she had quickly opened it and read the letter. She had been chosen by the king to attend his yearly birthday. The wording implied that it wasn't a voluntary invitation. The king had a reputation for choosing attractive women off the street and taking them to his castle. They were never seen again, although their families were compensated very richly. As expected in a small citystate like San Venizio, rumors ran wild about what exactly happened to these women, but no one knew for sure. Now it seemed like Clarissa was about to find out for herself.

The door swung open, making Clarissa snap out of her reverie, and a prim looking woman in a business suit walked in with a briefcase in hand. Clarissa didn't fail to notice the two large, burly guards flanking the woman, their pistols holstered on their chest plate carriers. "Ms. Clarissa Overmeier, I am the secretary and legal aide for His Majesty", the woman began. As she talked, her fingers unlocked the briefcase and withdrew a single sheet of paper and a pen. "Before we proceed with the ceremony, I'm going to need you to sign this form". Clarissa took the pen and paper, her eyebrows furrowing as she read the form.

"Name: Clarissa Franklin Overmeier. Age: 31. Social Identity number: 4558710". Her eyes wandered down, taking in the small print, and her unease only increased. "By signing this form, I hereby declare myself property of His Majesty, with all human rights afforded to me prior now forfeit. Any attempt at escape or causing bodily and mental harm to His Majesty will lead to severe punishment for the immediate family of the subject."

Her fingers trembled as she signed the last line with her name and initials. The secretary took the sheet and slipped it back into the briefcase. The woman gave a cold smile. "Rest assured, as long as you cooperate, your family will be looked after". She stood up, and motioned for Clarissa to follow. They exited the room, the two guards following behind. Their faces were emotionless, and Clarissa awkwardly looked away.

His Majesty was waiting in his bedroom when Clarissa arrived with the secretary. Clarissa gasped when she saw the room. It was huge, larger than the dingy one bedroom flat she rented. Her shock increased when she saw the sovereign at last. The king was a private person, so private that no one aside from his most trusted advisors and guards even knew what he looked like. Well, now Clarissa knew.

The king was a pale, slender boy, no older than 17, and about the height of her youngest son. He was dressed like any normal teenager, the same kind of clothes that her own children wore to school every day. A hoodie, graphic T-shirt, tight fitting jeans, and sneakers. The king sat on his bed, a laptop on his lap, engrossed in what was happening on screen.

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Tales from the Canterlot Mortuary is a collection of stories surrounding the mortician Mort Momento and looking through the many corpses that head his way, figuring out their means of death, carrying out their terms for a funeral, and having some fun along the way.



This first entry is more of a pilot story. I had written it a long while ago (like a couple of years now) and I'm just now deciding to publish it here. If you have any ideas for future entries, please suggest them in this format:



Name: (this would be a character from MLP. It might branch out to other series, but for now, it's MLP. If your suggestion is an OC, please link to their appearence)

Cause of Death: (how did they die and how were they found at the crime scene?)

Death Outfit: (how were they dressed when they were processed by CSI?)

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