Using the old name because of the age of the protagonist. I also have another Pere Fouettard story in the works but ran out of time today! Like many of my stories, this one has been kicking around my head in one form or another for a few years. Hope you enjoy!

Pt 1

Dinah stood behind the glass, looking out at the sea of faces peering at her and wondering if she should wave or just stand stand still and let them look. The pretty, olive-skinned nine year old who had long dark hair, big dark eyes and was just on the right side of chubby had visited this museum many times in the past, like everyone from her town and others near by, and had spent a fair amount of time looking through this very glass. Just never before from this side, and never before in the nude!

Given the almost total lack of other attractions in the town and the relatively broad scope and low entry cost of the museum, it had been the location of nearly every school trip and bad-weather family outing she could remember. Whatever they had officially come to look at, no visit was complete without a trip to the display for which their strange little local museum was nationally famous.

Lined up, behind thick glass, as they had been for over a hundred and fifty years, were twelve naked, human figures, six male, six female, arranged in pairs according to age and intended to show the physical differences at different stages of development. The first two, on a raised platform, were very young babies, almost new-borns. Next was a pair of young children around the age of four or five, then a pair just before the onset of puberty, aged somewhere between nine and eleven, then a pair in their mid-teens, a pair of young adults, maybe nineteen or twenty years old and finally a middle-aged couple. Such displays were not, in themselves, so unusual. The Natural History Museum in London had one similar with single-colour, anatomically correct mannequins and similar displays could probably be found in museums of a scientific inclination all over the country but there was one thing that made the display in Dinah’s local museum totally unique.

Instead of mannequins and wax-works, the figures were the preserved and mounted skins of real people, their skeletons displayed behind them so their inner structure could be compared with the outer. A plaque by the side of the babies, bearing the official story behind the figures, explained that the people who had been stuffed were cadavers purchased from among those who died at the local work-house by a public-spirited local businessman, keen to advance the knowledge of science and human biology among the working classes. There had been rumours for and speculation for many years, however, fuelled by the occasional report of the discovery of a diary, account books or a death-bed confession and mostly prompted by the generally healthy appearance of the specimens that they had not simply suffered a fortuitously coincidental collection of accidental and natural deaths but rather that living people had been purchased from the Workhouse authorities before being killed and skinned to create this famous display. It was observed by those who speculated that this would be consistent with the way the upper echelons of Victorian society viewed those beneath them.

For her part, it had never really occurred to Dinah to engage in such speculation and, like most girls of her age had spent most visits simply giggling at the willies on the male figures, especially that of the teenage boy which was surprisingly small compared to the young man and made even funnier by the confidence of his pose. She knew most of the boys liked to look at the boobs on the teenage girl and young woman and that everyone laughed at how saggy the middle-aged woman’s were, since she had borne several children. When she was very little, she had thought they were real, living people just standing very still, much like she was doing now, and wondered if they ever got hungry or bored and if they minded being looked at with no clothes on. As she grew older she had come to understand that they were dead people by how they had died or why these particular people had been chosen had never really bothered her. After all, they had been dead a very long time so did it even really matter?

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Greetings denizens of Gurochan, I am MissSabby; you may also call me by my pen name, Sabrina Bowman.

Some of you have probably seen me, and my stories, on Fetnoir. I will now be writing stories here, as well.

Pretty much all of these stories will be new and fresh, but I probably will import some of my Fetnoir stories at some point. I can’t guarantee it’ll be soon, or that I’ll import them all at once.

A lot of these stories, but not all of them, will generally feature myself in scenarios that I cannot write about on Fetnoir; namely, stories where I’m younger than eighteen (currently 26 irl), or pregnant. So, I’m issuing a pedo and teen warning for anyone who scrolls down further. My age in-story will hover between eleven and fifteen, but can go as low as eight (the age I started thinking about sexual things, and close to the time that my darker fantasies started to develop as well.) However, many of my stories will include other victims, who may be much younger than that.

The other warning I should give concerns pissing and scat. I tend to be realistic, and, realistically, death is messy. Though, post-mortem urination is common in many of these stories, shitting isn’t. I don’t have a scat fetish, so there won’t be much focus on it outside of making death scenes realistic; if shit or piss ends up on/in someone, it’s merely because of where the bodies ended up the moment they died. If I have a post-mortem sex scene, I will either skip mentioning of the victim shitting themselves, or have their rapist clean them up before sex.

As for sex scenes, some stories will have them, others will not; I won’t force a sex scene into a story just for the sake of having one.

Now, let’s get to some stories.

As a 16 year old teenage girl, I never thought my life would be so violent. I never thought I would have so much power and control.

Never did I think a year ago that I would be where I am now.

I can't go back home and I can't talk to any of my old friends or even some family.

Nothing will go back to normal. This is my new normal.

I'll never leave this Island.

It's so fucked up. I never asked for this but now I can't imagine my life any other way.

My psychiatrist gave me this journal to keep my thoughts in one place. She said people - especially young girls like me - find it hard to transition to the island.

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Was looking for a story read a while back. Was about a a kinda uneven fantasy fight club were a woman his fighting a were wolf. the were wolf rapes her and the resulting massive amount of were wolf cum makes her belly burst. Would put this under requests but that tab doesn't appear to work at the momment.

The Murderer Rises Up
"Genesis 1"
A serialized erotic psychomachia

I stroked my hard cock through my orange prison jumpsuit, feeling it
throb in anticipation. My cellmate groaned as he pulled out his
cock and let a loose a heavy flow of urine into our stainless steel
toilet. The sound of his urination reminded me of better times
when I would lie in my bed and listen to the rain falling onto the
eaves and the cars outside. The horror of my youth even corrupted
the positive memories I had of listening to the rain. I'd spend
entire nights listening to the rain and not sleepng at all.
Worrying over whether my mother would enter my room and rape me on

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Daphne knew that she was innocent, and as she walked down the busy street, glancing over her shoulder, she was sure that her hunter knew that as well. Vampires got a bad rep, but as the magical world became more accepting, and sexy vampires became a big thing in pop culture, that stigma was slowly being torn away. Daphne fit into that “Sexy vampire” classification. She was tiny, standing at only 5 '3 and weighing less than she looked. She’d cut her raven black hair neck short earlier that day to celebrate her 18th birthday, and her pale skin was almost flawless. Her big brown eyes peered through the crown searching for her hunter, but she found no sign of her.
“I won’t die tonight,” she said desperately as she clenched her Black hoodie as it clung to her body. With the hoodie, she wore a short, short skirt and black pantyhose that accentuated her slender legs all the way down to her black boots. Okay, maybe she wasn’t entirely innocent, maybe she enjoyed tempting guys, playing with their feelings, breaking their hearts, but she never killed anyone damn it! She calmed her breathing.
“Hey young lady,” a man's voice said, causing her to jump a little. She turned to a voice and found a concerned-looking older man. She once again calmed herself and flashed him a warm smile, dimples appearing at the end of her full lips. As she looked up at him, her big brown eyes practically sparkled. She was sure that her adorableness combined with the mini skirt had put the man under her spell. Vampires being able to supernatural seduce people was a myth, she was just naturally damn sexy
“Oh, thank you, sir, for being worried,” she said, stepping towards him. “I am in a bit of trouble; do you think you could help me out?” she asked.
“Uhh uhm of course,” he said, his face going bright red. “What do you need help with?”
“Well you see sir; I’ve just been visiting here. I don’t really know my way around town, and I don’t have much money. I need to get out of here really bad and really fast, it’s important, but I don’t even know where the train station is. Do you think you could tell me the fastest way to get there?” she asked.
“Well um, I don’t know young lady. I know a pretty fast way but its not safe” he said. “I could give you a ride, that will be a lot safer,” he said.
“No thank you,” she said still smiling up innocently. Any danger the normal world provided she was sure she could handle, she just needed to get away from that…that thing. The man sighed.
“Well the fastest way from here is actually though there,” he said gesturing towards an alleyway a few feet away. “Just go straight through there and the train station is on the other side,” he said. The vampire almost found herself thanking God but remembered she quite frankly hated the man. Her luck couldn’t be better it seemed. “But that alley is pretty shady young lady. Plenty of bodies have shown up there ya know” he added.
“That’s okay” she squeaked happily. “I can handle myself,” she said twisting her hips seductively as she held her hands behind her back. The man frowned again, his eyes occasionally drifting down to her slender legs which were only covered by a thin layer of fabric
“If you say so,” he said quietly. She stared up at him expectantly. He looked confused for a moment, before pulling out his wallet.
“Here take this, should get you a ticket and something to eat. Maybe some new clothes too” he said handing her some crumpled up bills. She snatched the money out of his hand, moving so fast that her hand was a blur.
“Thank you, sir,” she said before booking it towards the alley. As she ran down the alley she hastily looked down at the bills and scowled. “Two fifths?” she said to herself “That’s all the old cheapskate gave me? I bet that’s the hardest he’s been in fucking years! Could have given me a little more at least” she said. Suddenly she felt as if she was flying. Time slowed down as her feet lift off the ground. But she wasn’t flying, the pavement was becoming closer, and closer. She was failing, and moments before she hit the ground the pain hit her. Daphne crashed into the pavement and screamed in pain as she clutched the bloody wound on her belly. She managed to turn around and see the very thing she feared most standing behind her. The vampire’s eyes widened as the girl stepped closer to her. Where Daphne was sexy in the cute kinda way, this girl was sexy in the sexy kind of way. She had beautiful waist-length golden blonde hair, and a slender yet curvaceous figure ripped straight from Hollywood. She wore a white T-shirt that clung tightly to her frame, her C-cup boobs seemingly about to pop out. With it, she wore a pair of booty shorts that were just as short as Daphne’s mini skirt and showed off the blonde's long, muscular legs. Daphne felt like she had to scream but found that she couldn’t move. Instead, her lower lip quivered and a feminine whimper slip through them. The woman smiled at her, and boy it was a hell of a smile. Bright and kind, her blue eyes taking in Daphne as if she was an old friend. She could almost be a normal girl, well not normal, exceptional to be sure but not supernatural. That wonderfully sweet cheerleader that’s nice to everyone, the girl that passes every class with straight As and happily helps anyone with their studies, the head of the church choir. She could be any if not all of those things if it weren't for the golden hilted short sword she gripped in her right (rather dainty) hand which was dripping with blood.

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Lara was ready for one last jog before the big day. In a few days she would be taking place in a citywide relay for charity, and she was team captain, the one chosen to lead the charge and rally everyone to do their best for the event. Being raised fit her whole life, this is what she lived for, being able to participate in this relay for such a good cause made it all the better.

"Alright girls, we're gonna be going for an hour now, remember to pace yourself! For those of you who don't have the stamina, don't push it! We'll be there for you, just take it easy, as long as you stay in it, you win!"

Lara was leading her group for a practice run so they could guarantee to have a safe and fun time. As she starts the run, so far so good, everyone is all laughs and joy, excitement for the big day rising…however, many, MANY miles away, there was something taking place…something that Lara, or anyone for that matter, could ever account for.

***

"Prepare to test fire the device on my mark. Three…"

In a remote section of land, surrounded by countless miles of high-security fencing, a top-secret government agency was testing the capabilities of a newly-developed, highly advanced weapon, capable of precise strikes of targets over long distances.

"Two…"

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Shooting and not much else. Made with random.org; The way clouds shift decided one character was very unlucky ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Roulette


“Alright girls, this right here is a .44 Colt Anaconda loaded with magnums. It has 6 shots so if one of you is lucky, she’ll get to eat a bullet right through the mouth. Tits, pussy and then mouth – very simple. I do the shooting you do the cylinder spin. I switch between you when there’s no shot. Since the first shot is a guaranteed hit, I’ll let you play rock, paper, scissors to decide who goes first.” I explain to the two naked house girls as we sit legs crossed in front of the cozy fireplace.

One is Hanako – a small Asian girl with cute small tits that will get absolutely blown off by the magnums. She also has a tight body and fucks like a maniac, but lacks any discipline so keeping her is not an option. The other girl, to my left, is a busty blonde named Alice. She’s so mentally stunted that I can only use her for sex and cleaning duty, but that’s not so bad because her body is smoking hot. She exercises daily and still keeps her curves. If she was actually cute I could keep her for more than one week, but nature didn’t bless her with a very attractive face.

“3… 2… 1… HA! I win! That’s two out of three!” Ha, I win yelled Hanako with joy.

“Very well. Alice, you’re up. Which tit do you want to sacrifice first?” I ask the blonde to make her unimportant choice.


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Since there seem to be ongoing glitches, I will continue my story here :-) Enjoy!

Pt 5

By the time Jessica and April returned from their meeting with the organisers, the hall was filling up quite nicely. It was still half an hour or so before the public were to be let in but all the other contestants were there, setting up their demonstrations. Since plagiarism or other types of copying would be pretty much impossible by that point, and all devices and procedures were described on the entry forms, there was no restriction on contestants who were already set up wandering around and taking a look at what others had come up with. Since Penny was well on her way to being done and there was very little for them to do other than wait, the two girls decided to go explore. After setting their video running on the provided screen, showing Penny’s introduction and the early stages of the prep, they set off.

The first thing that struck them both was the number of naked girls and young women either wandering around, helping to set up the devices in or on which they would likely very soon be cooked or simply sitting in the booths, flicking though magazines or on their phones while they waited for their teams to get set up. Nobody other than Penny actually seemed to be cooking yet so it seemed fair to assume most other cooking methods on display that day involved a shorter process. The youngest they saw seemed to be a pair of girls, sisters from the looks of them, around nine or ten years old who were chasing each other around the booth playing tag to the obvious irritation of the team that were trying to set up in there. There were a few young women, mostly from the mixed teams, who looked to be around nineteen or twenty but most seemed to be in their mid-teens, as was fairly typical for meat girls. Chatting with each other as they explored, April and Jessica pondered how many had been purchased for the demonstrations and how many were friends or family members talked into helping out.

Although no girls were cooking yet, it was not too difficult to work out the rough mechanics of the majority of entries. There seemed to be a lot of variations on the traditional spit or stew pot but others were a little more intriguing, such as a device that seemed to consist of a pair of flexible tubes, like thick garden hoses, fed from something that they were pretty sure was a repurposed immersion heater from an old house! There was also a sort of cage which had several cables running from it as if it cooked by passing electric current through the girl.

“Wow, that’s gotta hurt!” Jessica observed, looking with a mixture of fear and fascination at what she was pretty sure was a deep-fryer. It was a large tank of straw-coloured oil which, while not boiling yet, was clearly starting to heat up. Beside it, on the floor for now but attached to a kind of hoist system and swinging arm was a metal basket large enough for a girl or small adult to sit in with her knees tucked up. A petite brunette around there own age stood close by, naked buy holding a folder in her hands and giving sharp instructions to the boys who made up the rest of the team – clearly in this mixed team she was both the leader and test-subject! At least she would know what she was letting herself in for and there could be no question about her willingness, April and Jessica thought to themselves.

“I guess we should get back to our booth.” April commented, noticing that the hall was starting to fill up and that not everyone was attached to a team so the public must have been allowed in. “I hope Penny was able to sleep like she wanted to and that it’s not hurting her too much.”

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Sorry it's a short intro, hopefully I'll post some more later. A bit back to my previous style so I hope you enjoy :-)

Part 1

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Jessica asked, peering doubtfully at the long wooden box. “I mean, I know it works for small joints of meat and stews and that sort of thing but do you really think…”

“It’s a bit late to be worrying about that sort of thing now!” sighed April, the most sensible of the group and the main brains behind the project. “Anyway, the smaller version worked perfectly with that fish. There’s no reason at all this shouldn’t work!”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out!” Penny chuckled. “I’m prepared to stake my reputation on it!”

“And a whole lot more!” Jessica conceded. It had been a fun project and the three young students were grateful for the amount of time and support their school had allowed them, both in the planning stages and the building, first of the smaller test models then of the finished product. But tomorrow was the big day – the demonstration and contest which, if all went as well as they hoped, would win them Roebuck Scholarships for the combined Cookery and Engineering course which had become both popular and extremely prestigious in recent years, with all of Britain’s top universities competing to offer the best course and attract the top students. University had, however, become more expensive with each passing year so the offer of a full scholarship, complete with Living Allowance, was too great to ignore.

When the three eighteen year-olds had signed up for the competition, they had not really discussed who the final test-subject would be. In fact, most of the contenders that they knew of were male teams with girlfriends or sisters being coerced or conscripted to help out. There were a few mixed teams and there were no prizes for guessing how that would play out but they were one of the few all-girl teams.

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I've created a Google Forms poll to submit your favorite story from 2019.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdbURyZAyDobm_BCr2mFfse6aMDUWcNXBi8AFOpaBreXRAi_Q/viewform

Catfish

They said it would be thrillin’ and it was. Oh lordy it was, right up to the end and then it got peaceful and sweet and oh so dark, and I felt so loved during that part.

See, my papa is long gone and my mama spends most days drunk, and I got no brothers nor sisters, so there’s no one lookin’ out for me. People ‘round these parts call me ‘dirty girl’ or ‘grubby girl’ and other mamas won’t let their kids play with me. Instead the kids pick on me and bully me until I fight back then they leave me alone. I like to sing that old song with the words changed; “I’m just a poor girl … I got no sympathy”, because I’m a loner, I’m tough, and I like it that way.

I met Otis and Redmond down on the bank of the creek when they was hookin’ catfish. I told ‘em; “Them catfish look appetizin’.” and they invited me up to their shack to share a fish fry with ‘em. Because I hadn’t eaten that day and chances are mama wouldn’t have anything for me anyways, I went with ‘em and they fed me fried catfish and biscuits.

After we ate, they gave me a half jar of ‘shine cut with orange juice and that made me feel so fine and happy. That was when they sat on either side of me on the broke-back sofa and started strokin’ my legs under my stained sundress.

“We’d like a little payment for supper.” Otis said.

“Yeah, us playin’ together a bit is all.” said Redmond, “Might be thrillin’ for you.”

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Everyone I know – my friends, coworkers, relatives, wife, and kids, and pretty much the entire town – has heard the story of how my sisters were brutally gunned down when I was fifteen. It was Winter of 2021, and a cult of anarchists had formed and gained influence in the United States. The Obliterators, as they called themselves, created a new form of terrorism which involved invading homes at random and killing everyone they could find. My house was one of the first to be targeted by this new tactic. Based on my personal testimony, investigators, as well as the media, believed the terrorists left under the assumption that I was already dead, after I tumbled and knocked myself unconscious. That story is ludicrous, and the fact that they believe the Obliterators left without making sure I was dead is amusing; responsive or not, they would have shot me anyways to be sure. However; this misinformation was beneficial to me, and I always agreed with the official story when I was asked. The truth of the matter is, I was conscious through the whole ordeal; I survived because they never found me, and I never let them know I was in the house. That is not the main reason I kept this a secret.

We moved into that house just a few months earlier, so my dad could be closer to his new job. Although it was a big house, the bedrooms were spacious, and there was just three of them. My parents got one, my sisters, Courtney and Rebecca, each got their own room, so I ended up with the attic as my room. Not that I had an issue with it; it was bigger than the bedrooms, I could always tell when my parents were coming in, and it was secluded. It got even better; just two days before the shooting, I discovered a small hole in the floor, and it was directly over the bathroom. And it was directly above the toilet.

Now, I don't really know how common it is for a sibling to have a crush on on another; I would be willing to bet a lot more than most people would guess, but I could be wrong. I do know that I was one of them.

Courtney, who was only two years older than me, was the first girl I ever had a crush on. Frizzy dark hair, which she kept down to her waist, and a slender frame. I first noticed how pretty she was about the time she turned eleven, when her buds began to sprout. They blossomed as she turned into a teenager, and her low cut tops left very little of her watermelon-sized meat sacks to the imagination.

Rebecca, being two years younger, only gained my attention a few weeks before her thirteenth birthday. She had the same slender frame as Courtney, chestnut brown hair to her shoulders, that she normally kept in a ponytail, and a smooth, milky, complexion. Her breasts came in later, but, when they sprouted, they blossomed quickly. I truly noticed when she reached across me to grab the remote from the back of then couch, and I got a face full of cleavage. As she never wore a bra, I got my first real peak of nipples.

Other than the incident with Rebecca, I never actually saw either of them nude. Over the years I caught myself glancing out of the corner of my eye when they walked by in tight shorts or pants, or whenever one of them bent over. I jerked myself off thinking about them in the tub or in a changing room, but for one reason or the other I did not attempt to get a glimpse of them in the buff until I found the hole in my floor.

The second day after my discovery I was peeping down the hole as Courtney took a shower. While the view inside the curtain was blocked by the curtain, I was waiting for her to come out. Then the door opened.

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Tags: mf/fs non-con crushing mashing ripping shredding destruction rape scat lolli teen (probably more to follow)

Hello sickos. I'd never done creative writing before, so thought I'd give it a try. 4 days later I've roughed out nearly 20000 words, and am pleased enough with it to upload it here.

Feedback is welcome. I'd like to know if I'm deluded, so I don't have to waste any more time on this.

If you spot any glaring errors, keep them to yourself, and hopefully no-one else will notice ;)

The general theme is a modern underground dungeon. Girls and young ladies get brutally raped, and then meet annihilation in various machines. Lots of gore and minimal plot. The format is pretty open ended, so I'll probably keep adding chapters as I go along.

First time posting but quite old lurker, I make a lot of these and will post more here if you like. I just started a personal kinky blog if you're interested too.

–

When I left the club, I had barely drunk my first glass of vodka. Being the only single in the group sucks, and even more so when I have to fend off douchebags trying to grope me while my two friends are busy making out with their guys.

My own dress is also betraying me; while perfectly suited to the stuffy air and the dancing, in all its glistening golden glory, it now seems way too inadequate against the spring night breeze. As I’m walking the street, my heels loudly warn everyone in a two-block radius of my coming. I guess I must be walking as angrily as I am looking right now.

Suddenly, the click-clack stops, as I see in the corner of my eye a neon sign signaling “OPEN”. It’s not a bar, or a club, just a regular diner-late night coffee heaven kind of place. What I wouldn’t give right now for a cup of coffee. Sure, the place looks empty – I’m not sure I can see an employee inside actually – but hell, I can even brew it myself. And it will give me some respite from my broody, cold walk home.

Crossing the side street, I push the glass door open. Almost all of the lights are off, and the beer fridge next to the counter gives out a blue light that provides most of the illumination to the room devoid of people. “Hello!”, I shout, scanning the place with my gaze. A slow, almost distant jazz mix tape is playing from behind the bar.

A guy comes out from the kitchen door. He looks just as surprised to see a customer at this hour as he is to see a brunette in a short, shiny golden dress and black heels walking in here alone for a cup of coffee. I can imagine it looks quite comical, in a weird-movie-from-the-50s way. I keep my eyes on him as I come closer to the bar. “Can I actually get a cup of coffee, please?”, I ask, smiling wide with my red, pleading lips. The guy, a tanned man in his forties in a black T-shirt, looks baffled, but nods affirmatively.

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