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.

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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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gore

Will It Hurt?

They didn’t pay the ransom so it was time for me to go - my body to be left somewhere public so the next family knew he was serious. He says he likes me and gives me choices, all but one seemed too horrible to consider. I am terrified, too young to die especially by any of the ways he describes, but one choice gives me a little tug deep in my lower belly that kind of feels like hunger. So I listen to my body because my mind is in riot.

“The one on the pole,” I say, my voice trembling, fear sending ripples of frozen tingles through my core, “Will it hurt?”

“Oh, yes. It will hurt.”

“But it’s sexual, right?” I ask, desperate to find some ray of hope in all this. I feel weak and I’m trembling, even my boobs jiggle in my fear, the friction against the material of my sports bra making my nipples tingle and pucker.

The room is a concrete box with a steel door, tools of torture and murder along one wall. The air is filled with my own stink and his; mine is body odour from not bathing for a week - stale sweat and crotch; his has a faint smell of garlic and honest sweat - because the room is so warm. All week I’ve listened to a boiler roaring from the other side of one wall.

The man considers my question then answers; “It could be, I suppose. But strangulation is easiest and takes less than a minute. I can make it very quick.”

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The artwork was a commission drawn by deermary over on Furaffinity.
____________________________________________

Alice leaned up against the edge of the berm, breathing through her nose and keeping as still as possible. She looked through the sight of her rifle with her right eye, keeping the other one open so she’d have a sense if someone approached from that side. She was well covered though, and it was unlikely the enemy knew she was here. With the end of her weapon resting on a mossy log atop the berm, she prepared for what would likely be a long wait.

Every few seconds, she silently adjusted the rifle to the left, and then the right. She was responsible for watching the grassland between her and the tree line, and relief wasn’t going to come for at least eleven hours. It was quiet here, other than the odd breeze disturbing the grass and foliage, or the chirp of distant birds. As she watched the peaceful meadow, adjusting herself to find the most comfortable spot, Alice couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift elsewhere.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to; an inattentive soldier often became a dead soldier. Still, this particular post was a tertiary scout position, well behind the furthest forward lines, and it rarely saw any action. After all, that’s why she was the only one out here at the moment, in the middle of the day.

Her wandering attention landed on the events of last night, as she mutely observed shadows falling sporadically on the grass from the partly cloudy sky above. She moved her weight to one foot, allowing the other to rest. It pounded painfully in the too-small boot.

What a fucking prick, Alice thought, anger rising in her gut. I hope Tom gets blown up out there.


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This is a story based of off a roleplay I had with someone a while ago.

Hello, I'm Poguemahone. You might remember me from such stories as "A Cunning Plan", "Berty's Watch", "Applebloom Lends a Hand" and "The Interview".

So I've not really been updating a lot. This has happened before. The stories I write are fantasies I dream up, then put to paper. Sometimes I try to be smart and high-concept and end up writing stories that aren't genuine fantasies, and that never works. So I took a break, and thought of a really dumb idea that made me laugh, but I still think it's hot. So here we are, just to get me back into the writing mood.

Also: finally going with a username. Keep an eye out for it!



Fun with Faeries

Tim really couldn’t wait to get home. Today had been, quite frankly, awful. A late shift in the shitty retail store he worked in had drained him of most of his energy. He had spent the whole day on the check-outs, having inane conversations at the best of times and actively wishing for death the rest of the time. When the store had finally closed he had practically flown away. At least tomorrow he would be free to indulge in his main activities these days, mainly surfing the web and masturbating (possibly both at once).

As poor Tim walked home to his lonely little apartment, he couldn’t help but feel more and more down. Life had taken a dramatic downhill turn for him in the last few months. Most of his friends had moved to the bigger cities around the country, his parents were distant and he hadn’t gotten laid in years. He was putting on weight from the junk food he was eating, and it wasn’t like he was one to go to the gym. If he didn’t work practically full-time in a job he hated he would be out on the streets. Tim knew that he needed his luck to change. Maybe he should finally buy a guitar and learn it. Maybe he could play the starving artist part. He had half of it down already.

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Alice-I'm Alice

Lauren-And I am Lauren

Both-and welcome to The Ultimate Underage Warrior Tournament!!!

Alice-Twenty-Four girls under the age of eighteen have been brought into this tournament against their wills and will battle to the death!

Lauren-We will start this tournament with one on one fights until only six fighters remain. From there we will have two-three girl fights to decide our semi-finalists. Finally, our semi-finalist will face off in one last fight to decide our winner

Alice-But now let's meet our combatants!

Here a quick, short story i wrote. Please be placid with my strange grammar wording and spelling errors, english is not my native language. And i wrote the story very fast, as i had to get it out of my head.

—-

Sakura and Tomoyo went home after scool when Sakura saw an old lady trying to cross the street. She had two big bags full of groceries

and was barely able to lift them.
"You can go home, i will just help the lady, carry her stuff home. She leves in my neighborhood and does not have anyone else." said

Sakura.
"You are so nice, as always. See you tomorrow" said tomorry and waved her goodbye.

At home she already missed Sakura that much, that she had do call her. But Sakura did not pick up her mobile. After she tried it a few

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Random short stories involving the deaths of children; all of them featuring looks, but a few might have a shots or two thrown in.

Others are free and encouraged to write stories of their own.

Slutty Daughter

Mg(11), necrophilia, shooting, piss.

John groaned as he sprayed cum into the eager mouth of his eleven-year-old daughter. Samantha gagged, but sucked down every bit she could, with only a few trickles spilling down her chin. She gripped his shaft once more while nibbling the tip, licking excess cum off like ice cream. He was sure he’d cum again, when…

“What the hell is this? You fucking pervert!!” His wife, Martha, stood in the doorway, glaring at them as they turned their dumbstruck faces in her direction.

“This isn’t what it seems…”

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Michael leaned on his tall axe, letting the melancholy feeling wash over him as the handle dug into the soft wood of the platform. It was drizzling a little, and that made today even worse. He hated to kill someone when the weather was shitty like this. His job was bad enough as it was; normally he gained a slight amount of comfort from having his victims pass away under the sunlight of a nice day.

But then he didn’t have any choice in the matter, so it was no use bitching about it. Instead, he contented himself with doing what he normally did when waiting for the prisoner to be brought out to him: he people watched.

There was a modest crowd formed outside and a few feet below his platform, and it was always interesting to him to take note of who came to watch executions like this. These were different, after all, than the usual fare, and they exposed the strange underbelly of their town. For these were rebellion-related executions, and that changed some things. For one, the prisoners were all made to die naked, much to Michael’s chagrin. He didn’t like them to be humiliated like that. That seemed to change the composition of the crowd; he found that far more “regulars” made appearances than random faces.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about those people. Were they sick? Just wanted a chance to see an attractive nude body? He supposed so, for there were all these young and middle aged men that seemed to come to each and every one of these. The public wasn’t told ahead of time who was to be put to death, so Michael supposed they just showed up in the hopes of seeing eye candy. But then again, these poor prisoners weren’t coming out here to model for the crowd…

And that was another thing. Ever since the rebellion fell, his job got ten times more miserable, because he had to end ten times more people. And many of them had been convicted under suspect or nebulous circumstances, leading him to the inevitable conclusion that he had surely killed at least a few people who had done absolutely nothing wrong. It was enough to weigh on any man’s soul, and Michael liked to think of himself as being more sensitive than most.

A door opened from the jail fifty feet behind the platform, and he turned to look as a thin, frail looking female form was brought out, carried by both arms by two surly looking guards. He knew those guys; they were total assholes. They tended to verbally abuse the prisoners before bringing them out to Michael.

He shook his head as he watched their progress. The woman had the customary black bag over her head, which was to be removed when she reached her final destination. It was times like this he questioned yet again why he even did this job. But that wasn’t hard to answer of course. All his mind had to do was conjure the image and smell of the wonderful dinner he’d had last night with his family, the delicious seared meat, the crunchy, delectable loaves of bread, the fresh, crunchy vegetables. All he had to do was compare that with the gruel he used to bring home to be forced down by his thinning children, and that was enough. He had to do this. He hated it, but he had to do it.

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Prologue

Minsekk gasped as the eleven-year-old girl's lips wrapped around his cock and slid back and forth. His attention, however, was not focused on her. He did not look down at her long white hair or her light blue eyes which were filled with affection. He didn't notice his best friends growing affection, but even if he did, he wouldn't have carried. He was not in the present, he was lost in his mind, he was reliving the events from three days ago.
Minsekk stood amongst the crowd, one of the closest to the gallows. Men and women cheered in excitement for the upcoming execution, and the cheers broking into an approving roar as the naked woman was lead to the noose. She had tan skin and long fiery orange hair. Her figure was curvy with large mature breasts, a firm butt, and purple lines forming a symmetric pattern across her body. The woman did her best to cross her legs, and hide her orange bush, but due to the handcuffs keeping her hands behind her back, she could do nothing to cover her breasts. Her purple eyes surveyed the crowd, but she failed to notice her son who was awaiting her execution not with fear or sadness but confused excitement. It had been thirteen years since Minsekk had came into this world kicking and screaming, and he had discovered his urges a year prior. But why they felt so powerful while he was waiting for his own mother to be hung confused him. In fact, the only two things going through his mind at the time was excitement, yes it wasn't anticipation it was excitement, for his mother's hanging, and curiosity about where his older sister was. That question was answered immediately as the second teary-eyed naked woman was drug onto the gallow by the soldiers. Minsekks mother's eyes went wide as she noticed her daughter. Airdya was three years older than her brother, and despite her immense beauty she had yet to fill out. Her body was thin, her purple patterns more sporadic than her mother's. Her tits were small and perky, and her ass was tiny yet firm. Her hair was neck short, a popular trend amongst girls as of late.
"No!" the mother screamed. "This wasn't the deal you bastards! I surrender, and you leave my family alone! That was the deal!" She exclaimed.
"Mommy help me!" The teen cried, tears streaking down her cheeks. A surprising rush of joy filled Minsekks body. He felt so lucky, he'd get to watch both his mother and sister hang naked! His little prick was stiff, and viable through

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So, this is my very-very-very first gorefic, don't hate me, I tried my very best. ._.' And, of course, English is not my main language, and I had a really hard time to translate it, so if there are language errors, tell me my mistakes, and I'm sorry! ^^'
Also, I have dozens of ideas with dozens of feral characters. Well, this show came out recently, sooo, I decided to start with this one. If you will wish, there could be more in the future, maybe a sequel, maybe others, I take request ideas!
Now, enough talking.

For tags: f/m, bestiality, rape, young, torture, hard gore and hard snuff, feral, death
The copyright goes to Dreamworks and Dragons: Rescue Riders (in the How to Train Your Dragon universe)



The Hunter

Either way, it was a successful hunt.
Two beasts at once.

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Anyone heard from Squunch, Loke or SadisticPleasures lately? Not seen anything from them in a while.