/lit/ - Literature

You’re standing outside of a side entrance to an old school building with minutes to go before you get to participate in the most controversial game show in the North American Union: High School Murder Spree.
Each three months hundreds of girls between the ages of thirteen and eighteen are selected by nationwide beauty pageants, out of a pool of thousands of applicants, and locked in this refurbished school building. Hidden cameras are placed in every nook and cranny throughout the building, along with one plain-view camera in each room. To win 100,000 dollars, each girl must survive for three hours and she has to masturbate to climax ten times in front of a plain-view camera, but cannot masturbate in front of the same camera more than once. You have been issued an ACR 3, two M9s, a Bowie knife sheathed in your left boot, and a backpack filled with ammo. You have a camera strapped to your forehead, and another on your belt buckle. You and three other hunters, stationed at various entrances around the building, will enter the building at nine o’clock in the evening to seek out and exterminated as many girls as possible. You won’t win anything other than the experience and glory of getting to participate, and the Dead Cunt if you kill the most girls.
You don’t know how long ago the girls went in to get their head start. It was less than thirty minutes, and that’s all you know. You don’t own a watch and you don’t have your phone. Your camo shorts do little to stop the winter air from chilling you to your core as it rushes past your legs. You jump at the crackle of the intercom.
“It is now nine o’clock PM. Hunters, you may now commence with the killing.”
The metal door opens with a buzz. You stride across the threshold and the door clammers shut behind you.
You’re in a hallway with dozens of doors on either side. Which one to try first? You draw an M9, as that one contestant did on an episode back in Season Eight, and fire three rounds down the hallway. A chorus of screams erupts behind the third door on the right. You grin as you holster your weapon.
A chair slides out from behind a large desk as you barge in. An Asian girl is running towards that desk. She can’t be any older than thirteen, bending over with her brown ass cheeks hanging out of her red-checkered microskirt, and orange-sized buds bouncing beneath a black tank-top. She spins around and gasped as you close the door. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. You take aim when a bright-orange bush pokes out from behind the desk. You lower your weapon.
“I know you’re back there. You might as well come on out, I’m going to come around there eventually.”
The orange bush rises, belonging to a freckled girl of seventeen or eighteen with tits bulging beneath a grey t-shirt, with her hands over her head. Another thirteen-year-old, blonde pigtails, a cropped tank-top, and blue jeans, emerges next. A brunette fifteen-year-old brunette, wearing only a yellow thong, is the last to come out.
“I bet you thought it was clever to hide out in a room near one of the entrances. Thought we’d just run right past you and you could go from room-to-room while we’re killing school whores deeper in the building? I’ve been watching this show for years, and I can tell you that you’re not the first girls to try this.”
The blonde begins sobbing. “Please don’t kill us. Can’t you just walk away and pretend you never saw us?”
“I-I don’t wanna die,” the redhead screams.
You sigh. “I’m sorry you girls got caught, but the rules state that I have to kill you if I see you.” You don’t, and you remember plenty of episodes where hunters allowed a girl or two to live out of pity. Although the network allows it, you hate it when a hunter decides to spare the cute girl. “I’m sorry, but you are going to die within the next few minutes.”
The blonde and redhead start blubbering. The brunette closes her eyes as tears roll down her cheeks.
“Please no … please-”
“Just shut the fuck up already and let’s get this over,” the Asian yells “This is going to happen whether we want to or not.”
“I’ll even let you masturbate before I kill you. I’ll wait until you orgasm.”
The Asian raises her skirt as she plops her bare ass on the desk and starts rubbing her pussy. The other girls look at each other than at you. The brunette breaks off and sits in the chair they moved earlier, to start rubbing one off beneath her thong.
The blonde and redhead continue just looking at you.
“How about I make it interesting? The first girl to cum gets a quick shot to the head. The second will take it in the tits and heart. The last two will be shot in the pussy first.”
The other thirteen-year-old hops onto the desk next to the Asian and pulls her pants down to her ankle. She rubs her cunt through her panties.
“Fine!” The blonde hisses before sitting on the floor with her legs spread to give you a view of her cunt as she begins to rub it.
None of them will catch up to the Asian nerd, who is now moaning, and heaving with each breath. She slows down just as she’s about to climax.
“Come on sweetheart, you can do it. Just get that last orgasm and say goodbye to the world.”
She sniffed. “O-okay, but, ca-ca-can you do me a favor?”
“You see, I’ve never made love to anyone. I-I don’t want to die a virgin. Can you please fuck me to my last orgasm?”
You never fucked a thirteen-year-old before, not as an adult at least, but you don’t want to deny a pretty young lady her death wish. You’re already hard from watching her masturbate as you’re planning to kill her, so it’s not like you aren’t attracted to her. You unzip your pants and whip out your cock. She smiles as you grab her waist and plunge your member into her girlhood. Your plump cock is squeezes in as it stretches her pussy, stopping at her cervix. Blood pours out as you break her hymen. You thrust faster as she loosens up. A minute later her pussy constricts around your sausage and she throws her head back in orgasm. You come. Her pulsing girlhood milks your semen to the last spurt.
You pull out. Semen oozes from her pussy, pooling on the bottom of her skirt. You lift your M9 and press it against her forehead. She closes her eyes, dips her finger in her pussy before putting it in her mouth. As she sucks on it you pull the trigger. Her head jerks back as a flurry of blood erupts. She tumbles off the desk and hits the floor, laying face-down as piss drizzles into a growing puddle.
You zip up your pants as the brunette screams. She’s arching her back and howling to the ceiling with her fingers sloshing around beneath her thong. You fire. Her tits jiggle beneath a hail of bullets. The last round goes right between her tits. She collapses to the floor, grunting and twitching as she bleeds out.
You pull out your other M9 and point it at the blonde’s crotch.
“Please don’t kill me, I don’t wanna die! Please don-ahhh!”
You fire thirteen rounds into her bare pussy. She screams and clutches her ruined girlhood as blood gushes through her fingers. You grab the blonde kiss her, muffling her screams as your tongue slips through her lips. You press the gun against her throat, angling it upwards, and fire twice. She shutters in your arms, but you keep kissing her until you taste blood on the tip of your tongue. You lay her on the desk where she twitches and gargles blood.
You holster the handguns and raise your ACR. The redhead’s eyes pop open, she rubs her pussy faster.
“Not yet! I’m about to climax. Just wait a few more seco-”
Thirty rounds obliterate her hand and shred her genitals. She screams at her pulverized hand while holding the shirt to her crotch with the other. You whistle as you reload your guns, then you silence her screams with ten ACR rounds between her tits and two in her throat.

A collection of some of my stories
https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomedfortune

https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmerotica/works

This is where I post most of my stories. I'll update this thread for misc stories.

"You're not the person I was supposed to meet," she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Oh, he fell sick and asked me to meet you instead, didn't he tell you?" the man smiled unconvincingly and motioned her inside the unlit garage. "Would you please come in?"

She shrugged and entered the place. She probably wasn't getting out alive, was she? she wondered - and was proven right when the garage door clanked shut behind her, and lights lit up.

The room was largely empty, tiled, and the centerpiece was a large table saw with restraints positioned just so. There weren't windows, and the walls looked soundproofed.

"Well, get on then," the man behind her said, tone now icy cold.

She shrugged in annoyance - she really didn't care for the attitude - but complied, disrobing then climbing on the table. She even did him the favor of clanking four out of five restraints shut, first on her legs then her left arm and her neck. The last one was tricky, but the man did it for her as she lay back.

The table was cold. She shivered, staring at the concrete gray ceiling lit up with harsh industrial lights - thankfully, none were right above her. Was he going to draw this out, or?

He did, taking his time somewhere outside of her field of vision. Washed his hands? What was that noise? She couldn't remember if she saw a sink, but it made sense for there to be one.

Finally, he came up to her and stood at her feet, where the lever turning on the saw was. He smiled as he caught her gaze.

"Say the word," he commanded, warmer this time.

"Go," she whispered.

The saw buzzed to life and she tensed in anticipation of pain. It was so, so slow... the longest minute of her life as she squirmed, trying to will time to pass faster so she wouldn't have this horrible feeling of anticipation in her belly...

Finally, there was cold on her pussy lips, and she instinctively flinched back.

It only delayed the blade by a few seconds.

She screamed and screamed as her body was torn apart, until finally there wasn't enough blood for her to keep her consciousness.

"Wonder where that guy I was supposed to meet really was," was her last thought before final oblivion.

***

"Ugh, I really need to fix my phone alarm," the man complained, rushing to the meeting spot. He looked hopefully - but no, of course she wasn't there and his neighbour was had the smile of a fed cat on his face, leaning across his garage door, for once closed. That told him everything he needed to know.

He didn't bother asking where she went. He really needed to come up with another meeting place already.

my take on the dolcett genre I do not like the underage or non-consensual aspects of it and I dislike the eugenics aspects. Feel free to use the setting without crediting me. This work is in the public domain.

If you are reading this you have stumbled on one of the dimensions of the nuita race as we are farmers of man shaped organisms and we look like sexless beings that are transparent so you can see our organs with balls of magic as heads. we place portals to various places in the multiverse, . We nuita only farm organisms that want to be meat and is of breeding age. They are feed high class food and the meat of norbs which look like cows with antlers and trunks. Our organisms get reincarnated in our vats so they can keep experiencing their joy of being our products. We also offer day-trips and tours so you can see how well they are being treated and take some home as spouse or slave. We have any products you would want from the organisms. If you have found a portal that means you must want this as product or customer. we also allow products to marry in that case they are a package deal. Product and customers are free to leave anytime with no consequences. Unfortunately we do not allow organisms that will contaminate the stock such as faeries, werebeasts or undead, etcetera in our dimensions, or as customers and/or stock. All our live products are guaranteed healthy and have no defects unless the customer wants a defected one.

This portal you went in is only exclusive to cisfemales that want to be meat or eat female humanoid meat, we serve our customers well

Here in the restaurant of Yuriniku Kunoichi all the girls we have are trained to be ninjas, as we believe that makes them happier. and we also offer nullo girl slaves which are girls with no breasts, nipples uterus, ovaries ,fallopian tubes,bellybutton or outer and inner labia, vagina and all of the clitoris with their outer genitals sewn up with just a peehole and anus for you to keep. we have an Edo period vibe in this restaurant. we also enjoy teaching the arts of female on female love. We also have full tabletop and live action role playing games. We do hope you enjoy your stay here. Our yuriniku kunoichi also work as dream warriors protecting the innocent. The girls are completely naked with our yuriniku kunoichi brand on their necks.

(Repost from old Gurochan)

-----
(1/3)

As the woman behind the counter went through the speech, Chelsea let her eyes wander over to the next counter, where men were checking in.

“…be aware that, although we make effort to minimize the risk, accidents can and sometimes do happen…”

She’d heard it all before. She knew the routine. Listen to the little legalese speech, sign the waiver, go in, have a good time. She’d been coming here most Thursdays for years now. She could recite the speech herself.

“By signing this waiver, you agree not to hold the company liable for any injury or loss of life incurred while using the service. If you agree, please say ‘I consent’.”

“I consent,” replied Chelsea. The man going through the other side of the checkin procedure wasn’t very attractive—a little shorter than she’d prefer, a little balder, a little fatter. In a weird way that made things better. He handed over his credit card. Men who come here have to pay. She signed the waiver. Women got in free.

“Alright, cool, you’re gonna be in room three today. Have fun, Chel!”

“I always do,” she smiled. The receptionists all knew her by name at this point, expected her at her normal time. She headed into room three.

—

“Hey Chelsea, welcome back.”

“Hey, Greg.” She smiled back at the doctor. They all knew her as well. Of course, “doctor” was more of a legal fiction than anything. Technically, if you went all the way with it, it counted as physician-assisted suicide, so the people with their hands on the button needed to technically be physicians, but getting certified for this work was something like a two week course rather than eight years of medical school. Chelsea began shimmying out of her dress.

“Okay, you know the drill. If you wish to go through with the procedure, please say the word ‘release’ in a loud, clear, unambiguous voice. You are free to request that we let you leave at any time, just let me know when you’re ready. Think you’re going to go through with it this time?”

Chelsea smirked back at him. “Maybe.” He always asked. She always answered the same way. They both knew she was never going to do it. She was here for a little thrill, to edge herself close, but not to go all the way. She didn’t have a death wish, more of a… death wish wish.

She lay on her back on the bench and scooted into position. Greg carefully pulled her brown hair all the way through so it wouldn’t get caught on anything, strapped her body down to the bench, secured her hands, and flipped the switch that marked room 3 as available. 

Chelsea took a deep breath and looked up at the impossibly sharp metal blade of the guillotine, her heart racing with excitement.

—

“Oh, uh, hi, ma’am.”

“Hi.”


Chelsea couldn’t see who was talking to her given how she was strapped down. He must be new. He sounded new.

“So do I just…?”

“Yeah, go nuts. I’d appreciate lube, especially if you use my ass, and tips are always welcome.”

“A’ight.”

She heard the man undressing. Didn’t hear lube dispenser—was he going in dry or using her pussy? She felt a cock slide into her pussy, answering that question immediately.

“Oh man, this is hot.”

Chelsea didn’t respond. She was looking up at the blade hanging above her like the proverbial sword of Damocles. As the man thrust into her, the guillotine shook slightly. She bit her lip, gasping quietly. The thrusts got faster. He didn’t last long. Newbies usually didn’t.

She was empty again. “Thanks.” “I hope you enjoyed yourself. Come back any time!” She heard the rustle of clothing being put back on. A moment later, the sound of some bills being placed in her tip jar. She thanked him again. Awkward. She heard the sound of the door opening and closing, then opening and closing again almost immediately.

She felt her legs pulled up and some cold lubricant applied to her asshole, then she was being fucked. This was more like it. He was grunting, she was letting out little whimpers. She imagined the blade coming down. She imagined herself falling into the basket below. This guy was lasting longer. She made herself concentrate on feeling every inch of the cock penetrating her asshole, being as present in the moment as she could. Finally, he came, then almost immediately went. She thanked him as she heard the crinkle of some more money going into her tip jar.

The next man used her pussy again. He fucked her hard and fast. She concentrated on the shaking of the guillotine, listening for every little creak. She knew they tested them before every use. She knew they inspected them thoroughly every day. She knew there were safeties, redundant safeties, and redundant safeties to the redundant safeties. She also knew that all of those measures failed in about 0.02% of uses. It was in the waiver she had to agree to every time she came here. 0.02%. More than zero. There was a chance. There was always a small chance that this would be her last moment. She felt herself tensing up and started taking deep, meditative breaths to try to control her orgasm. She didn’t want to come yet. She wanted to keep herself on the edge as long as possible. Another wad of sperm was deposited in her pussy and another wad of bills in the jar.

“How’re you doing, Chelsea?” Greg asked. “Need a break yet?”


“Not quite yet. After the next guy, yeah.”

The next guy took a little while to appear. There were always lulls and rushes. She lay there for the next 15 minutes, looking up at the blade.

“Release.”

She didn’t say it. Not out loud. She just moved her lips. Feeling the word on her tongue. Feeling the motion of it. She moved her hips around a bit, squeezing her pelvic muscles. “Release,” she mouthed again. It was safe. You had to say it loudly and clearly. It had to be unambiguous. “Release.” Just mouthing the word wouldn’t make Greg hit that final button. She could feel the combination of sperm slowly dripping down her cunt. “Release.”

Take a Hint - Part 1

“You’re sure that it’s no trouble?” Celia asked me, as I pressed down on my key fob, unlocking the passenger side door. I shook my head.

“Really, I don’t mind. What are friends for? I’m just sorry Brendan couldn’t take you.” We both got in and settled in our seats, as I turned the key making my old piece of shit shake.

“Yeah, but you know how his dad is.” She chuckled. Yeah, I did. Brendan’s dad was a tough man, was all business and no fun. And for whatever reason, even since we were kids, he felt the need not only to impose that on his own son, but his son’s best friend too. Neither of us bought into it, but I could at least tell him to fuck off – he wasn’t my dad, after all. Brendan wasn’t so lucky. He was even having to miss his girlfriend’s slaughter date because of it.

“Yeah. So, how far do you want me to go with you? Do you want me to just drop you off? Or-“

“If you got somewhere to be, just say so.” She smirked.

“Nah, it isn’t that. I’ll even stay and watch you on the line.”

“That desperate to see me naked, huh?” Celia pushed her light blonde bob cut out of her light blue eyes, staring daggers into my flustered face. She always knew how to tease me, ever since freshman year.

“I’m asking if you want me with you when you die and you still find a way to make fun of me. Why am I surprised?” I shift out of park and look behind to leave my space.

“You can come with me all the way. I don’t mind. In all seriousness, I think I might need a friendly face around, you know?” She said, letting the teasing and snide comments aside.

“Sure.” I press the gas and turn onto the road. “So, how are you feeling about it all?”

“What do you expect me to say, Jay? I don’t know how I feel about it, it just is how it is. Can’t say I’m looking forward to being gutted and butchered, but it ain’t like I get much a say, right?” She snapped again. Maybe it was a little inconsiderate to ask.

“Right, sorry I asked. Do you know where your meat’s going?”

“Why do you think I want to talk about any of this?”

“What the hell else am I supposed to talk about, Ce? What, you wanna talk about the weather or the fuckin’ trees?” I took a turn right. We’d be getting to the plant shortly.

“It’s staying here, in Greensborough. At least, that’s what the notice says.” She finally relented. “I’m just glad I ain’t cafeteria meat, you know?”

“Yeah, those chefs, they always know how to disgrace a girl’s memory, don’t they? And it’s always the sweet ones too, Gracie Jones, Emmie Marra, but you know who really should have been in their grill or oven or whatever they used to turn girls to charcoal?” I gave Celia a quick glance, and I could see her smirking again.

“Krissy Ming.” She answered, with only half a beat.

“Krissy fuckin’ Ming. Hated her.”

“Everyone hated Krissy, and her ‘oh my god, I went from a 99 to a 98 in calculus’ or her ‘Gracie didn’t try hard enough in class.’ Fuck her. You know she’s married with kids? And I was right under her in class, and I gotta be meat. World’s real fair, ain’t it?” Celia turned her head towards the window.

Soon after, I parked in the parking lot. She looked at me a little sad, and we sat in the car for a minute or two, before we both decided we had to go in. I walked by her side up to the plant, where she gave her name, Celia Browne, her age, 17, and her designation, Meat. I just had to say I was here for moral support, and I was given a badge that said I was a guest. We stepped inside, where several dozen girls of all teen ages were stripping off their clothes, and their male companions – save for a couple of moms or aunts – were watching and trying to offer some kind of comfort. I met Celia’s eyes, and quickly looked away. She giggled.

“You can watch if you want, it doesn’t matter too much to me.” She said. I turned my gaze back to her. She lifted Brendan’s red sweatshirt over her head, revealing a perfect, flat, pale stomach, and two ripe C-cup breasts adorned with puffy pink nipples. I followed her curves down to a pair of black sweatpants, that hid and held her hips from the world. In the corner of my eye, I saw her smile, as she pulled them down slowly, then back up. She did this a couple of times, before turning around and taking them off, letting me see her little bubble butt, and shapely cream colored thighs. She spun around on her heels, and I watched as her perfect girly body jiggled, before revealing to me a smooth, plump pubic mound, with just the slightest hint of a girl’s inner lips poking out.

My jaw was agape. I had always known Celia was good looking, but I had never known just how unbelievably sexy she was. I think she knew her effect on me, because she teased me, I’m sure, but I didn’t hear.

“Hey, look, I know it’s everything you ever wanted, but eyes off the merchandise. It’s time for me to get graded.” She said, and I waited with her in line, taking peeks at her body when she would let me. We got to the front of the line, and I was told to stand aside as a man about half my height took his time to grade her. Celia was beginning to look nervous now.

The man asked for her name and age again, and then began to feel her up. He started low, at her calves, up to her thighs, massaging and squeezing, slipping a finger into her perfect girlhood and her rectum, giving her ass a groping, and then taking the time to write down some numbers on his clipboard, before gripping her stomach and breasts, massaging her shoulders and back, squeezing her arms, before concluding her grade was B. If Celia was a B, I was excited to maybe one day see an A. He also tattooed the number 742 on her right thigh, with the letter B next to it. Celia smiled nervously at me.

I admit, I'm probably a little fucked in the head.

Bioreplicator tech was definitely not ready for prime-time. It was certainly never intended to be used for full human duplication. And, I dare say, it was absolutely, positively not intended to be used for cheap autoerotic, sadomasochistic thrills.

And yet, here we are.

Well, okay. Here I am. And also there I am over there. And there's most of me over there, and about-to-be-me over there, and… well, yeah. I suppose it gets confusing.

But, point is, this is OG-me. You can tell by the carbon isotope mixture if you wanna take a blood sample. You could also tell by the lack of duplication errors, but that's less reliable, and I could be hiding something - what with the no arms or legs, and all. But yeah, sorry, all 100% zeroth-gen me.

First thing I did once I realized this would work was make like, fifty first-gen duplicates, sifted through the survivors with the nanoMRI for duplication glitches, picked the least error-riddled scans, and started printing them out. Then I realized that I should really average all those together and start printing *that* out, so i did.

Then we mulched all the nonviables, and all the marginals and I had the talk that I decided I was going to have with myself if I came out of the oven wrong, and the ones that didn't want to play helped me feed themselves back into the mulcher. Then we repeated the whole process another dozen or so times until I had enough of a scanset loaded that I could reliably print out as many of me as I wanted, and they'd all come out healthy.

Then I programmed the autodoc to amputate my limbs and feed them into the mulcher, leash me up in the kennel, and let me watch as it did horrible, horrible things to my dupes. And try to pleasure myself with my little nubs, but that just makes things even more frustratingly hot.

Once the autodoc is through with the program, it opens my cell and lets me and my dupe figure out how to get each other off. Since it picks their limb removal, voice alteration and brain surgery options either semi-randomly or based on customer order, other-me never knows what she's going to be left to work with until the autodoc is done with her. And usually she can't ask me for suggestions or feedback. So it's all thrillingly frustrating.

Then I'm done with her and she puts herself in a box to be shipped off to a customer, and I get put back in the kennel.

Gotta say, I haven't got bored yet!

"The economy is a joke, the corporations run everything in their ironclad grip, the monthly UBI can barely buy you a sandwich on a good day, so you can hardly blame the youth for choosing to drop out of society, sometimes permanently."

MissMelancholy (real name: unknown) turned back to the camera, a chipper smile on her face.

"Which is where we come in, to help give back to those poor struggling families, and to give these desperate, overwhelmed people a little peace of mind. Welcome back viewers to another stream where we give cash and get a death in return. It's the Snuff Stream!"

She pressed a key and the theme song jingled merrily. A quick glance at the second monitor, and her smile widened. This one was going to be a banger, with 80,000 viewers and climbing. "Our Snuff of the day is one Timothy Olsen, 18 year old high school student from Miscinaw, Michigan. On his social media he's talked about the usual sad, pitiful bullshit like the abusive drunk father, the bullying at school, the drug addiction, the self prostitution, the mother taken by an easily treatable illness if not for their lack of medical insurance."

MissMelancholy looked up at the camera, a sad look on her face. "Enough to break even my cold heart. This kid has had it rough, and we know he wants out. Well, he's gonna get it, because we've gone and picked him up, free of charge!" She switched the feed to the HD camera rig in the basement.

Timothy was sitting on the stool, nervously tapping his feet against the cold concrete floor when his phone buzzed, and he noticed a new message pop up.

"do it now"

He stood up and slowly took off his old sweater, making sure the cameras captured his youthful beauty. Timothy dropped the sweater to the floor, and bent over to pull his sweatpants down to his ankles. MissMelancholy could hear the high pitched pings in the stream chat as the donations came rolling in. She made sure to zoom the camera in on Timothy's tight little ass and smooth shaven cock and balls. Hell, even by her jaded standards he was a good looking kid.

Now naked, Timothy walked over to the stool and looked up at the waiting noose. He licked his lips, and stepped up onto the stool. The boy pulled the noose over his head and tightened the knot behind his left ear. The enormity of what he was doing weighed on his slim shoulders. Once he stepped off that stool, there would be no takebacks, no help rendered. The noose would squeeze his neck until he was dead, and that was it.

Timothy closed his eyes and thought of his kid sister. The 2.5 million dollars that MissMelancholy had offered would go directly to a fund set up solely for her. She would be free to live on her own, away from their father. Silently, he whispered her name and kicked the stool away.

For a moment, he swung. Then his hands shot up to his neck and he began to scratch uselessly at the noose. His sleek legs kicked, then stretched out as he tried desperately to get a foothold on something, anything. Eyes screwed shut, his teeth bared in pain, he twisted his body around, conscious thought already fading. Smooth pale skin beaded with sweat, rippled as firm muscles contracted and held tight. But the noose was well made and well tied, and Timothy lost the inevitable battle to gravity.

His arms fell away from his neck and dropped to his sides, and his legs relaxed. A final bubble of snot blew from his pert little nose as his tongue peeked out from between plump, blue oxygen starved lips. MissMelancholy didn't miss the chance to zoom the camera in on Timothy's rock hard erection, the bulbous dark purple head beading with precum. It only took 1 minute and 12 seconds for an 18 year old boy to come to an abrupt end, but at the same time it made MissMelancholy a cool 12 million dollars.

"Well that's that, folks! Lets all give a round of applause to little Timmy Olsen for putting on one hell of a show. Now if you subscribe to my Daytreon account you can get a very high quality VOD of each days stream, along with high res before and after photographs of each day's guest."

She keyed the ending theme, and breathed into her mic.

"There's always more where that came from!"

(Extreme Genital Mutilation