/lit/ - Literature

An interactive picture sotry.
Tell what happens next and you will see it.



*Sarah gets a job.*

“So, this is our problem,” said the manager pointing to the huge circular saw “we just bought it at the auction and it turns backward. Do you think you could fix it? We need it running today”

“Yes, I am sure I should be able to do something about that” said Sarah

Hi all :) I wrote this short story yesterday so I figured I'd share it over here too :) Check out my other work on Ao3 :)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdwardHyde10


Roasting Rosie – A Short Story
By
Edward Hyde


Taking a deep breath, Rosie tried to look around but the metal cage around her head held her too securely. Not that it mattered really, she thought, she’d be able to look once she started turning. The flashing lighting up the space around her told her that plenty of photographs were being taken and, when she had come out from behind the curtain, she had seen at least three very professional-looking video cameras being set up so she was confident, at least, that the event was being well-documented!

Hearing a metallic scraping, she knew what was coming next! The sweet, ten year old brunette bit her lower lip as the “stabiliser” was slid into place, gliding easily into her eagerly awaiting, well-lubricated passage. With a twist, the long, smooth metal rod was locked into place then a click and it began to vibrate, sending wave after wave of pleasure thought her already incredibly aroused body.

She knew, of course, that the rod was completely superfluous to the cooking process as the cage was well-fitted enough to keep her in place while roasting but it had been included in the design to give pleasure and offer distraction to the meat-girl so that she could enjoy the experience just as much as those watching, waiting for a taste of her delicious meat! Of course, most girls who roasted alive were so turned on by the experience that the cooking process was practically one long orgasm for them anyway but Rosie could not deny that the warm, smooth, vibrating pole was a very welcome guest in her tight, ten year old passage.

Someone was talking, explaining the process probably, but Rosie couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying, the sensations of pleasure filling her preteen body were overwhelming. She had been so proud to be chosen as the first. Ten girls would roast that day but she was the first in this new roasting frame, the one who was being photographed and filmed for the adverts that millions of people would see over the next few months.

Back stage she had stripped off with the other girls, all around the same age and deliciously plump like her, then the handsome assistant had rubbed her all over with oil, complimenting her meat as he did so, even sliding his fingers in between her chubby lower lips and nodding his approval at her self-lubrication.

Then she had stepped out in front of the crowd of eager onlookers – journalists, people in the catering industry, friends and family of herself and the other girls, also of the inventors who had designed and built this exciting new live-cooking device, as well as various members of the public who had seen the crowd and wandered over to see what was going on. There she had stood, stark naked and exposed, her meaty young body covered in cooking oil, in front of everyone. She had waved and blown kisses to the audience then been led up the steps on wheels so that she could climb into the lower part of the cage-like frame which had been adjusted to her height.

Once in place, the top half was lowered on and secured on position, leaving her looking straight up at the extractor vents hanging from the high ceiling, arms bend with her hands parallel to her head and her knees bent outwards behind her making her look a little like the wind-up plastic frog which had been her favourite bath toy when she was little. She had giggled about that at the rehearsal the day before when her measurements had been taken and she’d practised climbing into the frame so that everything would go smoothly in front of the public.

Now there was a click and a hiss followed by a round of applause from the audience and an intense feeling of heat on her back and rump. The gas-fuelled flames around the artificial coals below had sprung into life and now she was cooking.

The frame was designed so that a meat-girl could live a lot longer over the coals and enjoy the experience of being cooked as much as possible. Being impaled on a spit was most meat-girls’ dream but it had the disadvantage of doing a lot of internal damage and causing fatal injuries which sometimes even finished a girl off before she could start to roast, and being tied to a spit, which some girls opted for so that they could enjoy it for longer, resulted in quite uneven cooking. The newly-invented frame was an attempt to create the best of both world. A girl roasting in it, Rosie had been told, could live for almost two thirds of the cooking time and the vibrating stabiliser meant that she was sure to enjoy every second of it.

As the frame began to turn, she saw all the beaming, excited faces of the audience, then had to close her eyes against the dry, searing heat and bright light of the flames and glowing artificial coals below. As she opened them again, she saw the other girls, naked and ready to roast, peeping around the edge of the curtain and seeing what was in store for them, some offering her thumbs-up, some waving and others blowing kisses. Then she was back where she started, staring up at the large grill of the vent which was sucking away fumes and making this indoor barbecue possible.

As she turned again, she saw that the inventors, the men whose advert she had answered and who had picked her from among the hundred or so volunteers to showcase their invention, being interviewed by an attractive television reporter. The tall blonde was wearing heals, a short skirt and a low-cut top but nearly all eyes were on Rosie instead as the now glowing little girl continued to turn, breathing heavily as her body continued to be wracked but the never-ending orgasm, hear healthy young body slowly turning to delicious roasted meat.

And so it continued, round and round, the view ever changing for Rosie but starting to blur a little as the heat took its toll. She was feeling sleepy now. Some of the audience had wandered away and the future roasters had gone to make the most of their last hours of life in the “green room” which had been prepared for them behind the curtain. The cameras were still there ‘though, and her parents and brother and her best friend Candy who had come to wish her well and see her off.

She could sleep now, couldn’t she? She’d done what she was there to do. What was that, anyway? Rosie couldn’t quite remember. She was so tired now, and a little dizzy. Why was the room spinning? She closed her eyes and felt a little better. There was a delicious smell around her of cooking meat and she remembered she was supposed to be helping with a demonstration. They’d call her when they needed her, right? Come and wake her up. It was okay, she was sure, to take a little nap. The voices of the chattering audience sounded far away now and she sighed contentedly, pleasure continuing to wash over her like the waves on a beach.

The beach. Yes. That was where she must be. It was hot after all. Would she burn in the sun? No, she had cream on. The nice man had helped her, she remembered that. The nice, handsome man who had rubbed her all over with his big, strong hands. She felt secure, safe. Was he holding her as she slept? She hoped so. The nice man with his big strong hands, cuddling her on the beach under the hot sun as the waves lapped over her. That was it. That was where she was. And she was happy.

Seeing that she was gone, one of the inventors pushed a digital meat thermometer into Rosie’s thigh and, less than half an hour later, it beeped and lit up with green LEDs to show that she was done. The heat below her was switched off and, carefully, the inventors pushed the frame on its mounts forward then, wearing oven cloves to protect their fingers from the hot metal, unclipped the top of the frame and lifted it off.

The audience applauded as the stabiliser was switched off and slid out and Rosie’s perfectly cooked body was lifted out onto a serving trolley. The slow roasting process meant that even her edible internal organs were cooked to perfection and ready to eat.

Everyone who tasted it complimented Rosie’s delicious, slow-cooked meat and, before the next girl had even begun to turn in the frame, her carcass was picked clean, even her skull, leaving only a pile of greasy bones, some hair and the few inedible organs, all of which would be gathered up and used for pet food and fertilizer with nothing going to waste.

Rosie’s television ad ran every hour on several channels for several weeks and her photographs found their way into almost every popular magazine, helping to ensure that the roasting frame was an enormous commercial success as that the sweet girl’s plump, naked body was seen by millions as she had dreamed, tens of millions even, and her place in history, as the first girl ever to be publicly roasted in a frame, was secured.

Although her life may have ultimately been short, she had secured a form of immortality as would be remembered by all who tasted her, for the rest of their lives, as some of the most delicious, tender and flavourful meat they had ever enjoyed!

THE END

"I bet you couldn't hang yourself with just your own strength," Iri called out and batted the noose hanging from the swingset next to the regular swing.

"Hmm?" Nae looked up from her book and scratched her pussy, irritated from sitting naked on bare untreated wood of the bench. She had a loosely hanging sailor suit blouse on, but her skirt was in her bag - she was no longer at school, and you could wear anything at the playground. She'd have taken off the blouse too, but it was a hot day and the cotton blouse protected her at least a little - and at 12 she didn't really have anything to show off in the chest department.

"Bet you couldn't hang yourself with this without tying it to something," her classmate Iri repeated, batting the noose back and forth teasingly. She was completely naked herself, which probably was easier to bear with her darker skin. Nae herself was the kind of pale that burned long before it tanned, with deep chestnut hair in a page cut around her ears, while Iri wore her dark curls in twin ponytails - they kept the hair off her neck, at least, in this heat.

Nae looked at the noose thoughtfully. It was always fun to get one over her sporty friend who considered herself superior for spending all her free time climbing, running and jumping, and prided herself on never putting more than two seconds of thought into anything. "I am allowed to only use my own body's strength?"

"And you can't tie a knot!" Iri specified quickly, realizing that her crafty friend was up to something and cutting off the one avenue of cheating she could think of in the aforementioned two seconds.

"You're on," Nae shrugged, put away her book and walked to the swing. She put the noose over her head, then drew the rope taut, passed it between her legs from the back, looped it around her neck another time on top of the noose, then around her waist. Holding the remaining end, she fell forward, pushing off with her feet, and just as planned felt the rope at the top of the swing slide - until her neck and pussy were at nearly the same level and she could no longer reach the ground with her legs.

Easy-peasy, it barely even took effort to hold on to the end of the rope in her hand. Hurt like a b-word, of course, and she regretted not tying a knot between her legs so she could get herself off wriggling. It would of course be against the terms of the bet, not the spirit surely but the letter, and she was already getting by on technicality... She was sure Iri wouldn't have minded a non-functional knot if she asked, but she already missed her window for asking. Lowering herself now would certainly be forefeiting the bet, and Nae was far too competitive for that.

So she just focused on keeping her hand shut while slowly swinging back and forth, enduring the cruel pressure of the entire weight of her body along a thin line of rope where it was never meant to be endured. It would take her a lot longer than normal to die like this, with half her weight on her pussy and tummy instead of her neck, but it would technically still be death by hanging. Would just take what? Fifteen minutes? An hour? Nae had no idea, the noose was usually used far more straightforwardly than that. She'd probably get bored even through the pain, she thought, but she couldn't read even if Iri was thoughtful enough to put a book in front of her - the pain was blacking out her vision.

Her other hand was free, so she could technically get herself off with it, but she needed it to balance lest she turn over and fall off this highly questionable construction. She really should have thought this through better, now she'd need to keep her balance for the entire... however long it would take. At least she was sure her hand would keep the death grip on the rope when she lost consciousness, and Iri was far more sportsmanlike to take advantage of her oversight and push her over. Ugh, she was still winning though... at least so far...

In one of the periods of relative lucidity Nae saw Iri standing in front of her and making a scissors gesture with her fingers. Oh! This was shortcut for asking if Nae would like to be cut down after she lost consciousness, so she wouldn't die. The bet would be won at that point, she didn't really have to go all the way... certainly not with such a shoddy construction!

Glad to have an out, Nae quickly nodded, then blacked out again as the movement caused new kinds of pain and strain in her neck.

She'd kill herself properly with at least a second version of this construciton. She felt it a challenge to make it properly, so anyone could use it, next time.

***

Might write more later in this universe!

<b>The main attraction of an old amusement park is its stunning animatronics. But there is more to these cute dolls than the average visitor can tell at first glance. </b>



PART 1




Soulford is a big city. Over a million locals make up the busy, chaotic landscape of this small metropolis. But outside the hustle and shoulder-to-shoulder throng of city life, there are miles upon miles of empty fields, run by old, self-reliant farmers. Somewhere between the downtown, the rural field and the suburbia lies a classic example of an American amusement park. It’s old, both in its years and in its look, but it’s still kicking, seeing dozens of guests every day, mostly families passing by on their road-trip and rascal teens looking for a place to hide from their homework. A lot of them are just random passerbys, intrigued by the time-capsule experience this park provides.


The owner of this establishment, a 66-year old balding man with a beer-belly, is simply known to the public as Old Gary. The big sign on top of the gate reads:


The Park of Wonders!


The amusement park features what most people would expect from a conventional theme park. There’s the Ferris wheel, the bumper carts, the various rides, and different game kiosks, usually with the arbitrary furry prize to the winner. But this particular park is more known for, is its beautifully crafted and jaw-droppingly realistic animatronic dolls. They are present throughout the park, an eye-catching pole of attraction. All the animatronics on Old Gary’s Park or Wonders are female dolls, and pretty ones at that. After all, why have a doll that’s not pleasing to the eye?




A joyful, old-timey accordion is blaring through the rusty, bullhorn speaker-phones, located in the entrance as well as around the park, making up the soundtrack of the park, a tongue-in-cheek background to the chatter, laughter and the overall buzz.

Two male high school sophomores reach the entrance, where the first couple of lively animatronics are always there to greet new guests:


Two young-looking, identical Asian girls, dressed in a festive, black-red-white outfit reminiscent of a circus girl presenter, a strapless corset/top with a frilly skirt and black thigh high stockings, plus the necessary heels. A white collar adores their neck, a cute, tiny top hat their head. Black velvet gloves above the elbows cover the dolls’ arms, the only part of them that moves. The dolls’ body types are the same, small, petite, slim, with cute, B-cup breasts and tight buttocks.


Both their arms are sculpted into a presenting gesture. While the dolls are otherwise completely stiff, their arms rotate through a rotatable joint on the dolls’ shoulders, with a battery-operated little motor inside, so that they move mechanically up and down, up and down, presenting the entrance and all the promises behind it. The two dolls’ pose is the mirror equivalent of each other, as each animatronic is placed on each side of the entrance. Both dolls are playfully popping one foot of the ground behind them, for a more dynamic pose. If not for a sturdy base attached to their standing legs, they might have tipped over.


As a lot of newcomers do, one of the two guys gives the astonishing dolls a closer look. While their clothes are real, the dolls’ bodies and faces look glossy, shining under the park bright lights. Visitors are not allowed to touch the animatronics, but the few punks that do feel a hard exterior, probably laminated wood. You can literally act out “knock, knock” jokes on these dolls.


The teenager, no older than 17, examines the dolls from up close. Their varnished faces are painted a perfect creamy white, their cheeks cartoonishly rosy. They both have long eyelashes, the same black, short-bangs-haircut and a huge, toothy welcoming smile. The boy spots a cute mole on the same exact spot, on the doll’s right cheek. “Hmm”, he ponders. “Don’t they look slightly different to you?” he asks his friend, who doesn’t share his enthusiasm for this pointless observation. Who cares dude, let’s just go!” he motions his hand forward. “No, look, this one has a slightly different face shape than this one. Like it’s rounder”, the first boy says, puzzled. “It’s probably a shitty factory job”, his friend replies without much thought put into it.




The cheerful accordion music sharply gives way to silence, as we jump cut to the past, to a workshop-basement, full of rusty shelves and benches with all sorts of tools. An old man is bent over a large, long wooden workbench in the middle of the room. Two lifeless, naked bodies are lying on their backs there, beside each other. They belong, or rather belonged, to two 20-year-old, twin siblings. The two Chinese-American girls stare blankly into the boring ceiling of the basement. They have been dead for about an hour now, the warmth from their bodies mostly gone. A row of recently made stitches runs from their lower abdomen to their stomach, underneath the sternum. It’s the main reason the dolls always seem to have their bellies covered, either with a dress, or a fancier corset.


Despite the autopsy-like appearance of these deceased, young souls, their faces look inexplicably pampered and groomed with plenty of makeup, rosy cheeks, mascara and a red, glossy lipstick. It’s a weird contrast to the bare, unfiltered and crude nakedness of their bodies.


The old man, dressed in some worn, jean suspenders, is hunched over the face of one of the dead girls. With a delicate paint-brush, he creates a little black mole on the girl’s right cheek. She doesn’t seem to object, keeping perfectly still and silent. Despite her gaze meeting his face, her look is devoid of any meaning or purpose. Her equally serene sister already has an exact replica of that mole, only this one is natural. It might have been easier to just paint over that mole with milk-white makeup, but he liked it. He found it charming.


The twin sisters’ hair share the same color and they’re both perfectly straight, but their styling is different. This needs to change, too. The man grabs a pair of scissors and carefully begins to cut the girl’s hair, right there on the wooden table, giving her previously down-to the-chest hair a cute, short bangs look. He was always good with his hands; he even cut his deceased wife’s hair sometimes, back when they were together.


The man recreates the same haircut on the other girl. They’d hate that, if they were alive. Ling and Xiao always strived to present themselves differently, with different styles, clothing, hair, etc. Ling was usually more girly and sexy in her looks, while Xiao was more of a rock-chick. In addition, Ling was always the more extroverted one, the one introducing her sis to new people at parties. They were grateful for each other and loved each other dearly, but they always sighed annoyed, whenever people confused who was who.


Now, they shared a haircut AND a mole. And there was more insult to be added to injury. Two identical, sexy but festive circus outfits, were waiting for them, each outfit prepared as one – corset, skirt, heels, gloves and all - hanging from a cloth rack, only a few feet away. If they could express themselves, they would scoff at the idea of having to wear the same outfit, but that was the plan. The old man takes out a pair of long, fake eyelashes, and gently glues them over the girls’ real ones. He takes a step back, judging his work. He’s too focused to be smiling during work, but seeing the end result, he feels satisfied, even though his face never expresses it.




(IF PEOPLE LIKE IT, I'LL UPLOAD THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS LATER, there are many more to go)

Well, some of you might remember me from the old Gurochan. I am back from the grave and writing again, and I just finished a new story that you might like.

Its way to long to post here, so I will leave a link to it. Let me know what you guys think!

Emily's Journey

tags: M/f, cons, first, sex, anal, enema, bondage, oral, throating, torture, noose , meat girl, snuff

https://www.asstr.org/~Eficient/emilys%20journey.htm

It was rare for us to get a job in the states for three reasons. Magical girls, despite appearing worldwide, mostly seemed to be concentrated in Japan. Being Japanese ourselves, this suited us just fine. The second reason was that very few employers were able to pay our very steep “getting military grade weaponry across international borders” fee. So imagine our surprise when an offer came in from a small town in New England from a company I’d never heard of. The last was that, over the years, the price for our services had grown steadily higher as magical girls had gotten stronger, more pragmatic, and most of all, stopped falling victim to the weaknesses that at first seemed inherent to their nature.

‘We’re heading where?” Aika asked, no doubt wondering how much school she’d have to miss on our little excursion. “Bishopsville.” Itami replied, stoic as ever. “Asylum hired us.” ‘Yeah, and they even hired their own plane. Looks like a piece of shit though” I said, looking out at the runway at the old plane they’d told us to use. “Looks reliable enough” H responded, having the sense not to be transformed quite yet; her BDSM getup would be glaringly obvious in an airport after all. The captain of the plane, an, old grizzled man, waved us aboard and, somewhat reluctantly, we did.

“Is this where we’re supposed to meet? I asked no one in particular as I surveyed the area. The place we were supposed to meet our client’s representative was a park near a high school. I supposed there were worse places to meet, with school in session, it was as far as I could see, almost vacant. “Indeed, it is.” A polite female voice said, waving to us in casual clothing from a nearby bench. “Come, sit.” We did so, not seeing any reason why not to.

“There are two magical girls I need dealt with.” She said, looking straight ahead, not caring to introduce herself. Many clients did the same, obviously not wanting the assassination of children to be traced back to then. “Tell us about them.” I said in return. “You see, the thing is, this isn’t about the asylum.” The girl said, staring straight ahead. “Yes that is important, but the main reason I want them dead is because they killed my older sister.” As for abilities, they fight tactically, and tend to exploit their opponent’s weak points, but your normal ambush strategy should work well against them. “So they’re who we need to kill?” Aika asks, by now transformed into Pretty Deadly. “No.” The girl said simply.

Before any of us could respond, She snapped her fingers, emitting a bright, blinding light, followed by what can only be described as a gunshot. When I regained my vision, Aika, my girlfriend, was slumped over, leaning on me, clutching her arm, which had been blown off just below the shoulder. I didn’t have time to help her though, if I tried we’d all be dead and we wouldn’t have a chance. The girl we were just talking to stood in front of us, wearing a brilliant green dress, wielding a sword and shield made of hard light in a defensive stance. “The magical girls I want dead are Pretty Deadly, and Sailor H” she announced quickly and plainly with none of the long-winded speeches typical of most of our targets. I tried anyway, drawing my pistol and firing off rapidly as she spoke to little effect as she blocked the bullets with her light shield.

“Haba, Lotus, move in. help with whip girl. Dandy, Cherry, hold off the other two. Ignore other” She said, backing off as Itami drew and fired his own weapon. I looked around for the other threats and realized we were surrounded. In this brief second, however, a pink clad magical girl raised a barrier of brambles and thorns between us and Sailor H as two others moved to engaged her. “On it, Lily!” one said, dashing across the park as the girl in green, apparently Lily, started dueling H, staying just far enough away that she couldn’t wrap her up with the whip, seemingly being pushed back. Itami and I tried to cut through the brambles, only to get slammed into them by a strong gust of wind. Another girl had been behind us. I reached back with my gun and fired off a few shots at her. She seemed surprised I could even move in her wind and took a bullet to the leg, dropping to the ground as it gave way and clutching her wound. I tried to aim to finish her off but as I did, the vines lashed out and pulled may arm away at the last second. Fuck.

Hello everyone

I started this new thread, especially dedicated to "Polaris" and his awesome site "The Dark Realm Of Polaris".

Unfortunately, Polaris decided to stop writing a few years ago, and with that decision, the site went off the net too.

Nevertheless, I'm quite sure that a lot of people were highly entertained and inspired (in their fantasy only, I hope) by Polaris's stories and the stories of other writers who had published on his site.

[By the way: parts of The Dark Realm of Polaris are still out there, just read carfully the old thread in the archive: https://archive.guro.wtf/lit/res/5564.html ]

As far as I'm concerned: I really loved Polaris' stories, which I discovered maybe fifteen years ago, and it really nourished the part my being which had deviant fantasies since I was little. Thankfully, those stories also pushed some limits within my brain.

On his page, he had stated: "I am Polaris, a writer of erotic fiction that focuses primarily on sadistic and sexually violent females."

With this thread I want to create a space dedicated to Polaris and his fictional writings, and I would like that stories posted in this thread would keep a similar "quality, energy, context", so that former readers of Polaris' stories will surely like this threads content and vice-versa.

As far as my writing/fantasy is concerned: I prefer (and write) stories probably including females only, most of the time. (Sorry, guys!! But as you know: There is an exception to every rule...!]

My preferred fantasy consists of young females (girls, women) living out their sexuality and power, loving other strong and sexy females (that means: they are lesbian), and they get their kick and satisfaction by sadistically dominating other (usually weaker) females: like forcing them to have sex; seducing or raping them; kidnapping, hurting, injuring them; bullying them; sometimes even killing / murdering them (just for fun; for sexual gratification; due to boredome; out of pure lust; out of disgust; for showing off superiority; for money; to impress a lover; etc.). In short: mischievous, viscious girls/females, taking what the want, not showing any respect to any rules.

I know that Polaris included much more elements than probably I'll do. That means that, of course, Polaris's stories and fantasy differs from mine. But nevertheless, I believe that if you loved Polaris' stories, you will at least like those I write.

And of course, feel free to fill this thread with your thoughts, writings and fantasies... My only plea would be that the posts would pursue this threads goal: to be a dedication to the creator of the former "Dark Realm Of Polaris".


I still hope Polaris comes back one day.

By the year 2099 the world's population had grown to almost 13 billion and the strain on Earth's resources was severe. Almost all research and development had already been diverted into the problem so that scientists could find ways to improve crop yields, produce clean energy and recycle the overwhelming mountains of garbage that had built up from having so many humans wandering the planet.

Unattractive as it might sound there was still the need to not only reduce the birthrate but to reduce the existing population as well. Euthanasia had been a contentious issue but ultimately the popular vote had been in favor of a few being killed each day for the greater good, rather than risking collapse and horrific mass starvation. Computers provided an unbiased means for selecting who to cull and with help could do so in a way that avoided the need for any emotional human employees.

The 50G wireless network could already read minds and beam phone calls directly into people's brains, allowing for thought-to-thought calls as long as you had enough credits to afford the luxury, and for the new population law it provided a way to immediately carry out terminations. When the system decided to mark someone as surplus it simply scanned the subject's subconscious to determine how they might like to die and then used overwhelming hypnotic commands to make it happen. In this way the deed would be done before they even realized that they'd be chosen to participate in population control.

Often this took the form of suicide whether it was taking a bottle of pills, jumping off a building, shooting themselves or something more personal and creative. However many people preferred not to take their own life. The system accounted for this by directing its energies toward their preferred killer instead, making the sight of a stranger or even someone's friend suddenly murdering them and then going back to normal a common and accepted occurrence since it must have been the work of the population control system.

That had been how it happened with Clara's mother. At the age of ten Clara had been drawing a unicorn when for reasons that she couldn't explain she put down her coloring pencil and walked toward the bathroom. The door was closed but against her nature she opened it without hesitation and walked in. Standing unaware under the shower was her mom, the water cascading down her body as she soaped up her breasts and, unbeknownst to an innocent girl like Clara, was imagining a rather naughty fantasy as she pinched one nipple and let her other hand glide down her toned body to seek out her needy clit.

Clara had never seen a woman this way before and she stared in fascination at her mother masturbating while her own silently hands sought out the wooden towel rack and lifted it from its frame. That day was an awakening for her in more ways than one as she wound up and swung the rod like a baseball bat against the back of her mother's head. Coming from a ten year old the blow was far from fatal but the woman still collapsed to the floor long enough for Clara to step into the shower's spray and kick her over, climb onto her well endowed chest and use both hands to push the rod down against her trachea.

There was panic in the woman's eyes but between the slippery floor, the weight of the young girl on her chest and the concussion from the head wound she could only flail her arms and gurgle in desperation as her own daughter smiled to her and crushed her windpipe. Afterward Clara had returned to her unicorn drawing without a thought and when her dad walked in a half-hour later he sat down and gently explained that her mother must have loved her very much to have wanted Clara to be the last thing she saw before she died.

Now Clara was less than a year away from starting high school and already learning biology and agriculture and all the other things that would be important in the future. With her lab partner James she made careful notes while he performed the dissection on their rabbit. She had felt a slight unease over having to kill the cute little bunny after cuddling with it for the first ten minutes of class while their teacher explained the lesson but the knowledge was necessary and so she didn't question it any more than her classmates had.

She had just recorded the weight of the heart and lungs when James stopped working and got a blank look in his eyes. Clara turned to see if something was wrong only to watch him take the scalpel and slide it cleanly across his own throat. There was an eruption of blood towards the backsplash of their lab bench and he fell backwards, landing on the floor and dying less than twenty seconds later. Seeing it her teacher pressed the button to call the janitor and told her to go work with Stella and Natalie for the rest of the period. That was fine since she liked being paired up with girls more than boys and Natalie had caught her eye more than once with her pretty face and long blonde hair.

The change in partners during biology turned out to be a stroke of luck since Natalie ended up staying with her when they went for lunch in the cafeteria. Trying to be casual about it Clara inched closer to Natalie on the bench, using the crowded table as an excuse to brush against her arm and press their bodies closer together. Natalie had a pleasant voice as she talked about seeing her cousin that weekend even as Clara stole glances through the loose neck of her t-shirt where she could see hints of Natalie's budding breasts.

Their conversation was interrupted when a boy named Travis yanked Natalie out of her seat and shoved her against the wall. The obscenity she tried to yell in response was cut short when one of his friends slammed his fist into her stomach and then all three were tearing off her clothes as she struggled and fought under their grip. This was pretty normal by now and while Clara didn't understand what made boys attractive to girls she knew that Travis and his friends must be really handsome because almost every day there seemed to be another hot girl whose fantasy for going out apparently involved being raped and killed by them.

There was blood on Travis's dick as he forced his way repeatedly into Natalie's tight snatch and her cries for him to stop became less and less coherent as he repeatedly punched her in the head while his laughing friends held her down and waited their turn. It was sad that she wasn't going to be able to hookup with her now but Clara comforted herself by discretely slipping a hand beneath her own waistband. By ignoring the boys presence she could watch Natalie writhing in naked glory as she rubbed her pussy rapidly. Biting her lip Clara silently came as Natalie began to violently convulse from brain damage and her foaming lips gave out a feral sound not too unlike a moan.

(If mods wish, they can delete the old thread at https://boards.guro.cx/lit/koko.php?res=14356. I no longer use it, and it's full of inaccurate/broken URLs. I would change it if I could.)

As per the last paragraph, this will be the replacement thread for the Patreon thread, as I no longer use Patreon for stories. REPEAT! DO NOT SUBSCRIBE TO ME ON PATREON IF YOU WANT STORIES!

https://grimmerotica.fanbox.cc/ - Stories below 15,000 words, with the exception of holiday-themed stories, will be posted two months before being made freely available. Super-short stories (300-500 words) will be posted a month earlier than everywhere else.


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Don't Drink and Fly

A group of horny college babes are spending Christmas at the beach when a drunken pilot ruins their fun.

accidental death, gore, ff+, f-self, piss, shit

https://grimmerotica.fanbox.cc/posts/3140521

a young girl, naked, stood on a chair, her arms spread, breathing hard, gasping ribs lifting her little breasts with each aroused breath, wrists cuffed far apart to opposite pillars. the wheeled office chair squeaked and swayed under her.

a beautiful woman in lingerie circled the girl, holding a riding crop. the leather crop, held with a delicate grip, was dragged, like a tongue, over the soft curves of the girl's body. her naked thighs. upward, ever so close to the blushing, dripping flower of her labia.

the girl's clothes were folded neatly on the floor.

tight, painful rope around her waist and between her legs held a thick, vibrating dildo in place inside her vagina. 12 seconds on, 6 seconds off. the rope crushed her waist. the stabilizer muscles of her abdomen were weakened like this, and so she could not help swaying her hips as she struggled to balance on the chair.

she moved like a belly dancer.

the riding crop, light as a feather, teased at the girl's swollen clitoris.

"sarah..." the woman cooed, resting a hand on the girl's ass, caressing, cupping and lifting the pert lobe. "you know how this will end, sweetie. why do you keep coming back?"

the helpless girl moaned around her ball gag.

"one day. maybe not today, maybe not this week or this year, but soon enough, you will fail one of our little games, and i will have to murder you. that's what happens to little girls who disappoint their mistresses."

the woman, whispering now, brought her mouth close to the girl's navel, breath warm on the girl's skin. "i'll have to bring the next cute girl along to dispose of you beside the highway, just as you helped me dispose of poor annie. abandoned naked in the tall grass with her ass in the air like a murdered prostitute. she was cute, wasn't she?"

the girl's vagina clenched and she whimpered. the woman's eyes lit up

"uh oh!" she laughed with a bedroom voice, kissing the girl's stomach. "you almost peed, didn't you sarah..." she bit the skin above the girl's navel, tugging and pinching just enough to make the girl squeak in pain.

"you know the rules, sweetie. if you pee before the hour is up, i will kick the chair away and you will hang from your arms, crucified, for the rest of your life, however many hours or days it takes for you to suffocate to death from the chest tension."

the terrified girl began to cum. her pussy spasmed and she rocked her hips, moaning into her gag, her moans turned up at the end almost like pleas.

a small spurt of urine escaped her.

the clock on the wall ticked twice, then the girl began to scream!

"shh, shh sarah" the woman laughed. "it was just a little burst. you're fine"

but then she placed her foot on the chair and began to nudge at it.

the girl, squirming and dancing to hold her balance, could not avoid swaying her hips in a seductive way. her breasts bobbled on her ribs.

"this wouldn't be the worst way to die, though, would it sarah? i'd be here the whole time, watching you hang there suffocating.

A short story about a girl who gives 14 year old Tom a way to get revenge on the ones who bullied him. But everything has a price.

Three Little Piggies – A Short Story
By
Edward Hyde
“Next three!” Called the gruff man in his bloody apron. “Quickly, please!” Carly, Hannah and Natalie stood up and took deep breaths. The rest of the naked girls shuffled down the bench to fill the space.

“This is it!” Hannah, a tall blonde whispered to the others. Carly, a chubby red-head grinned and Natalie, an athletic black girl reached out, took both their hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. All the girls waiting for slaughter were between ten and twelve years old but this particular abattoir served a wide area so most of them did not know each other. This trio of friends, however, had volunteered together after the recruiter visited their school and, once they had worked out that girls were being called through in batches of three, had carefully counted out those ahead and begged to swap with other girls in the line so the they could be dispatched together.

Having made arrangements with the other parents, Natalie’s dad had dropped the excited threesome off on his way to work, handled the paperwork and waited to collect their possessions before wishing them good luck and leaving them to their fate. Carly was the only one who had dressed in any way properly that morning, leading her to be teased lightly by the other two who wore only long t-shirts and flip-flops, but she didn’t care. This was, she had reasoned, her special day and she wanted to dress up for it and so the pretty young piggy had been driven to slaughter in a nice summer dress, fancy shoes and new, matching training bra and panties. It had, of course, taken her much longer to undress than they others, to the apparent annoyance of the hard-faced woman on reception, but soon enough all three were stark naked and Natalie’s dad was on his way with a carrier bag of clothing he would drop off to the other families after work.

“What happens if girls come on their own?” Hannah had asked while they waited for Carly to strip. “Or if nobody is bothered about taking their clothes?”

“Oh that happens quite a bit really!” the woman had smiled, displaying a softer side that was definitely not apparent on first meeting. She reminded Natalie of a typical doctor’s receptionist – the kind who seems to think it’s their sworn duty to prevent the doctor from being bothered by such trivial annoyances as sick patients. “Generally any clothes that get left behind get donated and sold for charity.”

Once naked, the girls had been ushered through into a lobby which resembled a doctor or dentist’s waiting room, further reinforcing their first impression of the receptionist. A couple of other small groups of naked girls were already there and they smiled at the newcomers before returning to their conversations. There were a few magazines and comics on tables between the comfy chairs and a television in the corner was playing a music channel at a low volume but the girls did not really have to wait long enough to get bored.

Very soon they were called through into a side room where samples were taken of their blood and saliva as well as the mucus inside their vaginas and quickly tested to ensure that they were fit for human consumption then they had each been photographed for the records and signed the consent forms and that was it – their fate as meat was sealed. There could be no turning back from that point.

Friendly local butchers who often slaughtered girls on behalf of their families or as an addition to their regular delivery, tended to operate an “Until the chop, you can still say Stop” policy, meaning that a girl could pull out and change her mind at any point up to the moment she was fatally injured, not that many ever did, of course, but a larger, more industrial operation like the abattoir could not afford such delays and hesitancies. Once a girl had signed the consent form there, they were meant and nothing could change that. Of course it was best for the morale of the workers as well as the waiting girls if everyone slaughtered was happy and compliant but, on the very rare occasion that a girl panicked at the last moment and tried to change her mind, the slaughter-men were legally entitled to restrain them by force and slaughter them. They were not people, they were the property of the business until their meat was sold on.

This was all explained to the three girls before they signed but there was nothing to worry about – none of them had any intention of leaving that building as anything other than fresh meat! A few minutes later, once the test results came back clear and all the paperwork was dealt with, they were ushered back out into the waiting room where more girls had arrived, with more arriving while they sat and waited to be called through to the killing floor.

About half an hour after the trio had arrived, all the girls in the waiting room were called through into a rather stark corridor with a long bench along one wall. The friends sat together about half way down and watched as girls ahead of them were called through, groups of three in quick succession. Wanting to go together, they had quickly negotiated with the other girls in line and, minutes later, they were front of the queue and being called through to their final destiny.

Once through the door onto the killing floor, they saw why the girls ahead of them had been called through with such speed and efficiency. There were three work-stations, each with space for three girls. A metal over-head rail connected the second two and disappeared out of sight through a narrow gap in the tiled wall. A team of three workers, a mix of men and women, stood in bloodied overalls and aprons working each station. Although the walls and floors were wet and a lot cleaner than their clothes, clearly washed down between each use, the smell of blood hung in the air.

In addition to the workers manning each station, there were two white-coated observers with clip-boards, one man and one woman, both noticeably older than the manual workers and clearly there to supervise and ensure that standards of hygiene and livestock welfare were maintained.

The first station, the wall next to where the girls entered, had a long drain along the floor and the workers were holding sturdy hoses. Three dripping wet girls had clearly just been hosed down and were about to be sent to the next station, clearly where the actual slaughter would take place, which was currently empty and being prepared for the next batch of meat girl. At the final station, against the far wall, workers were cleaning out three headless, gutted carcasses, removing the hands and feet and dropping them into a large plastic container on wheels which was already half full. Between the two stations was a similar container, this one full almost to the brim already with severed heads.

“I wonder what they do with them?” Nathalie whispered to her friends.

“I heard they sell the pretty ones to be made into sex toys!” giggled Hannah.

“Bet they turn yours into a Halloween decoration!” Carly teased, sticking out her tongue. All three giggled.

“Against the wall, please!” the same gruff man who had ordered them in instructed them. “Backs to us with your hands on the wall.” The girls did as they were told as the three who had just been hosed down were led towards the slaughter area. As they stood with their backs curved and rumps sticking out provocatively, they were hit with powerful jets of water that was cold but not uncomfortably so. The water blasted their backs then moved lower, the girls finding themselves unable not to squeal the powerful jets hit their most sensitive, intimate areas. Just then, a shrill scream split the air and the water stopped abruptly.

“Got a runner!” a loud, irritate voice called and there was a clatter as the hoses were dropped. Caught up in the moment and curious to know what was going on, the girls turned to see. Two of the girls about to be slaughtered were hanging by their ankles but the third had apparently freaked out at the last moment and tried run back out. One of the burly men who had been hosing seconds before had managed to grab her and was now carrying her back, holding her off the ground with her legs kicking and her arms pinned to her side. The trio watched in fascination as one of the other workers grabbed a metal pole off the wall, about half a meter long, and quickly approached his colleague with the struggling girl. A tiny arc of blue electricity flickered on the top as the girl kicked her legs wildly and the man holding her moved one arm down to better restrain her.

The two girls hanging upside down by the hooks in their ankles, obediently awaiting slaughter, frowned at each other and muttered comments that the three fascinated friends could not hear but it was very clear that they were not impressed by their fellow meat-girl’s behaviour! The man with the pole pushed it against the short-haired brunette’s neck and she twitched wildly but stopped kicking then her body went limp and her head lolled to one side.

“Is she dead?” Hannah asked curiously.

“No,” the worker who had been hosing her answered as he reached down to pick up his hose, “the prod just stuns. The heart needs to be beating when the head is removed, otherwise the blood takes far too long to drain.” He explained this all in a matter-of-fact tone as if he was explaining his job to a friend over a beer rather than describing to a young girl what would be done to her in a few minutes. “Back to the wall, please. Arms by your side.”

“Silly piggy!” Natalie shook her head and tutted as the unconscious girl was hung up in the final slot. “Why would you sign up for this if you weren’t sure! Just wastes everyone’s time!” The two inspectors were talking quietly to each other and making notes on their boards, presumably recording the incident.

“I just keep thinking of all the people our meat is going to make happy!” Carly beamed as the water jets were turned on and the fronts of their bodies were sprayed as thoroughly as the backs had been. The sound of the gushing water could not, however, mask the high pitched whine of the electric circular saws that the workers now used to remove the heads of the hanging girls. All three of the friends being washed felt a powerful tingle between their legs as they watched the workers toss the heads into the waiting container then use a knife to open up the wrists before rubbing the headless carcasses vigorously to encourage the blood to drain. Once the flow had reduced to an occasional drip, the bodies were scooted along to the next station on the rain and a new set of hooks were pulled into place.

“Okay you three, you’re up!” one of the workers called to them while his colleague hosed the blood away from the slaughter area and the next team got to work gutting and parting the carcasses. A new excited and intrigued looking trio of girls, south Asian twin sisters and a tall blonde, were already waiting for their turn to be hosed as the friends approached the slaughter station.

Hannah was just about to ask what they needed to do but closed her mouth as soon as she had opened it since her question answered itself. The three men each picked a girl and hoisted her over their shoulders. The friends couldn’t help giggling as they were carried, half upside down, to the hooks which were then pushed through the backs of their ankles. They expected it to hurt a lot more than it did – the metal hooks were so sharp that all they really felt was a bit of a pinch as they were pushed in. The only real discomfort came when the men carefully lowered them to hang so that all their weight was supported by the tendon behind the hook.

Fortunately, they were not hanging for too long. Looking to the side to watch the carcasses of those girls ahead of her being butchered, Carly was alerted to her imminent death by the whine of the saw. Again, she expected it to hurt a lot more than it did but the teeth of the whizzing blade were razor sharp, designed to cut effortlessly through skin, bone and tendon.

The chubby red-head tasted blood in her mouth then experienced the strangest sensation of flying, weightless, and tumbling as her severed head was tossed into the waiting container where it landed with a clonk on top of the others. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing from her new vantage point – it was her own headless body being drained of blood ready for butchering! Such a strange and intriguing thing it was to see herself, without a head of course, several feet away, and she was annoyed when the impact of another head, Hannah’s she thought, caused her to roll so that she could no longer see. The annoyance was short-lived, however, as almost immediately her vision began to go hazy and darkness closed in from the edges until all she could see was a tiny pin-prick of light and then she was gone.

As the freshly-washed girls were mounted onto a new set of hooks, the drained carcasses of the three friends were sent along the rail. The workers began by splitting open their bellies and cracking their chests, removing the viscera and sorting it before dropping it into one of two containers – one for the edible offal such as heart, liver and kidney and the other for the waste which would be used for pet-food or fertilizer.

Using a smaller version of the saw that was used to remove the heads, the girls’ hands and feet were cut off and added to the rapidly-growing collection. The insides of the carcasses were then washed out with smaller versions of the high-pressure hoses which had been used to spray the girls whenr they first entered the room, just minutes earlier. Had there been orders for preteen half-carcasses that day, some of them would have been parted further but all orders were for complete carcasses so no further work was needed. Plastic tags were added on the ends of the right arm-stump of each girl showing the date and time of slaughter as well as a code which would identify which worker had processed them should there be any issues later, then the meat was sent further down the rail, into the next area where it would be sorted according to the various orders from all around the area and the next set of headless girls were sent down the rail while some more, freshly washed and giggling, were hung from the hooks and others lined up obediently to be hosed down.

A little over half an hour later, all the preteen girls from the waiting room had been processed, their carcasses awaiting collection in the refrigerated storage area from which vans would take them to butchers, restaurants and caterers several miles in every direction. With the working area cleaned down, the trolleys of heads and other off-cuts wheeled out and replaced with fresh, empty ones, it was time for the workers to take a well-earned coffee break before the next age-ground, the thirteen to fifteen year olds, arrived.

THE END

Like the 100 word thread but you can play around with 250 words.

I can't believe it took me five years to write! But here it is! My second Juan Gotoh inspired story!


Applicant for Death: The Case of Mamoru

Camera shows a young boy dressed in a common school pants and white shirt, standing at the end of gymnastic rails, stretched between him and the camera. The boy smiles friendly.

-My name is Mamoru, and I am about to be murdered.

A kind mature female voice is heard near the camera.

-You like using the word "murder", Mamoru-kun. - The boy blushes lightly. - You want to have bullets fired at you one by one with irregular intervals while you try to reach me. No instantly fatal shots must be done. You also want to wear a white shirt while being - she makes a short pause and finishes with a teasing tone - murdered. That's an interesting request. Could you tell us why you chose such drawn out and detailed death?
-Well... I watched few movies where good guys struggle against the bad guys, but at some point get killed with a gun. The scenes where hero still tries to stand after being shot once, but is shot again and again, were so dramatic. It felt so unfair and cruel. These scenes always made me put myself at the place of the hero in my fantasies. Think of what they feel as they struggle while their life is taken away against their will, and lose. It made me aroused. These days I always fantasize about being packed with bullets when I masturbate. The shirt... I like how in those scenes stains of blood slowly grow on the hero's clothes as they're killed. I want the same thing in my scene.
-Thank you, Mamoru-kun. But you must understand that what we're going to do is not a movie shooting. I'll shoot very real bullets at you. And if you want to struggle - I might not know the difference between you acting your fantasy or wanting to back off. So we're going to do it this way: I'll make the first shot at the least dangerous spot. After it you'll have one and only chance to back off. If you decide to do that - I'll take you to doctor, and you'll return to your everyday life. I'll delete the video, so no one will know anything. If you decide to go through with being murdered - you'll need to say: "I'll never lose to someone like you, criminal scum." At that point I'll know your mind is set and murder you no matter what. Is that clear, Mamoru-kun?
-Yes. Thank you, sensei.
-I'll be using low calibre piercing rounds that will go through your body with causing less damage than normal rounds, allowing you to live longer. Making sure to not shoot highly fatal spots like heart and brain takes a good aim. - There's a note of pride in woman's voice. - I took an extensive shooting practice to hone my skill so I could make your fantasy come true. These railings will help you advance on me in weakened state.
-Thank you, sensei! It sounds fun!
-Well then, let's start.

Two hands firmly holding a gun come into view. The boy opens his eyes wider, blushes and gulps. A second later a shot rings. The boy folds over, holding on his right side. His lips open with a loud moan of pain. He steps and bobs his torso, coping with the pain. It goes on for a while, but gradually he gets a grip of himself and returns to the rails, grasping one on each side, standing straight. A small stain of blood now shows on his shirt. A bulge on his groin is clearly visible to the camera. He forces a predatory smile and works out words.

-I'll never lose to someone like you, criminal scum!

A sweet sigh is heard behind the camera, and the woman replies.

-Such a big words, hero. But you have nothing against me. You're going to die here unknown.

Another bullet pierces the boy's left lung, making him jerk. With his face twitching with pain, he starts advancing on the camera, moving his hands along the rails.

-There's no way... a criminal like you... can win!

The woman laughs heartily.

-Oh, you think you can reach me and kill with your bare hands, and then survive no matter how wounded? This is not that kind of story, my hero. I'm going to kill you, and there will be no punishment for me.

Two more bullets rip though the boy's tummy, two new bloody stains joining the now grown initial stain. The boy moans out in pain, but only stops for a moment. His face shows a mix of despair, determination and excitement. He keeps advancing, pulling himself closer to the camera again and again. Two bullets pierce his right lung, making him stumble and cry out. When he pulls himself up, holding tight on the rails, tears are running down his cheeks. Three blood stains on his tummy already merged into one. The hands in the camera pull the trigger again, but only a click comes. The woman says in a joking tone:

-Oh no! I'm out of bullets! The hero is going to get me now!

The boy's pained face lights up with determination, and he continues his advance faster, straining himself and coughing blood. The empty magazine drops from the pistol, and one hand reaches out of sight to return with a fresh one, loading the gun again. When it's done - the boy is already at the end of the rails, looking like he's ready to leap at the camera, despite the visible weakness. The hands with the gun go out of view, and a naked woman walks towards the boy, holding the gun in her right hand. The boy kicks off the rails, throwing himself at her, barely managing to hug her and stay on his feet. The blood, soaking his shirt, smears over her naked skin.

-You got me, hero. But all in vain. It is your end.

She says in a gentle tone, embracing and supporting him with one arm, prying herself from him and turning her side to the camera, opening him to the view again. She brings the pistol to his tummy and shoots the whole magazine in different spots in quick succession, each bullet making the boy jerk. Panting heavily, he turns his face to her, his bloody lips trembling.

-You... cannot... win.
-I already won. Die, little hero.

The boy extorts a smile, and the woman lets go off his body, letting him drop on his knees and hands, and steps out of the view, tilting the camera down and focusing on him. His shirt is as bloody on his back from the exit wounds. Blood now steadily drips from his mouth and his hole-ridden blood-soaked shirt. His arms tremble and eventually give out as he coughs blood.. He falls face down, but lifts his head and struggles to lift his torso again, arms shaking, face horribly pale. He refuses to give up, but gradually loses all strength, lowering his body and soon laying still.

For a couple of minutes camera shows a puddle of blood spreading on the floor around his torso. Then camera tilts back up, and the woman comes into view again.

-This DVD is not for sale to the general public. Even if you order it, we'll just send you some generic porn disc instead. We'll check up on you. We sell only to people who can keep quiet and pay enough. However, depending on the results of our investigation, we may give it to other people free of charge. Yes, to people like you. Having just watched this DVD I'm sure you understand that the performers in our videos have a very strong desire to die. They don't do it to escape the pain of an illness or debt. Apply for death. Just have fun dying as someone special. We are looking for talent like that. We can give you the kind of death you long for. As for hot to contact us... you already know even if I don't say it. I'm waiting for your call.

This story was originally inspired by learning about the voir dire (jury selection) process while following some recent high-profile cases (More like vore dire, am I right?). It's languished unfinished for years, and I was inspired to complete it by seeing PK's lovely sory Interview with the Dragon again on the DGF for the first time in many years.


Dragon Jury Duty


The inexplicable fertility boom in the mid-21st century exploded normal human demographics. Ten, then fifteen, then twenty women were born for every man; women got pregnant younger, more often, and with more children. The population absolutely skyrocketed. Malthusian terror gripped policymakers as the prospect of widespread famine got closer every year.

A generation into the catastrophe the solution presented itself when, after centuries in hiding, the massive, suave, hypnotic, scaly, and above all hungry dragons made themselves public. A few meetings with governments around the world, and the Population Laws were suddenly a fact of life. The now-miniscule but stable population of men had to give a certain amount of their time at the public impregnoriums, servicing the needs of the increasingly baby-craving female populace. Men were exempt from jury duty and most other public service; legislatures, courtrooms, and corporations filled with women.

And women, in turn, filled dragons’ bellies. The huge reptiles lounged around cities or flew over the countryside, casually devouring succulent female morsels at a speed that almost kept up with the enormous new birthrate. It was the new normal. One second, a woman was a proud, competent professional; the next, her stocking-clad legs were sticking out of a dragon’s mouth, kicking her high heels off as she was messily devoured.

Dragons snaked their heads into changing rooms to eat the squealing snacks within. Draconic tongues slid up coeds’ skirts for a sweet little taste, then coiled to pull the unfortunately scrumptious girls into waiting maws. Schools stuffed to the brim with excess female students routed their buses near known dragon haunts, where entire busloads of astonished teenage girls were bolted down en masse. Mischievous dragons ordered pizza, only to gulp down the toothsome delivery girls with the pizza as a garnish.

***

In a world like that, it wasn’t hard to understand why Stacy McGuire, esquire, rising star at her law firm, felt a surge of lightheadedness at the sight of a scaly green beast the size of an SUV coiled uncomfortably in the middle of the pool of potential jurors for her upcoming trial. She looked incredulously around, wondering if anyone else found this as strange as she did.

No one seemed to. Or at least, they didn’t show it if they did.

The jury selection process was normal enough – each attorney dismissing a few jurors she thought would be difficult for her side. The only unusual thing was the occasional faint rumbling from the dragon’s stomach, and the increasingly nervous looks of the women seated next to him.

“Juror number 8, you are excused.”

Juror 8, a slender and pretty black woman named Jaci with a beautiful mass of shiny braids coiled around her head, gave an audible sigh of relief as she stood up from her chair right in front of the monster. Stacy could see the woman shivering, and she suspected the bitch had lied about some of her answers to get excused – and get away from her perilous seat!

Unfortunately for Jaci, being excused also meant that there was no reason why her presence was necessary any more.

Both the juror and Stacy McGuire let out sharp screams of surprise as the dragon casually leaned forward and engulfed Jaci’s entire torso. Her arms and legs stuck out comically, kicking and wriggling as the dragon cupped his foreclaws beneath her and bit down hard.

Gasps echoed through the courtroom, mixed with muffled screams of pain from Jaci and loud crunching sounds as her slender ebony limbs, neatly severed, fell into the dragon’s claws. He closed his eyes with every evidence of pleasure, fondling his newly-limbless mouthful with his tongue, until eventually he opened his mouth wide.

For just a moment Stacy could see Jaci’s shocked face, wet with saliva and tears, makeup thoroughly mussed. Then the dragon tossed Jaci’s arms and legs into his mouth, snapped it shut, and chewed.

The wet crunching noises held the courtroom mesmerized until, with a loud gulp, Jaci’s mangled corpse made its way down into the dragon’s belly.

There was total silence for a moment, until an oddly quiet belch from the beast brought the courtroom back to its senses.

Stacy was the first to speak.

“Your Honor, peremptory strike for Juror 12, Mr. Verumcidar.”

“App-” The judge’s voice cracked, and she took a moment to steady herself. “Approach the bench, please.”

With both attorneys standing before her, the judge leaned down. “Ms. McGuire, I hope you aren’t using your peremptory strike in a manner prohibited by law.”

Stacy blinked, astounded. “Y-your honor, he’s a dragon. He just ate a woman right in front of us.”

The judge’s eyes narrowed. “I suspected as much. I’m disappointed in you, counsel. You’re well aware that peremptory strikes may not be used on the basis of race, or in this case species, and as a dragon Juror 12 was perfectly within his legal rights to consume Juror 8, no matter how she or you may feel about it.”

“How can we be sure he won’t do it again?” Stacy protested, feeling panic rise in her chest.

“Juror 12,” the judge spoke up. “While in court, kindly exercise your legal rights in a manner that is less disruptive, or I may be forced to excuse you.”

“By all means, your honor,” the dragon replied politely. “I apologize for the scene, but Ms. Jaci smelled so divine that I simply couldn’t help myself. I promise to be more discreet at trial.”

“See that you are.” The judge looked back at Stacy and raised her eyebrows. “Well, Ms. McGuire?”

Stacy swallowed hard, remembering the look on the juror’s face. “Understood, your honor,” she said miserably, and resumed her seat.

***


The trial was simple enough in itself, a dispute between a company offering devouring insurance and a group alleging that they’d been wrongfully denied payouts when an insured woman was eaten. The chief dispute was whether the victims had unreasonably put themselves in peril.

Not that Stacy could call them “victims” in court, of course; that would be entirely too prejudicial. In the eyes of the law, women eaten by dragons were no more “victims” than women who had to obey any other law. The law dictated that a curvy morsel of female flesh had absolutely no right to complain. Wherever, whenever, or however painfully it happened, women were meat for draconic hunger, and that was simply the way it was.

The biggest problem for Stacy, who represented the plaintiffs, was – what else – their social media history. Like every young woman who’d grown up in the new world, Stacy had occasionally rubbed one out to the scary thrill of being eaten by a dragon. Post-fertility boom, it was probably the second most popular kink after impregnation. Stacy had even had a few intense orgasms imagining being held down under a scaly brute and raped into insensibility or death by a gut-busting dragon cock, but unlike the retarded sluts whose families she now represented, she hadn’t filled her entire social media presence with those fantasies!

It wasn’t exactly easy to argue that a dragon-bait bimbo had taken “reasonable precautions” to avoid being eaten when her last post before the consumption was bragging about how hard she was going to cum when – not if – she was eaten.

That particular decedent, an airheaded Asian college student, had somehow managed to arrange to have her demise filmed, and she hadn’t been lying, it definitely seemed like she had a good time while the dragon had thrust its thick tongue inside her juicy pussy. She hadn’t enjoyed it quite as much when he tore her limbs off one by one, eating her piecemeal until she was frantically squealing for him to finish her off.

“Serves the stupid whore right,” Stacy muttered, remembering how the girl’s torso had bucked and flopped around, blood squirting from where her limbs used to be. That video essentially crashed her case, but she hadn’t been able to convince the idiots she was representing to settle.

Her position wasn’t helped by the fact that Verumcidar kept looking at her. Throughout the trial, she kept sensing his emerald gaze on her, seeing his quiet but very toothy smile.

There were incidents, too. “Discreet” by dragon’s standards, maybe, but disruptive by Stacy’s! When the jurors were released for lunch the first day, Verumcidar had reached out into the audience and plucked out a reporter and her camerawoman. He spent almost the entire lunch break with them kneeling nude before him, happily lapping at their sopping snatches with his huge tongue until they were barely even aware when he pressed them together, belly to belly, and took a bloody bite from the torsos of his journalist sandwich.

With that much damage to their lungs, the women couldn’t scream very much, but they could cough, gurgle, wriggle, and bleed as Verumcidar took bite after bite – a big, juicy mouthful of the reporter’s sweet thigh, then one of the camerawoman’s breasts to follow it. After minutes of this, he took both of their heads in one satisfied chomp, crunching the skulls and savoring their brains before finishing off the bodies.

Stacy couldn’t take her eyes away the entire time. She watched the two women squirm, and orgasm over and over, and then die and disappear forever into the dragon’s insides.

Every day of the trial, at least one woman died – some screaming in helpless climaxes, some in helpless agony, but they all died just the same. Members of the audience, reporters, a law student who was only attending to get a little practical trial experience.

It was an understatement to say that her head was not in the game, and perhaps no surprise that the jury – Verumcidar included – did not take long to decide that the deceased women had intentionally put themselves in danger, violated the terms of the devouring insurance, and their beneficiaries would receive no payment. Rather, over Stacy’s objections, the plaintiffs would be paying the costs of the insurance company’s defense, and the judge flatly said that Stacy herself was lucky not to be sanctioned for her improper strike and for bringing such a frivolous case.

“It was not frivolous,” she said to herself angrily as she stomped out of the courtroom in her high heels, pencil skirt tight around her hips. “That stupid fucking cumdump and her stupid fucking exhibitionistic video. . .”

She was happy to be getting out of Dodge, though. With the verdict in, almost anyone in the courtroom was fair game. Before she left, she heard the crowd of plaintiffs squealing as Verumcidar advanced on them.

“It’s nothing to be worried about, my dears,” he’d said consolingly. “Your loved ones may be gone, but they aren’t forgotten – I can tell you personally that a dragon never forgets a tasty treat! And they gave their bodies willingly, as you saw, to serve a higher purpose.”

“Willingly my ass,” Stacy growled, remembering the Asian girl’s screams as she was dismembered on video. The last thing Stacy had seen through the closing courtroom door was Verumcidar's jaws engulfing that particular bimbo’s mother, a pleasantly stacked fortysomething who should have raised her idiot daughter better.

Now, the only thing Stacy wanted was to get back to the relative safety of her apartment while Verumcidar was busy teaching her former clients a lesson about the order of things and the relative positions of dragons and women.

She was almost to her car, heels clacking on the pavement of the parking garage, when she heard the echoing sound of his gargantuan breath.

“Pleasure meeting you here again, Ms. McGuire,” Verumcidar said from behind her. Somehow his soft voice seemed different here, in the cavernous garage, and Stacy’s skin prickled as she remembered her teenage fantasy of being a princess in a dragon’s cave.

“I trust there are no hard feelings about anything?” he said, coiling forwards and putting his enormous body between Stacy and her car. “I do hate it when you little mouthfuls get upset with us. We’re only trying to help, you know.”

Stacy’s spine was crackling with panicky electricity, and she hated how wet her pussy was.

“Help like you helped that poor dumb bitch’s mom?” she squeaked out.

“I happen to particularly like Japanese women,” Verumcidar admitted, spreading his claws in a gesture of helplessness. “Especially mothers. They’re so soft and tender, and it’s simply exquisite to eat a mother and her daughter together. You can’t imagine the noises they make!”

“I don’t want to imagine, thank you very much!” Stacy managed to say. “How did we even get here? If it wasn’t for global warming, or microplastics, or whatever the hell else caused that god damned fertility shift. . .”

Verumcidar’s teeth shone in a smile that seemed oddly catlike. “Whatever caused it, indeed. Quite a mystery.”

Stacy trembled at the sensation of his claw on her shoulder, an almost tender touch, and at the implications of what he was saying.

He leaned in close, and she shuddered, breath coming faster and faster, her thighs shivering, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

When Verumcidar’s tongue snaked up her skirt and teasingly probed her panty-covered pussy, the orgasm hit her so hard that her knees buckled, and it was only his grip on her shoulders that kept her from falling as he gently guided her to the floor.

When she opened her eyes, long minutes later, he was gone.

***

Weeks later, Stacy still hadn’t recovered completely. The weight of her new knowledge was a constant distraction, and the things she had seen at that trial had brought back her youthful fantasies with a vengeance. Every night she was humping herself into a shameful climax on a dragon-shaped dildo, fantasizing about what might have happened to her in that parking garage.

The gift basket arrived at her personal address. It was mostly ordinary – chocolates, wine – except for the centerpiece, the severed head of a pretty blonde, her face still contorted in orgasmic terror. The letter the blonde held in her mouth was on a strange, rough paper, and Stacy’s hands shook as she opened it.

The cursive script was in a bold but restrained hand, somewhat larger than usual for a human.

Dear Ms. McGuire,

Please accept my gratitude for the most fun I have had in years – decades, even. I very much enjoyed making your acquaintance, and of course it is always flattering to give a woman a climax that literally knocks her off her feet. I would be delighted if you could join me this Friday at 8:00 PM for a casual dinner at my residence.

If you bring a friend or two, I imagine you yourself might pass an enjoyable evening, and wake refreshed and alive in the morning. I can’t say the same for your guests, naturally, but that is the order of things nowadays.

I eagerly await your response.

Your friend,

Verumcidar.