Respectfully Disagree, but counter proposal for "Straight Shota Guro":
Adult Women getting fucked and killed by young shotas
lets be real, we're fine with both.
But I do kinda want the second one a bit more.
It might not be Your cut of tes, But some of us want the first.
"So, what do we have today?", Maggie McClellan mumbled to herself as she slipped on a pair of surgical gloves. As the sole forensic pathologist in the isolated Manassas county morgue, she usually dealt with corpses alone, which suited her just fine. Dealing with stiffs was her specialty after all.
Maggie pulled the zipper down on the body bag, revealing the face of a young boy. She stopped abruptly, shock running through her body. Her 14 year old nephew Jamie stared up at her, his blue eyes dull and unseeing.
Those eyes triggered memories. Maggie felt nausea as she remembered their secret moment deep in the woods last month. How Jamie had slowly undressed, his firm, toned body slick with sweat from the summer heat. His unkempt black bangs framing a blushing face as his eyes lustfully roamed over her own nude body. Then, the sensation of warm skin to skin contact, his tongue exploring her mouth, the feeling of his pounding heart against her chest, and his stiff cock rubbing on her thigh. Maggie had gotten to her knees, had unzipped his jeans, pulled down his briefs, had taken his dick into her mouth, savored the heat and the adorable noises coming from her nephew as he had his first blowjob.
With shaking fingers, she hurriedly unzipped the rest of the bag, revealing the dead body to the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights. Jamie lay on his back, clad in nothing but boxers, his skin pale, with reddish-purple splotches in his extremities. Livor mortis had set in, and as she pinched and prodded the body, she could tell Jamie still retained primary flaccidity. Along with his flesh still retaining warmth, she estimated that the boy had died recently, within 2-3 hours.
Looking around, she had an inkling as to how. His neck featured signs of severe trauma, bruising and indentation commonly seen in strangulation and hangings, and he sported a raging terminal erection that bulged against his grey boxer briefs. Maggie pulled the underwear down to Jamie's knees, letting his penis spring free. The boy was uncircumcised (which she already knew), but his tip was exposed due to the priapism. She noted the presence of prostatic fluid discharge from the head. This had all the signs of a hanging suicide.
As she catalogued his body, Maggie began to feel something she knew was immoral. Even more immoral than banging her nephew in the forest.
She put down her notebook and slowly slipped out of her pants. She knew, as the only forensic pathologist of a poor, rural community that the security camera they had installed in the corpse room was out of commission. She knew that no one else would touch this body aside from the undertaker. She knew that as this was early in the morning, and with the door being locked, that no one would come in and disturb her.
"Forgive me, Jamie", she whispered in the boy's ear. Maggie slipped one hand into her pussy and began to furiously rub away as she opened her mouth and began to lick the boy's engorged member. She bowed down, sucking on Jamie's cock deeper, sliding her tongue along his shaft as she neared orgasm. Unlike their encounter in the forest, Jamie's cock now was cold and dry. Maggie stopped at the edge, kissed the tip and clambered on top of the corpse. With careful precision, she crouched and slid the boy's penis into her slit. Rhythmically, she pumped up and down, looking down on the slack face of her nephew, his eyes staring blankly past her. She came furiously, moaning in pleasure as she sank down, laying her head on the boy's chest. His skin was cool to the touch now, time having inched away during her examination and brief flirt with necrophilia. Maggie knew she had crossed some major boundaries. This was a secret she was going to take to the grave.
FUCKING AMAZING! Do more!!!
Fun With Magic
"This is bad, Matthias", the boy groaned to himself.
It had been a month since he had escaped from the estate, and two days since his cache of stolen food had run out. He was starving and freezing, and he was desperate. This place was inhospitable compared to his village down south, in the warm and welcoming Uchitonne strait. His ears perked up as he heard the trudging of a traveler coming down the snow laden path. The boy readied himself, adrenaline pumping through his system.
Margaret the witch sighed as a bandit jumped out of the bushes and blocked her path. This would be her 4th time getting held up in as many months along this route. "Give me your coins, bitch!", the kid yelled, waving his poorly maintained, rusty sword at her. She slowly unhooked her purse from her belt and threw it at his feet.
As the tall, slim boy leaned over to pick it up, Margaret drew her wand out of its scabbard and muttered a cutting spell. She waved her wand at the boy with a flourish, and before his astonished eyes could make sense of her actions, a thin, shining white thread emanated from the tip and settled around Matthias's neck. She jerked the wand back, decapitating the boy instantly. The headless body, freed from its connection to a brain, crumpled to the ground. Steam rose as hot pressurized blood squirted out and met cold winter air. The head tumbled forward, blood splattering the pure white snow.
Margaret leaned over and plucked her purse out of the boy's limp hands. She fixed it back on her belt and got to her knees, rummaging through the boy's pockets. She found nothing of value. How typical, she thought. The witch pulled the boy's trousers down, revealing his pelvis and cock. A brand and number were burned on his tan flesh. "The Parkerson Estate", she exhaled. The biggest slavedealers in the capital, and people who wouldn't be happy about one of their products being killed. She picked up the head and wiped away the bloody slush and mud. His eyes stared emptily past her. The witch guessed that the boy was about 12, judging by the traces of baby fat lining his cheeks, and the lack of facial hair. It was a bit of a pity, the kid was pretty cute.
An idea popped up in her head. An idea that could only work if it was done soon, very soon, before the body got too cold. It was very immoral, she thought. That was all the excuse she needed.
Matthias woke up with a pounding headache. He blinked twice and tried to turn his head, only to find out he couldn't. There was something weird, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Speaking of which, he couldn't feel his feet, or legs, or arms, or hands. "Back from the dead?"
A woman's voice broke through his mental fog.
Then, he remembered. He remembered the traveler, him pulling out his sword, leaning over to pick up a purse, then a blinding white light and burning pain around his neck. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. He felt uneasy, there was something very wrong here.
"I've cast a reanimation spell on your body, which means you have about 5 minutes of life left before I run out of mana", the woman stated. "Just long enough to give you some fun before you die".
A hand grabbed him by his hair, and the world swung around. He saw a headless body tied to a tree trunk. His headless body, which was naked, covered in blood and sporting a raging erection. He opened his mouth to scream. The woman put him down and walked over to the body. She knelt down and began suck on the dick, taking it deep into her throat. Despite his fear, Matthias also felt arousal. Margaret ran her tongue along his stiff shaft, savoring the taste of Matthias's sweat. The dick was hot, and pulsed as if there was still blood being pumped into it. Suddenly, it twitched and burst, shooting a thick wad of cum into her throat. She pulled back, coughing and wiping strings of semen from her lips. Margaret turned around and picked up Matthias's head. The boy widened his eyes as she kissed him, her jizz covered tongue pushing deep into his mouth, where his tongue pushed back. His first real kiss, he thought, dazed. Margaret kept their lips locked until she felt his tongue go still, and saw the light go out in his eyes. She pulled out of the kiss, and looked over at the body. The erection was gone now, and the skin was already looking pale.
Margaret dropped the head, letting it fall face first into the half frozen mud of the forest floor.
She slipped back into her trousers and pulled up her pack. She bade farwell to the body and resumed her journey.
Nice and fun stories.
To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day. She rode a white horse, wore a threadbare duster coat, and a stetson cocked at a rakish angle. Her blonde hair was cut short and boyish, and her blue eyes seemed to pierce through to the very soul of anyone who looked at her face. She hardly spoke to folks around her, and most folks kept a wide berth, wary as they were about most strangers. Behind her back, they whispered about the busty blonde, that she was an outlaw on the run.
Perhaps the most notable aspect about her was the huge handcannon she kept in a holster on her hip. It was unlike most firearms used by the lawmen of the region, a custom job that mated a Single Action Army frame to a Colt 1860 backstrap, grip, and with a long barrel taken from a rifle. Its polished nickel gleamed in the blazing New Mexico sun. Townspeople took to calling it the "Big Iron", and it never left the stranger's side.
The stranger tied her horse up to a post outside the general store and sauntered over to the jail. She stopped in front of a wanted poster, her brow furrowed.
WANTED: TEXAS RED
A photo portrait of a young boy glared back at her, his freckled face twisted into a sneer.
ON 20 COUNTS OF MURDER
$20,000 PRIZE ALIVE
$10,000 PRIZE DEAD
"That kid has been making a mess of this town for 3 months now, and people are starting to pack up and leave". The stranger looked up from the poster. The sheriff stood there, his hands on his hips, a limp, unlit cigarillo hanging between his lips. "S'pose I can see you're credentials"? The stranger pulled open her duster, revealing a shiny badge pinned on her vest. The sheriff narrowed his eyes. "Arizona is a damn far distance from New Mexico", he said, before shrugging. "But then again, I want this punk taken care of before he causes more damage". The Arizonan Ranger smiled, and asked him for the last known whereabouts of the young outlaw. The Sheriff pointed at a point in the map, on the far outskirts of the town, then grabbed her arm. "Listen, don't let your guard down. The kid is only 12, but he's already put people twice his age deep in the ground. He gets people to underestimate him, and that's what makes him dangerous". The Ranger nodded, slightly annoyed by the Sheriffs insistent tone. She mounted her horse and kicked her spurs, trotting away at a brief pace.
The Ranger found Texas Red easily enough, as the boy had brazenly set up camp on the banks of the Santa Fe river. She had rode her horse along the river until she spotted the column of smoke from a wood fire. The Ranger dismounted, grabbing her Winchester '94 and enough rope to hogtie the outlaw. Slowly, she crept through the sagebrush until she had a good view of the camp. To her surprised delight, Texas Red was bathing in the river, far from his revolvers.
The Ranger got up and walked down into the camp, keeping her lever action trained on the back of Texas Red. She grabbed the boys revolvers, two Schofields in the Wells-Fargo style, and stuffed them in her pack. "Texas Red, this is the law!", she yelled, her deep, husky voice echoing across the land. The boy turned, and slowly raised his hands. The Ranger felt something stir in her heart. Texas Red was disarmingly cute, no doubt helped by his tender age. There was his young face, still soft with traces of childhood. His red hair was long and unkempt, and kept in two rough braids, with bangs covering half his face. He was still young enough that he had yet to grow pubic hair. It was clear outlaw living had kept him in shape, as his body was toned and firm, with not a trace of chub to be seen. Her eyes focused on his penis. The boy was hung like a horse. She blushed as Texas Red walked out of the river, not a hint of shame crossing his face.
The Ranger took her rope and tied Texas Red's hands and feet together. She whistled for her horse, and took Texas Red to it. She pushed him up and on to the back of her horse, still soaking wet and nude, and got onto her saddle, taking the reins and spurring her horse on back to town. "Ma'am, what'll they do once they take me in?" the boy asked quietly. "They'll probably hang you from the gallows", she answered "A long drop can be quite merciful if done properly". A silence followed as they rode.
The sun was just beginning to slip behind the horizon, soaking the land in a pinkish orange when the Ranger announced her intent to establish a camp to rest at. She took her horse off the track and got off, taking her blanket roll and camp supplies out of her saddle bag.
Soon enough, she had a fire started and had rolled out her blanket. In a spontaneous act of generosity, she had carried Texas Red off her horse and set him beside the camp fire to warm up, still tightly restrained.
As the Ranger stared at the fire, Red spoke.
"Ma'am, I don't wish to die a virgin." She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. "Consider it my last wish?", he asked, his tone subdued. She sighed, and nodded.
The Ranger stood and stripped off her clothes, revealing a taut, muscular body with large, firm breasts. She was covered in scars from knife wounds, gunshots, and powder burns. Much like her close cropped hair, her pubes were a neat, triangular patch of blonde.
Her hands grabbed Red's legs and pulled them apart to reveal his throbbing erection. Never mind the 6 inches, it now stood straight and proud, and was as long as her Big Iron. The Ranger pulled his foreskin down and placed her pussy on the tip of his cock. Texas Red grunted as her now moist pussy slid down and enveloped his cock. The Ranger felt the rock hard member punch deep inside her and breathed in.
Slowly, she began to ride him up and down, increasing her pace as time passed. Soon enough, Texas Red was nearing the edge of climax. He moaned, his voice cracking in that peculiar early adolescent way, and his pelvis lifted up, pushing his dick as deep into the Ranger's insides as possible. He came explosively, gasping as he shot a long spurt of cum into his captor's pussy. The Ranger came at roughly the same time, and she collapsed on top of Texas Red, his dick plopping out of her slit, strings of thick white cum dribbling onto the blanket. They lay there together for an hour, exhausted and sweaty.
The Ranger slowly drifted off to sleep, but Texas Red was already formulating an escape plan. As the woman snored, he slowly began to rub his ropes against a particularly sharp rock outcrop. Half an hour later, he was rewarded in his efforts as the rope fell away from his wrists. The boy undid the ropes around his ankles and threw them away. Slowly, he crept around the still form of the Ranger and began to rummage through her pack for his revolvers.
Just as his hands wrapped around the grip of one of his precious Schofields, he heard the sharp click of a revolver hammer being drawn back. "Step away from the bag, hands up", the Ranger intoned. "Fuck, the bitch was just pretending to sleep!". Impulsively, he grabbed the revolver and twirled around. It would be the last thing he would do. A thunderous roar, and an enormous fireball erupted from the barrel of the Big Iron the Ranger was wielding. The .45 Colt round ripped through the center of his chest and the boy dropped like a sack of potatoes.
The Ranger walked over to the gasping, coughing kid. A large, ragged hole spilled bright red blood out onto the dust and dirt. Texas Red was not long for this world. She cocked the hammer again and pointed it at the boy's face. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, turning away. A sob of fear and pain escaped his lips, and tears flowed down his cheeks. The revolver thundered once more, and his prefrontal cortex was turned to pulp, 12 years of memories sprayed across the camp site. His body twitched, his one remaining eye staring straight ahead at the camp fire, its orange glow reflected in his dilated pupil. The Ranger pressed her foot against his torso and pushed, rolling the body over onto his back. The boy's cock was still fully erect, and as the Ranger watched, a final discharge of prostate fluid erupted from the penis head.
She uttered a curse. A whole 10 grand was lost because the dumb little shit decided to shoot it out with her. The Ranger rummaged through her pack, took out her knife and knelt beside the dead boy. Grunting, she sawed away at his neck until her blade scraped against the spinal column. The Ranger placed the bloodied knife on the ground and wrenched at the head, hearing sick cracks until it abruptly separated. She placed the head beside the body, picked up the knife, and placed the tip at the base of the still rock-hard penis. A few thrusts and slices, and the member came off too. She pried open Texas Red's jaw and stuffed the cock into his mouth. A final insult to dignity. She threw the head into her pack and went back to sleep. The 10,000 from bringing him back dead would have to do.
I propopse something hotter, shots fucking women, preferably their mothers and killed together with them! Will you do this?
What an amazing story. Perfect western style and such a clever plot. The only problem is that it's too short. We must have more. Here's an alternate ending to give us more to read about these two. It might not be as good an ending, but it's better than just letting the story stop.
Slowly she began to ride him up and down, increasing her pace. The bulging veins of his smooth young shaft rubbed against the sides of her slick pussy, and soon Texas Red was nearing the edge of climax. He moaned, his voice cracking in that peculiar early adolescent way, and his pelvis lifted up, pushing his dick as deep into the Ranger's insides as possible. He came explosively, gasping as he shot a long spurt of cum into his captor's pussy.
The Ranger came at the same time, her tight body tensing, muscles pulling tight as she squeezed his enormous cock, then she groaned in pleasure and collapsed on top of Texas Red. Her breasts were hot and swollen with excitement as they pressed against his face. His dick plopped out of her slit, strings of thick white cum dribbling onto the blanket.
The boy blushed hotly and scowled as he lay as still as possible and waited, his semi-hard dick feeling wet and cold in the night air. Once he was sure that she was asleep, he very slowly slid one hand free from the ropes. He had been slowly loosening his hands during the ride, and now he very carefully reached toward the Ranger's gun.
Just as he wrapped his little fingers around the butt of the huge weapon he froze. He felt the icy touch of sharp metal against his dick.
"Don't even think about it, kid."
Texas Red shivered and looked up to see the Ranger's hard blue eyes staring back down at him.
"I've got a knife against that little dick of yours and all it takes would be a little twitch to cut the damned thing clean off."
"Ma'am, please, I'm sorry," he stammered, "I didn't mean anything. You wouldn't cut a little boy. I've got so much to live for!"
"A dick's not going to do you any good at the end of a rope."
"No, wait! Please!" Tears filled his eyes and then poured down his cheeks, "I don't want to lose my dick!"
The Ranger stared down into his terrified eyes and carefully took the pressure off her knife. "I hope you've learned your lesson, kid. If you're lucky, I might even fuck you again before you hang."
She felt the tip of Big Iron jab into her side and the boy suddenly grinned hugely and laughed.
"Now what're you going to do, stupid? If you try to cut my dick, I'll blow you away. Adults are always so stupid, always thinking they're in charge. I'd have to be pretty stupid to let someone cut off my big dick."
"What a damned waste," growled the Ranger.
The cold blade slid smoothly through the boy's skin and split his moist dick from his body.
Texas Red shrieked and flailed. His hand clenched around the gun but the trigger refused to squeeze with the safety on.
The Ranger rolled off him and knocked the gun from his hand with a sharp kick. Both his hands went straight for his crotch as he screamed and blood dribbled between his fingers.
"My dick! My fucking dick!" he wailed as he spotted the pale tube of flesh bleeding on the blanket. "I'll kill you, bitch!"
The Ranger reached for her gun and the boy turned to run. He scrambled barefoot into the desert, holding his bleeding stump with both hands.
"Little idiot," growled the Ranger, "Don't you dare get yourself killed."
She disabled the safety on her gun and ran naked into the night to track him down.
Texas Red was scrambling up a rocky cliff. He looked over his shoulder and spotted her bare skin shining in the moonlight as she followed.
"You think I'm through, don't ya? Just because I lost my dick doesn't mean I can't still kill people. I'll get you and I'll get everyone who comes after me, just like I always have!"
"Be careful you stupid kid!"
His eyes were blurry with tears and his belly throbbed with pain as he stumbled through the rocks.
"I'm Texas Red and I never lose!" he yelled, and then he screamed as his foot got caught between two rocks and twisted. He tumbled down the cliff, his body smashing against countless rocks, his arms and legs snapping like twigs.
The Ranger found him at the bottom of the cliff. He was gasping for air and coughing up blood.
"There goes 10 grand, you idiot."
"Please," he croaked, staring up at her naked body and twitching, "I want my dick back. Please, give it…"
She poked his dead body with her foot and then shook her head. "Looks like neither of us get what we want today, kid."
Alex didn't have a last name. None of the clones did. Technically, Alex wasn't even Alex, but Manufactured Biped D-4465919, a product of the Shinnasaki megacorp. One wouldn't know from just looking at him though. He was, by all biological terms, a human male adolescent of about 13. The genetic material used to grow him in the BioVats was taken from a boy of Mediterranean and East Asian heritage, which gave Alex a dark skinned, exotic look, accentuated by his curly mop of raven hair, sharp green eyes, and slim physique. The only thing that separated him from a normal boy was the QR code tattooed onto the back of his neck, and the short range RF chip embedded into his skull.
Clones, male and female, were the backbone of the global economy. Used in every industry from construction to entertainment, they were often rented from the megacorps that grew them, fed them, and clothed them. Once a clone that was grown for a certain industry reached a certain age, they were disposed of by dedicated "clone snuffers" in specialized processing facilities. Even in death, the megacorps profited. Dead bodies were sold to medical schools for autopsy, their organs were harvested to supply hospital stockpiles, and their flesh, skin, and bone ground up for animal feed.
Today was disposal day for about 200 young male clones. Alex was among them. He was a "pleasure" model, grown for the sex industry, which meant his usefulness extended only up to the point where he retained his youthful androgyny. He had started to grow muscles, and pubic hair. His voice had lost its sweet high pitch, cracking like any typical adolescent. Puberty was why he was standing on the gallows along with 49 other boys, nooses around their necks and buck naked.
With a thunderous clatter, the trapdoors on the large gallows dropped open. Alex felt his stomach flip as he dropped. He opened his mouth to scream, then promptly bit the tip of his tongue off as the noose jerked tight. It was over in an instant, with the long drop and the specially designed noose knots causing fatal cervical fractures in every single boy. The woman in charge of the gallows walked underneath the platform, admiring the forest of limp young legs.
Gunfire rattled through the tall, winding apartment blocks of the old city. Benjamin panted as he ran, only looking back to squeeze off a few panicked bursts from his handgun. The enemy was not far behind, and the volume of gun fire directed at the young boy soldier only increased with every minute. As he ran through the rubble of the street, Benjamin spotted the burned out hulk of a pickup truck and dove behind the engine block, the whip cracks of bullets zipping over his head keeping him cowering behind the truck.
Sgt. Yorke adjusted the scope on her rifle, and centred the reticle on the head of the brown haired punk. Her spotter, Cpl. Huston, called out distance, wind speed, and elevation in her husky Texan accent. "600, 1/2 right, reference stop light, 10 meters, 1 o’clock. red truck, right behind the hood". Yorke steadied herself, her right eye focused on the mop of brown hair bobbing around. The kid peeked up from behind the truck, his fresh face filling her scope view. He looked scared, his eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights.
"Send it", Huston whispered. Yorke exhaled, and pulled the trigger, feeling it break crisply. The gun gave a gentle shove to her shoulder as the .338 Lapua round flew out of the barrel, its thunderous roar echoing throughout the city block.
Almost abruptly, the gunfire had stopped. Benjamin stayed put for 5 minutes, checking and rechecking the ammo left in his pistol before he worked up the courage to take a look down the street. As he surveyed the dusty scene, the hairs on the back of his neck pricked. He had the strong sense of someone watching him. His eyes darted around, checking each shattered window and jarred open door. The boy turned around, standing up to a half crouch, unwittingly exposing himself to the very deadly pair nestled on the 60th floor of a highrise located down the street.
The bullet from Sgt. Yorke penetrated the small of his back and punched out his stomach, tearing open a grapefruit sized hole in his firm, toned abdomen. Benjamin twirled around as he fell, propelled by the sheer impact force from the snipers bullet. His blood sprayed from the wound, splattering the asphalt with crazed patterns. The boy turned himself over, looking in shock and horror at the mangled remains of his stomach. As bright red blood squirted from the jagged ruin of flesh, his intestines slipped out, pink and purple gray, a shimmering sliminess coating the tubes as they encountered the mid day sun. Benjamin placed one blood slick hand on the concrete and his other on the handle of the truck door as he tried and failed to pick himself up. The bullet mushroomed as it entered his body, and a chunk had managed to sever the connection between his spine and his legs, rendering him crippled. The unfortunate child soldier slid down, desperately trying to make his mortally wounded body move itself, fearfully sobbing as he desperately pushed his warm insides back into his stomach cavity.
By the time Yorke and Huston had moved down to street level to confirm their kill, Benjamin had passed away, dead from severe distributive shock. "The little shit couldn't even last long enough to give us some fun", Huston remarked with a disappointed expression. Yorke gave a monotone grunt in agreement. Huston shrugged and knelt down, placing her rifle at her side. She brushed away the messy locks covering Benjamin's face, and felt a shiver of excitement. The kid was cute, large brown eyes (now half lidded and dull), a smattering of freckles on his soft baby fat cheeks, full lips, chapped and flecked with blood and saliva.
The two women picked up the corpse, Huston grabbing the legs and Yorke the hands. The pair dragged it over to the shade and shelter of a nearby hotel reception. Huston and Yorke had managed to make a reputation of themselves among members of their battalion for their bloodthirsty ways. They had only escaped being penalized due to the increasing casualties on their side, as well as their extreme effectiveness as a sniper team.
Their practice was, every time they made a kill, the pair would strip the body naked, mutilate it, and pose with it, snapping plenty of pictures. Huston undid the straps holding Benjamin's plate carrier and pulled it away, as Yorke took her combat knife out from its sheath and sliced open the front of Benjamin's blood stained shirt. Huston focused her attention on the dead boy's stained jeans, unzipping the fly and pulling it down, revealing his urine stained low rise white briefs. The spotter noticed a rather large bulge, and with a smile hooked her fingers underneath the elastic waistband and slipped the briefs down, revealing a semi-turgid erection, the cock head glistening with precum. "Looks like our high value target was feeling a little excitement", she joked as Yorke looked over with sudden intense interest. Huston looked away, grabbed her camera and turned back, only to see Yorke on her knees, head bobbing as she took Benjamin's dick in her mouth.
Yorke was a woman of few words, and many actions, some of them impulsive to the extreme. Performing fellatio on the fresh killed corpse of a young adolescent was one of her craziest, a thought that occurred even to her. As Huston watched speechlessly (a rare event in its own right), Yorke's hands gently pulled down Benjamin's foreskin, flicking her tongue around the head. As she cleaned the precum and piss, her hands cupped the boy's testicles. She closed her eyes, slowed down her tempo and pressed her lips around the penis shaft, lowering her head down until her nose tickled the scratchy tuft of pubic hair crowning Benjamin's crotch. The sniper took one hand and slipped it underneath her bike shorts, moaning as she furiously masturbated. Yorke came, a single gasp slipping from her lips. With a pop, she pulled away, savoring the bitter taste of the deceased boy's bodily fluids. Yorke wiped her mouth and lay on her back, her head resting on her backpack.
Huston snapped away, her own right hand shlicking as she witnessed her friend's necrophiliac blowjob. The large Texan woman let loose a loud rebel yell as she achieved her own orgasm, falling on her back as she rode the bliss of climax. The two lay panting on the reception floor, separated by Benjamin's limp body. The pair looked at each other and smiled. This was a kill to remember. "Next one we kill, I'll let you do the honours", Yorke offered. Huston nodded, grinning as she replied back "I hope the next one is as cute as this one". The two laughed, their bond strengthened.
Pole Hanging for Science
Melissa flicked the switch on, flooding the basement with light as the CFL lamps buzzed with energy. It was bare, save for a single pole, a motorized winch, a drain, and a shivering young boy.
The kid had his arms tied behind his back, and his feet tied together. He wore only his jeans, his chest exposed to the elements. There was tape wrapped around his mouth, muffling his cries. He looked up at Melissa, his blue eyes wide with fear.
Melissa dropped the duffel bag she was carrying, knelt down and zipped it open. Rummaging through the bag, she took out a videocamera, a tripod and a several foot long line of rope. She set the camera up to face the pole, and switched it on. "The purpose of this video will be to show the physiological reactions of induced asphyxiation to an adolescent male", she explained to the camera.
Melissa turned her back to the camera and walked over to the boy.
"Specimen number one, caucasian male, age 14", she spoke as she grabbed the struggling lad and dragged him over to the pole. "Weight 110 lbs, height 5'3" Melissa continued as she grabbed the rope and quickly tied together a noose, which she promptly pulled over the kid's head, tightening the knot under his jaw. The boy closed his eyes and gave a muffled sob, tears running down his flushed, freckled cheeks.
Melissa took the loose end of the noose and pulled it through a hole drilled into the top part of the pole. She pulled it down and attached it to the winch. She gave it a hard tug for reassurance. The rope held tight.
She walked back to the boy and crouched beside him. With an uncharacteristic warmth, she gently ruffled his shaggy mop of brown hair. "Shhhh, don't be afraid" she cooed in his ear as he continued to whine through the tape. "You're giving your life to science, to a good cause". He shook his head frantically. Melissa placed a hand on his chest, savouring the strong, rhythmic beating of his heart. Such a strong, young body, it was almost a shame to end it. She rose to her feet and returned to the winch. Placing a finger on the power button, she breathed in, and pressed down.
The winch hummed as it turned on and began to pull the rope. The noose caught the boy's neck and tightened, causing his eyes to bulge as he was raised up the pole. Melissa waited until the boy was at the top before she turned the winch off. The room was silent again, save for the muffled grunts and squeaks coming from the slowly strangling teen.
Melissa watched, fascinated as the boy squirmed at the end of the rope. His firm stomach rose and fell, his ribcage visible underneath taut skin. Sweat poured off his twisting torso and limbs. Slowly, his face turned red.
There was something oddly sexual about the whole thing, she thought to herself. Her hand slipped underneath her skirt and began to rub as the boy brought his slim legs up to his chest and kicked furiously, his hands struggling to reach his neck.
Minutes passed and slowly the struggles began to die down. His face was now purple, with blood flowing down from his nostrils and dripping off his chin. A wet stain spread from his crotch down to the legs of his jeans as his bladder relaxed.
Melissa cautiously got up close and placed a hand on his chest. His heartbeat was faint, but still there, although she could tell he didn't have much longer left in him. Melissa undid his belt and zipped open his fly. She hooked her fingers around the belt loops and pulled his jeans down, revealing his urine soaked briefs. She pulled those down too, and exposed the boy's penis to the camera.
It was semi-erect, and she pulled back his foreskin, revealing the bulbous head. Melissa placed the tip against her lips and gave it a smooch, ignoring the acrid smell. A strangled groan emerged from the boy's throat. His penis twitched and pulsed as he grew fully erect. The cock stood up, curved and proud. Amazing, she thought to herself again, even on the brink of death, he still responds to stimulation to his genitals.
She reached up and ripped away the tape around his mouth, closed her eyes and opened wide, her hands pulling his member down into her mouth. Determined to get another reaction, she massaged his balls as she sucked and slid her tongue up and down his shaft. His feet weakly kicked against her chest as she continued sucking, until finally he came for the last time in his short life. Cum burst into her mouth as he emptied his balls. His eyes rolled up into the back of his sockets as he expired, a final gasp rattling past his blue, oxygen starved lips.
Melissa pulled back, wiping her mouth with her shirtsleeve as the boy went limp. She turned back and spoke once more. "Subject number one has finally died, T-plus 12 minutes from initial hanging". She turned and gave the hanging body a pat on the back.
Keep it in the Family
The headsman bowed as the two prisoners ascended the stairs and paused in front of him. "Good morning to you both", he rumbled in a deep baritone, before extending his arm and pointing it at the guillotine set up on the platform. "Now, if your highness can place yourself and your son onto the bascule and place your necks on the lunette, I'll be able to secure you comfortably", he continued.
Her royal highness, the former Queen of the Kingdom of Selarnia, Astrid Wolfgang Von Eisernborn nodded gracefully, her silky blonde hair (cut short to enable a clean slice) gleaming under the mid day sun. She was, despite her 40 years of age, a stunning beauty. Shapely, a large bust that strained underneath her simple gown, with a bit of fat filling out her form, just how the headsman liked his women. He strategically placed his gloved hands above his crotch to hide his erection and furtively looked away. Motion caught his eye, and he turned his head back to observe the second prisoner.
A young teen boy followed behind Astrid, his soft round face set in a grim expression. The crown prince, Astrid's only son, Peter Wolfgang Von Eisernborn had celebrated his 14th year just a month ago. He shared her mother's graceful looks and golden blonde hair, although not her calm temperament. His body was slim and pale, from a life of studious academics and limited physical training. The boy was dressed only in a pair of purple briefs, his upper torso and limbs exposed to the sweltering summer heat.
Astrid sat down on the bascule of the guillotine, swung her long, shapely legs over on top, and laid her head back until the nape of her neck touched the worn edge of the lunette. "Peter, come here", she spoke softly. Peter hurried over and laid himself chest down over his mother. The boy laid his head on Astrid's soft, sagging breasts and breathed in her musk. His pounding heart calmed down as Astrid raised her hands and rubbed her son's cheeks. "Steel yourself, Peter. A Von Eisernborn does not let imminent death make a coward of themselves", she whispered in his ear.
The headsman walked over to the guillotine and strapped the two prisoners together, his hands slipping and pulling leather straps tight across the mother-son pair. He locked the top half of the lunette over their necks and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Leaning over, he placed a hand on the lever that would drop the 15lb blade.
Astrid felt something poke her pelvis. Peter looked away, a furious blush reddening his cheeks. "My, my", she chuckled, despite the situation. "I forgot, my little Peter is a young man now". "Mother, please", the boy pleaded, a whine of embarrassment slipping into his voice. Astrid smiled and closed her eyes. "It is a mother's duty to relieve their son of anxiety", Astrid murmured as she began to shift herself back and forth, rubbing her son's boner against her soft tummy folds through his briefs. Peter began to softly pant as he felt his erection stiffen and twitch. The boy held his breath and started to shift his own body up and down. He was so close, just a little more…
The headsman pulled the lever, releasing the heavy blade of the guillotine to the forces of gravity. It slid down within a half second of activation, sliding through both royal necks with as much ease as a hot knife pulling through a pat of butter. Peter came just as the blade sliced through his spinal cord, cutting off his orgasm mid-groan. Astrid felt her son jerk, something hot and wet covered her face, before the blade also separated her head from her shoulders. The two heads tumbled into the basket placed in front of the guillotine while the two headless torsos shuddered, their limbs rigid. Blood pulsed in jets from the neck stumps and coated the decapitated heads of the former royal family, their faces slack and eyes half lidded. The crowd of peasants cheered as the headsman grabbed both heads by the hair and raised them out of the baskets and facing towards the crowd. He placed both on spears, to be displayed outside the city.
An hour after the execution, after the crowds had dispersed back home, the headsman dragged Peter's corpse off of the queen. Dumping it unceremoniously into a plain pine coffin, he surreptitiously looked around before reaching down and pulling the boys briefs off. Selling the clothes was a decent sidegig, depending on how well off the prisoner was. Peter's underwear was high quality indeed, with fine embroidery and patterns. The man sniffed the sticky stain on the crotch and made a face. That would require some washing. He placed the briefs into a bag and closed the lid on the coffin. Astrid was quite a bit heavier than her son, and the headsman grunted and struggled as he carelessly dragged her into her coffin. The gown was silk and also quite finely embroidered and dyed. The stains (of blood and other bodily excretions) were always a pain in the ass to clean, he thought as he closed her coffin lid and sat down on the bloodstained bascule. Already, he had bought up the idea of switching to the gallows, but the city council were opposed on the basis of financial matters.
Let me tell you a tale, dear.
The thought may horrify the more enlightened among us, but there are indeed certain isolated rural communities that still practice pagan rituals before every harvest cycle. I myself had the opportunity to witness one such event, many years ago. Oh, but it still comes to my mind, as fresh and as detailed as if I had attended only yesterday.
Now this village, which I shall not name, had been experiencing a very serious drought over the summer. The elders conversed with one another, and all had decided that the situation was serious enough to warrant adding a human life to the annual fall sacrifice festivities. This was a course of action that was rarely undertaken except for the most dire of emergencies. Among the elders, only 3 had ever experienced a human sacrifice themselves.
This sacrificial event was unusual in that it required the death of a young boy, unlike many others that used virginal maidens. The village elders chose their sacrifice by writing down the names of all the adolescent boys in the village on slips of vellum, throwing them into a clay pot, then letting the eldest amongst them draw the unlucky winner.
The boy was dragged out of bed and tied up as his parents sobbed and begged for mercy, to no avail. I was a wanderer back then, and happened to be travelling through the village the day of the sacrifice. I stopped to observe out of a morbid sense of curiosity.
The boy was dressed in only a loin cloth, his naked flesh rubbed in some sort of oil. He was quite handsome, in that boyish sort of way.
His flaxen hair was quite long, tied up in a pony tail. He had a wiry physique, lean and muscular, with his tanned forearms and legs contrasting with pale, creamy skin. I pegged him as being the son of a farmer, which was confirmed by one of the villagers who told me the boy was the youngest of four, from the family that tilled the land near to the mouth of the local river. "The poor lad is only 13", she told me, her face ashen.
They tied him to a post in the village square, placed a pot in front of him, and fed him many rich meats and pastries, which he dutifully took bites from.
As the festivities wound down, and the day turned to evening, the village chief announced the beginning of the sacrifice. Almost at once the village fell into a hushed silence. A beautiful older woman, who I was later told was the priestess of the village, walked up to the boy. She was wearing nothing but a face veil, her curvaceous form exposed for all to see. In her hands was a jar. She dipped a finger into the jar and scooped out a greenish goop, which she forcefully pushed into the boy's resisting lips. He finally opened up and swallowed the gunk. Half a minute passed, and the boy began to pant, his face flushed and sweating.
A low chanting began to emanate from the villagers. Unsettled, I looked back to the boy and noticed a large bulge tenting his loin cloth. The green goop was an aphrodisiac, and it had worked amazingly. The boy's penis stood up tall, almost bursting at the seams. The priestess knelt beside him and gently pulled the loin cloth down, exposing his erection to the world. She grasped his cock and began to massage it, jerking his foreskin back and forth in careful, precise movements. The boy moaned and gasped and as he reached the tipping point, the priestess increased the speed of her massages. Finally, he came, a thick white string of cum bursting forth and falling into the clay pot placed in front of him.
The boy groaned, exhausted and spent.
He didn't notice the priestess holding the small curved knife until it was at his throat. Before the boy had a chance to scream, the blade opened his neck up, left to right. It went deep too, and the priestess wrenched his head back until it was at a 45 degree angle from the rest of his body, letting the villagers and me see both arteries, the esophagus and a hint of the vertebrae.
The villagers stopped chanting and simply watched as the young lad squirmed and gurgled, fresh hot blood spurting and running down his bare chest and torso. His legs and arms pulled at his restraints, fingers flexed mindlessly as he bled out like a pig at the slaughter house. Picking up the bucket, the priestess placed it directly in front of the neck, catching the arterial spray while his heart pounded madly. It seemed like an hour, but it was only a minute before his body relaxed and slumped over, empty of life.
The priestess took the pot of cum and blood and poured its contents into the carved wooden vessel built specifically for this event. She placed the pot down and picked the vessel up, holding it up reverently. Their gods would feast on the soul and mortal fluids of the young boy, and in return the village would enjoy a prosperous harvest later.
Silently, the villagers shuffled past the slowly cooling corpse of the boy, each one ruffling his hair and murmuring a prayer as they passed. I made my way to the body and stood in front of him, thinking about the festival. A young boy ejecting his life seed while giving his life blood, in order to give life to the fields, it made a certain twisted sense. I knelt and pulled his head up. His brown eyes were wide open, his jaw slack. Coagulated blood crusted his chin and nose. Eyes are often referred to as gateways to the soul. I looked into those eyes and saw emptiness. No trace remained of his personality, his memories, only the blank stare of death.
The priestess visited me the next morning, as I made ready to leave. She gave me a small glass vial of reddish fluid. A gift from her gods, she said. It might give me life one day. I still have that vial somewhere, misplaced among all the other bits and pieces I've collected over the years.
Intro to Hanging 1100
"Now, as all of you know by now, our nation favors the short drop method of hanging when executing prisoners", the instructor stated. Rosa flipped open her notebook and began scribbling down some of the bullet points on the projector screen.
"Generally, when we hang a prisoner we use a hemp fiber rope, although other materials may be used to shorten or prolong the period of consciousness", the instructor droned on. Rosa felt her eyelids begin to dip as the presentation dragged on. She doodled noose types on the margins, tuning out the instructor until she heard something very interesting.
"…we have something special scheduled today, a practical lesson on hanging, courtesy of the J. Chandler Juvenile Detention Center". Rosa sat up straight, all drowsiness gone. She'd heard of this from upper classmen, every semester they would bring juvie offenders and let the students prep and hang them in the basement gallows complex. The door to the auditorium banged open and a tall, buff uniformed woman strode in, pulling a group of handcuffed, nude teenagers along with her.
The instructor shook the woman's hand and turned back to the class. "This is Wilma Friedhoff of the Juvenile Detention Center. Today, she'll be helping you all handle your prisoner." Wilma gave a cheerful little wave . "Thank y'all for havin' me here today!", she said in a twangy Texan drawl.
"I got 20 juvenile offenders here, enough for all of you, so come on down and I'll start assigning them."
Rosa got out of her chair and followed the rest of the class down to the auditorium floor. The prisoners were all made to stand in a line as Wilma handed each one off to a student, along with a sheet of paper listing each juvie's name and physical info. Each juvie was already restrained, with their hands cuffed behind their backs and their feet chained together. They also had a collar around their neck with a leash attached. Each time Wilma assigned a prisoner, she'd hand the leash off to the student who would inevitably yank it, catching a resentful glare from the unfortunate teen. By the time it was Rosa's turn, only a prisoner was left. Wilma grabbed the kid and shoved him forward into Rosa's arms, along with his info sheet. Rosa held the boy by the shoulder as she glanced at the sheaf of paper.
"Patrick O'Shea, 13 years old, attempted robbery", she read out loud. Patrick shrugged, "I woulda gotten away with it too, but some other dumbass had hit the place last week and the cops were waiting" he muttered. Rosa ignored him and continued on reading. "Height 4'7", weight 65 lbs, no known health issues". Rosa looked back at Patrick, who stared at her with a defiant look in his green eyes.
He had a lean, skinny phyique and pale white skin. His messy red hair was shoulder length. Rosa crouched and examined Patrick's dick and balls. Puberty had started to give him the beginnings of hair, and his cock was circumcised. "Lady, what the f-", the boy protested as she gave it a playful flick. She smiled as it twitched and began to grow. Patrick blushed and looked away as his penis quickly stood up, stiff as a rock.
The auditorium was now empty, save for Rosa and Enrique. Rosa licked her lips and got to her knees.
Slowly, she opened her mouth and placed Pat's hot, erect cock onto her tongue. Her hands fondled his balls and shaft as she licked his bellend. The boy gasped and groaned as she expertly pushed his dick deeper into her mouth, her soft lips enveloping his girth. "Ooh, shit", the boy moaned. Rosa pulled back, Patrick's penis popping out covered in saliva and precum while Rosa's hands massaged the member. Finally, it burst. Thick strings of cum splattered across Rosa's face and open mouth as Patrick shivered in orgasmic pleasure. Rosa got up and wiped the jizz off her face with a towelette from her purse as Patrick sat down, panting and covered in sweat. She didn't give the boy any time to rest however as she grabbed the collar leash and yanked it, pulling him to his feet as he protested.
The college, as part of its executioner's program, had a special basement room set up with tools of the trade. One of those tools was the automated gallows system, a high tech hanging device for the 21st century. A raised platform about 30 feet in length and 5 feet wide dominated the central space of the room. A table with a pile of rope was set off to one side. A trolley with a pile of body bags was set off to the other side. Her classmates had been busy while she was performing her "physical examination". The gallows was already filled with dangling bodies.
As the pair entered the room, Patrick stopped and stared, his jaw dropping open. Rosa turned back with sharp words forming on her tongue before she paused. The boy's eyes were wide with sudden fear. Hell of a time to realize you really are about to die, she thought. "C'mon, lets make it quick" she jerked on the leash again, pulling him over to the table. She selected a rope, quickly tied a noose and dropped it over his head. As she moved to pull him up the stairs, he began to struggle. "No, goddamit no!", he screamed. Wilma quickly ran over to assist Rosa as the college student wrestled with the panicking boy.
"Damn it, stay still would ya", Wilma grumbled as she picked him up, her arms wrapped around his chest, and carried him up the steps. He shook his head and pleaded with her, his voice cracking in terror. "Please, I'm sorry for everything, I don't want this", he cried, to no avail. Wilma got him to the top and lowered him down until his feet touched trapdoor, her iron grip keeping him from making a mad dash for freedom. Rosa followed right behind. The young woman grabbed the rest of the rope from the noose and threw it over the horizontal cross beam before pulling it down to the attachment point on the floor of the platform, where she tied it down. Wilma helpfully offered a black blindfold, which Rosa thankfully took and tied around Patrick's eyes.
Rosa stopped and admired her handiwork. The length of rope was short enough to ensure the boy wouldn't break his neck on the drop, the restraints were secure, and the blindfold set the piece. It looked like a good execution. "I'm scared", Patrick whispered in a quavering voice as Rosa leaned in to tighten the noose around his neck. "Just think nice thoughts, it'll be over soon", she responded, stepping away from the trapdoor and placing a hand on the lever.
Wilma gave a thumbs up, and Rosa yanked the lever back. Patrick screamed shrilly as the trapdoor clattered open, dropping him a few inches down.
The noose closed even tighter, cutting off the scream as the boy's weight pulled him down. Slowly, Patrick twirled around, his legs kicking and arms flexing as he tried desperately to reach the noose.
This phase only lasted for about 14 seconds before the boy went rigid. Fascinated by the strangling teen, Rosa stared intently, her notebook in hand. She quickly sketched Patrick's body as he pulled his legs up to his chest. This was the secondary convulsive phase, which would typically involve repeated movement of the limbs. Gurgling emanated from Patrick's throat as agonal respiration kicked in.
After that, Patrick went into decorticate posturing, his arms and legs twisting and contorting into awkward positions. This lasted about 2 minutes before the poor boy finally went limp.
As she finished her drawing, Rosa couldn't help but notice that Patrick sported a final stiffy during the course of his gallows dance. Of course, like any other sexually curious young woman Rosa had read of this rare event, but it was the first time she'd seen it in reality. She took a closer look and gasped when a twitch shivered through Patrick's legs. Rosa reached around Patrick's blindfold and pulled it down, revealing his closed eyes. His face was bright red, veins bulging on his forehead. A swollen tongue slightly pushed past his purple lips, a string of drool falling from the tip.
Later, she got her marks back. A solid B+, "Need to work on efficiency!" it said.
Can some make a story about a Woman strangling or Decapitating a Shota while he is still inside her?
Or about Women roaming around raping and dismembering shotas, like a reverse Juarez.
Mother and Daughter Effort
Mike and Lucy skipped into the living room, holding hands and giggling. Lucy's mother looked at the young pair and smiled as they ran up the stairs to Lucy's bedroom. Sara sighed and turned back to the pie she was filling. The sight of her sweet daughter coming home with a young boy brought to mind old memories of her own youth. As she placed an apple slice into the pastry, a darker smirk slipped across her face. The plan was going smoothly, the cult would be pleased by today's efforts.
Mike sat on Lucy's bed, his jaw dropped open as Lucy slipped off her t-shirt with a coquettish wink. Her budding breasts glistened with sweat from the summer heat. Leaning over, the girl zipped open her jean shorts, slipping them down to her ankles and stepping out of them. Her panties were pink and printed with hearts and unicorns. Mike felt his loins twitch as Lucy hooked her fingers under the waistband of her panties and slowly pulled them down.
"You like what you see?" she teased, her voice playful and also slightly breathless. She pulled the panties down and threw them to the corner, where the rest of her clothes lay. She twirled around, her naked body almost glowing as the late afternoon sun streamed through the room.
Lucy walked forward, a slender arm raised forward, her hand grasping Mike's shoulder as she pressed herself against him. She could feel his heart racing as she slipped in closer for a slow kiss. For a moment, they stayed embraced, both savoring each other's mouths and tongues rubbing against the other. Lucy felt something hard rub against her butt as she sat on Mike's lap and giggled.
Mike rolled over and pushed Lucy off, now determined to press forward in this pivotal moment in his young life. He undid his belt and quickly slipped out of his jeans, revealing a pair of red boxers tented by a raging boner. Lucy blushed as Mike pulled his underwear down, letting his cock free. It bounced, a nice thick penis about 6" long and curved upward. A droplet of precum beaded at the tip.
Lucy laid back and spread her legs, her heart pounding. She had spent the week before reading up on sex and how to have it, but nothing would prepare her for the real deal. Mike clumsily guided his rock hard dick into her hole, his hands trembling in nervous anticipation. He pushed in, then stopped as Lucy gasped in pain. The boy looked down at her, worry written across his face. She smiled through her tears and nodded, then gripped his shoulders and pulled him down. The boy continued pushing up until his pelvis pushed up against her crotch. He pulled back, then pressed forward, rythmically pounding her pussy. Soon, Lucy forgot the pain as Mike's dick massaged her womb. The girl closed her eyes and savored the sensation of her first time.
She opened one eye and saw her mother slowly open the door. A large, impressive looking sword was in her hands. Lucy gave a subtle wink and looked back at Mike, who was still balls deep in her pussy. His eyes were closed, sweat dripping off his face as he rutted, his hands gripping Lucy's delicate hips.
Sara slowly raised the sword in a combat posture, unused to the weight and heft of the weapon. She remained in that position as her daughter waited to give the signal. Lucy began to gyrate her pelvis in tune to Mike's pushing and pulling, feeling her heart race in excitement. Mike grunted, furiously humping as he felt something build up. Finally, he came, unloading a giant wad of sticky hot jizz deep into Lucy's privates. The boy threw his head back, moaning in pleasure. Lucy looked at her mother and nodded once more. Sara nodded back, stepped forward, and with a single graceful swing separated Mike's head from his shoulders.
Mike opened his eyes as his head flew across the room, confusion flashing across his face. He opened his mouth as pain flashed across his neck, but no sound came out. His head bounced off the pink floral pattern of Lucy's bedroom wall and fell to the soft fur carpet, blood pouring out and soaking into the shag. His headless torso swayed for a moment, a shower of blood spraying forth from the bisected arterial pathways in his neck. Lucy felt his cock go limp a few seconds later, and gently pushed his sweat slick chest with a single finger. It fell back, crumpling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Cum oozed out of his flaccid member.
Sara walked over to the head and leaned over to pick it up by the hair. She dropped her sword and cradled the severed head, peering into Mike's eyes. They were half lidded and already dulled by death. His jaw was open, giving the impression he was about to say something. Perhaps he had, thought Sara. The older woman dropped the head and rushed over to hug her daughter. As they embraced, Sara whispered into Lucy's ear. "The elder ones will be pleased by this sacrifice, my dear". Lucy smiled and nodded, a pleased feeling spreading through her soul. "There will be more sacrifices, Mom", the young girl stated simply. "Yes, I expect that to be so", the mother whispered back, a loving tone in her voice.
"Now, lets clean this mess up".
Mother and Daughter Effort: Afterwards
As Sara descended downstairs to fetch the cleaning supplies, Lucy looked at Mike's headless body. It lay there, naked and limp. The pressurized hose of blood had subsided into a weak trickle as Mike's heart ceased beating. She knelt besides it and pulled it onto her lap. Lucy touched the exposed neck flesh, wondering at its wetness. The body was still warm to the touch, its pale white skin still soft and pliant. The girl closed her eyes and placed her lips on the trachea, her tongue pushing down into his throat, tasting the familiar metallic iron taste of blood. Her left hand wandered down Mike's chest, feeling every crease and wet bloodstain as she went further down, until her fingers felt Mike's penis.
Lucy opened her eyes and looked down as she fondled his limp cock. She felt a brief pang of sadness. Mike was a nice kid, he had always treated her with respect and kindness, and now he was gone forever. The girl looked across the room at his head. She rolled his corpse off her lap and crawled across the floor to the head, which she picked up. Only a few minutes ago, this was still attached to a body, still thinking and feeling, blood and oxygen still coursing through its circulatory system. Now, it was an empty meat shell, no thoughts or emotions churning in its brain. "I guess this is what the elder ones mean by sacrifice", Lucy said, tears welling in her eyes. The initial euphoria and excitement had worne off, and now she was left with a faint feeling of regret.
Sara came clomping up the stairs and opened Lucy's door only to find her daughter kissing Mike on the lips, tears running down her cheeks. "Whats the matter honey?" she said, concerned. "N-nothing, mom", Lucy said, feeling embarassed as she quickly placed the head on the floor and stood up. "Lets clean this mess up, mom".
The pair quickly got to carving the body up, slicing through joints to dismember the arms and legs from the torso, rolling each limb up in multiple garbage bags, wrapping up the headless, limbless torso in the shag carpet, then multiple buckets of warm soapy water to scrub the bloodstains away. After three hours of effort, the room looked spotless. Mother and daughter carried the remains down to the van Sara had bought specially for today. She opened the back up, threw the body parts in, and slammed the door shut. She had even mapped out a decently hidden away disposal site.
Sara frowned as she thought back on the day's events. It would be a real pain in the ass having to do all this work for more than a handful. She shook her head.
No, the cult leaders had selected other mothers and daughters. They weren't in this alone, that was a fact. Sara smiled to herself and nodded, faith restored. Yes, it was all according to plan. The elder ones would be happy tonight.
Would like to see more Sara and Lucy in action. With a lot of boy from all ages. And how they became more and more cruel, sadistic and sarcastic. Especially when they deal with the corpses