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
So after having a dream about a week ago where a little boy gets his head chopped off (yeah, I don't know either), I haven't been able to get that image out of my head. So maybe writing a story about it will help get it out.
Anyways, there is going to be no big plot. It's going to be just straight-up smut and snuff. If you guys want me to continue, please let me know.
A Boy's Dream (b/F decap, cons)
10 year old Tim had a stomach full of butterflies as he was lead by the hand of the beautiful woman he had just met, Ms. Williams. It had taken a lot of courage for the young boy to walk into Ms. Williams's Snuff Shop. He had walked by it everyday on his way home from school since he was 5 and now here he was, just a few minutes away from fulfilling his greatest desire.
You see, when Tim was 7, he was invited to a birthday party of one of his classmates, Adam. Adam had just turned 8 and for his birthday present, Adam wanted to be decapitated by his mom while fucking his older sister. Adam got his wish and while Tim and all the other guests watched, Adam's sister rode him while his mother stood next to them with a sword.
Tim remembered vividly how Adam moaned "Mom, do it now!" and in a flash, Adam's mother brought the sword down on her sons neck. Tim stood absolutely hypnotized by what he saw. He felt something completely new swell within him as he watched his friends body convulse and contort now that it no longer had a head. That new feeling was a type of hunger Tim had never felt before. Tim couldn't look away as Adam's hips contributed to thrust up and it seemed like Adam's entire body was just vibrating violently.
Tim suddenly realized that his small dick was hard. This wasn't the first time his dick got hard but this time was different. For the first time, Tim wanted to touch himself. But before he could he was brought back to reality by someone nudging him. Tim realized that Adam's mother had begun passing his head around and that she was now Tim's turn.
Tim took his friends head and was absolutely shocked by Adam's face. Tim thought he would see pain or possibly fear, but that's not what Tim saw. Adams expression was one of pure pleasure. Tim was amazed and could have looked at his friends head for hours but Adams mother took it from him and gave it to another guest.
Tim spent the rest of the party and the rest of the day in a haze. He kept replaying Adam's decapitation over and over again in his head. When he finally went to bed, Tim finally gave into the urge to touch himself. He copied what he had seen Adams older sister had done at the party and pumped his hand up and down his small but incredibly hard dick. The pleasure he felt was unbelievable. There was this strange pressure building, it scared him but the pleasure he felt kept him going. As he pumped his hand up and down, faster and faster, he thought about how Adam must have felt. Doing this excited Tim even more and the pressure he felt began to grow.
As his mind wandered, he thought about what it would be like in Adams place. Having sex with his death looming just seconds or minutes away. He thought about getting his head cut off and what that would feel like. He pictured what his body would do without its head. As Tim thought about his headless body thrashing and convulsing, the pressure in him exploded. A huge wave of pleasure gripped Tim's body. His dick felt like it was trying to pump something out but nothing came out. Tim felt his dick pulse repeatedly as his mind went blank.
Tim drifted off to sleep but in his sleep he dreamed of having his head chopped off. This would wake him up and cause him to make himself cum again. That cycle repeated itself all night. Sleep, dream, cum. Sleep, dream, cum. Again and again till morning. It was that morning, that Tim decided that all he wanted in life was to get his head chopped off.
Does anyone know of any shota seppuku stories? If so then please let me know where and if not then let me know if you know any writers who might want to write a story like that?
Dishonor to the School Part 1
May 25th, 1959.
The Occupied Continental State of North America.
South California prefecture.
It had been 13 years since the Greater Co-Prosperity Sphere had triumphed over the United States in the Pacific. 13 years since the Imperial Japanese had occupied the west coast, before being driven back to the initial beach head at Los Angeles. 13 years since President Truman had signed the peace accord that split the state of California in two.
For Alvin Brooke, it had been precisely 13 years since his birth. The boy had never known anything except the rule of the Japanese, and their veneration of the Emperor and the code of "bushido". Of the old America, he knew little. His parents were meek and servile bureaucrats of the city, they didn't dare talk of the time before the war. Their son would have reported them both to the Kenpeitai instantly if they did. The shadowy military police that had the authority to arrest, sentence, and execute anyone they suspected of having rebellious thoughts. Alvin led a life driven by a desire to succeed under the flag of the Rising Sun. He excelled at academics and athletics both, gaining the romantic admiration of many schoolgirls at the Mitsuo Fuchida Junior Highschool, where he was captain of the baseball team. His admirers no doubt were also attracted to his handsome looks, his fit body and sharp eyes.
This was before Alvin's fall from grace. Two scandals rocked the school in the spring of 1959. First was the defeat of the Fuchida Tigers during the prefecture wide junior highschool baseball league championship. The Tigers were widely seen as the rising stars and sure to win the cup. The loss was highly damaging to the reputation of the school. Second was the shocking discovery of Alvin and Martin Steenkamp, the 3rd outfielder, kissing each other in a state of undress in the school sports equipment room. In isolation, both scandals would have been serious enough to warrant expulsion. In combination, the dishonor brought upon the school meant that the principal had no choice but to hand down the ultimate punishment.
That Monday began like any other Monday. The sun rose, casting golden light across the quiet, trimmed lawns of the sleepy suburbs of San Francisco. Alvin woke up from his fitful slumber and rubbed his eyes. He forced himself to stand up and begin to dress. Alvin slipped on a pair of boxers, then the starched gakuran pants and dress shirt. He paused, and laid his hands over his stomach. He thought of the thin layer of skin and fat that separated his guts from the outside world. An involuntary shiver passed through him.
The milkman came around, gently laid the weekly crate of milk bottles down on the porch of the Brooke household, and tipped his cap to Mrs. Brooke. A breakfast of pancakes and eggs was prepared, and soon both Mr. Brooke and Alvin were sitting down to eat. A strained silence permeated the air, broken only by the scraping of fork against plate, and the chewing of food. The discovery of Alvin's homosexuality had been a huge shock to the Brooke family, only compounded by the disgraceful loss of the championship, and the cruel punishment awaiting their son at school. Alvin pushed the plate away and stood up. "Alright mom, dad", he mumbled quietly. "I'll see you later". He picked up his backpack and headed out the door.
When Alvin arrived at school, none of his friends would look him in the eye. He put his pack away and walked to his desk in the homeroom classroom. Just as he sat down, the PA system crackled to life. "Will Alvin Brooke please come to the principals office?" the distorted voice of Ms. Ritsuko blared over the school grounds. Alvin took one last look around the classroom and found nothing but averted eyes, and the odd contemptous look. The boy stood up, bowed towards his homeroom teacher and left for the principals office.
>>18003Dishonor to the School Part 2
There were two chairs placed in front of Mr. Otsuka's desk. The principal frowned at the two young boys sitting quietly in them. Alvin Brooke and Martin Steenkamp were two of the best players the Fuchida Tigers had known. However, the defeat of the team, and the subsequent discovery of the homosexual relationship between the two students had seriously damaged the school reputation. It would damage student enrolment, and thus decrease state funds allocated.
Mr. Otsuka closed his eyes and spoke. "Mr. Brooke and Mr. Steenkamp, it is a shame that you two had to throw away your lives like this." The elderly man opened his eyes and stared directly at the boys. There was no pity in his eyes. "But your actions leave me no choice. You must restore your honor, and the honor of our school by righting your wrongs." The principal stood up from his desk and walked over to a locked cabinet. The There was a brief pause as he rummaged through his vest pocket for the key, then the *click* of the cabinet being unlocked. Mr. Otsuka reached down and retrieved a katana and a tanto. He turned around and laid the two weapons on his desk. "Today, at 11:00 AM, I will call for a special recess. The school will convene in the gymnasium, and we will watch you two commit seppuku. Ms. Ritsuko will act as an assistant for both of you". The normally cheerful school secretary entered the office, a sad look on her face. "I'm sorry, boys", she said apologetically. She turned to the principal and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, and looked back at the two condemned teens as the secretary exited the office. "A broadcast team from the TV station is here to film, I've given them permission to broadcast your deaths to the prefecture". He raised his hand, and dismissed Alvin and Martin with a wave. "You have an hour, make your amends to each other, and leave a note for your families", he muttered.
The two boys stood up and bowed stiffly. They turned and marched out of the office and back into the waiting room. Ms. Ritsuko looked up from her typewriter and called the two over. "You two can stay in the nurses office until its time", she said quietly. "Thank you", Martin spoke for the first time. Alvin nodded, a thankful expression on his face. She watched as the two lovers quickly retreated to the quiet of the nurses office, a small smile on her lips. "Ah, youth", she said to herself, and turned back to her paperwork.
As Alvin closed the door behind them, Martin grabbed Alvin's collar and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Alvin let out a muffled squeak as the taller boy pushed him down onto a nearby bed, before surrendering his mouth to Martin's exploring tongue. Alvin felt his dick pulse and harden as Martin got down and unzipped Alvin's pants. There, Alvin's prick stretched the fabric of the boxers as Martin pulled apart the opening, letting it spring up as it was freed from the confines of the underwear. The outfielder closed his eyes and took Alvin's stiff member in the mouth, sucking and blowing as if posessed by the spirit of a nightwalker in the Tenderloin district. Alvin let out a girlish moan as Martin bobbed up and down, before nutting deep into Martin's mouth. "Let me return the favor", Alvin said as he moved over to make room for Martin on the bed. Martin swallowed the cum and wiped the traces from his lips with the covers, then nodded and pulled down his pants. Alvin grasped Martin's cock and balls and gave them both a quick massage, then placed the penis in his mouth, carefully making sure that only his lips and tongue made contact. Alvin took a slower approach, licking and kissing the tip for a minute before going deep.
Martin quickly came to a breaking point and grunted, pressing Alvin's head down onto his crotch as jizz shot out of his dick in thick spurts. They lay on top of each other, sweaty and spent.
The PA system crackled again, and the principals voice came over. "All classes will now meet in the gym for a special presentation". The two boys reluctantly got out of the bed and put on their uniforms one last time. They embraced each other, then walked out towards the gymnasium. The thought of running away didn't even enter their minds.
The school gymnasium was packed with students and teachers, along with the TV crew with their huge cameras and reels of tape. Ms. Ritsuko was up on the stage, the katana by her side. Mr. Otsuka nodded at the two boys as they entered the gym. Alvin and Martin walked up to the stage and turned to the crowd. They performed a bow, then knelt down. Martin went first, unbuttoning the front of his gakuran jacket, then his white shirt. Alvin looked over, and saw sweat drip off Martin's brow as his shaking fingers picked up the tanto by the handle. He placed the tip against his firm, toned abdomen, wincing as it pricked his skin. For a couple seconds, he paused, working up the courage to plunge the knife into himself. Martin took a gulp of air, closed his eyes, and shoved the tanto in. The knife sank into flesh, and Martin's eyes shot open wide. The 13 year old gasped in pain, then clenched his teeth and wrenched the blade across, slicing it open. Blood and intestines poured out of the vicious gash, and Martin let the tanto fall from his hands, now preoccupied with the internal organs plopping out onto his lap. Martin leaned forward, presenting his pale neck to Ms. Ritsuko. The mild mannered secretary unsheathed the sword and slashed down, slicing through Martin's neck, but leaving a slim sliver of skin and muscle to connect the head to the shoulders. Alvin winced as his lover's hot blood sprayed across his cheek, twin jets of crimson red jetting out of the nearly decapitated boy.
As Martin's body slumped over, Alvin looked down and reached for the bloodstained tanto. His fingers brushed over Martin's, and for a moment he remembered the first time they had kissed, the sensation of Martin's hands closing over his own. He suppressed his grief and picked up the knife. The handle was wet and sticky. Alvin's heart pounded within his ribcage. Despite his initial determination to carry out his duty, Alvin felt terror. The 13 year old didn't want to die. Only the threat of his family being punished gave him the resolve to continue. Like Martin, he undid the front buttons of his uniform, revealing his athletic body. He placed the tip of the blade against his firm belly, instinctually sucking in his stomach in an effort to avoid getting pricked. Alvin closed his eyes and breathed in, one last time. The boy gripped the short knife and in one decisive move, plunged it in deep. Raw, hot pain exploded in his torso, and it took all of Alvin's considerable willpower to refrain from screaming. Sweat drenched his dress shirt as he clenched his teeth and pulled the tanto across his abdomen. He felt hot fluid run down his pelvis and soak into his pants. Nauseau swirled around his head, and he suddenly felt weak. Alvin dropped the tanto and followed Martin's lead, leaning forward and exposing his neck. Ms. Ritsuko eyed her target, and with a determined shout, struck with a powerful downward slash. Like last time, she was precise enough to leave a small sliver of connective tissue between Alvin's head and his body, which remained in a sitting position as blood burbled up from the large cross section of neck exposed to the elements. That was followed up the half digested remains of pancake and egg as the half beheaded boy expelled the contents of his stomach violently. The secretary stepped back as Alvin dropped to his side, arms wrapped around the thick tubes of intestine slipping out of his stomach cavity.
Ritsuko took out her own tanto and sliced away the connective tissue on both Martin and Alvin, raising both heads up high for the TV cameras to film. Gently, she laid both severed heads onto a pillow provided by Mr. Otsuka, who had every intention of preserving the heads to be displayed in the sports trophy cabinet in the hallway of the school.
Dennis woke up to a piercing headache. The feminine looking 14 year old boy blinked the sleep out of his eyes and groaned past a ball gag. As his vision returned, he slowly moved his head, looking around. It dawned on him that he was upside down, and no longer in his bedroom. Instead, it seemed to be some kind of industrial site, or a warehouse. It was cold too, and as the chilly draft blew over his body, he realized that he wasn't wearing anything except for a pair of boxer briefs. He looked down and saw a plain steel bucket. His heart began to race. This was not ideal.
"So, you've woken up."
A woman's voice, from behind. Dennis tried turning his head, but the restraints prevented him. A warm hand caressed his cheek. "Shhhhh, don't panic." The woman sounded young, and gentle. The hand moved, and grasped his dirty blonde bangs firmly. His head was yanked back, and he finally saw the woman, his kidnapper.
She was a tall, slim woman, dressed in a form fitting T-shirt, dirty blue jeans, and a bloodstained apron. He locked eyes with her, and felt icy fear fill his young heart. Her blue eyes were dull, emotionless. Like a robot.
"MmmmMmMMPH!", he moaned, the ballgag muffling his pleas.
The woman reached behind her and pulled out a long butcher's knife. Dennis's eyes widened. He began to squirm and wriggle, but it was futile. "I said, don't panic."
The knife entered his throat, and Dennis winced, agonizing, searing pain filling his neck. The knife carved open a gash, and hot blood filled the boy's mouth and nostrils. "Guublubbhh", he gurgled pitifully, blood streaming out of the slit in high pressure jets. There was a hiss as he pissed himself, urine dripping down his stomach and chest, mixing with the bright red blood splatter before drizzling into the bucket.
His killer kept her grip on his hair as his heart slowly began to falter. Dennis's eyes opened, although they were now unfocused and wandering. His brain was starving for oxygen, but the knife had severed too many connections. Finally, after several minutes, the boy's heart ceased beating. There was a faint sigh, and his eyelids drooped shut for the final time. The woman noticed his muscles relax in death. The blood flow had stopped, and Dennis's body was noticeably paler than it had been 10 minutes prior.
She let go of his head and began to undo the restraints on his feet. One leg came free, then the other. Dennis fell to the floor with a thump. His killer pulled his underwear off and raised it to her nose. With a deep breath, she inhaled the pungent mixture of urine, blood and sweat that had infused the moistened boxers. Placing the boxers to the side, she turned her concentration to the limp corpse. There was one thing in particular that she needed.
Her hand grasped the handle of the butchers knife once more. The tip of the blade punched through flesh, and she slit open Dennis's firm, hairless chest. The knife was exchanged for a sturdy pair of shears, and his ribs were cracked open, revealing his internals. The woman reached in, unfazed by the greasy mass of guts. She gripped the boy's heart and pulled. It popped out, and she held it in her hand. For the first time, what looked like emotion flitted across her cold face. The heart of a virgin boy, just what her master had ordered. She dropped the stilled organ into a ziploc bag, then gently placed it into a waiting mobile freezer unit.
we need moar!
Sam yelled with glee as the 4-barrel 383 engine of his stepfather's Street Hemi Orange'69 Charger roared, the back country road whipping under the tires at 140 miles an hour. The tall, lanky 14 year old grinned, adrenaline and a six pack of beer coursing through his veins, his chestnut brown eyes twinkling under raven curls. That asshole stepdad of his, Steve had made Sam's life a living hell. Now Steve and Sam's mom were off on a two day trip, leaving Sam alone to look after the house.
The first thing Sam did after the two had gotten onto the plane at the airport was swipe the keys from Steve's home office and take the Charger for a spin. It was a chilly 2:00 in the morning on a December Monday, and no one was driving around the woods of Michigan, so Sam had the road to himself.
As he sped down a straightaway, his phone buzzed. The boy reached into his shirt pocket and pulled it out, unlocking the phone with a quick finger swipe. His girlfriend Michelle, a cute little Asian with a formidable rack and a curvy butt had just sent him a nude pic, along with a cheerful invitation over to her house. Sam smiled, his cock pulsating and becoming semi-erect in heart pounding anticipation.
He looked up and saw nothing but forest in front of him. Belatedly, he slammed on the brakes, but it was far too late. As the tires squealed in protest, all 3920 lbs of Detroit steel launched off the road and into dense brush and trees, slamming front first into an ancient oak. The front of the car crumpled. Sam's body was crushed between the errant engine and the rest of the car, the sudden stop causing the seatbelt to tighten instantly. The iron clad laws of physics intervened, and Sam's slender young neck was the loser. His head continued out the shattered front window, leaving his torso headless and jetting blood out of the neck stump.
Sam had 5 seconds of conscious though after the crash, which to him felt like 5 minutes. The world slowly turned upside down, then right side up, then upside down again in a blur of colour, and he opened his mouth to scream. No sound came out. There was a sudden thump as he hit the dirt and rolled, coming to a rest on his left cheek. His eyes were wide open as he looked at the ruins of the Charger, and his twitching body still sitting in the drivers seat. The burning pain in his neck and the buzzing in his mind grew and grew. The world turned grey, then faded to black. "Steve is going to kill me", Sam thought in a daze. With that thought, he slipped away, his oxygen starved brain shutting down for the last time.
Only two minutes passed before a police car rolled up to the embankment, its spot light swinging out and lighting up the crash scene. Police Officer Cynthia Farrow stepped out of the car and made her way down the slope, grimacing as she surveyed the wreck. One body, definitely deceased. She walked over to the drivers side and looked down. It was a kid, she realized with a start.
The curvaceous cop released the seatbelt, and the body fell out of the seat, landing in the frost stiffened grass. Steam rose from the corpse as its body temperature skin met cold winter air. Cynthia knelt down and fished a wallet from the body's acid washed jeans, gingerly avoiding the large damp spot around the crotch where the boy had soiled himself post-mortem. She flipped open the wallet and retrieved an ID card. "Samuel Fletcher, age 14", she read out loud. Definitely too young to be driving alone, she thought. Cynthia put the card back, and placed the wallet beside the body. Looking around, she spotted Sam's head, lying against a tree trunk, a puddle of congealing blood seeping into the dirt around his neck hole.
The police officer picked the head up and placed it beside the rest of his body. She activated her mic, then stopped, and looked down at Sam. He was cute, slender and with a feminine face. Her type, back when she was in middle school. Thoughts of calling in the incident left her mind. This was an opportunity to act on a dark fantasy she had nursed for a decade. Her trembling hands unzipped the fly of Sam's jeans, and pulled the pants down to the knees. He had been wearing a pair of grey briefs, and had thoroughly soaked them with the contents of his bladder during the crash. Cynthia buried her nose against his crotch, inhaling the sweet acrid smell of his urine. Her nose bumped up against the bulge of his bulging, rock hard penis. She slipped her hands under the elastic waistband and pulled the underwear down too, exposing Sam to the elements.
If he still had a pulse, and a conscious mind, Sam would have turned deep red. As it was, Sam watched Cynthia with the same expression of dull shock as he had been wearing when his head was fatally severed from his torso, chestnut brown eyes half lidded and empty, soft cheeks devoid of colour.
Cynthia wrapped her lips around Sam's shaft, closing her eyes as his salty taste flooded her mouth. Several minutes more had passed, and by now his body was reaching the ambient temperature, a decidedly cool 19 degrees fahrenheit. The sensation of sucking the deceased boy's cock was similar to sucking on a frozen sausage that had been left to thaw in a fridge, she thought. Soon tiring of that, she slipped out of her pants, pulled her panties to the side and placed her pussy on top of Sam's penis. Grunting, she rode him cowboy style, and the stimulation of her womb soon caused her to cum, squirting love liquid onto Sam's pale pelvis. Cynthia exhaled, picked up Sam's head by his curly bangs, and kissed him , locking lips and pressing her tongue into his mouth. She played with his limp tongue, tasting the cheap beer and pepperoni pizza that had been his last meal, before disengaging with a wet *MWAH*. Saliva dripped from Sam's mouth, and she sighed. Necrophilia wasn't all that it had been cracked up to be. There wasn't anything replacing the feedback of an alive partner. Feeling disappointed, and a bit disgusted with herself, Cynthia dropped the head unceremoniously to the ground. The police officer dressed herself, then dressed Sam's limp corpse. Standing up, she swept the dirt off her uniform, keyed the radio mic, and called the crash into dispatch.