/lit/ - Literature

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This first story is a response to an entry in the Capital Punishment game in RP.

Two days ago, Freyja and Para became lovers. Freyja initiated their love, when she seduced the other with a kiss as they showered after gymnastics.

On that day, Freyja and Para stayed a little late to help the coach clean up the gym, and Hit the showers after everyone else left. Freyja caught herself watching as the water flowed down Para’s dark, chocolatey, skin. They were alone and naked for the first time, and Freyja couldn’t resist. She leaned against Para’s body and wrapped an arm around her petite torso.

“Let’s make out!” She whispered.

Para’s widened her eyes as she pulled away. “Haha! You’re very funny Frey!” Para faked a laugh and moved back.

“I’m not joking,” Freyja replied solemnly as she brushed a strand of black hair from her face.

“Come on,” she said nervously, “I don’t really see you that way. We’re just friends.”

Freyja laughed. “You and I both know that’s not true! I know you like to take awfully long glances at my body.”

“I just…” Freyja placed her index finger over Para’s lips.

“I’ve also seen you looking at my ass whenever I walk by you. You think I’m cute, and you are just too shy to say so.”

“We could get arrested for…” Freyja grabbed her torso and pulled her close, then kissed her on the lips.

Para’s muscles tensed up for a brief moment, then her body relaxed. Her arms gripped Freyja’s sides and pulled her tighter, as she began to kiss her back, lips locked. They broke off after thirty seconds; Freyja smiling as her hazel eyes gazed into Para’s brown, while the latter breathed heavily as if she just ran a marathon.

“I was right!” Freyja kissed her on the forehead and continued beaming.

“When did you first notice me looking at you?”

“Oh, about two months ago when I was at that pool party for your thirteenth birthday. I wore that small two-piece bikini and you could hardly keep your eyes off me. You were hardly subtle.”

Para laughed. “Well, I guess I was more subtle before that. I started developing a crush on you shortly after I turned eleven.”

“Now that we kissed, what do you think?” Freyja puckered her lips.

“I think I want another sample, but longer this time,” Para replied and closed her eyes.

They locked lips again, sucking the breath from the other’s lungs and twirled their tongues together in a sloppy, wet, dance of meat and saliva.

“Let’s not leave here with our virginity intact,” Freyja piped up, breaking off their kiss after two minutes.

Freyja cupped Para’s pussy and began rubbing it gently. She lowered herself, kissing her neck and torso. Freyja puckered her lips around Para’s perky buds and suckled her tits while her tongue licked the shower water from her nipples. Para threw her head back and grabbed a handful of brown hair, stroking Freyja’s head. She kissed and sucked the water from her tender stomach until her mouth reached her crotch. A finger slithered into Para’s asshole as Freyja’s tongue licked her pussy. The sensation overwhelmed Para, who began moaning as her legs lost the ability to hold her up. Freyja laid back as her new lover’s tiny weight pressed against her, until she was on the floor with Para’s cunt sitting on her lips. With Freyja’s tongue flicking her cunt and finger fucking her ass, Para climaxed quickly and her moans filled the shower room. The best orgasm she ever had washed over her, and her orifices contracted and sprayed Freyja’s face with cum.

Lost in indulgence, and deafened by the enjoyment of sexual pleasures, the teen lesbians failed to hear footsteps on the wet concrete. When Para opened her eyes for the first time since Freyja’s tongue touched her pussy, she screamed. A twenty-something blonde, the coach’s assistant, Ms. Hamilton, stood over them with a grimace on her face. Freyja immediately opened her eyes, and widened them.

“I’d never imagined you two could be such whores.”

Freyja and Para were arrested almost immediately, and tried the next morning. The judge sentenced them to death, and scheduled their execution to be carried out in public the following day.

In the town center, the girls stood next to each other on raised platforms, beneath the gallows with two nooses hanging before their faces. They were bound at the wrists, and naked as the day they were born. Both were sobbing uncontrollably as the executioner made preparations. A small crowd gathered around the gallows; most of them were just horny men looking for a show, but they were joined by the families, friends, and acquaintances of the condemned teens. Freyja’s mother, a busty woman in her thirties with bushy brown hair, continuously sobbed into a piece of cloth while her husband softly massaged her right shoulder. Her little sister, a miniature version of Freyja with matching brown hair and ponytail, minus the ample breasts, buried her face into her mother’s ribs. Para’s mother passed out in her husband’s lap, who watched with a severe expression.

The executioner finished routine paperwork and equipment inspection, and pointed to two guards and then the platforms. Para gasped sharply as one placed the noose around her neck and tightened it.

“Please let this be a dream,” Freyja muttered as the guard quietly placed the noose over her head. She clenched her eyes tightly, tears flying, and thrashed her head and repeating the same phrase several times.

The executioner stood between the two platforms with a notepad and paper in his hand, and read aloud.

“Freyja Nyx and Para Finn, you have been convicted of abhorrent sexual violations! The State has sentenced you to be hung by the neck until dead! Do you have any last words?”

Para shook her head. “I don’t wanna die! Please don’t kill me.”

Freyja shouted, “I’m sorry! This is my fault! I-I seduced Para in the showers, she tried to resist. Just execute me and let her go! I’m the only one who deserves to die.”

The executioner waited ten seconds after Freyja finished speaking, both girls waited in anticipation. Para opened her mouth as he approached the platform and pulled a lever on the side; her words were cut off as a trap door fell out beneath her; she fell several meters before the rope stopped her, with an audible snap as her neck broke. Piss and shit dripped from her ass and urethra as Para’s body relaxed forever, ending her short life.

“No! No!” Freyja cried out. “She didn’t do anything! Cut her down, save her, plea… aughck!” The door underneath her opened, and the world went black as her neck snapped. Another stream of piss and shit soiled the dirt as her bladder and bowels released their contents.

Freyja’s dad vomited as his wife buried herself into his stomach, and their only remaining daughter bawled until she passed out. Para’s dad remained motionless in his seat, until his wife recovered an hour later to discover that he died of a heart attack; she fainted again, and ended up taking her own life that evening. The girls were left hanging for two days until their bodies were taken down and buried in the community garden.


Incestuous Children Executed

The executioner sighed as she entered the chamber. Three children, a boy and girl, twins just weeks shy of their thirteenth birthday, and a younger girl who was probably seven or eight, awaited her in their underwear, flanked by six armed guards. The twins, she once knew personally.

Michelle once lived next door to the Whitefields, and even watched Samuel and Laura on several occasions; Elle, the youngest, was born after she moved. The news that they killed their mother, and almost killed their father, after being caught fucking was shocking enough, but she never imagined that their lives would end at her hands. Yet here they stood in her execution chamber waiting for her to send them to their graves. They stood, gazing upon her with eyes of hate and dread; although she knew they couldn’t recognize her under the cloak and mask, but her heart still broke to know that this would be the last expression she ever saw on their faces.

“Come with me,” she told them and led the children to a thick metal door. Michelle entered a typed a sequence of numbers into the keypad and the door opened. “Enter.”

Laura entered first followed by Samuel. Elle looked at Michelle for a brief moment, pouty lips and tear-filled eyes. One of the guards nudged her with his gun and she followed her older siblings, as the door closed behind her.

Six screens flashed on, showing the interior of the chamber from multiple angles. The same feed from those cameras was streamed to a screen in the waiting room, and the Internet. Michelle accessed a terminal nearby and set up the device that would kill them.

Elle immediately dropped to the ground and bawled, thrashing her arms and legs as hard as she could. “I don’t want to die! Please let me live!” She screamed repeatedly.

“What a crybaby,” Samuel said aloud, as Laura rolled her eyes.

“This is your fault for being nasty,” Elle screamed at them. Laura chuckled.

Laura’s hand reached out and grabbed Samuel’s crotch, squeezing his cock through his underpants until she felt it swell up and stiffen.

“They are legally bound to give us five minutes to say prayers and make peace” she kissed him on the lips and winked, “so let prey.” . He grabbed her, hands snaked beneath her panties and planted firmly on her ass cheeks, and locked his lips with hers.

“You two are gross! Stop! You’re not supposed to do this!” Elle screamed.

“Shut up,” Samuel told her, “besides, it’s not like they can do anything worse than what they already have planned.” Samuel kissed his twin sister again as his younger sister buried her face into her palms.

Laura unfastened her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor, and proudly thrust her round buds into her brother’s face. Samuel pushed his underwear down and kicked them at Elle. His erection sprang forward, and Laura happily wrapped her hand around it. She kneeled and wrapped her lips around the head, sloppily suckling the knob as she stroked his shaft. He groaned, quickly building up. As he grew closer to climaxing, she took the entire shaft down her throat, until he was about to cum. Then she pulled away.

“Aww!” He groaned.

“Oh, don’t worry. I got something better for you to cum in,” Laura said as she pushed her panties to her ankles. “Remember how before I said I didn’t want you to get me pregnant? Well, now that doesn’t matter. Lay back.” She kicked her panties, landing them on Elle’s head, who briefly looked up with a grimace on her tear-soaked face.

Samuel laid on his back, stiff cock pointed at the ceiling, as he awaited his sister and lover. Laura crawled on the floor and sat on his erect member, taking it into her moist prepubescent pussy, and caused both of them to grunt sharply. He thrust his pelvis forward as she bounced her ass back forth, smacking each other as his dick pounded her cervix.

The sliding of a panel in the ceiling, followed by loud buzzing, caught their attention. Elle looked up immediately, her eyes widened and mouth gaped, as drones, small narrow bullets attached to rotaries, swarmed into the room by the dozens. She immediately sat up, sobbing harder than before, and scooted back against the nearest wall.

Samuel and Laura ignored the drones and continued fucking. They fucked faster, and within seconds strings of warm, sticky, sperm shot into Laura’s womb. She pounded her pelvis against his relentlessly, milking as much of her brother’s cum as possible. As the buzzing grew closer, she closed her eyes and focused on getting her own last orgasm before everything blacked out.

As her last orgasm began to blossom, Laura was stunned by a sharp pain in her right ass cheek. A loud explosion rattled the room. Laura screamed as an excruciating agony erupted from her ass and washed over her entire body, and blood poured down her legs. She quickly realized that her entire right ass was gone, blasted into red pieces of flesh that flew across the floor. Laura immediately tried to run, but a second bullet drone stuck her lower left leg and exploded. She fell to the floor and rolled onto her back next to Samuel, screaming and clutching her leg.

Samuel looked up with an “O” on his face. Before he could stand, four of the drones attached themselves to his legs, two for each one, and multiple explosions tore them apart. His screams joined Laura’s. Their eyes widened further as several approached their crotches. Rather than pierce them, the bullets exploded several centimeters away, spraying their genitals with hot shrapnel.

Elle watched, completely paralyzed, as her older siblings were blasted apart a little bit at a time by what she could only describe as robotic wasps. She anticipated the moment one would turn towards her with utmost dread, but for now the horrid things seemed content with the twins.

Few of the bullet drones actually pierced flesh; instead, exploding some distance away to embed their bodies with small bits of shrapnel and prolong their suffering. Blood pooled around Samuel and Laura as they thrashed in it like dying fish in a shallow puddle. Another drone, larger than the others, dropped in after fifteen minutes, and pink mist sprayed from several nozzles, coating the twins. Whatever the substance was, Laura and Samuel seemed to thrash more vigorously, and their screams became more piercing. It flew back through the panel as several more bullet drones exploded in front of their faces; to them, the world went dark forever as their eyes were pierced with small chunks of contorted metal. The last four embedded themselves into their nipples, and exploded; Laura’s newly-developed bust disappeared into red craters, and the blast shattered bones and ruptured their lungs. Their screams became gurgled, as blood bubbled up. Their chests heaved erratically, and each attempt to breath brought a burning agony that enveloped their chests. They slowed, and eventually stopped moving. Piss poured from what remained of their genitals, adding a distinct yellow to the blood between their legs.

In silence, Elle looked on as her brother and sister expired. A sense of relief washed over as there were no drones left; they decided to spare her after all, she thought. Her hope was short-lived, as another bullet drone buzzed through the panel. Her only respite, as Elle was reluctant to go along with her siblings, was not sentenced to an agonizing death.

A scream pierced the silence, as the small autonomous bullet raced across the room towards the frightened child. As a deer in headlights, she waited until it was less than eight centimeters from her to move. Elle made a run for it, but the drone stuck itself to her forehead. Blood, skull fragments, and brain tissue sprayed the floor as a fiery explosion blasted a hole in her forehead. Elle tumbled to the floor, twitching for several seconds. The crotch of her underwear turned yellow, as her body stiffened forever.

Michelle, a stoic expression on her face, watched as the Whitefields perished, until Elle fell to the floor and pissed herself. She methodically confirmed each death in the computer, deactivated the drone execution system, and called in the clean up crew to remove the corpses and clean the mess.

She left work for the day, and called in sick for three days.


The Princess

Princess Sophia lay curled up in the fetal position on the pile of straw that stood in for a bed. The daughter of the House of Crawford was now the only remaining member of that noble bloodline. Up until last month, her life had been one of luxury and privilege. But even she, a sheltered little princess, could tell things were going badly. Her father barely spoke to her, bags under his eyes, and her mother had been snappy and temperamental. Then, just a week ago, the enemy had pushed into the capital. The Kingdom's soldiers had fought valiantly, but they could not fight with no food and no ammo. They laid down their weapons and allowed the enemy free entry into the palace grounds.

Sophia still had nightmares of what happened next. Dirty, rough men, tired and angry from long months of fighting rampaged through the halls and countless rooms of the estate. They raped the maids, killing those who resisted. They stole anything not tied down, and smashed anything they could not take away.

The soldiers found the royal family hiding in one of the attic spaces. She remembered everything with crystal-clear clarity. Her mother screaming, her father pleading with their captors. Then, two gunshots and her parents slumped over with ragged holes in their chests. The men turned their attention to her, the little girl cowering in the corner.

She remembered The sensation of strong, rapacious hands exploring her young body as they tore off her precious silk nightgown. Then, the sudden pain in her crotch as the soldier took her first time. More hands, gripping onto her golden blonde hair, forcing her delicate mouth open as they satisfied their pent up urges. Sophia was stripped of everything that day. Her family, her title, her fortune, and her pride. For the first time in her short life, she knew what fear and pain felt like.

"A visitor for you, princess", one of the prison guards announced. The young girl stood up and gracefully curtsied as the heavyset man lumbered into the dank cell. Sophia recognized him. He was the general of the enemy ground forces. She greeted him in his language, haltingly. "No need for that, miss", he said gently. "We've set your execution date for tomorrow, at mid day", he took off his spectacles and rubbed them on his coat as he talked. "They wanted to make an example of you, but I convinced them to be lenient. You'll be attended to by the best headsman in the army". Sophia felt the last vestiges of hope crumble. The princess forced herself to thank the man, but all she desired was to scream obscenities at him.

The unfortunate girl spent her last night tossing and turning on that cold patch of straw. Despite her fervent wishes, the next morning came, spilling bright sunlight through the city. The guards came with a bowl of porridge and a cup of milk, and she took a few half hearted spoonfuls. She hadn't much of an appetite. The guards came back, one of them tossing a threadbare gown at her feet, the other placing a sponge, a towel and a large bucket of warm, soapy water on the cell floor. They left, leaving the princess to wash herself in private. The princess slipped out of her stained camisole and bloomers, picked up the bucket and slowly poured it over herself. She rubbed her soft, pale skin with the sponge, cleaning the grime and grease of the past 7 days away. Sophia toweled herself dry, then pulled the fresh gown over her head, tightening the strap around her waist. She sat down on the straw pile and pulled her feet up, resting her chin on her knees.

The hours seemed to pass by in minutes, and soon enough it was almost time to depart for the central square where her sentence was to be carried out. Flanked by several guards, she was escorted to a motorcar and slowly driven past crowds of onlookers. The citizens were mostly quiet and respectful. The car slipped through some concrete bollards and arrived at the central square, where it came to a stop. The guards helped Sophia step down from the vehicle, where she promptly fell to her knees.
They took hold of her arms and dragged the princess across the square.

A raised wooden platform had been erected in the center, where the headsman waited, his axe by his side. Her guards firmly pulled the princess up the stairs. They reached the top of the platform and forced her to her knees.

There was a large wooden block placed in front of the girl, its top dark old blood stains and marked with the cuts from a thousand beheadings. The guards forced her head down, and Sophia grimaced as she laid her neck on the pitted surface of the chopping block. They pulled her long hair clear from her nape, to allow the headsman a clean shot.
Sophia tried to remain composed, but despite her upbringing, she was still an 11 year old girl. Sophia closed her eyes tight as the headsman read the charges against her. She had no tears left, but her heart still shook in terror. She felt her bladder release, piss dribbling down her thigh, and blushed in shame.

Having finished reading out the charges, the executioner raised his axe, and swung it down. It was a good strike, and the axe blade had been kept sharp. The girl's head tumbled off the block and rolled forward, coming to a stop a few meters away from the edge of the platform. Sophia's body jerked, bright red blood spraying forth from her neck. The guards let go of her arms, letting her corpse collapse on its side, her slender legs twitching as blood pooled around her prostrate form.

The headsman grabbed her head and looked in her eyes. For a few seconds, her pupils wandered around, as her lips tried to form words. Then, as blood poured out the bottom, her eyes dulled and became still. Princess Sophia was no more, and the House of Crawford had ended.


Love these stories, they are very well written and the subject of capital punishment is very interesting. I particularly like the creativity in using the drones in >>16110



Brain Splatter, Beheading, Underage Teen(17), Non-Cons(ff), Urination, Defecation.

“After school”, read the note which flashed through Serena’s on repeat every time she closed her eyes or went to sleep.

Carlos passed that note to her eighteen days ago, and they met in an empty classroom on the third floor. Those two hours with her closest friend seemed almost supernaturally peaceful, and as Carlos took her virginity on the cabinet all concerns fled her thoughts in exchange for complete euphoria. This promising young honor student, with perfect attendance and phenomenally good behavior, laid with her breasts on full display and her skirt lifted, and panties in the seat of some student’s desk, while a plump cock pushed through her sex and pummeled her cervix. They both climaxed several times, stuffing her with semen until it overflowed onto the wood.

Serena drifted in and out of sleep while Carlos laid on her, both breathing heavily, when cracking wood brought them from their trance. The wood holding the tiles in the ceiling bent, and snapped. A petite dark-haired girl, Louise Ling, crashed onto the counter with a camera in her hands. Her oldest rival, and an ex-girlfriend to Carlos, found out and waited in the ceiling to record their act. Serena’s eyes grew large, and she shoved Carlos off as she dove towards Louise’s camera. His body landed against the window, which cracked and then shattered as he was unable to shift his weight off of it. Serena and Louise screamed as he tumbled out of the window.

“You fucking killed my man you stupid fucking bitch!” Louise screamed and lunged at Serena. Serena grabbed her by the waist, and the Asian girl quickly realized her mistake. Louise pulled free, as Serena made another attempt to grab her camera. Serena grabbed Louise’s pelvis and pulled her back, and rolled back with her. Louise slid out of her skirt, freeing herself and going headfirst out the window. Her screams were heard throughout the school campus, until her brain splattered on the cement below.

A sense of dread bubbled up in her stomach as Serena realized the magnitude of the situation. When she sat up and looked out the window, a crowd already gathered around the two bodies. Their transfixed and judging eyes oscillated between the ground and the half-naked teen who was the pride of the school mere hours ago.

It was an open and shut case. Carlos was lucky enough to survive, albeit with crippling injuries that will be with him for the rest of his life, Louise was killed instantly. Her camera continued recording through the incident, and survived the fall. Louise’s parents demanded the death penalty; the judge eagerly complied.

Two guards escorted Serena to the execution chamber. Instead of the dark blue uniform of Wellington High that she wore proudly, Serena entered with the faded blue prison jumpsuit she grew to hate in the last few weeks of her life. Her face bore no expression, save for the moisture welling up in her eyes. Her lips started to tremble at the sight of the masked woman standing next to a guillotine.

“We have another cadaver for you.” The guards shoved her in and shut the door.

“Remove the uniform and toss it in the bin.”

Serena hesitated slightly. Being in prison, she grew accustomed to undressing in front of others fairly quickly, but was she really going to die naked? The woman raised her left eyebrow; Serena, having lost all will to protest, removed her clothes as she was directed. She shivered as the cool air touched her bare skin.

“No underwear?” The executioner asked, a glint in her eyes.

Serena sniffled. “I wasn’t wearing any when they arrested me,” and they’re too cheap to issue me some she almost added.

“Lemme guess. You was just ‘showering’ when the cops showed,” she rolled her eyes. “Well, stand here,” the woman pointed at the spot in front of the guillotine.

The executioner placed her hands on Serena’s side, with her finger tips dug into her large breasts; Serena either didn’t notice or decided to ignore it, as she allowed the woman to force her to her knees to place her head through the lunette and lock it. Serena began sobbing, and closed her eyes in anticipation of the blade striking the back of her neck.

It never came, and Serena noticed a new sensation between her legs. A sense of ecstasy developed from her pussy and spread out, and something wet repeatedly brushed her cunt.

“What are you…”

“Just relax,” the executioner told her, “as long as I’m doing this you get to live.”

Please no! Serena thought as her executioner ate her pussy. She didn’t want to die either, so convincing her to stop was not ideal either. Her face contorted and Serena mentally tried to pull away, afraid of what would happen if she protested successfully. It wouldn’t be over until she came, Serena was certain; she would get a final orgasm, at least. I’d rather get it from a cock. She imagined, instead of some woman’s tongue lapping her pussy, Carlos rubbing his dick against her sex. That fantasy brought her at ease, and the grimace on her face morphed into a dazed smile. She gently closed her eyes and accepted the woman’s tongue, now Carlos’s penis in her mind, and imagined it penetrating deeper.

Serena drifted from reality, and when the time came made no attempt to hide her orgasm. Her moan, like a wolf’s howl, filled the room. The executioner would have known anyways, as the doomed teen sprayed her with pussy juices, as her womanhood pulsated. The executioner slurped it up greedily, knowing she would be the last to enjoy Serena’s taste.

The executioner stood up and walked over to the lever and pulled it. The blade dropped, and sliced cleanly through her neck. Her body dropped to the floor, as fountains of blood spurted from her necks. Her bladder and bowels relaxed, spilling their contents on the floor.

What a waste! The executioner shook her head as she confirmed the death of Serena on her computer.


Absolutely beautiful. Gurochan needs more well-written works like these.


Junkyard Rat

Peter Hopkins watched from a makeshift tunnel, of large worn out tires, as the girl, a petite little thing with brown hair so short she could easily pass for a boy, climbed grabbed the chain link fence and pulled herself up.

"Please Felicia, let's just go our usual route. Please! We'll get lost in there." Waiting just outside the fence, a slightly taller girl with longer brown hair and buds poking through her white blouse, her older sister peered into the old junk yard with bulging eyes and a grimace on her face.

Felicia held her position at the top of the and waved for her sister to follow. "Come on, Jane, it will be faster than going around. We just have to cut across, so kinda hard to get lost."

"But you never know what could be in there. I hear there are giant rats the size of dogs in there. We could get rabies. And that's if we get through before the sun sets. Jane told me that one of her cousins committed suicide in here? What if he's still wandering around here, if you know what I mean? Let's just go the normal way, please!"

The other girl reached up to grab Felicia's ankle, but she threw it over and dropped into the old abandoned junkyard before her sister could get a firm grip.

"You're thirteen, Sabrina, and you're telling me you believe in ghosts. The only thing here is old piles of rotten garbage and broken machinery. As for the rats; they'll leave you alone if you leave them alone. If not…," Felicia kicked a small rock, launching into the air. "If we don't get home quickly, mom will be pissed. That's scarier than any ghosts, giant rats, or whatever the hell could be in here. I know what I'd rather take my chances with."

Sabrina shook her head and threw up her arms. "You will never convince me to go in there. I'm going the normal way, and I really wish you would."

"If you want to be late, go ahead. But I'll be taking my shortcut. You can't stop without coming in here." Felicia stuck out her tongue and walked away from the fence. Sabrina let out a long sigh and shook her head. Sabrina lingered for several minutes, until Felicia disappeared behind a stack of tires, and continued down the street; unaware that this was the last time she would see her sister.

Peter crawled from his hiding, clutching a sledgehammer, stood up, a rugged beast of a man in his mid-40's, worn t-shirt and cargo pants, and brushed clouds of dirt from himself. *Got us a big ol' rat terday,* he thought to himself as he headed in the direction Felicia went minutes ago.

She wasn't hard to fine, as she hummed a pleasant melody that echoed loudly over the mountains of used wrappers and shattered glass. Peter, an unofficial resident of that old trash heap for longer than Felicia had been alive, navigated through the seemingly impossible maze with ease. He found her standing in front of a mound of crushed cars, attempting to pull free a rusty pipe that jutted out of the remains of an old Honda. Her back was turned, and Felicia was blissfully unaware of the man stepping closer to her. Only when he was standing over her, hammer raised high above his head, did she look up.

Felicia let out a short, high-pitched, scream, that was cut off when the hammer connected with her forehead. There was a sharp crack, and her eyes rolled back into their sockets as she fell to the ground. Blood flowed down her nostrils as she muttered unintelligible words. Peter raised the hammer again, and brought it down on her nose, shattering it. Felicia's mutterings became garbled screams, which became more erratic when the hammer struck her forehead again; this time, creating a discernable dent in her skull. Be brought it down again, and again, crushing her face. Her body thrashed wildly with each blow, and a dark wet spot grew in in the crotch of her blue jean shorts as her bladder emptied itself, until her movements stopped. He continued pounding the bloody pulp on the ground until the flesh above her neck was a grotesque puddy of blood, bone fragments, and brain tissue.

Peter wiped sweat from his forehead and tossed the hammer to the ground. He tossed the kid's still-twitchy corpse over his shoulder and carried her to his kitchen; a clearing deep in the junkyard, with old cabinets, rusty knives, plates, and other utensils scattered everywhere. At the center was a deep hole, covered by a metal grate, which served as a stove. He tossed her body on the ground next to it, and began undressing her.

Her top, a pink shirt with white spaghetti straps, came off first; lifted over her stump and tossed aside. Peter kissed each of her tiny, undeveloped, nipples, before he laid her back down. He removed her shoes, then her shorts, throwing them in a pile. Her blue panties, still soaked with her fluids, went in his pocket. He sat for a minute, gazing at the tiny prepubescent slit, glistening with droplets of urine in the orange glow of the setting sun.

"I shouldn't let this go to waste," he said to himself as he stood up. He removed his pants and underwear, tossing them aside; his erect member sprang forward, hungry for prepubescent cunt.

Peter mounted the tween's corpse and thrust his cock into her pussy; a loud grunt escaped his lips, his fat dick tearing through her much too small hole. Virginal blood poured out as he broke her hymen, but he didn't care, as his dick spread her vaginal muscles pushing through to her cervix; if she was alive, undoubtedly the little thing would have shrieked loud enough to send every rat and insect in the junkyard fleeing for their lives. Having no head, and thus no mouth or vocal cords, Felicia could only lay is silence as his overgrown dick pounded her womb. He grunted one, wolfish, grunt, as he sprayed hot semen into her cooling girlhood. When every last dropped emptied into her, he laid down next to her, and pulled her on top of himself; his hand rested on her left asscheek as he rested.

Minutes later, Peter cleaned her corpse and carved it up. Using her clothes as fire wood, he cooked her into the best feast he had in years. Unfortunately, he had to leave most of it behind, as Felicia's parents arrived with several cops ten minutes later in search of their daughter, unprepared of what they were going to find.


This is one of the hottest stories here! Shame he didynt have her head to fuck as well but still HOT! DO more like this with corpse undressing!!!


Village Girl to Gladiatrix

Six months ago, Arla knew only what it was like to have a loving family, three adequate meals every day, and nice, comfortable, clothes. Then her village was pillaged by the army of a hostile kingdom to the north, in need of food, supplies, and women, to aid in their assault against the Fortress of Sotil to the east. The villagers made the foolish mistake of putting up resistance, and the Royal Army in turn slaughtered all but a tenth of the population. Arla, terrified and helpless, watched as they hung her father and mother at the gallows, and then slit her older sister’s throat. She only survived because she hid in a thicket of bushes behind their house.

The army left, the town stripped bare of anything valuable. That didn’t stop a gang of outlaws from sweeping through the place to see what remained. Arla, having passed out in her hiding spot, woke to find a group of rugged men and women roaming around her family’s backyard. She sat up, memories of what occurred earlier slowly coming back to her, and alerted the strange folks by rustling the bushes. A strong burley arm grabbed the scuff of her dress and pulled her out, holding her flailing figure at eye level.

“Hey, captain! Looks like we got someone! What shall we do with her?”

A rough woman, wild red hair to her pelvis, but draped in shinier army than the rest of the group of thugs, looked at Arla, examining her with a bored expression on her face. “Not much for physical labor,” she lifted Arla’s dress and inserted a finger into the girl’s cunny, which was quite moist; most likely from pissing herself rather than arousal, the captain was certain. “Hymen’s intact. I’d bet some pervert would pay a high price for her. We’ll have to keep some of our perverts off her…,” Arla kicked towards the redhead, nearly striking her in the jaw, missing only by the woman’s fast reflexes, “Do that again and you will regret it, you fucking bitch! How about we just slice open your belly and leave you here to die?”

Her captor slammed his fist into the back of her head, knocking Arla out cold.

“Just take her with us and we’ll find something to do with her.”

In the coming months, Arla spent most of her time chained to a wagon as the gang of outlaws roamed the country. Her loving home was replaced by constant abuse, both physical and mental, and hard manual labor. Their red haired leader made it clear that she was off limits to rapists, lest they ruin her value by taking her virginity; the only part of the ordeal Arla was terribly grateful for. That didn’t, however, prevent them from making her dance around at night with risque moves, as guys jeered and jerked themselves to the erotic rhythm of her nubile ten-year-old body. The dress, purple with puffed shoulders, was replaced with a tiny piece of loincloth hanging over her genitals, barely covering her meaty little mound, and exposing her ass to anyone lucky enough to stand behind her. Her meals only consisted of stale bread, and occasionally leftover fat from much tastier meals.

A month ago, her fortunes changed when her captors decided to toughen her up, after discovering that doing so could be quite profitable for them. When Miriam, the redhead they called captain, thrust a dagger into her right hand and ordered her to slit the throat of a dog they held captive, Arla was at first confused and dismayed.

“Prove that you can be of use to us, and I will reward you,” she said while dangling a thick piece of ham in front of her now-widening eyes.

Arla licked her lips, whilst her eyes swelled up with tears. She looked at the dog, a small, whimpering, brown puppy, tied to a tree with a muscle of a man holding it down with his oversized fist. Arla only ever killed once in her life, and it was mere bug; she cried the entire evening, falling asleep in her mother’s arms.

“What if I don’t,” she muttered, then clasped her mouth when she realized what she had said.

“I’ll beat you senseless. You’ll either go a whole week without so much as a crumb to eat, or we’ll kill the dog ourselves and give you the rotting carcass to eat on. Might even rethink my policy about leaving your virginity intact.”

Arla swallowed hard, tightening her grip on the knife. Her stomach rumbled, which Arla interpreted as a little devil standing on her shoulder, urging her onward. Without anything acting as an angel on the other shoulder, Arla reached out and grabbed the dog’s snout. Crying, she jammed the blade into the helpless animal’s throat; blood sprayed everywhere as the beast’s short life quickly faded.

Miriam threw the piece of ham to Arla; she caught it and scarfed it down, sobbing after swallowing each chunk of meat.

Miriam laughed, as did a few of her thugs, and pulled two more pieces of meat from her pouch. “Just because I didn’t think you had it in you.” Miriam tossed Arla the meat, and the latter greedily ate each one.

This became a daily routine, where Arla slaughtered live animals for increasingly large morsels of meat. The killings became more brutal, with Miriam ordering the little psychopath-in-training to give her victims increasingly more agonizing deaths.

Her first human victims came three weeks after she killed the dog for a piece of ham.

The bandits raided a small farm, isolated from any major settlements by days of travel, and from the nearest other residence by hours. The house was occupied by a middle aged couple and their three daughters. The couple were gagged and tied to a tree, while their two oldest girls, twins with long dark hair, only two years older than Arla, were stripped naked and tied to the wall of their farmhouse.

Arla, the girl who once cried herself to sleep because she stepped on a fly, approached the twins with a dagger in her hand, and a scowl on her face. With an order from her captain, she sliced off each twin’s budding breasts, tossing the bloody remains of their blossoming womanhood to the dirt as their screams pierced the countryside. Their mother sobbed hysterically into her gag, while their dad pulled uselessly against his restraints. Arla continued to brutally mutilate the twins, cutting deep gashes across their arms and torsos in a frantic flurry, stabbing their mounds, and gouging out their eyes. It wasn’t until she opened their bellies, letting their guts tumble out, that Miriam ordered her to cease. Men gathered around, and fucked every orifice as the twins died in their restraints.

While they expired, several Miriam brought her to their younger daughter, a small thing of six, with a long, dark, ponytail. She was stripped and held down, like the dog Arla killed what seemed like an eternity ago. She needed no command; Arla grabbed the girl’s ponytail and pulled her head back, and opened a deep gash, slicing through her arteries and windpipe, and watched as the poor child’s life faded into a crimson spray along their yard.

That night, Miriam’s gang helped themselves to a feast, courtesy of the food and livestock kept by their unwilling guests. They gang even cleaned up and roasted the six-year-old Arla slaughtered, serving her alongside seven smoked chickens, three stuffed hams, with sides of fried and mashed potatoes, corn, roasted green beans, steamed carrots, and fruit pies for desert. Arla sat with them for, enjoying the best meal of her life; even helping herself to some of the little girl, much to the dismay of her distraught parents; who could only helplessly watch as they ate next to them.

The next morning, the couple was relocated to a bed inside their house, along with the remains of their daughters. There they remained, until they expired days later from dehydration. Meanwhile, Miriam deemed Arla’s training complete, and rode forth to profit from their labors.

Two days after giving Arla her first taste of human flesh, Miriam and Harold, her most trusted henchman, arrived in the City of Tead with Arla; claiming to be the girl’s parents, as they enrolled her in the Young Gladiator Tournament at the local arena. Offering her a lifetime of membership, as an equal, in her gang, Miriam instructed the girl to win. The prize was enough wealth that her and her gang could live in luxury for the rest of their lives. As battles were to the death, Miriam needed to offer no punishment for failure this time.

Miriam and Arla would both quickly learn, however, that killing restrained and defenseless victims did not constitute adequate training for actual combat.

Arla entered the battlefield, only a dagger her hand and the thin loincloth around her pelvis, approached by a teenaged boy. While clad in an equally skimpy piece of cloth, his left hand held a bronze shield, and a leather belt strapped across his waist held not only a dagger, but dozens of small throwing knives. He drew one of the knives, as Arla charged, screaming and clutching the dagger with both hands, and threw it. The blade struck her upper thigh, sinking deep into her tender flesh, and Arla staggered to the ground. She let out an ear-splitting scream, as blood gushed from the wound.

“This isn’t fair,” she screeched. “I don’t even want…,”

Her words were cut off as another thrown knife sliced her left cheek as it flew past her. Another struck her left breast, slicing her mosquito bite nipple in half as it pierced her lung.

The boy grabbed her by the are and pulled her up, before pushing her onto her belly, eliciting another shrill scream as she landed on the knives, and shoved them further inward.

The crowd roared, some cheering, others booing, and quite a few, mostly men, whistling and catcalling, as he spread her legs. He shoved his erect cock, already pushing through the thin piece of cloth over it, into her tight preteen pussy. She screamed, blood trickled from her hole, coating his member, as he broke through her hymen. In the crowd, Miriam and other gang members groaned in agony as their property dropped in value instantly.

The boy withdrew his dagger. Arla shut her eyes in anticipation as he brought the blade to her throat, then a sharp, raspy, gasp escaped her lips as the blade dug into the soft flesh, opening her wind pipe and spraying her blood everywhere. She gurgled and spat blood, as her short ten years of life quickly faded. In her last moments, Arla found solace in the fact that she no longer had to face a life time as one of Miriam’s thugs, running around robbing and killing innocent people and animals. She wouldn’t even have to continue this barbaric tournament, or ever kill another person. She would be reunited with her loving family in the hereafter. As her vision faded, Arla silently prayed for the gods and her family to forgive everything she had done since they last met.

Her opponent continued to pound her cunt as she expired. Just before she faded from conscience, he climaxed, ensuring that the last sensation she would ever experience would be his sticky cum filling her dying pussy. Even the stench of piss and shit, as her body relinquished the last of her life and self-control to death’s grip. He pulled out after squeezing the last few ounces of his seed into her deceased womb.

With his dagger firmly clutched, the boy sawed through her neck until her head pulled away. He stood, drenched with sweat and blood, holding her head triumphantly.



Shooting, Headshot, Child(12), Forced Masturbation(g), Masturbation(M), Urination, Defecation.

When Roel first became a hired gun, snuffing out cops, rival gangsters, and cheating wives sounded like it would be a lot of fun. There was the thrill, that rush of adrenaline, as he ended the life of a target, and made his way from the scene of the crime; not to mention, spending the next few days expecting the police to show, and hoping that your client wouldn’t try to screw him over, or have him knocked off as well. Yet, just like an afternoon riding roller coasters, his career was spending a lot of time waiting around, only for a brief moment of excitement. The pay was great, though; plus it still beat the slow monotony of sitting in an office all day looking at a screen, or stacking boxes in some warehouse. After years of doing it, and dozens of jobs, even killing can begin to lose its’ thrill.

Along came Roel’s latest job, and another milestone in his career, long after he was sure that he carried out every unsavory act that he was willing to do. Yet, he stood in front a young girl, Beverly Hoffman, just a month shy of celebrating her thirteenth birthday, floating around on a inflatable swan raft, in the pool behind her family’s country home; her eyes were closed, as she slept in, with a peaceful smile on her face, and completely oblivious to her impending death. Beverly was pretty, too; Roel was always confident that he was not attracted to girls her age, but as she laid in her raft, only a thin red thong covering her smooth prepubescent pussy, and her developing breasts, topped with puffy nipples pointed at the sky, wet and glistened in the setting Sun, his ideas of what was too young for him seriously came into doubts. Though he killed a few cuties during his career, this one, perhaps because of her innocent age, seemed different. He hoped this wouldn’t complicate his assignment.

If this job even remotely resembled his typical assignments, he would put two bullets in her forehead and leave. Her parents would come home to find her still floating, a stream of crimson flowing alongside her bright, orange, curls into the water. While he held his gun, a 9mm semi-automatic, in his other was an expensive 4k camcorder; a camera he needed to pay an instructor to learn how to use properly. Her father, chief of police in Dallas, busted up a major child porn operation, and arrested dozens of producers and thousands of their customers. Some of the higher ups wanted to punish him, and didn’t feel that simply killing him, or his daughter for that matter, would suffice. They wanted more than just a quick snuff.

With a few adjustments, the camera was set to record video, and snap five still every three seconds. He sat it on a chair facing Beverly, taking in her half-naked preteen beauty as she enjoyed her last moments of true happiness. Aiming his gun carefully, he fired off two shots. The crack of thunder echoed through the empty fields, as two bullets pelted the water, sending up a fine mist. Beverly’s eyes opened, first slowly, as she took in her surroundings, and then they shot open into a fearful bulge in their sockets when they gazed upon the strange man pointing a gun at her.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Roel drawled.

She sat up, scooting back against the head of the swan, hands covering her breasts. Her chest contracted, her mouth opened.

“Don’t scream, or you will regret it.” He pointed the gun at her belly, index finger tight on the trigger. She watched him, contemplating her options, for several seconds before closing her mouth.

“What do you want? You’re a fucking pervert!”

“That the kind of of language you want to use for your last words? Because this is being recorded.” Roel pointed at the camera, watching her stare at it, slacked jaw, as the realization hit.

“Fucking pervert,” she repeated, in a low whisper this time. Then she looked at him again. “You’re going to kill me?” Her question almost seemed to be a statement, needing no response, as the tears in her eyes spelled out clearly.

“I am, but first I’m going to need you to do something for me. You may or may not like it.”

Beverly sniffled and wiped tears from her eyes. Sobbing, she replied, “if you’re going to kill me either way, why should I do anything you say? I’ll do what you say if you promise to let me live. Please, I don’t want to die.”

Roel shook his head. “Sorry, but you will be dead before I leave this property.”

“Then I won’t do what you say. You’re fucking stupid for not thinking about that, you know?” She buried her face in the fabric of the raft, sobbing. “Please just don’t kill me. I’m just a kid.”

A long sigh escaped his lips as Roel considered his options. His clients would dock three-fourths of his pay, almost six-hundred grand, if he just shot her, but it would be easier, and quicker. Roel was never the one to take the easy approach, being the kind of man who enjoys a challenge; plus, he just needed to see this for himself.

“If you don’t do what I want, you’ll die now. If you cooperate, you get to live until I’m done with you.” Roel pointed the gun at the center of her torso. “Your choice. I’ll give you until the count of ten. One, two, three, four…”


“Say it again.”

“I-I’ll do what you want. But I beg you to think about letting me live, please. I’m too young to die.” She turned around, rubbing her eyes, sniffling. “What do you want?”

“Are you old enough to know what masturbating is?”

Her teary eyes shifted focus to the camera, then back to Roel. “Yes. Jacking off, right?”

Roel nodded. “Though, for girls it’s usually not called that.”

“Well, I call it that,” she shrugged.

“Do you know how to? Have you done it before? Or will I have to give you instructions?” Roel licked his lips, unsure which answer would be more enticing.

“Well…,” Beverly glanced nervously at the camera again, “I havebeendoingitfortwoyears,” she said quickly, saliva falling from her mouth.


The girl took a deep breath and, with a sharp hint of sass in her tone, “I have been doing it since I was ten.” She looked to the side, cheeks flushed with red.

“Good, because that’s what you’re going to do for me. But first, I’d like you to pose for the camera.”

Roel grabbed the camera, placing the gun in its’ holster, and disabled the auto snap feature.

“Stand up, facing me. Smile. I know it won’t be genuine, so fake it.”

Beverly got up, falling the first two times as the raft rocked to the side, responding to the shift in weight.

“Get out of the boat and onto the pavement.”

She did as he said; fell into the water, then swam to the edge and climbed out, soaked. Roel backed up, making sure she was out of arm’s reach of his gun, while keeping the camera trained on her.

Beverly stood there, arms to the side, and a wide grin on her face. Roel snapped, burst mode, taking ten pictures instantly. He pressed it two more times.

“Now, thrust your pelvis out just a little.”

Beverly did, and Roel focused the lens on her crotch, as the thin outline of her slit bore through the wet thin fabric covering it.

“Turn around, and bend over slightly.”

Roel’s camera took in her creamy white ass, with only a thin band running through her cheeks. Roel licked his lips, and felt the urge to suck dry the streamlets of pool water flowing down her ass.

“Smack your ass with your left hand, and leave it.”

With a loud crack, her ass cheek jiggled as her hand connected with it.

This girl could be a model, Roel thought to himself. Probably could’ve been if I hadn’t shown up in her life. That, or a porn star.

“Now remove your thong.”

Beverly hesitated for a brief second, her eyes narrowing and her fake grin faded, then pulled them down. With a kick, they flew towards Roel, landing on his foot.

“Spread ’em. Your ass cheeks.”

Beverly sighed, and dug her fingers into her crack, spreading her cushions as Roel took good footage and images of her small asshole.

“Good! Nice! Now I want you to turn around and sit, legs open.”

Finally, his camera focused on the child’s bare pussy, smooth and untouched, as Beverly displayed the fleshy morsel with reluctance. With another order, she spread her labia, as Roel took in her tasty pink hole.

“Now, I want you to masturbate until you cum.”

“Can you please reconsider killing me afterwards. Please!”

“Just start masturbating, or I’ll kill you now.” Then, after further hesitation, “Do you like dicks?”

Beverly nodded.

“Then I’ll give you some live porn to help you get going.”

Roel unzipped his pants, and pulled his erect, throbbing, cock from his underwear. He reached down, picking Beverly’s thong off his shoe, and wrapped the soaked fabric around the tip of his penis as he stroked the shaft.

“Now, get going or I’ll go ahead and shoot you.”

After another deep breath, Beverly started rubbing her clit. Then she inserted her middle finger into her that, making a wet sloshing noise as she thrust in and out. Her mind zoned out, and Roel hoped she was imagining his cock inside her, as he was. She did occasionally look up at his dick, fingering herself harder as she watched him jerk off into the thong that touched her pussy mere minutes ago. Beverly reminded herself to prolong herself as much as possible, knowing what awaited if she had an orgasm; as her mind delved deeper into fantasy, the present situation seemed less important.

Even with Beverly holding back, the race to orgasm first was close. With a loud grunt, and long, breathy, sigh, Roel jizzed first, spraying his warm, sticky, seed into her panties, and onto the pavement. This was too much for Beverly, and, seconds later, a long moan escaped her lips as she came. Concealing her orgasm was impossible, as arcs of her juices sprayed everywhere. Her pussy pulsated, twitching, as she ejaculated for the last time.

“That was great, but nothing last a forever.”

Roel drew his gun, as Beverly’s eyes swelled up with tears.

“Please change your mind. I don’t wanna die! Please sir! Please! Please!”

Her chest heaved and contracted rapidly, Beverly began hyperventilating, as Roel aimed the gun at her forehead. A shot rang out; blood sprayed from a newly-formed hole in her head, as her body fell back. A rancid smell filled Roel’s nostrils, as she shit and pissed on the ground, her bodily functions relaxed, her life gone from her cooling remains.

As per his own policy, however, Roel aimed again and fired six shots into her chest, before holstering the gun.

He leaned over with the camera, taking shots of her corpse from multiple angles. Then he turned her on her stomach, getting a few final shots of her ass, before shutting down the camera. He cleaned the sperm he sprayed on the pavement, using bleach he found in their kitchen, and stuffed her panties into his pocket.

While Beverly’s corpse slowly cooled in the night breeze, Roel found his way into her room and to her laptop. He uploaded the video and images to her Facebook and Instagram accounts, tagging everyone. He even found a anime-focused message board that she was active on, and posted the images there; anyone she listed as a friend or talked to via private messages got their own personal copy.

After getting back at his hotel, Roel uploaded copies of the footage to two flash drives; one for his client, and one for himself. Then he turned on the TV, and fell asleep while watching reporters break the news of his latest kill to the nation.


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