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Thread: Tales of horror NSFW

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    Tales of horror NSFW

    someone posted this on something awful.com. thought id share...


    _______________________
    The Box

    by Thndrshark

    We had done about everything we could think of with Jane. After only 3 years, she had been modified and manipulated in every way imaginable. As I admired her rigid body, listening to her subtle whimpering beneath the inflated bladder stretching her jaws, I couldn't help but feel sad that I wouldn't have her to torture any longer. Three years ago, when she had written me with her interest in becoming the ultimate bondage toy, I hadn't believed someone like her existed. But after many months of conversation, we finally met, and I realized that she was for real. Only 19 years old when she arrived, she was impressive. Only 5'6", she already had massive breasts, measuring a delightful 38D. On such a small frame, they stood out dramatically. She was rather proud of them, wearing a tight t-shirt on our first meeting, with hip hugger shorts and a bare stomach. I was still certain she would back out at the last minute, but she eagerly signed the contract giving her life to me, then drinking the potion I had set out. Within seconds she was asleep.

    It only took a few minutes to throw her tiny form over my shoulder and carry her down to the dungeon. Already a large house nestled in the woods, I had built an equally large dungeon underground. The long, stone steps were foreboding to strangers, as were the dark walls and sounds of dripping water in the distance. Setting Jane on the floor of the primary chamber, I undressed her, then lifted her onto the chair. Her ass settled on two flat bars, leaving her entire crotch accessible. Legs stretched out in a dramatic V, parallel with the floor, while her arms strapped behind her at wrist and elbow, then attached to an upright bar. Her head bent back, resting in two thin half bands that held her at the base of the skull and toward the top of her head. Thin straps extended from these, one circling her chin with the other reaching around her forehead. Once tightened, her head bent back sharply, forcing her to face up. When she woke, she would be able to see herself clearly through the large mirror suspended above her. I wanted her to see everything that was happening to her. An added attachment connected to the lower band and stretched over her mouth. I reached in to pull out her tongue, then fit it between two serrated pieces, clamping them down tight, holding her tongue out of her mouth. Two rubber wedges at the back of her teeth held her mouth open wide. I stepped to the back of the chair and began cranking the two dull spikes. They touched her skin on either side of her spine, at mid-back. Though not sharp, they were uncomfortable, and served the purpose of slowly forcing her chest out, while stretching her body. The pain of the metal pressed hard against her back brought her eyes open wide and a scream from her throat. I watched out of the corner of my eye as her eyes darted about the room in fear, trying to assess the situation. I ignored her, actually humming as I worked, positioning the dildo penetrator beneath her exposed anus. Greasing it, I cranked the dial until the pointed tip began to press past her sphincter. She jumped at the sensation, which told me she had too much slack. I stepped behind her again and gave the spikes a few extra turns, grinding their dull points harder against her sensitive back and creating a wail from her throat. The result was to force her large tits out further, and to remove her ability to move at all. I returned to the dildo, making sure it was lined up, then flipped a switch. For a second nothing happened, then suddenly, the dildo shoved it’s 6 inch length deep into her ass. Jane screamed out loud, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks as the dildo extracted slowly, then plunged itself deep once more. The sequence was random and would continue unrelented until I shut it off. I figured a few days of anal raping by the machine would soften her will.

    As I returned to her face, I avoided eye contact. I could see without looking that she was terrified. After all our conversation about these and the coming events, I could tell she wasn’t quite prepared for the reality of the situation. With a pair of scissors, I began to cut off her long blonde hair, letting it pool around my feet. Soon her head was stubble. I stepped to the side and rolled over the silver tray loaded with shaving cream and a razor, then applied the foam to her head and proceeded to shave her. Despite the attack waged on her ass, I could tell she was more disturbed by the shaving. She watched as I ran the razor over her head, removing the last bits of hair. Soon, she was completely bald. After wiping her dry, I took a pair of latex exam gloves from the tray, pulled them on, then squeezed a liberal amount of gel from a small tube onto my palm. Rubbing it across both hands, I touched her head, smearing the brownish substance across her bear head. The chemical stung as it attacked the hair follicles, though the pain couldn’t have been anything compared to the dildo. I looked down to see it was in heavy pump mode, forcing the dildo deep in, then extracting it quickly, only to shove it back in. It was like a good hard fucking. She closed her eyes, squeezing tears onto her face, as she felt her baldness become permanent.

    Shaving her eyebrows, then plucking her eyelashes was easier. I coated two eye patches with the strong depilatory, then placed them over her eyes, forcing them shut. I stepped around her and sat on a stool in front of her pussy, then spread more depilatory over her shaved crotch. I had to stop the machine for a second as I coated her ass with the same gel. It only took a moment and soon the machine was back in action. Pulling the gloves off and depositing them into the trash, I took another tray and selected a thick needle. I removed the eye patches, wiping her eyelids clean as well, then allowed her see see the sharp device I held. Her tongue was already pulled out, but a few turns of a small crank pulled it out even further. I again avoided eye contact as I lifted the huge needle and without pause, shoved it through her tongue, near the tip. A blood curdling scream rose from her throat as blood ran down her throat from the hole. I grabbed a fairly large ring from the tray and fit it through, clicking the locking ends together to form a seamless shape.

    After 30 minutes, I had completed her piercings. In addition to the front ring, I had pierced a series of holes down both sides of her tongue, placing smaller rings there. A large nose ring now dangled from her septum. Both nipples had a ring at the base and a rod through the middle, while her clit sported two rings; a larger one behind her clit, and a thick yet small ring through the middle of her clit. She had watched the entire process, simply grunting as each needle penetrated her flesh, moaning slightly as each ring clicked together in permanence. I stood back, admiring her modifications. I wasn’t sure if I would like the image of the hairless creature before me. But now, as the rings sparkled from her flesh, her face seemingly featureless without eyebrows or hair, her body contorted by the bondage and spikes, I smiled. I knew I was going to enjoy this immensely. I walked behind Jane, then leaned in to her ear.

    “Welcome to the rest of your life,” I whispered. I left her then, letting the ass fucking continue as she felt the first pangs of regret for her decision.

    For the years she served me as a slave, I rarely ever again got the impression that she hated her life. I think she learned that she was forever modified now, and would never return to normal existence. Despite my observation, I continued on with the plan we had made before she arrived. She had asked for some very specific punishments, and I happily complied. Now, she stood before me as she had so often, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she regretted her decision. Even if she had been given the opportunity to be released, she wouldn’t be able to live a normal life. From that first day she arrived until this very morning, I had injected growth hormones into her breasts. Her formerly 38D breasts were now an amazing 44HH. They were perfectly shaped, for breasts, firm and perky, but just amazingly huge. To compliment this, she now wore a permanent, spring steel corset. A surgeon had removed her two lower ribs to enable her current size. I stepped up to her and placed my hands around her waist. My fingers not only touched but overlapped slightly. For over a year now her breath had been forced into a shallow pant, her lungs unable to fill completely. Her mouth was gagged with an inflatable bladder, bulging her cheeks out dramatically. The look seemed to go with her inflated lips. A series of collagen injections had created the look of a sex doll. My guests had enjoyed the bizarre image of a woman at parties, her face painted and a gaudy wig over her bald head. I looked up to her, catching her eyes for the first time in months.

    “You know what day this is?” She shook her head slightly, fear filling her eyes. “Well, this is the day you get boxed.” I watched as she began to cry, knowing exactly what I meant. “Remember, you asked for this and, as you can tell by the time you’ve spent with me, I’ve done everything you asked for, haven’t I?” She gave a slight nod, her eyes dipping in resignation. She knew that I was not going to waver from her own plan, regardless of how she felt about it now. “I can tell by your response that you’ve changed your mind?” She lifted her eyes again, a look of pleading. “Perhaps I shouldn’t do this?” Again, a nod, as emphatic as possible with the posture collar on her neck.

    “Well, I’m sorry to say, but you chose your own fate,” I smiled at her face as she realized her fate was sealed.

    The box was only 4 feet long, 3 feet tall and 3 feet across, made of ½ inch riveted steel . As I led Jane to it, her eyes grew wide in panic. The thought of the box and the reality was almost too much for he to handle. She began to struggle, trying to pull away despite the chain that I held, connect to her nose ring. My newest slave Monica, a young brunette, helped hold her as I pushed her to her knees. As was customary, Jane was naked except for her corset, the ballet shoes she had learned to walk in, and the bondage that held her arms in place. She hadn’t had use of her hands for nearly 2 years now. I had wrapped them up in tiny rubber balls, and then trained her arms to fold into a reverse prayer, until they were strapped behind her in permanent fashion.

    We finally got her to the ground and I spread her legs, removing the inflatable dildos in her pussy and ass. Attaching a rubber strap to the front of her corset, I let it rest on the floor as Monica handed me the first dildo. The steel shapes were hollow in the middle, with stiff tubes and wires extending out of them. Greasing the tip, I slipped the steel phallus up Jane’s stretched ass until the retaining ring wedged into place. The second, larger dildo fit into her pussy nicely. I made sure the dildos were positioned well, then slipped a thin metal probe into her urethra. In order, I pulled the strap up between her legs, fitting a tube through the designated hole, then moved to the next, until I stretched the thick rubber up to meet the back of the corset. We rolled her onto her back and I grasped her face. The breathing tubes pressed into each nostril until I was certain they were seated in her lungs. With a combination of wax and glue, I filled the gaps around the tubes in her nostrils so she could only breath through the tubes. Attaching a bulb to her gag, I deflated and removed it. Almost immediately, Jane tried to speak. The rings through her tongue had made it difficult for her to talk since her first day, an activity I discouraged anyway. But now, her fate on the line, she began to panic.

    “Masssa! Peese! Ah don wanna ga an u box! Peese, na, peese! Ah beg ya. Peese!!” Her pleading continued in her bizarre broken English, the metal from her rings clicking off her teeth. I looked down at her and smiled.
    “Of course you’re going in the box, Jane,” I said sweetly. “Do you remember when you made me promise that no matter what you said, I would go through with the plan? Well, I’m not going to break my promise.” My words brought a stream of new tears, a morbid wail from her throat and a new round of thrashing. But her restricted body was no match for my slave and I. Monica simply sat on her tiny waist as I took her head again and began to push a much larger tube down her throat. Her eyes, large with terror, watched me as the tube hit the back of her throat.

    “Now be a good girl and swallow, Jane,” I said. Reflexively she did, and the tube slid into her stomach. Once I was sure it rested in the proper position, I took the rubber bladder Monica held, slipping the rigid middle over the tube, then pressed the rest of the bladder into her mouth. The middle section held the feeding tube firm, pressing against the top of her throat. Monica offered the injection gun, which I fit on the inflation nipple. Slowly, I squeezed the epoxy into the bladder. I had to reload the gun a second time, but after a short time, I couldn’t fit anymore into the rubber. Jane’s cheeks bulged from the pressure of the liquid filled pouch in her mouth.

    “That’s epoxy filling your mouth now, Jane,” I said. “It’ll dry in a few minutes into a solid mass.” The feeding tube still stuck out from the middle of her cartoon lips. I capped it off and moved to Jane’s ears. Small speakers fit deep into them. Tilting her to the side, I filled up the rest of her ear canal with wax, blocking off all sound. Once her other ear was done as well, Jane could no longer hear at all. I stepped over to a control station and flipped on the microphone so she could hear us.

    We flipped her onto her chest, then I attached a chain to her right ankle. Stretching it up with all my strength, I attached the other end to a ring on the band just above her left elbow. Her ballet shoe nearly touched her elbows now. After attaching her left leg in the same manner, I admired how her body was bent backward into a severe arch. Pulling her legs so severely up her back not only created a painful U shape with her body, but also forced her shoulders back even further, creating a constant ache that added to the dull pain she already felt from her arm bondage. A spreader bar was placed between her knees, holding her legs apart.

    We lifted her rigidly bound body into the box. With the harsh bend her body was held in, she fit nearly perfectly, her forehead just touching the front of the box with her knees an inch or two from the end. Though I couldn’t hear her, I could tell that Jane was terror stricken, both from the intensity of the hogtie as well as the coming event that she both had begged for, and now dreaded. I grabbed the heavy hood from the table and laid down low, so Jane could see me.

    “Well, this is it, Jane,” I said. “Once I put this hood on you, you’ll be able to see yourself from that camera above.” I motioned to a camera above the room. “I hope you enjoy your ultimate fantasy. I’ve had a lot of fun torturing and playing with you, but I guess it’s time to finish your request.” I stretched the hood over her face, covering the torrent of tears pouring down her cheeks, and the sobs that could just be heard through the rock solid gag.

    With the hood stretched over her hairless scalp. I made sure all the tubes escaped cleanly, then ensured the goggles built in were positioned over her eyes. Tiny lcd monitors would now be showing a bird’s eye view of the room to Jane, so she could watch the final preparations. Once the hood was laced and strapped into a skin tight fit, I placed a heavy leather head harness over it, pulling it painfully tight. Another length of chain attached to a ring at the top of her head, and I pulled it hard, forcing her head back dramatically, until the chain reached the band holding her elbows together. Now, Jane fit in the box perfectly, a good 2 inch gap at both ends, with plenty of room on the sides and top. As Monica fed the rigid tubes out a hole on the end, I considered Jane’s bondage. For any other slave, this would be incredibly severe. For Jane, I’m sure it was as well. But considering her fate, it seemed the right thing to lock her in some painful position. Monica nodded to me. Jane was ready.

    I extended the angled trough over Jane, then threw the lever. The thick substance flowed out and over Jane, slowly filling the box around her. I could see her trying to move, perhaps to escape, as the cement began to fill the box. I looked up to the camera and smiled.

    “Isn’t it great to be able to see your own encasement? I bet you can feel the cement surrounding you, pressing against you.” I looked back to the box and adjusted the flow of the feeder to make sure it was even. Within in seconds, the box was filled, the last evident of Jane soon covered in a smooth layer of liquid cement. I stepped to the box, reaching my arm into the cement to grab hold of one of Jane’s nipple rings. I twisted it merciliously, knowing that she was screaming in pain, but no evidence of her reaction could be seen.

    “That’s the last time you will ever be touched by anyone, ever,” I said to the camera. “Once the cement sets, it will lock you in that rigid position for eternity, Jane.”

    Monica had hooked Jane’s breathing, feeding and crotch tubes up to the control machine, along with the accompanying wires. Jane was breathing heavily, or more so than usual, as she felt the weight around and upon her. I taped the keyboard and the machine activated an enema. Quickly, Jane’s ass was filled with a huge dose of ice-cold water. I figured the added pressure on the inside would only add to the feeling of pressure on the outside. I turned again and waved at the camera, knowing that Jane’s panic and agony would only be increased by my casual attitude.

    After 12 hours, the cement was fairly solid, with Jane embedded inside.

    “Well, Jane, the cement is pretty much solid now,” I said to the camera again, as I pressed against the solid mass in the box. “You’re probably feeling the weight of all the stuff on you, and maybe even panicking a bit because you find yourself absolutely immobile. Well guess what? That’s how you’ll be forever now.” The concept excited me, and though I could easily remind myself that a live girl was locked inside, the fun for me was largely over. With Monica’s help, we lifted the steel top onto the box, and I riveted into place. With a large winch, we lifted the box to the pit I had dug in the room, slowly lowering the concrete and steel box into the bottom. The hole was nearly 10 feet deep, already lined with concrete itself. The box looked small at the bottom. We fit the tubing and wires into a PVC sleeve, and I began to fill the hole with more cement.

    It took a week for the cement to dry over the box, but I had already covered it with dirt, then fit the flooring back over the hole. For most of my guests and many of my slaves, they would never know the difference. Monica enjoyed keeping track of the machine. Though I had trouble imagining Jane as a real person any longer, she seemed to love tormenting Jane’s unseen and forever entombed body. Considering Jane’s condition, I put no limits on her punishment. I’d often come into the room days after Monica had been allowed to play, and found the controls set in some extreme level of torment. With the combination of enema torture and the ability to deliver electrical shocks to pussy, ass and urethra, Monica had found some inventive ways to punish Jane. Often, she would forget to feed her for days, and I felt like I was scolding a child about their pet.

    The truth of the matter was one day we would all tire of her. The time would come when, as she had requested long ago, her pussy, ass, urethra, and stomach would be filled with cement as well, sealing her completely in her tiny coffin, beneath the ton of concrete that now rested above her.

    As I watched Monica giggle at a new found combination at the machine, I began to wonder who might be next.
    _____________________________
    I am become death, the shatterer of worlds

    Everything you never wanted to know.

  2. #2
    Aurë enteluva Gallery SuperMod
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    Re: Tales of horror

    oh and heres one by the author of fight club.

    if you have EVER masturbated, you should read this. trust me.

    _________________________________

    Guts
    by Chuck Palahniuk

    Inhale.

    Take in as much air as you can. This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.

    A friend of mine, when he was 13 years old he heard about "pegging." This is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkout counter, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned.

    So my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And Vaseline.

    Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt.

    At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts.

    Then, this kid, his mom yells it's supper time. She says to come down, right now.

    He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed.

    After dinner, he goes to find the carrot, and it's gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky.

    This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they nev¬er do. Ever. Even now that he's grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all of them. That something too awful to name.

    People in France have a phrase: "staircase wit." In French: esprit de l'escalier. It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a par¬ty and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party....

    As you start down the stairway, then-magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should've said. The perfect crippling put-down.

    That’s the spirit of the stairway.

    The trouble is, even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do.

    Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about.

    Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around their kid's neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm every¬where. Of course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look ... better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad teen suicide.

    Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of pol¬ished brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, ei¬ther a big metal ball or the kind of fan¬cy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense.

    It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips.

    After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I'll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he's in the hospital.

    He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy.

    On the phone, the kid says how-the day before-he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ballpoint pen's too big. A pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin.

    Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work.

    Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally reinvented jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't keep track of the wax. He's one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn't sticking out anymore.

    The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube.

    From downstairs, his mom shouts it's supper time. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life.

    It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax, so he figured it would just melt inside him and he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kid¬neys. He can't stand straight.

    This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people scream¬ing. Game shows.

    The X-rays show the truth, some¬thing long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's getting bigger and rougher, coated with crystals of calci¬um, it's bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood.

    This kid and his folks, his whole fam¬ily, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the nurses stand¬ing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy.

    On the phone, right now, he starts to cry.

    They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mis¬take, and now he'll never be a lawyer.

    Sticking stuff inside yourself. Stick¬ing yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble.

    What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I'd kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there for two, three, four minutes.

    Just from jacking oft' I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd do this all afternoon. After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs.

    After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each hand¬ful in a towel. That's why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my mom.

    That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, think¬ing she's just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed, retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father and the uncle. In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you.

    The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sit¬ting on it.

    As the French would say, Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked? Still, one minute you're just a kid getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer.

    One minute I'm settling on the pool bottom and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellow¬striped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped foot¬ball practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling.

    One minute I've got enough air and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours.

    My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch an¬other big breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom.

    I do this again and again.

    This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the concrete bot¬tom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being so long in the water.

    And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls. It's then I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get my feet under me. My ass is stuck.

    Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida.

    People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about everything. Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Get¬ting my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air, either.

    Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher. The heartbeat in¬side my head getting loud and fast.

    The bright sparks of light crossing and crisscrossing my eyes, I turn and look back ... but it doesn't make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, blue¬white and braided with veins, has come up out of the pool drain and it's holding on to my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake's thin, blue¬white skin you can see lumps of some half-digested meal.

    That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that's never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me.

    So ...I kick at it, at the slippery, rub¬bery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butt¬hole. With another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an inch closer to my escape.

    Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It's the kind of horse¬pill vitamin my dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omega¬three fatty acids.

    It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life.

    It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call prolapsed. It's my guts sucked into the drain.

    Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That's about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working-unravel¬ing my insides-until it's got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound shit and you can see how this might turn you inside out.

    What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you're digesting, doctors call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin, runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas.

    That's all this soup of blood and corn, shit and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my guts unravel¬ing out my ass, me holding on to what's left, even then my first want is to some¬how get my swimsuit back on.

    God forbid my folks see my dick.

    My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellow¬striped swim trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible.

    You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lambskin condoms. Take one out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery. It's so slimy you can't hold on.

    A lambskin condom, that's just plain old intestine.

    You can see what I'm up against.

    You let go for a second and you're gutted.

    You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted.

    You don't swim and you drown.

    It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now.

    What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital 13 years ago. Here's the kid they hoped would snag a football schol¬arship and get an MBA. Who'd care for them in their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm.

    Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the kitchen tele¬phone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellow¬striped swim trunks.

    What even the French won't talk about.

    That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say, "I need that like I need a hole in my head...," Russian people say, "I need that like I need teeth in my asshole......

    Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse.

    Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead.

    Hell ... even if you're Russian, someday you just might want those teeth.

    Otherwise, what you have to do is¬you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air and you will chew through anything to get that next breath.

    It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night. If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari.

    It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trou¬ble or how I'd saved myself. After the hospital, my mom said, "You didn't know what you were doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs.

    All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me....

    I need that like I need teeth in my asshole.

    Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple of hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet.

    After you have a radical bowel resec¬tioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most people, you have five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inch¬es. So I never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was 13.

    Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swim¬ming pool. In the end my dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vita¬min pill still inside, even then my dad just said, "That dog was fucking nuts."

    Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my dad say, "We couldn't trust that dog alone for a second...."

    Then my sister missed her period.

    Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state, after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never men¬tioned it again.

    Ever.

    That is our invisible carrot.

    You. Now you can take a good, deep breath.

    I still have not.


    ______________________________________
    I am become death, the shatterer of worlds

    Everything you never wanted to know.

  3. #3
    Tannhauser Gate Veteran Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat sings 'rep rep repitty-rep' Rev Scapegoat's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    Bedtime stories! Great!

  4. #4
    M as in Mancy Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini is better than Hoody Semprini's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    If true disgust could appear in text form, it would be this post.

  5. #5
    Eerie. Very eerie. GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric knows the secret altnation handshake GoddamnElectric's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    Christ on a bike....

    In all fairness, if you're daft enough to attempt any of these things, you deserve what you get. Darwin will back me up on that one.
    Drink up with me now and forget all about
    The pressure of days, do what I say
    And I'll make you okay and drive them away
    The images stuck in your head


    - Elliott Smith, Between The Bars

  6. #6
    k1LLuM1n4T1 Baby Jordan = 2nd Best Baby Jordan = 2nd Best Baby Jordan = 2nd Best Baby Jordan's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    brian, i salute u, therez not an image on earth which can make me feel the same kind of nausea that post did, well done mate
    http://www.noizpollution.com/forums/...es/pdcgain.jpg

    you might fall in love with someone else today, but i will always love you anyway :: apopygma berzerk - rollergirl

  7. #7
    local hero mr_brownstone is Deadly! mr_brownstone is Deadly! mr_brownstone is Deadly! mr_brownstone's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    fuckin... hell...
    Dancing...

    With tears in my eyes...

  8. #8
    Registered User Elite - We accept you, one of us! Elite's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    thats fuckin sick

  9. #9
    Affable, allegedly... Electric Head is hypnotising you all to give them more rep Electric Head's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    I think we found the winner of the nausea inducement awards!

  10. #10
    tear you apart Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator has all the rep they could need. And more. Devastator's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    I've never masturbated so I didn't read it
    Quote Originally Posted by Dec View Post
    The misdirectional humour of Am-Y Devastator: Not for the retarded.

  11. #11
    Troll Banned Pete! is on a distinguished road Pete!'s Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    Ban

  12. #12
    emo is the new black Sebb™ = Best Sebb™ = Best Sebb™ = Best Sebb™'s Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    Quote Originally Posted by Youth Decay
    I've never masturbated so I didn't read it
    lol! Fucking sick though. What's wrong with missionary?
    She was occupying every available cell in my brain.

    I just wished I had a bigger brain.

  13. #13
    I SHAKE MY ASS System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star wants it iced on a cake System_Star's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror


  14. #14
    Registered User Tool_ogt is simply amazing Tool_ogt is simply amazing Tool_ogt is simply amazing Tool_ogt is simply amazing Tool_ogt is simply amazing Tool_ogt is simply amazing Tool_ogt's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    I really should have not read that...
    http://www.rockmusic.cz/imgs/sigurros_500x100bw.jpg

  15. #15
    What the Deuce? Jamesy has more friends than you :p Jamesy has more friends than you :p Jamesy's Avatar
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    Re: Tales of horror

    Fucked up in every possible way.
    It's all about the Rock

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