Bringer Of Death And Sex

There is nothing like the scent of newly lacerated meat. Both pungent and sweet, a smell which you can taste with every inhale of the stale air that surrounds you. Disgustingly addictive as you fixate on sanguine and gore, desperate for such states of sadomasochism that leads to spilled blood. It consumes you; this erotic compulsion for a bodily fluid that many tend to fear.

You missed when Papa Bear mercilessly raped you. Spending these months longing for his tough love and personality possessed by unethical libertine philosophy. Passing the time remembering lustful memories that plagued your mind. The way his hands, worn from work, inflicted harsh punishments upon you when he was displeased with the simple nature of your existence. The scars of his love left permanent on your meek flesh, his motivation to destroy your innocence in exchange for his guiltless pleasure. Sickened with yourself for how you managed to desire his cruel behavior, yet, you couldn’t control yourself from fantasizing about his erect cock penetrating your holes after a session of humiliating, gory abuse. Sending yourself into a primal hunger, wishing to be beaten raw. Craving to be assaulted - by weapon or fist. Praying for your Papa Bear to return home, for him to come back to you.

Sir is dearly fond of the photographs and videos that his Toys and FuckMeat share with him. How each day he examines these submissions of servitude - showcasing sexual behaviors, bodies covered in bruises and cuts. The arousal that possesses him is overwhelming. Leaving him erect, fantasizing about turning each of you into perfect, obscurely titled snuff films.

The once confident smirk wavers on your face, hinting at the innate fear that is growing inside as you contemplate the offer that Sir had given you. A rare chance to rape another Pet of your choosing - a moment to release your aggression onto another breathing Piece of Meat. Worried that your abilities will not hold up to the expertise of your captor - hoping to please him as he watches from the corner of the basement. Plumes of cigar smoke rolled towards you and the wide-eyed Pet you had picked in swirls of miniature tornadoes. Embarrassment heats the back of your neck as you take notice of the rising shame on Sir’s face as you make him wait for the show.

The puppy-like yelps that leave your mouth echo against the basement walls. Pathetic noises soon grow into full-blown screams of terror that threaten the soundproof barrier. Fresh, salty tears mix with the salvia that runs down your chin as another round of staples connects fragile pussy lips to your inner thigh. Stretched skin exposes your quivering hole; leaving you open and always ready for Sir’s cock. Removing your ability to deny him of his sexual desires.

Digging away at your decomposing flesh. Fingers dancing amongst the maggots and botflies, exploring your chest cavity. Viscous bodily fluids and liquified organs coat my hands in an oiled mess. Gripping onto exposed ribcage to steady my erratic thrusts, penetrating your bloated, rotting corpse.

“Good dogs get rewarded - und mein Welpe hat so einen wunderbaren Job gemacht.” I speak out as I stare at the sensitive flesh of your cunt. Discolored and swollen after the hour-long whipping. Pussy beaten and overstimulated. Slick juices flowing from your clenching hole as you’re left to bark and whimper in delightful pain. Teeth holding your favorite bone in your mouth and arms bound tight to your chest. Body jolting as I harshly suck on your enlarged clit, eager to bring upon your orgasm.

Hands wrapped tight around your neck, restricting your ability to collect oxygen. Lungs burning and face turning reddish-blue as I rape your sweet, innocent cunt. Kissing the tears that fall from your eyes, finishing inside, marking you with my seed.

How Sir desires to lick up the trail of blood oozing from your fresh self-inflicted wounds. Savoring the bitterly addictive flavor of iron gore. Finding sadistic pleasure in the way your body shakes with masochistic excitement. Tongue exploring the nearest laceration on your scarred thighs; tip of the muscle separating first layers of skin from subcutaneous fat. Sucking at the damaged flesh like a starved beast - eager to consume more of you.