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]]> http://gurochan.net/lit/res/7162.html I gazed at my wrist to watch the clock face tick past 10:30, I knew it wouldn’t be long.

My night time walks often allowed a welcome respite from the day to day life, the day to day tolerance of insipid and idiotic humans; they appeared no more than meat puppets in my eyes, leaving me to grow even more reclusive through the years. But still, I’d grown regrettably dependant on this society and met daily with fresh drooling idiots, whatever pleasure I felt in life came in the form of livid fantasies of their demise. I’d pleasure myself to the scenes I imagined, prolonged torture, the look of hopelessness, the final breaths; it pleased me more than any amount of their clumsy and predictable “erotica” ever could, where plastic blondes bounced repeatedly on large dicks to a cacophony of false moans. But tonight wasn’t about fantasy, tonight was about my rebirth.
Every night I’d walk this route and at 10:39 I’d meet eyes with a sweet young dog walker. I never learnt her name, but she looked like a Cindy. She had straight black hair curling slightly by her shoulders, a smooth, delicate face, pouting lips always twisted at one end, so morose, truly adorable.
She walked a small Scotty dog, white in whatever areas where not perpetually tinted with dirt, name of “Daisy” from what I overheard.
Mine and Cindy’s encounters would consist of a glancing look, a false nod and smile, and then return to walking at a fair distance, but not tonight.

10:39, and there she was, right on time, her perfect silhouette still visible even in such arid dark, Daisy’s yipping leading the charge. At once I began to frantically pat my chest, falling to my knees and running my hand through the wet grass just off the path.
“Dammit” I lied “Where is it? Where the hell?” I projected well, a fantastic piece of acting; I’d like to thank my high school drama teacher. “Come on...Where are you?”
“Excuse me” she said, right on cue; it was a sweet voice, unbelievably sweet, and almost childlike despite her 20-ish appearance. “Have you lost something?” A redundant question to be sure but I suppose she was still uneasy, perhaps she’d noticed how dense the night was as well.
“Yeah, my pendant, my daughter gave it to me...” an improvised pity-play “I was just looking at it and it blew out of my hand.” Instinctively she knelt near where I was searching, her bright eyes scanning the damp green, Daisy meanwhile eagerly continued sniffing a nearby tree line.
I could see her pale neck peering from out of a thick cotton sweatshirt, her breasts swayed slightly with every turn of her head, she must have been at least a D-cup, she looked in fantastic shape, and wore very little makeup, not that she needed any, she was in a word, stunning.

With one hand thrilled by the sensation of the wet dirt and grass the other reached my left pocket and exploring its folds, clasped around the hilt of the Stanley blade I’d purchased for the occasion.
Click
The tip was exposed, still inside my pocket
Click
I’d began drawing the glorious tool out, about three quarters of an inch entered into the night
Click
Two and a half inches of gloriously pressed steel were screaming for blood.
And as a final click rang into the dark I swung wildly. I wished I hadn’t closed my eyes, I wish I’d aimed, but as my eyelids peeled open I saw where I’d hit. The hilt protruded, already stained thick with unfathomably dark crimson blood from the left side of her neck, entering almost perfectly through her jugular vein and into her trachea. A wheezing filled the air like the slow deflation of a balloon and the glorious redness oozed forth liberally, she spluttered like a flooded engine, shooting ribbons of hot foam across the grass. Her tender hand had grasped her throat, her eyes dancing with terror and surprise, unsurprisingly Daisy growled gutturally in defence of her master but a swift kick to the face silenced her, save one last helpless yelp.
I’d yet to rise and she’d yet to fall, we were stuck in this limbo, her death and my rebirth immortalised in this unforgettable moment, but inevitable as the sunrise her angelic frame plummeted to the ground, her once beautiful face contorted in horror amongst the mud. With every drop of blood that I liberated, the grass around us shone more, catching the little moonlight in their now glowing tips. The smell of iron grazed my nose, a fresh, primal smell that wracked every cell in my body, and as her pupils ceased their manic dance I knew my work was complete.

Retrospectively my plan was incredibly flawed, but mercifully fate had granted my wish and now all that was left to do is dispose of my glorious artwork.
Gripping a nearby large rock I slammed it into her jaw, uprooting several teeth with a satisfying series of snaps, again and again I drove the rock into what remained till all were shattered or at least dislodged, pooling more blood in the back of her mouth. I took a nice intact one as a keepsake, call it unprofessional, but it was a very nice, red tipped tooth.
Once the lower half of her almost pure white face was cast red I removed the blade from her neck, a wet squelch coming with it.
The first slice was across her forehead, then down each eye and one from cheek to cheek across the bridge of her nose, with guidelines in place I set to work again with the rock. With every hit the skin burst at the cuts, the skull cracked and splintered and cartilage shattered inside the slowly loosing skin. Her beautiful eyes burst in their sockets and dripped down the side of her temple with the consistency of custard.
Severing her fingertips was next, I could dispose of them later but I had to split up the body first. I had spots planned all over the country where I could drop off her limbs one by one, stagnant swamps where the bacteria would decompose the flesh quickly and no-one would notice a smell. There was a lot of work ahead to become the next great serial killer, but this world of pathetic meat puppets would soon know me, and fear me.
Breathing in the smell one more time I gazed at the pale moon, the only witness to my deed, now peering quizzically between the clouds. It was a beautiful night for a walk, it truly was.

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This story isn't dead! I'm actually done with ch.4 but I don't like to post the normal version when the clean one isn't done. The clean one is fighting me tooth and nail so I'm corresponding with someone to see if they can help work me through this problem I worked myself into.

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But please, never show the ranch owners. You may describe them as shadows, describe how their hands feel on your victim's terrified flesh... but never give readers a good look at these monsters. There lies the mystery I've created.
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Deep in the rocky hills of the American midwest, there's a ranch with no visitors.

Out there the trees grow ragged, and the winds blow cold off the Continental Divide. There's no farm, no livestock. Just a small oak shack, leaning to the side, windows dark and dusty, porch rotting. Driftwood fences surround the property, undecorated, repaired yearly. I've seen Blackwood Ranch on Google Earth, flown overhead in my uncle's crop duster, mailed letters to its valid legal address. No postman could deliver them, I expected as much. Rather, I wrote for the thrill, I wrote to prove something for myself, to interact with a myth.

The closest I ever got was on January 12, 2004.

I saw the place from a mile off, through binoculars. I was alone in my jeep, and I knew to venture no further. Two years prior I'd begun work as a private investigator, tracing missing persons across the county. Sometimes a case led here, and that was the end. Today was one of those days.

Instantly I could see the Fairbrooks girl, hanging noosed from the front gate, naked and bound, taunting me. The noose looped clearly around her neck, its knot pulling up behind her left ear, fibers visibly constricting her throat. During the three hours of my stake-out, she never went still. The slender girl jerked and wiggled, bucking her legs, swaying to and fro. Her feet hovered several feet off the ground, there was no escape for the poor girl. And yet her airless struggles persisted. She never succumbed.

Others have ventured further, and have told me their stories. Jake Marson from the Chinook Motel pulled me close one night, his haggard eyes narrowed by alcohol. Two weeks, he said. Two weeks in the bushes, lying nearly still, rifle by his side. He lived off trail mix and water from his hideout right at the top of the hill, looking down on the ranch. The year was 1979, his daughter's best friend had gone missing. He never saw the ranch owners, to this day they've never appeared. But he saw enough.

This was day four, deep in the morning. Red mist spilled from the valleys, rays cut across the landscape. He'd risen early to urinate, and was now on watch for his first shift of the day. He saw movement below, in the grey of the dawn. Something stumbled. He peered through his binoculars, and slowly his eyes made sense of what they saw.

She was no more than eighteen, her body still slender and firm in its youth. She was naked, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, proud little breasts erect in the cold. She seemed unbalanced, and as she turned his way, he saw her face.

Sewn. Completely sewn up. Mouth sewn, eyes sewn. Ears plugged. Her eyebrows were drawn up in desperation, sewn lips wobbling with sealed emotion. She stumbled because she had no feet, and no hands. Nearby rustling spooked him into hiding, and when he looked up again she'd vanished. Drag-marks led to the storm door, below which the Blackwood dungeon presumable spiraled down, down into the earth.

Even with her orifices sewn, he'd recognized her. The girl was Shirley Graham, abducted in 1941, aged sixteen at the time. She hadn't aged.

After that morning he kept watch with renewed vigilance, filling pages of his journal with rough notes and theories. He wrote down when the lights came on in the house, when shadows moved beyond the dusty panes. He wrote of the wretched screams he could faintly hear, uttered from beyond the storm doors, when the air grew still and cold. He wondered what tortures could produce such ghastly sounds for long periods. He noted when smoke billowed from the chimney, when putrid smells gushed into the air. On the last day his vigilance paid off. He saw his daughter's friend, or what was left of her.

Stacy, the cheerleader and comedian. Interesting girl, hung out in all social circles. Bright smile, pretty eyes, hard little body, cute, boyish haircut. She drew all types. Students and teachers alike expected great things from her. Stacy's wonderful body and brilliant mind set her apart, she was special, the future would treat her kindly. Perhaps an SNL stint, maybe an acting career. Everyone wanted to watch her soar.

Instead she was here. At first he couldn't believe the shape he saw below was a human girl. The object was roughly beach-ball sized, and spherical. Nothing protruded. Only after the thing rolled closer, tugged by some unseen force, could he understand what he saw.

Her arms and legs had been amputated, and her limbless torso folded back. Stacy's flexible spine arched until the back of her head lay on her pretty butt, compacted into an unbearable ball of human agony. From her tiny anus a gleaming chain emerged to disappear down her cute mouth, its thick links bulging in her throat. He could only assume the unbroken chain looped all the way through her intestines and stomach, threading the poor girl all the way through. Her protruding ribs swelled in and out with each desperate, helpless breath, until the same unseen force tugged her little body back behind the house.

Only later did he realize she'd been on display, for him.

Since that day I've heard other stories. Martha from the post office got her daughter's pussy in the mail. Sarah Tanaka hung crucified out front through most of 1994. Darla Stinson, a young reporter from Chicago, walked into the shack while her boyfriend looked on from afar. Twenty middle school girls disappeared into the hills during a school camping trip. A young local teen surrendered herself to the ranch as a form of suicide in 2008. All are presumably still alive, trapped deep underground, naked and alone, some gruesomely modified, some forever denied breath, some subjected to tortures too creative to imagine.

In a way, Blackwood is hell itself. An eternity of anguish and torment, without hope of escape, without death's gentle mercy. Some day I'll be the first to go in, then come out. Someday I'll bring Blackwood down. Or vanish.

]]> http://gurochan.net/lit/res/5809.html#7157
Kagura-san was nervously glancing around as she stood naked before the firepit. She had volunteered to be cooked as a human roast meat, and on top of that, cooked alive. Part of her mind was fiendishly pleased at the prospect of being manhandled, prepared, oiled, stuffed through the anus and vagina and roasted like a pig.Part of her was afraid, she would die in a few hours, and once you sign the papers, there is no going back.

A male and female student approached her. There was a mat in front of the fire, along with several pots ful of stuffing, olive oil and vegetables.

The female who came to her was a younger student with a cook's apron. Haruka, who was 2 years younger than her, yet volunteered to handle the festival dishes, normal, or long pork. Being 5 feet tall, and slim and shy-looking, she didn't look convincing to be a young girl who volunteered to butcher and prepare live people.

"um...Kagura-san, are you sure you are going to do this? B-being the barbecue for the school's summer festival?"

Kagura replied with a voice belying her fear.

"Yes, it's a great honour to do,,. You know how much I'm always aiming to be the best, well, now this is that time, huh?"

-smiles, with a slight show of fear-

]]> http://gurochan.net/lit/res/6784.html#7156 Oh yeah, what did Bass do to Tabitha? She has a very strange relationship with him, saving his life but being an ass to him when possible.

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We wanted to make a RP involving Azumanga characters volunteering to be barbequed at whatever spring festival the Japanese hold. It was about to involve some naughty preparation, oiling, stuffing, and some agonizing alive roasting. She decided Tomo would volunteer for the best, and not ask for drugs to alleviate the pain. I'll add a few raw MSN past sentences before starting narrative...

-how about you are kagura-san, volunteering for her fine sun tanned athletic body, asked to be the honored student to be roasted at a festival,
you are anxious, and darkly excited about what you are asked for
-Sounds fine by me ^^ if I may ask, how will I be cooked?
barbequed
-Whole?
-Yes...you will be roasted alive.
-Ok ^^ sounds great on my side. ^^ of course, I will feel pain right ^^


*this starts*
more will come later, preferably in 20 min and after

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She has asked me to upload our RP in a story form. I'll get me some tea, and will form them into a story. Please hold.

]]> http://gurochan.net/lit/res/6784.html#7151 >>97
I was thinking 4-5 cm in size, actually. I remember that being just on the edge of being uncomfortable when someone shoved it into my mouth but I could get it out on my own. And since most dildos are about that width, it was a reasonable size to have Sable shove into Licker.

>>98
There is going to be a lot of tension going forward. Of the bitches, there are only five main ones (Merrie, Licker, Sama, Sable, and Dixie). The rest I'm trying to show things happening to them, but not going into *too* much detail.

Oh, questions I can answer.

1. Sable's fighting or lack of fighting ability has entire chapter dedicated to it. This is mostly foreshadowing of what is to come.

2. I'm thinking either +2 or +4 breasts, but having them very small and mostly just nipples. I actually don't have a strong opinion on that yet. I'm open to suggestions.

3. That I can't really answer. Mainly because the learning what an alpha is, both in magical abilities and in attitude, is pretty much what act two and parts of three are all about.

4. Merrie's love is not a zero sum. Which means, while she will always love Bass more than any other, she has also been falling for Borias, Piffin, and (maybe) Tabitha. Part of that is being a beta but also because of who she is.

>>99
I know. *sigh* I finished this chapter at 00:04 Sunday morning. And it looks like while 19 is a somewhat short, 20 is another brutally long one.

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]]> http://gurochan.net/lit/res/6784.html#7149 However, four questions. How much fighting ability does Sable actually have, how many sets of tits is Licker getting? Please don't let it be too many. What makes an alpha an alpha and finally, is Merrie's love for Bass really or just because she's been slaving for him longer then the other trainers?

]]> http://gurochan.net/lit/res/7129.html#7148
it was nighttime and in the city were even at night their should be plenty people going about their business. but about the only things in the city doing their business were hordes of zombies and mutants. the business of which mainly consisted of hunting for prey which consisted heavily on living humans.on the surface of the city almost all living prey had ether got away or fallen to the infected. one of the few survivors still left in the area had fled below ground into the sewer system hoping that there were nothing dangerous down their.

now to avoid humans this could work since most would be on the surface. but more then just humans had been effected by the disease that caused this disaster.the lone survivor was a young woman probably 20-25 range.she would considered be quit attractive,long blond hair,good sized breasts,a nice bubble butt,long athletic legs,a light tan all without a trace of excess fat on the body.about the only thing that could be considered unattractive by some people. was that she was obviously pregnant not enough yet that it really impended her movement, or she would probably not have survived.what was going through her mind would probably be.i can't believe this happening everyone is dead,how will i survive let alone have a baby,how can i raise a child knowing how the world is. if she was luck if she managed to get through the nearest sewer pie exit there she would see a s.t.a.r. boat picking up any remaining survivors,but if is a strong word meaning in this case she wasn't lucky enough.

from the sewr sludge a creature resembling a small sea star or octopus or perhaps some type of mutated insect and bit her it was only a eat and jump so she didn't manage to see it.she managed to convince herself that she just cut herself and didn't notice it early so she would be fine.sadly this wasn't the case and she had been infected,she found this out just as she reached the next crossing in the sewer system the one with the exit.the last thing to go through her mind before she lost the ability to think was,craap noooo!

so comments please. just no complaints on my typing skills OK i know it could use improvement. also help me decide what should happen next with ether ideas i give or your own.or you can try your own version of the story i won't complain to much as long as you use my the guide lines i gave. some advise i would like for sure would be.the name,age and appearance of the character and other character builders. any other mutations that you think might be neat. here are some of my ideas for the next chapter.
op 1. she is born and found by someone not realizing her mother was a zombie. some basic character info like name, gender, age (younger age for female preferred)personality etc.or it could be a character from the game still require the name of course and any info you think i should know that would be hard to find.time skip to so and so age were she gets separate from her parent likely due to parent being killed at least for the made up parent just separate with a pre made unless i change my mind.

op2 she is born then rapidly ages to 13 or below depending on what people say and my own decision.she somehow managed to absorbed certain information from her mother that would let her speak and know someone her age would know(doesn't really mean she is smart just has knowledge.she is then found by a person same as previous option.

op 3. same as op 2,but didn't get found by a person and wonders off on her own.probably has her first encounter with some creature probably plain zombies but could be something else.or she finds a place where humans have managed to secure or roving bandits.with the bandits they rape her obviously but then get attacked by something probably just zombies killing them all. but with the settlement zombies attack but only a very few are eaten.

note on her mutations.her pheromone is most active when she is more horny then her average.so if she just ends up wondering into a village it won't trigger a mass gang-bang, also the basic range could be called if she is visible or not.she still causes arousal just not uncontrollable.with creatures though it is different doesn't matter how horny she is or if they can she her not they will still rape her even though she would be quit willing they would also try eating her or whatever they would do not sure about it with mutants.she does get away rescue or through her own means.also impregnation is 100%with intercourse. with mutants/zombies the growth of offspring is accelerated. don't plain to make certain mutations heritable.

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]]> http://gurochan.net/lit/res/7109.html#7146 its good to see people still doing asphyx stories on here. they are so rare these days.

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