The wind blew the crumpled coke can across the grime, the red tinted metal scraping the ground as it travelled through the night. This coke can had no name, his only use was to store the holy branded juices inside his metal pouch until he was drained and discarded. This coke can had fulfilled his duty, his innards were dry. He now travelled the open streets in search of a new task, a new meaning to his life, a way to bring justice to the land of his people. He went wherever the wind would take him, he sometimes travelled north, other times he journeyed west and on rare occasions he would travel in a different direction unlike the ones previously stated.
The coke can had travelled far this night, he had met many adversaries, they had threatened his very existence and his freedom to wander aimlessly in amazing and exciting ways but they don’t matter. He was swept by the wind into an alley way, where he the wind could not reach him. Whilst he waited for the wind to return, he looked out onto the street where he saw a young girl bickering with her mother.
The young girl was dressed in the garb of a goth with raven black hair, pale skin, rouged lips and eye-shadow for a face. Her age could not be determined by this simple coke can yet she was small of stature and using abbreviated terms that were not viable by simple learning. The argument was not about the way she was dressed moreover the consumption of sugary delights.
Unknown to the coke can, between the two bickering women was a small man named Bertie Bassett, unlike most; Bertie Bassett was made out of liquorice. The bobbly one, the coconut round and the liquorice tube were all jumbled together and were merged to form a freakish man-sweet. Bertie was trying to calm the two girls down, trying to show his appreciation towards both of their efforts of love for his confectionary prestige but to no avail.
The goth child swung a punch at her mother, landing a direct hit on her jaw. The mother took a step back, shocked at her daughters violent outburst. Claire would not stop; she pounced on her mother and pounded her face with her fists. The wet thud of daughter’s fist against mothers bloodied face, the crunch of bones as daughter beat the shit out of her, was music to Berties sugary ears.
Claire stood, her black clothes and pale face stained with blood, she looked down at the crumpled face of her mother, “He’s mine.” She said and turned back to Bertie. “You’re all mine now, all mine to love and cherish and hold.”
“Yes, that is true child.” Bertie spoke soft, his voice a whisper.
“What shall we do now my love? Where shall we wander? Shall we return to my house so I can bake you something?” Claire suggested, which was out of character for her, yet again it probably was out of character for Claire to kill her mother.
“No dear, why don’t we nip over to that alleyway?”
“Oh yes my love, oh I am so stupid not to consider your ideas, oh do forgive me my dear sweet joy.”
Bertie wasn’t threatened by this girls doting, he appeared used to the attention, the coke can couldn’t say he wasn’t at all in anyway shape or form threatened by this girls doting or puzzled by the murder he had just been witness to because the coke can wasn’t the sort of person who understood things straight away. As Bertie and young Claire stepped into the alleyway, the coke can prayed for wind.
A loud crunch of folding metal echoed about the alleyway, Claire had trodden on our coke can, darkness enveloped its soul as it felt the clammy hand of death graze its crumpled tin corpse. As the last droplets of life juice were squeezed out of its fruitlike interior he reflected on his life, the lives he changed and the people he helped but who gives a shit? It’s just a fucking coke can.
Claire was in a trance, swaying to the liquorice movements of the tiny sweet man. She was oblivious to his growing liquorice tendrils, his black vines of chewy goodness extending from his fingers and crotch, she did not notice as they encircled her body. Her limbs were singled out and separated without a blink of recognition and her knickers lowered, baring the chalk white skin of her crotch, her labia sealed tight with virginity.
As the liquorice tentacles bound her arms, removing her black studded clothes and her pure white bra thus revealing two plump molehills, each nipple rosy red and standing to attention. Claires eyes were still clouded, Berties little pink face smiled broadly as he gently caressed each tit, wrapping himself around each mound and squeezing causing them to swell.
Berties liquorice eyes grew as he stared at the udders, fantasies of playing hopscotch and various other childhood games crossed his mind, oh how he missed his childhood, how he missed rubbing his mothers strawberry clit with his chewy tube-like fingers and drinking the excess anise oil that dripped so lovingly down her candied legs.
Yet sometimes he did long to go outside and play with the other children made out of sugared objects.He frequently argued with his mother, complaining that he never did get a decent education due to her constant need for a gash rubbing, but she would simply steal his eyes and force him to delve deep into her liquorice cunt to retrieve them. His long chewy tubes squeezing in between the rosy redness of mummy’s labia, penetrating deep as mother did moan in delight as Bertie searched for his sight.
When he reached puberty, his liquorice muscles strong through the regular masturbation, he sliced up his mother into servable portions as she slept. She awoke when he was hacking away at her glossy black belly, she screamed at him to stop but he declined. By selling his mothers corpse to the general public he entered the business of candy, the confectionary trade, from which he sold sweeties to the masses.
Yet, as the market had become saturated, Bertie believed he had to expand his horizons and begin selling confectionary to an untouched market, this is why he was undressing a hypnotized goth in an alleyway and squeezing one of her two udders.
Bertie loved to refer to tits as udders, made his antics more associated to that of an animal abuser which, as he was not of the same species as this girl were partially true. He loved milking the cows back at home, squeezing and fondling the teats until the hot white juices were sprayed into his bucket, as he remembered the old times his liquorice tentacles squeezed harder on Claires breasts, the sticky black goop forming a suction on each nipple, she moaned as her hypnotized self was pleasured by the sweet man.
It was time, Bertie had wasted enough on reminiscing on his past life, a job he had set out to do and a job he had to fulfill. He broke his connection with Claire, she screamed as she saw what position she was in, naked with big long tentacles binding her. Her shrill voice brought a smile to Berties face, he relished in her surprise.
“So dear, awake at last?” Bertie spoke loudly to attract her attention.
“What the fuck is happening?! Who are you?! Why are you doing this to me?!” Claire did scream.
“Dear, if I am going to waste my time explaining all my plans to you in some long monologue it would give someone ample time to interrupt me, save you and thwart my plans. This I do not want so…” Bertie trailed off as he created another, slightly thicker, rope of liquorice. He sent it towards her vagina, wet with the previous attention; it teased her clit forcing more of her juices to loosen this tight virginity of the young goth.
The liquorice entered her cunt, her body stiffened as the chewy black tube penetrated her, a little blood trickled down as her hymen broke and her face contorted with pain as she was loosened. The large liquorice tube slid in and out of her gaping pussy, black contrasting with the paleness of her skin, her own juices lubricating the passageway allowing it easier access. All the time she screams “No” As if it’s going to stop him.
Bertie showed no pleasure in this act, to him it was merely another day at the office, he readied another large liquorice tube and sent it to the tight bunny nose that was her anus. With only sweat as a lubricant the large tube had difficulty entering Claire but with the right force Berties big black tube stole her anal virginity, she thanked him with a scream.
Being doubly penetrated, having two large pulsating objects entering your tight holes, penetrating you deep and retracting quickly only to return harder and faster than before. As Claire hung in the air, hands bound by the black liquorice tubes, legs spread eagle and breasts fondled by the same with even larger tubes going in and out of her vagina and arse she experienced such sexual gratification.
Bertie readied two more thick tubes of liquorice, he sent them to her arse and vagina, they each curled around their sexual counterpart creating two uber liquorice tubes, double the size of before but ribbed for her pleasure, they squeezed into the already loosened holes, causing the skin to rip and split.
Her gash grew to fit as did her anus, the blood mixed with her sweat and cum providing extra lubrication; this was taken advantage of as these tentacles continued to thoroughly penetrate her. She screamed in pain as her blood sprayed about the place, “No more!” she cried “No more please!” but Bertie ignored her and continued to shove his liquorice tubes in and out of her split cunt and crack, sliding them in and out, in and out, all in one fluid motion.
This wasn’t enough; Bertie needed more, with his tubes in which he bound Claires arms he lifted them up exposing her clean shaven underarms. Creating two sharpened liquorice tubes, he sent them into her armpits at a downward angle, penetrating her past the shoulder blades and sliding up and down. This caused a great deal of pain for Claire yet the liquorice tubes continued to slide in and out of her armpits, cunt and arsehole.
At this point, Claire saw it appropriate to scream her fucking lungs out, which is unnecessary in situations where you know no one is going to help you. When a man made entirely out of sweets is penetrating your arse, cunt and armpits with giant liquorice strings you really should apply yet she screamed.
Her mouth open wide, it was so inviting, Bertie sent a semi-thick strand down her throat. It raped her gullet forcing her to suck down on the chewy tube if she wanted to breathe, this shut her up allowing Bertie to focus on his final task.
He summoned six thick strands of liquorice, two for her nostrils, two for her eyes and two for her ears. He sent the nostril strands first, goth girl moaned as the thick strands continued to penetrate her lower regions. Her blood slowly ebbed from her armpits as the swoosh of sharp liquorice penetrated he innards. The two strands found their way to the nose and swiftly entered, penetrating the outer membrane of the brain and inserting itself into the grey matter, pounding away as the goth girl received a migraine.
Her screams were muffled by the tube in her mouth, the tubes in her pussy and arsehole slipping in and out gracefully with the poetic grace of a slimy toad humping soap. The tubes in her armpits continued to swoosh with little resistance, the blood acting as an excellent source of slippery goodness. However, the nostril tubes met the spongy exterior of the grey matter, unable to penetrate it the simply wrapped themselves around it, squeezing it for the mere reactions it created.
Her breasts were still being fondled, now to a gigantic size they each mimicked an udder, Bertie began to get sexually aroused but vanquished the thought by thinking about dead musical instruments that no one played anymore. Yet he continued to prod the nipples as he sent out his ear tubes.
The ear tubes were sharpened and easily penetrated the ears, past the ear drum and through the receptive neurons into the brain, Claire became deaf but didn’t mind much with the blood loss, squeezage of the brain and hardcore rape she was experiencing. The ear tubes penetrated into the turgid grey matter and began to fuck it slowly, enjoying the soft ridges acting upon the smooth ribs of the liquorice tubes.
Claire was dead, she lived no more, so Bertie decided to finish things off he sent off his final strands of liquorice which penetrated her eyes and into her brain. The pace of the liquorice tubes humping increased, faster and faster they penetrated the many holes they were in, out and in, out and in, the tubes slid into this body faster and harder than they had done before.
The many tubes shot a dark black substance into the corpse of Claire, her pure limp body stained by the gooey darkness of her innards. Bertie retracted his many tubes and examined her corpse. The ruined cunt and arsehole, the gaping holes where the armpits should be, the permanently flared nostrils and the goop filled eyeholes. “Not bad” Bertie thought and went on his merry way.
Silence.
The two corpses lay still, the black gloop rippling in the wind. Suddenly the gloop began to change, began to grow. It enveloped the corpse of young Claire, fixing it, reshaping it and bringing new life to this crumpled corpse.
Janet was born on that night, born from the gloop, she didn’t know who she was or why she was here but she wanted to get fucked by everyone she met who had a penis. You may think this strange but unbeknownst to the girl, deep inside her womb was a shop, a little tiny shop that sold candied goods to all the little foetuses that happen to by chance float by.
What a fuck
Dude
That absolutely delicious! I LOVED it! =>
Mwah!
So wonderful!
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WHAT
