/lit/ - Literature

Well, it took a little over 3 years and a pandemic for me to finish this one, but I am really happy I did.

The original story was posted in the old gurochan but you can find it in my site if you haven't read it before, and though this is a prequel, I recommend you read The farm first and then the prequel, as otherwise you are going to spoil the plot twist.

Also, this time I wanted to explore character development a little bit more, and though the people that have read this one already liked it, I am not sure everybody will. As one of them said, its a bit of a ride.

So please, if you finish reading it, let me know what you think!

The farm is here asstr org/~Eficient/the%20farm htm
The prequel is here asstr org/~Eficient/a%20prequel%20to%20the%20farm htm

(just add the dots)

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This is a short story very loosely inspired by a real sighting from my childhood.


The young beggar girl hopped along the pavement on her single bare foot. It was awkward and tiring, but she didn't really have a choice. She felt every single bystander's eyes on her, even with her head held down in shame. The young dark skinned girl's body was bare, she was wearing only a bronze anklet. Her right arm was amputated a bit below her shoulder, ending in a wrinkled short stump. Her left arm ended a few inches below her elbow with a similarly scarred round stump, she had her elbow slightly bent forward as she hopped. The leg she had lost, the left one, was amputated mid-thigh, the stitch marks from the amputation run across both the stump's tip and the inner side of her residual leg. Her left eye was missing leaving her with an empty eye socket, she couldn't close it since the eyelids were also removed. Who could blame anyone for staring at her? She could hear most of them whisper and some not even bothering to hide what a huge spectacle she was.

''Whoah, look at that gypsy girl!''

''Three stumps? What happened to her?''

''She's still good for a footjob though.''

''Is she also missing an eye? Damn.''

She expected those kinds of reactions, but actually hearing them out made her want to die out of humiliation on the spot. But she had to keep hopping around town to get at her usual begging spot.

This site isn't nearly what it used to be, anywhere else to go for the stories? they were the best part.

Post prompts and your gore/scat filled adventures, doesn't have to always be serious or horny, we can all have fun.

Note: The original version of this story had some errors, so I reuploaded it.

At first, it was imperceptible, looking like nothing but a few unusual cases of septicemia. It crept across the globe, and by the time doctors even realised it existed, it had infected 98% of the population.

The remaining 2% lucky enough to be immune were evacuated to Taiwan. The new cradle of humanity, they called it. Even as the dying begged for aid, the remaining authorities said they were devoting all resources to the immunitas, for the sake of mankind's survival.

Fuck mankind, Izz had thought.

It works like this: you can't know you're infected without being tested--and there's nobody left to do that now. You can be spreading it for years without noticing. Then one day your number comes up; your blood turns to poison and your organs liquefy. Then you die in a pool of your own filth. The oldest anyone had made it, as far as Izz knew, was 35.

Medical research stalled. Virology took forever to learn; everyone who tried died before making themselves useful. People were still trying. Izz thought they were stupid.

From her living room window, Izz could see an altercation unfolding. Some kid from down the street lay on the asphalt at the mercy of his older brother. She watched with slight interest as the bigger sibling choked his brother to death.

It wasn't uncommon for older siblings to kill the younger ones. Staying alive was hard enough as it was, without having to worry about all those little shits. It wasn't a good idea to get too attached to anyone, anyway. Everyone's about to die, always.
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While I work on a prequel to a previous story of mine (The Farm) I decided to write a short story that you might like.

Let me know what you think!

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"Yeah, that's it baby, suck my cunt." I said as I moaned loudly.

Below me, kneeling in the foot well between my open legs, my daughter was doing the best she could as she tried to pleasure me, but I wasn't making it easy for her.

I liked to see her struggle, and as I watched her little tongue pushing forwards, trying to reach my sex once more I simply squeezed my legs, crushing her head in between them until she cried in pain.

"Sorry baby, I didn't realize what I was doing." I lied as I pulled my legs open.

Trembling, she returned to my cunt, and she started licking it once more.
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Afrodita flicked the strands of long, red hair from in front of her eyes as she strutted forward. The clicking of stiletto heels against the hard ground of the corridor hid the slight crack and squeak of the soft pink strips of leather which formed the majority of her uniform. Those sounds only became clear as her footfalls became muffled from striding onto the plush carpet which covered the floor of her master's study.

The green-eyed woman with her softly sunkissed skin felt her heart pounding louder and faster with every step. She almost thought that the other retainers who stood silently in the room could hear her anticipation. Anticipation which showed in how her thighs glistened with anticipation, with how her steps were deliberately slowed so that twitches born of nerves and excitement would not show. Thigh-high boots rubbing together, along with the contrasting black fishnets which peeked out from above them. Straps leading to the corset which pulled her waist in.

Pink leather straps hid the steel bones of the corset which pulled her waist in by almost half a dozen inches, the woman's already curvy form made all the more impressive with that fishnet-panelled enhancements. The soft pink bra-like top portion of it which covered her breasts had hot pink accessorising notes upon it, notes which were matched by the elastic binding the sleeves which stretched only from her biceps down to her wrists, the elements which matched on her thick collar which was almost a posture collar were hidden by those long strands of red hair which tumbled past Afrodita's collarbone to the bottom of her bust. The luxurious shimmer of her hair showing how well cared for Afrodita was.

Afrodita was a slave, but one that was cared for. Her master, Yosef, had a special place for Afrodita. She was his current favourite, and as such her looks were preserved while she was given plenty of tools to aid in her training. Training which the woman had been called to show off. Strutting forward with a seductive sway of her hips, Afrodita's heart froze for a moment as she gazed at the muscular form of her master. The man was easily almost half a metre taller than her, the diminutive woman's frame dominated by the broad shoulders and barrel chest of that muscular man. Proportionally sound, the handsome man was tall, strong, and demanded perfection that matched his own from his slaves.

Afrodita was blessed to be able to serve thisPost too long. Click here to view the full text.

Kenneth gritted his teeth. Some country musicians started singing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" for the hundredth time, next-door. Oh how wonderful it would've been to kick down their door and smash Alexander Wallace's stupid stereo to a million pieces, while his kids watched in utter horror. Kenneth just groaned and downed his third Budweiser, before crushing the can beneath his boot, and tossing it into the growing pile behind the couch.
He picked up the Colt 45 sitting between his legs and nibbled on the barrel. Christmas really was the worst; it was that day, five years ago, that he learned that the Devil always comes to collect.


Christmas in the Davis Family began as it always did. Kenneth sat on his couch. Alicia, his wife, slumped against his shoulder, yawned as he caressed her silvery hair. His eldest daughter, Sabrina, squealed as she tore open her gifts. She hugged him, her new camera and iPhone clutched in her right fist.
Sabrina, wearing red pajamas and a Santa hat, her blonde pigtails barely reaching her shoulders, was just two weeks shy of turning eighteen. She hummed Jingle Bells as she fidgeted with her new toys, and stuffed chocolates into her mouth. Kenneth kissed his wife, and looked back to see his daughter bending over with the camera pointed down the front of her shirt.
"I saw that," he growled.
"Saw what?" Sabrina smirked as she tried to cover her cleavage with pajamas cut entirely too low.
"You know." Kenneth chuckled as his daughter plopped down on the recliner and started playing with her phone.
In a few minutes, a high-resolution shot of her melons would be on Instagram, getting hundreds of likes every second. If they weren't attached to his daughter, and he was single, one of those likes would belong to Kenneth. He had Alicia, and her tits were a bit larger than Sabrina's. He cupped his wife's left breast, and she groaned while holding it tight against her tit.
Someone ran down the hall upstairs, hammering the floor with each step. "It's Christmas!" What sounded like a herd of elephants thundered down the stairs. Fay ran into the living room; the eight-year-old twirled in her pink nightdress before leaping into Kenneth's lap. "It's Christmas," she whispered into his ear as he brushed the curtain of brown hair from her eyes.
"Yes, it is." Alicia yawned as she rose.
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Karl spent the entire period doodling weapons in the margins of his quiz, and watching Jane Nuelle.

Jane shifted in her seat as she worked out an equation. Her frizzy blonde hair rippled as the air conditioner blasted the room with an icy breeze. Karl licked his lips. Her cheerleading uniform, green-gold with a cat paw on her chest, barely concealed her legs, toned by years of sports, as she crossed them. How would they feel, as his hands slid up her calves, and gripped her ass? He would find out before the day was over. Has anyone enjoyed the fruit that must lay between those legs? She always talked about saving herself for marriage, so, maybe he'd be the only one on Earth blessed with such an opportunity.

"Done!" Jane's skirt bobbed, revealing the bottom of her bubbly ass cheeks with each step, as she brought her assignment to Mr. Sisko's.

The teacher peered up from his phone as Jane handed over the quiz. "Done so soon?"

Jane giggled. "Yeah. It was pretty easy."

He smiled. "Knowing you, it probably was."

"So," she slightly lifted the hem of her skirt, while twirling a strand of hair around her index finger, "would it be okay if I left a little early to use the bathroom?"

"Go ahead, you've earned it. Just don't tell anyone."
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End of the Dynasty

I shouldn't have been there. If the samurai guards had seen me, they would have killed me on the spot, even though I was just a little girl. The common people were not allowed on the sacred grounds of our God, the Emperor. But gods meant very little to me, and anything was better than another day cutting up fish for the market. So when I heard the sound of proclamations being made in the seppuku garden, I hid from my brothers and snuck through the hole in the fence where the refuse was discarded. My hiding spot gave me a view of the whole thing.

The Emperor was in his usual place, seated in a golden chair that looked very uncomfortable. He was surrounded by his elite samurai, who as usual looked fully alert. I had seen them in the market hours earlier so drunk they couldn't even walk, but they were very good at looking straight ahead. I could have cursed the Emperor's holy name at the top of my voice, and they wouldn't have noticed. Standing along the side of the pave stones were the Emperor's loyal followers. They were supposed to care for his vast empire, but they did little more than argue about who would stand closer to their divine ruler.

An old man was reading a list of dishonorable crimes from a paper bearing the Emperor's sign, but I couldn't understand him. The rulers spoke a different dialect from the street vendors, and never spoke to us anyway. When he finished speaking, the gilded door would open and the condemned man would emerge with his second. That's how it was always done.

This time, though, when the doors opened, it was not a man who came out. It was a woman! She wore a silk kimono with so many folds of material that her figure was completely obscured. But her face was painted a perfect white, and her hair was the blackest black, very neatly pinned at the top. She carried the small kozuka blade in both hands, just like the condemned man would. Was she really the one to pay for her lost honor with her life?

Behind her was her second. He was a young, handsome man, and I recognized him immediately. He could drink more sake than any other samurai. More than once we saw him leave the market as the other samurai lay in the mud, and several times he performed the second's task for those same men. The disgraced soldier would kneel before the Emperor, and ceremonially plunge the short blade into his stomach. They never really plunged it inPost too long. Click here to view the full text.