/lit/ - Literature

The Gift by T Vulture


Carefully balancing the tray load with waffles and blueberry, Kat favorite breakfast, I nudge our bedroom door open. A smile crept across my face as I spied my wife of five years in the nude still asleep. Slowly and quietly I made my way to the bed trying my best not to wake her.

Setting the tray on the cabinet before I crawl back into bed for a special wake up call. It didn’t take long for my skill tongue to slowly caress my sleeping beauty form sleep to mind shattering intense orgasm.

“Hmm, that wonderful way to wake up,” she say stretching. Like most pervert I just stare as she lean one way than the other. Her breast swing back in forth like a magician hypnotic watch. When she leans back to stretch those firm and wonderful abs make me want to grab and kiss her into submission, but I remember and resist my urge. It her birthday after all.

Quickly leaping out bed to the tray with still warm waffles. “Hope you don’t mind the early wakeup.” I pick up the tray. “I know it your birthday and I know you love to sleep in, but I couldn’t wait to give you your present.”

“Oh yea present” cried the overly excite woman. Her eyes quickly spot the wrap box on the tray as I place it in front of her, over her sexy pussy much to my dismay. “What did you get me?”

“Hold on. Why don’t you eat first.” Kat gave me sour look before grabbing the fork and knife. It didn’t take long for her to scarp down waffles. I almost thought she might choke. Lucky she didn’t.

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The Volunteer

A man discovers that his local market is selling a rather unique cut of specialty meat, and that meat has to be coming from somewhere, right?

Tags: Ff/m, Consensual, Penectomy, Castration, mild CBT, Casual, Objectification, implied Cannibalism

He was browsing through the meat section of the market, idly pondering picking up a bit of pork or chicken to have for dinner when he saw it. A set of cock and balls sitting in one of the display cases, right next to the ground beef.

"Wha..?" he exclaimed under his breath, blinking in surprise. "..No way."

The set of clearly erect male organs had been severed neatly, just below a thin metallic band cinched tight around the base. They were a light purplish color, as if they had been taken off only moments after the band had been applied and then somehow preserved. They didn't look frozen, though, but fresh. Very fresh.

"What the hell.." he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief at what he was seeing. Coming across human genitalia was not something he expected to happen while doing his meat shopping.

"Hey, there.." came a chirpy, cheerful feminine voice, breaking past his surprise. "..Finding what you're looking for?"
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My reproduction /tribute of a story I read years ago on another site. I've looked and can't find it anymore. I’ve tried to reproduce it as completely and faithfully as possible from memory. The original was far better.

If anyone has the original or any info about the author please let me know so that I can properly credit the author.

Sorry for not finishing others before starting a new one but I woke up with this one begging to be written so I figured I'd make a start ;-) Enjoy!

Pt 1

Karl woke up without his alarm. A glance at the clock radio beside his bed told him it was a little after 8am – quite late for him to be waking up but it was a Sunday at least, and his birthday! The single father doubted his daughter Becky would likely wake up for at least another hour so, slipping out of bed and pulling on his robe, her decided to go make himself a coffee and bring it back up to bed to enjoy the peace and quiet.

As he made his way down the stairs, however, he was surprised to hear the hissing of a frying pan and to smell the unmistakable aroma of cooking bacon. This was nothing, however, compared to the surprise that greeted him as he entered the kitchen.

“Hi Daddy!” Becky grinned, glancing away from the frying pan for a moment, “What are you doing up?”

“I, umm… I wanted a coffee.” Ten year old Becky was standing completely nude in front of the stove. This was not like her – she was usually so modest, having mastered the beach-towel dance at the age of six. Yet here she was, preparing breakfast in her birthday suit, even ‘though it was his birthday! Her dirty-blonde hair was washed, dried and brushed neatly and she even seemed to be wearing a little subtle makeup. Clearly she had not simply fallen out of bed and not bothered to get dressed!

“Go back to bed, I’ll bring it up!” Becky turned slightly towards him and Karl could not deny he liked what he saw. Although puberty had yet to hit her, his young daughter’s body was pleasingly feminine with soft curves and legs many adult women would kill for! Those legs were topped with a cute bubble-butt which was just crying out to be spanked. Her nipples were pale pink, perfectly round and slightly perky, her belly curved outwards appealingly and the soft lips below were smooth and puffy. Karl shook his head to clear his thoughts – this was his daughter and she was ten years old, he should not be thinking of her that way. “Shouldn’t you put on an apron or something?” he suggested, trying his best to sound like a parent.

“Nah I’m being careful,” the little girl assured him, “plus I’m nearly done! Now go back upstairs so I can bring you breakfast in bed!”
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I cracked it! The trick was not to worry about providing context - this is event is just something that happens! lol. Enjoy Pt 1 - Pt 2 to follow either tonight or tomorrow :-)

Pt 1

“Ready, girls?” Mr Menzies stood with the starting pistol in his hand. “When I fire the pistol, you will have five minutes to get into the woods and try to hide. When you hear the pistol again, you’ll know that the hunters are coming!” The fifteen little girls, all aged between four and seven years old and all as naked as the day they were born giggled excitedly, waiting in the mid-afternoon sun for their signal to run. The woods was actually nothing but a small copse, run too far into it and you would very quickly find yourself out the other side! But it was plenty big enough for the game and provided plenty of places to hide or to dodge anyone pursuing you. “Okay, on your marks, get set, GO!” The old man fired the starting pistol in the air and the gaggle of small girls rushed off up the slight hill to take refuge in the trees. The adults and non-participating children who had gathered to watch clapped and cheered as they ran, many shouting encouragement to their daughters or siblings.

Next, the hunters stepped up to the line. These were the older girls, aged from eight upwards with the oldest being fourteen, most of them veterans of previous hunts both as hunter and prey. Unlike the smaller girls, the hunters were dressed in cammo fatigues complete with boots, ammo-belts and hats. Several also wore sunglasses to protect against the bright sun that they knew from experience could be quite dazzling if it unexpectedly broke through the foliage in the other gloomy copse. There were ten hunters in all, volunteers like the prey, all armed with low-velocity paintball guns which might sting but not cause actual pain or do damage unless fired at point-blank range, each loaded with paint pellets of a different colour.

After the hunt, the annual celebrations would continue with much feasting, girl-meat being the bulk of the food to be enjoyed. That was the whole point of the hunt and the rules were simple. The older girls, the hunters, were sent to stalk the younger girls, the prey, in the woods and try to shoot them with their paintball guns. They would have fifteen minutes to track and shoot the naked little girls and there was no limit to how many different hunters could shoot the same prey. At no point were they “out”, they could continue runninPost too long. Click here to view the full text.

Heather kicked her heels off after a hard day of work. Her white socks which where a size too small clung to her sweaty feet, which shapes could clearly be made out from beneath the socks. She let her red hair fall down to her upper back and let out a soft moan as she sat down on the hotel's chair, her voice almost unnaturally light. She slid out a photo from one of her black dresses hidden pockets. Her full, red lips curled into a smile as her green eyes surveyed the Asian girl who couldn't have been older than seven the picture was off. The girl had made an easy target, and though the assassin hadn’t the slightest idea why anyone would want her dead, she enjoyed doing the job. Though Heather was almost in her forties, she didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Her black, low cut dress hugged her body tightly, emphasizing both her C cup breasts and large firm ass. Her legs were slender and pale, and her arms much the same. Her face was pale and delicate, especially her nose. She stood with another groan as her back popped several times, but suddenly she felt her breath being taken away. Heather yelped as she felt the wire slip around her throat and ganged as it tightened around her. The assassins socked feet stumbled backward as whoever held the wire pulled her, before her attacker finally sat on the hotel's bed, pulling Heather into their lap. And then Heather heard the voice she never expected she would hear in a situation such as that one
“You’re getting sloppy mom” Katlin, the daughter of the assassin said. Heather went wide-eyed as she kicked her socked feet frantically and gripped at the wire. Suddenly she felt a tongue that she could only imagine was her daughters, run across her cheek. “Back when you were training me, you would have beaten me for how pathetic of a job I was doing, hiding from you. I was expecting you to notice me the second you walked in the door, and maybe put up a little fight. But this mom? Jeez, you’re really losing your touch” Katlin said in a mocking tone. Heather felt hot tears run down her cheek as she finally started to grasp the reality of the situation. Her daughter, her own flesh and blood daughter who she raised since she was a baby, was trying to kill her. Not only was she trying, but from the looks of things, she might succeed. She didn’t think she could break Katlin’s grasp of the wire, and she couldn’t find a weapon close enough to grab. She started to elbow her attackers’ side but couldn’t let a hit with much pPost too long. Click here to view the full text.

Using the old name because of the age of the protagonist. I also have another Pere Fouettard story in the works but ran out of time today! Like many of my stories, this one has been kicking around my head in one form or another for a few years. Hope you enjoy!

Pt 1

Dinah stood behind the glass, looking out at the sea of faces peering at her and wondering if she should wave or just stand stand still and let them look. The pretty, olive-skinned nine year old who had long dark hair, big dark eyes and was just on the right side of chubby had visited this museum many times in the past, like everyone from her town and others near by, and had spent a fair amount of time looking through this very glass. Just never before from this side, and never before in the nude!

Given the almost total lack of other attractions in the town and the relatively broad scope and low entry cost of the museum, it had been the location of nearly every school trip and bad-weather family outing she could remember. Whatever they had officially come to look at, no visit was complete without a trip to the display for which their strange little local museum was nationally famous.

Lined up, behind thick glass, as they had been for over a hundred and fifty years, were twelve naked, human figures, six male, six female, arranged in pairs according to age and intended to show the physical differences at different stages of development. The first two, on a raised platform, were very young babies, almost new-borns. Next was a pair of young children around the age of four or five, then a pair just before the onset of puberty, aged somewhere between nine and eleven, then a pair in their mid-teens, a pair of young adults, maybe nineteen or twenty years old and finally a middle-aged couple. Such displays were not, in themselves, so unusual. The Natural History Museum in London had one similar with single-colour, anatomically correct mannequins and similar displays could probably be found in museums of a scientific inclination all over the country but there was one thing that made the display in Dinah’s local museum totally unique.

Instead of mannequins and wax-works, the figures were the preserved and mounted skins of real people, their skeletons displayed behind them so their inner structure could be compared with the outer. A plaque by the side of the babies, bearing the official story behind the figures, explained that the people who had been stuffed werPost too long. Click here to view the full text.

Greetings denizens of Gurochan, I am MissSabby; you may also call me by my pen name, Sabrina Bowman.

Some of you have probably seen me, and my stories, on Fetnoir. I will now be writing stories here, as well.

Pretty much all of these stories will be new and fresh, but I probably will import some of my Fetnoir stories at some point. I can’t guarantee it’ll be soon, or that I’ll import them all at once.

A lot of these stories, but not all of them, will generally feature myself in scenarios that I cannot write about on Fetnoir; namely, stories where I’m younger than eighteen (currently 26 irl), or pregnant. So, I’m issuing a pedo and teen warning for anyone who scrolls down further. My age in-story will hover between eleven and fifteen, but can go as low as eight (the age I started thinking about sexual things, and close to the time that my darker fantasies started to develop as well.) However, many of my stories will include other victims, who may be much younger than that.

The other warning I should give concerns pissing and scat. I tend to be realistic, and, realistically, death is messy. Though, post-mortem urination is common in many of these stories, shitting isn’t. I don’t have a scat fetish, so there won’t be much focus on it outside of making death scenes realistic; if shit or piss ends up on/in someone, it’s merely because of where the bodies ended up the moment they died. If I have a post-mortem sex scene, I will either skip mentioning of the victim shitting themselves, or have their rapist clean them up before sex.

As for sex scenes, some stories will have them, others will not; I won’t force a sex scene into a story just for the sake of having one.

Now, let’s get to some stories.

As a 16 year old teenage girl, I never thought my life would be so violent. I never thought I would have so much power and control.

Never did I think a year ago that I would be where I am now.

I can't go back home and I can't talk to any of my old friends or even some family.

Nothing will go back to normal. This is my new normal.

I'll never leave this Island.

It's so fucked up. I never asked for this but now I can't imagine my life any other way.

My psychiatrist gave me this journal to keep my thoughts in one place. She said people - especially young girls like me - find it hard to transition to the island.

She said since I can't talk to anyone about the island that isn't on the island, this would help me.
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Was looking for a story read a while back. Was about a a kinda uneven fantasy fight club were a woman his fighting a were wolf. the were wolf rapes her and the resulting massive amount of were wolf cum makes her belly burst. Would put this under requests but that tab doesn't appear to work at the momment.