cunt.
"They bring bliss to a dildo like you," says the giant cunt. "A violent orgy of cunts and fucking."
I hear the crying outside, whining for me to let them in. The rapists growling like a metal-tornado, ripping down the barricade, ripping down the walls.
"I am not a dildo," I tell the giant cunt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Rushing through the darkness of hallway, I’ve got to find Celsia and tell her about the rapists, tell her to fight them away, save me from their violent cunts and knives.
It takes most of the evening traveling through darkness places, only lighting comes from a paper moon dangling outside of certain windows, glowing eyes in certain twists of the hallway.
The living dead have done well turning Celsia’s fortress into their home. Every room I come upon in search for Her is a scene of necro-eroticism, living dead women touching each other ripping each other’s meat apart.
In one room I find a giant moon-glistening spiderweb with several zombies trapped on it like flies, and from the ceiling there is the Sister playing black tarantula hanging from a shiny string to catch the undead ones curl them into her breast to suck crispy blood from them. And I notice that the web is not made like a spider’s. It is made of razor wire, the shiny metal ripping through zombie flesh, the web attached to her like it is an extension of her razor wire pubic hair, and the strands are emerging out of the Sister’s cunt like it would a spider’s lower abdomen cutting the vaginal lips on the way out, wrapping around a zombie to cocoon it in her pubic hair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I find Celsia cradling Herself in the darkest corner of the fortress, on the darkest floor, I had to crawl under a bed through an air vent over a mountain of broken tables and chairs to get to Her. She’s sitting here staring at the blankest wall she could find, naked cold flesh.
The rapists are here, I tell Her.
She nods and chews a finger.
I sit next to her, shivering, hoping she will lean against me to warm us but she shows no sign of movement. Our child, the bag of soggy meat, is over there in a pile of dead blankets and rats, I’m staring at it in disgust and scratching a nipple. It has been tossed aside like an old ugly purse, lying there in sickly breaths.
"I’ve been waiting for it to die," Celsia tells me, glances cold fish at me. "I haven’t fed it for days, hoping it will die, but it keeps breathing and crying."
The rapists are coming, I tell Celsia and She nods.
"I knew the baby would die. Babies always die. I just wanted to have a child for a while, a beautiful child. Just to see what a baby of my flesh would look like."
We need to fight them off, I tell Celsia and She nods.
"But the child came out a freak. My flesh must be sick to produce such a monster. I want it to die so I never have to look at it again."
I don’t want to get raped. I tell Celsia and She smirks.
She stands and stretches her icy white skin.
"You were born to get raped," She tells me, her teeth sharp and leering.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
We can hear the rapists breaking indoors, flooding in soupy screaming and fucking everything in the kitchen, finding zombies and beating them to the ground with their fierce cunts, pubic hair grinding undead lips off their faces.
Celsia does not want to hide. She takes me out of the dark side of the fortress and tells me to wait in the middle of the
"They bring bliss to a dildo like you," says the giant cunt. "A violent orgy of cunts and fucking."
I hear the crying outside, whining for me to let them in. The rapists growling like a metal-tornado, ripping down the barricade, ripping down the walls.
"I am not a dildo," I tell the giant cunt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Rushing through the darkness of hallway, I’ve got to find Celsia and tell her about the rapists, tell her to fight them away, save me from their violent cunts and knives.
It takes most of the evening traveling through darkness places, only lighting comes from a paper moon dangling outside of certain windows, glowing eyes in certain twists of the hallway.
The living dead have done well turning Celsia’s fortress into their home. Every room I come upon in search for Her is a scene of necro-eroticism, living dead women touching each other ripping each other’s meat apart.
In one room I find a giant moon-glistening spiderweb with several zombies trapped on it like flies, and from the ceiling there is the Sister playing black tarantula hanging from a shiny string to catch the undead ones curl them into her breast to suck crispy blood from them. And I notice that the web is not made like a spider’s. It is made of razor wire, the shiny metal ripping through zombie flesh, the web attached to her like it is an extension of her razor wire pubic hair, and the strands are emerging out of the Sister’s cunt like it would a spider’s lower abdomen cutting the vaginal lips on the way out, wrapping around a zombie to cocoon it in her pubic hair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I find Celsia cradling Herself in the darkest corner of the fortress, on the darkest floor, I had to crawl under a bed through an air vent over a mountain of broken tables and chairs to get to Her. She’s sitting here staring at the blankest wall she could find, naked cold flesh.
The rapists are here, I tell Her.
She nods and chews a finger.
I sit next to her, shivering, hoping she will lean against me to warm us but she shows no sign of movement. Our child, the bag of soggy meat, is over there in a pile of dead blankets and rats, I’m staring at it in disgust and scratching a nipple. It has been tossed aside like an old ugly purse, lying there in sickly breaths.
"I’ve been waiting for it to die," Celsia tells me, glances cold fish at me. "I haven’t fed it for days, hoping it will die, but it keeps breathing and crying."
The rapists are coming, I tell Celsia and She nods.
"I knew the baby would die. Babies always die. I just wanted to have a child for a while, a beautiful child. Just to see what a baby of my flesh would look like."
We need to fight them off, I tell Celsia and She nods.
"But the child came out a freak. My flesh must be sick to produce such a monster. I want it to die so I never have to look at it again."
I don’t want to get raped. I tell Celsia and She smirks.
She stands and stretches her icy white skin.
"You were born to get raped," She tells me, her teeth sharp and leering.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
We can hear the rapists breaking indoors, flooding in soupy screaming and fucking everything in the kitchen, finding zombies and beating them to the ground with their fierce cunts, pubic hair grinding undead lips off their faces.
Celsia does not want to hide. She takes me out of the dark side of the fortress and tells me to wait in the middle of the
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