deaddirty
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- Joined
- Oct 7, 2008
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Bit of a change from my usual subject-matter - hope you enjoy.
The Thing
The house was old but solid - a wooden house, in its own secluded plot just outside the town. Chris had moved in a couple of weeks ago, and the Sheriff and his deputy, old friends of the family, had offered to help him do it up.
But today Chris woke early, feeling bleary and confused. The house was normally quite cool, but now it was uncomfortably hot, and Chris tried to shake off half-remembered nightmares about noises in the night, something landing in the garden, and a strange ectoplasm-like Thing sliding out and then disappearing into the fabric of the house, as if it had absorbed itself into the woodwork. As he got out of bed, wearing just his white boxer-briefs, the house creaked - strange, it had never done that before. As he walked out onto the landing the creaking followed him, and he seemed to see the woodwork moving slightly, a slight enlargement as if something within it was following him. There was a faint smell of rot, decay and fungus too - but the house had always seemed so firm and solid, no hint of any rot. He rubbed his eyes - was he ill, had he had had too much to drink last night, could someone have spiked his drink (he knew he hadn’t smoked any weed)? He turned and headed to the toilet for his morning pee.
The bathroom door opened easily, then swung shut behind him and seemed to jam, and the whole room seemed to creak and move. The toilet looked somehow different - almost like a sitting person, the seat like curled legs, a torso-like back that he didn’t remember being there before, the cistern like a head with the metal handle like a projecting beak Chris stumbled to the toilet, reaching down to get his tool out of his boxers; then obeying a sudden urge he turned round, pushed his underwear down round his thighs, and sat down. As he did he had an unaccountable feeling that he was exposing himself, bending and giving himself to - what? As he sat down the toilet felt faintly warm and leathery, and my god it really was moving! Before he could lift himself up again, Chris felt a prickly feeling as if tendrils were probing through his skin and holding him in position, and saw two off-white tentacles growing from the seat round his hips. Below him the toilet bowl was moving, closing up into a mouth-like opening to a thick flexible shaft, which started to protrude upwards towards his crotch like an erecting leathery penis. A thinner tentacle with an enlarged smooth mouth was growing from the front of the toilet seat, swaying its way towards his cock. At the same time he felt two rope-like tentacles grow from the cistern round the sides of his neck, uniting at the front then starting to tighten and squeeze his throat. He tried desperately to lift himself, but already he was held inexorably - the thought suddenly crossed his mind ‘sitting with my pants down on the lap of my killer’.
He was choking now, starting to struggle as his windpipe was squeezed shut. He’d needed a piss when he came in, and suddenly he felt his bladder contract, a yellow stream spraying onto his white boxers for a moment before the slender tentacle surrounded the tip of his cock, drinking it down. The urge to shit was suddenly desperate, and as he felt the leathery shaft explore his crack and push against his hole it was a relief to give in to it, opening his ass and feeding the pulsating organ before it pushed harder and slid into him, knowing he had just given himself completely to the Thing that was strangling and entering him, feeling the last almighty fuck. As his penis erected he felt the slender tentacle envelope it, sliding soft and slippery round his shaft, tendrils inside pulling back his foreskin in the ultimate blowjob. As he came to orgasm fucked deeper and wider than he had ever imagined, he felt the beak of the Thing nuzzling the back of his neck, tentacles pulling his hips back and down onto the shaft that was throbbing right through his insides, as the slender slippery tentacle-mouth contracted round his cock and swallowed a cumming beyond anything he had imagined.
He slumped back, emptied of his juices, his lungs empty and his body close to death. To his amazement he could still feel. Feel the Thing-shaft inside him pulsate, stretch his anus ever wider and realize that it was swallowing, sucking his intestines out. Feel an exquisite toothache agony as his balls were pulled backwards out of his ballsac into the shaft and out through his anus. Feel the shaft flex and grow inside, sucking his insides out as far as his diaphragm, approaching his heart. Feel the beak nuzzle his neck, then stab through the flesh to the bone, exploring and pushing at the junction of spine and skull.
The beak found the point it was probing for, and pushed with sudden violence. Chris felt a sudden CRUNCH as it levered his spine from the skull and dislocated his neck, then a rasping tongue extend from the beak into the spine-hole in his skull, reaching in to rasp out his brains. His body gave a final almighty spasm, and at that exact moment the shaft inside him grabbed his aorta and severed it, and he felt his final massive heartbeat eject his blood in a great pulse into the mouth of the Thing inside him. Then it was over.
It was several days before the Sheriff and his deputy became concerned about Chris and called round. As soon as they drove up they sensed that something was very wrong. The house that had been so solid was leaning, twisted, the woodwork cracked and rotted. Looking up, the Sheriff saw a strange protrusion like a fungus fruiting body sticking out from the chimney, looking for all the world like a deformed head with a metallic beak. He shuddered, suddenly scared and sensing that he was about to find a corpse.
The doorframe had warped, and the door was jammed, but the wood was so decayed that it fell apart when the Sheriff pushed his shoulder against it. As they walked in the whole house creaked and groaned as if it was about to collapse, and as they climbed the stairs the creaking was all around them, following them, the stairs cracking beneath their feet.
The bathroom door was tightly jammed against the frame, but both collapsed when they touched it, turning into a cloud of dust and fragments. The body was sitting on the toilet, the head at a weird angle, remains of leathery thong round the neck. Dried, shriveled and empty, with piss-stained white underpants round the thighs and a striking erect penis. The mummy-like corpse was feather-light, and as the Sheriff touched it it fell over sideways, exposing Chris’s shriveled splayed crack and gaping open anus.
The deputy muttered ‘Looks like he hanged himself, but how did he break his neck in that position with no drop? And his body is completely shrivelled and so light, almost as if his insides are missing. And the toilet water is clean - every hanging I’ve seen the guy had evacuated himself, and the post-mortem fluids have been pooled below the body.’ They looked at each other, knowing that they ought to investigate but that they were both desperate to be out of the room, out of the house. ‘Let’s get out of here’ said the Sheriff.
As they left, the stairs collapsed under them. They picked themselves up and almost ran from the house. They stopped outside and looked back. In just the few minutes they’d been inside, the fungus-body on the chimney had grown to the size of a sitting man, or a toilet, and as they looked a smoke-like wreath of spores discharged from its undersides and spread on the wind - across the garden, across the town, across America, across the world. The Sheriff whispered ‘This is against all the rules’, grabbed a jerrycan of petrol from the patrol car, and threw it into the house followed by a lighted match.
But it was too late.
The Thing
The house was old but solid - a wooden house, in its own secluded plot just outside the town. Chris had moved in a couple of weeks ago, and the Sheriff and his deputy, old friends of the family, had offered to help him do it up.
But today Chris woke early, feeling bleary and confused. The house was normally quite cool, but now it was uncomfortably hot, and Chris tried to shake off half-remembered nightmares about noises in the night, something landing in the garden, and a strange ectoplasm-like Thing sliding out and then disappearing into the fabric of the house, as if it had absorbed itself into the woodwork. As he got out of bed, wearing just his white boxer-briefs, the house creaked - strange, it had never done that before. As he walked out onto the landing the creaking followed him, and he seemed to see the woodwork moving slightly, a slight enlargement as if something within it was following him. There was a faint smell of rot, decay and fungus too - but the house had always seemed so firm and solid, no hint of any rot. He rubbed his eyes - was he ill, had he had had too much to drink last night, could someone have spiked his drink (he knew he hadn’t smoked any weed)? He turned and headed to the toilet for his morning pee.
The bathroom door opened easily, then swung shut behind him and seemed to jam, and the whole room seemed to creak and move. The toilet looked somehow different - almost like a sitting person, the seat like curled legs, a torso-like back that he didn’t remember being there before, the cistern like a head with the metal handle like a projecting beak Chris stumbled to the toilet, reaching down to get his tool out of his boxers; then obeying a sudden urge he turned round, pushed his underwear down round his thighs, and sat down. As he did he had an unaccountable feeling that he was exposing himself, bending and giving himself to - what? As he sat down the toilet felt faintly warm and leathery, and my god it really was moving! Before he could lift himself up again, Chris felt a prickly feeling as if tendrils were probing through his skin and holding him in position, and saw two off-white tentacles growing from the seat round his hips. Below him the toilet bowl was moving, closing up into a mouth-like opening to a thick flexible shaft, which started to protrude upwards towards his crotch like an erecting leathery penis. A thinner tentacle with an enlarged smooth mouth was growing from the front of the toilet seat, swaying its way towards his cock. At the same time he felt two rope-like tentacles grow from the cistern round the sides of his neck, uniting at the front then starting to tighten and squeeze his throat. He tried desperately to lift himself, but already he was held inexorably - the thought suddenly crossed his mind ‘sitting with my pants down on the lap of my killer’.
He was choking now, starting to struggle as his windpipe was squeezed shut. He’d needed a piss when he came in, and suddenly he felt his bladder contract, a yellow stream spraying onto his white boxers for a moment before the slender tentacle surrounded the tip of his cock, drinking it down. The urge to shit was suddenly desperate, and as he felt the leathery shaft explore his crack and push against his hole it was a relief to give in to it, opening his ass and feeding the pulsating organ before it pushed harder and slid into him, knowing he had just given himself completely to the Thing that was strangling and entering him, feeling the last almighty fuck. As his penis erected he felt the slender tentacle envelope it, sliding soft and slippery round his shaft, tendrils inside pulling back his foreskin in the ultimate blowjob. As he came to orgasm fucked deeper and wider than he had ever imagined, he felt the beak of the Thing nuzzling the back of his neck, tentacles pulling his hips back and down onto the shaft that was throbbing right through his insides, as the slender slippery tentacle-mouth contracted round his cock and swallowed a cumming beyond anything he had imagined.
He slumped back, emptied of his juices, his lungs empty and his body close to death. To his amazement he could still feel. Feel the Thing-shaft inside him pulsate, stretch his anus ever wider and realize that it was swallowing, sucking his intestines out. Feel an exquisite toothache agony as his balls were pulled backwards out of his ballsac into the shaft and out through his anus. Feel the shaft flex and grow inside, sucking his insides out as far as his diaphragm, approaching his heart. Feel the beak nuzzle his neck, then stab through the flesh to the bone, exploring and pushing at the junction of spine and skull.
The beak found the point it was probing for, and pushed with sudden violence. Chris felt a sudden CRUNCH as it levered his spine from the skull and dislocated his neck, then a rasping tongue extend from the beak into the spine-hole in his skull, reaching in to rasp out his brains. His body gave a final almighty spasm, and at that exact moment the shaft inside him grabbed his aorta and severed it, and he felt his final massive heartbeat eject his blood in a great pulse into the mouth of the Thing inside him. Then it was over.
It was several days before the Sheriff and his deputy became concerned about Chris and called round. As soon as they drove up they sensed that something was very wrong. The house that had been so solid was leaning, twisted, the woodwork cracked and rotted. Looking up, the Sheriff saw a strange protrusion like a fungus fruiting body sticking out from the chimney, looking for all the world like a deformed head with a metallic beak. He shuddered, suddenly scared and sensing that he was about to find a corpse.
The doorframe had warped, and the door was jammed, but the wood was so decayed that it fell apart when the Sheriff pushed his shoulder against it. As they walked in the whole house creaked and groaned as if it was about to collapse, and as they climbed the stairs the creaking was all around them, following them, the stairs cracking beneath their feet.
The bathroom door was tightly jammed against the frame, but both collapsed when they touched it, turning into a cloud of dust and fragments. The body was sitting on the toilet, the head at a weird angle, remains of leathery thong round the neck. Dried, shriveled and empty, with piss-stained white underpants round the thighs and a striking erect penis. The mummy-like corpse was feather-light, and as the Sheriff touched it it fell over sideways, exposing Chris’s shriveled splayed crack and gaping open anus.
The deputy muttered ‘Looks like he hanged himself, but how did he break his neck in that position with no drop? And his body is completely shrivelled and so light, almost as if his insides are missing. And the toilet water is clean - every hanging I’ve seen the guy had evacuated himself, and the post-mortem fluids have been pooled below the body.’ They looked at each other, knowing that they ought to investigate but that they were both desperate to be out of the room, out of the house. ‘Let’s get out of here’ said the Sheriff.
As they left, the stairs collapsed under them. They picked themselves up and almost ran from the house. They stopped outside and looked back. In just the few minutes they’d been inside, the fungus-body on the chimney had grown to the size of a sitting man, or a toilet, and as they looked a smoke-like wreath of spores discharged from its undersides and spread on the wind - across the garden, across the town, across America, across the world. The Sheriff whispered ‘This is against all the rules’, grabbed a jerrycan of petrol from the patrol car, and threw it into the house followed by a lighted match.
But it was too late.
