veryblah214
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2009
- Messages
- 159
- Location
- Around
Many of us here have experienced the pleasure of a breathless orgasm, but very few people actually understand the incredible risk of autoerotic asphyxiation. Such was the case for Devon, who will never again know the ecstasy of hanging.
Devon just turned 26 and had been particularly depressed--smoking too much, drinking too much. He had stopped working out and was getting soft. Breathplay was a release for him. It was a high. Sometimes he would put a plastic bag over his head and jerk off, or strangle himself until he almost passed out, convulsing on the floor uncontrollably.
On this particular occasion Devon fixed up a leather rope from a curtain rod. He figured that as long as his knees were touching something solid he’d be able to lift himself up before he passed out.
Of course, he was wrong.
Within seconds of reaching a hand down his pants and grabbing his dick, Devon could feel the familiar blackness coming on. Stupid kid’s neck was positioned in just the perfect way to have the effect of a sleeper hold. Instead of merely cutting off oxygen, Devon cut off the blood supply to his brain. He put all his strength into extending his legs, but all they could sustain was an involuntary trembling.
Unconsciousness soon came. Several minutes later irreversible brain damage occurred. For all intensive purposes, Devon was now a corpse, even though it would be almost 15 more minutes until his heart stopped beating. The fat tip of his tongue was protruding from his lips now, his hand still shoved down the front of his shorts. Didn’t even have time to get hard.
And that’s exactly how his roommate found him. The body was still warm. The what if’s plagued him. What if he had gotten off work 15 minutes earlier? What if he had ran that questionable yellow light instead of stopping? Even if he were home, would he be able to hear Devon’s breathless attempts to scream out for help?
By the time detectives arrived Devon’s body was losing its warmth, but the officers were required to do a complete investigation to rule out any foul play before packing up the body. This would be the humiliating part, as the detectives removed Devon’s hand from his shorts and began pulling them down.
Then all the way off.
And then cut his tank top off, leaving the body completely exposed, still strung up.
Finally, officers lifted the body from the rope, resting him in a seated position on the bed.
And then pushed him forward, exposing his ass and carefully inspecting for any signs of trauma that might be evidence of rape.
They flipped Devon’s body over one last time, leaving him sprawled out on the bed while they waited for a transport. They didn’t even bother covering him up, figuring he had already lost all the dignity he had left anyways.
Less than 2 hours after his accidental death, Devon arrived at the morgue. From all appearances the place was immaculate, but sometimes morgues in big cities get over-filled. After a busy weekend, there were no drawers or gurneys left for new corpses.
The morgue attendants simply laid Devon’s cool corpse on an even colder tile floor, covered in dust, in a back room used to store supplies.
At least they covered him up, eventually.
And placed his hands in a peaceful position before rigor set in.
They didn’t even bother tagging him yet. Those dusty soles would need to be scrubbed thoroughly before the family came to claim the body and transport it to a funeral home.
Devon just turned 26 and had been particularly depressed--smoking too much, drinking too much. He had stopped working out and was getting soft. Breathplay was a release for him. It was a high. Sometimes he would put a plastic bag over his head and jerk off, or strangle himself until he almost passed out, convulsing on the floor uncontrollably.
On this particular occasion Devon fixed up a leather rope from a curtain rod. He figured that as long as his knees were touching something solid he’d be able to lift himself up before he passed out.
Of course, he was wrong.
Within seconds of reaching a hand down his pants and grabbing his dick, Devon could feel the familiar blackness coming on. Stupid kid’s neck was positioned in just the perfect way to have the effect of a sleeper hold. Instead of merely cutting off oxygen, Devon cut off the blood supply to his brain. He put all his strength into extending his legs, but all they could sustain was an involuntary trembling.
Unconsciousness soon came. Several minutes later irreversible brain damage occurred. For all intensive purposes, Devon was now a corpse, even though it would be almost 15 more minutes until his heart stopped beating. The fat tip of his tongue was protruding from his lips now, his hand still shoved down the front of his shorts. Didn’t even have time to get hard.
And that’s exactly how his roommate found him. The body was still warm. The what if’s plagued him. What if he had gotten off work 15 minutes earlier? What if he had ran that questionable yellow light instead of stopping? Even if he were home, would he be able to hear Devon’s breathless attempts to scream out for help?
By the time detectives arrived Devon’s body was losing its warmth, but the officers were required to do a complete investigation to rule out any foul play before packing up the body. This would be the humiliating part, as the detectives removed Devon’s hand from his shorts and began pulling them down.
Then all the way off.
And then cut his tank top off, leaving the body completely exposed, still strung up.
Finally, officers lifted the body from the rope, resting him in a seated position on the bed.
And then pushed him forward, exposing his ass and carefully inspecting for any signs of trauma that might be evidence of rape.
They flipped Devon’s body over one last time, leaving him sprawled out on the bed while they waited for a transport. They didn’t even bother covering him up, figuring he had already lost all the dignity he had left anyways.
Less than 2 hours after his accidental death, Devon arrived at the morgue. From all appearances the place was immaculate, but sometimes morgues in big cities get over-filled. After a busy weekend, there were no drawers or gurneys left for new corpses.
The morgue attendants simply laid Devon’s cool corpse on an even colder tile floor, covered in dust, in a back room used to store supplies.
At least they covered him up, eventually.
And placed his hands in a peaceful position before rigor set in.
They didn’t even bother tagging him yet. Those dusty soles would need to be scrubbed thoroughly before the family came to claim the body and transport it to a funeral home.
more please ^_^
I would probably be offended if I were into feet lol. They're usually not as dirty as this, btw. Doing some renovations so there's drywall dust everywhere. 
