Bringer Of Death And Sex

Anon Adult///Sir, Herr Sadistisch///Disgust n’ Lust///Hard Trauma Kinks///Paraphilia///MDNI +18///All Of This Is Said With A Sliver Of Consent///Block Do Not Report

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My Collection of Perverted Anon Toys and FuckMeat: 🪦🪭🌺🌼🌡️🔌🧥🔦📺🍇🐂🍗🛸🧠🧎🐕‍🦺🪨🪓🍋❌💉📿🐰

You know who you are.

If you want to join, succumb to my filth and entice me.

Featured Tags Below:

#prose by herr sadistisch — Works of Literary Texts

#confessions from the collection — Identified and Anonymous Inbox Conversations

#papa bear rambles on — Sparse Words and Scattered Thoughts

#the exhibition — Writing Challenges

#sacrifice for sir — Stencils for Bloodsport

#sir’s pets — Submitted Photographs and Video Footage of my Collection

#sir’s tools — His Trusted Blade and Gear

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There is nothing like the scent of newly lacerated meat. Both pungent and sweet, a smell which you can taste with every inhale of the stale air that surrounds you. Disgustingly addictive as you fixate on sanguine and gore, desperate for such states of sadomasochism that leads to spilled blood. It consumes you; this erotic compulsion for a bodily fluid that many tend to fear.

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Slick warm blood dripped from the laceration that decorated your brow bone. Carmine fluid pooled into your eye as the wound pulsated; leaving you at a disadvantage with the loss of vision. Brain buzzing as pockets of recent memories came back to you as you collapse to the ground of your dorm room; brutally punched by the stranger at the door.

Always naive, you were. Never once aware of the looming presence that had watched your every move. Never one to ponder over your instincts to protect yourself. How the overstimulation of a college campus pushed you to create the perfect form of tunnel vision. Merely, a student, fighting to survive the monumental hell of budding adulthood and a tarnished world. Stress oh-so consuming, leaving you unfocused, sense of safety and self preservation skewed. Routine creating a false community where there was no need to worry about paranoid dangers. Never catching the ever-present set of eyes that laid on your figure was you waltzed around your environment. The elder man that somehow managed to blend in all too well on the university grounds. Possibly, even coming across this same man before. Assuming him to be another professor, as you saw him surrounded by your young peers with beaming wide smiles and hungry eyes. You took notice of his attractive nature, making a mental note that you wouldn't mind being taught an extra lesson by the confident gentleman - and well, you could not have been more wrong.

Your eyes fluttered as the Man’s hand clasped against your mouth ripping you out of your memories, holding onto your lower jaw, gently smothering you as panic spread in your veins. Shuddering under his touch as he uses his complete weight to control you. Plush, decorative rug comforts you as the Man examines your face and body, reading your subtle reactions as he towers above your weakened form - ready to consume his prey. With his other hand, the Man presses his pointer finger against his lips, signaling for you to remain quiet as he removes the one covering your face. Biting your inner cheek to prevent you from screaming as your stalker began to grope your chest, playing with your sensitive nipples over the thin pajama shirt that kept you safe.

Your untouched body lit on fire with quick euphoria, you felt betrayed by your frighteningly eager mind that was ready for more. A faint hint of a whimper slips from your tongue as the Man pauses his touch, moving to grab a blade from the back pocket of his dark blue denim jeans. Gathering the lower hem of your shirt, ripping the fabric with the sharp, cold weapon. Each cut allowed goosebump ridden flesh of your torso to become exposed to his predatory gaze. A foul smile appears on your stalker’s face as his calloused fingers trace your stomach, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of the sweatpants that covered the last of you. Falsely hesitating to remove them as he brought his gaze back to the bleeding gash on your head. Finding lust in how pathetic you look; the sight causes him to speak for the first time, words that you wish he could take back.

“It is best to behave, to be a good little cocksucking whore for me. I would hate to have to hurt you anymore than I want.” He ends his sentence with an intruding poke of his thumb in the wound; a simple promise to his words. Searing hot pain spreads from your brain and down your back as he protrudes broken flesh. The pain distracted you from the feeling of the Man grinding his bulge against your inner thigh, eager to turn you into his sex slave.

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You missed when Papa Bear mercilessly raped you. Spending these months longing for his tough love and personality possessed by unethical libertine philosophy. Passing the time remembering lustful memories that plagued your mind. The way his hands, worn from work, inflicted harsh punishments upon you when he was displeased with the simple nature of your existence. The scars of his love left permanent on your meek flesh, his motivation to destroy your innocence in exchange for his guiltless pleasure. Sickened with yourself for how you managed to desire his cruel behavior, yet, you couldn’t control yourself from fantasizing about his erect cock penetrating your holes after a session of humiliating, gory abuse. Sending yourself into a primal hunger, wishing to be beaten raw. Craving to be assaulted - by weapon or fist. Praying for your Papa Bear to return home, for him to come back to you.

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You were no longer disturbed by the bondage that held you still. The worn-out operating chair which was enhanced with rope and duct tape had welcomed you like a warm hug after these months of captivity in the mysterious basement. Finding that your old snarky attitude and need to fight back had fled, time forced you to fall in love. Sickly admiring and hopelessly worshiping your torturer. Shaking with glee and obsessive lust as you step closer to removing the final pieces of your past life.

Eyesight transfixed upon the dangerous man as he studied the ravenous blowtorch flame that engulfed a cast iron skillet; the same one he had used to cook his breakfast meal an hour before this current occasion - a hearty, still bleeding ribeye steak.

Only now to be heating the tool to be used in a more horrific manner, to mangle the sensitive flesh of your fingertips. Erasing your identity to be owned by Sir forever.

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Sir is dearly fond of the photographs and videos that his Toys and FuckMeat share with him. How each day he examines these submissions of servitude - showcasing sexual behaviors, bodies covered in bruises and cuts. The arousal that possesses him is overwhelming. Leaving him erect, fantasizing about turning each of you into perfect, obscurely titled snuff films.

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The H.S. Hidden Collection

Upon answering these questions, Sir will examine your responses to see if you are deemed a perfect fit to become one of his very own. If so,

Sir is seeking out 8 - 10 special individuals to join his Hidden Collection. Submissions will be open from now until August 15th. Another chance will be given in September. Take this as an opportunity to engage with others in a private space dedicated to Sir. He will be active in the server which grants you access to him on a more personal level.

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The once confident smirk wavers on your face, hinting at the innate fear that is growing inside as you contemplate the offer that Sir had given you. A rare chance to rape another Pet of your choosing - a moment to release your aggression onto another breathing Piece of Meat. Worried that your abilities will not hold up to the expertise of your captor - hoping to please him as he watches from the corner of the basement. Plumes of cigar smoke rolled towards you and the wide-eyed Pet you had picked in swirls of miniature tornadoes. Embarrassment heats the back of your neck as you take notice of the rising shame on Sir’s face as you make him wait for the show.

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The puppy-like yelps that leave your mouth echo against the basement walls. Pathetic noises soon grow into full-blown screams of terror that threaten the soundproof barrier. Fresh, salty tears mix with the salvia that runs down your chin as another round of staples connects fragile pussy lips to your inner thigh. Stretched skin exposes your quivering hole; leaving you open and always ready for Sir’s cock. Removing your ability to deny him of his sexual desires.

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Digging away at your decomposing flesh. Fingers dancing amongst the maggots and botflies, exploring your chest cavity. Viscous bodily fluids and liquified organs coat my hands in an oiled mess. Gripping onto exposed ribcage to steady my erratic thrusts, penetrating your bloated, rotting corpse.

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Following you, staying far but close enough to still catch your natural pheromones mixed with your perfumed scent. Keeping you in my field of vision, never once losing you as we step through and out of the crowded tunnel. Stalking you down the dimly lit corridor, turning the corner mere seconds after you. Waiting with patience, finding the perfect moment to attack.

Forcing you onto the cement, chewed gum-ridden subway ground. Using my knife to cut a slit in your shorts. The skin of your thighs are balmy from the humid summer heat; which only increases my eager nature to rape the first hole I find. Abusing your unknowing body in public, entertaining the other sick fucks that happen to catch a glimpse of the show. Breeding you, pumping a load deep inside. Making you remember that you’re only useful for being assaulted and used.

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“Good dogs get rewarded - und mein Welpe hat so einen wunderbaren Job gemacht.” I speak out as I stare at the sensitive flesh of your cunt. Discolored and swollen after the hour-long whipping. Pussy beaten and overstimulated. Slick juices flowing from your clenching hole as you’re left to bark and whimper in delightful pain. Teeth holding your favorite bone in your mouth and arms bound tight to your chest. Body jolting as I harshly suck on your enlarged clit, eager to bring upon your orgasm.

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Hands wrapped tight around your neck, restricting your ability to collect oxygen. Lungs burning and face turning reddish-blue as I rape your sweet, innocent cunt. Kissing the tears that fall from your eyes, finishing inside, marking you with my seed.

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How Sir desires to lick up the trail of blood oozing from your fresh self-inflicted wounds. Savoring the bitterly addictive flavor of iron gore. Finding sadistic pleasure in the way your body shakes with masochistic excitement. Tongue exploring the nearest laceration on your scarred thighs; tip of the muscle separating first layers of skin from subcutaneous fat. Sucking at the damaged flesh like a starved beast - eager to consume more of you.

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today we had communion, Sir.. please let me eat your bread and drink your wine too. 📿

A sacred ritual turned blasphemous. Your naked body kneeling before me, waiting eagerly to begin your prayers. Shivering as my hand strongly grips your jaw, prying it to showcase your tongue. Laying the pads of two fingers into the open gape, slowly sliding them to the back of your throat. Causing you to choke around them as Sir mimicked the actions of forcing his cock down your throat. Examining with sinister glee as your eyes well up with tears.

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I could already imagine it, head going hazy from the amount of blood loss as your apprentice goes to work on me, my eyes straying to you, seeing your cruel smirk, hoping you enjoy the show, even if I'm not the main attraction, limbs in pain, forced at odd angles from your apprentice breaking them, payches of skin missing completely. id stay as compliant as I can, even as my instincts scream at me to fight back, not to let myself be torn apart apart. Oh how much the thought both terrifies me and turns me on.

-❌

My Apprentices have been trained well, each one knows exactly what Sir expects from them. How they would violently torture you. Burn and lacerate your flesh. Emotionally and mentally degrade you. Even sexually abusing you under Sir’s permission, using their knowledge of what he has done to them in the past in order to bring the painful pleasures that all desire.

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Sir, I dreamt about you, and all the depravities you would do to me. The dream involved a stab wound in my stomach being torn open wide by your hands, you drawing pretty patterns on the walls with my blood, and being crucified to a wall. My core pounds just thinking about it, I am drenching wet at work with no way to relieve the desire

🌼

Ripping away at the connective tissue holding your intestines in place. Running my fingers through organs slick with blood. Mesmerized by the muscles moving in waves as your body digests your last and final meal. Transfixing you upon old, soured wood - splinters feeling like pins on your naked form. Admiring your innards dangling under the yellow tinged basement light. Cherishing the sight of your fleeting breaths as Sir prepares to film your corpse.