“Appreciation is a wonderful thing: It makes what is wonderful in others belong to us as well”
~ Voltaire
Chapters 3 & 4 have been heavily inspired by simlit stories I’ve read via WordPress and Tumblr. **Thank you to the lovely authors who have stoked my flames, ignited my words, and gifted me with the power of Thirst Traps. The biggest influence being Ferosh, and if you haven’t checked out her AMAZING simlit stories and videos, by gawd you must: https://simmiestories.blog/
***Appreciative shoutout to Lani’s creator. Thank you for giving Lani permission to go on playdates with DJ, even if they are traipsing through hell a week before Lani gets married! Read her stories here: www.sweetdreams25.wordpress.com
WARNING: This story contains graphic sexual content, distubing images, pixelated privates (Xtra warning that there might be some peen/poon that wasn’t pixelated because there are A LOT of nudie simmehs), profanity (if the title isn’t obvious about that fact), and excrement.
SPICE LEVELl: 10 out of 5
Rated PHC for Pennywise, Hannibal Lector and Chucky because not only does shit get crazy, but it gets FRIGHTENING
BEFORE WE BEGIN OUR DESCENT INTO HELL….. I added music via Spotify (& sadly in one instance YouTube) in hopes of making this an auditory experience. Hyperlinks are strewn throughout, look for words/phrases/song titles with a green background (like this) to click on the link! Enjoy ❤
“Took her soul, that’s another fallen angel.
I can’t help that I like ’em unstable.
And when I’m done,
She’ll need a cane ‘cause I’m able.”
~ Jeris Johnson “Burning Rubber”
The Pleasantview – Strangerview, ??
As Gen and I rush through, we’re suddenly hit with darkness and an undetectable, rank smell. Lani snatches our hands in a panic, “We need to keep going once your eyes adjust,” she says hastily. “Those nasty-asses are gonna bound through here at any minute! Speaking of nasty. I think something died here.”
“Or someone!” Gen says, using her free hand to cover her nose and mouth.
“Or many someones,” I say, mortified that the offensive smell has invaded my nostrils and takes up residence inside my mouth, which I can taste.
A screeching ERRRRRRRRRRRRP resounds from where we had entered, causing us to focus our attention on a new source of pain for another one of our senses. The sound is eerily similar to a roll of packing tape being stretched.
“What’s that?!” The alarm and terror in Lani’s voice is evident by the rising octave in tone.
“Are they sealing us in here?!” Gen’s eyes grow wide as the tear Lani had created begins to slowly close.
“I-I don’t think they’re doing it.” I gulp. “I think the door is sealing itself.”
“Thafuk?!” Lani whispers, her voice steeped with fear.
“H-How is this possible?” Gen says, bewildered.
I stare transfixed at the feeble, thinning lightray that sneaks in through the crack. As the broken door fixes itself, the light slowly disappears until it is completely snuffed and only darkness remains. I peel my eyes from where we had entered, and search my surroundings, hoping to locate an exit. However, after a quick sweep, I come to the startling realization that not only is there no exit to be found, we are the only ones here.
In the distance is a wall lined with chunky candles that are nearly melted down to their wick, which is our only light source. The candles float against the wall, framing a painting that’s difficult to make out from our viewpoint.
“What room is this?” Lani asks, before suffering from a coughing fit. “That smell is getting worse!”
“Let me consult the map,” I say, pulling the pamphlet from my cleavage.
“Errrgh,” Gen gags, “I don’t feel so good.” I can hear her groan and gag next to me.
“You okay?” I ask, fanning her with the map.
“Not one bit,” she says, pained.
“Sorry, Gen. I’ll fan you again in a minute,” I say, my words rushed, as I flip the map over, strain my eyes, and then announce, “It’s too dark. I can’t read it.” I look frantically at the candles, “I need light. Be right back!” I say, my words spilling from my lips so quickly that I’m uncertain if my friends heard them as I head towards the candlelit wall. Behind me, Lani trails and Gen stumbles.
“OOOOH!” I scream, cringing. “I think I stepped on something mushy!”.
“Same,” Lani says. “It feels like…”
“SHIT!” Gen screams, suddenly animated. “It’s shit!”
My hand swings to my mouth as the sudden smell and the texture against my boot confirms Gen’s analysis. The three of us take turns gagging and dry heaving. A noise on the far-end of the room causes us to still our bodies.
“Did you hear–” I whisper nervously.
“Yes,” Lani and Gen mumble.
Suddenly, bright light floods the area where we heard the noise. Our heads whip around, and the light blinds us momentarily until we’re able to adjust our eyes.
“Thafuk is that?!?! Lani whispers, taking several steps back, despite the feces spread all over in various states.
Thanks to the light, we’re now able to use our sense of sight to confirm that we’re surrounded by shit. Some are large, perfectly-intact chunks, while the majority are mushy-mountain-shapes that have been noticeably stepped on by large paw prints.
Tears stream down Lani’s face and her eyes are shut. “There’s no place like home,” she says and repeats the mantra two more times, while clicking the backs of her heels together after reciting each line.
Gen nervously fingers the leather thongs, metal pieces, and bone fragments of her whip.
My jaw drops to the floor as I gawk at the offensive creatures. “Uhhh,” I break away from the orgy unfolding before my eyes, and look over at Lani who is in a state of mesmerized-terror. “That would be The Plow. That sex position.”
My voice seems to break the spell over Lani. She slowly turns to face me, as though she’s waking from a dream. “What?” she asks in confusion.
“That position is called The Plow. See how the hind legs are lifted? It gives the impression of a plow. You know those farming–”
“I know what a plow is!” Lani looks at me baffled. “It ain’t what they’re doing I am having a problem wrapping my head around. What are they?!”
I look at the three overgrown rabbits that are all connected to each other by various orifices of the rabbit being used as a plow.
I giggle. “I mean rabbits do fuck a lot.” Lani shoots me a look suggesting I shut my shit up, so I clear my throat. “Furries. I guess we stumbled into a furry-fetish room.”
Lani’s eyes close and I can hear her quickly mumble The Lord’s Prayer.
I open the map and search for the room we’re inside. “Oh.” I say suddenly, having found the information. “That’s weird.”
“What’s weird?” Lani asks cautiously, keeping her eyes closed.
I look up from the map. “The room we’re in. It’s called The Social Experiment.”
“The Social Experiment?” Lani asks, baffled, as she opens her eyes.
The rabbits continue to thrust in quiet harmony as the light above them slowly fades.
“Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope!” Lani says, run-hopping towards us, successfully avoiding mounds of feces.
We all grip hands as the light completely disappears. An unsettling squeaky noise blasts, and we immediately turn our attention towards the candlelit wall. A gallery light illuminates the painting surrounded by flickering candles, allowing us to view its contents.
Gen makes something that sounds like a hiss. “CLOWN!” She screeches, mortified.
I observe the painting, tilt my head, and tap my cheek. “Look at this clown. He’s…depressing to view.” I sniffle. “I-I,” I turn to Gen, “I can’t help but feel sad for him,” a lone tear runs down my cheek.
“Same!” Lani sniffs, fanning her eyes.
A horn-like-sound suddenly blares, grabbing our attention.
It sounds again, and a whitish hanky shoots up, suspended mid-air for a brief second, and then flutters sadly down. A hand balls up the hanky, revealing a red round nose, and stuffs the hanky into a chest pocket. The person steps out of the shadows, displaying oversized, red, floppy shoes.
“CLOWN!” Gen attempts to scream, but her voice is so strained that the sound isn’t any louder than a whisper.
There, standing before us is an embodiment of the clown in the painting.
He fake cries, clearly mocking us.
“Fuck you, Bobo!” Lani yells, as more tears run down her face.
“I c-can’t stop c-crying. I’m not even ss-ss-ssaaaaaaaad.” I bawl.
The unreal amount of tears rushing from Lani’s eyes gives an absurd, cartoony appearance. I look at Gen who is hiding her eyes behind both hands. Water gushes from her hands at an alarming speed, and then suddenly we all stop crying at the same time, as though someone has turned off a faucet.
Lani and I turn our attention to the lamentable Clown, as eerie, distorted carnival music begins to play. Gen removes her hands from her eyes and places them tightly against her ears. She sinks down, curling into herself. Her bottom rests against boot-heels while she balances on tiptoes. I can hear her softly singing sections of Oasis’s “She’s Electric,” to self-soothe.
The clown pulls something peach colored from his chest pocket. He examines the dangly object.
“What is that?” I question aloud.
“I think it’s a balloon.” Lani replies.
“Is he going to make a balloon animal?” I say, as he closely examines the droopy balloon. Using both sets of thumb and index fingers, he proceeds to place the balloon against his crotch.
“Thafuk?!” Lani says, gawking.
“Maybe it’s a condom?” I say, slightly afraid that he’s about to stick his clown-dick in the object.
Lani’s eyes widen, “He better-the-fuck not think we’re here for funny business.”
I laugh uncontrollably, “That’s a way to put it. You know. Clown. Funny business.”
Lani continues to look at The Clown as she speaks, “I wasn’t trying to be funny. I’m trying to survive this night with as little therapy afterwards as possible.”
I contain my laughter and clear my throat. “Ah, sorry. I should be taking this more seriously. Everything has been a bit strange–”
A shrill airy sound grabs my attention, and the peach flaccid balloon that The Clown holds against his crotch begins to inflate.
“Uhhh, how is he doing that? Where is the air coming from?” I utter in unsettling-astonishment.
The more air that fills the balloon, the more defined the balloon becomes, until it is glaringly obvious that the shape the balloon takes on is that of a penis. The Clown removes one of his hands from his penis-ballon. He pulls out a small-to-medium-sized canister from his capacious top pocket, and places the canister against his balloon-penis. The clown turns his attention, body, and balloon-penis to us. He squeezes down on the canister and silly string expels, which has the obvious appearance that it shot from his balloon-penis. The silly string hits us in the face. Lani and I scream while swatting away bits of silly string from our face, hair, and body.
The Clown begins laughing maniacally as he discards the silly string canister, holds the balloon-penis against himself with both hands, and suddenly pelvic-thrusts. At first the pelvic thrusts are rhythmic, almost sensual, but the faster the pace becomes the more unsettling and abnormal the motion looks.
Lani and I scream in unison at Gen. “Get up! Get up! Get up!” Gen, unable to hear our pleas, as her hands are still firmly planted against her ears, remains unmoved. We pull her to her feet. The Clown is steadily getting closer, his penis-balloon is pointed at us like a jackhammering-weapon.
Lani, Gen, and I scream, turn, and run through mounds of shit in the dark. Suddenly, like a beacon of deliverance, an EXIT sign lights up, conveniently in the direction we are running, illuminating an ill-shaped and warped narrow archway below. We take turns squeezing through, and allow Gen to squeeze to safety first since she has extreme coulrophobia. Lani, as the bride-to-be that I invited on this excursion through all nine-layers-of-hell, is the next to squeeze through. I stand guard while The Clown is merely feet away from me. My back is pressed as far against the wall as humanly possible.
The Clown’s pelvic thrusts come to a dead halt. He releases the balloon-penis, which shoots up into the air, zig-zagging and darting uncontrollably until there is no longer a sufficient amount of air to suspend it, forcing it to crash into a wall, and land motionless on a perfectly-pointed-poop-peak.
The Clown turns his attention from the fallen balloon to me. “Wanna see me juggle?”
“Juggle what?” I say, failing to act upon the number one rule Gen has when it comes to weirdos (which is to NEVER acknowledge them).
“My balls!” He laughs, as he unzips a compartment in the undercarriage of his costume.
“Oh, for the love of…” I turn around to see what happens to be the holdup. Lani is trying to maneuver herself this-way-and that through the narrow passage, but her buttocks and thighs are extra thick. I attempt to help her, and find myself reciting The Lord’s Prayer that she said earlier.
I look behind my shoulder at The Clown. Overgrown ballon-testicles inflate from The Clown’s undercarriage. The balloon-testicles draw closer to me, and I can see indiscernible organisms swimming inside. Afraid that the balloon-testicles will pop at any moment, and I’ll be covered in clown-goop, I make the Sign of The Cross over me, backup until I have enough space, and run as fast as I can, careening into Lani’s backside, and dislodging her from the frame’s hold. I squeeze inside the door frame and stumble through to the other side.
Gen, Lani and a hushed crowd give their attention to a spotlighted figure on stage.
“She’s cursed!” a gorgeous man dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow announces. I stand there mesmerized, silently hoping to get plundered by that exquisite man-pirate.
A few members of the audience begin to catcall.
Captain Jack turns his bare backside to the audience.
I nudge Gen in the ribs, “Hey, Gen, were assless chaps invented by pirates?” which causes Gen, Lani, and myself to giggle. People closest to us turn around and give us the stink-eye. Gen returns their stink-eye with a snub, and Lani somehow manages a threatening gesture with her chin.
Refusing to read the crowd, I shout, “SWAB MY POOP DECK, CAPTAIN JACK!” Surprisingly, the people around us guffaw at my outburst.
Captain Jack Sparrow looks out into the audience, contemplative, and states, “Is there anything a pirate loves more than booty?” which sends the crowd into an uproar, and hands get grabby and rump-squeezy.
Lani shoves the hot stranger standing next to her and he gets an earful of her warning, “You better-the-fuck not think about it. Hands where I can see them!” Obviously concerned for his life, he complies.
Like a moth drawn to its death, my feet carry me away from my friends. I nudge aside audience members in hopes of making my way to Captain Jack Sparrow. A hand grips the top of my arm, drags me backwards, and roughly shoves me around until I am face-to-face with the person.
“And where do you think you’re goin’?”
“Uh….” I say, dazed, “Uhhhh. I want a better view?”
Eyes glare into mine, daring me to rethink my remark.
My fingers nervously play with the hem of my Sailor Slut skirt. “Ummmm.”
“Well?!” the rapid click-click-click of a boot-tapping ushers me to spill my thoughts.
My head falls and I smirk. “Fine. I wanted to go on stage.”
“Are you out of your god-fearing mind?!”
I look up at Lani whose anger is directed at me. My eyes look to the side at the hot stranger she had yelled at moments ago. He looks relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of her hotheadedness, and sends me a look that suggests thoughts-and-prayers.
I offer her a smile, followed by eyelash-batting, relying on my persuasive powers.
“Do you ever learn?!” she scolds.
“What?” I shrug, deflecting, as I turn my eyes onto the dreamy pirate. “He’s so hot.”
“So was BDSM Tuxedo Mask and look how well that shit-show turned out!” Lani huffs.
“How was I supposed to know he was a bad guy?” I sulk, crossing my arms.
Lani rolls her eyes in annoyance as she hisses, “Bad guys hide their faces.”
“What about Batman? Spiderman? Zorro? The Lone Ranger” I say, snottily.
Lani, who looks like she is doing her mightiest not to rip hair from my scalp, plants her hand on her hip and says remarkably calmly, “What about the Ku Klux Klan?”
My body slumps as I mumble, “Game, set, match,” and slink my way back until I am once again standing next to Gen.
A bed, that takes up nearly half the stage, is covered in gold coins. Captain Jack stands next to the bed, and scoops up a handful of gold coins in his palm. The coins trickle back to the bed as he says, “Not all treasure is silver and gold,” and then winks at the audience, which causes cheers and hollers.
“SHIT ON ME, AMBER TURD!” Someone in the audience screams, which elicits a sour reaction from Lani and Gen.
A spotlight shines upon the helpful Woman in Red that we had met when we first entered the sex club.
“Let’s get this party SHART-ED!” she shouts. An instrumental version of The Black Eyed Peas hit “Let’s Get it Started,” begins to resound.
Captain Jack lends The Woman in Red his hand which she holds as she climbs onto the bed. “To be, or not to be… a PARTY POOPER. That is the question.” Captain Jack says.
The Woman in Red positions herself dead-center, turns around, flips her dress up so that her bare butt is exposed. The audience goes wild, chanting, “SHIT ON HIM! SHIT ON HIM!”
The woman in red squats and poops on the bed.
“I think this is an art piece,” I say quietly, “You know….They’re re-enacting Amber Heard pooping on her and Johnny Depp’s bed.”
Lani shakes her head, “That ain’t art,” she says as she shields her eyes from the poop-show.
“Let’s get out of here,” Gen says as she cautiously sidesteps to the right. We follow her along the back wall until we reach an upside-down-triangle-shaped frame. Red, metallic fringe curtains are suspended underneath. Gen is the first to disappear inside, then Lani, and before I step inside, the crowd starts pushing one-another, as though we are in one giant mosh pit. I look around to see what has everyone in a commotion, but am at a loss, so I ask a pretty, young girl sporting bottle-blonde-hair tipped with pink.
“What’s going on?”
“The Smear Campaign has begun.”
“Huh?”
“You know, for us Bottom-Feeders!”
I blink a few times in confusion, wondering what code-speak she’s spewing. “Find me? I’m lost.” I say, smiling awkwardly.
She rolls her eyes in annoyance, “The ones who rub Bella’s shit on their faces are the Disciples of The Smear Campaign. They are the chosen ones bearing the mark. They’ll be given an enema, and whoever isn’t a DTSC is a Bottom-Feeder, and they’re gonna feed from–”
“…the bottoms.” I say, finishing her sentence. I smile stiffly as I walk backwards, feeling the metallic fringe hit my shoulders. I take in a relaxed breath as I completely disappear from shit I will never unsee.
I turn around and I am suddenly hit with cool night air and darkness. My eyes struggle to adjust to the change in light, as I slam against a tree trunk.
“Ouch!” I grumble.
I peel myself from the tree, and look up into the canopy of its branches and the deep purple sky sprinkled with silver, twinkling stars that peek through.
My eyes greedily devour my surroundings. In front of me, a man-made trail of rose petals and tea lights leads to a hot tub. I turn around, seeking out the room I just exited, but there’s nothing else within view other than the hot tub and a surrounding treegrove.
“Lani?! Gen?!” I call out, looking around as I head in the direction the rose petals lead.
“Hello?! Anyone?!” I stop for a moment, and turn around slowly, making a complete full-circle, certain that this has all the makings of a horror movie.
What living hell nightmare is this place going to turn into? I think as I consult the map. My finger drags along the creased paper, searching, and then finally I locate the name: The Devil’s Triangle. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Water stirs and ripples from the hot tub, causing me to remove my eyes from the map and stare, squinting, at the hot tub. Clusters of rose petals float in disarray inside the hot tub, obscuring the water. I stay rooted in place, mentally planning my escape route just in case.
Poignant, distorted vocals, melded with sensual hard-synth, plays from an indiscernible location as the water’s surface breaks.
I suck my teeth as his head fully emerges, framed by long, wet strands of varying shades of dark-and-light gray hair. Broad shoulders and a bare, muscular torso are next to pass into view. Water steadily drips from his hair that ends around mid-back. I take a step backwards, and lick my lips, openly-appreciating the scenery.
His light blue eyes bore into mine. They are sensual, playful, and tinged with something forbidden and devious. His thin lips break into a smile, exposing sharp, pointed canine teeth. His tongue darts playfully against them, and then winds a path over his lips, as though he’s about to feast, and I feel desire consume me. I saunter over to the hot tub, feeling embolden from an unknown intoxication, I caress my skin with each step, focusing slow, languid movements against my breasts.
“I’ve been vaiting for you,” he says, as he relaxes against the backrest, beckoning me to join him with his index finger. His voice is sex incarnate.
My eyes close and I swallow. Pulsations tease and delight from within my innermost private area, as though I’m being pleasured. “I shouldn’t,” I tease as my breath hitches.
“Come.” He insists, and I feel myself both climbing into the hot tub and climbing towards climax. I climb in, boots-and-all, submerging myself from the hips down.
I walk a few steps, the water loosens its resistance as I pass. I hesitate momentarily as I feel myself getting incrementally closer to release. My arms fall slack against my torso.
His hand wraps itself around a lone finger of mine, and he gently pulls my finger and me towards him. He runs the tip of his tongue against my finger. I am so close to orgasm, I find it difficult to stand. His mouth encases the digit’s uppermost joint, sliding his tongue up-and-down.
“Uhhhh,” my head jerks back as I moan, feeling wave after wave ripple throughout me. I melt into the sea of rose petals.
When I open my eyes the night’s sky greets me, and I realize that I’m floating on my back. The stars twinkle in a bazaar pattern, as though the universe is sending me a cosmic S.O.S. I search him out and notice that he has moved on from my finger, and now slurps and sucks at my wrist. I yank my hand away from him, and stand up. Blood trails from the corner of his mouth and drips off his chin. His glazed-over eyes return to normal, and the euphoric look he wore seconds ago is replaced with bitter annoyance.
I cradle my throbbing wrist, staring at two small puncture wounds dotted with clotted-blood. “I gotta get out of here,” I say aloud.
“You’re going no-vere,” he says flatly, lightning flashes in the distance, followed by rumbling thunder.
I stare at him incredulously. “Who do you think you are?”
“Vlad.”
“Look, Chad, it’s been real, but–”
“Vlad.”
I flick my hand twice, shooing away his correction, “Right. Sorry, Brad, it’s been real–”
“I vunt to suck you.”
“Dude, look, I had no idea that this was a sex club. I’m married. You see, my best friend is getting married, and we–” Lightning flashes closer, igniting a tree afire. I gasp. “Did you see that?!”
“Come,” he says, standing fully upright and unclothed.
“Wow, that’s more than an eyeful,” I say ogling his erection.
He takes a step towards me. His penis looks like a stake ready to puncture, and is only a hair’s breadth away from my skin. I can feel his thrall overtake me again. I stand in place swaying slightly as the tip of his pink-tinged, alabaster penis grazes the skin above my navel.
“Ven I vas alive they vud call me Vlad the Impaler.” He smiles sensually. The dullness of his tip suddenly grows sharp, as though his penis has been replaced with a blade. He pierces my skin, and I cry out in pain. His penis leaves my body, and I instantly crumple, falling against rose petals and water with a heavy splash. He pulls me from the water and hoists my body and himself out of the hot tub. Soft moss, dirt, and leaves cradle my back, as he gently places me down upon the ground. My breathing grows ragged, and my eyes close.
*********************************************************************
I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, but I do know that it was the sound of my name being screamed that prompted me to wake. I attempt to jackknife up, but Vlad’s head is pressed firmly into my ribs. I can feel the wetness of his lips sucking at my flesh where his penis had been…however long ago.
“Get off of her!” Gen yells at Vlad
“You sick fuck!” Lani screams.
I can’t see either of them, but I can hear the desperate thump of their boots against the dirt as they run towards us. I prop myself up on one arm and use my free arm to unsuccessfully push Vlad off. “Why won’t you move!?” I grunt, trying again to budge him from me.
His eyes look into mine as he continues to suck. He slurps loudly as he removes his mouth from my skin. His tongue darts against both corners of his mouth and then trails languidly against his lips. He crawls against my body until his face is above mine. His damp, silvery tendrils mix and settle against my hair. He studies me, as though I’m a labrat in a maze. I attempt to push myself away from him by digging my heels into the ground, but at the moment that I try, his hand snakes out, grabbing my upper arm and holding me down with so much force that I’m afraid the bone will snap in two.
“Ven you leave. Tell them you’ve seen Der Teufel.”
Gen skids to the ground, whipping Vlad with her cat-o-nine tails, while Lani kicks him repeatedly in the torso. His head moves to face them and he hisses, lightning illuminates the atmosphere above us, and Vlad’s face suddenly changes into a distorted, hideous creature.
Lani, Gen, and I scream in sheer terror. They pull me to my feet and we run without looking behind us.
“How do we get out of here? Where is the exit?” Gen asks.
“I don’t know! How did you guys even get here?”
“I used a magic wand to make a portal.”
“Do you still have it?!”
Gen quickly pats down her body, “I’m afraid not.”
“What about you, Lani, how did you get here?”
“I swam through a door.”
“Swam?”
“I somehow became a mermaid. Don’t ask.”
“Sounds fishy,” I say, grinning.
“You really do pick the most inappropriate times to crack jokes.”
“Hey! I see something in the distance!” Gen says, pointing ahead to the right.
Another trail of tea lights comes into view, albeit without rose petals accompanying. The tea lights wind through several large Eucalyptus trees. Their fragrance is dreamy, and reminds me of the times I would visit Cato at UCSD. An ear-piercing screech invades our ears as some unknown creature swoops down at us from the trees. We simultaneously scream and hold our hands above our heads and faces, swatting at the air every once-in-a-while, as we run, following the lighted trail.
“Is that a bat?” Lani shrieks.
“I am going to have this place condemned!” Gen threatens, and considering who her husband is, she plans to make good on her threat.
“I think we’re coming to the end!” I say, noticing the last few tea lights lighting the way, and the startling pitch black, void of stars and moonlight, that consumes everything up ahead. I scream as the winged-beast swoops down into my face and lets out a screech that would make a banshee cover its ears. “BAT! IT’S A BAT!” I’m nearly in tears as I shriek, “IT’S IN MY HAIR!” while running zig-zag and knocking into Gen and Lani, who are also shrieking that something is in their hair. “I thought there was only one!” I whine.
“Clearly this rat-with-wings called for reinforcements!” Lani snaps at me.
And in the midst of the panic, we don’t notice that the tea lights stop because the land ends. That is, we don’t realize this until it is too late, and the heels and soles of our boots touch nothing but air.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” we scream in freefall. The three bats that had been chasing us flutter directly above us, but stay near the cliff’s edge, refusing to or unable to come any closer. Suddenly a loud whoosh washes over us, and the atmosphere and our surroundings suddenly change, as though we’ve fallen through a portal. Erie Gregorian chants mixed with erotic dungeon synth invades our ears. We have only mere seconds to question our surroundings before our backs make contact with a cool, malleable surface that breaks our fall.
We attempt to come to a sitting position but find it difficult to come to any upright position so we give up, lie there in defeat, and take in the orgy-nightmare unfolding before our eyes. Unlike The Rumpus Room, where everyone was in some state of undress, or fully-clad in leather, everyone here is completely naked, save for a mask. Few wear dominio masks, venetian masks, or even grotesque versions of the Thalia and Melpomene masks. However, the majority wear various types of forest animal head masks, usually with elaborate antlers that they use for penetration.
The scene slowly turns into a panoramic view, thanks to the rotating contraption we’re on. Lani and Gen have already crawled to the end of one side and make their ways off the slow-spinning object. A roly poly man with dark skin screams, “COWABUNGA!” as he runs at Gen and Lani, who sidestep out of his way as he takes a running leap onto the moving platform, and lands impressively on both feet near me.
The force ricochets me upward. I claw the air in panic before making my descent back down. The surface is not as inviting as it was when Lani, Gen, and I first landed upon it, and the side of me that collides with the surface feels as though I just belly flopped into a pool. I stare up at him in fright, wondering how all that weight he carries didn’t shatter his cankle-bones. “Hey, Liza!” he calls off to someone in the crowd, “Check out the rotating bed.”
Aw, I think, so that’s what this is.
A slender, albeit blindingly white, woman makes her way through the crowd, at times rubbing her private area against the backsides of men that can only be described as gym rats.
“What goes great with Pancakes’?” he says, his legs spread hip-distance apart. He shakes his hips from side-to-side, and his abnormally long and slender penis, which looks to be the same size and shape of a comically giant pencil, swings back-and-forth like a clock’s pendulum.
The woman he called Liza cackles obnoxiously, “What’s that, Bobby?”
“Sausage!” He hoots as his penis stops swinging side-to-side, and instead travels wildly upside-down in a full-circle. Liza crawls onto the bed and parks herself right under his penis, so that with every rotation it hits her cheek.
“Cool. In-person meatspin. Now I can check that off my bucket list,” I say aloud, shuddering, as I crawl off the bed, realizing that this isn’t just any rotating bed, but a waterbed. Lani and Gen help me off the waterbed.
Gen sighs, her composure remarkably calm considering the night’s events that are still ongoing, “It looks like we’re in another room. Is there an exit to this freaky-funhouse? I’m ready to leave.”
Lani nods in agreement.
I stuff my hand into my damp top, searching. “Fuck!” I look at Gen and Lani while retracting my hand from my shirt. “I think I lost the map!”
Gen begins to pace back and forth, mumbling obscenities. I know things have gone from bad to execrable, because Gen is a snob who believes it is beneath her to use profanity. I trail behind Gen, trying to reassure her that we didn’t die earlier tonight and that this place is not hell. Although, I have a hard time believing my words. I look over at Lani, who I had been ignoring, and panic, because Lani’s slumped against the ground, unable to keep her shit together.
“Oh my God, Lani! What happened?” I say as I run to her, which causes Gen to focus on something else other than our shit-predicament (shitcament?), and runs over to us.
Lani is babbling something incoherent while she swipes her finger up and down over flapping lips.
Gen looks at me with concern. “I think she lost it, Deege. I think she really lost her mind.” She looks over at Lani, “Poor Lani! A whole week shy of being a bride and now she’ll be spending her honeymoon in a padded room.”
“That is if we make it out of here alive,” I remind Gen.
Gen turns to look at me, tears rolling down her face, “You’re right! We might not!”
I gasp.
Gen turns to look at me, “What is it?”
“I think I know what made Lani scared!” I say pointing in the distance.
Gen turns around quickly, gasps, and turns back towards me. She puts her fingers inside her ears and begins singing “She’s Electric,” like she had in The Social Experiment room, because in the distance, The Clown and three Rabbits engage in sex acts with each other.
The Clown is bent over, and one of the Rabbits pulls one-after-another of endless colored scarves from The Clown’s anus. The second Rabbit uses the scarves to tie up and spank the third Rabbit.
Without warning, two people dressed as skeletons appear. One grabs Lani and pulls her to her feet, and the other does the same with Gen. They stuff a cloth over my friends’ faces.
By the time I realize what is happening and react, two women in long, dark cloaks grab hold of each of my wrists and drag me away. They both have shoulder length hair swinging in wild-abandon. One has blonde hair, and the other is a redhead. The blonde wears a Thalia mask, while the redhead wears a Melpomene mask.
“Don’t worry,” the blonde says, as I wriggle and struggle against them. Regardless, they manage to overpower me. “Your friends will be fine. That’s just chloroform. It’ll just put them to sleep.”
The other laughs sadistically, “Think of it as a spa day. Speaking of spa,” she says as they both shove me away, the impact causes me to fall onto the ground. “It’s about time you have a facial.”
Large, bare feet appear in front of my face. I push myself up off the ground, my arms extend fully and I look up at the person whose feet are by me. He too wears a long, black hooded cloak that covers his ankles and extends upwards. His hands are the only other visible appendage, and one of his hands holds a scythe that rests against the ground.
I squint, attempting to search out his face, but the hood he wears over his head makes it impossible. My weight is supported by my hands and right knee, as I use my left leg to pull my body up to a standing position.
“Bow, before The Grim Reaper, Bitch,” the woman with the sadistic laugh hisses at me.
I look behind me, and both women that had collected me are now bowing on all fours. I survey the crowd, and they too are also bowing on all fours. I turn around and face the looming figure of The Grim Reaper.
“I told you,” The Grim Reaper booms. His voice is abnormally deep, and sounds exactly like Christian Bale as Batman. “I am The God of Fuck!” Behind him, two skeletons (perhaps the ones that had taken Gen and Lani) carry an altar and set it down.
The Grim Reaper maneuvers himself into a sitting position on the altar, and leans back, resting his weight on his palms. The two skeletons kneel in front of him, their bony hands grab at separate sides of his robe. Quick as a wink, they pull on the fabric and snap-snap-snap-snap, The Grim Reaper’s hairless, tanned, muscular flesh is exposed.
“Like what you see?” he asks.
I avert my eyes from his penis, purse my lips, and look up at the night sky, hoping The Grim Reaper can’t read my face as I try to control the laughter that threatens to spill after viewing his micropenis.
“Oh, yes, your Grimmyness.” I cackle, unable to contain my laughter.
“Someone’s excited. Love it.” He says, completely oblivious.
A man and woman wearing nothing other than loin cloths and a doe and buck head masks approach. An object floats on top of a smallish pillow that the woman holds. The man removes the item from the pillow. As it draws closer, it’s obvious that it is a studded, penis sleeve that he secures over The Grim Reaper’s micropenis.
“Mort-the-Wart doing the honors!” The Grim Reaper laughs at the man, and then looks over at the woman holding the pillow. “Bells,” he acknowledges.
I stare in horror as, once fully attached, a switch is flipped, and The Grim Reaper’s micropenis comes roaring to life, buzzing to-and-fro like a horny horsefly.
“Ready to be anointed?”
“What?!” I say in a panic, stepping backwards. My upper arms are suddenly squeezed by the two women who had brought me here, and now clamp and drag me to The Grim Reaper. He hops from the altar and is inches in front of me. “Don’t worry, Tits, once I anoint you as my Domme, everyone will bow to you. We’ll rule together.” He says as he pulls apart the snaps that the skeletons missed.
“Don?” I say, at a loss.
His hood falls behind his head, exposing Don Lothario’s face. He discards the entire robe from his person and it falls to the ground. He winks and then says, “In the flesh,” while giving his junk a tug.
“LET GO OF ME!” I scream, twisting and kicking in hopes of escaping their hold, but only managing to infuriate the women. Their fingers dig into my flesh hard enough to inflict large bruises. Don’s skeleton assistants each grab one of my ankles. The two women and the skeletons hoist me up onto the altar. They bind my ankles, then my hands which they place over my head as I continue to writhe.
The skeletons kneel next to the altar, and Don steps onto their backs. “You’re feisty,” he says, shooting me a smile, as he places one foot onto the altar and then the other. He stands fully erect above me. I close my eyes, refusing to see him stroking himself. Unfortunately, I am unable to block the vibrating and skin-slapping sounds he makes. I consider doing as Gen would do in this situation, and sing “She’s Electric,” but before I can belt out the first few words, music begins to blare all around me and Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch’s “Good Vibrations,” begins to invade my ears. “You got to be kidding me,” I say.
“You know what fascinates me about you, Tits?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, he steamrolls along in conversation. “You keep refusing my advances.”
I open an eye and look over at him as he stares down at me.
“Nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever told Ol’ Don here ‘No’ before.”
Are you sure about that, bruh, or do you only hear what you want to hear? I think, raising an eyebrow at him in-question.
“I’m serious. Not even Bells over there turned this down,” he says, rubbing himself faster.
I open one eye and then the other.
The man Don called Mort-the-Wart removes his doe head and turns to his companion. “Bella?” He sniffs while his voice cracks.
The woman removes her buck head mask, and lets it fall to the ground, revealing that she is The Woman in Red who had pooped on a bed. “SHUSH!” she commands. “You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re embarrassing me. Don’t act surprised, Mort. Sex with you is boring. Isn’t that why we come here?”
“B-But we agreed we wouldn’t sleep with anyone. We’d be exclusive.”
Bella rolls her eyes again. “Oh puh-lease. Your rule. Not mine.”
Mort’s body convulses and he begins to sob.
“Can you please, for once in your life, try to be a man?!” Bella barks at Mort, which causes Mort to cry harder.
“Uh guys,” Don removes his hand from his junk and snaps his fingers, and the two kneeling skeletons spring to life. “Get him out of here. He’s killing the mood.” Don stares at Mort in disgust.
I can’t help but feel pity for Mort as the skeletons drag him away. Bella kicks Mort’s doe head mask away from the altar, as though it’s a soccer ball, before fading into the background.
“Where were we?” Don says, in thought, “Oh, right! Time to get anointed then appointed,” Don says, as he begins to rub himself.
I close my eyes once more.
Don squats down next to me. “Domme Tits has a nice sound. Whattaya think?”
Again, Don doesn’t give me a chance to speak. “I’ve been Don-The-Dom far too long. Time for a change. You’re my sea change.”
“Sure I am,” I scoff at his self-righteousness.
“I’m serious. You know what I’m looking for?”
“To know what love is?” I guess.
“To be dominated,” he whispers, his breath penetrating my ear.
I open my eyes, and suddenly wish I hadn’t.
Don’s micropenis dangles millimeters from my right eye. “Don’t worry, Tits, this won’t hurt. Much.”
“There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…” I say, automatically closing my eyes and hoping that clicking my bound heels isn’t a requirement for the magic to work. Tears of defeat threaten to spill from my eyes.
The humming from Don’s penis sleeve grazes my collarbone and my body convulses. “GET IT OFF!” I scream and thrash.
“Don’t worry, Tits, I’m getting off. Get it?” He says, laughing at his double entendre, as he continues to place, remove, and place his vibrating-penis on another part of my upper body. “You know, I got to hand it to you–” he stops for a moment and then breaks out into more obnoxious laughter.
I allow one of my eyes to squint, and assess if it is safe enough to fully-open my eyes. Unable to see his micropenis, I allow both eyes to open, and stare in horror at Don.
He turns to look at me. “I’ve got to hand it to you. Get it? Hand!” he waves his hand in front of my face, which offers him nothing other than a blank expression from me. “Uhhh. Tits! You’re disappointing me.” He takes the hand he had waved in front of my face, sits into a kneeling position, grabs his vibrating-penis and gives it a few hard tugs. “Hand.” He says loudly. “Get it now?”
I blink a few times, and attempt to crack a smile. “Handjob,” I utter, and smile in hopes of placating him. I nearly blurt that you cannot have a hanDJob without “DJ,” but realize that this is not the time for such slogans.
He beams, “You got it. I knew you would. I knew you were special.”
Oh shit. I’m gonna die. This is serial killer territory. I close my eyes and ask a very serious question to my capturer. “Is this a snuff film?”
“Thafuk?” Don says.
I pop an eye open, and see that he’s staring at me dumbfounded.
“Is it?” I question.
Don turns away from me and looks out into the crowd. “She asks if this is a snuff film!”
A few laughs erupt, but for the most part it’s silent, other than “Good Vibrations” that continues to play.
Suddenly Don laughs, which gives everyone else permission to laugh.
I struggle and writhe against the altar, attempting again to get the fuck out of here.
Don and the crowd’s laughter subsides. “Not a snuff film.”
He admits. “Would you like us to make a snuff film?” he asks, suddenly growing serious.
I instantly still myself. “No.”
“You’re inventive,” he strokes my temple with his vibrating-penis. “I like your thoughts. I really wanna get inside that head of yours.”
I tightly shut my eyes. Yup. It’s official. I’m gonna die. He’s gonna open my head and skull-fuck my corpse.
“Ever since you mentioned hot wax…”
He places the tip of his micropenis at the center of my collar bones, and trails it slowly down my sternum. “And clothespins attached to titties….” He moans, “’Till death do us part.”
He then makes one large thrust against my cleavage and warm ooze pools against my skin.
“You’ve been anointed!” He states, proudly.
“EW! EW! EW” I shriek, until a rag doused in something citrusy roughly covers my nose and mouth.
“Bow to your Mistress, peons!” Don shouts to the crowd, who immediately bow to me.
My eyes widen instantly as I flounder about like a fish on land.
“Shhhh,” he croons. “It will be over soon.”
I close my eyes as tears spill uncontrollably. My thrashing increases, and despite my best efforts the rag remains secured to my face.
His fingers press down into the thin fabric of skin that separates ribs, conjuring whimpers and pleadings from me for him to stop.
“If you stop struggling it won’t hurt,” his voice resounds inside my skull.
Instantly, my backside stills against the altar and my head falls to the side and I stare out into the darkness at the bowed faces and naked bodies. Lackadaisical fingers retreat from between my rib bones, and fondle the skin that he had just brutalized.
“Just get it over with,” I say, my voice sounding like that of a stranger’s.
“Get what over with?” He asks, and even though I don’t bother to look at his face, I can tell he’s smiling. Somehow Don’s vibrating micropenis remains against my cleavage, and the intensity of the vibration grows.
My eyelids grow heavy
and I feel lightheaded,
and the sounds start to feel distant
and grow dark
Until…
Most unfortunate I end this story on a cliffhanger, but much like Don’s micropenis, I prefer when something is out of reach, dangling and wriggling like a worm on a hook…and hopefully you are also hooked.
- The next major story-series will revolve around the theme “secrets” and pay special attention to The Dimitris’ and their familial patriarchy.
- I will NOT be telling the next story through DJ’s perspective. Subterfuge is much easier in Omniscient *Evil Don Lothario maniacal laughter*
- Some of your beloved EA-created-AuthorDJ-manipulated sims will make their way back into my writing! And if you loved to hate them and hated to love them before…my shit-stirrer stick is already in the pot and it’s getting goopy!
SO, get ready for more sex, more violence, and more batshit, what-the-fuck moments whenever this next story drops! ………….Oh! And…..one….more….small….insignificant….detail… MURDER. Yeah… let the bloodletting commence!
(fingers crossed, the earliest: October 2022; the latest: January 2023).
POSTFACE:
I see uh, uh, I see uh, uh
I see lights, can you hear the thunder?
I see uh, uh, I see uh, uh
I see smoke ’cause I’m burning rubber
(“Burning Rubber” – Jeris Johnson)
DJ's World! Party Time! Excellent! 