The Starfish Affair

By DX

Karen, Alice's lab assistant, stole not only Alice's grant money and ruined her career, but also helped herself to Alice's Breast Enhancement formula.  But what Karen doesn't know is during a trip to the South American jungle, Alice developed a taste for a rare delicacy!

Mad-Science, erotic horror, wild torture and cruel torment!  This over the top story has it ALL!  

Copyrighted Feb 2000, 10/2023, all rights reserved.  Story may not be duplicated without written consent from the author.

Karen shivered in the cold, damp air. She could see the waves of goose pimples ripple across her melonous breasts, as her nipples swelled to the size of thumbs.

It wasn't the cold that made her shiver.

She didn't try to protest. It would have done her no good even if they had not ripped the tongue from her mouth a week or so ago. They had strapped her to a post, secured her head and body with thick, leather restraints, then rammed a heavy gauge steel ring through her tongue, which was then hooked to a come-a-long.

It surprised her, as it always had, that she was not beyond feeling. The never-ending cycle of pain would always renew and refresh in its delivery of unimaginable trauma. How could her charred, shredded throat still scream with such volume, spiraling upwards as the torment turned up a notch, was beyond her.

Her tongue was stretched slowly as they took their time, clicking the handle of the ratchet with intended affect. Her tendons strained and stretched, pulling her tongue out beyond imagination. She was choking as her neck pulled too far, and her tongue still going further.

It exploded with a fine shower of blood as her tongue finally gave way and ripped from her mouth, leaving a stringy trail of tendons and veins.

The last time they removed her tongue, they had nailed it to a table and let hungry rats nibble it off. The time before that, they nailed it high on a wall, then let her hang from it until her own, pain wrought thrashing caused it to finally tear.

Now, in the cold, cold cellar, she waited her fate. Ahmed busied himself by testing the mechanism that would release the guillotine over and over again, giggling madly each time the blade slammed home.

She felt the Professor's hand on her shoulder push her forward. Karen didn't resist. She couldn’t.

She didn’t really want too.

Karen gazed distantly, unresponsively at the monstrous machine before her. Polished wood and gleaming brass brackets and screws handsomely made up its base like a collector's piece of fine furniture and not a butcher's toy of death. Its blade, locked in its casement above, glimmered like a mirror, its edge wickedly sharp. A heavy spring coiled against it so when the trigger was thrown, it fired down with tremendous force and ensured a crisp, clean cut.

Karen had laid her breasts before its blade before and felt the steel slice through her flesh. They had been her pride and joy; her mammoth, attention grabbing breasts were worshiped, even adored, but they were only quivering mounds of flesh, locked in the guillotine's unyielding embrace. Unable to move away she could only watch the gruesome fate. With a snap, it was over, faster than an instant. Suddenly slicing her open to a quickly flooding torrent of pain. A white-hot iron seared her flesh and kept her from bleeding to death, and adding to her seeming never-ending, nightmare of pain.

They force fed her for months and fattened her up. When they had put enough weight on her, they brutally harvested her arms with a chain saw. Her new grown breasts were put into the breast guillotine and with a snap of the flashing blade, her massive breasts popped of and dropped into the basket.

That had been months ago.  Her breasts had re-grown to a lovely size and shape, but she knew it wouldn't last because they would continue to grow, becoming monstrous and unbearable before they finally cut them off for their Breast Beacon breakfasts. Her arms were already re-grown. 

The re-growth was happening faster.

As Karen stared painfully at the guillotine, its single hole where her neck would rest before her, she was unable to decide if she should be happy or distraught. This was it, the torment would be over. She wondered why they didn't harvest her breasts before the final act? Although they were not their usual over ripe size, they were plenty large enough.

Pushed closer to her fate, to the blade, the final torment, her mind reeled back to the day it all began.

Teaser: for the whole story, consider supporting us at:
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1062074

Copyrighted, 2000, 2019, 2023, all rights reserved.

Sex Object
By DX

A woman transforms herself into the perfect bimbo for the sake of art!

A teaser.
For the whole story and line art, consider supporting us here:
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/955092

Copyrighted 10/2001, 2016, 2023 all rights reserved.

 Talia stood at the rear of the theater, shrouded in darkness.  The small, round room, ringed with over padded seats, was packed to capacity with all eyes on the brightly lit platform.  It was warm, at the brink of being uncomfortable, and the men, stuffy upper crust and proper, dressed in tails and canes, had already done away with their silk jackets, starched collars and strangling ties.  The women that dotted the crowd could sense the tension in the air.  Their blouses unbuttoned beyond respectability, and the tops of their breasts, gleamed in the dim light.  

 They were unaware of what was happening.

 Talia could taste it.

 The white roving shaft of the spot light appeared and cut the thin mist of cigar smoke.  Carefully, avoiding highlighting the faces in the audience, it scanned the archways.  Talia stepped deeper into the shadows and let it slip past her, somehow knowing its seemingly random pattern.  She didn't follow it, but instead watched the shadowy faces, the white sparkle reflected in their eyes.  She had performed the show a hundred times before, followed its progressing evolution.  Everything was planned, controlled, from the expensive cigar tobacco to the humidity and temperature, all calculated, recorded, and perfectly scientific.

 Everything was planned to entice the neither regions of the mind, a direct hardwired link to subconscious sexuality.

 They were already horny and didn't know it.

 They were here to see a show, performance art.  Little did they know they were to be the show and they were to do the performing.  The previous audiences through persuasion, or extortion, were sworn to secrecy, and would only share scripted hints and clues as to what the show was all about, so each new group with teased curiosity would be completely surprised to find themselves in a broiling, soul cleansing orgy of Bacchanal proportions.  

 Now, they were primed.  All they needed was a spark.

 On cue, Mistress entered the stage.

 The white disk of light crawled slowly up the wall and fixed on the curtained archway.  Royal purple folds parted to the gentle probe of Mistress’ delicate foot, painfully yet elegantly arched en-pointe, the shoe almost non-exist, provided only a spiny heel.  Her leg, longer than law allowed, was ivory in the harsh light.  She stepped forward and emerged fully to the gasp of the audience as the pungent, yet erotic odor of latex filled the room.  The women panted in sympathy at the corseted waist no bigger than a hand's breath resting atop her callipygous hips.  Her breasts dominated her presence, each one as big as a zeppelin, somehow suspended over her tiny frame, threatening to snap her in half.  Her nipples were shroud in heavy gold caps.  Titanium bolts pushed through the caps and pierced her delicate nipples, and then welded shut to insure her nipples were forever locked away. 

 Her neck, shrouded in steel, was stretched like an African Queen, her regal head rising majestically from her shoulder-less body. 

 Mistress had no arms.

 Her bemused smile took in her audience as her enchanting eyes flashed and spilled diamonds down her cheeks and cast her spell on her unsuspecting worshipers, lifting their attention from her body to pay homage to her incredible beauty.  Full sculpted lips, high carved cheeks, a near invisible dimpled chin, cascading scintillating wet tar hair and eyes that captured her audience and held them in their tiny prison.

 Mistress’ skin was flawless, smooth as porcelain and unbeknownst to them, completely made of rubber.

 From the special stage hidden fans gently blew puffs of air and spread her enhanced pheromones across the audience.  The audience was trembling, perspiring, squirming in their seats and she had yet to begin.

 From the darkness, a Romanian violin began to play and Mistress began to dance.  Slowly, stiffly yet fluid, her expression unchanged, and yet her eyes cast spears of fire.

 From the darkness, Talia nodded to Sacha and the young woman activated her video camera.  Its invisible inferred light took away the crowds anonymity and their eyes glowed like demons as their lust took possession of their bodies.

 Suddenly, a man climbed up on stage.  His shirt was stripped away and hung from his belt like a tattered sail.  He paused as he stood before Mistress, his shoulders rolled back, his head jutting forward with his square chin in the lead, his chest obscenely puffed out like a fighting rooster.  Mistress turned and danced for him, her breasts undulating for him, her eyes calling for him. 

 He yelped like a wolf when he grabbed her.  

 His hungry mouth sought hers and her breasts crushed against his chest.  From behind, another man grabbed her, his hands groping handfuls of her breasts for purchase, his mouth clamped like a vampire at the uncovered nape of her neck.  Talia recognized the man's wife.  She had stripped off her bra and crawled up onto the stage.  Her hands reached for her husbands pants.

 Backstage, Talia smiled as she watched Mistress.  Everything was going as it should, and it was going to be a good show.  She glanced at Sacha and nodded with a knowing smile.  It was important for Talia to show Sacha what it all should look like when everything clicked just right. 

 It was Talia's last show. 

 "I am an artist."  Mistress announced the first time Talia met her.  She moved delicately, like a dancer, around the exotic plants of the green room.  She pounced on the squares of falling sunlight like a child playing hopscotch.  Her arms outstretched for balance and her tiny breasts, only the size of bowling balls, jiggled tauntingly.  Her impish nose crinkled and her expansive eyes became glistening slits as she smiled. 

 Talia smiled weakly, a little embarrassed.  Her eyes respectively averted from Mistress' nude form.  "Yes, your husband mentioned that.  I have my references..."

 "He's not my husband." Mistress said quickly.  "He's my benefactor and the financial backer for my latest artistic endeavor.  Although he will sign your paycheck, your job will be to tend to me."  Mistress turned and leapt, spinning quickly.  Her foot suddenly caught and she stumbled ungainly forward, threatening to fall.  Talia quickly reached out to catch her, but Mistress pranced back like a ballerina.  "Ha! Made you look!"  She smiled.  "Come on, you're a nurse, you've seen naked women before."

 "Never at a job interview."  Talia said curtly, a little miffed.

 Mistress's eyes sharpened like a cat's.  "You must have had boring jobs. Would you hand me my robe?" 

 Talia looked at the rubber cape draped over the chair.  She picked it up and held it open so Mistress could turn and slip her arms into the long flowing sleeves.  Mistress turned, leaving the robe open and her breasts exposed, creating a contrast of shiny black and white skin.  "The job of an artist is to solicit an emotion from the audience.  In you, I have so far gotten embarrassment, fear, anger and possibly a little desire."  Mistress pulled the hem of her robe and stretched it tight across her heaving bosom and let her thumb thick nipples poke through.

 Talia blushed scandalously.

 Mistress winked.  "Am I good or what?"  She released her robe.  "I am going where no other artist has gone before.  I want to not only drag a reaction out of someone, I can do that in my sleep, but I want that response to leap out of them.  Control them.  Unfettered, unstoppable and primal."  Mistress sat down and crossed her legs.  "Fear is easy.  I had you leaping to save me from a fall.  But what is the most repressed, raw human emotion?"

 Talia shrugged. "Love?"

 Mistress smiled devilishly.  "Lust!  We all want it, but we steel ourselves from it.  Deny ourselves the one thing we want most.  We have walls and minefields around our libido.  Well, I plan to break those down."

 Talia's eyes were wide with wonder. "How?"

 Mistress smiled; her spell cast.  "Your job will be to care for me.  Feed me, clean me and put me to bed.  You have to care for all of my needs."

 "All?"

 "Except sex.  I plan to be raped several times a day.  In the name of art, of course."

Teaser: for the whole story, consider supporting us at:
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/955092

Copyrighted 2023, all rights reserved.

The Art Collector

If the future, corporations will achieve the right to take ownership of regular people.  Once in their fold, they can submit them to their will.  One corporation submits our hero to become the ultimate in art!

Get the story here and consider supporting us!
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/938333

Wild body mods!  Surgical crafting!  One must suffer for their ART!

From the Gag Order archives, The Art Collector!
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/938333