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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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Pastebin: http://pastebin.com/bP6L5FHA

>Food for thought.

Sam looks adorable when he's confused and aroused. Of course, what hot blooded young man wouldn't be, when he's been asked to join a delicate young lady in the shower. It is one of the easiest ways to get someone naked and hands on, of course, but more importantly, having him wash your hair for you puts him in a place where the mess will be minimal and you can take your time with the....process of....preparing him.

There are only so many ways to describe your situation in euphemism, it occurs to you, and by now you'd have thought you'd gotten over being squeamish. Who knew.

The problem is that Sam is a very nice person. That, and you really weren't entirely prepared for this, as a result of the now unending ache in your belly, where heat slides and pulses and squirms, making you tremble. Sam lays his hands on your shoulders, concern in her expression. “Are you sure, I mean....” The very hint that he may back out nearly drives the breath from your body with the ferocious agony that rips through your body. It takes every ounce of willpower you have to keep the pain off your face and hold steady.

“I'm sure,” you reassure him, letting your hands drop, allowing him to see the thin silk under-blouse, still damp and clinging to your skin. You guts unkink and roil at his half shocked, half awed expression, the reassurance far more important to the curse that lives within you.

Of course, now you have several other problems that need solving. Words aren't cutting it, he's just too much of a gentleman to simply accept that you want him naked in the shower with you; you have a straight razor in your hand, but not one in either of the bathrooms; you need both hands free to completely undress with it in hand either; and you have to decide which bathroom you're going to....you'd call it doing the deed but that really is a euphemism that might not be appropriate.

You smile, a natural looking if forced smile, and wrack your brains, trying to think through the agonizing pain of starvation, knowing that if – no, WHEN – you consume his flesh and blood and bones, you will be safe from this agony and uncertainty for a while.

Poor Samuel.

[] Kiss him, you fool!
[] Turn and walk away, shedding clothing, that always works. (This means dropping the razor....)
[] Don't even think about it, just get rid of him fast.
[] Other.
[X] shed our clothing
We can improvise a weapon in the shower and we need his attention diverted
[x] kiss him! No one can mistake that!
Keeping one hand low, holding up the heavy skirts, crinoline, and silks that make up the dress, you reach up with your empty hand and slide it about his neck, under his hair. Pulling him down to you, you kiss him, slowly and gently. Your hand clenches on the razor in your hand, the cold metal pressing into your palm, but you struggle to ignore that and concentrate on the warmth of his lips, his mouth slightly spicy and firm. You've kissed men and women; there is such a difference between the two.

Sam, poor shocked Sam, responds slowly, but he does respond, his arms sliding about your waist, though more your ribs. He kisses back, taking the initiative – finally! - and you accept the gentle intrusion that follows. The poor man looks shell shocked when you break the kiss finally, slowly stepping away and working at the side fasteners to the skirts, loosening them.

There is a moment where you have to struggle between holding onto the closed razor and the fastening of the dress. You hide this by turning away from him, and breaking the fastener, your need stronger than your desire to keep from ruining the dress. You don't have to look to see that he's not following you, for the poor man is still stunned by your brazen act. You let the skirt fall to the ground, along with the razor; the skirt cushions it's fall and you're sure that being mostly naked, dressed only in a slip and panties, is more than enough of a distraction.

There is the shower in the main bathroom, which is large but it is a standard tub, with a shower curtain. The floor and walls are tile, which is fine, but he's larger than you, and you're still too stable to be sure you can keep him steady if he....falls. It's closer, and it is cleaner; but the other shower, the one in your bedroom, while not complete, is a walk in shower with thick Plexiglas doors and walls, and a glass-brick wall on one side. It's large enough for two, but the bathroom itself isn't quite finished. That's why you got this place so cheap.

Of course....you could lead him into the bedroom itself.

[] Tub.
[] Walk in.
[] Bed.
[] Other?
[x] Tub.
Clean up will be a bit easier
You walk slowly to the main bathroom lifting your slip to hook your fingers through the hem of your panties, and discarding them on the way, giving him barely a glimpse of what the slip hides. That gets him moving all right and you hear the rustle of him struggling to discard at least three pieces of clothing at once. You can't help but smile as there is a distinctive thump of one foot on the floor as he tries to catch his balance after nearly doing a face-plant – it's something you recall with fondness from....a long time ago. Too long.

A sudden twisting in your guts brings you back to the here and now, pain enough to bring tears to your eyes and make you stumble as well. You open the door, slipping inside the bathroom and leaving the door only half open, and look around, needing to find something, almost anything that you can use for....for what you have to do.

The problem with just having moved in is that most of the tools you usually leave in places such as this are still packed. You hadn't planned on bringing someone home so soon and then not having a weapon. Of course the nagging ache in your body hasn't let you plan ahead much. There must be something you can do. Towels, a glass for your morning rinse, toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, some basic makeup....

[] Break something.
[] Find something long and thin, sharp or not.
[] You know all you have to do is wait.
[] Other.
All we have to do is wait
>You know all you have to do is wait.

Let the monster in us take care of him. I'd rather give the poor sod as much enjoyment in his last moments as we can.
This is becoming more and more porn quest with every thread; I'm not even sure people give a shit about the cannibal part any more. Fuck this shit.
You do know that the beast in us won't allow anything untoward to happen?
Warm hands are sliding along your shoulders, starling you out of....what? You were looking for something. There is a cloud of steam and the mirror is fogged over. That's good. You don't want to see your reflection, even though you were looking at the mirror. Weren't you?

His hands are warm, and the straps of your under-blouse slide over your shoulders and down your arms, and you look back, smiling up at him as he divests you of the last defense modesty demands of a girl. He smiles, shy, and red faced – not from the water, he's not wet yet – and the sight of that stirs conflicting feelings. The desire to make the blush stop, to ease his minor discomfort....and the desire to rip the skin off his face and let that blood spill out onto you.

You distract yourself by turning and facing him. Well, he's not extraordinarily gifted, which is not necessarily a bad thing (that is a pain you can live without), but he is ready, very ready. You rise up on your tip-toes to kiss his lips, letting your hand wander, and his reaction is very gratifying indeed. Men make such adorable noises.
You walk past him, your hand trailing along his waist to his wrist, which you grasp as you pull him towards the shower. Your hands are wet, you've already been touching the water. How long was he there, what did you do, what did you let him do? You can't remember, and then a surge of fire, of liquid needles and glass in your gut and up your chest reminds you it doesn't matter what you were doing or he was doing, the only thing that matters is getting him in....you taste salt. And chlorine. Faintly, just a trace.

Well, you know what you were doing.

You giggle as he lifts you up over the edge of the tub, shocking himself with how light you are. You grab his arms to
tear the flesh
keep your balance, and let him set you in the spray. You are instantly drenched, your hair covering your
teeth and tongue and gullet and mouth and fangs and
face and eyes, the needles and glass rippling, pushing at your lungs, your heart. He slides in after you, and closes the
curtain behind you.

[] Help.
[] Harm.
[] Kindness.
[] Other.
Time to >HARM it up.
>[] Kindness.
Yay cannibal loli quest is go!

I presume this is doing the sexual deed?
>[] Kindness.
All this does is make the final result of eating him all the sweeter, all the more we like him by the end the more filling the beast will find him

It's the least we can do for the poor dead guy.

You smiles and slowly run your hands over his chest. He's surprisingly muscular for a young man as thin as he is. Healthy. You slowly reach around him, moving close – oh, he likes that – big surprise! - and take the liquid soap you keep here. It
gets rid of bloodstains
doesn't have a floral scent so he wouldn't
mind you using it, you don't think. He certainly doesn't argue when you start washing his chest, his arms. You smile and you move close, the shower cleansing away the suds as your move closer and your hands move lower. The feel of
hot blood moving flesh soft and fragile
him under your hands is
tender fearless foolish alive
pleasing and you realize
no more waiting
you can't help him. You never could.
You haven't any time left. You can feel your insides moving, being moved. You shiver and turn to face him again, face Sam. Samuel. You never did learn
your food
his last name. You smile, the water from the shower hiding the tears that spring to your eyes, not entirely from the pain that is coursing through your veins, the shards of broken metal and frozen glass that is pushing its way through your body. You press against him, letting him feel your body, trying to press his memory into your skin, make him feel wanted. And he does, oh he is wanted, and he knows
he's going to die
what he thinks
stupid man following you home
you want
his flesh and blood and skin and bones

“I....you know....” he starts, yet again. You place your finger across his lips, and whisper softly. “I'm sorry.”

His look of confusion is cute. You open your mouth, a last kiss...
Human skin makes a very specific sound when bitten. It is almost exactly the same as the sensation you get when you bite into one of the silly little rubber high-bounce balls. The sound of his skin tearing as you bite. The toughness of tendons, pulling his mouth open, protecting his jugular for a few seconds. The jaw is the second strongest set of muscles in the body. Yours more so. You have had
a million years
to hone these muscles.

The wash of red is everywhere and he's flailing, his arms wrecking the curtain. You grab his head, his ears, nails digging deep. You push and he tries to shriek through a cascade of blood, as his eyes spurt vitreous fluid and immediately after more blood. You are both going down, and there is pain and hot flesh and blood and water everywhere.

Your head is ringing and your sitting on Samuel's chest, his throat and face a ruin of ribbons and raw meat. He's moaning softly, his head spilling yet more blood from the place where he's cracked it open on the side of the tub. Water is falling over you and you know you've been gone for a moment. Your left arm aches, and you can't move your numb left hand at all – you think it may have broken in the struggle.

He's not dead.

[] ?
Rolled 20

I'm so, so sorry
Put him out of his misery
Finish him
Welp he is dead now, but at least our hunger is sated.
And then onto the next one in a week or so.
"I really liked you."

Finish him.
You run the fingers of your good hand over his lips, those firm, yet soft lips. He doesn't respond, not really. He moves a little, but that's nothing. He's moaning with every breath, and you sitting mostly on his chest isn't keeping him from breathing.

There are no more tears as you lean over him, and gently touch his raw, ruined throat. You didn't get the arteries, or the veins, not the important ones. There would be a lot more blood and less him breathing if you had. The high pitched tone that nearly downs out the sound of the water falling on you and your victim, for that is all he is now, a victim, that tone heightens as you dig inside his neck, making him convulse, choke on the blood that oozes down his ruined trachea.

It is easy to find the right ones, and you gather then min your hand, bits of soft, throbbing flesh, your fingers drawing them into the air, out of his body, a secret never meant for daylight. Without feeling, without concern, you lean over his twitching, moaning living-corpse body, and slide your tongue around the tiny tubes that keep his brain working.

And bite.
You keep them in your mouth as they jet liquid hotter than the water of the shower into your mouth, down your throat. You swallow, suckle feeding on the hot flush of life, giving the monster inside you something to keep it sated before....before....


The water is off. You look at the long, pink stained peach-and-cream colored ribbons in your hand. You swallow, tasting slick fat and course skin. Feeling it slide down your throat. Nurturing you. Sustaining you. You flex your left hand. The pins and needles are bad. You shove the strip of skin into your mouth, and reach down, ripping up another swath as you chew and swallow and chew and swallow and
The scent of copper in the air is overwhelming. The feel of the meat and bone under you is soothing, curled up in the tub. You slowly push your self up, ignoring the bold of pain from your left arm, though it works well enough. You stare at the skinless body, only traceries of fat and remaining on the muscles and soft innards. You lower your head and bite into cold red flesh, tearing and swallowing, slowly at first. Chewing and swallowing becomes quickly forgotten as the red meat wakens the hunger in your body again, and you tear another strip of flesh from the ribs of

soft wet things
flavored of life and death
slick and easy to swallowingmoremoremore
Only fragments of flesh and viscera remain, bones the only thing of any mass left. They are disassembled, pieces. You stare at the eye sockets, still caked in bits of gore and red. Bones are never white. Never. Not even inside, as you reach out with both strong hands and shatter the the staring face into pieces and bring the first fragments to your mouth to

crunch crunch crunch

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You stare in the mirror, looking into blue eyes wide and shocked looking. Your hair is still wet. The shower curtain lies piled on the tub. There is water everywhere.

But that's is all.

You are naked, and clean, and alone. The only traces that anything has happened here are the clothes in the living room. And those will burn. You take a deep, slow breath, feeling....feeling good. Safe. Whole. Satisfied.

Feeling loved.

[The End?]
well that was...

great (Y)
Page One:
Government Shutdown Results in....

Page Three:
Local police arrest teacher for child abuse....

Page Eight:
Samuel Kinsington was reported missing by his fiance last night, when he failed to return home after his week's vacation in The Sunny City. His car was found in police impound after being illegally parked in a loading dock in down town....

Page Ten:
Room mate wanted. Spacious three bedroom, two 1/2 bath, quiet loft apartment....
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wow man....just wow. That was some detailed stuff but good! Will we have a sequel or is this the end for our cannibal loli for now?
I may produce a sequel if there is interest, but that will be after I switch to full time grave shifts. I will have more weekday time and more time when the people i usually write for might see it (Aussies and Englishmen and Europeans. And the occasional Japanese.)

By and large, it was interesting and educational, which is what I had hoped for. As long as at least one person enjoyed it that counts as a win for me.
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>Human skin makes a very specific sound when bitten. It is almost exactly the same as the sensation you get when you bite into one of the silly little rubber high-bounce balls. The sound of his skin tearing as you bite.

All of my cringe. All of it.

You write great things man. It was like a literary train wreck I couldn't stop reading in the best way.
Rolled 1

I liked it too. I just lurk most of the time
I....I think I enjoyed it.

It was cool, but not generally my cup of tea so...

I will say you are a great writer and wish you the best of luck.
That is really what it sounds like.
Rolled 15

I like this guy. Not sure why. His knowledge is brilliant, if disturbing
The biggest problem with this last section was that there were too many ways for it to go, but they inevitably lead to a railroad situation. which railroad was the question so prewriting was almost impossible.

Incidentally, there was a comment in the second thread, I believe, about the MC being a not much of a sociopath. That was correct, she wasn't - that was an option not taken, so she did have empathy and even sympathy for her victim. It takes about a week for Sybil to consume the entire body....but she does consume it all (much like a hyena). during that time she is largely helpless and ignorant of her surroundings, which could lead to it's own sort of trouble.
Not a guy.
It was a nice story. I guess a lot of people were pretty off-put, but I enjoyed it well enough.
Rolled 4

It was nice and disturbing, just as I like it
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And thank you all for the support,
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Was just reading the backlog, shame I didn't get in before it finished. Real nice, OP.

Personally I would've preferred a bit more eldritch stuff manifesting on their person, maybe a few signs and tells that 'oh shit this person is old as hell and probably not entirely of this world'.

Would definitely enjoy a sequel, however.
Also an option not taken. The question of "is it all in her head?" was the option that was taken. Also, just not enough situational allowance for it. If there had been a crowd to work with....then perhaps.

I had several sets of scenarios set aside (what happened in the ally? The presence of another hunter?! Prey has a girl/boyfriend, wat do!). They may show up in other tales if there is a continuance.
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It'd be neat if there were other people out there like Sy, as well. Maybe not exactly, but if we're the 'all in the head' type, maybe there's one out there that's 'the little girl is only a 3d-shadow of a much larger, 4d creature'. Or vice-versa. Fun stuff.
Think about this though:

If she consumes a human body in a week....where does all the mass go?
I assumed it was like a hammerspace of bodily resources, like how vampires eat blood and sometimes food but don't produce any sort of bodily waste.
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The Wendigo?

If you ever run a sequel or another version of this kinda stuff. Or even something non-related, you seem like a good writer, will you use the same name/trip?
Yes, I have used it since my writefag days as Xiombarg's Storyteller.
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But that wouldn't work if it was all in her head. Maybe putting it down the garbage disposal or in the trash during her blackouts?
Pastebin is updated. I may update the archive one more time if the thread is alive when I wake up in....three and a half hours.

Good night. Good luck with your dreams. It's a full moon.
How do you know that? I'm an aspiring gore writer myself. Little details like this make it. Any other tips?
Never saw this before, but wow you have a talent for storytelling. Gore isn't really my thing, but, but I couldn't stop from binging the entire pastebin archive.

Hope to see more of your stuff.
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>Wait a week for this
>Miss it

Well, if you ever do a sequel, you've got my support. It was a fun ride.
Is this really who I think it is?

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