Necrophilia Variations by Supervert

Author:Supervert
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3, pdf
Publisher: Supervert 32C Inc.
Published: 2008-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

Shriek Freak

I want to hear you scream. I like to hear you scream — not in anger or exuberance, not in pleasure or in pain. I like to hear you scream in fright. I like to run up behind you in the dark or pop out from some bushes when you're alone in the park. Boo! I like to push fear inside of you, penetrate you with fright the way other men penetrate you with their cocks, and then I like to hear the sound you make, the sigh of pleasure amplified to a shriek. Fear fucks you, fucks you hard, with passion and intensity, and you express how much you love it when you open your mouth in a great wide wail. Oh, the naughty blisses I have known, climactic panics and orgasmic horrors...

There are so many delicious types of terror, so many darling brands of dread. Some women worry about worms, others take fright at black flies. There are nymphomaniacs with their neuroses, virgins with vertigo and whores afraid of heights. You can slip a spider inside a starlet's stilettos or a snake inside a schoolgirl's sneakers and scare up a squeal of ecstasy. Arachnophobia, bacteriophobia, claustrophobia, demonophobia, electrophobia, frigophobia, gymnophobia — these are all sweet spots to me, the places I touch you to bring out the fear. I put a frog in your hat — you scream — it's music to my ears.

How did I get to be this way? How did I learn to delight in dismay? Blame Dracula. Blame Frankenstein. Blame monsters and ghouls and celluloid homicides. Blame Hollywood and b-movies and special effects galore. Blame blood and guts and horror and gore. Blame — mommy. When I was a wee little freak, a pubescent perv, a fetishist with a future, I saw Dracula bend over a buxom babe, bare his fangs, incline toward her cleavage — and then — as he began to descend — darkness! I couldn't see! But I could hear — and oh, what things I could hear. Moans — gasps — shrieks!

Was it sex? It had to be. Why else would mommy blindfold me with her hands?

When the screaming was over I saw the blood trickling down into the cleavage, the crimson cum shot, the vampire titty fuck. It excited me. It made me want more — but more what? Did Dracula fuck his victims in the neck? Did he use those ferocious fangs to commit a kind of creepy cunnilingus on them? Did he drink blood from their clits? I didn't know. I hadn't seen. But I did know what it sounded like — very intense, uncontrollable, spasmodic. It was like a sudden urge to vomit, except it came boiling up out of the voice box, a raw, primitive sound, undifferentiated vocalization, primal noise, a vent in the shell of the self giving way to an ejaculation of fiery magma, burning tongue and exploding brain bursting in the air, an aural eruption sending shards of white cranium hurtling through infinite black space, the reverberation of a supernova.

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