Beholder's Filthy Lust


Written by Septia.


I flipped up my phone, checking the marker and the surroundings to compare them with the enveloping forest. The directions really did end here, in the middle of the woods at the foot of a one-story cliff. I brushed my fingers through my hair, the squeal of natural grease strung – as a chord on a violin submerged in lard. With the golden locks out of the way, I tapped my earpiece. 
	“Hey, I'm at the place, but this' a bit of a bust, tho. Kinda hoped you'd snag a spot with more, pizzazz.” 
	After a moment it buzzed to life… “Three rocks by the cliff, basket hidden behind them. Deposit shirt and pants. We're not here to see your attire tarnished… I will provide direction from here.” 
	Basket was indeed there. I smirked. “You can already see me, right?” 
	Static wrinkled from the earpiece. “Perhaps.” 
	My lips curled into a smirk. I plucked out the lower buttons on my shirt, till I was just about halfway up. Then I spun around and hooked my arms down in a power pose. A pound of constrained bulk drummed from my chest, sprawling out to a tear of fabric, coursing over my shirt. Cloth erupted, buttons cast off, soaring through the woods in a bullet trail. My muscular bouncy castle billowed forth in its place, thrumming the cast of the shirt like the sheddings of a cocoon that swelled to consume my upper torso, in the apex of their bounce cradling my chin in a plush caress — yet firm embrace — of shredded beef… With the convulsions of rubber the thick pecs clapped together in smacks of lard injected stakes. My arms instinctively roamed to cradle them, brushing as far as I could reach on the protrusion at the base of an oblate triangle ahead of me, though just barely reaching to just about my nipples. 
	“Haa, pleasant to let the boys out, they like an audience,” I said whilst shimmying out of my shirt and pants, as I leaned down my tits bounced off of my knees, indenting a crater at the bottom of the pillow squares of mattress musculature. Were they a touch more teardrop shaped and dipping, they could be confused for pair of gal boobs. 
	“…Knew you would be the perfect candidate for this, your physique is star grade.” 
	“Tell me about it. I won't tire of hearing it,” I said and stood tall, with my freed pecs bulging out over my arms, “looking forward to see how you'll taint this gem of a bod, I'm all in for a challenge.” 
	“By the end the day, I assure you, that you will be, mffs,” the speaker sparked as they breathed through heir teeth, “despoiled. Climb up the cliff, then head straight until I inform otherwise.” 


The road followed down many twists and turns, walking from path to path, over hills and streams. Up on one hill, I heaved myself over the rim and smacked my jug into the earth with a quake and the ground budged under the pressure, my chest piling over as I squeezed it down, streaks of dirt granulating between them as I scrubbed the plump hills down. I gyrated my chest to sweep in an arc as I hefted myself standing. 
	In each step I exaggerated the motion, slapping my thighs together so my rear would bounce in the clasp of the latex speeds, the bubble butt jostling as it rose to the top of each step and dove back down. My pecs following suit, buffering into one another tension of two blackboard erasers. I heard some shuffling in the ear piece through  most of the show I put on. Feeding into my satisfaction. 
	“Hey, voyeur, got any name?” 
	“We' have discussed this.” 
	“Mean more as something to call you.” 
	“Once we are there I will only provide instructions.” 
	I sighed, then smirked. “Gotcha.” 


~ 1 ~


The trees dispersed, an opening spread ahead, until I could make out a building. Dishevelled, only the steel roof stayed intact, the rest was littered with holes, wear and tear from the seasons; peeled paints, marks in stone, wood rotten. The w.c. sign had rust encroaching form the edges, but it was sizeable for anything this deep into nowhere. 
	“Camp shut down nearby, I kept this around, you will match its aesthetic by the day's end.” 
	“Hah,” I snickered, and strutted out through the field moat of mud stretching around the building from collected precipitation, my sneakers dug through the layers of silt with each step rusting of chopping into custard, “this is more more of what I had imagined…” 
	Inside the toilet wasn't much better, a pale lamp shone down a haze of orange, four stalls along the wall, and an equal number of sinks. The porcelain floor was cracked, some of which had spread out and dispersed when I entered — and were, in fact, a congregation of bugs. 
	“Chills, Wik. This place's my total opposite,” I said and clutched my biceps around my pecs, flexing to slosh the dense jugs together with vibrations caressing over the tits.
	“Glad you approve. There is a camera in the first stall, use it on your leisure.” 
	“You got this whole place rigged up, don't ya?” 
	Wik was silent, static sparked from it with the distinct shuffling in the background. “Ready for the first instruction, Adrian?” 
	“Lay it on me,” I scoff and turn to the camera, blowing it a smooch before propping it up by a sink. 
	“Did you follow my instructions for preparation?” 
	“Oh, yeah, ‘bout that. I know you said I should take loads up my ass and down my face from thirty guys. But, I ended up making it an even fifty,” I brushed under my eyes, accentuating how my eye sacks laid darkened, though protruding rather than being sunken.
	“Good. Ah-erhhm,” Wik cleared his throat, “you have gotten home from the gang bang of your life, you are stuffed in spunk and fluids, and just wanna relieve yourself of it all…” 
	This tickled something within me, he didn't just want to defile my bod, but wanted me to play into the despoiling role. I reached my head back, hair whipping my lats as my chest protruded in a heavenly heave of plush weaved brawn, jiggling long after in heaves from my grand gesture. 
	“Screw me, that was such a night, don't know, hope my ass can hold it all for just... Mfms, oh it won't.” I cooed and struggled to peel my zipper down, shuffling out of it and backing up to the sink. 
	The smear and grind of polished grease wrung from my rear as my cheeks curved and budged around the knob bed end of a soda bottle. I heaved my ass over the sink, smacking the dipping droves of taut blubber over it to squeak a symphony of squeals on the ceramic. I ground my rear back, gyrated it into position, the bottle crawling its way forth, flexes of my ass flicking it from side to side. Thin geysers of semen spouted in arches from the concealed pucker. 
	I bent forward, kneading into my pecs so the brawn welled up in the interspace of my finger's clutches, all whilst the two liter flask buckled and screeched. Burgles rumbled inside the plastic, filled within was the viscous refuse of cock glue, its pearly shade tinted in spiralling streaks of raw umber, forming a chocolate milk camo-pattern; a swirling typhoon of intermingling hues constrained by the polymer casing. 
	“Mfmgs, aahs can't keep it in there, hold it back buns, just a bit longer,” I cried out and reached back, flicking a hold of the bottle’s end and ramming it back up with the squelch of driving a stake through a cake. The thrust sent a hail of clotted spunk out through the brim to scatter over the dust washed mirror. I rammed it back in again, the melange of churns melded together from the sloshes of the bottle, the squeals of my pucker and then the stirring onslaught of spunk and cocktail jammed up my rear. The whipping pops in my ass pointed to air that boils and pops with resounding gurgles in the application of stirring shakes and head. My rear gushed out jets of pearl ropes compiling and caking onto glass and ceramic in viscous globules, rolling down in dunes of molten wax that absorb the surrounding dust and grime, incorporating it into the pristine white — the hue shifting to an ashen gray. 
	I squeezed my thighs tights, the bottle crumpling inwards and jutting out to its neck in one motion, letting the tidal wave inside crash after it. My whole body vibrated. I could feel my chest bouncing through the motions, through my heaves they knocked up against my neck as I rode the top of the bottle. And then with a resounding whack I jerked the bottle out of my busty canyon of an ass. 
	The flood followed suite, after a moment of my pucker clasping to regain posture it engorged past the rhind of the flask and disgorged a glutinous wad of spunk gruel, landing in the sink with a spatter of doughy tendrils gumming to the side of the basin. The humid crackling stemmed up together. My rear gaped over the girthed bale of plaster, the spunk billowing out my cheeks in a fat coil. Along its surface laid chunks of dung melded into the paste, sprawling tendrils of muck webbing the mound sprawling out of my glistening hind to well into the sink, curving, folding and tangling into a hill of ass cooked passion paste. The air grew hazy in blur from the mists of humidity oozing from the clotted bales crowning out of my ass, representing an air of the amount of cocks I had my ass submit to. The stench of spunk merged with the pungency of peppered mud. 
	“MFhhfa haa, everyone on the party must have gotten at least one go at this ass, I am stuffed like a pig.” I then rose, smushing my rear into the bales of gellated ejaculate, piles displaced by my ass cheeks carving into it and the bulging brim dispensing new tangles above it. The mass immersed the base of the faucet in sludge. I hoisted up the bottle to my face, planting my lips onto it. 
	“Mfms still warm.” I arched my head back and tipped the bottle over, mouth agape as the surge of sludge hurled from the plastic brim. In the cramped confines the doughy ass fudge and creamy spunk had melded and conjoined, resulting in a gritty mortar that sloughed to splatter square into my nose and sprawl to drip into my awaiting maw. 
	Bundles of the chunky silt budged their way to my eyes, consuming them in the tanned auburn and clouding my vision in its emanating plumes of vapors. My eye slits wedged open to flush down the muck, siphoning it down like the nest of an anteater. Lumps of the grime trickled all across my face in gorges of filth that stained in their expansion as the snake of muddy mortar sloped out of the bottle and wound itself around my face. Dollops spattered from my chin and smeared into my pecs, the constant jiggling and sloshing of the brawn patties sending the gruel plunging through the gorges and folds that formed towards the center of my bulbous knockers. Rivers weaved into one another to caress the sinuous expanse and slotting down the gulch of blubber. The trails of steaming gel jolting quivers through my spine, which only expedite the process of the drooping slugs of bottled lust sloughing across my face and invading my chest, gluing them together in the piles of dung paste. 
	The crinklings of manure swelled behind me as the muddy cum-bales plastered into the walls, sagging down in dollops over the edges and framing the bottom of the mirrors. The current bale of snaking slop swirled in to bury the height of the faucet under the molten phlegm. And with a splattering of slime the tail end lobbed out my rear, caking the heap n a crown of pure, white nut butter trailing over the stacks of gunk in locks of glue. 
	“Phaaa,” I huffed and stretched, winking in the grime into my eyes, and scraping the rest down my face. My nostrils flared and chugged in a congealed snort as I huffed in the remains of the mortar. Little attention was paid to the coiling lakes of the mire that had compiled over my chest, only observing how trails jittered when I sauntered forwards and my chest jostled. 
	My rear detached from the throne of spunk it had carved in its likeness in the stack, tethers of goo webbing them together, but as I walked the vines sunk towards the ground, and one by one snapping to spatter onto the floor or over my legs. The hollow butt groove was already starting to clasp together under the weight of the spunk mound consuming the sink. 
	“Awah that’s better, swabbing out the chimney,” I huffed out. Then I snorted, hawking and… with a thrust of gases through my nostrils, sneezed out a net of walnut hued mucilage, smacking into the wall and gumming stuck in with the impact of a rubber sledgehammer. This display of phlegm sprawled out in a caricature of a star in slime, trails of neon yellow and lime goo growing gelatinous as they arched back to my nostrils. The splotch covered halfway into two stalls, a smear matching the width of my head. I brushed one tether off with my arm. The other I reeled back in with a hefty inhale that ruffled the nasal pit, detaching the slime thread to sprawl and flail back from whence it came. 
	I turned around, sweeping to look back at the camera, jutting out at the sink from the solidifying pile. “Haa, that does look good thoug-,” -Apthioo- I sneezed, working on snorting back the globs, “what a night to remember,” I said with a sly wink. After some thought, I added. “At least until, oh I don't know, prolly next tuesday.” 


“Looks like you have come down with a case of the sniffles, might as well put this to use in… 'cleaning up'.” The earpiece spoke. 
	I huffed at the thought, intrigued by how this mess was going to tend up. “Oh taffy, feeling another one coming on… Aaa, ahaha,” I played on the motion, reeling back in each intake, holding my arms forwards to budge my jiggling jugs together under my face, bundling my cans together so broad gorges following around the outline of my arms. 
	“Aaa-thiooo,” I sneezed whilst slamming my face right back down my open palms, I hear the cascade of phlegm dunk into my hands, the salvo bouncing from it on impact from the amount that slobbered onto my skin and jostled back up to cling to my face... “That smfs is just great, how am I gnn, gonna get all this off?” I ask with a quiver to my breath. I retracted my face, peeling my hands free with a serenade of crinkling slime smearing between my fingers and the strings of snot. 
	The vines strumming as I drew back to expose the webbings of chartruce binding down my face and fingers. Clumps of the congealed mucus budded along my palm and throughout the strands wringing around them. As I drew my hands back the churn from my nostril culminated in further,  thicker globules reeling from my nose. It gradually made the whole web dip, folds of the slob arching along to gum into my chest, cradled by the buffed pecs with the smears of dipping clay into porridge. 
	I flexed my chest out to catch more of the winding vines drooping from the web, before, leaning back against the wall and folded my palms together with a puttering as air bubbles vacated the slime. 
	“Just gotta, get it off me” I said with a peek towards the camera. Then, I dunked my palms right into my chest, the reverberations of a drum struck in a far-away beach, followed by the avalanche of bubbling nostril nectar pasting into my tats. The gelatinous mire of cum muck that had gathered in my cleavage lake flung up into my chin, coating it in a nutty stubble. The dung beard slobbed down, extending the reach of the brown streams but sinking back towards the lake it had previously occupied. The splatter of snot formed around the outlines of my hand prints, cooling to a gellated clay with bubbles of snot rising to crowd along the surface. I smeared my hands back and forth, extending the cast of my palms on my chest, crossing paths with the muck over the curvaceous hills of brawn. 
	I left my fingers to twirl and fondle my nipples, as mush of compacted grease lubricated their path and leaving little tents of worbled snot mounted around them once my digits roamed elsewhere. I stretched and spiralled it over my skin. It encased my bust in a coagulating film of mucilage, binding together and glistening its yellowed gossamer hue, reflecting the light from the bathroom lamps to a twinkling shimmer. Several locks of the gunk meet up with the muck and encasing it into little caskets of snot. 
	I leaned it to my lips smothered with the bogger dough as I curled my tongue around it, hauling the matter into my jaw and gnawing it, pinching the matter between my teeth until it snapped back with the crack of a whip. It slopped down as a hunk of solidifying toffee. I sighed and eased my palms back on the door of the stalls. 
	“This is some real sick stuff,” I mumbled with a grin under the gnawing of the snot phlegm. I stuffed a finger up my left nostril, huffing and grunting like a pig, until I reeled it back, wrapped in a congealed nugget of slimy, juicy snot candy. I dew my finger back, and the mucus stretched along with it, standing thicker than my finger and creaking as a submerged door hinge, the snot bale billowing through the pit, swelling wider than the nostril as it sloughed through, and as I got on all fours and drew it towards the ground it only twitched with the reverberations of a guitar string. I wrapped my other hand around it, the texture wrapping me in the gel of gummy, and I tugged it out to meet my other hand, soon spooling the snot between my palms as a long coil of green tinted taffy once I had a good amount to work with. I snorted back the last tail of goo, hawking before spitting it out in a spittle soaked chain of gunk on the wall, drying in place along with numerous other stains.
	I rolled a chunk of the snot taffy on the ground, bulldozing it over cracks of grime, yellowed spots and the insects that were too slow or too absent-minded to move away in front of a wave of tactile, sturdy gum steamrolling them. I drove my hands into it, sinking my fingers into the melange of snot and dirt, kneading it out over the floor, leaving some patches of a shiny ceramic, though soaked in spots and films of the yellowed residue oozing from the snot. My hands worked and smushed through soot, dirt, dried muck and felt the squirming of ants, weevils and carrion beetles within the taffy dough. As I leaned over blobs of muck and filaments of chest snot trickled over into the batter, my pec's jostling and bouncing as my tensing biceps hugged onto them from each side. 
	“Umps, this is getting real nasty.” I smacked into the mound of snot taffy, leaving a faint imprint of my fingers and tethering filaments between them as I lifted it. The whole mound was thickened and broad as my thigh. 
	“Gotta get all this garbage out,” I snickered and smushed it into my face. 
	The grime displaced the muck, filth smattering over my face, pushing droplets of spunk and dung into my eyes and gumming up the muck into itself. I closed my jaws over it and bit, teeth barely able to gnaw through the plastine grime, gradually sinking and hearing my teeth squeak and smear around the befouled grime… A rainbow of textures all shaded in hues of filth plastering into my teeth. It gummed my teeth together, squeaking as a slick tadpole budging their way through a straw. 
	“Mfw, gotta find a place for all this junk,” I mumbled over the mound, my breath picking up, I was struggling with something, and it raised the hairs on my back along with something else that was peeking up, further down. I bit my lip, feeling a desire swelling up, but, though this means I would be going off script. I peeked down the rough cylinder in my grasp, with a side of it chewed off, a large bite down a bit from the tip, mimicking the first bite of an apple. It almost looked like… 
	I coughed into a chuckle and drew in a breath to blow out a nostril horn of snot into my palm. This batch of pure yellow, reaching right down the filaments of citrine,, some passing down my pecs on its way down towards my crotch. 
	The earpiece buzzed to life. “You want to use something more fitting, take the ash tray.” 
	I first didn't quite understand, then saw what they were talking about on the floor: a metal bowl leaking over its edges with a porridge of ash, cigarette buds, chewing tobacco, and some other varigated liquids. I picked it up, and was hit with the stench of tar marinated with blowhole and turpentine. “Mfms, right, that would do just fine, won't wanna gummy up my cock with too much snot,” I grin, and without a second thought dump the contents of the tray over my shaft. 
	At first it crept from the bowl, distending in a single drop of black asphalt. Then it punctured. With a pang of torn polymer the bulge vomited out blackened ash tar over my cock, drenching it in the noxious, vitriol that drooped along my twitching meat. 
	I quivered, rubbing the top of the ashtray into my dick for the grime to reach straight into the pouch under my foreskin. The tip dipped in the black bile. 
	“Aawawh yeah. That really gets it going. mmf, come on dick, you have been through worse asses than this,” I ensure with a giddy sense of taboo spiking my spine, and swelling up my mast. I rub the gummed up grime outright down my cock slit, grinding the tray against my shaft as I transition to jerk it. Hugging the metal against me until I could hear the squeal of it bending around the cylindrical girth, gliding in the lubrication of the smoking refuse. Several globs dropped off on my thighs and crawled to infect the flooring. The thrusts splattering gunk and stale ash crumbs — mimicking the polished pistons of a ramping machinery. 
	“Mmfs just, gotta get this better sized,” I huffed out, and chomped into the settling snot jelly. I gnawed up grime and soot smothered snot grease between my teeth like chewing gum. I had managed to 'clean' half the flooring of the bathroom. Dust, grime, filth, all of it concentrated into this rollcake of snot. 
	The more I chomped and smeared it into my face, the more my observer could notice I wasn't ravishing it thoughtlessly; the bale was beginning to take shape, following the initial blueprint of the very first bite until. 
	With one chomp I cleaned off the rounded tip, panting as I slumped back against the stall door. My chest bumped up against my chins, submerging it as I breathed in and out, overlooking the foetid, solidified snot dildo. 
	“That's more like it,” I huffed. wedging myself back I fiddled the mound between my legs dragging it across the floor and scooping up clogs of dust, tar grime, and broken ceramics before I rammed it straight past my cheeks. It squealed and contracted like an eel caught in the nose of a vacuum, the dick was hefty but the gelatinous material moulded together as I drove the pole into my ass. A cacophony of squeals and grinds of the oozing gelatine sculpture wheezing out as my pucker devoured it. My breath grew rampant. 
	“Pngpagha mmfff gmmpgh,” my excited huffs hoisted my pectorals enough to submerge my lower jaw, smearing the contents of the muck lake into my face. I burrow my head into my cleavage and gyrated down to lap and slather my tongue in the filth. I pounded my rear with the concentrated phallus of bogger muck, dragging it all the way out to see just how mangled and warped it was getting from its trips in my rectum. Each pump back in drew with it all the more dust and trash from the floor, packing it straight up my ass whilst I was too busy mulching on regurgitated chest muck like a swine cleaning out its trough. 
	“Mmfs, ouwagh yeah,” I mumbled out, both my arms too busy with their cramming my ass full or creaming my dick in the hefty messaging thrusts sprouting tar in black gushes streaking through the air on both sides. My biceps contracted the bottom of my jugs, my cleavage forming a heart, at the top of which I was slotting my head down the crevice, gorging myself on the spunk infused manure pooling at the top of the butt shaped pec-pillows. 
	The outline of the snot-cock warped itself over my lower abdomen, each thrust swelling out to fade away as I ripped it out, sometimes shovelling out excavated clumps of muck. Most of the grunge funnelled with the gorge between my legs to jam right back into the embrace of my gluttonous hind. 
	The earpiece buzzed up. “Go ahead.” 
	“Mfmwmg,” I grunted out, my stuffed cheeks barfing up the muck I got lodged up in there, travelling down as a gelate as I rammed my fist along with the slimy dick up my ass. 
	My cock twitching up a storm and balls weighing heavy on my knuckles before every muscle in my body contracted towards my dick. A bulge prowled up along the length, under the abrasive and tearing ash, clumping and swelling up the tip, as my shaft's slit engorged with a black bulging crown. It lobbed out with a winning fling through the air. The grime ball forged into a comet with a wide tail of raw ball batter streaking after it. 
	It launched in an arch over me, over the door into the booth behind me, the spunk glistening and shimmering in the trail of succulent filaments, until gravity took its hold and the hefty cumshot descended, sprawling and folding over my face, smattering like hail that melted right as it met my skin, slobbering the onslaught of cum ropes pumping out of my blackened, tainted shaft, forming a lattice pattern of flowing wax cum across for my frame. 
	I stared right into a haze of cloudy white as I felt it stain my eyes and creep into my slits, jamming up under my eyelids. A good chunk I just snorted back up my nose, bridge swelling as I guzzled down the cock cream. The spunk stains sloughed halfway over the floor with a matte outline matching the contours of my seated shape plastered over the stalls behind me. 
	“Paha, a hfaa, handled all that filth the right way, consumed by this hot ass,” I grunted out, kneading my fist into it and stirring my knuckles into my brim. The strain sent waves of jolts through my frame. I wasn't as used to taking something that wide, the snot at least slimmed down, but the thought of pulling my hand out and freeing the discomfort wrecking my reddened hind, didn't even play surface. “Fmmrfh,” I snorted out. 
	“Phaa, haa.” I moaned into the briny sludge immersing broad streaks over me, burrowing my face into the ample bosom set ahead of me. I snorted out clots of green and yellowed taffy that dug through the spunk and burbles as small boils of oozing trickling pus, another hue to drizzle and paint the canvas of my bosom trampoline. 
	It seemed that Wik was busy, because I wasn't getting any instructions for a while now. 
	“Mfr gphaa, hoa yeah…” I mumbled as I managed to tug my fist out of my as, and it oozed with the molten slop of the clotted stew, dozens of bugs and critters wriggling in the mire as it descended in fist sized dollops. I hefted myself up standing, catching the molten snot gloop and drawing it up over my ass again. I stuffed it in and moistened my palms with it to caress my shaft, encasing it in a film that clotted like amber and preserved the state of the spiked tar mixture underneath, along with the crumpled, rolled up and buckled ashtray ground down to a scrap petal against my throbbing manhood. 
	I heard chittering break though my haze. I held the earpiece, but it remained silent. It was close. I turned to the stall door, and peeked in. 
	Amidst a clitter and clatter of chitin the toilet lid creaked open. From the auburn saturated plastic and cream rose a shade of the same brown hue – as if the creature had materialized from he filthy dilapidated atmosphere of the bathroom. Two claws with pointed ends curved over the rim, and a bulb connected to a long, swirled limb held up the lid. What peeked up from the lavatory, was a scorpion, one who's claws reached to near the end of both sides of the bowl itself. Comparing it in size, it was closer to a lobster than any grub that crawled on land. 
	It was first then I heard a spark in my ear. “Lucky it doesn't stand a chance against your exquisite pectorals.” 
	“Right. Have to handle these critters decisively. Come here little cute thing.” I walked up. 
	The scorpion reeled its tail back, stinger honed in against me.
	I steadied my arms against the walls, and drew back, then bucked my whole torso forwards. The swollen chest brawn protruded out as a two crash pillows, launching onto the surprised arthropod. My stuffed beef patties pounded against the backrest, a clattering of carapace to ceramics and shifting stone ground through the room. The smear of congealed snot and clotted spunk cement the scorpion was met with became the resounding smooch my chest gave the critter — the kiss of industrial rubber sewage pipes.
	Its legs flicked and wriggled, getting caught in the mire dressing my chest, before the majority of its legs crumbled. The critter laid pinned in the canyon of my chest. Several of its limbs snapped back or folded into themselves. The fracturing burst of its tough skin elevated by the moist gushes of fluids foaming out along with the new cracks. It showed no hesitation, instinct flinging its tail and stinger right into me. And with a smack of punching into a mattress. The bug caught in between my tits. It struggles, wriggling its tail back and forth, the stinger flicking, though the mass surrounding the tail, my flesh folded around it, locking the poison bulb in the clutch of brawn. 
	“You are a decent scratcher, though I am afraid I'm not very ticklish,” I said and slowly pulled myself back. My chest drawn off from its plastered clasp against the seat slowly billowed back into shape, bulldozing over the scorpion to enclose it in a taught smother of bulging man cans. 
	“But that's just fine, if you wanna stay in there,” I said and push on its back as it sinks into the beefy embrace. It laid snuggled up with an arch of its tail going from the top of my chest to the center where its rear flicked and wriggled. I threw my arms up and thrust them down into strongman. My chest flexed, blooming outwards with the reverberation of a stuck base drum. It encapsulated all but the tail of the scorpion, and the sickening crunch of masticated chitin erupted from the muffled confines of my cleavage.
	A few crackles sprung up from the weight, momentary gaps interspersed from each one, until they begun to overlap and weave together, exponentially escalating until it all converged in a single guttural cave-in of carapace. With the reverberant obliteration consonant to a tank razing a pack of eggs. The shards of the chitin turned against them, embedding themselves through the flesh within, its armour grinding its juicy meat to mince. The cacophony of crumbling flesh muffled by the raw brawn engulfing it, thought various fluids — blood and slurried carapace littered meat gumbo — splurted out through the gorges in my pecs. Foam built up and jammed into the other film of my jugs, left behind by the streams that scattered out with the shrapnel of the former insect. Pieces of its form littered the surrounding wall, with blue and orange liquids drooling down in an approximation of the scatter from a shrapnel slug. The crumbling of stiff milk cartons embedded in pillows caused fluids to jettison out through the firm folds in the cleavage, launching onto the walls around me. Blue liquids drooling down in a viscous trail, mixed with some of the snot slime and manure paste concocted on my chest. 


A few limbs of the scorpion clattered out as I relaxed, the tail slumping out and toppling backwards, the once plump stinger now flattered like a tin can. I brushed over my chest, kneading into it, masticating the scorpion together with the sticky snot tack and grimy cocktail within. The churns of my chest chewing it down to a speckled porridge reverberated through the stall. 
	“Handled, fmms, is there anything these boys can't do,” I say and cradled them to the best of my ability, unable to resist a pose or two as the slurry drools from the confines of my cleavage canyon.
	My chest laid desecrated, the compressed scorpion jutting out here and there through my cleavage, and like a rotted tree branch one of its claws toppled off and clanked on the precinct residue over the ceramics. A camouflage pattern weaved of translucent greens and yellows along with splotches of vermin bile and shell churns. 
	The earpiece whirred. “You are feeling exhausted by the day's accomplishments and want to relax with a healthy meal, the stall at the end.” 
	Momentary confusion swept off of my face by a stroke of intrigue; I knew my benefactor was well aware I had not reached the limits of my stamina yet. Therefore, what laid behind that door was anything but a break from the action.