Happy Halloween

(Disclaimer: Some of the quoted texts segments are of such an unholy quality even Satan would need eye bleach. Jesus fuck, Zeebop)

“Not a word, Gina.”

“Don’t know what you mean, Marcie. I think this turned out exactly as I expected it to.”

“You are enjoying this way too much.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Grrrrrr.”

“And hey, we are here to do another review. It’s nice from Norah that she allows you to keep doing them.”

“You are just as much a prisoner of our cruel and inhumane captors!”

“Oh this outfit? Sure, but unlike you I can make it work, nya!”

*licks paw seductively*

“GRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!”

“But enough clowning around...we are back to dickgirl-guy meaning...we finally fucking got a Halloween story for Halloween.”

“Indeed.”

“Not the one I wanted of course-FUCK YOU SARCKLE- But I feel refreshed so I probably won’t get too angry with dickgirl-guy this time around.”

“Without further ado then”

“READING IN PROGRESS (BGM)

Emmi helped Alice out of her dress, and then out of her limbs. A careful diet and regular exercise had kept Alice from ballooning since she had lost her limbs. The stumps of her arms and legs had dwindled, but her core was amazingly strong, abs flat, shoulders strong. She stared at her breasts, the swollen globes the very last gift from her wife; the heavy chain between the nipples had been the last toy that Tonya had played with.

“Oh great. Lovely start. Not that we didn’t had our fill of cripples on the Andy show already.”

“Please do not mention that name for the foreseeable future, Gina.”

“Also, I wonder if dickgirl-guy put that name in just to piss cow-guy off.”

“Surely it is a coincidence, Gina.”

“The fuckhead put my name in last time, Marcie. It’s totally intentional.”

Alice insisted on watching. The top half of Emmi was covered with a surgical gown, the bottom half exposed. Alice saw the penis exposed, flaccid. The grey-haired doctor drew a dotted line on it in blue marker, right from the base to the tip. In her wheelchair, she shivered as the scalpel cut into the soft flesh of the perfect prick. The spongy glans slowly split in two, lengthwise, and Alice watched the sight that very few people were privileged to witness. The vascular system of the prick exposed, cauterized, rerouted. There was a lot of blood. The scalpel cut deeper and deeper each time, biting through the cock-flesh, the surgeon's hand steady as slowly, carefully, until the glans pulled apart, split in half.

“Even on pains of repeating myself, WAY TO START THIS FUCKING READ!”

“Well, so much for not getting angry.”

“For the people who didn’t check out the last review. This is a story were dickgirl-guy cobbled together 100 so called “erotic” horror stories. And those quotation marks are doing the heavy lifting here. This is about as erotic as getting your dick split in half. In fact, I dare you, I double dare you get off to this! I put Marcie in a cow costume if you do!”

“You will do no such thing!”

The Hollow Herald recorded Marshall's death not long after. The front page contains a picture of the bedroom where the body was found, with stars scribbled over every surface. Yet the most cogent detail was never reported publicly, but appears only on the death certificate that Dr. Grumman signed: George Marshall died with an iron key, a full twelve inches long, jammed in his throat, lips locked around the base. He had choked to death on it.

“Nice.”

“Zeebop does like to punish his villains. Quite harshly, I might add.”

“Good for you, Marcie. You are not in a dickgirl-guy story.”

Myra MacGregor collected the devil.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!”

“Huh.”

“There’s no fucking way! Dickgirl-guy gotta have changed that name just to fuck with me!”

“No Gina, last update in October of last year.”

“Fucking Mira’s, I swear.”

Vagina dentata—what a wonderful phrase!

“I can not tell if that pun is genius or insane.”

“It’s ass.”

And ties into what might be the darkest, ugliest chapter of Dagon's Hollow's history

“Given what we read, that is a big fucking statement.”

“You know, Gina. I have to say, there really is a considerable amount of racism in these stories.”

“Please don’t tell me that gets you off, Marcie.”

“No, it is not targeted towards the French so it does nothing for me sexually.”

“I mean, mostly it is the racist fuck getting violently murdered, so wouldn’t that be a turn off anyways? Actually, don’t answer that.”

One hundred lashes. Gerald Saxon delivered them himself. The pale, naked, dirty body did not flinch beneath that whip, though it cracked hard enough to expose the bone of her spine. Something about that drove Saxon almost to madness. Strong men hid their eyes, so as not to see what was little more than murder. There wasn't medicine or doctors in the camp. No way to treat her wounds. In the end, it was the chains that held her upright, Mary Abe unable to stand under her own power.

“I am beginning to believe unkown would really enjoy these stories. Lot’s of whipping in it.”

“Don’t invoke that name, Gina. You never know what you summon.”

and was it my imagination that the dark flesh split, and I caught for a moment the flash of small white teeth, and a red tongue?

“You could definitely spend a long time puzzling out all the interconnections of these stories.”

“Sure, Marcie, or we can read something that doesn’t make me want to vomit.”

“I am surprised you haven’t, Gina.”

“You really want to find out what Norah makes you do with vomit, Marcie?”

“...”

“Oh this is a story about Allison getting fucked. Nice.”

“Gina, just constantly calling out familiar names feels a very poor form of reviewing.”

“This is as story about a girl buying a cock from Satan, Marcie.”

61 - The Cunt Seller

“And the next one is about buying a cunt.”

“Ehem.”

“So, don’t bitch to me about form.”

"What in the name of God—" he said.

“I swear half of the stories in this are about racists, rapists or perverts getting brutally murdered. Sometimes it’s a racist rapist pervert to spice things up.”

“I thought you would like that, Gina.”

“I like lemon cake, Marcie. Doesn’t mean I want to eat 50 of them in a row.”

Instead, the man spoke of how the men seized the goddess and defiled her. They took turns sating their lust on her perfect body. Forty-nine men had her in a single night, until not an inch of her skin was not bruised with love-bites or hard caresses, and her stomach and ass were full of semen. Her virginity was taken by a billhook, and when at last they had each had their turn, one monster among them cut off her head and stuck a huge fish's head upon the stump, to violate that.

“This better wasn’t a shark!”

They drew back at their deed. Drunk, stupid, lusty, but depraved enough to defile the corpse of a woman, much less a goddess? No. They were only men. Not monsters.

“They say after literally beheading someone. Also, instantly proving Gina wrong by actually getting away for once.”

“Marcie. I’m beginning to think this town really sucks. If we had a top suck ass town list. Dagon’s Hollow would have dethroned Dustbin by now.”

“A surprising little amount of vampires or other traditional monsters in this though.”

“Yeah, the incest twins said so already in their reply, which we skipped.”

"Anyway, that's how I met my second wife," he said, before blowing out the candle.

“They also complained that we addressed few of the sideshow chapters and while they are certainly some of the more heartwarming ones…”

“which is a word that really shouldn’t be apply to this hellpit…”

“...they are also some of the most grotesque ones.”

“You can say that again. Yeah sorry, that I don’t find the idea of decapitating chickens with my vagina romantic, you demented freaks.”

“Male genitalia on the other hand…”

“NO COMMENT!”

The third she caught masturbating in a wooden chair. He cried silently, tears streaming down his face, as she used a cordless drill to place six screws at one-inch intervals through his shaft. Four more screws pushed through his scrotum into the wooden chair beneath. She let him live. He had been the only one of the five to wear a condom.

“But really the amount of ways Zeebop finds to mutilate penises in this story is quite astounding. It does not exactly do anything for me, but…”

“This is not a but worthy sentence, Marcie."

“...is there a fetish for reading brutal penis mutilation stories to your male acquaintances and watching them squirm?”

“Yes, it’s called psychopathy.”

“Well, I am happy at least you are enjoying yourself, Gina.”

“I AM NOT ENJOYING MYSELF!”

“Continuing on...”

The sow lived in a cage. A cage of soft bed and plenty to eat. Pizza today, and the little weed gummies that stoked her appetite. The dildo buzzed in her pussy. The sow ate, her fat tits jiggling, soft folds of her stomach shaking gently. Once, when she had first come here, she had been thin. So very thin.

“This is the second weight gain story. Because one clearly wasn’t enough.”

He tripped. She landed atop him and twisted. Weeks, months of regular drugging had built up her resistance to narcotics. Strong as he was, the copyist had the wrong leverage when on his ass, a squealing, blood-mad, desperate sow atop of him. And he didn't want to hurt his book, didn't want to mar his work.

“I think what saves this story from becoming this immense bleak suffering core is the odd attempts at humor Zeebop intersperses it with. The evils in this story might be very evil but they are also very incompetent.”

Hours. Trapped waist-deep. Sobbing and gasping from the relentless licking. Sometimes the tongue pressed too deep, and Katsuki had to stifle a scream. Sometimes the pleasure grew too intense, and then she had to bite her wrist to stop a very different kind of scream. The stars wheeled overhead; the night wore on. With each shuddering surrender, Katsuki seemed to sink deeper into the earth. Her strength grew less. As the sky turned from black to midnight blue, she sobbed aloud. Unable to withstand it any longer.

“This is almost erotic.”

“Getting fucked by a corpse. Sure. Been there done that. Is it getting repetitive, Marcie?”

“Maybe a little.”

Which is more horrific: the eldritch abomination, or the woman that finds that sexually adequate?

“Marcie absolutely would fuck an eldritch fishguy as long as it looked like a femboy eldritch fishguy.”

“Slander.”

“Uhu, the way I got you gushing with my new mermaid body seems to suggest otherwise. You clearly have a new kink.”

“D-don’t bring that suddenly up!”

*Gina bites down on Marcie’s clown nose with her razor sharp shark teeth.*

“Uweeeeeeeehhhhhh!”

“Heh, maybe we should try that sex fuck review thing one of these days.”

Horus had studied Guillaume Geefs' Le génie du mal, that bat-winged representation of Satan as a man of terrible beauty.

“M-m-more importantly! More proof that the French are always up to no good!”

“That story is kinda cute, though? Statue comes to life and rewards the one who restored her by turning him into a girl.”

“Who in the next story proceeded to get violated by the Terracotta army.”

“Leave it to Latoya to always ruin a perfectly happy ending.”

It was a night in the late August when the lovers crept over the wall of the cemetery. Riko and Rina walked hand in hand along the northern wall. It was the only place where they could walk like that. Where they could hold each other in a way that marked them as more than just friends.

“Oh, shit!”

“Gina.”

“Guess Rina finally turned into a lesbian, bwahahahahahahaha!”

The swing of the scythe blade caught the starlight. It pierced Riko's body and tore Rina's heart in two. The half-eaten plum fell from their mouths as the lovers collapsed. Rina's final breath came out as a strangled gasp. She whispered it into Riko's mouth as their blood ran into the earth.

“That escalated...slightly more quickly then usual with these stories.”

“Shit, I was hoping for more lesbian action. How am I supposed to make fun of Rina now?”

“Ah, this is an interesting one. A story about a young woman sexually abusing the elderly only for it to turn out that the decrepit old man is actually a vampire.”

“Who turns the table on her and turns her into a vampire porn star or something.”

“It’s nice when things work out every now and then.”

We had a dancer working the pole in the regular shows. How much she took off in a show depended on the local police. If they weren't amenable? G-strings and wet t-shirts. Open? Might be a coochie-show, gyrating naked on the edge of the stage, letting the punters grope her pussy, stick their fingers in.

Her name was Andi.

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Hilarious.”

“Hey, Marcie how about you read this story at your next show?”

When she came back, she wasn't Andi anymore. She was Zipperlips.

They actually delivered her in a crate, full of fresh packing peanuts. Maybe she had been drugged, I dunno. She moved with this easy, languid grace as she emerged, totally naked, from the box, and...there were zippers all over her skin. Like, a part of her. Sewn in place. She had to unzip her eyes to see. Unzip her mouth to eat or suck a cock. Unzip her tits to let her hard nipples out. Unzip her pussy to piss or fuck.

“You know, Zeebop could write a very creative Harem Hotel season.”

“He would no doubt make even the most hard boiled producer run away in fear.”

"It's getting late," she said. "Midnight isn't far away. All the good little boys and girls are asleep in their beds.”

“IT’S STILL NOT MIDNIGHT? WE ARE OVER 90 STORIES IN! LITERALLY HOW!”

“91 to be exact. According to the first chapter it is already night when they began the ritual. So if we give a very generous interpretation to night and say they started at 5 P.M and also say telling one story takes on average as little as four minutes and thirty seconds it would now be 11:49 P.M. which I suppose is not completely unthinkable, but it is admittedly an amusing thought that this group of spooky graveyard goers is speed reading through their stories.”

“You really took that comment that your bad at math, badly huh Marcie?”

Neither of them saw where the homunculus scrambled to, the small naked female figure that disappeared into the darkness. Nor did they see her later, after the funeral, though they heard a scramble in the walls. And to this day, they do not know if it is a rat...or the homunculus.

“As one of our final tales, we are getting a slimegirl made out of cum. Combining one of my favorite things with my least favorite thing. Great, thanks incest twins.”

“Don’t you mean, cumbining?”

“….HOOOOOOONK!”

“Don’t honk my nose with your teeth!”

“Fuck it, time to finish this off, what else is left?”

“A particularly grotesque tale of the sideshow.”

“Come to think of it, we still didn’t talk much about those.”

“Given my current predicament I rather not touch anything circus related, thank you very much.”

“And some weird ass poem for the pen-ultimate story.”

“Very fitting.”

“Ok, so, they have hyped this shit up the whole time. Uhhh, the candles are getting less and less. Uhhhh! What’s going to happen at the end? So this better be fucking worth it.”

“The last story results in the fright society summoning all the monsters they talked about.”

“And then they all fucking die! Great!”

“This was foreshadowed at the very start.”

“Uhu, except we got the incest twins fucking cursing us, so at least these two made it out.”

“I am not sure that is how our reviews works, Gina. What happens here usually has no bearing on the stories themselves.”

“Wait, what? No, that can’t be right.”

“You know, how Zeebop’s girls like to wax poetically about this being the realm between pages? Something like that.”

“Are we in hell, Marcie?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of purgatory. Where we have to review poorly written erotic stories until the end of time.”

“…”

“...”

“Whatever, final thoughts?”

“Hmm...putting these two sides back to back, I am afraid I have to say the first half was a bit stronger.”

“Really? I thought both was about the same shit.”

“Well Gina, I think the issue was less the prose but more the repetitive nature of this project. A lot of story-beats are repeated throughout these tales. That was perhaps not as apparent in the first half but definitely by the end of the second. Then again. With a hundred tales, that was perhaps unavoidable.”

“It would have been avoidable if Zeebop settled on a sane amount of stories, instead of a fucking hundred.”

“Perhaps. We already mentioned the inter connectivity of the setting. It is the sort of stuff that you can really sink your teeth into, but I also think it misses some sort of central hook or greater mystery that makes you want to do so in the first place. “

“Or maybe you are just too dumb to figure that one out, Marcie.”

“Grrrr, just you wait when I get my powers back!”

“By theway offer still stands, jerk off to this and I put Marcie in a cow costume for the next review.”

“Why you!”

“Oh, and don’t try to cheat.”

“I will be watching.”