#dark kink

[vanillachaiwhiskey]

i'd like to break every bone in someone's body, starting with the feet, then the ankles, then the legs. feeling and hearing their body's structure splintering.

i'd do this while they're tied up in a position that forces them up so there's no mercy in collapsing.

i'll save the skull for last. i'll stomp that in with my heavy steel-toed boots. i'll untie them and let them fall on the hard floor and give them that moment where they think it's all over, that i've done all i'm going to do.

and then my boot will come down on their head, again and again and again, however long it takes to turn their face into a bloody pulp.

#.txt #alterposting: control #kinkposting #kink content #kink text #sadomasochism kink #extreme kink #dark kink #murder kink #snvff kink #snvff #s4domasochism #s4dism #violence kink

[5eraphim]

Yandere!Engineer NSFW Alphabet

Link to the NSFW alphabet //Link to Spy’s Alphabet //Link to Sniper’s Alphabet

Character: The Engineer 🦦 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: M (MINORS DNI)

Content warnings: Yandere, NSFW, toxic relationship dynamics, baby trapping, cock warming, primal kink

MASTER LIST

Word Count: 2.9k

(Last Edited 1/3/2023)

TIP JAR

Aftercare, what are they like after sex?

Even as a yandere, the Engineer can be a softy, well above average regarding aftercare. Even if he were a bit crueler or harsher with you during intimacy, he wouldn't dream of kicking you out of bed to sleep on the floor or anything like that. Chances are, if he were a bit brutish during intimacy, he'd be all the softer in the aftercare. God did not give this man his beautiful, strong arms not to scoop you up in and keep your naked body nice and warm in the after-glow. Aftercare is his way of feeling like everything is alright, and he can pretend the two of you have a normal, non-obsessive relationship, nothing less than sacred to him.

Body part: what is their favorite body part and their partner's?

Engie is an ass man, full stop. His love for a great ass transcends the limits of sexual gratification into the realm of pure-hearted adoration. He loves nothing more than post-sex cuddles where he lays on his back with you resting against his chest. Your head resting contently over his heart, his hands on your ass, lightly caressing the flesh of your hips, rubbing little circles with his fingers.

Cum, anything to do with cum, basically.

Considering his cock is well proportioned with the rest of him, on the thicker side, nice and heavy his cum output is about similar. That said, the poor man is a touch out of practice and can be a little sloppy. He just can't help himself. He's not trying to fluster and leave you splattered with his seed. It was all an accident! Well, at least that's what he'd tell you.

Dirty secret: what is a hidden, dark fantasy of theirs?

He's not one to keep many secrets, but he does have a few fantasies about you he'll try to keep to himself. Not counting the fact he's kidnapped you and is holding you against your will as his secret lover, of course. Engie likes the idea of fucking you knightly until you're eventually knocked up with his child. The idea of breaking someone who was once so free and independent and turning them into his obedient and attentive wife and mother to his children gives him an intense sense of power.

Experience, do they know what they're doing? How much experience before now?

When he was a bit younger, he definitely got around. He may be a small-town boy, but he was still popular with the ladies. That "southern gentlemanly charm" doesn't come to one overnight, and he was fortunate to practice this charm with many lovely, quite willing bachelorettes. He may be a bit rustier, given he hardly has the time for romance or pleasure, though Engie is wise and eager to please all the same. But, now that he has you, someone he truly loves with all his heart, someone who makes him burn like never before, Engie feels more invigorated sexually than he's felt in a long, long time.

Favorite position goes without saying.

(Cowgirl, lol nah- too easy) Engie's probably rather old school when it comes to things like this and is likelier to opt for missionary style at the best of times. He likes to see your pretty face all flushed and sweaty as he pounds into your body from above. Especially the way he can feel your little hands gripping against his back, and he especially loves when you leave long scratches along the length of his back without even realizing it. He'd let you hop on top every now and then, though, at times like this, it's more to indulge you and satisfy your pleasure over his own.

Goofy, are they more serious in the moment, or how would they lighten the mood?

Well, he's made it this far- might as well have some fun with it! Even when he's acting more hostile or rough to keep you compliant and in line, he's not above a little dark humor. He'll do anything to provoke cute little emotional reactions from you, and it's at times like this when he's the biggest tease. Especially loves to flusher you in public, letting you know he's moments away from pulling you aside and getting dirty right then.

How well-groomed is their hair?

Gives no fucks. Engie's pretty hairy all over (well, almost all over) and wouldn't bother grooming unless you specifically asked him to. He also doesn't really care about your body hair situation. It's just not something he's ever worried much about. Might be slightly hesitant to shave body hair because he likes the "burly" feeling, but again, if it meant that much to you, he'd oblige.

Intimacy: how are they romantically speaking during the moment? 

While it was mentioned prior he's a softy even as a yandere, the difference between gentle and rough sex with Engie is like night and day. (This is expanded on in the kink section) If he's feeling gentle, he'd prefer to face you during sex and mutter out the occasional praise, calling you "his girl." Saying things like, "you're so beautiful like this'' or "God, you feel so good," as well as planting kisses along your neck and chest.

If it's rougher sex, he's a whole 'nother breed. His hands, once gentle, now bruisingly rough on you, soft, almost shy praises replaced with low moans and grunts, drowning out any noises of resistance or pain coming from your end. Not to mention the biting. Watch your fingers.

Jack off masturbation headcanon.

He's only for it if you aren't around, honestly. In his opinion, it's strictly utilitarian, and while it may relieve a little tension and help him focus and all, it's far less compelling to him than sex with you. Engie may be the type to not masturbate when he's alone, so he's more pent-up, and everything feels all the more intense with you.

Kink one or more of their kinks.

(Taking you home and introducing you to his parents and siblings, what a freak.)

Engie is the poster boy for not only having a primal kink but excelling at said kink. If you didn't know, a primal kink means one who gets off acting more animalistic during sex, especially the closer one is to climaxing. Imagine Engie not holding back his brute strength against you, scratching and biting your flesh, his breathing heavy, almost labored, occasionally broken by an animalistic grunt and moan of satisfaction. While this is one of his biggest kinks, it's unlikely you'll see this side of him when he's not in the mood for rough sex.

When in the mood to keep things light between you two, he's far more vanilla. Even in these moments, he gets a kick out of straddling your waist and pinning your arms. Getting you as helpless as possible under his groin while you're a sweaty, needy mess trying to grind against him for any friction or relief while he just looks down at you and smiles.

Likes the idea of you cockwarming him while he's alone in his workshop late at night after everyone's fallen asleep. If you couldn't tell Engie loves overstimulation and can't get enough of the feeling of your overheated, bleary-eyed face pleading with him to let you cum. All the while, he's humming to himself, happily working away, as though he's unaware of the way he throbs listening to your begging.

Location, where is their favorite place or places to do the do?

Before he decided he needed to kidnap you and keep you locked up under his control, Engie loved getting you flustered where other people could see the two of you. All the hotter if you were in another relationship with another at the time. Likes to mess with you by sliding a hand up your skirt or otherwise up against the bare flesh of your leg. Shamelessly squeezing your ass when greeting you with a bear hug, simply shrugging while smiling, saying, "Sorry, I'm a hugger." Knowing you wouldn't want to accuse someone like him, one with such a "nice guy" reputation, of something so skeezy. Making you sit on his lap, slithering his arms around you to keep you extra close whenever the two of you were working together. (So he can help supervise and make sure you're not making any mistakes, obviously.) All in good fun to him, but likely wouldn't actually fuck you anywhere but home. For Engie, it's all about the little power moves and the build-up, which makes the main event all the more satisfying.

Motivation, what turns them on or gets them going?

Most people know Engie as such an easy-going sweetheart. Almost no one would assume he'd be such a horndog, considering how well he keeps this side of him under wraps. But if you ever test him when you sit on his lap in public or give him one of those little surprise hugs from behind followed by a kiss on the cheek? It's all over for him. Loves when you dote on him so much, he's far from high-maintenance, but it's more about feeling cared for than anything else. He's gotten in trouble before for circumventing the Medbay because he wanted to feel you patching up his wounds instead of Medic. 

No, what is something they wouldn't do, and what are their turn-offs?

Even though he knows your relationship isn't precisely consensual and far from an equal partnership, he still sees himself as a "nice guy." So he wouldn't be into severe degradation or something that would make you insecure. In his twisted psyche, this would potentially cause you to question his love for you, and he can't allow that! And while, as a yandere, he might be one to use physical punishments to keep you in line, any kind of physical activity which could genuinely threaten your safety or leave you permanently affected is off the table. 

Oral, what is their preference in giving or receiving, and what is their skill level?

While he isn't the most experienced per-say, you had no idea until he told you. This man is addicted to the feeling of holding you down, the sense of totally undoing you with little more than the flick of his tongue. He likes to feel your hands on his head, but he's more focused on the joy he feels holding your thighs down, keeping you locked around his head. Obsessed with how he gets a front-row seat to the tension rising in your body and how your climax leaves you a panting mess before his eyes. 

However, he will expect you to return the favor, so don't get too comfortable. Sure hope you have some experience because Engie is a face-fucking veteran, and while he loves the act, he loves to look at how you look after he's done with you even more. The humiliation over being forced into such a compromising position, the mess gathered in the corners of your mouth, the way your roughed-up hair frames your face, nothing better.

Pace, are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?

He'll do his best to start slow, to try and get you nice and warmed up before going all in, if you're being good, that is. If you were already testing his patience or acting more withdrawn than usual, he wouldn't beat around the bush. If he's in the mood to be rough and leave you bruised and sore, he won't think twice about it. If he's feeling a bit more playful, he may consider going easy on you and edge you until you're begging for release, only to leave you high and dry. Holding your heated twitching body against his as he rolls over to fall asleep. If you want to come, you'll have to dry-hump against him, nothing more. The satisfaction of reducing you to a sweaty, horny mess sloppily grinding against the (as far as you know) sleeping maniac holding your captive. He likely won't actually nod off until you manage to get yourself off or until you eventually pass out yourself.

Quickie, what are their opinions on quickies, and how often?

This guy loves quickly. But what he loves even more than that is to intentionally get you all riled up. It's much more fun for him to tease you and leave you hot and bothered, far more so than a quick in-and-out.

Risk, are they game to experiment, and do they take risks?

Overall he's not too driven about trying something different or crazy unless he could see it made you all excited. Though all that said, his only rules here are to keep things strictly between the two of you and behind closed doors. Likely even if he isn't too hot on whatever idea you're proposing, knowing how excited it's making you is enough to entice him. He may have one or two dirty scenarios of his own he would want to play out with you, but even as a yandere, he wouldn't want to scare you over some silly fantasy.

Stamina, how many rounds can they go for? 

Not something he's too happy to admit, but when he first started sleeping with you, he didn't last long. He can't help it, though! He's been pining over you for so long now, and now that he finally has you, it's all just too perfect, and he's coming well before you, maybe more than once. He may even fall asleep without satisfying you if he feels you deserve it. But all he needs is a little time to get to know your body and get a little more practice. After that, it's practically effortless for him to get two or three rounds with you a night before kissing you goodnight. Of course, if you were in the mood for extra attention, all you'd need to do is ask.

Toys, do they own toys? Do they use them on a partner or themselves?

While he may be an Engineer, it's hard to see him owning many toys, considering how non-utilitarian they are, but this is with one big exception. Engie has a very soft spot for handcuffs and adores using them on you. As mentioned before, he just loves the idea of his partner being needy and helpless and submissive, and handcuffs are the easiest way for him to achieve this. He also likes to rile you up by saying things like, 

"You know, maybe if you're a good girl, I'll even let you out of these when I'm done with you." or "I could get used to the sight of you like this. Hell, maybe I ought to keep you here 'till tomorrow night." (Also, you just KNOW his corny-ass will call you his favorite toy.)

Unfair. How much do they like to tease?

While he may be a little rough around the edges, Engie was still brought up as a respectful southern gentleman… outside the bedroom, that is. He loves pushing your buttons and watching how pent-up you can get until you burst. It's nothing short of sacred to Engie, feeling so special that he, and he alone, gets to watch you in such a state of decadence. From the bottom of his heart, Engie really does see you as nothing less than his soulmate, and it's truly a religious experience to watch you. 

Volume, how loud are they, and what sounds do they make?

He's a real dirty talker and can get easily lost in the situation and get loud with his grunts and moaning. Partly because it's just what comes most naturally to him, as well as insanely rewarding to see you all flushed and embarrassed at his lewd behavior. 

Wild card a random headcanon for them.

He likely keeps a lot of industrial equipment around your holding site and has perhaps more than jokingly mentioned how beautiful he thinks you'd look all strung up and chained down. Not that he's waiting for you to test him to indulge in this fantasy or anything…

X-ray what's going on under those clothes?

As mentioned earlier, he's a hairy guy, not entirely from head to toe, but all the same. His dick is definitely proportional to the rest of him. It's sturdy and thick. Good length, not anything special, but he's always been the type to get you off with hands, mouth, and dick rather than solely his cock. But it's gonna leave you very comfortably stretched, so he doesn't have to worry about hurting you or leaving you excessively sore the next day. He prides himself on knowing he doesn't need to be hung like a horse. He just knows how to use it to get you to come.

Yearning, how high is their sex drive?

Once you were firmly and unquestionably within his care, he felt more sexually charged than he could ever remember. Engie never fancied himself the "grand romantic" type, but now that he has someone who brings out that part of him, he considers it his calling to make sure to be the best lover he could be.

Zzz, how quickly do they fall asleep afterward?

He's a simple man. Once he's shot a good load or a few, he's spent and ready for the night. And once he feels your weight and body heat resting on his chest? It doesn't take more than that to send him off.

#5eraphim #yandere #yandere x reader #n/s/f/w #n/s/f/w alphabet #yandere tf2 #yandere tf2 engineer #yandere engineer #yandere tf2 engineer x reader #tf2 engie x reader #dubcon #smut #dark kink #dark character #primal kink

[usickfuck]

there is something very very very wrong with me

#fully bricked up rn #paraphilia #erotophonophilia #gore kink #dark kink #autassassinophilia

[afatlotofchance]

Commission-story 2: The Glutton's Way of the Cross

From a cute little teenage romance and slice of life story, we jump into a completely different territory. More mature. More brutal. Darker.

Let's go to the most fanatical and backward parts of the Middle-Ages. Let's have some non-consensual force-feeding, some brutal gaining, and some painful fattening.

Trigger warning for violence, brutality, torture, all the gruesome side-effects of force-feeding, and other nasty things.

XXX

The monk at the door of the monastery scrutinised the horizon, waiting for the cart to appear at any moment.

“Well, brother Francis?”

Another monk had just joined the first one. Taller, thinner, and definitively scarier.

“I don’t know, brother Gilles… He is late. The bells have rung, but I still can’t see him.”

“Lateness is a symptom of laziness, and laziness is the son of sloth. Sloth is the weapon of the devil.”

“Indeed, brother Gilles. Do you think our food will be poisoned?”

At this moment, a cloud of dust arose from the road as the cart filled with the weekly food delivery approached.

“He is driving faster than usual.” Brother Francis noted.

“Well, he knows he did wrong. At least he shows signs of repentance.”

“I would say he rather shows signs of fear.”

“One leads to the other, brother.”

The cart finally arrived in front of the two monks.

“Well, my son? What kept you so late?”

“I was attacked, fathers!”

The monks opened wide their eyes.

“Attacked, my son?”

“Yes! A robber pushed me out of the cart and tried to steal it, with all the food inside! I still have a nasty bump from the hit! Thankfully, he got caught: he couldn’t control the horse!”

Brother Gilles looked at the horse. He always disliked horses – he knew a devil could be in them at every moment, spying on his every move.

“Do you hear that, brother Francis? A thief tried to rob us of our food!”

“I heard that, brother Gilles… My son, tell me, what happened to said thief?”

XXX

The small delegation of monks travelled through the streets of the little town. Every one they met on their way saluted them with a deep respect. Much more than simple politeness and respect for the man of the cloth, they rather acted out of the fear of what they considered dangerous and disturbing.

The monastery at the edge of the town wasn’t really liked around here. Not that the people hated them, they had too much respect for the religion for that. And these monks weren’t the kind that would revel in money and power to drink, eat, and lay with women like so many others did. But they also weren’t the kind to preach kindness and generosity like they were supposed to. You certainly weren’t going to see these ones begging, preaching, teaching or helping those in distress. Oh no.

The monks came rarely in town. They liked loneliness and to be secluded, working on the constant repentance of their own souls, for they knew the rest of the world had fallen ill beyond cure. They were so strict, so devoted and so pious that it became sickening and grim; and it was all the more frightening because they didn’t seem to remember what virtues and goods their own religion revolved around.

They were pale of skin, for they fled the hard work in the sun and buried themselves under stone roofs. They were thin, almost skeletal, for it seemed they only gathered food in their home just to not eat it. Their eyes were small and squint for spending their time in darkness and reading too much. But the worst of it were the marks of their… very specific devotions. Bruises. Scars. Burns. Sometimes a finger missing. One of the monks couldn’t speak, for his tongue wasn’t in his mouth any more – but nobody knew if the muscle was removed before or after he entered the monastery.

As a result, it was understandable that the crowd amassed on the town’s square would part like the sea before the old prophet at the mere sight of them marching towards the gallows.

Today, there was only one man to be hanged. The thief, brother Gilles guessed. He stepped forward and looked at the criminal. A small man near him was shouting at the crowd, explaining the boy’s crimes. But the monk did not listen to him – for he knew the crimes of the mortals and the sins of God were completely different things. The thief was young, barely a man, and he looked terrified. His hands were behind him, probably with rope around them, and the noose was around his neck – nicely tight. His eyes were wide open, jumping everywhere like wild rabbits, searching for a bit of help or mercy. He was sweating a lot, and his face bore the marks of terror – marks the monks knew very well. And they knew that with fear came redemption, repentance and faith.

“Stop!”

Everybody looked at the monks.

“Are you going to simply hang this poor young man like that? Without any form of trial? Without any form of judgement? Without any form of advice from the men of God?”

The small man looked quite embarrassed.

“Father, this man was a thief. Not only is he a thief, he is a sacrilegious thief, for he tried to steal your cart of food as it was leaving our town. The law claims that we should hang him.”

“The law of men, my son, not the law of God. God never said anything about hanging people – hanging other people is pagan, and hanging ourselves is only worth of a Judas, not of a petty thief. Thieves are to be crucified.”

The young man gulped down despite the noose around his neck, and he became even more pale and sweaty. Brother Gilles smirked. That was the reaction he was waiting for.

“But, as you said, he stole our belongings, our property, our food. We should have a word about his punishment.”

The monk got up on the gallows’ platform, and close to the young man. He was without a doubt a peasant – shirt, pants, small vest, a strong lace instead of a belt. His clothes were still dirtied with the dust and the mud from his failed crime attempt. He was young, as the monk had already noticed – young but stocky and bulky. Broad shoulders, thick chest, strong legs. He definitely looked like a worker, a hard worker, a farmer probably, certainly not a blacksmith. However, some elements of his morphology clearly showed a propensity towards sloth and gluttony. A soft flesh. A big belly, not round but slightly more prominent than the chest (never a good sign, for it meant the man’s heart was in his belly). A baby-like face, with fat cheeks and a double chin.

“How many years have you seen pass, my son?”

The boy gulped down once more.

“I will soon be sixteen years old, father.”

“You stole our food.”

“I was hungry!” the man cried out. “My father is dead, the taxes are heavy, my crops all withered and died! I don’t have enough money to buy bread, I would have died, only God could help me, and I had to do it, I succumbed to the temptation, for I was weak, and my belly ached, but…”

The monk put a hand on his mouth.

“Your head is shaved.”

“Huh?”

The monk took his hand and touched the top of his head.

“Your head is shaved, like those of our orders. Why so?”

“Keeps… keeps the little biting bugs away.”

“I see… Clean. Do you regret what you did?”

“Yes! Yes, so much, father, I repent father, please, I don’t want to be hanged, I’m not a criminal, I’m a faithful good…”

The monk made a sign to make him stop his pleas. Then he got near the small man that was shouting the boy’s crimes earlier on. He took him by the shoulder, leaned towards him and whispered in his ear:

“What do you know about the young man? Is he gluttonous? Slothful?”

“He certainly is both, father, everyone knows it around here! His father kept complaining that he was a good-for-nothing, a big belly with legs and without a heart! And when his father died, he inherited his farm with his field, but he never managed to get anything to grow there! I think he never really put any real effort in it, he just wanted to eat his own crops and had no patience to take care of it as he grew! Just a big gullet with legs, as his father said! Good for nothing.”

The monk nodded and turned back towards the young man, speaking loudly for everyone to hear:

“Hanging a man is not a dignified or Christian way to make him die. You are young, terrified and repentant. You are a sinner, yes, but if God executed all of the sinners on this Earth, only the pope would be left! We, as men of god, offer you a way to be punished for your crime while staying alive. A way that would purify your soul, make you repent and become a better person! We offer to punish you, not with a vulgar execution, but with a penitence! We will punish you like God Himself would!”

The crowd started to whisper.

“You shall be punished by where you sinned. Your mouth, your throat, your gullet.”

He got closer to the boy, his cold icy eyes straight into his. The young thief shivered in fear of the dreadful punishment that was awaiting him.

“Do you know what they do in Hell to gluttons?”

The young man shook his head.

“They are fed for all eternity. And so you shall be.”

The boy looked at him strangely. Was it… a joke? He never heard of a monk making a joke, even in in-jokes.

Brother Gilles turned towards the crowd.

“We will punish him by feeding him! He wanted to eat, well he will eat, until he realises his mistakes and his sins! He devoted his soul to the false god Gluttony, but we will show him the truth behind the lies, we will make him realise that food isn’t sustaining the soul, that what evil can offer is nothing but sickness and death! We will show him that eating isn’t a proper way to honour God!”

The small man, uneasy, looked at the executioner, who simply shrugged.

“Father… You want to feed him? That’s not…”

The look the monk gave him silenced him in the minute. Brother Gilles’ eyes were gleaming with a spark of pure madness, of insane cruelty, of the twisted fanaticism the townspeople had learned to fear since decades now.

“We offer him a chance to redeem himself! Isn’t that good? If he wants to follow our path, we will prepare his punishment. We will give the orders and the food, for we have plenty to spare – all we would borrow from the town are guards to carry on our orders, and your stocks, to keep him locked. But it is not your choice or mine.”

Brother Gilles turned towards the boy.

“It is yours. You can choose to redeem yourself and follow us. But if you would rather die as a sinner take the rope then, be my guest.”

“No, no! I don’t want the rope! I want to live! I want… I want to repent!”

“Good.”

Of course, the boy was afraid. He knew the reputation of these monks. He knew they liked the whips and the blades as much as the crosses and the rosaries. But what was the worst they could do by feeding him? They said it themselves, they would give him their own food. So nothing rotten or disgusting. They will offer him on a plate what he wanted to steal since the very beginning. They were so nuts in the head they didn’t even realise that their punishment was a reward more than anything.

Anyway, nothing could be worse than the gallows.

XXX

Of course, the stocks were pretty uncomfortable – forcing Yvan to stay on his knees, preventing his hands from moving – but it was better than the rope. At least, here, he had enough space around his neck to move his head.

The monks insisted on using the stocks of the marketplace. They refused to use those on the outskirts of the town. As they said themselves: “Like this, not only will his humiliation be greater, but he will also become an example, a lesson, a living book for the people of this town. Every day they will come and see him being punished, and mock him for having fallen so low – but at the same time, they will shiver for the sake of their own soul.”

On the stocks, was nailed a parchment upon which had been written only one word: “Glutton”. And indeed, his punishment seemed like a demonstration of what gluttony was.

Just like the monks had said, Yvan was being fed and that was the only thing they seemed to do to him. No whipping, no bone-breaking, no flesh-burning. Just… meals.

They served him three meals, three enormous meals – at sunrise, midday and sunset. Yvan never felt so happy and satisfied in his entire life! He was treated like a king, had his belly full, and could taste better food than he could have ever grown out of his own field! There were fruits of all sorts, apples, peaches, berries, nuts, olives, pears, oranges, along with a rich meal, good bread, and tasty wine. And there was meat! Real, juicy meat, cooked, roasted! He gulped down everything with glee and smiles, for he wasn’t even bothering with feeding himself: the guards were feeding him! Like a king, like a pope, like a god!

People soon gathered around him to see how the monks had planned to torture him – some even had rotten fruits ready to be thrown – but they all stood wide-eyed and still upon seeing the young, brutish, gluttonous, lazy man they all knew being pampered like the child of some nobleman. Were the monks completely mad?

Outside of the stocks, the only thing that seemed close to a humiliation was after his last meal – as the evening left place to the night and everybody was going home. Yvan had to relieve himself and the guards lowered his pants and made him defecate and urinate without taking him off the stocks. But, while it was humiliating for Yvan to know that all the women, men and children of the neighbourhood could take look his parts and dejections, and while it hurt him to hear the people’s laughs and mockeries, he quickly forgot everything about it, for the taste of the exquisite foods was still lingering on his tongue, and that was enough to make him happy.

As new guards arrived at night to watch over the stocks, Yvan liked his lips (still covered in juice and milk) and let out a small burp. His belly was full and heavy – the first time since… Oh, since his birth, probably.

Someone up there must be looking after him, he thought as he felt sleepy. Someone who whispered to the ear of the crazy monks.

This night, Yvan dreamed of huge feasts and banquets.

XXX

“Hey! I already had my meal at sunrise!” Yvan shouted to the guards as they approached with more food.

It was the middle of the morning. The market was taking place all around the young man, and the people nearby, merchants or clients, turned their heads towards the stocks.

“The monks said you’ll have five meals a day!” answered the guards.

“But I only had three yesterday!”

The other did not answer. Not that Yvan was complaining. Eating so much yesterday had woken up his appetite – he had felt hungry ever since sunrise and his breakfast, while big, certainly wasn’t enough to make him full.

Yvan salivated upon seeing the guards drop in front of him beautiful, greasy pieces of meat, firm and plump pomegranates, brilliant and sugary grapes, delicious buttery bread!

“That’s a lot of food!” he snickered merrily, still chipped up from the morning wine.

The guards looked at each other with a smirk.

“It is, indeed. Now open your mouth.”

XXX

They came back at midday, then in the middle of the afternoon, and at sunset. They helped him to do what he had to do, and the guards shifted for the night.

While still smiling as the idiot that he was, Yvan burped, not without a slight feeling of unease. The guards weren’t bothering with cleaning his mouth, so all the grease and fat of the meat was still dribbling down his chin, mixing itself with the milk and the wine in a pool on the ground. He felt light-headed, due to having much more wine than usual – which made him quite red in the face – but all the alcohol in his blood couldn’t erase the heaviness in his belly. His stomach felt so tight, in fact, it was nearly uncomfortable.

It’s nonsense, he thought to himself. No one can grow uncomfortable from eating too much. It’s hungriness that makes you suffer. Famine is the true pain. Not eating like a king.

Yet, his bowels still hanged dully from his guts, still feeling puffed up despite being emptied of their content not so long ago, and his stomach kept gurgling and bloating itself with gases and bubbles.

You couldn’t get sick from eating too much food… could you? 

XXX

“Hey, could you… could you… just…”

One of the guards shoved a juicy and greasy chicken leg in Yvan’s mouth.

“What did’ya say?”

The young man munched and gulped down. “Could you slow down a bit? I’m starting to get…” An apple was put between his teeth. He had to bite. “… feeling really full now.” he said while munching.

“Don’t care.” the guard answered as he took a watermelon and cut it in big slices.

“I’m really…” Yvan let out a small burp. “If you go too fast, I might… choke you know?”

“The monks said nothing about you choking, or about us feeding you fast ofrslow. We just feed ya, and that’s all. The monks said: Feed him. And if he doesn’t want to eat…” The guard gave a violent kick to Yvan’s leg. The young man screamed, a bit of apple falling on the ground. “… then make him eat.”

Yvan ate the rest of the watermelon, but not without a slight nausea.

His stomach was so full he felt it could burst at any moment. Not that the food was bad – it was so delicious – and now he was getting kind of used to eating so much, even though it was really uncomfortable by the end of the day. It was the guards, they forced him to eat too much too quickly. He feared getting a stomach ache. He had one when he was little, after eating all of the apples of the neighbour's tree. But it quickly went away. He hoped this one will too.

Anyway, alcohol helped him soothe the pain. The wine they kept making him drink gurgled in his belly.

Another watermelon down, and Yvan burped again, but this time quite faintly, with a bit of saliva dripping from his lips.

He looked at what was left. Breads, several big pieces of bread. Anointed with oil and butter. To see them shine in the sun made his stomach turn and churn.

He could certainly do this. He wasn’t going to refuse eating some pieces of bread. Yvan, refusing food? That would be ridiculous.

XXX

“And that’s the last of it.”

Yvan gulped down what was left of the cheese. He burped and spat.

“I’m not feeling… good. Not at all…”

“You’re supposed to be punished, scum. You’re not supposed to feel good.”

Yvan looked at the guard. It was hard to look precisely at someone’s face while being drunk.

“I’m being fed. I’m eating. How is that a punishment? You can make me… hic! You can make me ache and sick and drunk, but… hic! It can’t be worse than the gallows, or starving in the street! Hic!”

The guard simply shook his head and went away, leaving the young man with his bloated belly and food-smeared mouth at the good hands of his colleagues.

If only this thief knew of the monk’s plan…

XXX

“Rise and shine! Time to eat!”

Yvan woke up. His stomach felt hard and heavy.

“What?”

He looked at the sky. It was dark blue, with barely a thin line of pink at the horizon.

“The sun’s not raising yet…”

“It’s the matins, my boy. Your first meal.”

“What?”

“Monks order. Make him eat at the matins. Bread, wine and fruit. Won’t hurt ya, right? Plus some nice cow milk! Fresh from the udder!”

Yvan didn’t feel like eating but… well, he had no other choice.

XXX

“Here’s the food!”

Yvan looked at the young guard that was bringing with him huge pieces of muttons, big apples and large pears.

“I just ate!” he said. “The matins are done!”

“Yeah, but the sky is all pink and the sun is rising, no? It’s the lauds.”

“The lauds?”

“Monks order. Give him food at the lauds. Come on, open up.”

XXX

“Food for ya, glutton!”

Another guard was coming, his arms filled with bread, quinces, plums and milk.

“I just ate… bwarp! Twice!” Yvan belched. “I’m full, really! I’m stuffed and not hungry any more!”

“But the sky is bright blue and the bells are ringing! It’s the prime, boy! The monks said you had to eat at the prime!”

“I’m full, I can’t eat any more!”

The guards gave him a kick in the butt.

“Come on, don’t squeal too much, you pig! You’re supposed to be a prisoner here. Don’t make me shove this food down your big throat. Come on, make some room, I’m sure you can.”

XXX

“I feel like… it’s so tight… I’m gonna burst.”

Yvan huffed and puffed. The young guard was back. He kneeled and looked at Yvan’s belly, opening a bit his vest and shirt.

“Indeed, I’ve never seen a gullet so round! Like a melon! The skin’s so tight I could play drum on it!”

“Please… don’t…” Yvan whispered.

“Well, I hope you’re hungry.” the young guard answered. “There’s lamb, and figs, and…”

“More… food?” Yvan cried.

“Yes. It’s the terce. The market is opening. Don’t you see?”

Indeed, the merchants had gathered on the market-place, preparing their stalls and stands.

“I… can’t eat. I… won’t eat. I don’t want… to eat. Stop.”

The young guard laughed.

“You know you can’t just ask that, right? If you don’t want to eat, you’ll be forced to. Please, show some courage. It’s not so bad, it’s just a big meal. Come on, open up.”

XXX

It was noon, now. The market was coming to an end, but a small crowd had gathered around the stocks to look at poor Yvan. He was as pale as his shirt, with a belly big and swollen. It kept gurgling, moaning and making strange noises. Sauces, juice, grease and saliva kept flowing from his half-opened mouth, staining his clothes and chins.

A guard appeared.

“It’s sext, my boy! Time to eat!”

“No… urg… no more…”

The gurgles were now coming from the back of his throat.

“Oh, you’ll eat, glutton. Open up, come on. Open… open. Open!”

The guard opened himself the boy’s mouth, forcing a piece of bread past his teeth. The entire bread finally went down, followed by some fruits. That’s when Yvan suddenly rejected the food he just ate, the fruits smashing on the guard’s chest. The guard recoiled with disgust.

“Can’t… I’m… urg…” Yvan whispered.

He vomited again, this time all the content of his previous meal. The guard looked at the slimy puddle of half-digested food.

“Oh, lad, you don’t know what you’re in for, do you? No matter how full you are, you’ll have to eat. Eat ‘til you burst. Monks orders.”

XXX

“Well, how is our little glutton?”

The head of the guards had walked all the way to the monastery. It was the smallest of the monks that had welcomed him – a weird one, with a sly smile, a dead eye and a missing finger.

“We did as you asked. Fed him at every service. Matins and lauds, prime and terce, sext and nones, vespers and compline.”

“Good. Is he regretting his actions now?”

“Don’t know. But he certainly regretted to eat. He puked it all out.”

The man nodded.

“Brother Gilles thought that it would happen. It means the boy is rejecting his sins. It’s not merely the food he vomits, it’s his crime. He’s expunging the Devil out of his own body. It’s good, very good. I hope you haven’t made him eat up what he vomited?”

“What? No!”

“That was the proposition of brother Francis. I’m glad to see you haven’t listened to him. Well, I’ll tell brother Gilles about our progress. I’m sure he is eager to share with you the next step of the plan.”

“The next step of the plan?”

“Yes, my son. Our little glutton is following his own Way of the Cross. And it means walking step by step. Each one more painful than the previous one.”

The little monk said that with such a childish glee that the head of the guards couldn’t help but shiver.

“My son… did you know we raised geese in the monastery, not so long ago?”

XXX

“Open your mouth.”

Yvan had no time to answer. The guards opened his jaws and put something in it. Something cold, metallic, long, that went down his throat. He wanted to gag, to spit out, to vomit, but he couldn’t. He squinted his eyes, trying to realise what had been put in his mouth.

The realisation hit his alcohol-imbibed brain.

It was a funnel.

Immediately, the food arrived. He couldn’t test it, but he felt it. Something soft, but heavy, that blocked his throat. He gulped down in order to not suffocate. And immediately something else came in, and he gulped it. The thing – food, must have been food – still came down his throat. It felt as something already munched and spit out. Must have been something mashed, grind, crushed. Probably purée or paste. Sometimes it was more jelly-like, other times it was a liquid. And of course, all of it had no taste, for not a single drop touched his tongue – all Yvan could taste was the cold, hard, nearly salty metal of the funnel in his mouth.

And said funnel was so big it blocked most of his view. The guards themselves wondered what kind of goose the monks could possibly feed with a funnel that big. But it was handy: everything slipped in it. The crushed nuts, the mashed fruits, the berries purée. They even pressed the meat, until it became a bloody and greasy pulp. It was still early in the morning, but they had a lot to do. The monks had warned them: more and more food will be added into the young thief’s belly, until food would take up so much space in his body the Devil would be forced to flee. Then, and only then, will the demonic sin drop the mask of pleasure and reveal its true face: that of a hellish torture, based on a ridiculous, base, pointless, unneeded material object. Food.

All day long the food kept coming. Now that the guards had to mash and prepare the food, each meal took twice the usual amount of time, and it had already been a lengthy process beforehand. Yvan felt like he was fed every minute of every hour of every part of the day, without any kind of pause or relief. Soon his belly felt full and round, but the food kept coming, making his stomach tighter and harder. Of course, all the food was pushed down to his lower parts – filling his intestines and gore, bloating the rest of his abdomen, until all of his internal plumber was clogged up. He felt like a sausage: a tight skin filled with stuffing. Half-sick, half-drunk, he daydreamed that if a butcher was to come and poke at him with his knife, his belly would probably slice itself in half, spilling everywhere the fruits and the meat and the bread he had been fed on, perfectly intact, still nice and shiny. But the mere thought of it made him sick again.

The nausea got so violent he tried to puke – but the funnel prevented such rejection. Worse, the small he had been able to get rid of was being forced down his throat once more.

By the end of the day, when they finally took away the metallic torture device, Yvan was crying.

He now understood how, exactly, being fed constantly could be, indeed, a true torture.

XXX

Brother Gilles followed the guard throughout the streets of the little town.

“And was there any other case of regurgitation?”

“It’s hard to tell with the funnel, father. But I don’t think so. I think he got used to it. After all, his stomach is twice as big – he can pack in much more than before.”

“What?”

The monk had stopped right in the middle of the street, staring at the guard with his icy stare.

“Well… yeah. He’s grown big. You’ve fattened him up real well.”

“He… fattened up?”

One of the monk’s eyes was wide open, expressing the most confused bewilderment. The other shone of some sort of dreadful angriness.

“Well… yeah.” the guard repeated, frightened. “Just like, you know… the goose. Like you said, how you’re feeding the goose. It’s fattening them up and… huh… he too.”

The monk ran towards the market place.

People had gathered around Yvan, smiling and quietly laughing at his ridiculous appearance. They talked to each other while pointing their dirty fingers toward him, clearly making fun of his situation – but Yvan had no ears for them. When he was being fed by the funnel, he could only think of gulping and swallowing so that he wouldn’t choke.

“We’ve stopped separating the foods.” the guards explained while catching up with the monk. “Now we mix all of it together. Fruits, bread, wine, meat, milk. It’all makes just one big goo. He takes him pretty easily. It’s just like a goose. And he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Apparently, he can’t taste anything. He just eats and burps in our faces. The old guards don’t like it – they sometimes smack him in the face – but the others don’t mind.”

Indeed, when the guards took off the funnel, Yvan let out a deep belch that made all the people around laugh out loud.

All the people around except the monk – who merely screamed.

“Open the stocks! Put him on his feet! Open the stocks, I need to see it!”

The guards, quite surprised to see brother Gilles, obeyed. Yvan could barely stand up: sitting for weeks on his knees had weakened his legs. The sudden shift in position made him nauseous, and green in the face.

The monk rushed towards him and grabbed his belly. His now wide, fat, round belly.

His torso had doubled in size since their last meeting. Fat had bloated up his abdomen, enlarging his waist, padding his behind, rounding his belly – in fact, his midsection was nearly the shape of a perfect globe. His chest had also gotten thicker and larger, his shoulders broader and meatier. This transformation had, of course, an effect on his clothes: the laces that tied his sleeveless vest had all snapped, while the tighter one that he used as a belt was certainly about to do so. His shirt, ill-fitting when he was on the gallows, had now its fabric stretched on his gut.

“The mockery! It’s an outrage! He is mocking our punishment, he is mocking our order, he is mocking our God!”

Brother Gilles turned towards the guards and shouted, eyes injected with blood:

“He grew fat on the food we cursed him with! He turned our punishment of both body and mind into a display of excess and laziness! Look at him! Where’s the suffering in his face? Where’s the vomit of his repentance? Oh, I should have listened to brother Horace! We should have put living rats in his gullet so that they would devour him from the inside!”

The monk ordered the guards to put Yvan back in the stocks, before addressing the crowd around him:

“Look at this glutton! A thief, a glutton, a slothful, a prodigal son that dilapidated his father’s property! He killed his mother at birth, he tried to commit a monstrous sacrilege by depriving men of God of their sustenance! He is in league with the devilish horses! And now, what is he doing? He is being fed all day long, doing nothing but sit there, enjoying it!”

Finally, the nausea had passed and Yvan found the strength to speak.

“I’m not enjoying it!” Yvan cried out. “It’s hell! My belly aches, it makes me sick, I puke and I shit! My limbs are sore, I can barely walk any more! I’m feverish and sweaty and I don’t want to be here any more!”

“I don’t see your tears, liar! Your flesh is fat, glutton, sign of your own sin! You revel in your own evil! You’re bloated up like a vampire! Shut your vile mouth and speak no more!”

Brother Gilles took a lemon from a nearby stand and shoved it into Yvan’s mouth.

“You, people, are faithful! You were baptised, you are part of God’s livestock! You should act on his name, be his voice, be his warrior! You maybe can’t lead a crusade, you maybe can’t kill the heretics, but you can at least punish the sinners on Earth – this sinner on Earth, so that he won’t go to Hell after his death! Be kind to thy neighbour! Help this lost sheep! Push him back into the path of God! Do it!”

“But how?” the crowd asked.

“He’s a pig, treat him as such!”

The monk was now red and sweaty, a big vein pulsing on his bald head.

“This is a punishment! Make him regret! Make him feel what it would be like to be in hell! Don’t let him be complacent, don’t let him! By the authority of the High One, do it!”

The monk ran towards a merchant nearby, stole his knife and cut the tip of his own finger. Then he ran toward Yvan, took the lemon and put his finger instead.

“Drink! Drink my blood, for I am a man of God, and my blood is pure! You are a sinner, not worthy of the blood of the Great Saviour, so for your communion, you shall have the blood of a lesser servant. Drink! Drink! Drink, my son, drink!”

Yvan, terrified, sucked the monk’s finger, the strange taste of blood spreading on his tongue. It was quite similar to the taste of the funnel. The monk finally groaned and took off his finger.

“Perfect. You are absolved of your sins and crimes in the past weeks. Your mockery of our order will be forgotten. But, make sure you repent and suffer. Else… I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to do anything more for you.”

XXX

Yvan punishment went on. Every day, from dawn till dusk, a gruesome mix of liquids and mashed food, once glorious and sumptuous meals reduced to a colourless ugly goo, was forced into the funnel, down Yvan’s throat, and the boy gulped and gulped until his stomach was bloated and ready to burst – which became less and less the frequent, weeks passing by. For indeed, his stomach slowly distended itself, and grew with this new amount of food. Thus, the guards needed more and more to satisfy him, and even more to actually make him sick. It became so bad that Yvan actually ended up feeling a bit peckish after each day of force-feeding. Hopefully, the townsfolk joined their effort to those of the guards.

The monks had ordered them to lash all of their cruelty and mockeries upon the glutton, and so they shall. Not directly of course, only the guards could hit him (even though many common people came to pat his firm and blubbery behind, saying how the pig was fattening up nicely). Plus, mockery wasn’t enough for them any more – they had done all they could, and they grew bored of it, especially since Yvan seemed to ignore them completely.

So, they rather decided to help the guards in their feeding duty. Each day, the scraps and rotten things they usually kept for their pigs or their dogs were given to the guards so they could add it to the repulsive mush they prepared. Sometimes, they even fed Yvan directly, steeping their own mashed leftovers down the funnel. Since Yvan’s stocks were on the market place, the merchants liked to get rid of their withered or ugly products by throwing it down his gullet. At first, it made Yvan quite nauseous to eat all of this bad food, his stomach churning and groaning as it had to digest elements too hard or too rotten, but he soon got used to it – he had eaten worse in his years. Anyway, the townsfolk understood that giving Yvan bad food only resulted in more violent and putrid public defecations, and deciding that their market place already stank enough without this gruesome addition, they decided to only give him scraps and discarded bits.

In a very strange way, Yvan’s punishment became the town’s entire distraction, a sort of communal activity that people watched and participated in like if it was some sort of play or game. When the market was held, people bought food specifically so they could feed it to Yvan, under the guard’s watch. They had invented, without knowing it yet, the concept of feeding animals in zoos, several centuries before any zoo actually existed.

The thief’s force-feeding became such an amusement, satisfying the perverse tastes and desperate craving for distraction of the peasants and common folk, that at night, some people bribed the guards, with either beer or money, so that they could “play” all by themselves with Yvan by feeding him.

The crazy monk had ordered Yvan to stop getting fat in order to show his repentance.

It obviously wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

XXX

“He’s choking!”

“What?”

“Look! He’s choking! He’s getting all red in the face! And his tongue’s all out!”

“Nah, he must be drunk.”

“No! Look, he’s coughing! He’s getting blue!”

“Blue? Get him out of here. We’ll see.”

The guards opened the stocks, freeing Yvan who fell on the floor, hissing and wheezing as he was able to breathe again.

“What, he choked on food?”

“No, I don’t think so… Oh, I think I found it! Look!”

The guard forced Yvan to get back on his knees and to put his head back in the stocks. The guard slowly lowered the top part of the wooden device, until it nearly closed itself on the man’s neck.

“His neck’s too big!”

“How can a man’s neck be too big for the stocks?”

The guards forced Yvan to stand up so that they could have a good look at him – something Yvan could barely do, his wobbly legs having a hard time supporting his enormous weight.

Indeed, Yvan’s neck was now too big for the stocks! If it was even a neck what he had now. A ball of fat had replaced what he had for a neck: between his cheeks that grew and fell over on each sides, and his goitre of a double chin that had blown up, along with the rolls of fat that piled up on his nape, his head seemed to now rest on a pile of lard, an enormous roll of flesh twice as big as his own rotund head, as plump as the full moon.

The guards, so used to seeing this big, round, bloated body kneeling on the ground, like a pig eating in his through or some fat cow munching the grass, understood with a great surprise and an even greater disgust just how big Yvan had gotten.

His torso, that used to be already quite spherical in shape, had now grown so fat, so wide and so vast that the sphere had fallen into a shapeless mount, overflowing from the sides of his over-stretched pants. The lace that he used as a belt had snapped one evening as the guards were feeding him and now was hanging pitifully. His shirt, too tight and too small for his new girth, rose up on the enormous hanging globe that was his belly, grotesquely distended after so many weeks of overeating. Above his belly, his chest had grown fat and soft, his pectorals now hanging like two huge slabs of meat. But it wasn’t just his head and his abdomen – the rest of his body had also changed. His arms, for example, were each so big they looked like two hams put together – they were even bigger and thicker than the arms of the strongest of the guards! And his legs had also gotten larger – his pale, fleshy, jelly-like thighs rubbing against each other like full, sloshing wineskins – and underneath, his calves, also rounder and thicker, tightened the laces around the legs of his pants so much the guards feared they would snap like those of his vest.

The man was now a beast, as heavy as a bear and as grotesque as a pig. Yvan looked at the guards, with his stuffed and round cheeks, his mouth dripping with food and saliva, with the enormous bulges that were now his chins, and with his eyes, his bagged eyes, so tiny inside the puffed-up flesh of his face, eyes haggard and nearly dead due to the town amount of pain, nausea, satisfaction, happiness, pleasure and sickness he had experienced these previous months. And the guards felt disgusted and uneasy by what they had just done.

People gathered around to see the monster Yvan had become, to look at his body that was now roughly the shape of a little mountain, and the guards rushed towards the monastery to warn the monks.

XXX

Brother Gilles, brother Francis and brother Horace arrived soon at the marketplace.

“You’ve freed him? What’s the meaning of this? You…”

The monk stopped speaking upon seeing the enormous young man.

“We can’t take it any more.” one of the guards explained nervously. “This all thing becomes perverted. He was punished enough, don’t ya think? His neck can’t even fit in the stocks! Just look at him! He’s like the old Eglon, I poke my blade in him, he wouldn’t feel a thing! He wouldn’t even bleed!”

Brother Gilles approached the boy. The dead eyes of Yvan were looking at something far away from here, something over the rainbow, that the monks couldn’t possibly see.

“My son? Are you here with us?”

The boy gurgled up something. He opened his mouth, drooling. He let out a half-drowned belch and gurgled some more.

“My son… have you repented?”

Yvan turned his eyes towards brother Gilles, eyes still dead and blank, without any light or spark in them. He smiled, exposing his crooked yellow teeth, worn out after gritting for so long on the funnel’s metal, his breath smelling of all sorts of foods and rotten things.

Brother Gilles suddenly straightened up his back, as immobile as a statue, and shouted: “He repented!”

The other monks cried in joy and applauded, soon followed by the cheers of the crowd.

Brother Gilles took some of Yvan’s saliva, made a quick cross over his forehead, blessed him, and after hearing more cheering, Yvan lost consciousness.

XXX

Yvan was woken up by a deep feeling of hungriness, and the loud wails of his own stomach.

Yvan was in a cell. His body felt heavy and sore all over, except in the area of his stomach, that felt painful and empty. It was like having a big hole in his belly.

Trying to get up, Yvan suddenly remembered everything. The monk, the stocks, the funnel… He looked down at his body and held back a horrified scream. He was enormous! He couldn’t even see his own feet past his gut! Was he really as big as a boar? That’s what the people said when he was in the stocks. His belly was even sticking out of his clothes!

He touched it, felt his fingers seek deeply into the flesh, and suddenly his stomach roared once more. He was famished.

“Oh, you’re up. Good. I wondered if you were dead.”

A guard was opening the door of the cell.

“What happened?”

“You’ve been there for days. Sleeping, unconscious. We thought all this eating had killed you. You know, something burst inside you. But you’re still kickin’, that’s good. The monks said your punishment was enough. You’re free to leave.”

Yvan, surprised to even be alive but joyful to finally leave all of this torture behind him, followed the guard in the street.

When he got out, the people in the street looked at him, pausing and snickering before returning to their activities.

Another loud groan got out of his belly.

“Still hungry, boy? We can get you the funnel, if you like.” the guard joked.

Yvan looked at him with spite and walked away. Or rather tried to. His feet were not used to lift such a mass, he stomped rather than walked, and with each movement his thighs rubbed against each other, his behind jiggling and trying to fit inside pants now too tight, his belly bouncing in front of him.

A woman looked at him and laughed. Yvan felt embarrassed. He must be a ridiculous sight to look at. He wasn’t even pleasantly plump, or round as a rich merchant. He was so big he looked like a beast, a hideous beast, a wild hog, a freakish animal!

Three kids ran towards him.

“Oh, look! It’s the pig! It’s the goose! It’s the glutton!” they screamed with glee.

They started running around him.

“He’s like a barrel! No, he’s bigger than that! Do you have grains? Feed him grains! Feed him scraps! Don’t forget the funnel!”

“Leave me alone!” Yvan screamed.

He tried to hit them, to smack them on the head or slap them on the cheek, but all this moving around and leaning forward ended up loudly ripping something behind him.

“He split his pants!” the kids laughed. “He split his pants! Look at his bum!”

And the kids smacked his behind. “It jiggles, it ripples!” the kids shouted.

Yvan became red and shouted back at the kids some of the worst insults he knew, but another one had grabbed his chest – or rather what his chest had become, wide rolls of fat hanging on each side of his body.

“Look, he has udders! He’s not a goose, he’s a cow! He’s not a pig, he’s a sow! Drink, boys, drink, I’m sure there’s milk in it, suck it!”

The boy who had grabbed Yvan’s man boob received a violent hit on the head. Yvan always had large and tough hands, and now, with the added weight of the meat that hanged around his arm, his fist was doing much more damage than before.

The kids ran away, but their screams echoed in the streets, and as to answer them, Yvan’s stomach gurgled once more.

XXX

Yvan finally arrived at his farm. His old dad’s farm, now his own.

He was huffing and puffing, red in the face and sweating between his rolls. Moving around was much harder than before. He felt like he was dragging a dead horse with him: he was hot, his heart was beating like a drum, and he had the hardest time breathing.

Passing by his field, he took a gloomy look at it. The few plants that had managed to grow in this weed-infested earth had all withered and died. Sighting, but happy to be back home, Yvan entered the small farm and sat on one of the old wooden chairs.

It cracked and Yvan fell to the ground. It would have been more painful without the extra-padding on his behind.

His stomach protested once more against its emptiness. Now hunger was becoming painful, like if his insides were sucked up and crushed.

Yvan wondered what he could possibly eat to ease the pain, before reminding himself that there was no food left. He had eaten everything already.

Yvan then wondered what he could buy – not at the market, for he couldn’t show up there after all the mockeries and humiliations – in one of the nearby shops, at the butcher or at another farmer’s house. He then remembered he had no money left. He had used all of what he had to buy himself food.

No money. No food. And now no clothes, for he doubted to find anything that would accommodate his gargantuan size.

His stomach roared once more, so loudly it seemed a lion had entered the room. Yvan patted his belly, only to feel how wide, round and fat it was.

The young man understood that his punishment was far from being over.

#weight gain #my stories #my writing #kink story #weight gain story #male #man #force-feeding #dark kink #brutal kink #fat #fat fiction

[royallovecat]

It's so fun playing cat and mice with you my love, keep on torturing me, make me yours in the most beautiful and psychologicaly painful way you can imagine, let's play this game for an eternity.

Trap me, spoil me, break me, kiss me, hurt me, LOVE ME ❤️.

TW: Torture, stalking and dark kink overall.

#irl yandere #lovesick #male yandere #mlm yandere #obsessive love #yandere community #yandere darling #yandere x darling #obslove #darlingcore #irl darling #obssesive #obsessive yandere #obsessive thoughts #yandere #real yandere #yancore #gore lover #i love him #cnc stalking #stalking fantasy #stalker #cnc brat #cnc k!nk #rough cnc #cnc kidnapping #violence kink #torture #t0rture #dark kink

[daddy-and-bunny]

Just got fucked so hard my legs haven’t stopped twitching 😵‍💫

#bunnyguro💖 #breeding k1nk #cnc free use #cnc k!nk #daddy's good girl #daddy’s babygirl #degredation kink #submisive and breedable #wet and needy #daddy k!nk #cnc brat #cnc knife play #cnc sub #cnc kidnapping #cnc freeuse #rough cnc #cnc rough #rough kink #rough daddy #roughfuck #hard k1nk #dark kink

[vanillachaiwhiskey]

Getting Blood all over yourself when fucking the Wounds you have cut into their dead Flesh <3

#.txt #alterposting: obelisk #necr0philia #necro #para safe #paras please interact #wound fucking #violence kink #dark kink #blood kink #extreme kink

[5eraphim]

Yandere! TF2 Spy NSFW Alphabet

Link to the NSFW alphabet //Engineer’s NSFW Alphabet //Sniper’s NSFW Alphabet

Character: The Spy 🐍 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: M (MINORS DNI)

Content warnings: yandere, unhealthy relationship dynamics, NSFW,  dub/noncon, somnophilia, sadism

Word Count: 3k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

(Last edited 1/3/2023)

Aftercare, what are they like after sex?

Despite his womanizer reputation, no matter how apt it may be, he's much softer than expected. Spy's had many women in his bed before now. But now that he finally has you, it would be cruel not to make the most of it! He'll ensure you're comfortable and clean or give you water if needed. He'd never admit it, but given his cutthroat line of work, he sometimes prefers the post-sex cuddles and naps more than the sex itself. (Those post-sex cigarettes do hit different ngl-) If you allow him, he'll draw you a bath and join you if you want. 

Body part: what is their favorite body part and their partner's?

Your flesh, his hands. Sexually motivated or not, the Spy is considerably addicted to the feeling of running his hands along bare skin. He is especially keen on areas like your neck where the skin is so thin, and he can feel your pulse beneath his fingertips. The Spy is big on ghosting his hands along your breastbone to feel your heart flutter and goosebumps prickle against his touch, no matter how light-handed the touch. He has the magic touch around his partners, that magnanimous It factor. That invisible kind of magnetism which continues to draw you closer to your captor.

Cum, anything to do with cum, basically. 

He's a clean guy who isn't the type to leave behind a mess, and that extends to the bedroom. So, although he may like the sight of your flesh under his hot seed, he prefers to come inside you for a better sensation. Coming inside you brings out your cutest reactions, and if it helps to alleviate the clean-up afterward, it's a win-win.

Dirty secret: what is a hidden, dark fantasy of theirs?

Imagine a scenario where the Spy impersonates an ex-lover, testing your loyalties to him by offering to break you out and take you back to the life you once knew. You instantly get teary-eyed when you see your ex and rush to embrace them. In any other situation, you would know it's too good to be the truth, but at this moment, you're too damn tired and scared and confused to care. And there's nothing you can do to stop the "I love you-s" and the "I've missed you such much." Happily, one to play with his prey, the Spy would hold you here before offering to break you out, maybe even going as far as to lead you out of his smoking room through the hallways. His cruel joke culminates in losing you in the corridors while you begged and screamed for guidance, only for Spy to round the corner, shifting back into his proper form and watching your heartbreak as you realize what happened. The Spy would capacitate you before binding you to his bed to remind you who you belong to, as clearly, you needed a reminder. He's addicted to the thrill of keeping you as his little resilient hostage. Replaying the memory of capturing you over and over in his mind.

Additionally, the Spy has many surveillance cameras around the area, and you can bet he would sit you down and force you to watch the recording with him as a sick kind of foreplay. Sat between his spread legs in a plush chair in front of the television, replaying that horrible moment. Knowing you can't possibly hide the tremors running through your body as he "playfully" runs his fingers through your hair, keeping your head focused squarely on the screen to drink in every detail. 

Experience, do they know what they're doing? How much experience before now?

To the surprise of no one, the Spy is easily the most well-laid of all the mercenaries, and he knows it. Of course, the Spy's gotten around, and he knows exactly what he's doing here. But he's always vigilant to study your body like a textbook to learn what arouses you the most. It's his personal crusade to become the best lover you've ever had, whether you would admit it or not. (He likes to think he'll know either way.)

Favorite position, this goes without saying.

He's a switch, and likely doesn't have too much preference on top or bottom. Spy's also the type to have more than one favorite position. Either way, he's easy to please in this regard. If he absolutely had to pick a favorite, he might say, watching you bounce on his cock facing him. His strong hands kept you firmly in place, your thighs straddling his hips so he could keep your body moving in rhythm with his thrusts beautifully. 

Goofy, are they more severe in the moment, or how would they lighten the mood?

Considering the Spy is one of the most attentive/consistent regarding foreplay and setting the mood just right, it's unlikely he'd start acting immature out of nowhere. Although if he could sense you were nervous, shy, or anything like that, he would try to lighten the mood a little and get you to at least get a smile or laugh. 

Hair, how well groomed are they?

Considering he was essentially a bachelor before he met you, he was going through a revolving door of partners and had quite a social life. Because of this, he was always sure to take extra care down there "just in case." By far, he cares much more about looks than any of the other mercs. He just doesn't always like to admit it. (Additional note, the Spy has the vibes of a "small guy with far more body hair than anyone would expect." But he knows to keep tidy where it counts.)

Intimacy: how are they romantically speaking during the moment? 

Before the two of you were together, you would likely brush off his romantic advances as nothing more than insincere flattery to get in your pants. (Which, to be fair, you weren't entirely wrong.) There's a good chance he would be trying to compensate for this in the bedroom. He's all about foreplay and ensuring you are plenty relaxed before getting serious. It's the least he could do to prove he genuinely cares. While in the act, he'd love to bury his head in the crook of your neck. To feel your pulse rising against his lips and cheek. He's been waiting so long for this moment. He wants to explore every inch of your body with soft caresses and kisses. 

Jack off masturbation headcanon.

It's less frequent than most assume, honestly. While The Spy's maturing age is a factor here, it's also because his drive is much lower alone. Partially because he likes to ensure his complete focus is on the mission at hand, although he's never had a problem pulling a woman in a pinch, should he truly feel the need. Considering the Spy can also be a bit of a voyeur, he's more into watching you masturbating before making love to you rather than just getting himself off. Even if it's foreplay and you actually know he's there, the power of watching another at their most vulnerable arouses him. 

Kink one or more of their kinks.

Consider somnophilia. As mentioned before, he loves to watch you pleasure yourself, but it runs deeper than this. It's all about the power play. The Spy also likes to fool around with you in your sleep. Nothing which would risk lasting damage. But some of his favorite ministries are grinding against your sleeping form in perfect ignorant bliss of what he's doing to you. Or coping with a feeling and listening to the blearly, adorable noises you make in response. Could also have a thing for blindfolding you, he's a man who needs to be stealthy to survive, so it's only natural he'd take a shine to something like this. (It's a delicate silk blindfold too, what a privilege!)

Knife play, because obviously. This man did not grow to be so skilled with his knife without practicing against someone else's skin. Nothing too heavy unless you wanted to, but it's arousing to watch your skin prickle under the cold knife and to feel your heart beat faster in anticipation of the incision. He's more attracted to leaving small incisions, knowing it can be the most minor cuts that leave you the most aroused. He likes to cut your clothes off or force you to obey commands with the knife if he's feeling really frisky.

Location, where is their favorite place or places to do the do?

Considering you aren't getting out nearly at all these days, the only choice is tucked away in the Spy's smoking room, so precisely there. However, if you were really getting on his good side, he could be convinced to take you out somewhere abandoned in the dead of night where he knows the two of you would be alone. Then, of course, if he was in a playful mood, he might want you to say thank you by getting frisky outdoors, but he likely wouldn't go any further than a handjob or something like that.

Motivation, what turns them on or gets them going?

Spy is more than a bit of a pervert, so he could go on all day talking about how you arouse him. There are a few outliers, though, praise being a big one. Nothing gasses the Spy up like listening to your compliments, like telling him how handsome he looks, how happy you are to see him, how much he means to you. Even if he knows you're only with him because you were kidnapped and don't mean what you say, it almost makes it hotter for the Spy knowing he's broken you like this. He's also insanely possessive, so wearing his clothes is a big turn-on.

No, what is something they wouldn't do, and what are their turn-offs?

Like any yandere, the Spy is not interested in sharing you with anyone else. Additionally, since he's kidnapped you to be here, he doesn't like it when you bring up your past life. Or Mention how you miss your friends, or God forbid you mention your former partner. Not too keen on the idea of fatherhood at the moment (ironically). 

Oral. What is their preference for giving or receiving, and what is their skill level?

While he may prefer receiving, this man is absolutely feral for eating pussy full stop. If you had little experience with this before he stole you away, he's more than happy to teach you how to do it properly. He'd be so gentle with you as he stroked himself gingerly over you, adoring how your cheeks flushed at this unfamiliar sight before your eyes. The Spy would instruct you how to start slowly, kissing his head before opening up and gradually taking the head of his cock in your mouth. Eventually, he'd be guiding your head to take in as much as you could, doing your best not to let out any embarrassing choking sounds as you did your best to follow his instructions, using your tongue, suck in your cheeks. But it was hard to follow as he got closer to coming, and eventually, he gave up on gentleness as he started to rock in and out of your mouth before coming directly into it. But, when it comes to giving, he is less held back. There is little in life the Spy loves more than the feeling and taste of a woman on his tongue. The flavor was all the sweeter after finally getting to savor the taste of his beloved after all his pining. He's all about power and control, so while he knows exactly what he's doing, it's moments like this the Spy would tease you and edge you, leaving you all but crying for him to let you come.

Pace, are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?

While he would like to think of himself as the "strong, steady, and in control" type, it's not true. He's shared quite a few "I've had a long day, and if you try to test me, I will stab through your wrist, so help me God" rough sessions. While they are less common, this man can get scary when he needs to.

Quickie, what are their opinions on quickies, and how often?

He could take it or leave it. It's different from his style, but if you were in need, he is always happy to help. Though if he knows you like quickies, he might use this against you and lead you on while you were already wet and desperate, then leave you abruptly, telling you to wait for him to return. (He will check the security cameras to know if you cheated.)

Risk, are they game to experiment, and do they take risks?

Considering how well laid this man is, there's just little left out there he has yet to try. He thinks it cute when you get all blushy and shyly proposition him for something he's done at least three times before. Because of this, there's not much genuine risk for him, restraints, blindfolds, knives, guns, drugs? He's done it all and would be honored to show you the ropes. He does always like to keep you on your toes.

Stamina, how many rounds can they go for? 

He's likely the type who would instead get one good round of sex that would last a half hour or so rather than two short rounds. In his eyes, if you were really needy before or after, he'd happily comply. But if the two of you were exhausted but still needed to relieve a little sexual tension, he'd just go for a little oral or hand jobs rather than go through the effort of full and proper intercourse.

Toys, do they own toys? Do they use them on a partner or themselves?

It's not really his style. He's a bit old-school regarding things like this and isn't interested in spending money on something he could easily accomplish with his own anatomy. He's very of the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" mindset. Unless you count things like rope or handcuffs or blindfolds to be toys, in which case, he is very on board with that idea!

Unfair. How much do they like to tease?

This mother fucker is the CEO of edging. He's always had a nasty sadistic streak, and you can bet this extends to the bedroom. He can't help that you're so adorable, eyes half-lidded, a light sweat adorning your naked body, and your shudders and moaning under him, as the Spy feels as though he has the power of a God over you. If you want him to let you come, you had better be ready to thank him for the privilege of taking his cock in the first place, how you would die for him, the usual. But God forbid you gave him attitude before he got you so hot and bothered because then? The Spy will be nothing short of evil with you.

Volume, how loud are they, and what sounds do they make?

The Spy wants nothing more than to hear you begging for him. The Spy himself may be on the quieter side. After all, he's much more interested in listening to you and wouldn't dare interrupt. He's more the type to leave you covered in bruises and bite marks to show you who you really belonged to, more impactful and memorable than telling you, or rather, moaning for you.

Wild card, a random headcanon for them. 

The Spy has this odd purring sound when close to coming. It's not quite a moan or a growl. It's creepy to most, especially the first time they hear it, and he knows it. However, the Spy likes to unnerve you with it and watch you quiver in fear. He's into edging and orgasm denial on his partner, that is, don't try to beat him at his own game, he never plays fair, and you'll lose every time. An admittedly petty conjunction of his possessiveness and the "lighthearted" pleasure he feels when demeaning you, edging is second nature to him. Not only does he love to watch how your body will be an utter mess beneath his, but it's also his own sick kind of vengeance for all the time he spent sharing your precious companionship with the rest of his comrades. So if you know what's good for you, you'd better start begging him for mercy, promise to be his good girl, and maybe he'll consider letting you off easy this time. (But just maybe.)

X-ray what's going on under those clothes?

Well, first of all, you know his undergarments are custom-made, likely hundreds of dollars, honestly? Good for him. (After all, he'd be happy to spoil you with lux lingerie if you'd indulge him.)  The Spy is definitely longer than he is thick and veined like a mother fucker. He knows he's not insanely well-endowed, but he's sure to take his time with the foreplay and get you wet and ready to take him.

Yearning, how high is their sex drive?

Given the stress and pressures of his job, his drive is high. But, there is also something refreshing and invigorating within him, something new and thrilling you bring out in him. Finding a lover who truly excites him like none he's known before awakens a wanting within him. Bringing a nuance, a breath of fresh air, and romance amidst the well-worn lewd territory.

Zzz, how quickly do they fall asleep afterward?

As expected, he's not the type in any setting to let his guard down around others, so it stands to assume he would only want to fall asleep after he knew you were out. He might be nicer than you would expect, but only by a little. He also wouldn't want to pass out if he knew you were still a mess. The desire to keep you tidy and in proper condition may seem sweet, but unfortunately, this kind of "affection" extends to the rest of his valuable commodities. The action is equally assuring as disaffected. The Spy himself might not even know this, but he is a little grabby in his sleep, and after the two of you have passed out for the night, expect to wake up with his arms firmly latched around your body,

#yandere #yandere x reader #n/s/f/w alphabet #yandere tf2 #yandere tf2 spy #tf2 spy #yandere spy #yandere tf2 spy x reader #tf2 spy x reader #dubcon #smut #somnophilia #dark kink

[royallovecat]

I might not be the prettiest, nor the most intelligent.

But I sure am the most devoted, the one that wears bruises and blood most proudly and the only one who'll let you destroy my body, heart and mind while keeping a smile on my face nonetheless.

#darling irl #irl darling #yandere darling #darlingcore #irl yandere #male yandere #obsessive love #obslove #lovesick #yandere community #real yandere #yancore #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere quotes #dark kink #dark romance #cnc stalking #cnc kidnapping #darling

[acorpsecalledcorva]

How the fuck is hemophilia a medical disorder and not an accurate description of my blood fetish?

#gore lover #kink community #bloodplay #dark kink #bl00d play