Sandy’s Epilogue

Sandy was struggling. One of her tits had already been torn apart, the other was dangerously stretched and covered with angry red lines. All of her joints had dislocated, and one of her arms was starting to rip open. She’d probably have been able to cope, but then there was the fucking machine.

It hadn’t been fast, but it had been unstoppable. Both dildos were about a foot long and wide as a wrist. Moving in sync with her racking they’d started low, barely penetrating her, but, as her limbs stretched out, the machine moved inexorably higher. At first having her arse sandpapered out had supplied the greater pain, her gash was pretty leathery anyway. Then the machine had filled her pussy and kept on going, bursting into her womb.

She’d been interviewed a few times by a selection of studio lovelies - all looking gorgeous in slinky evening gowns - their willowy unblemished bodies serving to highlight Sandy’s stocky and battered one. Now the latest beauty just stood to one side, Sandy was beyond talking. Every thrust was mashing into her guts, drawing out an almost continuous howl. Laid under this was the ominous creaking of skin and muscle in fatal tension.

The clock showed over three hours. She’d hung on so long the house would be cleaning up on this one, it was pretty rare for anyone to make it past the two hour mark, and only a real optimist would have bet on more than three.

That was going to be it though. With a squelch her remaining tit tore open and a delicate equilibrium was disturbed. Final sinews snapped and one arm was ripped away. Slumping sideways, unable to support herself, the relentless shafts pumping in the mangled remains of her holes now drilled a deep new path into her guts.

Sandy managed one last impressive shriek as her second arm gave way, suddenly cut off as she slumped down - she too was finding out what it was like to have your diaphragm fucked.

There was laughter mixed with clapping and cheering from the audience. The unstoppable fucking machine was still thrusting Sandy’s body up and down, giving the strongest impression it was bowing to the gently swinging corpse of her daughter.

This story is a fantasy, set in another place, with only the slightest passing nod to our reality as it’s glimpsed on a distant horizon. If this isn’t immediately apparent to you, I strongly suggest you seek urgent psychiatric care.