Blackie
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Black StigmataChapter 3 free porn video
The headboard to Christi's bed was slamming against her wall with so much force that paint was chipping off the cracking plaster.
"Oh yes! Oh YES!" she screamed, lying on her back and clinging to the corners of the bed.
Sitting on the soles of his feet with his hands on her thighs, Jason was thrusting into her with all the strength in his body. Christi's parents had gone out to dinner with friends and her brother was out on a date, so they had the house to themselves and Christi was not holding her voice back. Trying desperately to keep up with her sexual hunger, Jason was gasping for air but also hypnotized by the sight of her glorious tits bouncing back and forth in countering circles. No question, makeup sex is the best.
With each thrust into Christi's velvet sleeve, a deep pulse rattled through Jason's cock, reverberating it and pushing aside even the slightest hint of softness. Goddamn, her pussy felt as soft as Vaseline-slathered latex crafted by angels. It felt so good to be inside her, Jason almost didn't want to pull out, but the feeling wouldn't be nearly as good without movement. To solve this, he was moving as fast as his body would allow, while using her bouncing breasts and the rocking of the bed as a gauge for his speed.
"Oh yes! Harder! Faster!" Christi screamed.
To satisfy her wish, Jason leaned over on all fours and began thrusting into her with his whole body, sacrificing speed for penetration. However, to keep up with her demand, he worked his muscles to the limit, especially the muscles in his stomach. By tomorrow morning, his celiac plexus would be completely unusable, and just sitting up in bed would probably kill him. Now bent over her, he ended her screams by sealing her mouth with his and letting her stick her tongue down his throat.
Barely a minute after getting used to this new position, Christi surprised Jason with a sudden shift. Like a ravenous animal, she grabbed him and completely flipped the two of them over so that she was now on top. With a coy smile on her face, Christi pushed Jason down onto his back and began grinding on his manhood.
"So is it safe to say you've forgiven me?" he asked.
In reply, Christi raised herself so that the shaft of his cock was exposed. Reaching down, she gabbed it with brutal strength. Against her grip, Jason tensed up like a cat with its tail stepped on and tried not to yelp in pain.
Christi now had an evil grin. "Not quite yet. You have to pay for what you did. So tonight, if you cum without me saying you can, I will make your life a living hell."
Oh shit, the classic self-restraint punishment. One of his old girlfriends had pulled this trick on him and it didn't end well. He just had to give her a month of daily pedicures back then, but with the mood Christi was in ... it might be better to cut his losses and run. As the thought of his escape crossed his mind, Christi let go of his cock and then slammed down onto it, driving it as deep into her womanhood as possible. With no time to recover and grab a hold of his mental bearings, Christi began bouncing up and down on Jason like his dick was a pogo stick. Using the springs in her bed to launch herself higher into the air, Christi was pulling out all the stops to try and make Jason cum. Her tits were bouncing and rolling with such power that they looked like they would fly off at any second, while the cascading fusion of gasps and moans was like music to Jason' ears.
Feeling her full body weight slam down onto his crotch over and over again while her soft, wet pussy tried to coax an orgasm out of him like it was siphoning gas, Jason was barely able to maintain any sense of control. Christi had never been this wild in bed. Sure, she was normally a real firecracker, but now she was truly ruthless. To try and fight the eruption building in the shaft of his semen volcano, Jason was drumming up the most soul-crushing thoughts in his archives. Parents in bathing suits, locker room full of old people, DMV, genocide, c-span, fat people on rascal scooters, Nicki Minaj, Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift, season two of the Walking Dead! SEASON TWO OF THE WALKING DEAD!
Of course it worked, but as usual, not in the way he imagined. With Christi riding him like a succubus on meth, there was no fucking way any thought in his mind could try and diffuse the bomb, but since he had these thoughts in his mind while he was rock-hard, he was so filled with self-loathing and shame that his manhood was feeling too embarrassed to maintain an erection. It was a cycle of both erection and deflation. With Christi's efforts, the two forces cancelled each other out and he stayed hard as steel but without any chance of an orgasm.
With her thunderous bouncing not achieving the results she desired, Christi changed her tactics. Turning around to give Jason a perfect view of her ass, she leaned over on all fours and began vibrating her whole lower body like she had a martini mixer taped to her tailbone and was trying to shake up a drink that would leave James Bond breathless. Twerking on his manhood with the skill of a goddess, Christi left Jason barely able to think straight. Not only was her whole pussy massaging his cock like a fleshlight lined with vibrating rotors, but the sight of Christi's perfect ass cheeks bouncing and clapping over and over again could not be topped.
The tightening of all the muscles in his pelvic region signaled his doom.
'Oh shit, I'm cumming! Come on, hold it! HOLD IT!'
As the building eruption within him churned, he couldn't help but begin to squirm. Keeping a close watch on him, Christi saw the signs and doubled her effort. Shaking her ass like a wild plasma atom, she finally broke his will and summoned a pulsing white geyser from Jason. Christi clicked her tongue disappointingly.
"Shameful."
"Listen (pant) Christi... (pant) If you (pant) could see it (pant) in your heart (pant) to just forgive me (pant) ... I'll EEEEEEEEIA!"
Jason gagged just as Christi reached down and jammed her middle and index finger into his asshole. At that moment, every fiber of his masculinity was torn like a severed Achilles tendon.
"Yeah, not so enjoyable is it?! Now imagine feeling this while your sitting in a car in a stuffed parking lot with your ass completely exposed! Now you know why I'm so pissed off!"
"Hey, I didIIIINT go that fOOOAr! You're overreacting!" Jason yelped while trying to keep her out.
"One rule! I had one rule! If you break the rule, I'll break the rule and break you!"
"Well then if you're breaking the rule, I'll break the rule!" he shot back, ramming his thumb up her ass and watching as every muscle in her body tensed up and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Turning back with a scowl, she pulled her fingers out to the first joint and rammed them back in, making Jason dry-heave and nearly jump out of his flesh. His pride on the line, he forced his other thumb into Christi's asshole and spread them, letting him stare down into her back corridor.
At that moment, Jason forgot that Christi had her fingers in his ass and realized that he had his fingers in her ass ... Goddamn, this was even sexier than that quickie in the car. With that realization running through his mind, his manhood regained its former glory with such power that Christi nearly jumped off his lap. Just like in the car, Jason began bucking his hips with all of his strength, bouncing Christi as if he were trying to buck her off.
"Stop it you bastard! If you keep that up, I'll—"
"And stay out!" Christi yelled as Jason ran naked out into her front yard, looking for his clothes, which she had thrown out the window.
So he had gotten sodomized, so his girlfriend had thrown him out; It was still a victory. He had great sex and Christi couldn't deny that ass-play really worked for her. She came so hard that she actually squirted. Now there was nothing left to do but go home a champion and wait for Christi to call and say it was water under the bridge. After putting on his clothes with a confident smile, he got in his car and drove off ... but not before setting himself down in the seat VERY carefully.
Jason banged his head against the back of his seat over and over, cursing at the sound of police sirens and sight of the red and blue lights flashing in his rearview mirror. Way to end a great night. Pulling over beneath a street light on a forest road, he quickly turned on the overhead light and rolled down the window, waiting with his hands clearly in view on the wheel. Supposedly, keeping your hands in view of the officer while they approached calmed any fears they might have had about an aggressive response and lowered the chance of them giving a ticket. Reaching the car, the officer shined his flashlight straight in Jason's eyes.
"License and registration."
Jason quickly did what he was told, trying to avoid doing anything that might make the officer think he was hostile and give him a ticket.
"Have you been drinking tonight sir?" the cop asked, skimming Jason's license and the car registration.
"Uh ... no. I haven't done any drinking officer."
This could go either way now: he really hadn't done any drinking, so passing a breathalyzer test would be easy, but that thereby made him more responsible for any mistakes he might have made, and those mistakes could cost him.
"Well you were swerving across the road pretty erratically tonight, care to explain?"
"Sorry about that officer, I fell down the stairs this morning and now I can't sit down without wincing."
That would have to be his lie; it was better than telling the truth and admitting he just received a brutal three-finger prostate exam from a wrathful girlfriend wanting vengeance.
"Sir, step out of the car."
Shit.
In his condition, he doubted he could walk a straight line, and he couldn't imagine how anyone reciting the alphabet backwards, sober or not. He would just have to hope that the officer would skip right to the breathalyzer. The officer stepped back and Jason climbed out of his car, wondering what would happen next. At least now he could see what the cop looked like. Early fifties, portly, and with a thin goatee.
"Now turn around and put your hands on the roof of the vehicle. I have to search you for weapons."
'Search me for weapons? Bullshit. This is turning into a bad porno. Never in my life did I think I would be praying to only be sodomized once in one night.'
The officer gave him a brief pat-down, checking all of his pockets and even sweeping him with a metal detector. Nothing was found, but then the cop shined his light on the backpack in the passenger seat of Jason's car. The nail was inside.
"Take out that bag."
"Hey, you need a warrant to search my car or anything inside it!"
"Take out the bag or I'll arrest you for DUI right now!"
Feeling the situation spiraling out of control, Jason retrieved his backpack and handed it to the officer. As he moved his wand over it, the alarm let out a screech right over the pouch that held the nail. Jason's blood turned to glacial melt as the officer reached into the pouch and snatched the thick iron spike.
"Well now, what do we have here?"
"I do contracting work when I'm not in school, I use that to create straight vertical lines. It's just missing the string," Jason quickly spouted out, unable to think of a better lie.
"That's it, you're coming with¬—"
A sudden growl of static from the officer's radio cut him off, hissing so loudly that it nearly made Jason jump. In the squad car nearby, the dash-mounted camera shut off and the small red and green diodes on the metal detector popped like bubble wrap. All of the hair on Jason's neck stood on end as several whispers emanated from the radio on the officer's shoulder, incomprehensible to both men.
"Who is this? Identify yourself!" the cop growled, speaking into the radio.
The whispers only continued, but the focus of officer and Jason were drawn away as the pool of light they were standing in from the lamp post above began to change in hue and turn red. They looked up, watching as the bulb filled with a crimson liquid, as if it were leaking in from the socket. Blood, the bulb was filling with blood, now bathing the two men in an ominous light. It was exactly like the light from Jason's dreams, the blood-red sun.
"Oh my god..." the cop gasped, looking up at the crimson light and dropping the nail onto the ground.
High as whistles and as low as dying moans, a choir of blood-curdling screams exploded from the officer's radio, each terrifying cry as loud as an air horn. The screams were mixed, portraying agonizing pain, traumatizing fear, a desperation to escape or be given death, and evil and wickedness that the human mind just could not comprehend. The screams pierced Jason's skull like a dozen power drills, making him feel like he had just been hit in the forehead by a load of buckshot. Screaming in agony like the voices on the radio, he crumpled to the ground and fell on his back, staring up at the red light above, burning, almost angrily.
From the light, a symbol flashed in Jason's eyes, almost as if it had fallen from the street lamp and landed on his face with the weight of a cinderblock. The symbol was simple in its design, a mere diagonal slash with one dot on the upper left side and two dots on the lower left. However, the symbol stamped itself on every memory in Jason's mind, imprinting itself so that whenever he thought back to a scene from his past, that symbol occupied his full view like a fly on the contact lens of his mind's eye. The symbol disappeared but a new one took its place, slamming Jason's mind with the same physical force. A circle with a vertical line joined to the right side. Like the first symbol, it imprinted itself on every memory Jason had. Every time he drew up a mental image, the two symbols stood, the first resized to accommodate the second.
Over and over again, new symbols were branded into his consciousness, forcing so much information into his mind that he felt like his head would explode like an egg in a microwave. A few feet away, the police officer had ripped off his coat and was trying to silence his radio so that he wouldn't have to suffer the screaming in his ear. Finally throwing it aside, he was about to help Jason when he felt a sharp pain on his right hand. Looking down, he spotted a large spider on the back of his wrist, same body shape as a black widow, but without the red markings.
Feeling his hand beginning to cramp up, he squashed the spider and wiped the remains off on his pants. A second sting on his left elbow signaled the beginning of a panic attack, and as he swatted the spider under his sleeve, he felt three more suddenly appear in his pants and sink their teeth into his flesh. Now yelling in terror and pain, he looked down to kill the arachnids and felt his heart nearly stop at the sight of thousands of spiders skittering across the pavement towards his feet. With their black bodies camouflaged with the road, it almost looked like a river of liquid shadows was running across the ground towards him.
Taking out his can of mace, he sprayed the acrid mist wildly at the ground around him, trying to create a moat that the spiders would not cross. His efforts failed and the spiders swarmed across his shoes and charged up his legs, ducking out of sight under his pants. Scrambling over each other in desperation, they sunk their fangs into his flesh and injected their poison. Feeling his body tighten up from the toxins taking effect, the cop gagged in pain and fell to his hands and knees. He was no longer able to swat at the spiders and they were free to swarm up his arms and cover his entire body.
More terrified than ever in his life, the seasoned officer watched as the abdomens of every spider seemed to melt into a thin dark liquid, only for him to realize that each spider was carrying its young on its back. As hungry as their parents, the black specks poured out across any exposed skin and immediately began tearing into him. Like piranhas stripping a cow, the spiders and their young peeled away layer after layer of flesh. The cop was able to give one last scream of agony before the ravenous arachnids forced their way down his throat and began feasting on his eyes.
The officer fell dead to the ground, killed from both the spiders' poison and the shear amount of blood loss when they dug down deep enough through his flesh to rupture almost every surface vein on his body. Nearby, Jason had passed out, unable to withstand the mental force-feeding. With the nail having achieved its goal, the spiders lost their black shade and immediately abandoned their meal and fled, having regained control of themselves and now forming an expanding puddle in their exodus. Not a single spider or their young even approached Jason or the nail.
Once the spiders were gone, the nail slowly rolled away.
The sound of a beeping heart monitor was the first thing Jason could sense, the next was the feel of bed sheets and the pillow beneath his head, and the last thing he sensed was the cold bite of the metal handcuffs around his right wrist. Opening his eyes, he looked around while trying to figure out the last thing he remembered. He was alone in a hospital room with his wrist handcuffed to the side of the bed and a heart monitor clip on his finger. The air smelled like gauze and cleaning chemicals and the lights were blisteringly bright.
He rubbed his eyes repeatedly, believing his vision to be blurred. Everything he looked at seemed red, but as his eyesight sharpened, other colors came back into view. Instead of being red, every surface in the hospital room was covered in blood-red symbols, the same symbols that had been drilled into his head back on the street. It was as if his eyes were two projectors casting the image of all the symbols onto everything within his view. As if learning it for the first time, he looked at his hand, realizing only now that he was handcuffed.
"What the fuck happened to me?!"
"What the fuck happened to him?" the police commissioner asked, speaking to the mortician and standing over the carcass of Officer Michaels in the police station morgue.
The body was horribly swollen with the flesh looking like it had been decomposing for a month instead of twelve hours. The officer looked like an effigy of himself made of road-kill by a blind artist. The mortician was pulling off his gloves with shaky hands, trying over and over again to straighten the glasses on his lined face. The commissioner had the same build as the cop, but with gray hair and a clean-shaven face. At the head of the table stood Professor Nelson, taking a drag from a crooked cigarette. Due to the current situation, no one had bothered to tell him that smoking was not allowed in the building, especially in the morgue.
"It's like nothing I've ever seen before. I found enough spider venom in his veins to wipe out a quarter of Portland, I don't know how he managed to survive as long as he did. Look at all the damage to the outer layers of his skin; it's the result of countless pairs of tiny fangs tearing into him like starving hyenas. Beneath it, the muscles have almost completely melted from the venom of the spiders. It appears to be some sort of neurotoxin."
Jo
- 22.08.2022
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