The Slob

When I woke up, it was hard to tell where I was. The way whatever building I was inside stretched upward almost made it look like a church. Is this my funeral? I wondered, a little excited by the concept.

I felt a gentle roughness against my skin before eventually realizing that I was laying on a pile of hay. My newfound suspicions were confirmed when I turned my head and saw a variety of tools behind me set up near the wall. Turning the other way, I noticed I wasn’t alone either.

A heap of corpses was stacked tall beside me, the pile comprised of exclusively dead women. Each of them was deformed; mangled with their own unique and personalized signature. We were all imprisoned together in a giant steel barred rectangle; like a cage that you might see Barnum & Bailey keeping animals in. When I sat up, it was more difficult than usual and I felt the sound of metal clanging. I saw a few feet of absurdly thick chain was assigned to a spike in the ground. The other end was bolted to the steel throat collar clamped around my neck uncomfortably.

The interior of the barn appeared more like a small factory. I didn’t see any animals or the typical things a barn should have. I heard a clucking of birds, just as I had during my arrival days prior, but they were nowhere in sight.

I turned my attention to a small boombox with the cassette rotating inside it; I’d discovered the façade. There were two massive transparent vats that looked to be boiling, indicated by the thick steam they produced and three smaller capped off ones. The water was a brownish red and I saw the outlines of what looked like more corpses floating inside.

The Slob was standing on the far side of one of the vats with his back toward me. In front of him stood a large table and massive steel contraption. Diabolical blades twisted above, ready to mince and break down whatever they contacted.

He pressed a foot switch below that began to eject the contents of the vat into the gigantic grinder. It accepted the juices and meats, pulverizing the secretions within it. The noise it expelled was soul-shaking and stressful.

Moments later, he pulled the steel lever in front of him, prompting a spout on the grinder to dispense a wet puréed meat substance. Below the spout, the mixture fell into a jumbo steel can which he spat into. He stuck his greasy mitt into the hot cannibal stew and brought the handful of feminine brisket to his lips. I listened to him slurp and suck at the shredded meats and brownish waste-filled liquids eagerly. It was as if the sludge was his favorite thing in the world. He continued the disgusting display until he’d nearly cleared the entire can. There was no telling how many of those the bottomless pit had actually eaten already…

He promptly finished licking his chops and refilled the hearty can again. Then he lifted it up and dropped it into some kind of hand-cranked canning device. He only needed to twist the crank a few times to get it sealed and airtight. He had a stack of labels within arm’s reach that bore a round white sticker with the mysterious acronym “T. Y. G.”

He set the newly-filled steel down and snapped backward towards me. His eye socket was still garbled from his final encounter with Sandra. He got very excited when he saw I’d awakened and scurried over to my cage. He used his keyring to unlock the door and kicked the bodies in the entrance out of his way. Immediately, he disrobed, removing his boots and pants to reveal a stretched pair of tight, white underwear. They’d been yellowed all around with a greenish milky discharge erupted over the front.

When his battle-tested briefs came off, it got even grosser. Nearly hidden in the forest of bush, a cock that looked more like an irritated cow udder dangled. The petite teat was both crusted and slimy with the ooze and pus from his cavernous sores. A flock of pests pranced around the vast field of never-trimmed pubic hair, some finding housing on the rash beneath the scrotum. He was all balls; his nutsack riddled with an abnormal overgrowth like a wildly overinflated pink balloon on the verge of popping. He was unwell for many reasons, but it looked like due to the weight of his testicles, he was carrying a bean bag seating with him all the time. The elasticized abraded skin was ready to rip and let the soup of cysts and pools of pus run free. I would not have been surprised to learn he had elephantiasis.

He swung the keys in front of my face, taunting me with another escape attempt in his primitive manner. I didn’t react and was not amused by his retarded antics. I couldn’t fight him; he was too strong. I just let him do whatever he wanted. I settled back into the haystack and spread my legs, offering myself to him.

I watched him stroke the pus from his tiny manhood and watched the toxic clumpy discharge land on my clit and lips. He had nearly chewed all of the fingernails off of his fat digits. It didn’t surprise me that he liked ingesting his own dead cells seeing as he was eating everyone else’s constantly. He used his drool-drenched fingertips to rub the pus over and inside me as he stroked his wretched erection.

I felt it enter me like a slimy night crawler squirming around. As he leaned in closer to go deeper, his mane of idiotically long hair fell over me. His enormous gut was crushing down on me as he went in deeper. My already broken ribs cracked further under the immense pressure of his lard. I could feel the internal injuries of my empty belly being sliced deeper by the splintered bone with each barbaric thrust.

His wheezing and salivation seemed to be nearing a climax as he hunched over even further. Did he want a kiss? I prayed that wasn’t the case but his rancid lips pulled in closer to mine, his quivering tongue pattered against his rotten teeth. I looked up, focusing on the wet and runny boogers filling his nostrils to capacity. I wished he would just cum and get the grueling nightmare over with, but I knew I wasn’t that lucky.

He swooned in with the brownish concoction of female meat still drizzled over his numerous chins and I felt his saturated flab against my neck. He dragged his hectic tongue from my throat to my chin and pushed his way into my mouth. I couldn’t stop the tears but I was exhausted. I was beginning to feel a numbness, as a weird disconnect from reality was brewing inside me.

Finally, his body started to quake and his fat belly jiggled about. As disgusting as it sounded, I was excited from his orgasm. The only problem was, it wasn’t actually his orgasm…

The lumpy nut-colored feast he’d just finished chowing down must have stirred around one too many times in his gut. I imagine based on his morbidly obese stature that he was normally accustomed to the exercise he was putting in to violate me. Combining his perverse enthusiasm with the never-ending mouthfuls of dead flesh he’d consumed before entering the cage undoubtedly caused the eruption.

He pulled away from the sloppy kiss he’d laid upon me just far enough for me to watch the polluted waterfall of rancid meat explode from his throat. I tried to move away but he pinned both my wrists to the ground while the insane purge began. He wanted me to taste it, he wanted me to be humiliated even if there was no audience to laugh.

My horrified shrieks were muffled as my mouth was quickly overrun by the regurgitated corpses mixed in with his stomach bile. The most difficult part was when it landed in my face. Since it had swollen so unevenly and been cracked open severely, the vomit didn’t just roll off and to the ground. Instead, it collected in the dents and divots; particularly in my broken sinus.

I could feel the acidity of the puke stinging my raw and exposed flesh. I could smell the sour and fetid aroma of the dead soaking into my skin and core. The barf traveled freely through the hole in my face and ran directly into the back of my throat. I was choking on the brazed babes, choking on the thing that I was trying not to become.

As his stomach’s hot load continued to shoot all over my fractured face, I felt another hot load between my legs. It must have been from the mammoth ready to burst sack between his legs. He let his crushing weight rest on me and his heavy breathing, not to mention his regurgitation, made it even more difficult for me to get any kind of oxygen. He pulled out and left my opening leaking with both his semen and pus. The Slob said nothing to me afterwards, he simply exited the cage in a transactional manner.

He left the barn, shutting the doors behind him while I laid there feeling worthless. I turned on my side and used my shackled limbs to try and scoop out and wipe off the upheaval from the hollows in my face. I was utterly defeated.

That feeling wasn’t leaving anytime soon. The hours turned into days and then the days turned into weeks. I was riding a carousel of abuse, rape and humiliation without end. Sandra was right. If he took a liking to you, he kept you around. The problem was I didn’t want to be around anymore.

The Slob’s nauseating company by itself was deeply scarring but his almost daily vomit inducing violations, and ruthless poundings were enough to make me want to surrender my life. I championed the notion, going to sleep each night and waking up with an inexplicable disappointment. Is this what Lisa felt like? Is this why my sister put a gun in her mouth?

There wasn’t much else to do but think about death. The lips of my labia and vestibule were so inflamed and aggravated that my vagina had nearly swollen shut. Yet it seemed to only make the prospect of penetrating me even more enticing for that tiny peckered prick.

I still tried to think about Daniel and use the idea of reuniting with him as motivation but it was difficult. Why would he want me after something like this? I’m deformed now. My body has been desecrated. Will he even be able to look me in the face?

None of the questions truly mattered at the moment anyway. It was like Groundhog Day with John Wayne Gacy. The only thing that changed was the amount of scars and bodies that took up space in my cage. I was just meat to him, meat that he was taking his sweet time tenderizing. He made sure to keep me constantly bleeding and never let my physical or mental wounds fully heal.

My sense of dejection and the harsh reality made it feel like nothing could improve, until one day when The Slob had just finished having his way with me. After he zipped himself back up, he trotted over into the house. Then he reentered my cell and before locking it, he plopped down a few fresh corpses inside.

As I was wiping his ejaculation and lumpy discharge off both my face and vaginal area, I was suddenly interrupted by some faint sounds that were difficult to comprehend. I wasn’t sure what I was hearing, there was a good chance I could be going crazy… I continued to listen, the noise pattern becoming more familiar as it went on.

“Duun! Don! Duuun! Don! Don!”

“Ohhh! OH! Ohhh! OH! OH!”

New Kids on the Block! Where in God’s name was that coming from? NKOTB had just released their second studio album, “Hangin’ Tough”, and it was literally everywhere; even in hell, apparently. It seemed to be coming from the cadavers piled up closer to the door. I could see the shiny metal headset of a Sony Walkman trapped around the skull of a young girl that had no face.

She was close enough that I was able to get a hold of her wrist and pull her corpse towards me. I don’t know why I put the Walkman on, I suppose it was just a search for any feeling of normality. Actually, there was nothing too normal about it, I’d never had a Walkman but I was glad I did at the moment. Pop music was far from my cup of tea, I actually thought it was quite corny. However, it could be motivating…

The song was sending me a message, the sweet but still edgy Donnie Wahlberg was singing to me. He wanted me to hang tough. He wanted me to get through this. If I was going to, I would need a new plan. This one, I’d have to come up with on my own.

Poor, Sandra, I thought. As terrible as I felt about Sandra, I knew I couldn’t dwell or I’d be dead. How could I switch from being the victim to the victor? I couldn’t just let him keep raping me until I was softened and bruised enough to become a canned meat. I had to stop him.

The play button popped up while I was mid-thought. The side must’ve finished. I opened the deck and was surprised to see that it wasn’t an actual official cassette, it was the classic lovers mixed-tape. The one you give to a girl you have a crush on to let her know more about you by the music you listen to.

“Bobby’s Bodacious Mix” was written in black ink over the label. It saddened me to think that Bobby would never be seeing his girlfriend again, hopefully, he never finds out the full extent of what happened to her. I flipped over the tape wondering what might come next. It was the King of Pop, Michael Jackson, singing to the cool, clean wavy soundtrack of “Beat It.” More messages were being directed toward me from the tape. Beat it, I would…