There have been persistent clamorings for me to share my “secret” version of this pic. I am not a heartless god, I sometimes listen to those pleadings.
I have the best boyfriend in the world. He’s comfy and quiet. Soft and pliable. We never argue. He’s always there when I get home and always happy to see me - a slack jawed smile on his cherubic face. He’ll never leave me, I’ve made certain of that.
/rambles about the picture
/rambles about the story
/wanders off to watch The VVitch
Drip drip drip.
The constant resonance of the spillage from his bladder down the tube roughly shoved up his length resounded through the small concrete cellar. With no lubrication he had screamed and squirmed as the catheter was inserted but the dull throb of his privates was nothing to compare with the icy pain of chest.
Every movement tugged at bruised and violated muscle. When he would drift off he would shock himself awake screaming as he strained the hooks cutting deep into his flesh. The warm trickle of his life blood pattered on his thighs even still, the wounds refusing to knit.
How long had it been, he wondered. Hours? Days? He was weak, thirsty and exhausted. Had he been forgotten? Is that why he still lingered here? The man had been to calculating and prepared to have simply forgotten him.
And yet … the thought gnawed at his mind. Was this how it was going to end? That was what really terrified him - to die here, a meaningless, unnoticed death.
“Oh god! Come back! Don’t leave me here, please! I’ll do anything you want!” He cries carried far above the drip.
***
There are a couple pictures I’ve skipped along the way posting old stuff. Some of these I can’t in good conscience show off. They’re pretty awful.
PS, its a catheter in his penis, not a worm. >_>
Old art.
Getting the idea I drew dark stuff ages ago? :p
So all you get is my take on all the contortion pics I’ve seen. Contortion is so much easier to do when there are no bones stopping you from making a twisted human pretzel. Just need a little rope to keep the pretzel in place.
His limbs are meant to look broken and bent at semi-odd angles but still straight since they all have strain on them.
Old art
The fae had glanced up plaintively when He entered the bedroom. Tentacles coiled about pale flesh and hefted him up into the air. The boy’s only response was a defeated whimper. He knew he was no match for the warlock’s power and strength, especially with his beautiful wings now severed.
He asked no questions as the bleak one’s slimy appendages carried him closer to the grizzly, demonic face. It was in vain all the same. The fiend’s visits, while unexpected, were all for the same goal.
“My mana sssssupply growssss low, little fly.” The dark mage hissed through a grin of shark teeth. Inches from the boy’s face he chuckled. “Good thing I have you.”
With his wings removed Limpin was grounded, as were his magical powers. The energy boiled within him, unable to escape through normal use. To one who knew how it was easily tapped though. Extreme amounts of pain turned the fae into a veritable well of energy.
“Have I sssshown you my leech collection?”
***
Pretty heavy ero-guro stuff from my early days.
Old art
The boy had been told to stay away from the deep waters. It was the source of the bountiful harvests of fish that their nets regularly took in. Though it was the deep waters that the fish came from, the people only fished in the shallows, “so that the deep water would continue to bless them.”
The time of his coming of age ritual was at hand and in order to prove himself the boy decided to do something very stupid: he went fishing in the deep water. He reasoned to himself that there must truly be great fish in that deep abyss to provide so many large fish that they retrieved from the shores.
It was then that he discovered the true source of the fish. His boat overturned and impaled on his own hook, the boy was dragged blubbering and screaming through the water by an unseen attacker before finding himself on the shores of an unknown island. His captor, a horrific amalgamation of human and otherwordly, a deep one, croaked and pointed inland. Gasping for air, he could only cower in terror as he gazed upon the stone edifice of the Temple of Father Dagon.
The Deep Ones would remind him and the village who was the shepherd and who was the herd.
***
The boy started as a pony boy and through a series of slight changes ended up like this, all in an attempt to salvage the image and keep me from killing it off (cuz I really like his body :p).
Be warned, a lot of my early stuff had guro-esque themes.






