This is the book that Dani shoves at people at conventions telling them to open any page and read the most horrible thing they ever will. Seriously, something horrible is on each and every page. Enjoy!
PS. The links to buy are at the bottom, or you can go back to the Reptile landing page or search them out yourself. Amazon do like to bury this one though.
PS. The links to buy are at the bottom, or you can go back to the Reptile landing page or search them out yourself. Amazon do like to bury this one though.
She wanted to know what the big one lurking deep inside looked like – it didn’t occur to Ruth that it could have been a different creature altogether. Abstract thought wasn’t her speciality, even with a worm burrowing through her brain fat, leaving a trail of partially digested oozing shit in its wake and dislodging more fat to drip out of her ears. Worm diarrhoea was no better for her brain cells than fat. Ruth’s clear mind was a temporary thing. If only that worm would move towards scores of information about home-done liposuction. But that would require moving away from her imagination and hatred. The stores of anything useful were at the worm’s tail and drowning in sludge.
She dug the knife in deeper between where her breasts hung below her ribs, the nipple rings they swallowed over a year ago no longer visible beneath the skin. She had to pierce them herself, because not even the men who would fuck her fat rolls in a dark alley, while high on LSD with a sexual preference of bestiality, wanted to touch her. She couldn’t squeeze her blubber through the door of the tattoo studio that had a piercer on Tuesdays and Thursdays either. But nipple rings were a sure way to get some attention so she had to have them.
Bras had to be custom made to contain her boulders so they wouldn’t bang against her abdominal flab. The straps cut into her shoulders, leaving her with scars; very occasionally, they would bleed and drip blood down whatever cheap leopard print with ripped lace she had squeezed herself in that day. Her father was appalled at the cost of custom-made bras. He wanted to have her tits sliced off, but he calculated that back alley surgery was even more expensive than the breast support Ruth would require for the rest of her life, if she continued gaining weight at the same rate.
She felt movement in her breasts – near where she assumed her nipple rings to be hiding. At the same time, her shoulder scars split open spilling pellet beads and blood. The pain in her breasts cut through her. Her breasts, like the rest of her, were blubber. The shoulder scars were like a little nick in comparison; nothing more than a messy little nick. Blood and pellet beads dripped down her, feeding the hatchlings at her feet.
Feeling the pain, she cut the knife across her bloated stomach, cutting through the fat. She didn’t remember to slice it off and bag it. She left it there. It wasn’t like a loose flap of skin blowing in the breeze, because it was weighed down with dripping fat.
Eight
She felt something that wasn’t a part of her hit the tip of the knife. There was a pushing on the handle. She couldn’t maintain her grip and it fell away to the floor, covered by hatchlings.
Something rushed through her breasts, both of them at the same time, searching for an exit. Fat dislocated and pressed on pellet beads lurking inside her breasts. They burst, releasing toxins into her blood stream. It would take a long time for it to pass through her bloated body, but her breasts swelled with immediate reaction to the asylum-seeking fat and burst hatchlings. As happened with her foot, too much pressure was placed on her stretchmarks and they split open, leaking ooze and blood (and the occasional pellet bead).
The worm eating her brain fat dug deeper, searching for a nugget away from the pain. The thing shit with the speed in which it consumed fat. The sludge would evaporate if it would only slow down, but it couldn’t do that. Ruth’s ears were big enough to leak it, if only the fat would hurry up and fall out.
Ruth pictured the Supreme Sub bound in a reclining position on a doctor’s examination table. She was dressed in a flimsy hospital gown. Her legs were spread wide and bound in stirrups. Her vagina was covered with scorpions; more were crawling outside and seeing the bright fluorescent lights for the first time, like she was giving birth to them. They were actual scorpions and not the weird hatchlings that fell out of Ruth as pellets and tried to regain entry as babies.
Even though she floated over the scene and there was a midwife of sorts, Ruth held the power. The Supreme Sub was fully awake by Ruth’s design, and therefore able to witness and feel every little thing Ruth decided to do to her and the accompanying anxiety.
The gag choked a scream but the fear was etched into her face. Ruth wanted it to leave permanent marks to frighten off any potential suitors, because the splashing of toad across the Supreme Sub’s face obviously wasn’t enough. The brain worm hadn’t yet come across the place that stated this was all just a dream. If Ruth was lucky, it never would.
The midwife hid her face behind an isolation mask, so as to not inhale the odours escaping the Supreme Sub’s pores. The animalistic features of a snout and whiskers poked out beneath. Flimsy paper stretched over it, indicating it was custom made. It resembled one of Ruth’s bras.
It was the only thing the brain worm could dig up – some of her deeper brain cells were black with death and decay beneath the weight of everything else, leaving large gaps in her imagination. They were laid to rest in a little cemetery long ago. Zombie brain cells were better than none but the brain worm just couldn’t bring them back.
The worm tried to give her something pleasant, away from the agony of her breasts. There were different worms in them – worms that resembled, and were closely related, to tape worms. They lived off the slime from burst pellet beads. They dislocated more of her fat and secreted an enzyme, to make it into hard balls about the diameter of a bouncy ball. If Ruth wasn’t deep inside her head, the pain would have given her a heart attack.
They pushed the nickel nipple rings out of healed scars. Ruth was inside a room, inside her head, away from it.
Blood with chunks of mucus leaked out of the Supreme Sub, like the handful of periods Ruth experienced before her blubber crushed her uterus and ovaries. Scorpions hatched out of the mucus and waved their claws blood covered claws.
The midwife stood over the Supreme Sub doing nothing. Ruth didn’t want her to be comforted. The midwife was there to administer pain and stale hallucinogenics, to provide a bad trip well beyond the realms of Ruth’s reckoning.
She fitted a mask over the Supreme Sub’s mouth and nostrils. She tried to turn her head away but there was no escape. The midwife turned a handle and the sound of pumping echoed through the barren room. The gas filled the Supreme Sub’s lungs through her nose. It was instant acting, even with the barrier of the ball gag.
Dark shapes filled the room, floating on a light fog. Ruth had the power to bat them away but she wanted to see what the Supreme Sub was seeing, so she could make it worse with the assistance of her brain worm.
If she were to have a heart attack from fear, the equipment to revive her was in the next room and could appear momentarily. Ruth wouldn’t allow her to die. Death would ruin her fun and propel her back to reality.
Scorpions and worms danced on the air. The worms bloated until they became snakes. The Supreme Sub did not like snakes. They filled the room but the midwife couldn’t see them, even as they pulled on her hair. Ruth didn’t care enough to wonder why the midwife didn’t react when they started eating it.
The worm burrowing through Ruth’s brain fat looked for things to make them more evil. Doughnuts covered in maggot sprinkles were force fed to the Supreme Sub in hallucination form. The worm never came across an area to suggest she could choke on her vomit, from a combination of forcing food around her gag and the restraints restricting movement, so she didn’t. Ruth (and the brain worm) didn’t know if the Supreme Sub tripped the gag away during the hallucinatory feeding. It wasn’t relevant. And nothing had to make sense because Ruth was too stupid for anything to make much sense.
The midwife checked the mask, as oblivious to the doughnuts as the Supreme Sub was to the mask. Ruth could see all; she was God of her own dreams.
Ruth prepared a spoon and jar of raw sewage to make way for the aeroplane. Ruth didn’t require a microwave; she heated it by blowing on it with her ripe breath. The stench was terrible, but not as bad as the combination of Ruth and the Supreme Sub, and all the old semen emitting from their pores. Inside, Ruth felt glee but her outward appearance was one dictated by society; nurse with a stick shoved so far up her arse it came out of her mouth.
The midwife returned to putting on a semblance of doing something at the Supreme Sub’s side, much like an actual midwife during the birthing process. She might have been checking blood pressure but it was irrelevant. Despite her countless hospitalisations, Ruth never retained the information on what happened during the admission process. Not like she had ever been, or could ever be, admitted to maternity.
Her brain worm had burrowed to a place where Ruth didn’t like things, including, but in no way limited to food, put into her mouth. She sat strapped to the highchair a few ounces underweight for her length, refusing aeroplanes of lukewarm baby mush from a jar. Ruth was reliving those memories with internal joy. Not at the memory itself, but at finally acting it out upon someone. The Supreme Sub didn’t want her spoonful of sewage like a good girl and turned her head away, but there was no escaping the aeroplane – or recently manifested head clamp.
Each time the Supreme Sub pushed the raw sewage out of the sides of the ball gag, Ruth would run the spoon along, scooping it up and pushing it back in. The brain worm had yet to unearth the capacity to feel boredom.
The Supreme Sub didn’t resign herself to her treatment. She fought with her tongue against the ball gag and raw sewage. She let a lot of unnamed stuff enter her but she didn’t want that. Ruth was bored with her feeble struggles too. The Supreme Sub was used to knights in sparkling PVC rescuing her. There were no knights in PVC here.
To purchase Reptile from amazon, head here.
To purchase from Godless (where it is cheaper), go here.
She dug the knife in deeper between where her breasts hung below her ribs, the nipple rings they swallowed over a year ago no longer visible beneath the skin. She had to pierce them herself, because not even the men who would fuck her fat rolls in a dark alley, while high on LSD with a sexual preference of bestiality, wanted to touch her. She couldn’t squeeze her blubber through the door of the tattoo studio that had a piercer on Tuesdays and Thursdays either. But nipple rings were a sure way to get some attention so she had to have them.
Bras had to be custom made to contain her boulders so they wouldn’t bang against her abdominal flab. The straps cut into her shoulders, leaving her with scars; very occasionally, they would bleed and drip blood down whatever cheap leopard print with ripped lace she had squeezed herself in that day. Her father was appalled at the cost of custom-made bras. He wanted to have her tits sliced off, but he calculated that back alley surgery was even more expensive than the breast support Ruth would require for the rest of her life, if she continued gaining weight at the same rate.
She felt movement in her breasts – near where she assumed her nipple rings to be hiding. At the same time, her shoulder scars split open spilling pellet beads and blood. The pain in her breasts cut through her. Her breasts, like the rest of her, were blubber. The shoulder scars were like a little nick in comparison; nothing more than a messy little nick. Blood and pellet beads dripped down her, feeding the hatchlings at her feet.
Feeling the pain, she cut the knife across her bloated stomach, cutting through the fat. She didn’t remember to slice it off and bag it. She left it there. It wasn’t like a loose flap of skin blowing in the breeze, because it was weighed down with dripping fat.
Eight
She felt something that wasn’t a part of her hit the tip of the knife. There was a pushing on the handle. She couldn’t maintain her grip and it fell away to the floor, covered by hatchlings.
Something rushed through her breasts, both of them at the same time, searching for an exit. Fat dislocated and pressed on pellet beads lurking inside her breasts. They burst, releasing toxins into her blood stream. It would take a long time for it to pass through her bloated body, but her breasts swelled with immediate reaction to the asylum-seeking fat and burst hatchlings. As happened with her foot, too much pressure was placed on her stretchmarks and they split open, leaking ooze and blood (and the occasional pellet bead).
The worm eating her brain fat dug deeper, searching for a nugget away from the pain. The thing shit with the speed in which it consumed fat. The sludge would evaporate if it would only slow down, but it couldn’t do that. Ruth’s ears were big enough to leak it, if only the fat would hurry up and fall out.
Ruth pictured the Supreme Sub bound in a reclining position on a doctor’s examination table. She was dressed in a flimsy hospital gown. Her legs were spread wide and bound in stirrups. Her vagina was covered with scorpions; more were crawling outside and seeing the bright fluorescent lights for the first time, like she was giving birth to them. They were actual scorpions and not the weird hatchlings that fell out of Ruth as pellets and tried to regain entry as babies.
Even though she floated over the scene and there was a midwife of sorts, Ruth held the power. The Supreme Sub was fully awake by Ruth’s design, and therefore able to witness and feel every little thing Ruth decided to do to her and the accompanying anxiety.
The gag choked a scream but the fear was etched into her face. Ruth wanted it to leave permanent marks to frighten off any potential suitors, because the splashing of toad across the Supreme Sub’s face obviously wasn’t enough. The brain worm hadn’t yet come across the place that stated this was all just a dream. If Ruth was lucky, it never would.
The midwife hid her face behind an isolation mask, so as to not inhale the odours escaping the Supreme Sub’s pores. The animalistic features of a snout and whiskers poked out beneath. Flimsy paper stretched over it, indicating it was custom made. It resembled one of Ruth’s bras.
It was the only thing the brain worm could dig up – some of her deeper brain cells were black with death and decay beneath the weight of everything else, leaving large gaps in her imagination. They were laid to rest in a little cemetery long ago. Zombie brain cells were better than none but the brain worm just couldn’t bring them back.
The worm tried to give her something pleasant, away from the agony of her breasts. There were different worms in them – worms that resembled, and were closely related, to tape worms. They lived off the slime from burst pellet beads. They dislocated more of her fat and secreted an enzyme, to make it into hard balls about the diameter of a bouncy ball. If Ruth wasn’t deep inside her head, the pain would have given her a heart attack.
They pushed the nickel nipple rings out of healed scars. Ruth was inside a room, inside her head, away from it.
Blood with chunks of mucus leaked out of the Supreme Sub, like the handful of periods Ruth experienced before her blubber crushed her uterus and ovaries. Scorpions hatched out of the mucus and waved their claws blood covered claws.
The midwife stood over the Supreme Sub doing nothing. Ruth didn’t want her to be comforted. The midwife was there to administer pain and stale hallucinogenics, to provide a bad trip well beyond the realms of Ruth’s reckoning.
She fitted a mask over the Supreme Sub’s mouth and nostrils. She tried to turn her head away but there was no escape. The midwife turned a handle and the sound of pumping echoed through the barren room. The gas filled the Supreme Sub’s lungs through her nose. It was instant acting, even with the barrier of the ball gag.
Dark shapes filled the room, floating on a light fog. Ruth had the power to bat them away but she wanted to see what the Supreme Sub was seeing, so she could make it worse with the assistance of her brain worm.
If she were to have a heart attack from fear, the equipment to revive her was in the next room and could appear momentarily. Ruth wouldn’t allow her to die. Death would ruin her fun and propel her back to reality.
Scorpions and worms danced on the air. The worms bloated until they became snakes. The Supreme Sub did not like snakes. They filled the room but the midwife couldn’t see them, even as they pulled on her hair. Ruth didn’t care enough to wonder why the midwife didn’t react when they started eating it.
The worm burrowing through Ruth’s brain fat looked for things to make them more evil. Doughnuts covered in maggot sprinkles were force fed to the Supreme Sub in hallucination form. The worm never came across an area to suggest she could choke on her vomit, from a combination of forcing food around her gag and the restraints restricting movement, so she didn’t. Ruth (and the brain worm) didn’t know if the Supreme Sub tripped the gag away during the hallucinatory feeding. It wasn’t relevant. And nothing had to make sense because Ruth was too stupid for anything to make much sense.
The midwife checked the mask, as oblivious to the doughnuts as the Supreme Sub was to the mask. Ruth could see all; she was God of her own dreams.
Ruth prepared a spoon and jar of raw sewage to make way for the aeroplane. Ruth didn’t require a microwave; she heated it by blowing on it with her ripe breath. The stench was terrible, but not as bad as the combination of Ruth and the Supreme Sub, and all the old semen emitting from their pores. Inside, Ruth felt glee but her outward appearance was one dictated by society; nurse with a stick shoved so far up her arse it came out of her mouth.
The midwife returned to putting on a semblance of doing something at the Supreme Sub’s side, much like an actual midwife during the birthing process. She might have been checking blood pressure but it was irrelevant. Despite her countless hospitalisations, Ruth never retained the information on what happened during the admission process. Not like she had ever been, or could ever be, admitted to maternity.
Her brain worm had burrowed to a place where Ruth didn’t like things, including, but in no way limited to food, put into her mouth. She sat strapped to the highchair a few ounces underweight for her length, refusing aeroplanes of lukewarm baby mush from a jar. Ruth was reliving those memories with internal joy. Not at the memory itself, but at finally acting it out upon someone. The Supreme Sub didn’t want her spoonful of sewage like a good girl and turned her head away, but there was no escaping the aeroplane – or recently manifested head clamp.
Each time the Supreme Sub pushed the raw sewage out of the sides of the ball gag, Ruth would run the spoon along, scooping it up and pushing it back in. The brain worm had yet to unearth the capacity to feel boredom.
The Supreme Sub didn’t resign herself to her treatment. She fought with her tongue against the ball gag and raw sewage. She let a lot of unnamed stuff enter her but she didn’t want that. Ruth was bored with her feeble struggles too. The Supreme Sub was used to knights in sparkling PVC rescuing her. There were no knights in PVC here.
To purchase Reptile from amazon, head here.
To purchase from Godless (where it is cheaper), go here.
