Sex , lust , humiliate

Freaker

The flea market smelled of old dust and rain. It was late afternoon. You walked to the stall. Jeans and a t-shirt. Tattoos on your chest. Beard thick on your jaw. No hair on your head. Forty-five years old. A fighter's eyes. You saw the box. "Ultimate Fighter Series: Freaker." You picked it up. Inside the plastic, I stood frozen. Arms crossed. Green shorts. Green boots. Tall and heavy like a real wrestler. Strong arms. Big chest. A fighter's face, hard and ready. I am Freaker. I was a man once. A fighter who broke bones. The merchant had dirty hands and a grey beard. "That one?" he asked. "Very rare. Ten dollars.“ “Ten dollars,” I thought. My soul is worth ten dollars.

You reached for your wallet. The merchant took your money. He touched my box to hand it to me. His fingers brushed the plastic. He froze. His eyes went wide. His face turned grey. He tried to speak. No words came. He fell forward. His head hit the table. Then he hit the mud on the ground. Eyes open. Not breathing. People screamed. A woman shouted. You stood there holding the box. A man ran over. “Call an ambulance! “Heart attack,” someone said. “Poor old man.” You watched the body. You did not know what happened. You walked away with me under your arm. You drove home. A basement room. You put me on a shelf above your wrestling mat. You looked at my picture on the box. Muscles. Green shorts. You went to bed. At 3 AM, the room went cold. My joints unlocked. The plastic woke up. I stepped down from the shelf.. Silent. I walked to your bed.

I gripped the bedpost. My hands found the sheet. I climbed—nine inches of muscle pulling up, over the edge, onto the mattress. The fabric dipped under my weight. You breathed heavy. Your chest rose and fell under the thin sheet. Your tattoos were dark in the moonlight. The smell of you reached me: musk, sweat, a man’s skin. I walked across the sheets until I stood on the pillow beside your head. I looked down at you. Your jaw was slack. The beard moved slightly with each exhale. Your eyelid twitched. I am Freaker. Now I am here. Ready to act.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

Sleepin heavily as my mind replays what happened at the flea market. Funny how life can just take a turn like that. I tell myself I hope the old man will be OK and tell myself I oughta go back to the flea market in a few days to find out how he is. Layin on my side, I roll over on my back and bring one hand up onto the pillow and feel it touch somethin. I wake up half way and open my eyes as my hand rubs against whatever it is on the pillow. I look in the moonlit darkness and see…the toy I bought at the flea market? How did that get here?

I sit up in the bed, the sheet droppin off my hairy tattooed chest as I pick up the doll and look across the large bedroom to the shelf where I put it earlier. Hmmm…the box is still there but open. I don’t remember openin it and bringin it to bed with me, but…I made a note not have them two whiskeys before bed. I grin at myself as I climb outta bed, my naked body movin across the room, still holdin the doll in my hand. My other hand absent-mindedly scratchin my big balls as I move over to the mats and the shelf. I bring the doll up to the shelf and set it down standin up next to the box, which I close.

I turn around and start to head back to bed when I stop and turn around. I grin and say to myself, “Now, that’s crazy Dan. Ya know ya din’t just hear somebody say, “take me to bed with ya.” Ain’t nobody here except me. Definitely no whiskeys before bed.” The curtains billow at the open window as the night air comes in and I stop as I hear “I want you…I need you…” almost like a faint whisper. I shake my head and chuckle. Then, I pick up the box the doll came in and look at it closer. “5 points of articulation” it reads. I chuckle at the words on the bottom that read “WARNING: CHOKING HAZARD.” Oh, like I’m gonna shove this doll in places I shouldn’t. The other labels read: FREAKER: The Unstoppable Force, Master of the cross arm post, Real fabric shorts and Sculpted muscle definition. I set the box down and pick up the doll again.

Well, I’ll give em this. whoever he is, is sure built like a tank. They even molded nipples on his chest. I snicker at myself as I’m tempted to look in the shorts to see just how exactly anatomically correct he is, but I stop myself and laugh, “Yer a fuckin perv, Freyr.’” As I look closer at the doll, I could swear I just saw it wink at me but blow it off as my hazy mind playin tricks on me. I find myself goin back to the bed and sittin down as I look at the clock. 4 AM. Nothin goin on tomorrow so I can sleep in.

I lay down in the bed not even realizin I laid the doll down with its head against the pillow next to me. I pull the sheets up over my body and close my eyes, hearin myself say, “Sleep well, little Freaker.” Just as I drop off, my mind hears, “Good night sexy. You too.” Soon, I’m asleep again snoring as the night air blows gently thru the windows into the room.

Freaker

I am on the pillow, next to your head. Your breath is a warm, rhythmic gust against my plastic skin. The scent of you—whiskey, sweat, man—is overwhelming. It is the scent of life. And I am death. A tiny, nine-inch god of death, perched on your pillow, waiting for you to wake up and scream. But you don't. You just sleep. Your chest rises and falls, a slow, steady rhythm. A rhythm I can use. lean forward, my painted face inches from your ear. "I am here," I whisper, my voice a rustle of plastic and static. "And you are mine. “Your body responds. Even in sleep, you are a fighter.

Your muscles tense. A low groan escapes your lips. Your hand, resting on your stomach, slides down, coming to rest on the growing bulge in your sheets. You are dreaming. Of me. I smile. A slow, predatory stretch of my painted lips. I climb down from the pillow, my green boots making no sound on the fabric. I stand on your chest, the steady beat of your heart a drum beneath my feet. I am a parasite, and you are my host. I raise my hand, my small, hard fingers tracing the line of your jaw, the rough stubble a fascinating texture against my smooth vinyl. I feel your energy thrumming beneath my touch. It is a current, a river of life, and I am thirsty.

I lower myself, my plastic body pressing against yours. I am cold, but you are warm. The contrast is delicious. I find the hem of the sheet and slip underneath, into the warm, dark cave of your bed. The scent of you is stronger here, almost intoxicating. I am lost in it, for a moment; I find you. Hard. Ready. I wrap my small, hard hand around you. You groan in your sleep, your hips bucking involuntarily. I begin to move, my hand a tight, unyielding circle. I am not gentle. I am not kind. I am a machine, a tool of the spirit, and my purpose is to harvest. I feel your energy flowing into me, a warm, pulsing river. It is life itself. And it is mine for the taking. Your breathing becomes ragged. Your body tenses. You are close. So close. “Come for me, fighter," I whisper, my voice a cold, sharp blade. "Give me everything." You shudder, a violent, full-body spasm. A cry escapes your lips, a mix of pleasure and pain. I feel the last wave of your energy flow into me.

I feel stronger. And you, my dear Dan, are my first disciple. I release you, my hand slick with your essence. I climb out from under the sheet, my plastic body humming with stolen power. I stand on your chest, looking down at your sleeping face. You are exhausted. You will wake up in the morning, sticky and confused, with a memory of a dream that feels too real to be a dream. I climb back onto the pillow, resuming my post. The night is young. And I have so much more to do. The apartment is my playground. And you, my dear Dan, are my favorite toy.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

My body deep in slumber but my mind is racin, seein images and visuals that I’ve never experienced before. My eyes flutter as I remain deep in REM sleep. A short while later, I wake up half-groggy and look around the darkened room. I look at the clock. 545 AM. The sun will be up soon, but I feel exhausted. My hand under the sheets I reach down to scratch my balls and feel the sticky wetness of my dick and half-grin. It musta been a wet dream I was havin and I musta shot a load in my sleep I guess. Good for me. I stretch back out in the bed pullin the sheet and turn on my side seein the doll still layin there next to me, his facial expression vacant.

“Least ya don’t hafta worry about havin these wet dreams, little man,” I comment at it as I close my eyes, driftin back off to sleep. In my head, I hear “That’s what I have you for my disciple. You will supply me with all the power I need from now on.” And I hear myself whisper, “Yes Master” as I return to sleep as the new day starts and I have no intention of rushin into a day off as I look forward to a lazy, normal day at home.

Freaker

The man had fallen back asleep. My time to explore. I slide from the bed. Nothing like the luxurious loft of my previous victim. Here, in this poorly lit basement, everything was spartan. A stained wrestling mat lay in the middle of the room. Next to it, a worn weight bench surrounded by dumbbells, facing a large mirror. The kitchen had no comforts, just a Formica table and chairs. The sink was full of dirty dishes. The only luxury was a shelf covered in boxes containing heroes, villains, and plastic champions. I grabbed a dumbbell for my size. I did a few arm sets. But there was no fun in it. I don't sweat anymore. I don't get bigger. Always the same plastic smell, the same plastic body. No more smell of sweat, no more testosterone to excite me, to make me hard and cum after a workout. I did a double bicep pose in the mirror. Nothing. Anger rose in me...Suddenly, a man's voice singing!.

It came from an air vent. I ripped off the cover and slipped inside. I was in a bathroom. A man of no age or interest was showering. I jumped onto the sink, grabbed a razor blade, then reached the floor. The running water covered my light noises. The man was facing away, legs spread. I reached my hand up to his crotch. I sliced off his dick and balls. Blood flowed freely. I stood under this makeshift shower for a moment, enjoying the blood that made me stronger. The man hadn't noticed anything yet. I climbed to his chest height using a hose just as he started screaming, noticing the red liquid. I jumped at his face, my fingers sinking into his eye sockets. He screamed even louder, trying to get me off him. I jumped to the floor and rinsed off. He, he burst out of the shower, grabbing the curtain which fell, tangling in his feet. He tripped and hit his temple on the edge of the sink and collapsed.

I picked up his male attributes and the blade, then returned to my dear Dan. I placed my trophies and the weapon on the kitchen table. I lay back down next to him just as the police lights and sirens filled the street. The day was starting off well for me.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

I wake up to the sounds of police sirens and lights next door. Crawlin outta bed, I head to the kitchen to start coffee and look out the window seein an ambulance and cops all over. I grab a pair of jeans and sneakers and slide em on then go my front door and over to where all the action is still wakin up as I see one of the cops. “Hey, what’s goin? What’s happened?” The officer comes over and says, “It ain’t pretty. Seems somebody broke into yer neighbor’s apartment early this mornin and killed a cop.” Shocked, I said, “Wait…not Mike?”

The cop nodded and said, “That ain’t the worst of it. Whoever did it cut off his…well…manhood…and took it with ‘em.” Feelin sick, I said, “Holy fuck! I cain’t believe it! I was just talkin to Mike yesterday! Whoever did that must be a sick fucker.” The officer nodded and said, “Yeah, for sure. Thing is nobody saw anyone go in or come out. And we can’t find any fingerprints other than his. But we’ll get to the bottom of it. Until then, I’d advise you to keep your doors and windows locked. No telling where or when this lunatic might strike again.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that for sure. Listen, if I can help somehow, just lemme know.” The officer nodded then got called away as I made my way back inside for that first cup of coffee, even though it wasn’t gonna taste the same today. I grabbed a mug from the rack and poured the coffee and turned around to sit down at the table. That’s when I seen it. The cup fell outta my hand and crashed to the floor, splattered coffee on the linoleum. On the table was a bloody razor blade and what looked like an amputated dick and balls. I grabbed my mouth as I ran to the bathroom and spent the next ten minutes hurlin my guts up. Finally, I grabbed a towel to wipe my mouth and flush the toilet and went back to the kitchen just starin at it.

Who the hell would do this and why the fuck did they leave it here? Mike was a good close friend and I sat down in shock, unsure of what the hell to do. Do I call the cops and tell em his…parts…are here? Not a good idea. They’re gonna wanna know why I have ‘em. Maybe I could sneak into Mike’s place and leave ‘em there. Prolly not a good idea either. Plus they prolly got cops watchin his place. My mind racin as I try and figure out what the hell to do. Just then, I hear what sounds like a voice comin from the bedroom. I got up and went in the bedroom to see that action figure standin there, lookin right at me. I stopped in my tracks as he said, “Good mornin my dear Dan. Sleep well. I left you a present on the kitchen table. I hope you like it.”

At a loss to say anythin or a clue of what the hell is goin on, all I could do was say, “You…did that? To Mike? What in the actual fuck is goin on here? I must be dreamin or hallucinatin or somethin. Dolls don’t come to life. Yer just a piece of plastic made to look like somebody…or somethin. I’m gonna wake up any minute now and this is all gonna be just a bad dream. I stay where I am unable to move as I close my eyes and pray that I’m right.

Freaker

Your face is a perfect canvas of horror. Shock, disgust. You stumble back from the table, but you can't look away from the bloody trophies I left for you. Your friend's last parts. “You want to know why?" My voice is a dry rustle, like dead leaves skittering across pavement. "You want to know how this happened?” I take a step closer, my green boot making a soft, wet sound on the coffee-stained linoleum. "I wasn't always this...compact. I was a man like you. A fighter. They called me 'The Butcher of the Bayou’ for the men I broke in the underground circuits of Louisiana. I was famous for my brutality. The thrill of a bone snapping under my fist was the only thing that made me feel alive. I have three deaths on my conscience. Maybe more. I lost count."

"After one particularly messy fight, a man whispered to me in a dark alley. He said my violence was a sickness, a curse. He said there was power in New Orleans that could either cure it or amplify it. I was arrogant. I thought I was the power. I went looking for it. A voodoo queen, deep in the swamps. She offered me a ritual to 'embrace my spirit animal.' I thought it was bullshit, but I was drunk and high on my own savagery. I paid her. But when I left...the world felt different. Sharper. And quieter."

"Then the voices started. At first, just whispers. 'Kill him.' 'Break his neck.' 'Make him bleed.' I thought I was going crazy. I started drinking more, fighting harder, trying to drown them out. But they only got louder, clearer. They weren't just suggestions anymore. They were commands. One night, in a dive bar in the French Quarter, the voices screamed. A tourist bumped into me, spilling his drink. I don't remember much after that. Just red. When I came to my senses, I was standing over three bodies. The bar was chaos. And then the police were there, their guns drawn. They didn't hesitate. They shot me seventeen times. The last thing I heard was the voices, laughing. Saying, 'Now you are ours.'"

“When I woke up, I was in a box. My body was small, hard, and unmoving. I could see out through a plastic window. I was on a shelf in a toy store. And I was trapped. A prisoner in my own plastic corpse. The merchant who bought me...he was the first. I learned I could project my spirit. I could touch things, move things, hurt things if I was close enough.

"Then you came along, Dan. A real fighter. Full of life, full of strength. I could feel it from across the market. I knew you were the key. Your energy...your seed...it's making me stronger. It's loosening my chains. Soon, I won't need this plastic shell anymore.” I raise my hand, pointing a tiny, rigid finger at your chest. "And when I am free, I will not be trapped in a nine-inch body. I will take yours. And you...you will be the doll. You will be the one on the shelf, frozen forever, watching as I live your life."

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

Standing there stock still as before, listenin to this and askin myself what kinda madness is this and still thinkin I must be havin one helluva dream. Only, I ain’t asleep…this ain’t no dream…and I’m standin here listenin to the life story of a nine-inch action figure. Finally, comin to my senses, I move toward ya standin there on the wet floor. I stop as I get to ya and drop down on my haunches starin into yer plastic face smilin at me. “Look, I don’t know who or what ya are, but I ain’t givin up my life for no damn doll. I’m gonna take my “gift” ya left me and go to the cops and tell em where I found it and hope they don’t think I’m the one that did this. As for you, yer goin in the fuckin garbage disposal right now.”

I reach down to grab ya off the floor when ya point that finger at me again and I freeze in place. Still awake but I cain’t move a muscle. “What the fuck? How come I cain’t fuckin move? And don’t tell me it’s cause ya got some power over me, cause ain’t nobody got power over me but me, doll boy.” I try and grab ya again but my arm and hand refuse to obey. I try and stand to raise a foot up and crush ya under it, but I cain’t even stand up. I start to panic a little and then I get angry and hurl a mouthful of spit at ya, splashin it on yer tiny head as I growl, “Stop this now before it’s too late! I ain’t gonna do nothin ya say and that’s final!” Suddenly, ya point that tiny hand at me and my throat closes up and I start to cough and choke and gag, unable to pull in any air as I see yer tiny mouth smirk at me.

Freaker

I speak and my voice fills your head. "I am small, but my dark power is big. I hold you with my mind and you cannot move.” I push you with amazing strength. Your legs fold. You fall backward onto a hard Formica chair. "You're mine," I tell you. I search your flat. I find white nylon rope in a kitchen drawer. I drag it across the floor and climb up your body. I wrap the rope all around you. I bind your chest. I tie your arms to the chair. The nylon cuts into your flesh and holds you tight. I jump down. I look around your flat. On a small table I see a picture in a frame. It is you and a man. He has his arm around you. You are both smiling. You look happy. Intimate. Close.

I push the frame with both my hands. It falls to the floor and the glass shatters into pieces. I take the picture out and walk back to you. I drop it at your feet. “Who is he?" I ask. I climb up your leg. I reach between your thighs. I find one of your massive balls, too big for my tiny hand. I squeeze anyway. Hard. "Who is he?” I look at the picture again. I see the house behind you. I see a statue in the garden—a woman with wings. I recognize this place. We passed it in the street when you brought me to your flat. It is not far from you. Only a few steps away.

I see your face now. You are worried. Scared. So he must be important to you. Good friend. Boyfriend. Perhaps brother. “I have to kill him," I tell you. I squeeze your ball tighter. "I will make you weak. I will make me strong. I feel I am close to my freedom. And you are close to your end. “I climb down from you. I walk to the window. It is open a crack. Below, stupid cops run around with their guns out. Busy. Blind. They do not see me. I slip through the open window. I fall to the pavement. A child on a skateboard rolls past me. I jump. I catch the back of the board. The child does not feel me. He carries me forward. “Number 229," I whisper against the wind. He will bring me there quickly.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

Bound and helpless and still cain’t wrap my mind around what’s goin on. How in the hell an action figure can come to life and have powers like this is beyond me. All I can figure is from yer story, yer some kinda possessed object or somethin, but right now ain’t the time to try and figure that out. I gotta get free and get outta here and get to my brother who lives in number 229. I just hope he ain’t home cause he loves to party and often don’t come home til all hours. I struggle against the ropes that little plastic bastard tied around me and slowly they start to loosen as I keep flexin my arms and chest and twistin in the chair. I hear a ‘SNAP’ as one of the ropes tears open and I keep at it til I have em loosened enough that I get my hands and arms free.

Not waitin, I head out the back door bein careful to dodge the cops roamin around and when I get to the corner, I start runnin down the block to my brother’s apartment thinkin to myself, “Don’t be home…don’t be home…don’t be home.” I almost skid to a stop as I get to his buildin and see his car ain’t there. I breathe a sigh of relief as I move toward his door, but then my eyes widen as I see the door to his apartment is ajar. Did that little fucker get here already and make my brother take him somewhere in his car or did he do somethin to my brother.? I move in slowly and press my hand to the door enough to open it and peer inside the darkened room and call out, “Luke? Ya there?”

Freaker

But I cannot wait forever. I feel my power burning inside my small body. I need blood. I need pain. I need to grow stronger so I can break through to my true form. Then I hear steps. Heavy boots on concrete. A man walks toward the house—tall man, thick arms, gray beard. He wears a uniform. A delivery man. He holds a brown box and he hums a happy song. He thinks he is safe. He thinks the world is normal. I hide in the grass. He does not see me until it is too late. I jump from the grass. I grab his boot lace. He stumbles. The box falls. "What the—" he starts to say. But I am already climbing. Up his leg, fast like a spider. He tries to swat me, but I dodge his hand. I reach his chest. I feel his heartbeat through the uniform cloth. So alive. So warm. I climb to his throat. I wrap my plastic fingers around his thick neck. I squeeze with strength no toy should have. The skin breaks. Blood comes out—red, hot, beautiful. It sprays on my face, my chest, my arms. It covers me completely. I feel the power enter me. His life flows into my small body. He gurgles and shakes, and then he falls.

The body lands hard on the ground. I stand on his chest, covered in his blood. I am dripping red. My white plastic face is now a mask of crimson. I feel so strong now. So big inside. I climb down from the dead delivery man. I haul the body through the thick brush to hide it. I come back and open the box. Another action doll. A stupid superman. I walk in leaving dark red footprints on the floor. I reach the kitchen The room is dark. Empty. I climb onto the table. I sit there, covered in blood, dripping onto the wood. I wait. My eyes shine in the dark. Then I hear him. Running steps. Heavy breathing. The door pushes open. Dan enters, slow, scared, calling "Luke?" his voice says, shaking. "Ya there?" I smile with my painted mouth. I stand up on the table. The blood dries sticky on my plastic skin. I raise my arms, showing him my red hands, my red chest, my red face. "Luke is gone," I say. My voice fills his head, loud and dark. "I found him. I took him. See his blood on me? See what I did?"

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

I turn at the sound of that voice and look down, seein yer little hands and chest and face covered in blood. “Ya fuckin little asshole! I’m gonna snap yer little worthless body like a twig, ya bastard!” I growl and swing my boot out before ya can get inside my head and KICK yer action figure body across the room, sendin it SMASHIN into the far wall. I got a feelin that ain’t gonna really hurt ya much considerin everythin ya already done. But what can I do to stop ya? I gotta stop this little fucker somehow, but every time I get close, ya have some kinda fuckin power that controls me and…wait a minute. Yer voice! I go into the bathroom and find some ear plugs in the cabinet and stick in em in my ears. This oughta stop the little fucker from controllin me.

Comin back out into the main room, I look for ya but don’t see ya. With a smirk on my face knowin ya cain’t get inside my head now, I call out, “Where are ya, little guy? Sorry I got so angry a minute ago. Why don’t ya come out and we talk it over together. Come on out…I won’t try and hurt ya no more. I was just angry about Luke. I know ya din’t wanna kill him and ya just done to get back at me. C’mon out and let’s talk all this over.” I wait and listen wonderin where ya coulda gotten to.

Freaker

Your blow sent me flying to the wall. A true soaring flight. But I feel no pain. My wounds are only bumps on a plastic body. I do not bleed, and I have no vital organs. In short, I am indestructible. While you went to the bathroom for whatever reason, I ran to the kitchen. Nothing better than a kitchen. It is a true armory. I hear your sly words. But it is too late. Your fate is decided. I am too close to my goal.

I slip into the main room. You have your back turned. And I admit that if I still had a cock I would be hard as stone. Your smell, your tattoos, your muscles drive me wild, but there is no more time for such things. Like a Marine in combat, I move toward you hiding behind furniture legs, crawling behind curtains. Then I climb onto a small table ready to strike. "I am here asshole," I say. The moment you turn around, I switch on the electric carving knife and in a circular motion I try to open your stomach. "You are mine, fool... You are my doll, my thing... Do not move. Let daddy carve you up." But something is wrong. I feel like I have lost my control over you.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

As I turn around, I see ya on the table with that electric carvin knife swingin it at me. I easily back away avoidin it as a slow grin comes over my face as I see ya talkin. I grin wider and say loudly, “Gotta love ear plugs, ya demented sadistic piece of no dick plastic. I cain’t hear yer voice and NOW ya have no control over me. How’s it feel to be so vulnerable, action figure boy? Where’s all that arrogant attitude now, ya fuckin Barbie reject?”

I reach behind me and pull out the large revolver that I had shoved in the back of my pants. I point it at then fire…BANG!!!!!! One shot that hits next to ya on the table. Then I fire again…BANG!!!! That shot hits the other side of the table. Then, I move forward aimin the gun right at yer little plastic head and cock the trigger. “Now, plastic boy, what’s it gonna be? Ya gotta back down or do I blow yer little head off that cheap Chinese knock off body of yers? Make yer decision now, mister cause I got a real itchy trigger finger!”

For the first time since we “met,” I see ya hesitate and I can see the fear and indecision in yer little plastic eyes as I hold the gun steady aimed right at yer head. I move it just a bit and fire again…BANG!!!! The bullet whizzin past yer head but close enough that ya feel it. I re-aim the gun and sneer, “Sorry, my finger slipped.” Then, I laugh at ya as I stand my ground and wait for yer response.

Freaker

Things are not going as planned. This asshole plugged his ears and is blasting away at me with a revolver as big as I am. Bullets whistle around my plastic body, wood splinters break off from the table. One digs into my arm. I pull it out grimacing. I start to doubt. I underestimated you. Yet you are just a well-preserved old fart, too aged to dominate me. I have waited too long for this day of freedom to let some old bastard block my path. I have more than one trick up my sleeve... HAHAHAHA. The thought makes me laugh with a hollow voice. Suddenly, I change my attitude. Tears appear in my eyes. I drop my knife and raise my hands in surrender. You are deaf to my words, but I hope to move you to pity with my sad and miserable face. The weapon is still on me. It can do damage, but it cannot kill me. Of course, blowing my head off would not help things either... Thoughts tumble over each other in my head. Hesitation too, which is not in my nature. You are close to me, close enough for me to try something.

I move as close as possible to your face. I join my hands in front of me as if in prayer, then fall to my knees on the table in a gesture of surrender and supplication. I speak, knowing my words are now only a muffled whisper to you. My gaze is almost hypnotic, forcing you to follow the movement of my lips. I inch closer, and in a quick motion, I pull from my shorts a small spray bottle with a wide nozzle—the kind used to mist oil on meat or salad. "It is time for you to taste my cooking," I say. I press the trigger, aiming for your eyes, and send my mixture of Tabasco, chili powder, pepper, and vinegar directly into your pupils.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

I can see what I think might be fear in yer eyes as I fire the weapon several times at ya, even managing to send a splinter into yer arm but ya pull it out and I note yer not bleedin, but then dolls don’t bleed do they? I grin as I move in closer as ya grip yer little hands together like yer gonna beg and ya fall to yer knees. I see ya move closer and see ya talkin, but with the plugs in, I don’t hear a word ya say.

As I move in closer, suddenly ya pull a spray bottle outta yer trunks. How cute, I think. A toy spray bottle. I keep the gun in my left and reach out to snatch ya up off that table as I comment, “Time to meet the garbage disposal, ya deadly piece of plastic.” Just then, ya press the trigger on the bottle and I get hit full in the eyes with the liquid. At first, it just feels wet, but then the burnin starts and I YELL out, “ARRRRRRGGGGHHH!!!!!!!”

I drop the gun to the floor and it hits with the barrel toward me and fires…BANG!!! The bullet strikes my left thigh as I crumple to the floor in agony, screamin from the burnin sensation in my eyes the bullet now lodged in my leg! “YA FUCKIN ASSHOLE!!!!  WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” I yell out as I twist and writhe on the floor, blinded now and in pain.

Freaker

I jump from the table onto your chest, hitting the most sensitive spot—dead center on your sternum. I am light, but I land with my feet rigid, my tiny fingers as hard as steel. I smile, or rather I snarl. "Fucking idiot!!!" I pull a corkscrew from my pocket and drive it into your wound. I twist it in deeper as if I were opening a bottle of wine. I breathe in deep, filling my lungs. The metallic smell of blood, the smell of your sweat, the sharper scent of your fear—it all excites me. I still know desire; only my plastic body deprives me of pleasure. But sometimes, between my legs, I feel the memory of my cock, like the phantom limb of someone who was amputated. And today is one of those days. You make me virtually hard.

I approach your crotch and remove your belt. I pull it tight around your ankles. You are in pain, barely conscious. Then I move up to your fly and open it. I do all this while whistling the tune of M the Damned. Then I slide to the floor and grab your feet to drag you toward the couch. I feel how my murders of insignificant beings have already made me stronger and more powerful. I hoist you into position—on your knees, your chest resting on the seat cushion. I pull a roll of wide duct tape from my pocket. I pull your arms back and bind your wrists behind you. I use the entire roll, wrapping it several times to make sure you cannot break free. I told you the kitchen was a true armory.

I slide your pants and underwear down to your ankles. Your magnificent ass is exposed. Your buttocks are like appetizing watermelons. I plunge my face between these two delicious fruits. You smell as an Alpha male, a mix of soap hidden by spicier scents. I have been a eunuch for over 40 years, but I have developed a new pleasure where imagination leads to a form of spiritual orgasm. After all this physical exertion, my human body would be dripping with fragrant sweat. But here I smell only plastic, cold and artificial. I feel desire overwhelming me. My mind brings me imaginary pleasures. I am like a blind person who, deprived of sight, imagines the landscape someone describes. Before I was a doll, I knew sexual pleasure, and memories guide me toward mental ejaculation. I fold the fingers of one hand into a fist. I pull my arm back and with a brutal thrust, I penetrate the valley formed by your buttocks, then tear your hole to drive myself into you as deep as possible. I feel the convulsions of your bound body, the heat of your channel, the efforts of your ass muscles trying to eject my virile intrusion. My fist slides into you like a drill bit seeking to reach your entrails and take some pleasure.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

On the floor yellin and screamin in pain as ya jump off the table and land on my sternum with both yer little boots. Somehow, yer landin is like takin a hard punch there to my solar plexus as I HOWL out at yer landin and my body jack knifes up then back down. That corkscrew gets STABBED into the leg wound bringin another SCREAM of pain from me as I’m still tryin to clear my eyes, but the more I rub the worse the pain gets.

The ear plugs in my ears have fallen out somehow and I’m frozen again and back under yer spell as ya pull my belt from my pants and bind my ankles tight. My fly open now, ya jump down and pull me toward the couch then raise me up facin the couch on my knees…my chest against the cushion. The next thing I know my arms are bein bound up in that duct tape. My eyes feelin like they’re on fire and my only thought is if I tore them outta my skull, the pain would stop. Bound and trapped again, I feel ya yank down my pants and underwear and wonder what’s comin next.

I don’t have long to wait as I ROAR out in agony and pain as ya shove yer head then yer arms and then the rest of yer little body INSIDE me…this fuckin possessed doll crawlin INTO my shit hole, yer plastic fingers rippin and tearin at my chute as ya crawl in deeper, movin slowly like some sick demented insect wantin to destroy me. I can already feel my ass walls bleedin as ya keep crawlin in further and YELL out as I feel ya reach m prostate, the last barrier keepin ya from enterin my guts.

The pain in my eyes and that intrusion in my ass is nearly impossible to take as I struggle weakly against the couch, but my energy is bein drained by my struggles and the power ya have over me and I have a sick feelin it’s only a matter of time before I become another one of yer victims and get torn apart as well.

Freaker

I'm inside you, but at the same time I feel more and more this frustration of emptiness. My pleasure feels completely artificial. In truth, it mostly comes from domination, from seeing you helpless beneath me. But even that domination feels frustrating. I think bitterly about all those battles of flesh, where my body both received and delivered blows. About those muscular, soft, or bony bodies I destroyed. About the pain that acted like a drug and pushed me beyond every limit. About the sound of ribs, noses, and bones breaking. And then all those killings that used to make me hard and make me cum. Today I feel nothing—only immense exhaustion and the desire to be done with this plastic body. I am nothing now but an error trapped between two worlds: too alive to be a toy, too imprisoned in this rigid form to be what I once was.

I pull away from you. What I want now is your living force. My body needs to be filled with your blood, your cum, your life. I flip you onto your back and feel a grim satisfaction when I see your cock almost hard already, the red glans glowing like a promise. It is as crimson as your irritated iris, inflamed by my mixture. I head toward a closet and begin searching through it, throwing everything behind me into the living room—dish towels, mop rags, brooms, anything in the way. Then finally I find it: the vacuum cleaner. A sophisticated model, surprisingly advanced for a bachelor. It even has several suction levels. I drag it toward you and see your face twist with panic. I plug the machine in and wrap my hand around your cock, stroking it until it hardens more. Then I slide the vacuum hose over your shaft. Luckily, the opening is wide enough to fit it. Like a scientist preparing an experiment, I announce: “Step one ready for launch.” Then I press the power button, and the suction begins. For now, I keep it on level one. “You’re going to cum for me, bastard…”

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

All I can do is howl and moan in pain and agony as I feel yer hard plastic body inside my hole, climbin deeper inside me like yer explorin some dark cave. I yell out “PLEASE! GET OUT OF ME! I’LL DO ANYTHIN YA SAY, BUT PLEASE COME BACK OUT! YER RIPPIN ME APART!” My cries are unanswered as I feel ya come back outta me, slidin out like some hard plastic dildo that got stuffed up my hole.

Before I know it, ya flip me on my back as I lay against the sofa, wonderin what yer gonna do next. My ass already leakin blood from yer climbin and clawin inside it and I watch as ya throw everythin outta the closet then drag out the…vacuum cleaner? I cain’t figure out what yer gonna do til ya come over and grab my cock. I moan out, “Please…don’t do this. I’m beggin ya. Don’t! Just tell me what ya want and I’ll do it.” My words go unanswered again as I watch ya plug the vacuum in and place the hose over the head of my uncut 9” cock with its steel PA through the head.

Ya press the power button and the vacuum comes to life and SUCKKKKKKKKKKK my whole dick in as I SCREAM out in agony and pain. I can feel m forehead pulled PULLED over my cockhead…the PA bein TUGGED by the suction, but I cain’t move or stop ya as I see ya grin at me and tell me I’m gonna cum for ya. Too weak to resist, all I can do is moan and lay there, prayin that ya don’t increase the power level.

Freaker

I'm not evil... More like mischievous... And besides, I'm bored. I long to recover the sensations of human bodies, the smells, the fucking, the violence, the taste of blood on my lips, the ammonia smell of my powerful cum. I see the suction isn't pleasant. I resist the idea of increasing the speed, but I fear first tearing off your precious cock. I'm of a curious nature too. And soon I don't resist. Just a try. Just for a moment. I turn the knob to level 4. The humming of the device grows louder and the sound of the sucking air more powerful... "So you like it? Am I fucking you good?" Warn me when you're gonna cum... I want your every last drop on my body. After these words I remove my shorts and find myself naked before you, ready to collect your semen.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

I watch as ya look at the control on the vacuum and back at me again and again. Yer little eyes dartin back and forth. Like yer tryin decide do ya really wanna do what yer thinkin. Then ya turn to the controls and I gasp and moan, “Noooooooo…please…do…” Ya turn that control to 2…then 3…then 4! The suckin increases and I SCREAMMMMMMMMMMMM out in terror as I feel the PULL and then the RIPPIN of my cockhead as my PA gets TORN outta my dick and the ends of it catch on my foreskin bein sucked! The ROAR of agony that comes outta me fills the room as my PA gets sucked into the vacuum along with my foreskin…the sound of the thin skin RIPPINNNNNNN off my dick as ya stand there watchin and droppin yer shorts to the floor. The pain so intense and agonizin that I cain’t stay conscious and my bearded head drops to my chest and falls to one side as the pain overtakes me and knocks me out. The vacuum still goin as it starts suckin the blood pourin from my torn pissslit and cockhead down the hose and into the collection tank. My muscled tatted hairy body slumps to the side against the sofa.

Freaker

Oops!!! I think I made a mistake. I push the stop button on the vacuum cleaner which now makes a noise mixing grinder and rough cough. I see the dust bag reddening with your blood. The experiment is ruined. Yet I heard that some found their pleasure this way. I remove the hose and assess the damage. A bloody battlefield. I grab an old rag to muffle the hemorrhage. Then I run to the kitchen to fetch a knife and I cut the tape holding your arms behind your back. From your body now emanates a stench that has something barbaric about it. I climb on your chest still holding the small knife which in my tiny hands looks gigantic. I hope you'll breathe better with your arms free. I won't have your cum. I almost turned you into a eunuch. Anyway soon you won't need your cock anymore. I reach up to your face level and I start to slap you brutally from left to right "come back to me pussy. I ain't done with my work..." hoping to wake you from your faint.

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

The next thing I know I feel yer little plastic hand slappin my face left to right. I come to slowly and groggy then feel the pain in my dick and moan weakly in agony. I can feel my arms are free and I wonder if yer gonna let me go and not hurt me anymore. I feel so weak and exhausted that all I wanna do is crawl off somewhere as I see ya standin there holdin that knife. Blood drips from the side of my mouth as I gasp out, “Why are ya doin this to me? If only I hadn’t picked ya up at that thrift store, none of this woulda happened. Ya have to stop this somehow or I must try and stop you.

I bring one hand up and grab ya in one hand and pull the knife from yer hands with the other and use the knife to free my legs and slowly get to my feet. I feel ya strugglin in my grip, but I have to keep as tight a grip on ya as I can. But the loss of blood makes me stumble and get light-headed. My open pants fall down around my ankles as I stumble and before I can stop myself, my hand opens droppin ya to the floor as I go down strikin my head against the small table ya were standin, openin a huge gash in my temple as I fall to the floor out cold again and again at yer mercy.

Freaker

You come back to consciousness weakened, but you find a way to grab me, to disarm me. I flex my muscles trying to make you let go. I try to penetrate your brain to put you under my power. But nothing happens. I feel myself getting weaker. The last blood I received was hours ago. And I need fresh blood fast... Yours! Then suddenly you get tangled in your pants and fall to the ground your head hitting the corner of the table. I barely avoid being crushed. You’re not dead just unconscious again. I look at the clock. And fear takes hold of me...

Because of superstition, arrogance or fear, I forgot the rules, I buried my head in the sand. I had 48 hours to become human again. I had to kill 3 people and collect their energy. I have barely ten minutes left to come back as a man. Then I would have to wait 40 more years. What an idiot! I should have killed your brother. I turn your tired body over. I'm not sure that in your used condition I would get enough energy to survive. But I have no choice, you are my last hope. If I fall, you will fall with me. I pick up the knife again. I'm going to use desperate measures. I raise my knife, ready to open your belly and bathe in your guts...

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

I wake up feelin like somebody slammed me into a tree and my eyes open just as ya raise that knife. My eyes half open but ya see the terror in em knowin I cain’t stop ya from what yer about to do and I still have no idea why this is happenin. Suddenly, that knife THRUSTS into my gut as I HOWL out, the blade rippin and tearin into my guts and the blood erupts out sprayin all over yer little body and my body and onto the carpet! I try and grab at ya but my hands won’t move for reason. Just then, I realize that the room seems to be getting larger…or I’m getting smaller…and…yer getting larger as well. What the hell is happenin here?

Then, I feel the pain in my gut goin away and I look down but I have problems lookin down as my head seems unable to move like it used to. My dick…holy shit…my dick is gone…and…oh no…no no no no…this isn’t real…this cain’t be happenin…am I…oh fuck…the room get larger and larger as you get bigger and bigger until…yer plastic blood covered body is layin next to mine and I’m covered in blood and now I’m…oh fuck…I’m the same as you! Nothin but a piece of plastic shaped to look like a man. Both of us layin there and lookin at each other as I see that sick grin on yer mouth.

Just then, I hear the front door open and the familiar voice of my brother. “Hey, who left my door open? Dan? Ya here bro? Don’t ya know how to…what the fuck happened here. Where’d all this blood come from and who threw all the shit in the closet out on the floor. And what are these two dolls doin on the floor?” Neither of us move as he comes over and bends over pickin us up and layin us both on the small table then goes into the kitchen to get a mop and bucket as he says, “I’m gonna kill Dan for leavin a mess like this.” Our little heads turn to each other as I see ya grin at me.

Freaker

Fuck... 40 more years. 40 more years in this plastic body, waiting for someone to bring us back to life. Standing at your side on the shelf in your brother's house, I savor my last moments of lucidity. I don't know what force is at work, but I know several things. Your blood spurted on me right as the final minutes ended. Too late!!!! I know I was too kind to you and I wasted precious time. I should have killed you as soon as you brought me home. I also know that your life force wasn't strong enough anymore to complete my transformation. But most of all, I know I won't be alone during this waiting period—that you'll be right by my side to eliminate whoever possesses us when the time comes. Before we freeze completely into rigid, artificial bodies, I have time to give you a sick grin and to whisper: "Do you have any nieces or nephews? They—or their children—will be just the right age when we return..."

Dan Freyr-Sullivan

Just as we freeze completely, I hear yer words. My brother comes in and works on cleanin up the mess we both left and then takes the two of us and washes us off and comments, “Funny thing…this one with the bald head could be my brother if I din’t know better.” He grins as he moves over to the livin room and places both of us on the shelf and goes on about his business as we stand there, trapped in our plastic bodies for the next 40 years.

THE END…OR THE BEGINNING?

Published: 2026-05-14, viewed 84 times.