Hard Candy

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It was midnight, the hour when an attractive girl alone and minding her own business became an alluring beacon for the retches of the world. It was at midnight that Candy woke up… to hunt.

Her fists clenched the bedsheet as she screamed a warcry into her wet pillow. The one-room apartment was cold but, even naked, the girl was glistening with sweat. Her nights were tumultuous and nightmare-filled. She was used to her training, enough to get a few hours of sleep through the membrane stretching, hole distortion, and organ displacement, but waking came will all of that accumulated pain flooding through her body at once like a bursting dam.

The kill switch was punched like the snooze button of an alarm clock, and the giant studded piston of Candy’s sex machine slowed to a halt deep inside her colon. The slim girl had to use the bars of her headboard to extracted her warped body from the metal cylinder the size of a bollard. Even living alone, there was a certain shame in moaning as her body reforged its original shape. When she caught herself, she turned the moan into a roar of defiance. The affectionately called Pulverizer hadn’t broken her during the day, and the Fiends wouldn’t break her tonight.

Her training regimen was simple: anal one day, vaginal the next. One hole always healing, but both always ready. Fiends didn’t have a preference when it came to which hole they wanted to use to fuck you to death.

Candy slipped into a mini-skirt, one that showed too much leg without making it look like she wanted the attention, made a nerdy bun with her long brown hair and a pair of chopsticks, and headed to tonight’s random station to sit and wait, looking dejected like she had missed the last bus. It was raining tonight. Perfect. Even with a modest cup size, the shape of breasts through a white, wet shirt was irresistible to men and Fiends alike.

“Hey bursa escort there, little girl. Aren’t you cold wearing such a short skirt on a night like this?” The crotch of a man in an old coat appeared inches away from Candy’s nose when she looked up. He was tall and balding, smiling with yellowing teeth. This didn’t mean anything; they look like regular people.

“I’m OK. S-someone is picking me up soon.”

The man looked around quizzically as if the absence of nearby cars made a liar out of her. “Wouldn’t you rather wait for them somewhere warm? My hotel room is right there.”

“I don’t know if I should.”

“What? You think I’m hitting on a flat girl like you? Ha! I’m just trying to help you out, not get you into my bed.”

The hotel’s bed had old springs that creaked louder than his grunts as he made her bounce on his cock cowgirl style. He was setting the sex rhythm with both hands cupping the breasts he had insulted earlier. She had resisted him at first, the way a timid high-school senior would, but he insisted, stating she now owed him at least this much for the hospitality. Poor little Candy had no choice but to give this big, strong man what he wanted.

His manhood balls-deep in her love tunnel, the man could not tell that his prize could stretch to accommodate a cock ten times his size. Candy could make herself tight in a way that never arose suspicion from men or those pretending to be men.

Like nineteen times out of twenty, he was probably just another pervert. The worst humanity had to offer but not what Candy was after. She was happy to have dirty sex with a hundred creeps if it meant catching one Fiend in her net. If she hurried with this date rape, she might still get another two or three chances before sunrise…

Then the man’s breathing grew hard and wheezy. His chest was hot and growing hotter, bursa escort hot enough to burn to the touch when his true obsidian skin emerged under the melting imitation. The pupils of his eyes expanded in a wild pattern like a supercooled lake freezing with black ice. The nails of his hands grew painfully deep into Candy’s breasts as the man’s grunts intensified and turned bestial between lengthening fangs. The cock in her pussy was inflating like a magician’s balloon tied to a running faucet. She didn’t just feel the distention of her birth canal, she could see the lumpy cock shape growing out of the stretched skin on her abdomen.

For Candy, the hardest part was to resist smiling.

The first catch of the night on the first try. Maybe she would have a chance to kill two of them in one night for the first time. She screamed through her much-rehearsed death scene before going limp like a small ragdoll in the Fiend’s massively muscular arms. And, right on cue, like some meticulous necrophiliac, the creature came.

On the first spurt, the Fiend ejected a liter of hot glue in what should have been the womb of a girl he had fucked to death. He was holding her hard and deep against the strong current of his ejaculation, eyes rolled to the back of his head. Candy knew this because she had opened hers. Her baby-maker flooding with white slime was her cue. The long brown locks had cascaded down her shoulders after losing one of their pins. The chopsticks had a wood-looking finish but were made of metal.

Fiends roll their eyes when they cum. They had all done it. A bright white target on a pure black background. Candy had been along for the ride so far, but it was her turn to climax, and this was the part that turned her on the most…

The eye, the one without five inches of steel inside, snaps back forward full of fear, confusion, bursa eskort and pain, all unfamiliar emotions to a Fiend. The small girl… not dead…. How? His impaling cock took most of her abdomen, yet she was staring deep into his twisted soul, smiling, giggling, moaning. She was riding him, grinding his cock against her organs, using her cervix as an extra-small cock ring, as if she couldn’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure, between dying the worst possible death and living your best life. His last thoughts were questions, important questions: Am I dying? Am I not… immortal?

Candy could read all of this from the Fiend’s face because she had seen it scores of times before. It never got old. And the answers to his questions were revealed presently: yes, and no.

She managed to join him in nirvana before the last spurts of the Fiend’s cursed orgasm exited the beanbag ballsack that grew into a seat during the transformation. It wasn’t the Fiend’s giant skewer acting like a pestle to the mortar that was her womb that was getting her off and making her cry out with ecstasy through clenched teeth. It was the notion that one more Fiend was leaving this world, that the pile of ash this beast left behind on his way back to hell would end up in a maid’s vacuum cleaner.

Her smile hadn’t faded as she gathered her clothes and put her hair back in a deadly bun, but the realization that killing a thousand fiends would never give her back her sister would keep pulling down at the corners of her mouth until she was back to her gloomy self.

It didn’t take long for a car to stop by and offer her a ride. Alleged car trouble ‘forced’ him to take her back to his place instead of where he promised to drop her off. Then he insisted they share a shower. She hid a chopstick in her rectum to be ready during shower sex but didn’t need it. This guy came inside her without transforming. Just another creep. A manipulative creep that needed his pinkie broken before he let her continue the night’s hunt. It was still raining, and Candy needed to take advantage of her wet shirt.

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