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by
Otis Bateman
Read between
February 9 - February 12, 2025
I wanted those maggots to fill me up again as if I were a human septic tank. They were my babies, and I wanted to stuff them up my sodden cunt and belch them forth from my groin like an utterly unholy, reverse pregnancy. But now, my perversions get to try a brand-new debasement to humiliate myself with. Necrophilia. My mind spun wickedly as I decided to make myself Death’s personal toilet for the day. I wanted to wallow in blasphemous sin until I was content with debauchery. I spread the thighs of death to get a better taste.
I am a sick, demented creature that flourishes when I commit atrocities to myself as well as others. After I immolated my false self, I rose from the ashes like a mighty Phoenix, born anew.

