Free God of the Game (Dreamstate) by Kit Yan Page A

asshole. I moaned a little, and rattled out bubbly beads of gas from the anus like a firing Uzi. It caught her perfectly in a gaping O. The devaluing reek creaked into her orifice, down the throat and lung, invading the blood, mixing with oxygen, and then, carried on to the brain…
    She SCREAMED!!!
        I reclined to enjoy the show. She was a mad woman peeling off flesh. At first, she giggled with amusement as if seeing something funny, flicking her clit, her eyes crossed, looking into another dimension; drool balancing like a ballerina on the chin. And then terror struck. The eyeballs widened, ballooning out from the sockets. Her fingers dug and tore the vagina. She shrieked, and suddenly nails were grappling at the navel, tugging, yanking, pulling; burrowing into the belly. Marks appeared. She screeched again, hands to the face this time, clawing into the skull through the holes of the face. The bitch groaned and moaned; a crossbreed of sexual ecstasy and unadulterated horror. Her vocal cords were loud, a boisterous cum, a bellow of fear. But soft, limp, all of a sudden; whispers and murmurs unintelligible, speaking in tongues; only she understood. The stare, empty like shards of broken glass piercing; a crystal chandelier crashing down outside, pinning the crowd under . Death infusing, the vast loneliness of space, imploding…imploding…imploding.
        The same event was happening on two levels of existence. I could only view the crazy chick mutilating herself; didn’t want to risk exposing my magic. Later , I got a copy of the mayhem I generated from a trusted inter-dimensional digital pirated dealer.
        Prepare the chaos.            
        In the auxiliary parallel of truth, a prime steak hung from her pussy. Prying through, like a baby’s paw, was a loose fold of skin. Scrotum peeping out of the vulva till a ball dropped out. That got her tickling. Abruptly, she was the proud owner of a male generational orb. Then popped another; its twin. She tittered once more; and what seemed like a penis sprouted from her cunt. The lady was chuckling comically now, entertained by the testosterone-tool emerging from her body. A dicksy chick she became.
        But soon the giggles turned to hoots, and the hoots to a nasal gurgling, like overdubs for foreign cartoons, shrill-sounding cute characters often present for slapstick effect to cajole children or the idiot child in us. Glued-eyes on TV, on cinemas, on monitors, and even on our mental screens. We can’t look away, it’s so funny, it’s so appalling, so grotesque. So appealing to our senses so in-tuned to horror…
        And I was watching. Watching like a dumb ape witnessing another gorilla bludgeoning its offspring, stunned to shock. Watching like a loser wanking over porn, too spastic to stop. Addiction. Obsession. Revelling in pathetic mutilation. Drooling in humiliation. I can’t stop, not even if someone walks into the room; `cos I’m about to blow my muck! The visitor is laughing as I contort and explode. I enjoy it, this shame, this mortification, this disgrace… and then she detonates .
        Blood and organs everywhere. Pulp. Matter; bits and pieces of flesh decorated the walls and floor. An octopus flopping about. But it had two head s, which were actually two spheres, two giant testicles. And what were tentacles flying around behaved more like alien penises. My pets .
        They clawed out of her. The balloons protruding from her pink diamond bloated as if water was pumped in them. The weight soon dragged on her, pulling her down; she sat. She was a little girl bouncing on two big, purple, venous, exercise balls, the cords attached from deep within her fallopian tubes.
        Then the dick grew. L arger than any man’s erection, Godzilla’s or King Kong’s. Her expression marvelled initially; that was before a scaly limb wrapped round her, before it suckered on her skin for a demonic hickey. And that was when she