fulfilling my goal to read one monsterotica a month in 2022.
this month’s monsterporn features a man named ken, who works at The Futurist Center for Death Prevention, an organization devoted to finding a cure for death.
…a select few people, myself included, have started to address this problem of death through real, hard, scientific research.
VOICEOVER INTERJECTION: soon ken will learn just how HARD scientific research can get.
one evening, our hero’s superior—dr. morris, calls him into his office to examine a number of photographs sent by the FBI: candid shots of people from across the world, and in every one of them, a hooded figure with a skeletal face can be seen in the background, carrying a scythe. shortly after each photograph was taken, someone in the photo died.
dr. morris sends ken to meet with bill lancing, an expert who runs “a very detailed website about this phenomenon” and lives in a spooky victorian home filled with fancy antique furnishings.
bill gets right to the exposition.
“So I understand the FBI is interested in what I know about the reapers,” questions Bill.
VOICEOVER INTERJECTION: this is not a question, bill.
I nod. “That’s correct.”
“Well, where do I begin?” asks the man.
“Where did you first notice him?” I start.
Bill laughs. “Him? Don’t tell me you honestly think this is just some guy traveling around the world killing people.”
grim reaper ≠ santa.
“I think that the grim reaper is a very real thing,” explains Bill, “and my research has shown that. Not only is the grim reaper a real thing, but there are reapers all over the world, hundreds of them, an entire species.”
“Like an animal?” I ask.
“Kind of,” nods Bill. “An invisible society of creatures that thrive off of the energy of the living.”
i can has yr energies?
“Here’s the thing that people don’t realize,” explains the man, “that the reapers aren’t necessarily feeding on life, just energy. That means if you want to stop them you can give them energy of any kind; emotional, physical, sexual,”
hold up—were these options always on offer? why is death still a thing if all we need to do to avoid it is give ‘em a little emotional support?
this statement, more than seeing the grim reaper lurking over the photographed shoulder of some birthday boy, gives ken the willies. but let’s not get ahead of ourselves—ken’s got plenty of willies in his future.
The second that bill [sic.] says this the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. I had already guessed that he was a creepy guy based on a myriad of [sic.] other factors, but the sexual energy thing completely comes out of nowhere.
ken’s ready to GTFO, but first:
“I like to take a photograph of every person who comes here asking about the reapers,” explains Bill. “It’s for safety. When they know that you’re talking about them, they’ll start coming for you first.”
“Why aren’t they coming for you?” I ask.
VOICEOVER INTERJECTION: lots of coming here, foreshadowing…lots of coming. do you like these interjections, yes or no?
Bill shrugs and then snaps a photograph of me. “I guess I’m not their type,” he says. “They tend to go for guys who are already questioning their sexuality.”
is that a banana in your pocket or are you questioning your sexuality? just a banana? fuck off, then.
what does bill’s photograph of ken reveal??
I gasp. There in the windows behind me is an entire gang of grim reapers, peering inward with there [sic.] strange skeleton grins.”
so, just to track this—one grim reaper means you’re going to die
(although you can negotiate with vaguely defined physical or emotional energy, or with the more straightforward sexual energy), whereas MANY grim reapers
means you are talking about them AND you are questioning your sexuality, which apparently applies to ken, although it has not heretofore been mentioned.
bill takes another photo, showing the reapers are now inside the house, moving closer to ken and his (apparently) flexible sexuality.
“They’re looking for energy,” says Bill, “it all depends on what kind you want to give them.”
which energy will ken choose to give them?
A) emotional energy, expressed through a platonic side-hug?
or by listening sympathetically to death’s problems?
B) physical energy, which is—what—food, maybe?
C) sexual energy
or D) his life energy
If you answered C, someone musta told you this was monsterporn!
ken is ready to experience the little death (that’s a euphemism for ORGASM, kids) with this merry band of capital-d deaths (thos’re reapers, kids) (wait, why are there kids here? go back to sleep, kids. stay in school.)
Honestly, I should be terrified right now but, instead, I find myself overwhelmed with a different, more powerful emotion; gay lust.
okay, so are we calling lust an EMOTION now? so does it qualify as ’emotional energy?’ i still don’t understand how any of this works. it gets even more confusing. the reapers are still invisible outside of the camera lens, and the sexual/emotional energies keep blurring together:
I might not be able to see these creatures, but I can certainly feel their presence, an aura of aching passion that builds and builds all around me. The reapers are communicating through feelings, an unexplainable presence that consumes my body.
so reapers are MADE of feelings? who’s giving what to whom here?
now that bill’s pimp-work done, he slinks on outta there. I am now completely alone in the spooky old room. but not ENTIRELY alone, yeah?
ken first feels the reapers’ “homosexual aura,” and then he feels a whole lot more, as their invisible hands undress him and feel up his rock-hard abs and rock-hard genitals.
the first GIS match for “homosexual aura” is this:
but that can’t be what he means, can it?
this is the second match:
so it MUST be what ken’s talking about, although it makes me understand this story even less.
one more question—are all reapers homosexual? and are there lady-reapers for us ladies to give our sexual energies to so we can scissor our way out of death? jeezaloo, GIS never fails:
anyway, back to the story, i guess. ken isn’t looking for some anonymous encounter, he wants his first orgy with a gang of supernatural murderers to be SPECIAL.
“Let me see you,” I beg. “I want to see you.”
and then he can. it is unclear how many of them there are—bill speculated there were “hundreds” working ‘round the world, ken has called them “a gang;” you’d think a scientist would offer more in the way of quantitative precision when confronted with the very thing he has devoted his life to studying but okie-dokies. let’s just say “too many” and leave it at that. the reapers, in unknown quantities, reveal themselves.
They are equal parts horrific and hot in their long black robes
if you’ve been thinking ahead about the mechanics of this impending boneparty, wondering if ken will be poked at by a bony boner,
or frustrated by a neutered dry hump,
never freaking fear:
Despite the fact that the faces of these reapers are entirely skeletal, their cocks are warm and fleshy, perfectly normal aside from the enormous size. It’s as if these members have been magically affixed.
i’m sorry, scientific researcher, but “magically affixed” is a shitty explanation. leaving aside how the reapers are able to move about with nothing holding their skeletons together, what, exactly, are these flesh-peens attached to? is it just a bone(r) growing out of bone? does it hover? whose genitals are/were they? were they grave-robbed from corpses? are they zombie-dicks? where does the blood engorging them come from? do the reapers have to take them with them when they leave home like a wallet? and sometimes one shows up to a gangbang and they’ve forgotten it and they’re all “drat, can i borrow yours?” is this “boning one’s way out of death option” ALWAYS a gangbang? why are they all congregating here—is it just because they heard some guy was asking about them and they got all flattered and aroused? is no one dying while they’re busy going to town on ken? what is dr. morris a dr. OF?
monsterporn will not be taking any questions at this time.
“Overwhelmed with gay arousal,” ken does what comes naturally when one finds oneself at the center of a circle of horny grim reapers, and plays a game of ring around the blowie. blow around the ring-y? whatever, he puts those undead genitals in his mouth.
although he is providing “an enthusiastic greeting” to his visitors, he’s still a novice at this, and gagging ensues. but he’s very contrite about it.
“I’m sorry, let’s try that again,” I offer.
oh my god, they have testicles.
I look up at the creature’s hollow eyes and give a playful wink, allowing him to enjoy the sensation of complete consumption as he holds me here.
isn’t the one with the penis in their mouth the one who is doing the holding? are these balls holding this dog?
ken is holding both the balls and the do(n)g, and then he remembers he has hands, and puts them to good use on the other creatures, who rotate in and out, taking turns visiting handy-town, letting loose with “otherworldly moans.”
ken’s ready to take the next step in this polyamorous relationship, beseeching the gang of ghouls with “wild, lustful eyes” and this declaration:
“I want you inside of my ass,” I beg. “I need your big, thick, grim reaper cocks.”
“We accept your offering,” I [sic.] loud booming voice says, surrounding me as it hammers down from every angle.
VOICEOVER INTERJECTION: speaking of hammering from every angle, ken is quickly getting the hang of this.
“Get over here and pound this tight twink asshole!” I command.
and one does, introducing his “magical undead dick” into ken’s virgin ground.
ken’s pillow talk is super banal:
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” I begin to cry, unable to contain all of the pleasant sensation as it flows through me.”You’re fucking me so good!”
I’m ready to continue my erotic diatribe but, at this point, another one of the reapers kneels down before me and shoves his massive rod between my lips.
note to twink: look up the word “diatribe” in your dicktionary.
I want to be completely used by the reapers, their own personal gay sex toy for the evening. I can only imagine how little these mysterious creatures get a chance to fuck, and they show their pent up sexuality in every hedonistic movement.
yeah—let’s take pity on these poor lonesome life-taking incels.
Eventually, the monsters in both of my holes
pull out and let another pair have a turn, trading places within my tightness as they form lines at either end of the coffee table. Each of the new reapers is just as skilled as the first, however, picking up right where the last ones left off and plowing away at my body with a passionate fury.
apart from the two-line system, which is excellent organ-ization, how hard is it (heh) to “pick up right where the last ones left off,” and does it merit praise as “skillful?” it’s just banging after all—you put the thing into the other thing with a passionate fury—this isn’t a choreographed dance routine
ken’s about to cross over into orgasmville, but then everybody leaves his body before he can. rude.
one of the reapers plops down on the antique—and probably quite flimsy—coffee table (and how is that comfortable, with only his robe to cushion his spine, although i guess—no nerve endings?), “his massive cock jutting out from the robes like a beautiful tower of aching flesh.”
ken is sex-drunk and writing some fine poetry here, but death ain’t here for ken’s imagery.
“Get on,” a booming spectral voice commands.
so he does, scooting his butt over the supine skellington.
Every grind of my hips grows harder and harder, my body still trying to adjust to his size until finally the sensation is just too incredible and I begin to fuck him hard, riding his dick like a jackhammer.
got that? he fucked him harder and harder until he…fucked him hard. this isn’t an escalation, ken. use words better.
1) while you’re looking up ‘diatribe’ in your dicktionary, maybe also consult a thesaurus for another word for “hard.”
2) in order for the jackhammer imagery to work—YOU need to be the one wielding the tool, i.e. being the jackhammer. no one rides a jackhammer (*resists urge to GIS*). this is the ball and the dog all over again.
and then, a sneaky grim reaper impatiently slides into ken’s backdoor for some supernatural DP action and now there are TWO thick reaper cocks in his butt
I look back at the monster in shock, but what started as a moment of anger quickly transforms into a lustful gay snarl.
this is what conservatives warned us about—now even our SNARLS are turning gay!
The three of us eventually find a rhythm together, pulsing like some strange, sexual hybrid.
ken is permitted to come and promptly makes a mess everywhere. ken is a terrible houseguest.
“That was fucking amazing,” I gush.
no, sir, you ALREADY gushed, all over bill’s vintage furniture. let someone else have a turn.
The next thing I know, the reaper who fucks my asshole from behind
another interjection to point out that somehow we have moved from the present continuous to the habitual present tense—does this mean that this particular reaper will ALWAYS be fucking ken’s asshole from behind? or that this is how ken will introduce him to his social circle? “i’d like you to meet reaper #5. he fucks my asshole from behind.” and, not to slut-shame, but there are A NUMBER of reapers who have earned this distinction, so it’s gonna get confusing. sorry, back to the orgy
has picked up speed, slamming me hard and then pushing deep as he explodes with a payload of hot, milky jizz. His cum fills my ass quickly, gushing forth with a supernatural intensity until its [sic.] squirting out from the edges of my packed anal rim.
the undead line up to fill him. A NUMBER of them.
The reapers continue like this for what feels like forever, double plowing my reamed out butthole and then eventually blowing their load into the mix with the others. I completely lose track of how many have taken me, and soon the only measure of telling becomes the splatters of semen that leak out from my ass. Soon enough, though, the last reaper finishes within me and I find myself with only one left to satisfy, the creature who has been so diligently ramming my butthole from the front.
1) did you forget about mr. longevity? he’s been there the whole time—an unsung hero lying patiently beneath the fray.
2) what’s ken’s formula for measuring by splatters?
3) is it “soon enough” or “for what feels like forever”—you can’t have it both ways, ken. oh, wait, maybe you can.
4) we are told he only has “only one left to satisfy,” but then he doesn’t even follow through with it:
This final reaper pushes me off of him and then stands up, beating off his dick furious [sic.] with a skeletal hand while a [sic.] look up and smile from my knees below.
a skeleton frictioning a fleshy penis—what are we even DOING here? i suppose the reapers know what they’re doing with their own bodies, but still—ouch. i suppose ken should be grateful that he had to bring himself off his ownself, and that none of the reapers tried to give him handies (with their “boney [sic]” hands) or blowies (with their fleshless skulls). and, exploring this sexual division of labor—reapers are only a dick and a robe, so—being buttless—they can only be tops, which was maybe disappointing to ken “i’m questioning my sexuality, apparently” o’scientist, but if their partners are female, is their seed viable? can they impregnate a woman with little baby reapers?
what am i even reading at this point?
turns out, reapers are not sentimental lovers:
“That was really nice,” I tell the creature, “you taste great.”
Without a response, the grim reaper above me dissolves into thin air, followed shortly by the gang of hooded creatures around him. Soon enough, I am completely alone.
oh, except for bill, who has been lurking behind the closed door the whole time this spectral orgy’s been commandeering his parlor. he’s really chill, though, and doesn’t really seem too bothered when he comes back to the room where, presumably, our hero is still nude, covered in ghost-jizz and sweat, and that coffee table is RUINED.
thanks for stopping by! see you next month!
MARCH MADNESS MONSTERPORN!
review to come, like all the participants in this story!