by Jillian Rose
Exhibitions of Flesh
A Collection of Erotic Horror
By Jillian Rose
Part 1. Altar of Paimon
Chapter 1.
Jesse boosts me over the rusted iron gate, my feet hitting the weed infested lot on the other side with a soft thud. He being the more athletic of the two, he scales the fence easily without my help. I’m already in a state of heightened arousal, the breaking-into-the-grounds part is always exciting for me, especially if there is security around. At this particular place, Penhurst Home For The Mentally Infirm, there was only a bored looking severely obese night watchman who we caught sleeping in his white rent-a-cop truck on the other end of the neglected busted up parking lot. This worked out for us, because our plan was to sneak in from the rear, where the old recreational yard used to be.
“Come on Liz, it’s this way I think.” Jesse said, pointing to the left corner of the massive brick building. The entire south facing wall was covered in bright colorful graffiti, all the windows on the lower level busted out, only jagged fragments remaining. The building itself was shaped like a giant cross, each branch of the building cordoned off from the other, the patients housed and organized based on the severity and type of condition. We were looking to break into wing F, where the worst of the worst had resided only thirty years ago.
After quickly crossing the yard, avoiding broken beer bottles and various drug paraphernalia, we found the faded looking double doors that said WING F ENTRANCE. Each of us carried a back pack full of different supplies, and Jesse always carried the heavier stuff, usually involved in the breaking in process, while I carried the camera and sexual accessories. Jesse shrugged off his backpack and brought out the bolt cutters, and made quick work of the padlocked double doors. He’d done this a time or two (or ten.) The doors opened with a grating screech that caused us both to pause for a moment. We waited for perhaps five minutes, listening in the silent night for the heavy foot falls of the rent-a-cop. None came, and so we continued.
Jesse brought out a flashlight and turned it on, cupping the rim so the beam wasn’t as bright. We were greeted with a dingy hallway with atrocious green and white checkered flooring, we couldn’t identify the original color of the wall because of all the graffiti and ominous stains that covered them. ROGER THE RAPIST WUZ HERE was spray painted in big dripping letters on one wall, with an arrow pointing up. Whoever the artist was must of done some prior research before vandalizing the place, because Roger the Rapist was the reason why we were here.
According to the Penhurst Wikipedia page, Roger Woodberry was one of their most infamous patients. A young man who was brought in for being in a constant state of sexual mania, Roger had to be kept in solitary confinement for the majority of his stay because of his attempts to canoodle with the patients, and sometimes the nurses. He was known to walk around with a constant erection, and would repeatedly masturbate to the point of bodily injury if he wasn’t sedated or kept in a straight jacket.
In 1985, the asylum had suffered serious budget cuts after an internal investigation revealed that many of the patients were being improperly cared for, with evidence of some of the male orderlies sexually abusing some of the more invalid patients, and was threatened with closure and condemnation if they didn’t get their act together. Many of the nurses and orderlies were fired, leaving only a skeleton crew to oversee the whole sprawling facility at night when the head doctors and NA’s went home. It was during one of these lonely nights that one of the newer nurses, one of the very few the asylum could afford to hire, had let Roger out at his insisting because he needed to use the rest room. She was not given the memo about how Roger was never to be let out without being in a restriction vest because the head NA was about to be laid off and could give a shit less what happened to her coworkers.
One thing led to another, and Roger, who was purported to be a big man, over 6’5 with a muscular build, trapped the nurse in his cell and proceeded to over power her and have his way with her. Eventually he killed her, stuffing her body under his cot and stealing her keys. The man proceeded to hunt down five more nurses and three female patients all throughout the course of one night, and repeat those actions with them, storing all the bodies in his cell until morning, when one of the male orderlies found Roger in a daze, lying naked atop a pile of bodies, his bleeding scabbed cock still somehow throbbing with erection after a prolific night.
It was Roger’s cell we were trying to find. In the years after the Penhurst scandal came out, the man’s cell became the prime focus of paranormal investigation after several of the nurses who worked up to the asylums shutting down in 1992 claimed that 10x10 room was a source of disturbing phenomenon. After Roger was executed in 1988 by the state of Missouri, his cell, F128, was temporarily condemned by the asylum after several of the blood stains on the floor reappeared even after being pressure washed. Eventually however, the asylum was forced to reopen the cell after being overwhelmed by new patients after many of the cells in Wing A were damaged by a tornado. Patients would scream at night, claiming to be assaulted by a relentless female wailing that never ceased. The temperature fluctuated wildly in the cell even though every cell on the floor was hooked up to the same AC system.
“F13…F15… Babe, I think this guy’s cell is on one of the upper floors.” Jesse said as we walked past the rows of derelict rooms, their plaques barely legible. We quickened our pace, walking up and down the hall until I found the staircase on the left hand side.
“This way.” I said, and we followed the dusty stairs up another level. There was even more graffiti on this level, and I took out my cellphone, turning the camera function on.
“Alright guys… We’re in Penhurst Insane Asylum, as you fucked up perverts suggested we check out. We’re almost to Roger Woodberry’s infamous cell room.” I said, talking quietly into the phone microphone. This would be like foreplay for our fans, them getting a chance to see just how spooky and depraved the place was before we got to the sex. Atmosphere is a huge part of the turn on for people like us. “F100…F102…F103…We’re getting closerrrrrr.” I said in my best sinister witch voice. I wasn’t actually scared, that part of it had faded long ago when I realized all of the famous haunted spots we went to weren’t haunted, or if they were, the spirits decided to catch some beauty sleep the nights we visited them, as trying to antagonize them into showing themselves never worked. But I did feel a small tinge of anxiety at entering the room where so many women had been brutalized. Here I was disrespecting the places where their souls left the earth.
“Found it!” Jesse called out in a loud whisper. He was about thirty feet ahead of me, his long legs making his pace inherently quicker.
“Jackpot” I said into the camera microphone, jogging lightly to meet him. I saw the panel that said F128. I panned the phone around to get footage of the graffiti scrawled here: WELCOME 2 HELL. The entire space surrounded the door was covered in red paint, with various messages written in what looked like dried human shit proclaiming that they were hornier than Roger ever was. God, people are fucked up, but then again… Look at what you’re doing, I thought to myself. We entered. It had been a chilly October night outside, the asylum itself only slightly warmer inside. But did I detect just the faintest temperature difference in here? My skin did prickle with goose bumps, just a little bit.
“Babe… Does it feel cold in here to you?” I asked, trying to put fear in my voice for the dramatic cinematic effect.
“Yeah… It kinda does.” Jesse said, adding his own forced fear into his face. He turned to look at the camera, his eyes wide and looking around the room as if he was about to piss his pants. I had to stifle a laugh, he was good at fucking and putting on a show. It was how we’d lasted five years in
an extremely dysfunctional relationship. My heart did skip a beat when I saw the infamous blood stains on the dirty floor. Unlike the other stains I had seen coming up here, this wasn’t faded brown or black crust, like dried blood usually transforms into. Bright crimson blossoms spread across the dusty linoleum, their point of origin seeming to be the rectangular slab of concrete that jutted out from the wall, a sort of prison style bed where he’d stuffed the first few bodies. Okay, now that was pretty fucking creepy.
Jesse shrugged off his backpack and began undressing.
“Look at this sexy hunk, he’s not letting some blood and spooky rapist legacy keep him from laying down the pipe, aint that right baby?” I said. Jesse smiled into the camera.
“Damn right.” He said. Jesse was 27, with a lean muscular frame and his pale skin adorned with tattoos, several of which were collages of his favorite horror villains. He used to work at a tattoo shop on the strip in Saint Louis, which was how we met. As his pants came down, I made sure to zoom in on the 7 inch pierced cock that I had fallen in love with over the years. His crotch was clean shaven, where pubic hair would be there was instead a small tattoo of a cartoonish devil with horns that jutted up the sides of his pelvis, the devil’s lips formed around the base of his cock, as if lucifer’s tongue was his dick.
I turned the phone camera off, and began to undress myself. When I was naked, I took out the HD camcorder and tripod from my own backpack.
“Where do you think we should setup?” I asked, my whole body covered in goose flesh from the crisp, corrupted air. Jesse pointed to the blood stains next to the bed.
“Right there. Get on your knees, I’ll fuck you doggy so the camera can get a good shot of us in the blood. That’ll drive them wild.” He said. Just the thought of it was causing his cock to twitch and slowly arise with excitement. I agreed, and setup the camera in one corner of the room, as well as connecting the sensitive lavalier microphone to it that would pick up everything, from our sex noises to any potential celestial entities who wanted in on the show.
Chapter 2.
Once all was setup and done, we got straight to it. Jesse had taped the flashlight to one corner of the wall to give us some illumination on the spot where we’d be fucking, and I hit record. I kept on my big platform boots, not only because of the sharp debris that littered the ground, but also because I knew a few of our followers who loved my boots. They clunked heavily as I walked over to the red blossoms on the ground and cleared out any broken glass or splintered wood I saw. Once that was done, I took a deep breath, and sat down, my pale bare ass coming into contact with the blood stains. I shuddered as I did so, and that was not an act.
Jesse squatted down in front of me, roughly pushing my legs up behind my back, shoving my pussy up in the air. I cried out in ecstasy as his tongue began to work on my pussy, first skirting my pink labia and then finding the pierced nub of my clit. Wet plopping noises echoed off the bare walls as he first sucked on my clit, bringing it between his teeth and biting gently while licking it, then putting two fingers inside, pumping hard enough to cause my whole body to tremble. That was the other thing I liked about Jesse, he was strong, and when I wanted it rough (which I usually did) he gave it to me, hard.
It didn’t take me long to reach my first orgasm. Jesse knew how to make me explode like a sweating stick of dynamite. With the hand that wasn’t slamming inside my pussy, he grasped one of my pierced nipples, and twisted the ring there. That painful stimuli added in with his skilled tongue and relentless fingering was the winning combo. I could feel myself building up to it rapidly, could hear the increasing wetness of his thrusts as my lubricant built up. Sometimes I could gush like the porn stars, but mostly it was just drizzling little streams that shot out when I came.
“Oh fuck yeah baby, I’m there, I’m fucking there!” I cried out, and at the last minute he moved away so the camera got an unobstructed view of my crotch as I came. I finished myself off, stroking my clit with quick little circular motions of my fingers while I pinched my own nipple, making sure the camera got my pulsating pussy and asshole, mean while maintaining direct eye contact with the camera the whole time. Jesse was off in the corner, stroking himself, his veiny member already at full mast and ready to destroy my insides.
Once my orgasm concluded with the quivering of my legs and a soft trembling whimper, that was Jesse’s cue to move in. Before he went to plow me, he adjusted the tripod just a bit, lowering it and zooming in for the money shot.
“Get on your knees, my little slut.” He said, and I obeyed. I turned around, my elbows and knees digging into the gritty linoleum. It must have been my imagination, because the stained floor underneath felt warm on my skin, even though every other surface I had touched so far was still icy from last nights cold front. I spread my legs, sticking my ass out in the air. I heard him spit on his cock, that sound already getting me wet again as he squatted down, his pierced tip pressing against my lips. I knew he had the camera angled low to the ground so the viewers could see his cock entering me, as well as my tits bouncing and my face as I kept my head low to the ground.
I cried out as that huge cock entered me, filling me up with that delicious length and girth. I felt my canal stretch to meet him, and I immediately began to stroke myself to increase the pleasure. He started off slow, and then began fucking me hard and fast, long deep strokes, bringing himself almost to the tip before slamming all the way back until he was balls deep again. The sound of flesh smacking on flesh was loud and reverberant in the small room, and I tried not to look at the dried blood that was only inches from my face.
“Lick it up, you little whore.” He said to me, loud enough for the camera to hear. I only hesitated for a moment, knowing any sort of protest would ruin the film and we’d have to start over. I turned off the part of my mind that remembered how and why that blood came to be here. I stuck my tongue out, gagging audibly. He grabbed me by the back of my purple hair and shoved my face into the ground, my tongue coming into contact with the blood. A bitter coppery taste filled my mouth, and for a split second I was sure I was going to puke. But I swallowed thickly, and I was rewarded with a smack on the ass for my efforts. “Good girl.” He said, and increased the tempo of his thrusts, his balls slamming against my wet lips.
It didn’t take long for me to get back into the zone, his cock slamming my uterus obliterating all nauseating thoughts I might have had. He still had a firm grip on my hair, and used his other hand to reach between my legs, putting his hand over mine and took over the job of ministering to my pearl. His thrusts quickened and became more focused, he not pulling out as far each time, a sure sign that he would soon come.
“Fill me up baby. I want every drop.” I told him, and he grunted like a beast in response. His calloused hands worked fast, drilling tight little circles into my clit. I was skyrocketing towards orgasm, every thrust bringing me closer, and closer, until…
“Oh fuck!” Jesse cried out, and a split second later I felt that thick cock give one hard throb as he slammed into me, keeping it there this time. A molten explosion of hot seed slammed against my walls, sparking the flame that started my orgasm. My walls pulsated, gripping him tight as he pulled out slightly and slammed back home, another hot burst entering me as I clenched him convulsively. I was screaming at this point, my heightened senses from this hostile uncomfortable location cause my orgasm to be bone deep, obliterating all sane thought. Every hot eruption he pumped into me set off another mind blowing wave, his cock ring tickling my vaginal ceiling as he did so.
After perhaps five or six intense pumps, he finally grew soft, and slipped out of me. I knew I was full, he’d been edging prior to us leaving so the money shot would be extra. I felt him flow out of me as I spread my lips for the camera.
“That’s right babe, push it out. Show them how much I gave you.” He growled, and I obeyed, spreading my lips and watching as a great milky white gush erupted from my pussy and dripped between my legs, and soon a decent sized puddle filled t
he floor between my knees. His jizz was dyed pink as it mixed with the blood on the floor, and again I thought I was going to throw up. But I didn’t. I pushed until nothing was left inside of me. When I was done, I turned around and faced the camera. I dipped my finger tips in the pinkish dirty expenditure and rubbed it on my nipples, causing them to glisten in the beam of the lights we setup.
“I hope you all enjoyed that as much as we did.” I said in a silky voice, winking at the camera. We froze then as we heard a door open on the other end of the wing. Jesse quickly turned off the camera and began to put his pants back on.
“Come on, I think that’s our cue to scram.” He whispered.
Chapter 3.
The events you have just read are of a summation of a typical Saturday night for me and Jesse. If you haven’t figured it out already, we’re part of the new fucked up generation who is willing to sell and degrade themselves online for money. We started out as legitimate paranormal investigators a few years after we had first met and expressed our interest in all things spooky and creepy. It was innocent enough at first, we had the usual audio and video equipment and checked out a few of the local haunts around Saint Louis, where we both lived. A part of me still yearns for that innocent time, before we both showed the foul perverted beasts that lurked within us, and with it an inevitable tinge of shame at the things we did together, once the post orgasm high wore off.
It was Jesse who introduced me to the online community that we would eventually be so ingratiated in. A subreddit he found of people going to sights of either infamous brutal murders or of supposed highly paranormal activity related to a violent famous death, and having sex there. I would eventually learn this was a sub-genre of shock porn called “Grave dicking” and that it was a very lucrative porn genre on certain websites because of how few people with ill moral constitution were willing to do it. It was Jesse who suggested we give this a shot, he of the more extreme tastes, he who had helped me discover my masochistic fetishes.