I am a sick, sick person
WARNING: some very sick and very graphic stuff
There have been a couple of threads here recently that essentially boil down to "Woe is me! I desire sex with cartoon characters!" This is not one of those threads. This is worse.
While part of my sexuality involves hentai, it goes deeper than that. I am a sadist and a schadenfreudist (there's a new word for you -- from the German concept of 'schadenfreude') in the extreme. My sexuality thrives on the pain, misery, and fear of others.
While this can take, and has taken, the form of a consensual relationship with some fairly light public humiliation and mild physical discomfort, there's a darker side to it...
Fuck consent. Give me the most vulnerable, pathetic weakling who relies on my care and can't tell anything to anyone. Don't even give me a person, give me a living, breathing playtoy. While in my fantasies this sometimes takes the form of a kidnapped child or a child adopted illicitly from a foreign country, more and more my attention is focused on the disabled, especially the non-verbal. Whether child, teen, or adult is irrelevant.
Objectification of the disabled isn't rare by any stretch. I've heard that it's an issue in some institutions: in some places, patients/residents get their dirty diapers changed without so much as a curtain being drawn.
Back in high-school there was a boy, let's call him S. (not his real initial, but I'll explain later). S. was so disabled as to be more or less unable to move except to move his head a little and make some pathetic little noises. While he wasn't able to talk, he wasn't retarded. He understood and knew what people said and what was going on. S. was there when I first got to that school and had a certain caretaker. She was fat, old, and lazy. His parents were neglectful, so he was constantly filthy. This caretaker at school never really bothered to clean him up. She would also leave the door unlocked while changing his diapers, and it wasn't uncommon for staff to go in and use the phone in the same room, often opening the door during busy periods and exposing his sorry ass to the world, albeit only for a second.
A few years later he got a different caretaker who cleaned him up and would lock the door. I somewhat resented her for it, too. However, it was with her in charge that I got my first moment alone with him. He had just been cleaned from a bout of diarrhea, and his caretaker had gone to attend to something. Our little exchange went as follows:
He's in his chair (really more like an adult stroller)
Me: Hey <name removed>
He looks at me.
Me: You like being covered in shit, don't you?
He shakes his head just a little, making no sound
Me: I think you do. In fact, from now on I think I'll just call you Shitpants.
Then, being the emotionally-imbalanced teenager that I was, I stopped it there out of some odd guilt which has since disappeared. His caretaker returned a moment later.
That was the only time I ever got to be alone with Shitpants. Nonetheless, I had increasingly disturbing (at the time) fantasies about him. His face smothered by his fat fuck of a father's dirty ass. Him being kept in the same filthy diaper for days or even weeks at a time, with ALL his dirty diapers and clothes simply left to rot on the floor of his room. Him being used as a toilet. I'd take my little Shitpants on outings to the mall while he reeked of shit. Eventually it moved beyond just filth, with my fantasy toy being woken up by hot wax on the genitals before being covered in itching powder all day. Every morning he'd get a choice: helplessly shit his diaper at school or have his ass filled with a plug large enough to make him bleed. Of course, the plug would have a remote controlled vibrator function. My fantasies went on to include electro-torture, cutting, biting, exploiting fears, etc. etc.
Shitpants died a year later. It was at this point that I decided that I had no guilt, and I came to terms with the fact that I was, to put it lightly, seriously fucked up. I still fantasize about Shitpants to this day.
There's not a lot (read: not any] porn in either visual or written form for a person with my tastes. However, there is news. When my imagination is blocked, I sometimes google for news of arrests for abuse or neglect of children or the disabled. While the details of their conditions are often limited, they provide a launching point for new fantasies and prove to me that I'm not entirely alone in the world. I thrive on mental images of filth and despair. I really think that there ought to be more videos, though.
Keep in mind that everything except my verbal exchange with Shitpants is pure fantasy. I've done nothing serious...yet.
So rest well, Akiba-Online. You are not the sickest of the sick.
WARNING: some very sick and very graphic stuff
There have been a couple of threads here recently that essentially boil down to "Woe is me! I desire sex with cartoon characters!" This is not one of those threads. This is worse.
While part of my sexuality involves hentai, it goes deeper than that. I am a sadist and a schadenfreudist (there's a new word for you -- from the German concept of 'schadenfreude') in the extreme. My sexuality thrives on the pain, misery, and fear of others.
While this can take, and has taken, the form of a consensual relationship with some fairly light public humiliation and mild physical discomfort, there's a darker side to it...
Fuck consent. Give me the most vulnerable, pathetic weakling who relies on my care and can't tell anything to anyone. Don't even give me a person, give me a living, breathing playtoy. While in my fantasies this sometimes takes the form of a kidnapped child or a child adopted illicitly from a foreign country, more and more my attention is focused on the disabled, especially the non-verbal. Whether child, teen, or adult is irrelevant.
Objectification of the disabled isn't rare by any stretch. I've heard that it's an issue in some institutions: in some places, patients/residents get their dirty diapers changed without so much as a curtain being drawn.
Back in high-school there was a boy, let's call him S. (not his real initial, but I'll explain later). S. was so disabled as to be more or less unable to move except to move his head a little and make some pathetic little noises. While he wasn't able to talk, he wasn't retarded. He understood and knew what people said and what was going on. S. was there when I first got to that school and had a certain caretaker. She was fat, old, and lazy. His parents were neglectful, so he was constantly filthy. This caretaker at school never really bothered to clean him up. She would also leave the door unlocked while changing his diapers, and it wasn't uncommon for staff to go in and use the phone in the same room, often opening the door during busy periods and exposing his sorry ass to the world, albeit only for a second.
A few years later he got a different caretaker who cleaned him up and would lock the door. I somewhat resented her for it, too. However, it was with her in charge that I got my first moment alone with him. He had just been cleaned from a bout of diarrhea, and his caretaker had gone to attend to something. Our little exchange went as follows:
He's in his chair (really more like an adult stroller)
Me: Hey <name removed>
He looks at me.
Me: You like being covered in shit, don't you?
He shakes his head just a little, making no sound
Me: I think you do. In fact, from now on I think I'll just call you Shitpants.
Then, being the emotionally-imbalanced teenager that I was, I stopped it there out of some odd guilt which has since disappeared. His caretaker returned a moment later.
That was the only time I ever got to be alone with Shitpants. Nonetheless, I had increasingly disturbing (at the time) fantasies about him. His face smothered by his fat fuck of a father's dirty ass. Him being kept in the same filthy diaper for days or even weeks at a time, with ALL his dirty diapers and clothes simply left to rot on the floor of his room. Him being used as a toilet. I'd take my little Shitpants on outings to the mall while he reeked of shit. Eventually it moved beyond just filth, with my fantasy toy being woken up by hot wax on the genitals before being covered in itching powder all day. Every morning he'd get a choice: helplessly shit his diaper at school or have his ass filled with a plug large enough to make him bleed. Of course, the plug would have a remote controlled vibrator function. My fantasies went on to include electro-torture, cutting, biting, exploiting fears, etc. etc.
Shitpants died a year later. It was at this point that I decided that I had no guilt, and I came to terms with the fact that I was, to put it lightly, seriously fucked up. I still fantasize about Shitpants to this day.
There's not a lot (read: not any] porn in either visual or written form for a person with my tastes. However, there is news. When my imagination is blocked, I sometimes google for news of arrests for abuse or neglect of children or the disabled. While the details of their conditions are often limited, they provide a launching point for new fantasies and prove to me that I'm not entirely alone in the world. I thrive on mental images of filth and despair. I really think that there ought to be more videos, though.
Keep in mind that everything except my verbal exchange with Shitpants is pure fantasy. I've done nothing serious...yet.
So rest well, Akiba-Online. You are not the sickest of the sick.
