The men in tuxedos, still stroking their cocks, watched in rapt attention as Epstein and the women began to claim the corpse. They pushed into the cold, lifeless depths of the girl’s vagina, their thrusts echoing through the opulent bathroom.
The woman next to me moaned, her fingers dipping into her own crotch as she watched the scene unfold. “Look at that poor thing, completely destroyed,” she purred, “and yet, we’ll make it cum again… as a corpse.”
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the grotesque display, my own arousal building in response to the depraved spectacle. Epstein and his twisted followers reveled in the horror, their pleasure derived from the girl’s suffering and death.
As the men continued their sickening ritual, I found myself locked in a trance, repeating those dreadful words in my mind. “Abduction and bloodplay… abduction and bloodplay… abduction and bloodplay…” The horror, the depravity, it all seemed to swirl together into a grotesque, unforgettable melody.
Their moans and grunts of pleasure intermingled with the victim’s feeble gasps, creating a perverse symphony that assaulted my senses. I saw them press their throbbing erections against the woman’s limp, abused body, defiling her in the most degrading ways imaginable. They took turns forcing themselves inside her, their bruising grip on her bruised flesh, as if to claim her completely, to reduce her to nothing more than a plaything for their twisted desires.
The scene etched itself into my memory, a ghastly tableau of lust and violence that would linger, refusing to be erased. I could taste the salty metallic tang of blood on my tongue, could almost feel the rough skin of their hands as they groped and violated her lifeless form. And through it all, that terrible mantra continued to reverberate in my mind, a dark refrain that would haunt my waking hours and torment my dreams for the rest of my days.