The idea of an adult individual simply disappearing within Towa city was one that was not often entertained by its remaining populace.



The mass slaughter of the adults that remained above ground rendered the possibility of such an event as inappropriately hopeful; an adult fate that did not involve gruesome death was just far too improbable.



This aside, recognizing the ‘disappearance’ of an individual is often predicated on said individual’s existence being known to at least one other.  Within Towa city, such a circumstance would mark him/her as one of the surviving class who, by ‘no choice of their own’, took shelter underground.



Such an individual would be even less likely to simply ‘disappear’. Sooner would the collection of men and women stowed away beneath the city streets perish than expose themselves to the ‘demons’ on the surface.



Strangely, the improbability and illogicalness of the happening (traits deeply embedded in whether or not a given happening might come to pass), did not altogether disallow its occurrence.



One day, a man from the underground simply disappeared. The possibility of a ‘voluntary departure’ from the bleak safe-haven was ruled out immediately, and in the absence of an individual willing to brave to outside world in an attempt at ascertaining his safety, presuming him to have vanished was the only conclusion left for his peers to make.



Neutralized by the hopelessness of their plight, none who recognized his disappearance could engage themselves in the event long enough to stumble upon an ordinarily considered alternative:



Abduction.

-

BASE OF THE WARRIORS OF HOPE – MAIN HALL

“Hey!”



“Fucking listen to me to me!! I know that you stupid contraptions can pick up sound!”



“Fuck! If you fucking monsters want to kill me just FUCKING DO IT!”



“JUST DO IT LIKE YOU DID IT TO EVERYONE ELSE!!”



Bellowing at the top of his lungs was a generic young adult male. His complaints were launched while he writhed between the clutches of two standard Monokumas, his ankles and wrists bound against one another.



Visual inspection of the unfortunate adult defined his features as masculine, yet without the creases and depressions synonymous with adulthood. Truthfully, the title of ‘adult’ was hardly appropriate for him. Unfortunately, he was simply too old to be classified as anything else.



Obviously, the young adult’s apparent youth had not saved him from classification and capture by the Monokuma. It had, on the other hand, contributed a great deal to his not dying immediately after capture.



Or so he believed, anyway.



“Why am I even here? What is this fucking place?” he continued.



“H-hold on. At least answer my question before you  fuckin’--!!”



Mid-uproar, the young adult was brazenly tossed forward onto the stone surface beneath them. Following the sharp *CRUNCH* of his frame against the ground, the Monokuma responsible for his transport turned, and initiated robotic waddles out of the hall.

Squirming onto his side, the young adult fought to maintain the vehement volume of his outburst.



“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU…W-WHAT….” stammers and half-sentences flowed from his lips.



“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!?”



A considerable amount of confusion brought forth outbursts along these lines. The young adult could not imagine a world wherein contact with the Monokuma did not equate to death, so, upon being left within what appeared to be the main hall of a ‘prison ballroom’ by none other than them, his mind was cajoled into rumination as to what lay in store for him.



Thankfully, what ‘masculine dispositions’ remained within him ensured that this period of shouting cursing did not last forever. After less than 5 minutes on his own, the energy that he put into these acts was repurposed into adjusting his body into an upright position.



Given the binding of his wrists and ankles, this was easier said than done. Each time he attempted to prop himself up atop his knees, a lack of support for his upper body resulted in his crashing a short distance back down onto the ground.



Expectedly, none of these failures proved particularly discouraging for him. He had been left alone. Objectively speaking, such a happening was tantamount to acquiring a ‘ new lease on life’.



“Alright, come on man…” he encouraged.



“You’re going to get onto your knees, and then you’re going to figure out where you are…”



“After that, you’re going to get out of here and get the fuck back underground.” he assured himself.



“Just focus on one thing at a time.”



“One thing at a t-“



Another timely collision of his ribcage against the unforgiving ground knocked the wind from his lungs. Regrettably, this collision also included a light bruising of several of his ribs.



“*COUGH*”



“That fucking kills…” he wheezed.



Astonishingly, the adrenaline that had initiated these actions saw to the reinitation of his attempt string seconds after what had been his most significant failure thus far.



Steadily, his self-balancing procedures became more concrete, and the ‘distance’ that separated him from the first of his goals grew smaller.



Finally, his efforts bore fruit. A final, tottering of his frame was ended with the settling of his body into an extremely uncomfortable kneeling position.



The young adult took a wealth of comfort in this accomplishment; far more than was appropriate, but this was to be expected. An individual capable of hoping for something, and moving towards the actuation of that thing whilst enamoured by a situation as bleak and lifeless as his own was liable to be over-excited by a great many different things…

-

“Oh, so you’re the one that they brought?” a youthful voice chirped.



“I feel as though this is one of those situations where I should call you a small fry and maybe poke at your manhood a little bit, but that would not be very appropriate of me.”



“The Lil’Ultimate Homeroom is accommodating and cordial to everyone!”



“Even repulsive, depraved, monstrous, and demonic adults!” she finished.



Startled, the young adult shifted his posture in the direction of this voice whilst clenching his teeth in anticipation of some form of physical abuse. Pain was not what he received for his efforts, however. Upon laying eyes on the voice’s source, a chilled dread spiked by inherent revulsion was blasted through every pore of his frame.



“Monaca….Towa?” he suggested weakly.



Having observed the broadcast wherein the Warriors of Hope had introduced themselves, the young adult immediately recognized the emerald-haired girl and her serpentine irises. This considered, her presence was not what gored fear through his frame. Rather, it was several facets of her appearance and the manner with which they were presented that left him fearing for the worst.



Neither the ordinate, almost decorative dress, nor the wheelchair atop which she ordinarily sat could be seen anywhere near the pre-teen girl’s frame.



Instead, her pale, relatively naked figure was presented as standing upright for all to see. The term ‘relatively naked’ held true in spite of the obvious presence of undergarments on her body.



Even if one were to normalize her appearance by defining the underwear that she had chosen as ‘inappropriate’ for a little girl, the garments that Monaca had chosen still failed to meet the functional standards typically associated with lingerie. More simply, the two items lacked ‘coverage’ width and ‘protective’ thickness.



And it showed.



The budding plumpness of her breasts was made to ‘make do’ with two patches of lime-stripped white fabric no more wide than the average adult male thumb.



Below her waist, the steaming, cherry-tinged exterior of her cunt lips suffered under similar, yet slightly more complex conditions. The scrap of fabric that covered this area was wider than that which compressed the surface of her nipples, though its placement around the base of her female mound enforced a more vivid form of ‘strangulation’ as a result. While the lower portions of her lips were more or less obscured from view by the majority of the garments fabric (save for the corners of hairless flesh that bled out from underneath its boundaries), the flesh-compression that brought this about left the upper regions of the very same mound as appearing as much ‘fuller’ than they were in actuality.



Understandably, taking in these features was what brought about the young adult’s “Well that just can’t be right” response. Alongside Monoca’s apparent lack of disability, of course.



“What the fuck is this!? How are you standing up? You’re supposed to be disabled!” he suggested redundantly.



“That aside…”



The stressful, incomplete gaze that he used to appraise the girl was intensified by one additional ‘notch’ in the hope of finding some sort of ‘disconfirming evidence’ for the sight ahead of him.



“You’re a child for fuck sakes!” he spat.



“You shouldn’t be wearing an outfit like that. You shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing with your friends!”



“YOU SHOULDN’T EVEN BE HERE!!” he finished with a shout.



To a point, the series of shouts and outbursts that had come from the young adult’s mouth was warranted. This did not minimize their unnecessary and annoying nature, consider this:

Not only had he narrowly escaped death by Monokuma for reasons that he did not yet understand, but the appearance of Monaca Towa had aroused a previously suppressed basal reaction within him. This reaction was one that he shared with his more ‘worn’ adult peers: the desire to protect children from all things ‘bad’, and where possible, preserve their innocence.



Presently, the binding of his limbs and Monoca’s station disallowed the fulfillment of both of these desires; some amount of incoherent distress was perfectly understandable.



In theory.



In reality, the energy and time that he devoted to these efforts served no purpose.



Monaca, as a deranged, yet privy individual, recognized this from the beginning. As such, her response lacked both the coddling and haughty condescension that one might attribute to the responses of a ‘nefarious mastermind’.



“You adults really are repulsive right down to your stinking cores, aren’t you?” she suggested with a juvenile pout.



“I don’t want to waste aaaaaaaaany of our time together, so I’m going to go ahead and ignore all of that useless drivel that just came out of your mouth.”



“Instead, I’ll just explain things in a way that your mushy garbage brain can understand! Is that alright with you, you empty-headed monster?” she suggested.



“Of cooooourse it is! You’re just another soulless, child-hungry demon on the inside!”



Throughout the utterance of her final sentence, the piercing nature of her biologically-illogical iris shape was intensified by several times. Ironically, between this, and the manic ‘pleasantness’ that her face presented, her overall appearance was far more demonic that that of the young man’s.



After settling her dominant hand against the smooth-paleness of her under-developed hip-line, and directing the index finger of her unoccupied hand in the young adult’s general direction, the explanation that she had offered was provided in full.



“I had Shirokuma bring you here because deep down, you’re the sort of adult monster who gets off to the idea of ruining tiny, nubile bodies with your rancid, boiling, monster-juice!” she explained.



“Now that you’re here, you’re going to rape me until all I can think about is taking in more of the baby-juice you make.”



“You’re going to do that because that is exactly what EVIL…”



The deranged qualities that had bled through her visage previously permeated her visage once again.



“MUDEROUS…”



“CHILD-FUCKING MONSTERS do~” she finished sweetly.



Despite the bipolar flip-flopping of her demeanour, the message that underlay her ‘explanation’ was received by the young adult in pristine quality. Having been petrified by the jarring display, mulling over its contents was the only thing that he could do to fill the time between the end of Monoca’s sentence, and what would hopefully be his reacquiring the use of his tongue.



“She meant every word that she just said, didn’t she?” his inner voice suggested.





“Yes.”



“Yes she did.” it concluded



“Whatever she is, it simply isn’t human…”

-

THAT MADE NO FUCKING SENSE, MAN. COULD YOU EXPLAIN SUPER QUICK?



Occasionally, Monaca Towa’s desire to follow in the footsteps of her idol, Junko Enoshima, placed an abnormal amount of pressure on her sense of self. Under the weight of this unnecessary burden, the disturbed pre-teen’s mind was coaxed into fighting a losing battle with its own thoughts.



“Is the master plan that you devised clever enough, Monaca?”



“Will it make everyone feel the same wonderful despair that Junko-nee granted them?”



“Isn’t there something more you could be doing? Something that Junko-nee might have done?”



With the threat of endless perturbation by these suggestions looming, Monaca busied herself with as many ‘despair inducing’ activities as she could. Of these, those of the ‘hands-on’ variety became her favourites.



One of activities plans (aptly defined as ‘Monster Juice Harvesting’), had become strangely addictive for her.  Its over-arching purpose as a despair inducing activity was never forgotten by her, though the regularity with which she engaged in it (over other activities,for example) had recently intensified.



The reason why was simple: some facet of the activity appealed to her in a way that nothing else could.



For reference, it isn’t what you think it is, nor is it that other, more logical thing.



Stated simply, this ‘thing’ is far, far worse.

-

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER



Monaca did not waste the time that her shell-shocked abductee granted to her. During his extensive petrification, she worked to bring about the required conditions for the activity that she had planned.



A standard forward patter from her had been carried out until the young adult’s field of vision was dominated by the relative nakedness of her chest. Afterwards, a mild shoving performed by her palms against the young adult’s shoulders toppled his body back-first onto the ground. A stamp of her shoeless left foot against the loosely ‘bent’ posture of his knees flattened his conjoined legs against the ground as well.



With these things accomplished, Monaca had assumed a seated position atop the beginnings of the young adult’s thighs. Here, her hands had worked to wrestle the fabric of his jeans and underwear away from their intended positions at his crotch.



It was at this point that the ministrations she had carried out drew ire from the seemingly ‘dead’ male.

-



“Are you seriously intending to do this?!” a sudden shout burst from the young adult’s mouth.



“You know what you’re doing, don’t you? You know that-”



The sight of his own inexplicably fattening member flopping out from the confines of his boxers temporarily choked his sentence within the narrowing confines of his throat.



“Y-you know what this shit entails, don’t you? This isn’t some fucking game that you can just play without consequence!” he warned.



At this, Monoca ceased the dragging of his undergarments down the length of his thighs and shifted her gaze upwards to meet that of her captive.



“I must admit, your stupidity and worthlessness is kinda higher than the average adult.” she commented.



“That’s ok though! It probably just means that you have waaaaay more Monster Juice in you than the average adult too~!” she cooed.



Following this, she scooted forward several inches before reaffirming her overall position. This shift placed her increasingly-moist mound at what was soon to be an ideal position for grinding against the young adult’s member.



With this, a legitimate answer to the question that he had posed was provided.



“You recognized me, so you must’ve seen the broadcast that my friends and I performed, yes?” she suggested.



“I’m the Lil’Ultimate Homeroom!”



“Do you really think this is the first time I’ve done an activity like this?”



Backing this suggestion was yet another timely shift in Monaca’s facial expression and verbal intonation. More specifically, she appeared considerably ‘more psychotic’ throughout her delivery of this sentence relative the others she had put forth.



Yet again, perceiving this shift funnelled a self-generated message the young adult’s ears.



“She isn’t kidding. This isn’t the first time that she has done this.” the voice concluded.



“You’re not going to be the first person to endure this, nor will you be the last. For her, this is completely commonplace.”



Predictably, the young adult came to terms with the nature of his situation after listening to these comments. Doing so reduced his options for progression to a familiar pair: fight, or flight.



“You might not be fucking stable…” he began with a mutter.



“But you’d be actually INSANE if you think I’ just going to let yo­­-!!”



As a result of the predictable timing, and relatively predictable consequences of the young adult’s outbursts, Monaca responded appropriately (e)



Prior to the beginning of what as to be the young adult’s active struggle, she swiftly flung her left hand towards her skull. After extracting an item from within the thick strands that adorned her skull, she stabbed the same appendage down at the left side of the young adult’s neck. Whether due to practice, or innate expertise, these movements culminated in the jamming of a narrow syringe’s needle into one of the foremost veins at his neck.



Donning an inappropriately sweet smile, Monaca spoke whilst depressing the plunger that topped the item.



“Like I said, this isn’t the first time that I’ve participated in an activity like this…” she began calmly.



“Monaca knows that pedophilic monsters get much, much more aggressive when they know that their juice is going to be harvested!”



Fully intending to add insult to the verbal injury that she had inflicted, she leaned downwards to bring her face as close as possible to that of the young adult’s. Following this, the ‘pretence’ that her speech patterns and mannerisms had presented was seemingly gouged from her very being.



“Don’t fret! Monaca knows how to make sure every gets sucked out no matter how much you kick and scream.” she claimed.



“So! The best thing you can do is be a good and relax like the filthy CHILD-FUCKER you are!”



Through the paralytic effects of the compound that that was presently threading itself through his bloodstream, the young adult attempted to scream.



Ever vigilant, Monoca used her position hovering over him to disallow this as well. Just as the beginnings of what would have been an ear-drum piercing howl jumped from his throat, she thrust her skull inwards an inch or so and smothered her lips against his own. In doing so, the brevity that the ultimate ejection of his howl carried was brought down to that of a mere groan.



This aside, the kiss that Monaca imposed served another purpose.



As it turned out, her definition of ‘Monster Juice’ was not limited to the wealth of semen that welled within the bodies of male ‘monsters’.



Their saliva, whether that which was within their tounges, or that which coated the interior of their mouths, qualified as well…

-

THE FUN PART



In the end, Monaca drank her fill of the young adult male’s saliva. Upon quenching a fraction of her overall thirst, she performed an intentionally showy licking of her lips before diving into her ‘main course’ for the evening.



As intended, the kissing session that she had imposed had accelerated the swelling of the clammy tube-steak that had lay languid along the length of the young adult’s crotch. The end result was a rigid, oil-sheened pipe that, upon release from the incarceration imposed by Monaca’s upper body, sprang upwards to stand at 60 degree angle.



After sliding backwards, Monaca stood completely upright, shuffled forward by a half step, and began lowering herself back down towards the young adult’s exposed crotch. At her current position, this descent reduced the distance between her lewdly-constricted lower lips and the tip of the writhing, flesh-packed forearm of cockmeat that she had freed.



Just before the gleaming member was allowed to nudge against her poorly-covered womanhood, Monaca spoke out.



“Aren’t you excited?” she suggested menacingly.



“You’re about to rape a tiny, defenseless, crippled little girl with your monstrous, pent up cock! All of the other filthy monsters that I’ve drained could barely contain themselves by this point!”



Within a few seconds of observation, it became apparent to her that the young adult was unlikely to produce anything resembling the ‘excitement’ she had referenced.



In response, Monaca produced the only thing that she knew how to: A tantrum.



“You arrogant FUCKING PIG!” she shouted.



Directly after this outburst, she applied an unyielding rigidity to her lower body and savagely dropped her crotch down onto that of the young adult’s. Achieving this brought about the snapping of the flimsy patch of fabric that had covered her mound, a messy, lubricant flecked penetration of her sex-hungry lower lips by the young adult’s fist-thick glans, and the engorgement of her vaginal canal on the naturally-greased girth of his member.



Upon planting herself atop the young adult’s crotch, she folded both of her knees in such a way that left the exterior of her right and left shins settled atop the floor space to the right and left of the young adult’s body. Following this, she leaned ever so slightly, and planted both of her palms atop the surface of the young adult’s clothed chest. In doing so, the entry of his the final inch of his member into her cunt was traded for an ideal, forearm supported ‘riding’ angle.



In line with the claim that she had made minutes prior, Monaca accomplished this without a hint of difficulty.  The expertise with which she swallowed the young adult’s rancid member into her sopping womanhood was eerily reminiscent of a snake devouring prey far larger than its body appeared capable of containing. (Good one, you know, cause of the fucking 3 snake references you’ve done already)



In reality, several qualities of the happening separated her hasty hilting of the young adult’s member into her cunt. For one, a viscous splatter of murky female lubricants was lazily rejected from her over-encumbered folds throughout the process. For another, only one section of her body was made to swell outwards to accommodate the heated foreign object within her (her stomach). Last, but certainly not least, Monaca was not left as incapable of producing facial expressions.



Above all of the other qualities of her seamless descent, the expression that she had worn throughout it was by far the most salient. As if pleasured more by the idea of observing an anguished expression on the young adult’s face, she had focused a tight, expectant, wide-eyed smile at his visage. Somehow, producing this smile narrowed the width of her irises even further.



 It was only after her folds began absorbing the thunderous throbs that rippled through the young adult’s mast that an inconsistency in this expression produced.



“…You’re just sicker than average monster, aren’t you?” she suggested calmly.



“That must be it. You’ve got so much juice in you that those vile instincts inside of you don’t even work anymore…”



Acting in line with this mock concern, she slid her body forward (dragging her gaped canal several inches up the length of the young adult’s slickened mast) only to ruthlessly slam her rear back down into position just above the vein-engorged base of the young adult’s shaft.



“That is a bit of a shame, but Monaca knows how to function when things aren’t exactly perfect!” she lied.



“If you’re not excited now…”



“You will be after you lose some of that ROTTING SLOP, won’t you?” she suggested.



-

SURE, WHY NOT



Monaca did not approach the milking of ‘monsters’ with any of the dignity that her station in life might have implied.

Following her the utterance of her vulgar presumption, she altered the position that she had assumed atop the young adult’s crotch, and initiated a merciless bouncing metronome along the length of his pulsing member.



The alteration that she performed granted her more ‘control’ over her lower body, and ensured that the cute, slightly bulbous swell of her ass cheeks came to rest directly above the young adult’s hyperactive testicles.



This was achieved through the raising of her legs off of the ground, a firm planting of the soles of her feet against the ground, and a the spreading of her still-folded legs into a stable, M-shape. Additionally, her upper body was angled towards the young adult’s stationary chest, and her thin, doll-like arms were laid to rest atop her equally meagre kneecaps. Overall, she went from sitting atop the phallus within her to squatting on top of it.



As mentioned previously, the pounding of her lower body against the young adult’s crotch ensued moments after she assumed this position.  Naturally, the size of her body relatively to the foot of impressively dense meet she had jammed inside her cunt made this quite the sight.



Oddly, in spite of the power that backed her initial hip drop, the young adult’s cock tip had failed to push past her cervix. The haughty button could not ‘hold off’ the pre-cum spurting monstrosity, but at the same time, it refused to yield to it. The end result of this was a stalemate; the slippery organ was tented inwards for each hip-plummet that its owner performed, though the very tip of the young adult’s member was allowed to penetrate its opening ever so slightly.



While she did not realize it, this happening turned out to be rather useful for her. Not only had the depth of her oozing womanhood received an artificial increase, but the condition of the young adult’s shaft was transmitted to her in the form of his cock’s ‘throbbing pace’.



Sadly, the physical requirements of her womb-bruising bounce left Monaca without the capacity to take pride in her body’s accomplishment.



More specifically, each of the bounces she performed atop the young adult’s member consisted of two portions: a descent, and ascension.



Due to the stretching that her folds endured, a second sectioning of her ‘ascension’ was required to make the act impactful. Throughout the upward pop that her lower body performed, the angle of descent that her hips would eventually take was pushed further inward. As such, upon dropping her hips along the 5-6 inches she managed to drag out of herself at a time, her cuntlips clapped wetly against the young adult’s crotch in a manner that simulated a tube of salami being shoved into a too-small pipe of some kind.



This regular squeezing of over half of the young adult’s member in and out of her womanhood came about as a result of the most logical consequence for her habitual engagement in ‘Monster Draining’: acclimation. The once stubborn, ‘fussy’ depths of her canal had been pummelled into subservience to their owner with a frequency that ushered in permanent alterations their disposition. In the end, despite maintaining their overall shape, the meat of her depths acquired the ability to simultaneously ‘melt’ against the surface of any cock that penetrated them; no matter how craggy, vein-riddled, or abusive. This created an experience akin to one’s member being into an endless bog of squirming, sweltering, semi-solid goo that, upon being disturbed, only enough breathing room to allow for extrication.



Consequently, the only thing that Monaca’s current bouncing session required of her was the maintenance of a practical angle and complete concentration. The ‘rest’ was effectively automated.



Naturally, all of this ease did not come without the occasional by-product (good or bad). For example, a massive, forearm-shaped bulge regularly tented the sweat-peppered length of her midsection. This tenting appeared tightest underneath the space where her womb ‘ended’ and her ribcage began.



Due in part to the near constant slobbering of murky female-lubricant from her depths, a heavy *PLOTCH* noise was produced for each of the brazen ‘swallows’ her womanhood performed. Additionally, the smothering of her somehow-fatter cuntlips into this lukewarm puddle linked the area to the young man’s crotch via the formation of a gluey web of lubrication strands between the two surfaces.



Better still (from a third person perspective, anyway), the powerful bucking and popping of her hips brought about a consistent jiggling of what little ass-flesh her rear had to offer. While the sight lacked the sort of pay off associated with the fattier, fleshier butts offered by more developed females, the occasional tremble of her lower body (as a result of a particularly sensitive nerve within her cunt being stabbed, for example) caused both of her supple cheeks to jump and shiver in such a way that accentuated just how uncanny her canal’s cock-swallowing abilities were.



Finally, the performance of such an outwardly seamless ‘monster riding’ session had quietly replaced Monaca’s remaining ‘tact’ with additional chunks of her basal nature.



This was not a very ‘pretty’ sight, everything considered.



“mmmHIHIHI…” a prolonged drone of mixed giggles and moans seeped from her previously sealed lips.



“You’re feeling it, right?”



“You’re feeling every inch of my slimy, pre-teen cunt milk your greasy member, right?” she asked



“YOU’RE DROWNING IN DESPAIR RIGHT NOW, AREN’T YOU?”



These questions were posed by Monaca despite her having already settled upon her self-generated answers for each of them.



“YOU’RE MASHING UP THE MEAT OF A TINY, DEFENESELESS LITTLE GIRL’S CUNT WITH YOUR COCK. YOU SHOULDN’T BE FEELING ANYTHING ELSE BUT THE EMBRACE OF YOUR OWN DEPRAVED DESPAIR ♥” she finished.



The completion of these utterances referenced in their own way the fact that Monaca, regardless of everything she had accomplished thus far, was no more than an unbalanced child seeking affirmation within a concept she believed to be capable of providing it. The overstimulation that she imposed upon her own addled, cock-maddened frame rattled her façade just enough to make this obvious.



Unfortunately, the only individual that was present to witness this happening was the ‘locked in’ young adult whose cock was partially to blame responsible for the happening.



This too was something that Monaca had planned for. Until her plans for Towa city were completed, letting just anyone see her true nature was something that she believed to be foolhardy.



On the other hand, letting a paralyzed, easily disposed of individual see such a sight was perfectly acceptable.



“BECAUSE THAT SOUNDS LIKE SOMETHING THAT JUNKO-NEE WOULD DO!”

-

Monaca’s rhythmic attempts at perforating her own cervix were halted when the throbbing of the young adult’s shaft attained a particular consistency. Recognizing this consistency and responding appropriately to it was evidently another thing that sex had managed to fuck into her bodily processes.



When these throbs began pushing pressurized blood through the veins that dug into the inner surface of her womanhood, she dropped her hands down onto the young adult’s chest and used the rigid surface as a pushing off point for the rest of her body. Following this, she simply stopped. Her latest hip-dumping became her last, and a disturbing *SCHLORP* signalled the popping of her compressed flesh-swamp off of the tip of the young adult’s member.



Ignoring the needy throbbing of her womanhood, Monaca stepped away from the young adult’s crotch and laid herself out across the section of ground directly to his left. Here, she slid her moistened upper body towards his own in such a way that left her chest as partially supported by the left side of his body. In doing so, the jade hellspawn was allowed to direct her the petrifying ecstasy on her face at her immobilized victim.



“Looks like its juice squirting time!” she chirped sweetly.



“You very nearly spewed all of your mucky babyjuice into a crippled pre-teen girl, you know!”



“As much DESPAIR as I know would come from letting you Monaca’s cunt, this isn’t that sort of game.”



“And besides...”



Once again, the faux happiness and enthusiasm that her voice carried was dissolved by an onset of fear-inspiring, albeit ultimately childish cruelty.



“You haven’t shown me your excitement yet.”



“I’ve treated you to all of the tummy-bloating sex and SOUL-ROTTING DESPAIR that a FERAL FUCKING MONSTER like you could possibly ask for…”



“Now, Monaca wants what she is owed.” she claimed harshly.



Throughout this particular block of speech, Monaca had remained stationary whilst enforcing direct eye-contact with the young adult male. Following her declaration of intent, she extended left hand down towards his crotch. Whilst approaching the slop-based tower of over-pent meat, she spread out its fingers as far as she could manage. Upon pushing the immaculate surface of her palm into the side of the fluid covered cock, she folded her outstretched fingers inward to sensually wrap her hand around as much of the engorged as she could.



This did not turn out to be much, in the end; the entirety of her dainty mitt could only consume half of the total circumference of the young adult’s mast.



For Monaca, this was perfectly acceptable; she still had the musculature of the hairless limb to work with.



After affirming her grasp with a light squeeze, the monologue she had initiated was brought to an end.



“She HAS to get it, too. Otherwise, you’d end up breaking a rule...” she suggested.



“And monsters who break the rules don’t get to play anymore…”

-

Instead of providing context for her foreboding comment, Monaca began pumping her hand along the lower inches of the young adult’s length.



Following the completion of her first rep, she lunged inwards and pressed her lukewarm lips against his own. His mouth was invaded by her tongue in short order, and before long, his own pink plate of flesh began dancing to the tune that she had set. The same could not be said about the rest of his body, though at this point, it was difficult to discern whether or not it was the compound he had been injected with that prevented him from moving.



A sloppy, cock-wringing handjob from a pre-teen did carry a certain amount of appeal within niche circles. Perhaps he belonged to one of them?



Regardless of what the truth of the matter was, Monoca’s hand ministrations actually disqualified her as a child.



In a way.



To begin with, the grip that she applied to the young adult’s reddened member was almost nonsensically tight (considering the slight limb that produced it). As mentioned previously, the size of Monaca’s frame kept the entirety of the young adult’s male from enduring the suffocating grasp that she had managed. This considered, the pressure that she applied to the area she had chosen was completely sufficient in grinding wad after wad of discoloured precum from the tip of his shaft.  How this was brought about could be explained via simple observation.



Beginning from the goo-lathered base of his crotch, Monaca’s grasp travelled up the length of the young adult’s cock at a measured, yet relatively agonizing pace. The strength exerted by her hand ensured that the combined precum/cunt-juice lotion that coated his member was wrung from completely from its surface (at the expense of the veins and imperfections of its surface being forcibly squashed down into the meat from which they sprung).



The ascensions of Monaca’s palm stopped 7 inches up the total of 12 offered by the young adult’s member. Here,her otherworldly grip was somehow made tighter just in time for the descending, semi-solid waterfall of fresh precum from the tip of his member to douse her palm (and the inches that it encompassed) in yet more reeking lubrication. Monaca never waited for her fluid-foamed palm to become completely enamoured in the goop, though. Once sufficiently wet, her hand travelled back down the young adult’s phallus (re-glazing the inches it had wrung in the process) only to begin the process anew.



As the metronome was apparently effortless for her, the kiss that she had initiated was only interrupted by her occasional need to take a breath. Consequently, she managed to slurp down her victim’s saliva, bore her gaze into his lifeless visage, choke his pent member closer and closer to orgasm, and violate his mouth all at the same time.



These were not behaviours that a mere child could manage on their own.



Generally speaking, the expression of expertise that she put forth accelerated the ‘progression path’ of her activity.



For better or forth worse, the end was near.

-

Once again, the seemingly perpetual execution of Monaca’s ministrations was brought to an end by the appearance of less deep, more consistent pulse through the length of the young adult’s member.



In response to them, Monaca hastened the pace of her messy handjob to an unsustainable, yet orgasm-worthy pace. These explosive stroking gestures were maintained for an impressive 10 seconds before the rest of the little girl’s frame sprang into action.



Comically, these 10 seconds were all that was required to initiate the surge of an initial spurt of sperm-packed cock juice up the length of the young adult’s member.



Eager to beat the eruption of this rope to the proverbial punch, Monaca tore herself away from the young adult’s upper body and hastily returned to the straddling position that she had assumed prior to impaling herself at his length.



Instances before the young adult’s first shot of uncomfortably-hot could leave his length, she hungrily spiked her hips downwards. In doing so, the clean re-impalement of her frame on his member occurred synonymously with the beginning of the expulsion of several months’ worth of semen from his testicles.



Predictably, this happening was anything but straightforward.



The speed and precision with which Monaca had dropped her hips drove the tip of the young adult’s member against her cervix with the force of a sledgehammer against a common nail. This excess of force violated the compromise that her frame had formed with ‘the male phallus’, and forcibly widened her cervix by several additional inches. Consequently, the first burst of coagulated reproductive batter to leave the young man’s cock was shot past her cervix into the dormant, untouched babymaker that it was designed to protect.



The introduction of grossly-obese baby-batter within this flesh-pocket was a first for Monaca. The moment this rope of swimmers plastered itself against the previously-undisturbed inner lining of her uterus, a never to be released scream was welled within her throat.



She was denied the time to even think about releasing it.



Behind the first shotgun blast of chunked peat within her uterus were repetitive, equally weighty bursts of the same scalding muck that had knocked the wind out of her. One after another, these bursts of harshly-scented, overtly potent seed were blasted into her womb’s finite interior. As their contents overlapped and coagulated atop one another, a more mild (albeit not by much) iteration of the sensation of scalding one’s skin was propagated through the entirety of Monaca’s womanhood. If this was not shock enough, her innards somehow managed to track the writhing of each of the living sperm cells within every drop of jizz that was spewed into her.  Despite being blanketed by the comparatively ‘soothing warmth’ of the semen itself, the sensation of life wriggling against her uterus in search of an egg to impregnate remained as uncomfortable as it sounded.



Both of these happenings were encompassed by the first overall expansion of Monaca’s womb. The volume of seed that was within her had long since exceeded her womb’s inherent capacity, and with the option of popping firmly off of the table, the untrained organ was forced to fulfill its ‘purpose’ several years ahead of schedule.



The popping of this internal cherry brought about conjoined strings of, cock-fattening *GLRPTCH* noises as Monaca’s stomach was made to expand against the weight of her ballooning warm. For each spurt of seed that she took in, these noises became increasingly vivid. Eventually, a symphony along the lines *GLORPTHGLUPGLOPTCH* could be perceived as it was repeated time and time again.



Unfortunately, impregnation had no place within Monaca’s activity plan.



When the swell of her stomach began to mirror that of a third-trimester pregnancy, the rigid daze of over-stimulation that she had slipped into was broken.



Trembling and near broken, she gingerly slid the index and middle fingers of her left hand underneath the crimson ribbon that maintained a portion of her hairdo.



This time, a packaged razor blade was the item that she drew from her locks.



Following a clumsy unwrapping of the item, she dropped her gaze down to the defense perpetrator of her insides’ sullying.



“All m-monsters…” her voice trembled.



“DESERVE TO DIE…”



With the passage of this common came the advent of that which she loved most in regards to ‘Monster Juice Harvesting’:



The death of a monster.











































(hahaaaaaaaaaaa, damn nigga that was wild.)