Lobster Teeth

I first met Richard Tatlinger in the town of Farenstock, server 402, in the MMO Broken Lands. He was a level eighteen paladin with a short sword in one hand and a magic staff in the other with the username, “MegaD1k31.” For as many hours as the kid put into the game, he should have completed far more quests and been much stronger. But the gameplay was only the second thing on his mind. He’d only even registered an account when one of his friends at school told him how easy it was to get pixelated pussy.

That’s the thing to understand about Richard Tatlinger. He’s the main character of this little ballad, but there was absolutely nothing extraordinary about him. Like any other brat at sixteen, he worshipped a goddess named pussy and her twin supplicants, the titties. He wore out old movies and TV shows on tape that came close to exposing them. He marked the pages of school books that so much as mentioned them. He searched about on the early internet for any images he could find of the sacramental slit. Sometimes he’d see pictures of other men—big men, small men, strong men, nerds like him—as they shoved their cocks in his beloved pussies. And he hated them, hated all of them. Hated them for their pounding, hated them for mucking up his sacred sights with their pricks—he didn’t want to see them. That would have made him a fag. No, he wanted the illusion that he was all alone with all that coochie coochie.

And it’s funny to me that all those sweet, sacred slits always seemed to belong to sluts and bitches and whores in little Richard’s mind. He could never love ones of those hoes that posted pictures of herself with the sacred slit held wide open. But their profanity just made his goddesses all the greater.

I say this because he was all of these things before I ever let him. I didn’t make him a dirty boy, I just found what I was looking for already inside of him.

He approached me, “DataChick1172,” in the Farenstock tavern, which was a bold move in itself. I was garbed in a standard chainmail bikini, the kind that makes the stomach flesh colored and adds those precious extra pixels to the bust.

He asked me, “Hey. ASL?”

I had to turn my character around and then back toward him to give the illusion I was looking his way. “Dunno, QT. U?”

I’ll bet that little pencil eraser he called his cock went stiff when I called him QT. “14. M. Russet. C. Maur.”

Veril Rapids was three and a half hours from Russet, so that’s where I said I was from. I was eighteen and taking a year off from college, which made me so very mature. And I was, most assuredly, female.

The question, “Wanna be my GF?” was so pathetic I laughed out loud. I already had him, I was sure, so it would be fun to just jerk his chain a little more.

“Eww, no.”



“4 2000 gold?”

That got another howl of laughter out of me. “U don’t have 2000 gold.”

It turned out he did. Richard had his own private, prepaid money card his mother and father didn’t know about. He needed it to buy lots of gold for his account and pay for his computer’s antivirus system, which all his porn searches were constantly corrupting. It was only after he showed me the virtual currency in a trade window I finally told him yes. And I’ll bet he creamed his shorts right then and there.

For four months after that we carefully positioned our sprites to make it look like he was eating my ass and fucked each other’s brains out between asterisks. And then, as his pillow talk, he’d complain about how no woman would even give him a chance in real life. How he was such a great person and I was the only one who understood it. Once, I asked him if he’d ever signed up to do any volunteer events through his school or community. He said he’d been meaning to, he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I assured him that counted for something. I’m not a creature of karma. I wasn’t gearing up to punish him or teach him a lesson. I only asked because I wanted one more thing to laugh about.

I asked him what he’d tried on those little sluts in real life who clearly didn’t deserve him. My precious cretin was not lacking in confidence, he told me he’d tried asking lots of girls out for pizza and movies before, but no one ever wanted to take him up on it.

That was when I asked him, “Then u give up on them?”

By the way his response seemed stalled, I figured my question confused him. “Yes.”

“U should ask more. Girls like 2 play hard 2 get.”

Again, I could sense hesitation in the long time he waited just to type, “Rly?”

“Dont give up. Dont take no 4 a answer. It shows ur bold.”

It was then, after he’d probably roleplayed analingus we me over a hundred times, he bothered to ask, “Wats ur name? IRL?”

I had decided long before he was never going to bother, so it was my turn to be taken aback for just a second. When I shook it off, I told him, “Sarah.”

“Can I c pic of u?”

Something, maybe pride, welled up in me when he asked. I’d begun to wonder if he was so thick-headed he’d be content to eat virtual ass until the end of time. I sent him a picture of a pretty young black-haired woman with freckles and a smile that was at once crooked and endearing. If he’d ever seen the beloved cinematic classic, The Lobster’s Claw 3: The First Scream, he may have called me out for just sending a picture from the back of the tape box. Instead, he just said, “Thx. Ur beautiful.”

Neither the name nor the picture were a lie, even if they weren’t quite the truth either. My face hadn’t looked like that in a long time, and it seemed just as far back since anyone had called me “Sarah.” But Richard didn’t need to know that. He returned the favor and confirmed to me he was exactly the glasses wearing, caterpillar moustached, tubby little shit I imagined he’d be. And he was even posing with a pair of ninja sai, now that shit was hilarious.

For three more months, we continued as we had. He gave me beautiful gifts of amethyst ingots and leather boots. I told him to follow me, led him to the icy mountains of Neckholt, and instructed him to hold an ice cube to his cock to simulate fucking in a tundra. He said it was the best orgasm he’d ever felt.

Once in a while, I asked how his dating pursuits in the real world were going. At first, he said he didn’t want to talk about it, but it came spilling out in no time. He said he’d tried taking my advice, and not only did those whores in his class get more aggressive in their rejections, one of them reported him to the principal for harassment. Richard said he learned his principal was actually pretty cool when he let him off the hook, he understood that it was hard being a single boy in high school. Between my asterisked fellatios and reverse-cowgirls, I told him most girls those days had gotten too nasty and misunderstanding. I said that I knew he’d be a great boyfriend to me if we only lived a little bit closer to one another.

That was the first time he ever asked me, “Do u want 2 meet? IRL?”

I could have moved into final production then, but as is often the case, extra steps make the end result all the sweeter. That was the day I told him I was going off to college, and I didn’t know how much more I’d be able to play the game, with all the schoolwork I was going to be busy with. There was another long wait for a response as, I assumed, he had to collect the million pieces his heart shattered into and glued them back together.

The best response he could muster was, “O. Tht sux. I will miss u.”

At the same time, I finally allowed our relationship to move to the next level. “If u give me ur fone #, I will text u whenever I play.”

I gave him an occasional text message and infrequent logins for the next five months and, I judged from his reactions, he really got his rocks off whenever I did. He never bothered to ask what I was studying, which seemed in character. After all that time he never even made it to level twenty-five, but if there was a skill for poon handling, he would easily have reached ninety-nine.

At long last, I kept him waiting three whole weeks before I logged in and private messaged him, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Richard asked me, “Wat?”

“Richard this is dumb. This is a game for kids and I’m bored to playing around with you.”

That time, he was very quick to respond. “Wat? Ok, we can stop playing. I’ll just txt u.”

“No,” I said. “I’ve met someone. In real life. He’s smart, and funny, and good looking, and he makes me feel like I’ve been wasting my time.”

“Sarah no”

“Please don’t message me anymore. Live your own life… and lose some weight. Please. For your own sake.”

I logged out of the game and deleted my account. But my cell phone went off all the time for the next six weeks, and every message made me howl with laughter. Richard went in spirts, first he was apologetic, and he told me he’d give me space if I told him to. Just tell him I wanted space, that was all I had to do. Please just text him if that was what I wanted. Then he shifted and told me never even liked me to begin with. I was another dirty whore like all those bitches at school who never gave him a chance. He said I was probably a man in real life, and he was glad he wasn’t chatting with a faggot anymore. Apologies and pleading followed, and at least once he said he was going to kill himself if I didn’t respond. That would have been a problem, but I didn’t believe him for a single second.

The wait took its own toll on me, but I was sure it would all be worth it. After nearly a year and the three months since his last message, on his eighteenth birthday, I texted him again.

“Richard? Can we talk?”

I expected it may take him a while to respond, since he had no way to know it was coming. But he only needed an hour. “Sarah? Wat?”

He had to wait an hour to receive the entirety of the fourteen-part text message I sent him. I wailed on and on about what an asshole my supposed real life boyfriend had been, how he was never nice to me, and how small his dick was. Richard wasn’t going to read all of that with more than a cursory glance, I knew. He gleaned from it exactly what I wanted him to: that I was suddenly single again and I would give anything to be his fuck buddy again. And, by some odd coincidence, beloved comic book convention Russetcon was just a few weeks away. It was the perfect chance for me to come out to his neck of the woods and we could finally meet in real life.

Richard seemed to forget the way I’d unceremoniously abandoned and then ghosted him. He still worshipped the sacred slit, he would not dare miss a chance to appease her at the Silverpoint Hotel and Suites.

In the weeks that led up to the con, I told him if he really, really wanted to impress me, he should show up dressed as Hiromi Nakinara from Long Past Due. He gave me exactly the kind of confused response I expected, because while Nakinara was unquestionably one of the most popular cosplay costumes, she was also a pulse-poundingly sexy woman. I told him it was all about confidence. Nothing, I insisted, would be more attractive than seeing him dressed in her shredded time patrol suit that cut off just under the chest and hugged the ass so tight. And if he wore them so tight I could see the outline of his cock, I would be very, very impressed. He offered a few more pitiful protests but his will to argue was long gone.

Some young men can crossplay quite well. Some can pass, some are so outrageous they shoot the moon and come back around to looking fantastic. But sweaty, mousy, pathetic little Richard clearly couldn’t do either. The poor nerd was at his very first comic books book convention dressed like a Koy sexpot and trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone else.

He asked me where we should meet up, I suggested in front of Martin Wilkens’ booth. I didn’t go anywhere near there, I only suggested it because beloved science fiction author Wilkens was the type who wasn’t afraid to say “fag” in interviews, and I hoped the word crossed his mind when he saw Richard. When he texted that he couldn’t find me, I said we just must have walked past one another. I told him he should try for me by the south con suite. There was a whole panel full of queens and ladyboys discussing cosplay in the room next door that just let out a minute after he started waiting, and I imagined many gave him very interested looks. As I said before, I’m not a creature of karma. This was not punishment, it was just hilarious.

When his texts seemed sufficiently creeped out, I entered my endgame. I said I was so sorry for the confusion, and I wanted to make it up to him. We should just skip to the part where he came up to my hotel room. Whatever ill will I’d built vanished with that suggestion. He couldn’t wait to finally come see me. I was on the fifth floor, which was all made up of honeymoon suites. And, as I emphasized to him, soundproof walls.

I heard the door open and Richard called in, “Sarah!” It took a lot of force for me to not laugh at his voice that was clearly too high for his body type. The shower was running in the bathroom. A note and a few lovely, leather and metal toys laid on the bed. My instructions were, “Lock your legs in the belt and put on the blindfold before you put on the cuffs. Then I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

Richard took nearly ten minutes to truss himself up properly. I had to wonder if he thought I was letting myself prune in the shower the whole time. One way or another, I heard him lay down on the mattress and shout, “I’m ready for you!”

And I was so very ready for him. Out from under the bed I crawled and extended a tentacle toward him. When I ran it around his stomach and barely traced an outline around his cock, he let out a confused but clearly pleasurable moaned. He probably thought I was still covered in moisturizer or something like that.

I observed the blubbery boy naked on the as I inched closer, grateful he’d taken his costume off first. I’d need it later. With the blindfold over his eyes, Richard had the biggest, stupidest grin on his face as I gently stroked first with one tentacle, then with two, and then a third on the opposite side. As I reached my full height and squeezed that little vein on each side, the boy let out a long, shaky, “Aww yeah. That’s it.”

My game was already won, anything more I did before the last move was strictly for amusement. And in that spirit, I let out a moan of my own.

Of course, Sarah Harrison’s vocal cords had deteriorated long before then. So had her hands, her breasts, most of her face. Circumstances had forced me to use her up very quickly, and I needed to find a way to lure someone into my clutches without them ever seeing my face or hearing my voice. The internet is truly a beautiful thing.

Without my proper vocal muscles in place, the moan was much closer to a hissy gargle than a sigh of contentment. Richard didn’t notice at first, still lost in his own ecstasy, but did silence himself when I let out another.

“What… what the fuck is that?”

I said, “Don’t be scared.” With the utmost imagination, one could perhaps interpret my words correctly. But I’m sure to Richard, it just sounded like more gargling.

“Sarah? Sarah what’s going on here? Say something!”

His increased pulse and sense of danger only made his pitiful little prick harder. “It’s just me, Richie, the girl of your dreams.”

“Babe, stop, what is that sound? Did you turn on a monster movie or something? I’m freaking out, get this thing off my eyes!”

I slipped my tentacles off his cock and crawled closer to him. Out of my mouth I slipped my tongue and licked the first drops of pre-ejaculate off the head of his cock. But while my tentacles are soft and squishy, my tongue is rough like a cat’s. He seemed to moan and shout in pain in the same breath.

“Sarah, this isn’t fucking funny anymore! What’s going on, say something to me!” Richard bucked his head about against the pillows to try forcing the blindfold off.

“You taste so delicious, my sweet.” Whatever he heard, I’m sure it got the point across. I opened my mouth and shut it tight around his.

Richard’s shouts of fear mingled with pleasure as he dick felt the contrasted assault of my sandpaper tongue and the soft warm of my mouth. With a last slide, he finally forced his blindfold off and got a good look at me. However he interpreted what he saw, it was enough to silence him.

I had lived in the body of Sarah Harrison for thirty years, and after all that time very little of her still remained. What Richard beheld, as I released his penis just long enough to get a good look at me, was an emancipated corpse in a strange, crab walking stance. The remnants of Sarah’s torso faced the ceiling, the half arms and half legs my tentacles burst from appeared broken backwards. This made the face hang upside down as I looked at him with long dead eyes. And he beheld my mouth, vertical instead of horizontal, as it ran down from the middle of my face to the center of my throat. To a simple eye it looked like an enormous vagina. But one with more world experience would recognize, as I opened it and exposed my teeth, that it was closer to a lobster’s mouth than anything else. It was just when I leaned down and captured his dick in my mouth again he got back to screaming.

Even while erect, the human penis is a very supple, spongey thing. A few isolated cases of women in violent situations or in the thralls of a seizure have ended with cocks being bit off in the process, but few people possess the force or the will. I only have a pair of crustaceans’ mandibles without a single canine tooth, so I can’t cut the conventional way. But what I lacked in sharpness I made up for in strength. With a last roll of my tongue, I positioned his cock between my jaws and crushed it at the base. With a backward jerk of my head, I tore it off.

Richard screamed, the bitter, salty, delicious tang of blood and semen rushed into my mouth. I ground down his manhood to pulp, swished around the slurry, and spat it up into his face. For a few sweet seconds, his screaming was supplanted by a horrified silence, then an audible gag as he tilted his head to the side of the bed and threw up. A last croakish laugh slipped out of my mouth as I leaned down and took hold of his pentectomy wound with my tentacles.

Out from Sarah Harrison’s mouth and into the wound I crawled. I am not a small creature, but my flesh, organs, and bones are all extremely flexible. As Richard got into raspy screams again, I gave him an eating out the likes of which could only be imagined. It was dark and crammed inside his body, so I ripped, tore, and feasted on whatever organs I encountered as I made a rush for his head. His skin stretched to accommodate my crawl as I moved up through his intestines and into his upper stomach and chest. His terrified shrieks finally came to an end when I moved up through his esophagus and choked him from the inside. My little journey finally came to an end when I dug into his skull from the back roof of his mouth and sunk my teeth into his brain. I’d made that same trip so many times, I didn’t even have to guess where to strike to cut off all of his motor movement. For the few seconds it took me to raise a probing tentacle into just the right spot and extended countless others through his appendages, I think he was legally dead.

Without a single audible sound, his screams got going all over again as Richard’s body, by no action of his own, sat up and broke the chains that bound him. The kid was a nail biter, that was the first thing that came to my mind. I raised his hands to his eyes and saw through them for the first time. His fingernails, the surrounding skin, cuticles, they were all fucked up. And after a moment of dealing with the blur, I realized his eyes were too. As I reached for his glasses, the screams kept coming, even though nothing could be heard. Not in the conventional sense, anyway.

Inside that weak little brain of his, I heard repetitive demands of, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

I cleared my throat and ran some of my power into his vocal chords to undo a little of his damage.

“You’re probably wondering what’s happening right now. And why this is happening to you.”


With one of his hands I ran a little more power down to the hole I’d given him. That staunched the bleeding. As I walked into the bathroom, I asked him, “Haven’t you ever heard that sex is giving your body to someone else?”


When I arrived at the mirror I fluffed around his hair a little in admiration. “Are you familiar with the hermit crab, Richard? They slip their abdomens into sea shells for protection. But as they get bigger and with wear and tear, they abandon old shells for new ones. I’m a little like that. And you’re my newest shell.”


I slipped a hand into my little bag of cosmetics on the bathroom counter and drew out a scalpel. “Don’t be so upset, boy. It’s a wonderful honor if you ask me. How many of your friends at school ever got the attention of an ancient body hopper like me?”

His curses returned to screams of agony as I dug the scalpel into his big belly. I could have taken over his whole being at once, but I’d let him keep his pain receptors while I did my work. It’s easy to tune out screams when you’ve heard them often enough, and without any physical vocal cords to wear out, Richard never stopped for a second.

Ugly boys can make pretty girls with just a little bit of effort. Out from his big belly I ripped handfuls of fat and set them in the bathroom sink. Then I cut open his upper pectorals and slipped in the bloody goop. It took some stretching of the skin and sculpting, but the end result was a smaller but still chubby stomach and a rocking pair of tits. The force of my inner energies shut those wounds easily as I made a well-practiced move back toward his lower region.

One vertical slash was all it took to cut through his scrotum. As the blood and cum pooled on the floor of the hotel beneath me, I took ahold of his testicles with two fingers each and plucked them like grapes. Richard’s internal howls hit a fever pitch as I raised them to my lips and said allowed, “They’re a little like that chicken with sweet and sour sauce, if you ate the coating off first.” Then I used his own teeth to chomp them up and savored the first swallow with a human throat I’d enjoyed in much too long.

From his leftover scrotal skin I fashioned the vaginal gates into the hole I’d given him. None of his insides would heal, none of them had to. He was, after all, just my shell, only truly for decoration.

By the time I showered off all the blood and jizz and piss, all the wounds had healed. When I slipped Richard’s wig back on, I may not have been Hiromi Nakinara, but I was a sweet, pudgy little girl most of the men on the con floor would drool over.

“What do you think, Richard?” I wondered if his soul could get an erection at what I’d done to his body. “I feel bad that I didn’t end up finally taking your virginity. Let’s get back onto the floor, shall we? I’ll bet there are lots of good looking cosplayers who would jump at the chance.”

He screamed and screamed his protests, but by that night’s end, when I’d done all I said I would, he seemed to surrender. Just like all of them before him had.

I am not a creature of karma, this was not a punishment. But I am an abyss of souls lost to the commandments of their genitals. He was not taken because he deserved it, he was taken because it was easy. And he doesn’t suffer because of what he did. He suffers because it brings me pleasure.

Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.