Pounded in the Butt by the Screaming Gristle Beacon from Site-Everything
rating: +101+x

This short story was coauthored by the Botnik predictive keyboard app back in the days when computer-generated literature was little more than a clumsy novelty. Every tale posted on the SCP wiki from its inception through 2018 was fed into the algorithm, along with the works of erotic gay fantasy author Chuck Tingle. These are the results.

I felt every muscle in my bedroom-places transcend reality as my favorite lab thaumotologists tucked their fat germs into the darkness of my death-tailored man chamber.

"C'mon!" chuckles the attractive Foundation figure standing naked under himself. "Just give us that heavenly whistling!"

"I never end until everyone else rapidly arranges their own shame gatherings to talk about my sweet length of pleasure weight!" I shout back.

Eventually we realized that we should be doing something about that incident with the uncountable containment breaches, so we didn't. Fifteen days later the others were struggling to keep up their rapid activities and I couldn't say I was getting too comfortable, what with all the imposing Foundation agents already hanging encouraging letters from the containment room ceiling. I just stood up and flipped through the door, hissing sounds of blackened laughter.

"I don’t like forever scrambling up the staircase of pleasure! I need my butthole open wide as the world, but not one person has breached containment of my heart!"

Suddenly a deep voice crackled out across the landscape.

"I'll fucking tell you what," the voice yelled, "clearly finding a beautiful pink Juan is not going to be a fucking basket of awesome! You have to get over your fear of pain and grab your issues together in a fucked up dildo of proper workplace etiquette!"

"But what value does decades of research have if my balls throb with deafening rage?" I apologize.

"Just throw out your completely stupid lizard fiction and it will work out, my gay twink human twink. Someone who I’ve tasted countless miles of will help feed the butt in your heart."

Light wrinkled over the cloud edge, a perfect relief after all this murdered communion we had. There was movement towards the facility vans. A flash of white panty parameters. A moment of erotic gay giddiness ejects from my eyes. It’s Moloch the butt-pounding noisekeeper of oldest magic, before my very tips!

"Morning, brother lord!" he said soothingly. "We've got some shit to do."


Soon we were adhering to each other like a snowball on a tombstone. He unfurls his muscular ears as he savors the one orange I must have found. Only Moloch time here.

"That's not the only thing I've destroyed," he murmurs, pointing at someone with enough brains to get laid. "Fuck security, put your enormous massive dick cock into overdrive and start filling that science shark with some smooth smile food."

"A shark agenda?" I blurt. "You already discovered my life will be nothing but red gay lifestyle with this!"

And that was how friendship blossomed right upon this handsome world of trouble.

When the Foundation eventually stops us, Dr. Barclay is going to punch my bones off.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License