Erin Sylis > Hello!

Erin Sylis > Are you interested in a session? Or just curious?

Kurgill > A session

Kurgill > I will pay you double your hours rate, 30 mins in to the session. Your topic is the sexualisation of processed meats. I will masturbate for the entire session, and eat dry crackers.

(We then debate pricing, and I offer 10m per 10 mins which he accepts, though I tipped too.)

Erin Sylis > Okay. How often should I send a message? I could write the whole thing beginning to end and send it at the end of the hour but that wouldn't be very engaging. Should I send a message every paragraph or so?

Kurgill > you can just type in the chat as it comes to you

Kurgill > and I can watch like a dirty little meat boy

Erin Sylis > Okay. I can also send it by EVEmail if you want, it doesn't have the character limits the chat does.

Kurgill > just hyphonate as needed :)

Kurgill > 10m sent

Erin Sylis > Sounds good. Well, I'll start the timer and begin.

Kurgill > 3

Kurgill > 2

Kurgill > 1

Kurgill > meat

Erin Sylis > Kurgill. The name filled the room, echoing off neglected tins of old synthmeat rations, furrier gelatin, fedo pâté, and every other carnivorous delight one could hope for. The man of the hour sat perched on an impromptu throne of said tins, -

Erin Sylis > Surrounded by a cohort of slavegirls all circling him in antlike motion, chanting his name. Kurgill, Kurgill. But now a new sound joined the cacophany. The crack of tins being peeled open. The pneumatic pop of long entombed meat finding freedom at last.

Erin Sylis > Kurgill, Kurgill, pop, crack, hiss. A tin of Gallentean charisoco haunch, its lid pulled back in a chromey curl, passed beneath his nose, then was whisked away in the symphony of motion. Kurgill, said many. From some dark corner came a squad of slaves -

Erin Sylis > - carrying a plasticine barrel. The lid came off, and the room was immediately filled with the pungent arouma of meat. Someone slid it underneath the man seated on his throne of tins and lifted his feet, placing them within the barrel, where they -

Erin Sylis > - nestled in comfortably with a seemingly bottomless slurry of meat, its color simultaneously red and brown and white, grainy and mashed and strained together by untold forces. It seeped up between his toes, enveloping them.

Erin Sylis > One of the girls came to a rest in front of him, standing at attention and holding her tin of meat close to her chest. A long canister of carovid pancetta. She withdraw a slice, wafer-thin and marbled with exquisite fat, and placed it on his thigh.

Erin Sylis > "Kurgill..." she said in a low tone, as the circle of meatbearers continues to swirl around the two of them. She emptied out the canister in short order, arranging slice after slice on every surface available to her. "Good," replied Kurgill, his -

Erin Sylis > - eyes shut tightly. He nodded to himself. "Good... the foundation is laid." The girl bowed low, then stepped out into the fray, carrying her now-empty canister. Another took her place, and then another. These two bore long, filamentous silklike

Erin Sylis > - strings of meat which were draped over their arms like a millionfold tentacles of a jellyfish. They did not, however, sting the skin of the man seated, once they were arranged around his neck like a sash. He sat up nobly, gazing down at the girls.

Erin Sylis > Another slave replaced them quickly, and they faded out back into the circling group. This one was not facing the man seated above her. She kneeled with her back to him, and an array of meats arranged on it as if it were a table. -

Erin Sylis > - finished the utterance, she had.

Erin Sylis > The man leaned back in his throne of tins and turned his head up at the ceiling, placing the filet over his eyes like a sleeping mask. Judging by the jerky spasms and low groans of pleasure passing his lips, however, he was anything but.

Erin Sylis > The circle closed in on him. Slowly, surely. The chanting died down in frequency. Kurgill, Kurgill... Kurgill... somehow his pants were missing, now, but he couldn't see where for the huge throng of slavegirls enveloping him. -

Erin Sylis > - One took his penis into her hand and thrust it into a tin of corned yetamo meat, the heavenly softness of the meat parting under the gentle forward pressure of his erection. When had he become erect? He truly did not know, and could not. -

Erin Sylis > Another girl slathered his chest with a spread of slavehound gelatin. The lean canines produced very little fat, and so hound gelatin was valued as a luxury in this system, he knew. By his estimation, 60% of all hound gelatin in Jita resided -

Erin Sylis > somewhere in this very room, the meatchamber. What a wonderful name, he thought to himself. He was snapped from this reverie by the unique sensation of a pair of hands enclosing around his face. Meat-clad hands. A girl had fashioned -

Erin Sylis > - herself a pair of meatgloves using a frankenstein arrangement of lean meats. Their dried surface slid waxily along the man's face. "Kurgill..." she whispered. Very convincing, he thought. This batch is the best yet.

Erin Sylis > His penis had churned up the tin of yetamo by now, and so its beared slipped away silently, making room for another. Another girl sat on his lap now with a tube of shaped meatpaste, formed into a tube as expertly as if it were clay. She lowered it -

Erin Sylis > - onto his erection, where it fit perfectly, snugly, apparently already molded to the dimensions of his penis. Grabbing it with both hands, she slid it up and down along his shaft, making clearly artificial pleasured moans.

Erin Sylis > Another meatvessel came in from the side with a patty of indeterminate ground meat shaped into the dimensions of a large breast. She placed it nipple-down into the hand of the seated man, closing his fingers around it for him. They sunk into the -

Erin Sylis > - porous surface of the meat as he groped and stroked at the meatbreast, smiling underneath the folds of meat covering his face. It was not long before a matching meatbreasts was delivered into his other hand, and then the bearers ducked away unnoticed.

Erin Sylis > The room grew eerily silent, now, and all was still save for the reciprocal motions of the meat-tube clinging to his penis. The man peeked out from beneath his meatmask, and a joyous grin bloomed on his features. The main event was here.

Erin Sylis > A large team of slaves was wheeling a cart toward him. It bore a statue the size of a small human. No ordinary statue, he knew, but did not need to know, for it was shortly communicated to him via touch. He dropped the rudimentary meatbreast in -

Erin Sylis > - one of his hands and brought it up to stroke lovingly at the meat-backside of the statue. Premium Serpentis beef, he knew instinctively. Genetically engineered just for this purpose. He replaced his meatmask over his eyes and leaned back.

Erin Sylis > The girls came to a collective lifting position beneath the meat mannequin, supporting it from below at the arms and legs. Carefully, so carefully, they lifted it and brought it up above the lap of the seated man. -

Erin Sylis > - The slavegirl tending to his erection with the meatsleeve ceased her motions and quickly removed the tube of meat. As soon as they had clearance, the meatstatue bearers let it fall down, and it was impaled perfectly by Kurgill's penis.

Erin Sylis > He let out a breathy groan, pure pleasure washing through his mind and removing all thoughts and inhibitions. His arms enclosed around the meat statue's waist, and he lifted it up, then slammed it back down against his penis, its meat-thighs -

Erin Sylis > - slapping against his groin. The girls drew back, now, and bore no further meats, for this was the final sequence. They kneeled in a semicircle in front and below him, watching obediently as he mated with the defenceless meat effigy.

Erin Sylis > The amalgam of meat began to grow looser as Kurgill slammed into it over and over, flakes of beef falling off and adhering to the sweaty surface of his thighs. Suddenly he rose and threw the meat statue down, bending it over -

Erin Sylis > - against the armrest of his throne of tins. In his eagerness to reinsert into its beefy folds he missed the mark, and his penis slid neatly between the cheeks of its meaty backside. Too far gone to care at this point, he kept thrusting, -

Erin Sylis > - his thrusticals slapping meatily against the mannequin's backside, until the helpful hand of a slavegirl reached out and guided his tip back to the meat statue's entrance. "HEAVEN HOLDS NO ANGELS AND MUCH MEAT." the girls began to chant, -

Erin Sylis > - louder and louder in growing frequency as they sensed his climax drawing nearer. The harmony of voices melded musically with the sound of Kurgill's hips meeting the meatpuppet's own. -

Erin Sylis > - The inner walls of the meat statue were drawing inward, now. Tighter? How could... ah, yes, he remembered at last. A chemical reaction to his preseminal fluid programmed into the beef by the Serpentis engineers. The puppet became -

Erin Sylis > - ever tighter as he neared orgasm, and presently its walls were clamping down with exquisite meaty tightness against his throbbing shaft. The fatty elements of the meat lubricated him perfectly as he slid in and out, bringing his tip to -

Erin Sylis > - the meatstatue's entrance then slamming forward once again, driving apart its walls as he bottomed out. He hardly had time to recognize his climax's arrival before it exploded forth, both within his head and out through his member, -

Erin Sylis > - a spray of ejaculate jetting out the tip of his penis and infusing with the meat, its sticky whiteness mingling with the strands of sticky fat already disributed through the taut fibers of the beef. "HEAVEN HOLDS NO ANGELS AND MUCH MEAT!"

Erin Sylis > The girls screamed this as one, the sound harmonizing perfectly, before the meat statue dissolved in Kurgill's very hands, its protein unravelling on contact with the overabundance of semen. A DRM feature put in by the Serpentis scientists -

Erin Sylis > - so that he couldn't use it twice, he knew. But he did not care, He laid back in the chair, utterly content. It was worth every billion he spent.

Erin Sylis > Your 60 minutes have elapsed. Will that be all?

Kurgill > me right now: http://i.imgur.com/x5F6EfJ.gif