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imperatordavianus-blog · 2 days ago

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Warning ⚠️🔞 this is strictly only for adults. This is a erotic horror story with scenes that may be uncomfortable for most. Stop 🛑 if you feel uneasy for this story. This is my first time writing this.

Her Undying Beating Heart

The house was old, its creaking wooden frame barely holding back the Louisiana heat. The faint scent of jasmine mixed with mildew clung to the air, an almost living presence that seemed to breathe alongside its inhabitants. In the dimly lit bathroom on the second floor, the water ran hot, steam curling up like ghostly fingers.

Marianne a tall biracial woman, with long brown hair stood in the clawfoot tub, the water lapping at her thighs as she leaned against the porcelain edge. At six feet tall, she carried herself with a regal elegance. Her slim figure was striking, her skin glowing from the care she lavished on herself. Her chest, however, was her most defining feature—impossibly large and perfectly rounded, her triple-Z breasts rose and fell with her steady breathing. Giant breasts that seemed to defy gravity, heavy and full, yet firm, moving in hypnotic rhythms with every step..

The house was quiet, save for the rhythmic pounding of her heart. It was no ordinary heart—it was a monstrous thing, grotesquely enlarged, a testament to some dark power she had long since embraced.

**Th-thump. Th-thump. THOOOOOM.**

The sound reverberated through the walls, a constant reminder of the life force that defined her. Marianne loved her heart in a way that transcended normal understanding. She had nurtured it, protected it, and allowed it to grow into the grotesque, bulbous thing it was now. It possibly and probably weighed over **1,500+ grams**, its ventricles grotesquely distended, each aneurysm attached to it bulging and dilated like obscene tumors.

The superior vena cava aneurysm rose from the top like a twisted crown, the pulmonary venous aneurysms flanking it like grotesque horns. The thoracic aortic aneurysm, the size of a grapefruit, pulsed with a sickly rhythm, while the pulmonary artery aneurysm quivered with each thunderous beat.

**Th-thump. TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM.**

Marianne ran her hands over her chest, her fingers tracing the heavy curve of her breasts. She could feel her heart pounding beneath her skin, its monstrous size pushing against her ribcage. A shiver ran through her, and she closed her eyes, lost in the rhythm of her own body. She was falling in love with her own heart.

In the hallway, hidden in the shadows, her teenage son, Ethan, her fair skinned son with brown curly hair, watched. He had always admired his mother’s beauty, but something darker had taken root in him. He was jealous—not of the men who flirted with her, but of the object of her obsession. He knew the truth: Marianne didn’t love anyone or anything more than her grotesque, monstrous heart.

Ethan’s fists clenched at his sides as he listened to the rhythmic pounding. **Th-thump. TH-THUMP.** It was as if the heart mocked him, its thunderous beat drowning out his own thoughts.

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

Ethan burst into the bathroom, the steam enveloping him like a shroud. Marianne turned, startled, her wet brown skin glistening in the dim light. Her mountainous rounded breasts were before him, watching the pulsating veins bulging on them. She was breathing heavily as her massive tits bounced with excitement as she saw her son.

“Ethan!” she snapped, her voice sharp. “What are you doing?”

But Ethan wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed on her chest, where the both of them could hear the grotesque, pounding organ that they could feel even from across the room. He stepped forward, his hands trembling.

“Mom… it’s not fair,” he whispered. “You love it more than me.”

Before she could respond, Ethan lunged. His hands pressed against her chest, his fingers digging into her skin. He could feel the monstrous heart beneath, its thunderous pounding vibrating through his palms and sandwiched in between her massive rotund breasts.

"Chimama,Chimama, Chimama, Chimama Chimama...Chi...ma...ma" she chanted. Those ritualistic words are spoken in the event when a mother's Heart is about to be removed. Exclusively meant for big breasted mothers, Marianne looked down at her son almost visible as her massive breasts are walled in.

**TH-THUMP. TH-THUMP. BOOM-THOOOOOM.**

Marianne screamed, her hand lashing out trying to slap him. “Don’t touch it!” she shrieked, her voice filled with both fury and fear. "Don't you dare. She is mine, she is all mine you hear"

But Ethan was beyond reason. With a final, desperate motion, he plunged his hands into her chest. He could hear how excruciatingly loud his own mother's heart was pounding. Her breasts pressuring him like walls closing further.

The grotesque heart came free with a sickening squelch, its massive weight nearly pulling Ethan to the ground. It was an obscene thing, bulbous and glistening, its ventricles distended and quivering. The aneurysms—bulbous, bloated, dilated, and grotesque—remained intact, their surfaces slick with blood.

Both of his hands rose holding her heart as it thundered in his hands, its beat deafening. **BOOM-THOOOOOM BOOM-THOOOOOM BOOM-THOOOOOM BOOM-THOOOOOM BOOM-THOOOOOM BOOM-THOOOOOM BOOM-THOOOOOM BOOM-THOOOOOM.**

Marianne staggered backward, her arms flailing as blood poured from her chest. Her massive breasts bounced wildly as she spun, her screams echoing through the house.

“Give her back! I want my Wife back inside me ” she howled, her voice raw with desperation.

She bolted from the bathroom, her wet feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Her arms flailed as she ran down the hallway, her giant breasts bouncing with each step. The grotesque yawning hole in her chest was a sight both horrifying and surreal, her screams blending with the thunderous pounding of her detached heart.

Ethan stood frozen, the monstrous heart still pounding in his hands. The sound grew louder, a relentless rhythm that seemed to shake the very walls of the house.

**TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

Marianne’s screams faded as she disappeared down the stairs, her grotesque figure a blur of blood and motion. The house fell silent, save for the pounding of the monstrous heart.

Ethan stared at it, his breath shallow. He had taken her heart, but he felt no victory—only the weight of its grotesque, unrelenting beat.

**TH-THUMP. BOOM-THOOOOOM.**

Marianne stumbled into the foyer, her vision blurred by pain and tears. Her hands clutched at her gaping chest, but no amount of pressure could stop the blood that poured from her. Her grotesque breasts, now slick with crimson, heaved with her labored breathing.

Until she stood still, with her arms spread apart as if to welcome death, she looked down with wide maniacal eyes while breathing heavily and deeply. When all of a sudden, her mountainous, giant, heavy rounded breasts began to slowly bounce all by themselves. When they started to bounce uncontrollably and even by the sheer weight and size of them, she stood still until she rose her head up.

“Ethan!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and desperate. “Give her back! I WANT HER BAAAACK” as her boobs are bouncing with jubilation.

Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the cold tile floor. She could still hear her heart pounding somewhere above her, its thunderous beat filling the house. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM.**

Even as she bled out, Marianne’s lips curled into a grotesque smile. She could feel her heart, its monstrous rhythm reverberating through the air. It was still alive, still pounding with an obscene vitality.

Her final thought was not of her son, but of her heart. She loved it even in death, its grotesque power of love is a testament to the dark nymphomaniac obsession that had consumed her. Her heart was more important to her than to her son. Like a wife she cared for within her chest.

With a final, shuddering breath, Marianne’s body went still, pinned by her shaking giant breasts and her grotesque hole in her chest being covered by her breasts is a lifeless monument to her obsession.

Upstairs, Ethan stared at the monstrous heart in his hands. It was heavier than he had imagined, its grotesque weight pulling at his arms. The Globular Enlarged Heart 🫀 was very rounded and warm, its surface slick with blood, and its pounding was relentless.

**TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

He couldn’t take his eyes off it. The superior vena cava aneurysm jutted upward like a grotesque dilated horn, it's pulmonary venous aneurysms are entirely engorged, while the grapefruit-sized thoracic aortic aneurysm pulsed like a bloated tumor with its massively enlarged class II thoracoabdominal aortic aneurysm was just pounding in sync with the aorta. The pulmonary artery aneurysm quivered with each beat, its grotesque ballooned form both mesmerizing and repulsive. And the Inferior vena cava aneurysm was so grotesquely disgusting and dilated. The iliac aneurysms were still attached to the IVCA and Thoracoabdominal aortic.

Ethan’s breathing quickened as he realized the truth. This heart—this grotesque, monstrous thing—was alive. It didn’t need her. It didn’t need anyone.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Why did you love this… thing more than me?”

The heart seemed to answer, its pounding growing louder, more insistent. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

Ethan felt the vibrations travel through his body, shaking him to his core. The sound was deafening now, drowning out his thoughts, his emotions, everything.

He dropped the heart onto the floor, but it continued to pound, its grotesque form quivering with each beat. The blood pooling around it seemed to crawl toward him, as if drawn to his body.

“No!” Ethan screamed, backing away. “Stay away from me!”

But the heart didn’t stop. Its pounding grew louder, its grotesque rhythm filling the room. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

Ethan fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head. The sound was unbearable, a relentless cacophony that seemed to pierce his very soul.

As dawn broke over the old house, the heart still pounded. Its grotesque form lay in the center of the room, surrounded by a pool of blood that had long since cooled.

Ethan sat in the corner, his eyes wide and unblinking. His mind was broken, consumed by the sound of the heart.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He could only listen as the heart continued its grotesque rhythm, a reminder of the dark power that had consumed his mother—and now, him.

**TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

The house was silent, save for the monstrous pounding that would never stop.

Ethan sat in the oppressive silence of the upstairs room, the grotesque heart lying on the blood-slicked floor before him. Its relentless pounding echoed in his ears, a grotesque rhythm that seemed to mock him. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

He stared at it, his breath shallow and ragged. The grotesque, bulbous form of the heart was obscene, its aneurysms quivering with each thunderous beat. The superior vena cava aneurysm jutted upward like a grotesque dilated horn, while the thoracic aortic aneurysm pulsed grotesquely, its surface taut and glistening.

“Mom…” Ethan whispered, his voice trembling. He reached out with shaking hands and picked up the heart. It was heavy, grotesquely so, its monstrous weight pressing against his palms. Blood dripped from its surface, pooling at his feet.

The sound of its pounding grew louder, more insistent. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

Ethan rose to his feet, cradling the grotesque organ in his arms like a macabre prize. The vibrations of its beat traveled through his body, shaking him to his core. He stumbled toward the door, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Ethan descended the stairs, each step slow and deliberate. The grotesque heart pulsed in his arms, its thunderous beat filling the house. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

At the bottom of the stairs lay his mother’s lifeless body, sprawled on the cold tile floor. Her massive mountainous breasts, now slick with blood, rose over her chest settled into its final stillness.

Ethan stood over her, his lips curling into a grotesque smile. He knelt beside her, holding the heart before her lifeless face.

“Look at it, Mom,” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “Your precious heart. The thing you loved more than me. The thing you chose over your own son.”

He laughed, the sound echoing through the empty house. It was a hollow, bitter laugh, filled with pain and madness.

Ethan reached out with one hand, grabbing his mother’s left breast. He squeezed it roughly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as it disappeared into it. He held his mother's demonic fat heart before her left breast mocking it as it thunderously pounded with rage in his hand.

“Your boobs,” he sneered, his voice filled with mockery. “They were supposed to shield your precious heart. But they failed, didn’t they? Your giant, bouncing tits couldn’t save it.”

He laughed again, louder this time, his voice filled with a manic glee shaking her left breast.

Ethan held the grotesque heart aloft, his eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph.

“she is mine now,” he declared, his voice ringing through the room. “Your heart…is now my wife. My mom’s whore. The big... beating... bitch that you loved so much.”

He pressed the heart to his chest, feeling its grotesque rhythm pounding against him. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

The sound was deafening, consuming him completely. He laughed again, his voice blending with the thunderous pounding.

“You thought it was yours,” he whispered, his voice filled with a sick satisfaction. “But it’s mine now. And it will always be mine.”

Ethan remained in the house, the grotesque heart never leaving his side. Its relentless pounding followed him everywhere, a haunting reminder of his mother’s obsession—and his own descent into madness.

**TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

He would speak to it, taunt it, love it. It became his world, his reason for being. But no matter how much he tried to claim it, the heart’s grotesque beat seemed to mock him, reminding him that it would never truly belong to anyone.

And so, Ethan remained, a prisoner of the grotesque, unrelenting rhythm that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

The days turned into weeks, and Ethan never left the house. The heart—the grotesque, pounding monstrosity—became the center of his existence. He carried it everywhere, cradling it like a lover, whispering to it, taunting it, and professing his twisted love. But how the heart is still beating was a huge shock to him. Because unbeknownst to him of the ritualistic chant he heard his mom gave had a huge impact on it.

The house, once filled with warmth and life, now reeked of decay. Bloodstains on the floor had long since dried, but the stench of death lingered in the air. Ethan’s mother’s body remained where it had fallen, her lifeless form a grotesque shrine to the heart she had loved more than her own son.

Ethan would sit beside her cold corpse, the heart thundering in his hands. Yet her body wasn't even decomposing, as it didn't give off a smell only that of the dry iron. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

“Do you hear that, Mom?” he would whisper, his voice trembling with both reverence and spite. “It’s still alive. Your beating bitch. My wife.”

He would laugh then, a hollow, deranged sound that echoed through the empty halls.

The heart’s relentless pounding seemed to seep into the very walls of the house. The sound grew louder with each passing day, a grotesque symphony that could be heard in every room.

Neighbors began to avoid the property, unnerved by the strange vibrations that seemed to emanate from within. The once-charming house now stood as a grotesque monument to madness, its windows dark and lifeless.

Inside, Ethan’s descent continued. His obsession with the heart consumed him entirely. He stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped caring for anything but the grotesque organ in his hands.

His body grew gaunt, his eyes hollow. But his grip on the heart never faltered. He would stroke its grotesque surface, feeling the pulsing of its aneurysms beneath his fingers.

“You’re mine,” he would whisper, his voice hoarse and broken. “You’ll always be mine.”

One night, as the heart’s pounding reached an unbearable crescendo, Ethan found himself standing in front of his mother’s corpse. Her lifeless eyes seemed to stare back at him, accusing and mocking all at once.

“Why?” he screamed, his voice cracking with anguish. “Why did you love this thing more than me?”

He held the heart aloft, its grotesque form quivering with each thunderous beat. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

“You thought it was yours,” he hissed, his voice filled with venom. “But it’s mine now. My wife. My beating bitch.”

He pressed the heart against his chest, its grotesque rhythm vibrating through his body. His laughter turned to sobs, then back to laughter again, a grotesque cacophony of madness.

As dawn broke over the house, Ethan lay on the floor, the heart still pounding in his hands. His body was broken, his mind shattered, but the heart remained.

Its grotesque rhythm filled the air, unrelenting and eternal. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

Ethan’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared at the heart, his lips curling into a grotesque smile.

“You win,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You always win.”

And as the heart’s pounding echoed through the empty halls, Ethan closed his eyes for the last time.

The house stood silent and still, save for the grotesque pounding that could still be heard within. **TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

The neighbors spoke of the strange vibrations, the eerie sound that seemed to haunt the property. Some claimed to hear whispers, others claimed to see shadows moving in the windows.

**TH-THUMP. THOOOOOM. THOOOOOM.**

But no one dared to enter. The house had become a tomb, a grotesque monument to obsession and madness.

And within its walls, the heart continued to beat, its grotesque rhythm a haunting reminder of the horrors that had unfolded within.

The heart would never die.