Berty's Watch

[rbbc]

This story had been written by Poghamose aka Melatonine (not by me). I felt like I had to share it because it was immensely enjoyable for me. The main idea of the scenario is genius but the author is also not half bad in writing.

 

The story is already finished and count 7 chapters but I think I'll post only the first one here. The fetishes on the 6 others are less in the theme of this board.

Any way this first chapter is so much a blast I bet after reading it most of you will write in their head the next one and the one after, a prequel and three reboots. I know it from experience, it have this effect even on the less creatives persons.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 0 /6 - Good Things Happen to Bad People

 

 

“Ah, you’re back, Number 8.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“Now, now, Number 8, you know perfectly well it isn’t morning here.”

“It isn’t afternoon or evening here either, sir. ‘Good infinity, sir’ doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“As you wish, Number 8. I take it the watch has been delivered?”

“Indeed. I’m sure the young sir will be up to all sorts of hilarious hijinks sir, and hopefully learn a few important life lessons along the way.”

“As always.”

“Indeed.”

“Very well. Just remember to keep an eye on young Bernard every now and then.”

“Bert, sir.”

“Sorry?”

“His name is Bert. Berty Adams?”

“…”

“Sir?”

“I’ll check the paperwork again. I could have sworn– Yes, Berty. Of course. Just… keep an eye on things all the same, would you? If that watch was to fall into the hands of some sort of twisted pervert, who knows what could happen?”

“The letter explicitly said Berty, sir. I checked it twice before the delivery. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Number 8. Lunch? I’ve been in since… well it’s always so hard to tell here. But I could well go for a cheeky Nando’s.”

---

Berty Adams woke late and rose later, sliding into his well-used blue dressing gown. He finished off what was left of the Cheerios box, and was in the process of finding a lighter when a clattering sound startled him. He walked hesitantly towards the kitchen, and saw something unfamiliar lying on the kitchen counter. It was a small pocket-watch, almost like an antique. Detecting no intruder, Berty picked it up and examined it. The watch ticked away happily, as if it had always been there. Bemused, Berty pocketed the thing, silently glad for something to think about. He was happy to have a mystery on his hands, and let his imagination run with it. Perhaps an eccentric philanthropist had smuggled it in. Or maybe it had appeared by magic, and would bestow magic powers. Time powers, surely, if anything. That would be nice. He thought about what he would do if he could stop time, and smiled. Then he got dressed and left the house.

---

“You can’t stay an ideas guy forever, Bert. You need to start writing again. I thought you said you were writing?” the man opposite him asked. “I was. But I just…” Berty waved an arm, shrugged, and then took a sip of his coffee. “I dunno.” Alice laughed. “You’re so bad at talking about your stuff,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table, waiting for Berty to give a better answer. He shrugged. “I dunno. Ideas seem so good in my head. I see it all, and it makes sense, and then I put pen to paper and the magic goes.” Alice shook her head. “You’re being silly. You’re a great writer… when you can be bothered, at least.” Berty took another sip. Alice was wearing a white shirt which barely covered a bustling bosom. He tried not to stare; Alice had been good to him.

His left hand went to his pocket and he touched the cold metal of the pocket watch. He fished it out. “Oh yeah, forgot to say. Check this out,” he said. Alice looked at it. “A pocket-watch?” Berty nodded. “Found it in my kitchen this morning. Just lying there on the counter.” He shrugged. “Spooky, dude,” the other man said. “Right? I mean, the windows were locked, the doors were locked…” Alice took the watch from him and turned it over in her hands, pressing the buttons a few times, stopping and starting the device, before handing it back to Berty. He held it up to his face, as if he was going to find the secret of the watch staring out at him through the white face. “Spooky indeed.” He pressed the button.

The silence was what he noticed, first and foremost. He looked up from his cooling coffee into the face of Alice, who was staring at him. She wasn’t moving – no one was. In fact, nothing was. He goggled, not quite daring to believe his senses. “H… hello?” No response. He waved his hand in front of her face. Nothing. Rising, he looked around the small coffee shop, at the three other patrons and the pretty girl behind the counter. Not even the suggestion of movement, or of sound. Still not believing, he ran out of the shop, beads of sweat starting to appear on his forehead. He walked out into a world of frozen life. He took in the cars in the middle of the road, the smoke that refused to disappear, the birds stuck in mid-flight. Then he looked down at the watch he was still clinging to, his knuckles white and shaking.

Berty did a lot of thinking on the sidewalk. He was an ideas guy, after all, and that meant he had ideas. He liked some of them, but he was ashamed of some of them too. He wiped the sweat from his brow and composed himself. Then he went back inside, sat down, and pressed the button. “So, you wanna go get high or something?” asked Alice. “Uh… n-no, I’m good.” Alice looked at him curiously. “You ok? You don’t look so good.” Berty was about to deny that, then reconsidered. “I’m not great actually. I think I might just go home.” Alice was a little taken aback. “Oh. Yeah, that might be a good idea. Do you think you’re coming down with something?” she asked. “Yeah. I think so. I think I’ll go home now,” said Berty. He pushed the button again. He tapped the table with his fingers and bit his lip, then pressed the button again. He said goodbye and glided home, oblivious to the world.

Sometime later, Berty emerged into the daylight, and walked the streets, still thinking about what he was going to do. Without realising it, he found himself outside the coffee shop. He could see the girl behind the counter from there. She was looking at the clock behind the counter, and she seemed tired. Her mouth opened wide into a yawn, and then stayed open, her eyes still peering up at a clock that had ceased to tick. Berty walked into the store, then hesitated. Taking the watch out, he decided to test the theories he had been working on during his time back home. He twirled the knob on the side that moved the hands of the clock. Turning it clockwise turned the hands forward, but nothing happened. Turning it the other way, however, moved the mouth of the barista back through time. Moving it clockwise once more returned her mouth to a yawning position, right where it was when he had pressed the stop button.

Next, Berty took a nearby empty cup and moved it off the table into the air, then let go. It hovered in thin air, unmoved by gravity. He grabbed it, then threw it hard against the floor. This time, gravity worked, and the cup smashed into pieces, the sound amplified by the silence surrounding it. In other words, Berty had a certain degree of control over physical objects in this state. Finally, he conducted one last experiment. The barista’s nametag told him that her name was Claire. She was a teenager, and her hair was a deep brown and tied neatly behind her head. She had a normal sized chest and average build and was wearing a pair of dark green glasses. Berty kissed her deeply, and could not deny his arousal. He made sure to bite her lip, and to remove her glasses, slipping them into his pocket. Then he stood back and pressed the stop button.

“Hello again, sir.” Said Claire. “Hello. There’s a broken cup on the floor. Thought you should know.” She stared down, and blushed. “Oh! I didn’t notice. Thanks.” She started to clean it up. “Don’t you usually wear glasses?” he asked. “Huh? I… don’t think so,” she replied, looking at him with confusion. “Why?” He shrugged. “Just wondering. So your eyesight’s fine?” he asked. “20/20,” she nodded. “I see. Thank you.” He pressed the button again. When he resumed time, he had removed the barista’s jacket and shirt, exposing her white bra to the diners. She seemed to pause momentarily in thought, before resuming her clock-watching.

He ordered a cappuccino and tried not to look too excited. He paid for it, figuring he could get his money back whenever he pleased. He paused time so he could enjoy a few sips of it. Then he removed the rest of Claire’s clothes. She was in good shape and had shaved. He kissed her perky nipples, rubbing her slit with one hand and massaging the unoccupied nipple with his other. The vacant look on her face only increased his arousal. He considered fucking her there and then, but he had more experimenting to do first. He didn’t bother sitting back down again before resuming time, and she did not register any surprise at him seemingly teleporting from his seat to the counter. A businessman in a suit had walked in just as he had started to strip the barista. He ordered an espresso without comment, and left.

Berty thought about the watch as he watched Claire, who was chatting to someone in the kitchen. How did it have such almighty power? He liked to think that people simply refused to believe that they had gone from clothed to naked in the blink of an eye, and therefore that they had always been naked. It seemed to extend to everyone around him as well, as if he was entering another universe where whatever changes he makes had always been so. The mind was a curious thing, always reshaping reality into one that suited itself. How far could that go, he wondered…

Stopping time again, he walked up behind the counter and stuck a finger inside her. He unpaused time, and she looked at him immediately. Once again, a hazy expression was on her face, but to Berty’s delight, she smiled. “Can I help you, sir?” she asked. “Just… uh…” he stumbled, before reminding himself that he was the one in control here. “Just playing with your pussy a bit, as I like to do.” For a brief moment she seemed like she was about to object to this, but she quickly dismissed it and said “Yes… yes, ok then. Help yourself.” She said, before turning to serve a student. He grinned and went to work: fingering, licking and generally enjoying himself, right there in the coffee shop, with no-one batting an eye.

He started to work as many fingers as possible into her, and even paused time until he could work his whole hand into her pussy. Soon he was pistoning his fist in and out of her. He soon discovered that when time was stopped any stretching he did to her pussy stayed that way – it did not spring back to its natural tightness. He stretched her out obscenely, and could see all the way down to her cervix. Abandoning all restraint, he plunged his hand down into her hole and stretched out her cervix, revealing her womb. He slid his hand all the way up, and was even able to push his fingers up her fallopian tubes. Berty did the same with her asshole; working it until it was looser, and then stretching until it was unnaturally wide – Berty was able to slide a fist up her ass to the elbow without it touching the sides. He stood back to admire Claire’s gaping holes, then got a sick idea. Reaching back into her birth canal, he hooked his fingers into her cervix and then quickly pulled out his arm, bringing the core of her womanhood out with him. Then he unstopped time. The prolapsed womb swung between the barista’s legs, cervix still gaping. Her asshole had started to retract, but it was still much bigger than normal. Claire didn’t seem to notice.

“I love your prolapse” said Berty, politely. Claire turned and smiled. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for ages now.” Berty fought to suppress a smirk. “How long?” he asked. “About three years, maybe? I put it back in sometimes, but I think it’s sexy,” she smiled. “It is,” he said, and she blushed from the compliment. Berty paused time again, and almost cackled with delight. He couldn’t believe his luck! He could anything he wanted with this girl, and no one could or would do anything. Anything…

He had a thought, dismissed it, and then reconsidered. It was a bad thing, sure, but if it failed there was always that rewind option on the watch… He went back into the kitchen, past the bearded overweight cook, and retrieved a knife. He returned to the scene of his lust, thought about what he was going to do and decided to test his theory first. He took Claire’s left hand and set it against the counter top. Then he cut off her pinkie. At first he thought he had missed somehow, but then he pulled the digit away from her hand, and put it in his pocket. He unpaused time, wincing slightly, expecting at least a gush of blood, or a scream, or… something. Nothing happened. The cut was visible, flesh and bone there for all to see, but she simply went about her business. “How did you lose your pinkie?” He asked her. “Oh, I’ve been missing that since birth. No biggy,” she shrugged. “I see.” Berty paused time, and then reversed time with his watch. The pinkie in his pocket flew out of its own accord and re-joined with the girl’s hand. He unpaused time, and it was like he had never cut it off. Pausing time again, he went ahead with his idea.

He placed her head against the counter and started to cut through her neck. The knife couldn’t cut through the spine, so Berty was forced to cut around the neck in a circle, before snapping the spine and wrenching it off. He held her head in his hands and looked into her happy, smiling face. He kissed her, then set the head down on the counter next to her still standing body. He unpaused time. Claire’s body twitched a little before continuing to clean. Her head smiled and said thank you to the now departing student. He picked up the head again, and kissed her on the lips once more. “Thank you, Claire. You’ve been so helpful today.”

“Don’t mention it sir. Although… I think your cappuccino is getting cold,” she said, looking at the abandoned cup. “I don’t mind. Could I fuck your neck stump?” he asked. “…excuse me?” she asked, frowning. Oops. He paused time, and inserted his rock-hard manhood into her neck, so that the tip of his head was now popping just out of her mouth. Resuming time, he fucked Claire’s severed head in front of her own body, which was now simply standing still. He came over her tits, then set the head back down on the counter. “See you later,” he said as he walked towards the exit. “Bye…” she said, dreamily. He left the coffee shop, wandering how the hell he was going to get round to writing now. He was going to be very busy…

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is 6 chapters after this one. The author have posted the full story here:

http://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/Melatonin/20635/Bertys-Watch/

 

Fair warning: they are more in the vein of the two last paragraphs. Except that Berty become bolder and bolder in his games.

 

You can find the other works of this author here: http://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/Melatonin

 

If you enjoyed this chapter, this story or his other stories please leave a kind word here.

 

 

[lordodie]

This first chapter started off well enough but went to a dark place pretty quickly. I'm not sure I want to read how the author takes it to the next level for six more chapters.

Thanks for posting it though. I enjoyed it.

[Immortan]

"Can i fuck your neck stump"

ok... rule 34 applies here

[rbbc]

I have to admit that most of you wouldn't have good time reading the next chapters. To avoid anyone hurting himself out of curiosity, spoiler: after this many characters get many parts removed and and the boundary of rule 34 are pushed further away. I would have myself preferred that the authors choose to focus more on other kind of fetish than the ones he'd chosen.

But, hey! The story have a happy ending. It's something. I've read too much story with extreme fetish that end in a depressing way.

 

[kgnot]

get this freak out of here! I hope he wont decide to matherialise his desire on a poor soul