Please drop me some nominations for XBIZ Europe this year in the “Male Creator of the year” and “Fetish Creator of the year” categories. Nominations end 30th June. xma.show/fans use my performer name Maz Morbid and @mazmorbidfetish for social link. Thank you x
The MightyInfamous Goddess Tangent has traded her skimpy latex for something far more clinical. Her body is encased in nearly full-body black latex, the gleaming rubber hugging every curve from her shoulders down to her ankles. The catsuit leaves only her head and hands exposed, her brunette hair cascading over the high collar of the suit. Over the top, she wears a latex medical apron, the translucent black rubber hanging to her knees, catching the studio lights with every movement. She looks like a scientist of filth, a researcher of depravity, a woman who has decided that Maz Morbid’s ass is her laboratory and tonight she’s running experiments.
Maz Morbid is suspended in a sling, their latex-clad body cradled by the black straps, legs spread wide and held aloft. Their ass is presented at the perfect height for Goddess Tangent’s investigations. The rubber of their catsuit gleams under the lights, the hole already lubed and waiting. They are helpless. Exposed. A specimen ready for examination.
Goddess Tangent approaches with the measured calm of a professional. She adjusts her latex apron, smoothing the rubber over her hips, and looks directly at the camera. Her dark eyes are serious. Clinical. She explains that tonight is about science. About discovery. About pushing the limits of what Maz Morbid’s ass can accommodate. She holds up a clipboard and pretends to make notes, her gloved finger tracing imaginary data points. The latex apron crinkles softly as she moves.
The first instrument is the anal snake. She holds it up to the camera, a long, flexible length of silicone beaded with increasingly large bulbs. She slicks it generously, the lubricant dripping onto the floor, and positions the tip against Maz’s waiting hole. The first bead slides in easily. Then the second. The third. She feeds the snake deeper with steady, deliberate pressure, each bead stretching the gimp’s hole wider before it pops inside. Maz groans, their muffled sounds filling the room. Goddess Tangent pauses to make notes on her imaginary clipboard, her expression one of detached scientific curiosity. She continues feeding the snake, bead after bead, watching the gimp’s body accept the intrusion. When the final bead disappears, she leaves the snake buried inside them and steps back to admire her work. The gimp’s hole is stretched around the base of the toy, their body full of silicone.
She withdraws the snake slowly, letting each bead pop out one by one. The gimp convulses with each exit. By the time the last bead slides free, their hole is gaping and ready for the next phase of experimentation.
Phase two. The XXL dildo.
Goddess Tangent holds it up to the camera, and it’s monstrous. Thick as a forearm, textured with veins and ridges, the silicone gleaming under the lights. She slicks it thoroughly, then positions the tip against the gimp’s stretched entrance. She doesn’t ask permission. This is science. She pushes.
The dildo sinks in slowly, the gimp’s hole stretching wider and wider to accommodate the impossible girth. Goddess Tangent watches with clinical fascination as inch after inch disappears inside Maz’s body. Her latex-clad arm flexes as she works the toy deeper, the medical apron rustling against her catsuit. Maz cries out, a muffled wail escaping the rubber hood. She pauses halfway, makes a note on her clipboard, then continues pushing until the entire length is buried inside them.
She fucks them with it. Slow, deliberate thrusts. She pulls the dildo almost all the way out before plunging it back in, watching the gimp’s hole stretch and grip around the silicone. Her brunette hair sways with each movement. Her latex apron catches the light. She’s methodical. Precise. Every thrust is calculated to gather more data on exactly how much Maz Morbid’s ass can take.
When she withdraws the dildo and sets it aside, the gimp’s hole gapes open, stretched beyond anything they’ve experienced before. But the experiment isn’t over.
Phase three. Double fists.
Goddess Tangent removes her gloves and replaces them with fresh ones. She slicks both hands generously, the lubricant coating her fingers, her knuckles, her wrists. She’s never attempted a double fist before. This is uncharted territory. New research. She positions both hands against the gimp’s ruined hole, fingertips pressed together, and looks at the camera.
“For science,” she says. Her voice is cold. Clinical. Then she pushes.
Both sets of knuckles breach the ring of muscle simultaneously, and Maz lets out a sound that barely sounds human. Goddess Tangent doesn’t stop. She works both hands deeper, her latex-clad arms flexing as both wrists disappear inside the gimp’s body. The stretch is monumental. The gimp’s hole is spread wider than it’s ever been, the latex of their suit straining around her forearms. She holds still for a moment, her expression one of genuine scientific wonder. She’s done it. Both hands inside. She makes a mental note for her research.
Then she starts to move.
She finds a rhythm. Pulling. Pushing. Twisting her wrists in opposite directions. Her arms flex with each deliberate thrust, the latex of her catsuit creaking, the medical apron swaying. She spreads her fingers inside them. Makes fists. Stretches them from within. The gimp convulses in the sling, their suspended body swinging slightly with each movement. Goddess Tangent observes every reaction with detached curiosity, cataloguing every groan, every spasm, every desperate sound.
She leans closer, peering at the gimp’s stretched hole with scientific interest. She twists her wrists. Spreads her fingers wider. Watches the rim of muscle strain around her forearms. Her brunette hair falls forward, brushing against the gimp’s latex-covered thighs. She makes another imaginary note. The data is conclusive. Maz Morbid’s ass can accommodate two fists.
Minutes pass. She doesn’t rush the experiment. She savours every data point, every reaction, every inch of stretch. When she finally withdraws both hands, sliding them out with a wet, obscene sound, the gimp’s hole gapes open like a crater, ruined beyond recognition.
Goddess Tangent stands back and examines her work. Her latex apron is splattered with lubricant. Her catsuit gleams under the lights. Her brunette hair is slightly dishevelled. She picks up her clipboard one final time, makes a decisive note, and looks at the camera with a slow, satisfied smile.
