Popping Pimples

It started as a habit, but has almost become a fetish. Popping pimples, that is. I love it.

There’s a sort of twisted satisfaction to bringing forth the horrors that are hidden deep inside your own body.

Whenever I find a big fat one, I almost can’t resist.

Today, though, today was entirely different.

For a few days, I’d had this strange feeling in my left arm. At times, when I moved it, there was a sharp, stinging pain. It was only there for a moment, nothing but a short, blazing flash. At others, there was a tingling sensation.

I soon found the cause.

It was the mother of all pimples. A giant one, buried deep in my armpit. It was nothing but a giant treasure trove of pus ripe for the taking.

At first I stared at it in abject horror. Then I pushed against it with my fingers carefully. I rubbed over it, poked it and could almost feel the enormous amount of pus inside of it moving.

The urge of popping it came up right away, but I forced myself to go slowly, to enjoy this.

For a moment I applied a bit of pressure. I felt the skin stretch as the pus pushed against it. Again and again I did it, almost like following the steps of a ritual.

Then, finally, I pushed as hard as I could. There was a sharp pain, skin burst and pus and blood gushed from it. It was the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen, and I loved every single second of it. Again and again I pressed against it until nothing was left. Then, I slowly and deliberately cleaned my arm pit of the disgusting liquids and fluids.

That’s when I saw it. Where the pimple had been, there was a hole, a hole below my arm pit. I stared at it in horror, disgust, but also, curiosity.

Almost in trance my finger went forward. At first rubbing against it, probing the edges, before I pushed against it.

There was no feeling, no pain, just the strangest sensation.

I felt goosebumps all over my body as my finger slowly slid inside. For a moment, my left shoulder started tingling again. The feeling spread throughout my entire arm as I buried my finger deeper and deeper. Soon, more than half of it was gone.

And then it was back, the sharp, blazing pain. This time, though, I didn’t feel it in my left shoulder, neither my left arm. No, this time, I felt it from the finger I’d pushed into the hole.

Cursing, I pulled it back, but as I stared at it, all feeling left me and I felt a scream of pure and utter terror rising inside of me.

For what I saw, what had caused the pain, were two rows of tiny, bleeding bite marks.

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