So I wanted to tell all you gorgeous queens that you're my favorite community here on Reddit. I don't think I've posted something here not a shitpost more than once or twice, but that's because I feel at home here. Right at home. Just like an Ogre in his swamp. It makes me feel protected, and cared for.

And because of this, I dedicate this masterwork to all of you. It's something truly special, and I poured all my heart into it.

Don't you from time to time wish for the strong embrace of a green, dreamy giant holding you tightly, and yet with a careful loving restraint? A grip telling you these 420 pounds of meat, muscle and onion could just as easily force their primal physique onto you. Violently brutalizing your slender body in a myriad of ways you had never--and could never--imagine. Ways so deeply woven into our ancestral genes that their taboo was not the taboo of man. No, it was the taboo of nature. A mark left by sexual deviancy so horrid children today still instinctively recoil from the smell of ripe onions.

A frightening taboo, surely. But does not with great pain come great pleasure? Are you not longing to give yourself to the ogres brutish desires? But make no mistake: This will come with no respite, no tenderness, no affection. As friendly as ogres are: A swamp dweller in heat only knows a singular purpose: His four hearts pump enough Testosterone through his steel pipe veins to supply multiple eastern European countries for years to come. Adrenal glands smear their lubricating onion oil all over his perfectly toned body. Finally, born of pure reflex, he assumes his mating pose, flexing every single impressive muscle in the oiled up machine of rape that his body has become.

There's no point in struggling now. The ogre wants and the ogre takes. In this primal world consent and sensuality are as unknown as generics are in golang. And if there still was any pretense of civilization left, it shatters brutally as the ogre bends you over. It's a slow, and yet firm gesture. A guiding that allows no recourse, lest you suffer the unspeakable punishments of daddy Shrek.

With your legs spread apart and your anal cavity ready, your master presents his erect, throbbing member. It is a sight that left many brave men on more Haloperidol than reasonable for a schizophrenic elephant. Lifeless husks, locked into confinement and carefully kept from anything vaguely phallic.

This cosmic horror certainly does not come from it's enormous size. Not from the pimples filling every meter of his surface. It might come partly from the fact that this flexible fleshpipe appears to belong to an inhabitant of the oceans most unexplored depths. Or that it features three knots, each pulsing in a different hypnotic rhythm. But most scientists agree the ogre wurst owns his horrific presence to its glans. But glans might be an inaccurate wording, since under the ogres foreskin lies a second small face in the same likeness and ability as his main one.

But isn't there also a certain exotic eroticism in the bizarre? Surely it must feel heavenly to be completely filled with this instrument. The three knots engorging themselves, sensually vibrating. That oh-so-flexible shaft hitting every angle in your stretched boipuccy. And, oh, the feeling of a tiny, tiny tongue reaching where nothing else would be able to! An otherworldly taste for certain. But one cannot call himself connoisseur without having tasted the most forbidden fruit. Especially if its aroma so sublimely reminds of fried onions.

Of course an apex-predator eager to bounce on his next meal is not concerned with the time you need to see the positive in this: His semen snake curled itself around your bubbly behind, using its tongue to leave a thick and slimy trail until it suddenly found the target. An inviting hole, ready to be used and misused until it barely remembers itself.

There is simply not enough time to prepare. With the raw power of a charging bull the green giant makes you his bitch. A high pitched moan between pleasure and pain is all you can manage as the air in your lungs escape from the ruthless onslaught. For a short moment a kind of relief washes over you: maybe you can handle this. But this hope is quickly squandered the moment an oily pulsating knot, seemingly far too big to fit, enters your already painfully stretched hole.

This time there is no helping it: You cry, the tears stream freely down your face to form a second puddle besides the ogres bodily fluids. Your tormentor grunts contentedly, seemingly enjoying his absolute power over you. But he stops, slowly backing his wiener-whip a short bit out of your already torn rectum. For the first time in this unfortunate series of events a wave of lust and pleasure washes over you. The hot, rhythmically vibrating bulbous knot inside you is such an enjoyment that you unwillingly let out a loud moan, wriggling your hips readjust the monster cocks angle inside you.

How naive it was to think that daddy would let a brat like you fool around! Two enormous hands grab your shapely hips with renewed violence, an aggressive grunt comes from behind and a hairy green belly flops against your back as the accompanying pleasure mushroom darts forwards and rapidly and violently fills your man womb. And yet, you know, there is still another knot to go. In a mix of desperation and arousal you bite down on your lip and prepare to welcome the new guest into your house of pleasure.

It is as painful as expected. But far more pleasurable. As the last knot enters you, blood from your torn orifice mixes with your lovers milky yellow precum. Slowly it pushes into you, and when it is completely engulfed in your love cave, all the great pleasure you felt before suddenly felt disappointingly mediocre in comparison. The pulsating knots rhythms now forming a symphony of ecstasy. You're fairly certain you remember that melody from somewhere. It might be "All Star" from Smash Mouth, but you're far to heavily invested in not ejaculating to concentrate for long.

Slowly the beast in your back increases its rhythm, thrust after thrust. The enormous pleasure pillar narrowly fits inside you, filling out all available space every time it gets forced in. By now you're so absorbed in the act of primal love that you welcome the pain. "Harder daddy!" you demand "give it to me!". He grunts, breathing heavily. Faster and faster he plunges himself into you, towards the climax. And then the ogre finally erupts into your cum receptacle, without warning. His hot onion sauce fills your insides completely, even expanding them -- and after he finally pulls out his weapon of murder, the love juice follows with surprising power, staining your lower parts completely.

He flashes you a wide grin, teeth showing. "Better than the donkey mate!"

TL;DR: Ogres are like onions, they have layers.