letvor's Cave

[Hofrax1]

You know, I’ve gotten pretty good over the years at convincing myself that in spite of my twisted fantasies, that I am a decent, good, person. Then I read a real-life article like this one, and I have to question that, because damned if I wasn’t turned on as hell reading about what he did. These are the things I’m sure many of us have fantssies about, myself included. Sounds like this guy had the means and intent to make them reality.

https://nypost.com/2025/09/26/us-news/h ... ouse-feds/

TBH, sounds like this guy was living the dream. Money always talks.
Only halfway to the kind of abuse GIMPers fantasize about.
Playboy models? Whew.
But everyone survived. There may have been the occasional small cut, scrape, or bruise, but otherwise...
Just my speed, sorry GIMP.


This beautiful woman looks like Sandra Otterman (aka Wifey) with heavy makeup.

https://nypost.com/wp-content/uploads/s ... &strip=all


Sandra Otterson_Wifey_86170037_012_0bb8.jpg

The fact that this guy tortured Playboy and IG models was what really did it for me when I read this. In my imagination it can’t be torture just for torture’s sake. You have to want to torture the most beautiful victim imaginable (hence the subject of my own obsession, the late Lana Clarkson from the Barbarian Queen movies). Too often the victims in these real life stories, are, shall we say, less than desirable? Unattractive or over-aged women, skanky prostitutes, etc.. Take for example the real life case of Sharon Lopatka, a masochist who in the early days of the internet sought out a partner to torture her to death. Sounds like a GIMP-fueling fantasy, until you find out what she looked like - grotesquely and morbidly obese.

[letvor]

New movie is out: FacialAbuse - Her Value, Long Forgotten

Where on earth did they even find a girl who's 183 cm tall? Is this the tallest whore in the world?

The girl isn’t ugly, but she’s built like a wardrobe on rollers – so she doesn’t really deserve better treatment than what she got!

[letvor]

Albert Fish



Getting into the details of this story might go against the forum’s rules (even though these are pure, proven, and undisputed historical facts) — therefore, I’m quoting the text of one incredibly thrilling letter:

Audio recording of the letter:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uru4xUn_Sw

Note: Fish murdered Grace Budd, ate parts of her body and the letter that follows was sent to her mother. It was this very letter — specifically, the postmark on the envelope — that led to Fish’s capture. The portion of the letter referring to Fish’s friend, was never confirmed.

My dear Mrs. Budd,

In 1894 a friend of mine shipped as a deck hand on the Steamer Tacoma, Capt. John Davis. They sailed from San Francisco for Hong Kong China. On arriving there he and two others went ashore and got drunk. When they returned the boat was gone.

At that time there was famine in China. Meat of any kind was from $1 to 3 Dollars a pound. So great was the suffering among the very poor that all children under 12 were sold for food in order to keep others from starving. A boy or girl under 14 was not safe in the street. You could go in any shop and ask for steak—chops—or stew meat. Part of the naked body of a boy or girl would be brought out and just what you wanted cut from it. A boy or girls behind which is the sweetest part of the body and sold as veal cutlet brought the highest price.

John staid [sic] there so long he acquired a taste for human flesh. On his return to N.Y. he stole two boys one 7 one 11. Took them to his home stripped them naked tied them in a closet. Then burned everything they had on. Several times every day and night he spanked them—tortured them—to make their meat good and tender.



First he killed the 11 year old boy, because he had the fattest ass and of course the most meat on it. Every part of his body was Cooked and eaten except the head—bones and guts. He was Roasted in the oven (all of his ass), boiled, broiled, fried and stewed. The little boy was next, went the same way. At that time, I was living at 409 E 100 st., near—right side. He told me so often how good Human flesh was I made up my mind to taste it.

On Sunday June the 3—1928 I called on you at 406 W 15 St. Brought you pot cheese—strawberries. We had lunch. Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her.



On the pretense of taking her to a party. You said Yes she could go. I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had already picked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wildflowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them.

When all was ready I went to the window and called her. Then I hid in a closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run down the stairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mamma.

First I stripped her naked. How she did kick—bite and scratch. I choked her to death, then cut her in small pieces



so I could take my meat to my rooms. Cook and eat it. How sweet and tender her little ass was roasted in the oven. It took me 9 days to eat her entire body. I did not fuck her tho I could of had I wished. She died a virgin.

Text in white:
Fish had undoubtedly planned for the girl to be his pig suckling — as he later stated (text below the photograph).



Fish said it "never even entered [his] head" to rape the girl, but he later claimed to his attorney that, while kneeling on Grace's chest and strangling her, he did have two involuntary ejaculations.

Albert Fish was executed on electric chair.

------------------------------------------------------

Allow me to suggest a song at the end of this post:

MACABRE - Mr. Albert Fish (Was Children Your Favorite Dish)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KevkZrLKi4

[letvor]

I think I've already recommended this band — a rather decent pornogrind.

Check out the cover of their new single (released a few days ago).



The girl's pose is great — ready for use.
Her ass and legs are phenomenal.
Feet like they came from Heaven.

But the tattoo — or rather the album name (Satan - Ass)
That's not Satan, it's Baphomet!

Looks like you didn't do your demonology homework, beauty, and now I'll have to punish you for that.

[letvor]

Inside the red frame lies the true definition of pain:



I downloaded the movie on the 1st, but I haven’t had time to watch it until now (today’s the 3rd).

Sadness, sadness, and pain!

[letvor]

Thank you, YouTube algorithm!

First We Feast is a decent show, but not something I watch regularly. The algorithm recommended this episode, and I gotta admit — I kinda wanna buy the algorithm a beer!



The guest is Jennie (Blackpink).



The girl really put in effort to show respect to the host, and I appreciate that. You’ve got 20 minutes of pure enjoyment ahead — watching her struggle yet stay determined to try even the spiciest wing.



That would definitely made the episode way more entertaining.



Because you’re a good girl.

-------------------------------------

Source:
https://youtu.be/sUl6zhUKeAw?t=1

[letvor]

Now, a post in light of the recently finished Clash Royale League WF '25.

The rules of the game are simple:
Photo number one.



Note:
For those who don’t follow Clash Royale — Ian77 took 5th place at the Clash Royale League WF '25, so we’re talking about a very serious player here.

Photo number two:
So many possibilities! So many variations and overlaps between all sorts of genres!



I don’t think this story ended with just a game of Clash Royale.
My claim is based on this:

“It was an absolute honor to get our asses handed to us by him.”

Source: Video transcript 08:29 – 08:33

---------------------------------------------

I don’t know about you guys, but my favorite is Julia (the girl playing Clash Royale in the second photo).

There’s a link to her YouTube channel in the video description. Watching her videos won’t make you a better Clash Royale player, but you’ll have a good time and find yourself wondering:
“How would this girl handle herself in the FacialAbuse studio?

Julia, I don’t even know how to say this, but first I’d drop you to your knees in the Clash Royale arena, and then...

Source:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3QjByz3UfYs

[letvor]

Long time no see — Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!



----------------------------------------------------

In short:
Julia found a young man in her house who turned out to be a fan of hers from YouTube. She recognized him because the guy had already shown obsessive outbursts toward her online. The young man was talking to her mother, and before that he had been in Julia’s room, taking photos of himself on her bed.

The story is inspired by a video (the link is at the end of the post). I hope that her real encounter with the next disturbed fan will bring us a bit more entertainment.



I think this guy wouldn’t be capable of hurting even a cartoon sheep! It’s like kids made him out of clay. The definition of a tragedy!
--------------------------------------------------

“Hey, Mom!” Julia shouted as she opened the front door. “I’m home.” She cheerfully informed the pitch-black living room of the single-story house she had grown up in.

“Hello, Julia. My beautiful little Julia.”

The male voice answered, and the girl burdened with a large suitcase jumped as if someone had just poured cold water over her.

“What? Who… who is that?” she asked, confused.

“Mom?” she added, now somewhat uneasy but not visibly afraid—still convinced she was stepping into the impenetrable safety of the warm home she had left about six months earlier to go study.

The door was half open, and the light from the streetlamp spilled into the room just enough to turn Julia’s slender figure into a clear silhouette.

“Mmmmhhhmmmhhhh…” drifted through the darkness like an inarticulate warning.

A sharp sting in her right upper arm, like the bite of some hybrid mosquito, made Julia drop the suitcase, and a strong hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the scream.

“You’ll sleep for a few hours, and later you’ll have a headache—nothing more than that,” said the man, around fifty years old. Her eyes immediately began to close under the weight of the sedative, and he watched her beautiful face with great care and respect. The moment her knees gave out, he caught her and lowered her to the floor. With his foot, he casually closed the door, and shoved the suitcase aside—the way someone might idly push a run-over cat off the road.
________________________________________

“Hello, Julia.”

“What happened… where am I… who are you…”

The heavily sedated girl poured out the expected questions, each spoken only halfway.

“My name is letvor,” the man replied politely.

“I know you’re thirsty,” he said prophetically, handing her a bottle of water, which she examined with suspicion.

“The drug was necessary. But this is just water,” he announced in a voice that did not speak lies.

“What do you want from me?” she asked fearfully as the plastic bottle crackled under her fingers, her graceful neck moving with the activated swallowing reflex.

“Where’s my mom?” she choked out, only now clearly remembering that she hadn’t been alone with letvor back then.

“In that room.” He nodded toward one of the doors. “She’ll be asleep for a while longer because I gave her a higher dose of sedative than you, so she wouldn’t interfere.”

“What are you going to do to me?” she tried to sound calm, but her deep breaths clearly betrayed the fear every girl dreads.

“You think I brought you here so I could…” letvor waved his hand dismissively and smiled again, while her eyes trembled with stress.

“I could’ve done that to you in the house.” He paused just long enough for her to realize that letvor had raped before—and that it wasn’t unfamiliar to him.“I want us to play Clash Royale.”

“Clash Royale?” she repeated like a parrot.

“We’ll play ten matches against each other. You need to beat me once and you’re free,” he explained, this time nodding toward another door—clearly the one leading out of the long-abandoned house’s living room where they were sitting.
Julia’s eyes now flashed with disbelief. She had never reached professional heights in Clash Royale, but she was far above the average player.

Was this a fortunate coincidence—her unexpected ace, her chance at salvation?

“I promise I won’t go to the police,” she said, as if preparing her kidnapper for her departure.

“Is that because I’m not wearing a mask?” letvor smiled again. “If even a single word about this appears in the media, be sure I’ll visit everyone you love and everyone who means something to you in life.”

Though the sentence was threatening, letvor’s voice was natural and sincere—almost friendly.

“So,” letvor moved his hands the way someone does when jumping from one topic to another.
“We’ll play ten matches. You need one win to leave this place, and for every loss—”

“You mean leave this place,” Julia interrupted, only now realizing that letvor was speaking in the singular, and protested uneasily. “My mom and I. Together.”

“And for every loss,” he continued where Julia had interrupted him, “I’ll take one of your fingers—of your choosing.”

He drew her gaze to the hammer lying on the table, conveniently placed so he could easily reach it with his right hand.



“It’s clear I’m no match for you in Clash Royale, and if you want, you can beat me immediately and leave here—alone. But if you want to take your mother with you, you’ll have to lose nine matches.”

“And what will happen to my mother if I beat you before the tenth match?” she asked, now fully aware that learning the complete rules of this future game would also reveal its monstrous twist.

“I’ll kill her,” came the answer, spoken in the same tone one uses to order a coffee. “And if you lose the tenth match as well, I’ll kill you both.”

“But if you break my fingers…” she was now crying bitterly. “How will I beat you in the tenth match?” she asked, absolutely certain she could defeat letvor in Clash Royale whenever she wanted.

“For Clash Royale, one functional finger is enough,” he now sounded distracted as he did something on the screen of his smartphone. “I already told you—you’ll tell me which finger you want me to take each time, so the one you play with can remain untouched. Come on. I’ve challenged you.”

He finally said this while gesturing toward her smartphone lying on the table.
________________________________________

“Julia, my brave little Julia…” letvor muttered to himself as he watched the slender girl with nine mutilated fingers, leaning on her mother’s shoulder, leave the abandoned house.

Source:
https://youtu.be/ebyUu765-Wg?t=45

[letvor]

Almost three years ago, I was involved in a nearly fatal traffic accident. I spent part of that time in a coma, and the rest in rehabilitation. Doctors thought I would never walk again—but fortunately, they were wrong.



Since I was still not capable of fully taking care of myself, I spent several more months in my apartment, on home treatment. I aimlessly watched TV and mixed sedatives with whiskey whenever the opportunity arose.



As soon as I felt capable of leaving the apartment, I did exactly that. I went to a nearby park, determined to take a short walk—to feel alive again.

For nearly a hundred meters now, I’ve been walking behind the picture-perfect image of a happy family. Mom, dad, and daughter. Happy and smiling. They pass by a man sitting on a bench. He follows them with his gaze, and it seems to me that he is paying the most attention (just like I am) to the nineteen-year-old girl.



He said something to them, but I couldn’t hear what. He simply addressed them as if informing them of something. At no point did he appear rude or uncouth, the way people who shout obscenities usually do—quite the opposite.
The father suddenly exploded and began yelling. The mother and daughter started crying uncontrollably, while I stood there in disbelief that cannot be described.



Instead of making any expected move to protect himself from an agitator clearly ready to strike, the man on the bench calmly raised some kind of ID up to the level of the frenziedly angry father.



To my great surprise, the woman stepped into the argument here and, with considerable effort, managed to pull her husband a few steps aside. I wanted to know what they were talking about, but her words were choked by tears, and his by rage. They were simply barking at each other—like dogs do.

“Police!” the man from the bench suddenly shouted, casually waving toward two officers who had appeared in the distance. Only now did nothing make sense to me anymore, and I waited with indescribable impatience for the resolution of this unbelievable story.



Without a word, the man showed that same ID to the police officers. After that, one of the policemen cast a stern look at the father and told him that they would be forced to arrest him if he didn’t calm down.



Since the tension did not subside, the father ended up with handcuffs on his wrists, and the mother once again hugged her inconsolably crying daughter and followed the police.



“Excuse me, sir,” I addressed the man who was casually holding his arm around the girl’s shoulders while she cried uncontrollably. “Would you be kind enough to tell me what exactly is going on here…”

“I am a member of the GIMP organization,” he informed me, patting the pocket where I saw him put that mysterious card back. “I am authorized for this, and I ask you not to interfere.”

I quickly informed him that I too was a member of an internet forum, not an organization known as GIMP. I also told him all about my years-long accident and said that on GIMP I am better known as letvor.

“letvor!” he exclaimed as if he had known me his whole life, and announced that he had been very unhappy when the posts in the letvor’s Cave thread suddenly stopped. “I only have a bronze card and am entitled to just one girl per month—but you…” he wagged his finger at me. “You will surely receive a platinum card, because you are a highly respected member.”

“A card?” I asked, and he slapped his palm against his forehead as if swatting a mosquito.

“GIMP Headquarters is just around the corner, there.” He pointed the direction. “Fill out an application for a GIMP card, and depending on your level of authorization, you’ll be able to pick up a certain number of girls per month.” I stared, stunned, first at him and then at the crying girl. “It was nice meeting you, but now I have to go—because the sooner we start the job, the sooner we finish it, right?” He once again squeezed the girl beside him in a friendly manner.



GIMP Headquarters. I read the inscription above the entrance door out loud. Who says only bad things happen in this world, I muttered to myself as I climbed the steps.