Rob hated having acne. But he loved popping pimples.

He absolutely luxuriated in feeling pus filled pressure from his inflamed pores burst and squish laboriously through his skin. He loved the liberation of the juices, how thick and phlegmy they would run. The satisfaction of the viscous freedom simply delighted him.

Purging…Rob was addicted to purging. He needed it like someone three seconds away from cumming needs to keep thrusting. Within him, something felt so perverted and diseased, the pleasure of extracting zits seemed to be the only way to release little bits of this demon, to suppress it, to defend from total takeover.

Besides, his old purge was a hassle. Vomiting was messy and alarmed his parents. Sometimes he missed how the saccharine heaving would leave his eyes running with shivering happy tears from such a deep seated weight being lifted…but a mouth is only one hole, and with each pimple popped, he purged himself bit by bit of evil from each individual, minute, slimy opening.

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