I'm still looking for a story of mad gunmen shooting up girls in various place.
I still regret not saving it.
You are correct! For I believe I know just what you're talking about.
The following posts were put here under the banner IMadeAWrite - Tales from M-Net.
Titles to individual stories added for my own convenience.
The cliff was a popular suicide spot. Too far from any towns or cities for the cops to keep a constant watch on it. Isolated, quiet, the perfect place for people who wanted to end their lives to come and do themselves in undisturbed.
Or so they thought. Hank had lived there for seven years. Or rather, in a lonely log cabin a little way along the coast. It had started small with him – by fitting a few motion sensors around the cliff top, he always knew when somebody was coming to end themselves, and roughly where, and the rest was all down to his trusty telescope and the digital camera it fed into. He had a lot of footage of people leaping into the pounding surf below, and in a surprising amount of it the jumpers had chosen to disrobe before leaving the world.
He'd taken to cleaning up the cliffs too, doing his bit for the environment. He bagged and disposed of their litter, sent their clothes to charity shops, made a bit of money delivering their cars to a fence he knew across the State line.
That, eventually, had not been enough. So, over the course of several quiet months, he'd trapped the cliff. He'd gone about it carefully, building his nets into cracks in the rock wall so that the only way to tell they were there would be to rappel down the cliff and look in exactly the right place.
The setup was simple. He'd split the cliff into zones and kept a watch on the face as he had before. Only now, the nets were waiting to catch people when they stepped out into empty space. It had been a calculated risk – if the police took a particular interest in a missing person and thought they might be in the area, they'd quite likely find his nets, but by and large once he started disposing of the cars and evidence that they'd come here, the cops stopped dropping by, perhaps assuming that people were choosing other places and means to suicide.
He was fortunate tonight. The would-be jumper was a girl, a young woman. Pretty, if you ignored the trashy clothes, the too-thick mascara that was running in black rivers down her cheeks, and the awful blonde dye-job. She'd come out to the cliffs on a clear full moon night and, to his delight, had stood right above Net Seven, his most reliable one. She'd stood there crying for some time, then slowly stripped out of her clothing and tossed it into the sea. Her skin was too slathered in fake tan to glow delightfully in the moonlight like some of the jumpers did, but she did still look stunning up there. There was nothing wrong with her body.
It took several minutes, during which he captured excellent footage of her body as she dithered on the brink... then finally she turned her back to the sea, spread her arms, and toppled backwards to her death.
Hank pressed the button. There was a pneumatic BANG! From somewhere below and a squeal of surprise and sudden fear. He sprinted to the cliff edge, unslinging the tranquilliser gun from his back. The surprised girl in his net had only a second to notice him up on the edge before the dart pierced her flesh and she was suddenly too woozy to do anything other than fall asleep...
“Wake up, darlin, you've been asleep two hours now.”
She was on a couch, wearing a bathrobe. She was warm, and comfortable, and she could smell hot chocolate.
Carrie opened her eyes cautiously. She was in a warm, wood-walled room that looked like somebody's hunting lodge, and the owner – a tall, broad-shouldered man in a check shirt and jeans, with his hair pulled back into a ponytail – was just setting two steaming mugs down on the table.
She sat up cautiously, and groaned at the pain in her head.
“Sorry about the tranq dart honey, didn't want you climbing outta my net 'fore I could get down to you.”
“Where... who?” She could barely talk from confusion and her aching head.
“Name's Hank, kiddo. You're in my cabin, not far from those cliffs you went and did a swan dive off. Got nets set up all over that place to catch jumpers like you. Now come on, the dope in those darts gives a powerful hangover, I know. Aspirin and hot chocolate's the best remedy.”
He was so friendly and calm, and her troubles were so far away already, that Carrie didn't hesitate to obey him, wrapping the towel robe around herself and sitting at the table. She took a sip of the chocolate and pulled a face at a strange, powerful taste in it that went to her nose.
“Shot o' whisky in there too.” Hank said, settling down opposite her. “Warms you right up. Never drunk it before kid?”
“I'm nineteen” she said, simply. He was right though, she felt... calm, relaxed. At peace, where not long ago her world had been grief and the mad desire to end it all.
“Now what possessed you to do a silly thing like go jumping off my cliff at midnight?” he asked.
Carrie looked into her drink, and before she knew what she was doing, it all came tumbling out. Her boyfriend Matthew, her best friend Sarah, the threesome, the pregnancy, the miscarriage, the car crash that had killed her parents, finding Matt and Sarah fucking behind her back...
“...I just wanted to die...” she said, and her gaze drifted out the window to the moonlit cliffs.
“Careful what you wish for, sweetie. You might just get it” Hank said, not unkindly.
“I guess I owe you thanks for saving my life.” she said.
Hank smiled at her, and she became aware of an edge in it that... didn't disturb her, but did suddenly change the tone of their conversation.
“Might be you want to sit and hear me out before you make plans for the rest of your life, cupcake” he said.
“W...what do you mean? What're you going to do with me?”
Hank gently took her empty mug away and put it in the sink.
“I'm gonna make you an offer” he said. “See, I can tell you're still not completely turned around on this whole “thank you for saving me, I'm gonna go be a new woman” thing. Am I wrong? And be truthful, I'm good at telling when folk lie to me.”
Carrie paused. “No. No I'm not” she said truthfully. “It'd be... so hard to go back there. Mom and dad gone, Matt and Sarah gone...” she realised what she'd just said and clamped her mouth shut, but Hank was smiling at her. He held up a little card and it took her only an instant to recognize her own driver's license.
“Carrie Marie Walsh” he said “There's an APB out on you kid. Heard it on the police scanner. Wanted for the murder of one Matthew Brendan Connelly and one Sarah Louise Carson.”
“...yeah. I go back there, I'm just gonna get arrested and tried. I'd rather die.”
Hank nodded. “Fortunately for you, I get my jollies from murderin' folk.” he said “hence the nets on my cliffs. But you're a sweet kid and I don't like killing anyone who's not legally old enough to drink, so here's my offer. C'mere.”
He patted the chair next to him, and in a daze Carrie went and sat next to him as he pulled a laptop out from a carry bag under his chair and flipped it open. He activated a program she didn't recognize. The logo at the top read “M-Net”.
“I'm now letting you in on a conspiracy that has only two outcomes. Either you become guilty of or an accessory to even more murders, or you become a victim of one. Are we clear?”
Stunned, Carrie could only nod.
“This here is M-Net. They're an international underground group who make and distribute snuff movies – you understand what a snuff movie is?” Carrie nodded, so he continued. “I'm a member of this network. Some nights I just film people jumping off the cliffs, some nights I capture them and snuff them right here in the cabin... You, I almost saved and let go. If you'd gone and been turned around by one stranger's act of kindness, I'd have let you on your merry way and God bless you.”
“But I can't go back.” Carrie said.
“Exactly. So, you know what option one is – you and me have fun in the basement and I make it look like your suicide was successful.”
“And option two?”
“Option two is you spend a year on a sunny tropical island somewhere, get paid a quarter of a million dollars, and get a new identity starting fresh somewhere else in the world. Catch is you'll be an accessory to anywhere upwards of fifteen further deaths, and there'll be a fifty-fifty chance of you being the victim of it.”
“I'm... confused.” Carrie said.
“Isla Moros. It's a private island, owned by the director of M-Net, pretty little miss Annie Richmond after Al Lawes, bless him, went and let her snuff him. There's a club there, some very rich people pay some damn good money to go there and watch girls like you – and some guys now, I hear – get killed. Pay even more to be the one doing the deed. If you sign up to be an M-girl, as they're called, you'll be one of thirty. You stay there for a year shakin' your ass and fuckin' the clients, and fifteen times through that year, there'll be a lottery and one of the team'll be selected to die. Make it through that and you'll be anywhere upwards of thirty million dollars richer, and M-Net'll see to it that you get set up somewhere comfortable with a new name where you don't have to worry about facin' justice for your two cheatin' friends.”
Carrie sat there and thought about it for a long time. “Can I have another hot chocolate?” she asked.
“Darlin', I don't want to give you a scalding hot liquid until I know you're not gonna throw it in my face and make a run for it.”
“Would it work?”
“Nope. Door's locked, windows got bars in it you couldn't squeeze past and even if you did get outside, I'd just hunt you down in the woods. That truck o' yours ain't goin' nowhere.”
“So... can I have another hot chocolate?”
Hank laughed and made her another one, complete with the shot of whisky. Carrie sat there drinking it thoughtfully. Eventually, she set the empty mug down on the table.
“Hank, it's a tempting offer. But... I can't live with myself, doing what I did to Matt and Sarah. If I lived through that year on the island, I'd just be rich, free and miserable. You've been better to me than even my own daddy was and... I'd be happy to die by your hand.”
“Oh, sweetie. You're a way better person than me” Hank said. “Now come on. Let's get you on your way.”
She stood up and dropped the bathrobe off her shoulders, only now noticing that he'd cleaned all the fake tan and makeup off her body while she was sleeping. She felt natural, comfortable and totally at peace.
“Where do we begin?” she asked, and was distantly surprised to find that she was eager for it to happen. Hank smiled at the ready tone of her voice, and merely gestured to the growing bulge in the front of his jeans.
She didn't need any more encouragement than that. She was on her knees in seconds and quick, nimble fingers were undoing his button fly. Released from its tight confines, his cock – all seven glorious, muscled, pulsing inches of it – sprang out and swatted her on the end of the nose, drawing a giggle from both of them. She took it in her right hand and rubbed it softly, staring in wonder at it. Matthew's had been bigger, but Hank's... looked perfect. She wasted no time in licking the tip, moistening him up and then engulfing him in her mouth. He tasted clean and salty, and she looked up into his smiling eyes as she took him all the way down.
Hank's shirt and the white T-shirt underneath it came off, lifted up above his head and dropped to the ground. He was all lean muscle and chest hair, which she reached up to run her fingers through.
The blowjob didn't last long. Soon enough he'd had his fill of it and, with a strength that made her shriek in delight, he lifted her up, stole a quick, passionate kiss as he adjusted his grip to under her buttocks, then hoisted her up again until she was sitting on his shoulders, her hands gripping the roof beams to hold her steady as he buried his face in her soaking pussy and started probing, stroking and teasing with an eager tongue. Matthew had never done that for her. Sarah had only done it reluctantly to put on a show for Matt. Hank ate her out like she was the source of the sweetest nectar in the world, like he wanted nothing more to be there, pleasuring her.
She came hard, gasping and twitching so violently that she nearly lost her grip on the roof beams. Hank sat her down on the table and, nuzzling the side of her neck just below her ear, guided her into a lying position. Together, their hands reached down and guided his pulsing prick inside her.
He fucked her hard, and she gripped the table and made totally unashamed noises of ecstasy as he fucked her. She had no idea where he produced the handcuffs from without stopping, but he used them to secure her wrists to the table legs, leaving her spread-eagled and restrained, utterly at his mercy. Shackles tied her ankles down in the same way, and she could only writhe and mewl in pleasure as he ground his cock up as far into her as it would go and growled like a beast when he came. Hot cum filled her out and the feel of it finished her off. She fainted from the force of her orgasm.
She came to when something cold touched her breast. It turned out to be a knife, a big sharp hunting knife. The sight of it didn't scare her at all. Quite the reverse, it excited her and a detached, distant part of her marvelled at the way her arousal only increased as she watched this tool of death caress her nipple, sliding over her skin without breaking it.
“Cut off my tit” she heard herself order, in the same seductive murmur she'd used to order Matt to do the things he wanted to do.
Hank had a smile in his voice when he said “Yes, ma'am” and the point of the knife drew blood as he pushed it with agonising slowness into the tissue of her boob.
It was agony. Carrie clenched down on the shriek of pain that threatened to erupt from her, and only succeeded in turning it into a strained “NNNNGGGH!!!!” as the torment continued forever, going on and on until suddenly there was a feeling of absence on her chest, and Hank was lifting a dripping, bloody chunk of round and wobbly flesh up by the nipple.
Again, that same detached part of her mind noticed that Carrie had enjoyed the pain, and that rather than feeling a sense of loss at the departure of one of her twin girls, She was happy to have given it to Hank, and a LOT aroused.
“You gonna cook it?” she asked, her breath coming back in ragged gasps.
“nah, there's no good eating on a tit” Hank said “They're all fat, no meat. No, I'm gonna render them down, use them to baste your ass when I roast it. Speaking of which...”
He raised the knife again, and took the other tit off with the same deliberate, excruciating slowness. Carrie didn't fight the pain this time – she embraced it, throwing her head around, jerking against her restraints, crying noises of torment that she again noticed with detached amusement sounded eerily similar to the sounds she made during sex.
Hank got to work properly once the other breast was off. Her belly became a shard of ice-cold pain as he opened her up and started to strip out her innards, a job that left Carrie simultaneously wailing and crying in agony, and also watching with amasement.
It was like she was becoming two people. One was a simple, base creature of meat and bone that didn't like what was being done to her. The other was Carrie herself, aloof to the torture of her physical form and, in fact, thoroughly enjoying it. With each new stab of pain, Meat-Carrie weakened and her essence fed Real-Carrie.
“this is what I did to Matt and Sarah” she thought as she watched Hank cut out her heart. “I didn't kill them... I freed them.”
She tried to tell Hank, to thank him, but the words wouldn't come. Her lungs and mouth were part of Meat-Carrie, and Meat-Carrie was dead.
Carrie could still control just enough of her meat to return Hank's loving kiss before she finally passed on.
Hank felt the life fade behind those soft lips and caught Carrie's very last gasp of breath with a soft shudder. It had been intense, even more so than usual. The video footage would undoubtedly earn him a LOT of money from M-Net, as would the sale of Carrie's truck.
“Thanks, Darlin'” he whispered.
A Mother's Love
“Hey Sandra you got a minute?”
Sandra glanced over her shoulder to make sure the office door was locked out of pure paranoid force of habit before answering the chat message. The door simply couldn't be opened without the key that hung around her neck. Ostensibly, she locked herself in the office at home to work. In reality, she did it because there was no way her daughter would ever understand what kind of porn she was into, and she was terrified of the idea that Natalie might inadvertently stumble across the M-Net software installed on her office PC. So, the office was Sandra's space and Sandra's alone.
“Can it wait Jake? I'm really wet right now.”
Jake was the regional agent for M-Net, the man responsible for recruiting new network members, customer services, and all the delicate (and highly illegal) work involved in keeping the international snuff and cannibalism network “below the radar”. It was rare to get an instant message from him without a mail first – unscheduled calls inevitably meant interrupting somebody who was about to pleasure themselves.
“LOL sorry baby but I've got a new member in your area I think you should know about.”
Sandra frowned, but was intrigued despite herself. Usually, M-Net was completely discreet and anonymous. Being told about a new member was way out of the ordinary.
“Okay...?” she sent, keeping half an eye on the video filling half her screen. It was her favourite, one of the Isla Moros snuff girls being killed by her own father through slow strangulation.
“Just finished processing her application. Her name – you ready for this? Her name is Natalie Harper.”
Sandra's dildo dropped from her hand, and she had to re-read the sentence at least five times before she could believe that she was really seeing the words on the screen.
“MY Natalie?” she asked, breathless.
“The very same.”
Sandra sat in stunned silence for a second.
“Perfectly. Come on, you think I'd risk a security leak on a “maybe”?”
“Thought you should know babe. Anyway, make life fun I'm giving you a ticket to tag along on her free island trip.”
“Does she know that I'm a member”
“Not yet ;-)” There was a pause while Sandra weighed her options.
“Thanks. Jake seriously I owe you the best BJ of your life.”
“I'll hold you to that. Have fun baby.”
Jake signed out of the conversation. Sandra sat there for ten minutes, shaking from equal measures of surprise and arousal. Then, she was on her feet and let the door swing open for the first time ever as she stepped outside and went down the hall to her daughter's door, not caring that the incestuous scene of necrophilia was still playing out in High Definition glory on the monitor.
A distant part of her was surprised to note that she didn't dither on the threshold, but just opened the door and strode in.
Natalie – her sweet, auburn, nineteen-year-old daughter who (damn him) looked so much like her father - was naked on the bed with her fingers buried in her pussy and a laptop next to her. She jumped and slammed the cover shut with a scream, but Sandra caught a glimpse of the familiar dark red of the M-Net software, and the briefest flash of what looked like the famous recording of the M-Girl Becky Howard's beheading.
“AAH! MOM! Don't you KNOCK?” Natalie shrieked as she scooped a blanket over her young, nude body, face crimson. Sandra couldn't help a small laugh when her daughter performed a classic double-take to see her own mother standing in the doorway totally naked. “O-or... wear clothes?”
Sandra sat down on the bed, feeling the blush that Natalie had inherited start in her own face as well
“Sorry sweetie, I forgot” she said.
“Had more important things on my mind.”
Natalie shook her head “Okay, fine, whatever. Could we maybe get dressed before we sort them out, whatever they are?”
“And let you turn off that laptop? I saw what you were watching, darling.”
“So I was watching lesbo porn? Mom come on it's not your business, please....” Natalie was starting to shiver and cry and it came home to Sandra just how much she'd invaded her daughter's privacy. She almost backed out then and there, but something made her catch her daughter's gaze and forge ahead.
“Most lesbian porn doesn't wind up with one of the girls having her head cut off.” she said.
“What? But...? Oh god Mom, how did you...? I mean! Oh shit....” Natalie pulled her knees up under her chin and had a genuine attack of the shakes now. “God, Mom please, I'll delete it all I'll never look at it again I'm sorry I'm SO SORRY!”
Sandra leapt forward to hug the trembling teenager and held her tight, feeling hot tears against her neck.
“Delete it?” she said “That's one of my favourite videos.”
The shakes stopped.
“You... Mom, you mean you...?”
“I'm a total bitch sweetie, I'm sorry for doing that to you.”
“Fuckin A you are! Oh god, Mom....” Natalie drew a shuddering, sobbing breath and made a visible effort to calm herself “Are you seriously saying you're on M-Net?”
“Wanna come in my office, see what I was watching?”
“Do I ever! Uh, I mean...” Natalie flushed red again, adorable pinkness spreading all the way down from her cheeks to the make her tiny pink nipples warm up too. She rallied magnificently and giggled as she took her mother's unresisting hand and allowed herself to be lead to the office.
On-screen, the scene was continuing. The M-girl was long dead and had been cleaned out, stuffed and spitted and was turning over the charcoal pit now. Sandra sat in the office chair and, when Natalie hesitated looking for a place to sit down, patted her knee by way of invitation.
Natalie looked at her askance “you're kidding?” she asked.
Sandra just smiled and repeated the gesture. Natalie hesitated for a second, then shrugged and hopped up to sit butt-naked in her mother's lap.
“Feeling weird, sweetie?” Sandra asked as she basked in the feeling of her only child's smooth and warm skin against hers.
“Fucking weird” Natalie replied, then gasped and stiffened as Sandra's hand snuck up under her arm and squeezed her tit. She writhed a little, but couldn't bring herself to try and actively escape, settling instead for an outraged “Mom!”
“Why not?” Sandra asked, squeezing her daughter's boob again “I've been jealous of your tits for ages, you're way bigger than me, sweetie.”
“But... we're...” Natalie didn't seem to be consciously aware that she was grinding her pussy wetly against Sandra's leg.
“Necrophiliacs, and I'm a cannibal. Does adding incest to the sheet matter much?”
“I guess not” Natalie said, and that was all they said to each other for more than an hour.
three weeks later, their seaplane settled down in tropical blue waters somewhere in the pacific ocean, though neither of them were quite sure where. They and the other five passengers aboard had been vigorously enjoying themselves in the Mile-High club for most of the flight.
Sandra found that she was perversely proud of her daughter. Natalie had recovered from the shell-shock of her first ever incestuous (and lesbian) experience with remarkable speed and had quickly gone back to being her usual headstrong, confident, intelligent and lively self, and had fit a lock to the door of her bedroom. They'd still become experts in loving each other though, and Sandra couldn't remember a time when she'd felt closer to Natalie.
The thought came back again as they stepped from the plane. Her age made sure Sandra didn't feel comfortable without a bikini, but Natalie was wearing nothing but sun cream, flip-flops and a wide straw sun hat Their friends from the planet went their different ways towards the guest cabins along the beach, leaving parent and child alone for the first time in several hours.
“Mom, I've been forgetting to ask for a while...” Natalie said as she hoisted the small bag of luggage she'd brought with her. She caught Sandra's eye. “Are you a V or a C?”
“Both.” Sandra answered promptly “But I'm down on the Network as C only. I could never just leave you.”
Natalie smiled at that, kissed her and they linked arms as they headed for their cabin. “I'm the same.” she said. “I'd be a V by choice, but... you know, before I found out we're both into this I'd never have gone for it.”
“We couldn't afford it either” Sandra replied. She'd suspected her daughter was a Victim – the M-Net term for people who were sufficiently aroused by the fantasy of their own death to go through with it – since pretty much day one, but something about having the suspicion confirmed hurt her a little, deep down. The thought of living without her little girl was surprisingly painful. It helped that taking advantage of the club's services was expensive, and that they'd never realistically save up enough to be able to afford for either one of them to experience it.
“But you're a V?” Natalie asked, looking for confirmation.
“Yes sweetie. God, and SUCH a V. Every video, every time I come to this island, I imagine it's all happening to me.”
They walked in silence, arm-in-arm for a few minutes, and just as they reached the cabin, Natalie dropped her bombshell.
“I think I know how we could make it happen.” she said.
Stunned, Sandra could only pronounce a stupid “Huh?”
“I think I know how I could make sure we both get snuffed. And hey! Maybe we could go together!”
“I'll... sweetie, I completely understand where you're coming from, but I don't think I'm happy with the idea of you being snuffed.”
“Still got some maternal instincts, Mommy?” Natalie teased, adopting the “little girl” tone of voice that she knew Sandra couldn't resist.
“Yeah.” Sandra admitted “but I guess it's your life to end how you like, same as mine. Let's hear your idea.”
“Oh, it's easy. I become an M-girl!”
Sandra saw the plan instantly. M-girls gambled their lives on a fifteen-draw lottery for one year. With thirty girls in the pool, that worked out as a fifty-fifty chance of being chosen to get snuffed at the monthly club nights or one of the three “special” nights. Survivors walked away with several million in club pay, plus whatever they earned shaking their asses and fucking paying club members. Natalie would certainly earn more than enough to pay for two private snuffs... if she survived the year.
“And if your number gets drawn, I'm free to become a Victim any time I like without having to worry about you.” she said.
Natalie grinned, her teeth dazzling white in the sun “exactly!”
“I'm still not sure I like the idea of you getting snuffed.” Sandra said “At least, not before me.”
“I didn't really like it when you burst in on me fingering myself” Natalie said, smiling “but that turned out okay.”
Sandra stared out to sea for a second, and thought about what she'd wanted from life, for her and Natalie. For the first time, it occurred to her that she hadn't really got a plan. Her job and Nat's paid well enough that they could afford an M-Net account easily, but neither of them – like most Victims, she suspected – really had any concrete life dreams. If she thought about it, the only thing she'd really dreamed about doing was being snuffed someday. Why pass up the opportunity to do the one thing that had ever really inspired her?
It didn't take long at all for her to agree to her daughter's plan, and sign both their lives away.
Their weekend on the island was over too quickly. The auction night was as spectacular as always, with every horny eye in the room drinking in the experience as a curly-haired M-girl by the name of Faye went through the gruesome medieval fate of hanging, drawing and quartering. Exactly according to plan, Natalie presented herself to the owner and queen of M-Net, Annie Richmond, and was promptly accepted to join the M-girls. They even secured a concession that Sandra would get to travel to the island for free for every single one of the auctions, seeing as her daughter's life was on the line. Still, their farewell on the dock before the plane left to take Sandra back to the USA was tearful.
At home, Sandra's life became a limbo of waiting for auction days. She gave Jake his promised blowjob (and more) and worked out the details of her and Natalie's disappearance stories, but the rest became empty for her. She worked lots of overtime rather than face the emptiness of her house. She went to clubs and picked up younger men and women. With Jake's permission and help she even fulfilled a lifelong fantasy of hers and quit her job to take up a career in porn, Happily playing the MILF.
It was the trips to Isla Moros that actually mattered to her though. Natalie's first auction was the first of September. Sandra arrived on the thirtieth of August to visit her and mother and daughter spent the whole time in each others' company, touring the island and shamelessly fucking wherever and whenever the urge took them. It was a relief to them both that Natalie survived her first auction, and the pair celebrated by having a threesome with a rap star who, with their permission, slapped them both around a bit as they watched the night's snuff girl, Emily, being fried alive in a giant pan full of coconut oil. Watching the hapless M-girl twitch and writhe instinctively from the agony of the searing heat drove everybody in the club berserk, and both Sandra and Natalie came away from the night with rather more bruises than they'd really agreed to, for which they received a beautiful written apology in the morning.
October passed similarly – the first of the month auction became the first time that a male M-“girl” was chosen in the lottery and Natalie was delighted when the auction's winner presented the dead young man's cooked penis to her as a gift. She later reported to her slightly jealous mother that it had been delicious, but that the texture was a little strange.
The second-biggest calendar event of the year was the Halloween/November 1st double night. Annie Richmond had changed the rules for the nights slightly – instead of having two nights, the auction and snuff was now instead taking place at midnight of the 31st, but TWO girls were selected, and auctioned together. In the event, the first girl chosen was a German girl whose name Sandra instantly forgot because the second girl was Natalie.
The outcome of the auction surprised her, however. Through the blur of tears she was desperately trying to hold back she smiled at her daughter as Natalie stepped up to go under the hammer, and her breaking heart swelled with pride as the two M-girls went for a well above-average price, but the bit that made her finally break down was when the man who'd won them both promptly invited her up on to the stage.
“I've seen you two together so many times” he said “It just wouldn't be fair to have Natalie for myself when her loving Mom's right here. If you're okay with it, I'd like you to be the one who snuffs her”
Sandra found herself nodding in stunned silence. She'd never believed that this could happen, and she didn't have the faintest idea how she felt about it. Natalie however was obviously thrilled, and threw her arms around Sandra with a squeal.
“Omigod Mom, this is... Oh, it's a shame we couldn't go together, but this is so perfect!” She treated both mother, client and her fellow M-girl to a lavish French kiss, then turned expectantly to the woman who had brought her into the world, and would shortly remove her from it.
“Make it spectacular, mommy” she pleaded.
Sandra found that she was quite happy to.
Sandra's own personal snuff fantasy had always revolved around the cannibalism aspect of the club. M-Girls were intented to be eaten after their snuff, partly as tribute, mostly because it was the kink of many of the club members. The rules of any snuff therefore meant that the carcass had to be left in a state where it could be prepared as food and eaten safely.
This suited Sandra just fine. She'd had dozens of fantasies that revolved around watching as bits of her were cooked and consumed right in front of her eyes. She'd always been proud of her cooking skills, too. She wasn't exactly a genius in the kitchen, but her own parents had made sure their kids knew how to cook, and she'd been determined throughout her life that most of the meals in her house would be home-cooked from fresh ingredients.
Human meat cut straight off the living bones of her willing daughter seemed fresh enough.
Natalie was safe and clean to eat, they knew that much – M-girls went through a thorough disease screening and were completely cleaned inside and out before an auction night, so Sandra's mind was free to worry more about what recipes she'd choose, and how to ensure that her baby girl survived for as long as possible.
Natalie, for her part, was so eager to begin that she was even helping pick out the knives. Most of the club was watching her German counterpart Alina, perhaps hungrily sensing that her death was just the starter course tonight. If Alina was at all jealous, she didn't show it – she was strapped into a metal frame with a “collar” - a razor-sharp pneumatic metal iris – locked around her neck. She was shrieking in alternate parts pleasure at the meaty cock plunging in and out of her ass, and pain as the owner of that cock traced lines of fire across her body with a butane torch, cooking and browning the flesh of her tits right there on her chest. He triggered the collar when he came, and there was a round cheer when an audience member caught her head and kissed her passionately during the last instants of her life.
The main course, however, was definitely Natalie. Sandra had decided that her daughter deserved to be eaten au naturale for the most part, but when the time finally came to begin, she forgot all about the audience, all about the other club members, all about how they were being recorded for M-Net posterity.
Natalie looked radiant. She'd always been beautiful, but now, at the very end of her life, she took Sandra's breath away as she glanced over her shoulder, smiled and rushed over to press herself against Natalie and give her a kiss that no ordinary mother and daughter would ever have shared.
Then, she sat herself down on the counter, reclined and twined her legs together, accentuating her curves even as Sandra locked her ankles into the manacles that she would never be freed from as a living person. Her arms were locked cast out to either side in a crucifixion pose and there was a sigh of reverence across the club at the unconsciously powerful image of a beautiful young woman restrained in such an evocative, titillating pose, staring up at her mother-murderer with nothing but love, arousal and eagerness. Sandra pulled a knife from the block – a big one and well made, with ripples of metal in its folded metal blade that caught the light and fixed Natalie's gaze as her skin flushed pink from head to toe even as Sandra lowered it all-too-slowly to meet her waiting flesh.
Natalie tilted her head back and her eyes fluttered half-closed as her mom rested the blade very, very gently across her throat. Her lips pursed and the flesh of her throat rippled as she took a deep, steeling breath, swallowed, and whispered oh-so- quietly, but with a passion that carried right across the reverent hush of the room.
“Kill me, Mommy.”
It was an incredibly sharp blade, and it sank into her almost withough Sandra having to press. Natalie arched her back in an ecstasy of pain throwing her head even further back in perfect imitation of her most powerful orgasms, and the knife sank deeper into the wound channel thus opened, releasing a torrent of blood at high pressure that anointed a searing hot red line across Sandra's own naked skin. Natalie's thighs shifted and crossed, her fingers tensed and clutched at nothing, her beautiful chest, crowned in glory by her sublime tits, racked and shook, the muscles of her toned tummy undulated, and her back heaved and arched ever skyward. There was a peak that looked for all the world like Natalie had just experienced a soul-shattering orgasm, and then, suddenly, all that tension released and her body fell down and lay still on the slab, twitching gently from aftershocks as stray nerve impulses shot through her expiring system.
Sandra lifted Natalie's head to her face, and gazed into her gorgeous baby girl's glazed and dead eyes. The expression had settled into the neutral look of mild surprise that all the dead came to wear in time, but the image of her daughter's last living expression was burned into her memory. She had been loving and grateful.
She kissed the already-cooling but still soft and luscious lips, then put Natalie down where she could watch Mommy go to work on the task of cleaning, butchering and cooking her carcass. She didn't allow herself the luxury of breaking down in tears until half a day later, long after the meal she made of her Natalie's flesh was consumed, when she finally returned to the privacy of their – her – cabin.
If life had been a limbo before for her, now it was pure waiting. She had no desire other than death now. She sold everything she had and moved to Isla Moros permanently. The rent was so high she wouldn't afford to stay for more than three or four months. Over the course of the month of November she fucked every last one of the M-Girls and M-boys, starting with the tiny brunette who'd replaced Natalie. She was invited to, and attended, private snuff parties which inevitably devolved into orgies. She threw herself into any sex act that she was asked to perform, pleasured seven men simultaneously with two cocks in her mouth, two squeezed painfully tight into her pussy with a third alongside them in her ass, and one in each hand.
She attended the First of December auction and snuff party and watched as an M-Girl – Shelly - was strapped alive to the outside of a turning spit and roasted over a blazing charcoal bed, an agonizing process that didn't kill her for two hours. That evening, Sandra was led by the owner and queen of M-Net, Annie Richmond, up into her private apartments and became her totally submissive and helpless slave. She was subject to her mistress' every whim, endured every torture and cruelty with no safe word and no safety margin.
She basked equally when she was scolded and degraded and on the exquisitely rare occasions that she was graced with a callous and demeaning compliment. Her body was marked by their play in the form of scars. She discovered the appeal of pain, came to experience it as a twisted parody of pleasure that made her react in exactly the same way. The first time she came from the stimulation of torture alone, she dubbed it a “black orgasm” and soon came to realise that she preferred them.
There was a perverse love in her relationship with Annie. Her Mistress was so cruel, so cold, so brutal to her because she knew that was exactly what Sandra wanted, not kindness and warmth. The tortures she inflicted on her slave were driven by love – how could she resist giving her most devoted servant exactly what she desired? Sandra's most intense ever black orgasm came when Annie branded her with the word “slave” on her left breast, right across the nipple.
And then came the morning of the fifteenth, the traditional day of the Club Moros Christmas celebration. They both knew what was coming, but played out the unconscious script regardless. When she delivered her Mistress' breakfast that morning, Sandra wore only a ribbon tied in a bow and a large festive tag that read “To Mistress Annie, with total devotion. Merry Christmas. Your slave, Sandra”
She was struck across the face for her temerity, and made to kiss her Mistress and Goddess' feet while Annie ate as a penance.
The day was full of gift-giving, but in the Club Moros sense. Christmas gifts on Isla Moros were people, snuffs, lives. By giving herself to Annie, Sandra had suicided. She wasn't the only one to do so that day. Annie received five other gifts – three men and a woman who gave themselves, and a gift of a male slave-lover given by a retired M-Girl. Elsewhere in the club, other gifts were given, between friends, between lovers and spouses. A woman gave herself to her little sister, who in turn gave herself to one of the M-boys. One married couple gave themselves to each other and were the first to die, side by side making love with Collars around their necks which they triggered at the moment of simultaneous climax. One of the M-girls was drawn by lottery and auctioned. The man who won her promptly gave her to the surviving M-girls, along with himself. They were torn apart by twenty-four horny girls, one of whom got so carried away that she tried to self-snuff and had to be sedated by club security.
Annie's private party was a little slower and a lot crueller. She fitted each of the men with a smaller version of the collar and took them all in a gangbang that left Sandra quietly amazed at her stamina and skill. She was so passionate with them that they all managed to rise to the occasion despite knowing what was coming. Soon, the Queen of M-Net was making ecstatic noises with a cock in her pussy, another in her ass, a third in her mouth and the fourth, graciously, given to Sandra once she had warmed him up.
Sandra herself forgot all about the little collar attached to the penis she was fucking until, without any warning at all, Annie triggered all four of them simultaneously. Male howls of agony and loss announced the moment the four of them were unmanned. The one she'd been fucking collapsed back with a shriek, clutching at the bloody stump of his dick and leaving the organ itself lodged inside her.
One function of the collars was that they kept the blood locked away inside the severed cocks, so they stayed hard. Sandra couldn't resist a shiver of frightened awe when Annie plucked the cock from her ass, handed it to her other female gift, then continued to fuck herself with one of the meat dildos while sucking vigorously on the other. Sandra unconsciously imitated her Mistress, and swooned from the force of the orgasm the depraved act caused her to have.
She was woken by a slap in the face. She had obviously been passed out for some time because the four men were dead, their bodies showing gaping wounds where Annie had cut out their hearts.
“Pull that fucking thing out of your cunt” her Mistress ordered. The other gift-girl was hanging in a frame behind her, obviously waiting for whatever torture was coming to her. Sandra did so, idly reflecting that it was probably the last cock she'd ever have inside her. Annie handed her a bucket. Inside were the other three severed cocks and four steaming human hearts.
Annie leaned closer and Sandra thrilled at the nearness of a woman she'd come to worship as a goddess.
“I'm going to snuff you in private, my love” she said, and Sandra swelled with the first genuine happiness she'd felt in six weeks at being called “my love”. “For now” Annie continued “go back up to the apartment, and prepare me a meal from this lot.”
“Yes, Mistress” Sandra said, and staggered shakily to her feet, bucket in hand. She paused on the threshold of the elevator up to Annie's apartment and looked back. Her Mistress was busily flaying the skin from the back of her other gift-girl with a vicious-looking whip with one hand, while the other was used to mercilessly finger-fuck the shrieking victim.
The peaceful interlude that followed was something of a relief after the bedlam downstairs. Sandra took a very quick shower to make sure she was clean for food preparation, then retrieved a bottle of very expensive red wine and opened it to breathe before settling down to the business of turning four male still-hard cocks and four human hearts into the last meal she would ever prepare.
By the time Annie returned to the apartment, the food was simmering away, and Sandra dutifully followed her Mistress into the shower and diligently washed every last drop of blood from her skin and hair. There was something maternal and loving about the gesture that abruptly reminded her that Annie, for all that Sandra worshipped and was totally subservient to her, was actually young enough to have been Natalie's older sister. Just for a second, their roles were reversed as Queen Moros relaxed into her slave's arms and luxuriated in the feeling of her body being cleansed.
They couldn't linger like that, but the moment was long enough to be an emotional balm for Sandra as she realised that she really did love the woman who was about to kill her. Without bothering to dry, they returned to the kitchen and Annie at the meal she had been prepared naked, still dripping water on the stone tiles of the kitchen floor. Sandra stood behind and to her left, head bowed and hands clasped demurely in front of her, relishing the silence and hint of normalcy that was preceding her death as Annie at in appreciative silence, polishing off every last bite.
“I'm going to miss your cooking, Sandra” Annie said when she was done, and Sandra found herself nodding and smiling at the compliment. “I'm going to have to make sure my future slaves can cook... but I'm not sure any will ever be up to your standard.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
Sandra was led into the torture room, site of so much pain and perverse pleasure over the last weeks, and stopped dead. All of the usual tools, toys and dungeon apparatus was gone, swapped out discretely during her absence and replaced with a familiar wooden table with shackles, and a knife whose image was indelibly etched on her memory. She hadn't realised that the pattern of folded metal waves in the blade had been so clearly remembered.
“The video of you snuffing Natalie is my new favourite.” Annie said. “It even beats watching my sister June die. I can't imagine a better way to thank you for the heaven you've turned my life into these past two weeks.”
Sandra wiped a rogue tear from her cheek. “It's... perfect.” she said. “oh, thank you so much Goddess, it's perfect.”
She had never called Annie “Goddess” to her face before, and the term seemed to surprise the snuff queen, but also make her heart melt. Annie kissed her, pouring as much love into the contact as mere lips could transmit. It lingered for only a few seconds, and then Sandra hopped up onto the table, lay down, and stretched her arms and legs out to accept her chains. She barely felt her Mistress clamp the heavy shackles on.
Her hips and tummy rose unconsciously and air rushed excitedly into her as Annie lifted that knife, then laid it so gently on her throat. Sandra's eyes closed, she tilted her head back to expose herself to the cutting edge as much as possible, and she uttered the same prayer of love, devotion and worship that her daughter had.
“Kill me, Goddess.” she whispered.
The knife pressed into her, opening a mortal wound. It was an experience of pain and pleasure like she had never imagined could exist. A Black Orgasm tour through her that swept control of her body away. As if from a distance, she watched her back arch, her cunt spread and expose. She watched her blood slash a crimson line across the ceiling. Every sensation flooded into her, both raw and immediate and exhilarating, but also distant, as if not really happening to her. She arrived at the epiphany of her life and death far too late to be saved, or to express it, but felt her face become a picture of ecstasy and love before it passed out of her control forever.
Sandra's last thought before her mind was freed to become something massively grander and more beautiful than it could ever have been while confined in her body was gratitude and unbound joy to find her beloved Natalie waiting for her.
Friends With Benefits
Lucy could hardly control her hands. The enormity of what had just been done to her two lovers, and what she was about to do to herself, was sinking in and they were threatening to shake so much she had hardly any control over them.
But she still had enough to keep the vibrator steady below her as she lowered herself onto it as if fucking a man - As if fucking Ben – cowgirl. Her breathing was ragged, unsteady, punctuated by squeaks and groans of shameless passion that were ear-hurtingly loud in the confines of the “Cage”, the blast-proof glass box that she had crawled inside to die.
While one hand steadied the synthetic cock that was driving her crazy, the other clutched the detonator to her breasts, thumb rubbing the button on top as if it were one of Molly's nipples. Despite the number of times she had come already today, the wave was cresting again, poised to crash down in a wall of pleasure that would destroy her.
She threw her head back, bucked like somebody had just passed a thousand volts through her, and as the orgasm broke over her she screamed “I'M COMINNNNG!!!”
She wasn't quite sure if it was a straightforward squeal of ecstasy, or a joyful cry of reunion with Ben and Molly. She didn't care. At the very apex of her pleasure, her thumb clenched, the detonator clicked, and the high explosive core of the dildo grenade tore her spasming cunt, her hips and her entire lower body apart in an eruption of viscera, ichor and stringy shreds of girl meat.
Lives – not just her own – flashed before her eyes.
“Huh. You seen this thing on the network?”
Molly put down her ebook reader and gave her life partner, Ben, a quizzical look. He was curled on the couch with a laptop, the familiar red tone of the M-Net software lighting the front of his T-shirt.
“Free holiday on Isla Moros with a snuff risk.” he said. “Basically, you get a three week vacation on the island for free but get entered into a prize draw.”
“First prize gets to snuff one of their fellow attendees, plus one of the night's M-girls, second prize gets to snuff an attendee, third prize gets no snuff but is immune to being chosen. Prize winners can increase their snuff allowance by one if they want, but then have to self-snuff.”
“So somewhere between three and six people get snuffed at the end of three weeks of sun, sand and sex?” Molly mused.
“Basically, yeah. They've already got about fifty people signed up for it, so the odds are... well, I'd be okay with them.”
“Does that mean you're in?”
“I'm in, yeah. Sounds fun!”
“Despite the risk of somebody else winning and picking you to snuff.”
“Absolutely! It'd be fucking hot.”
“Guess I'll pick you to be my victim if I win then” Ben teased her
She stood up, kissed him and said “I'll hold you to that, Mister. Because I'll sure as hell be snuffing you if I win.”
“oh, you are SO dead if I win.” he grinned back, talking around a second, more involved kiss.
They arrived on the island three days before the auction on a clear starry night with seas so calm that the Milky Way was reflected perfectly in the mirror waters of the island's lagoon. The island was a popular spot for M-net club members to visit even when it wasn't an auction day – a lot of them attended for the simple reason that it was a private and beautiful island retreat with a very liberal attitude towards nudity and public sex... not to mention life and limb. Nothing could have driven this point home more completely than when Molly and Ben were just unloading their bags from the plane and a woman in her mid-twenties bounced up to them, wearing only her extensive tattoos and piercings and a big smile.
“Hey guys! We saw you landing, you're just in time for the beach BBQ if you want to come?”
“Oh yeah? Who's cooking?” Molly asked grinning at her easy and friendly attitude.
“Sorry sweet thing, it's not me if that's what you're thinking.” the girl said. “We're eating Chinese tonight.”
“We'll be there.” Ben promised, and hefted his bag to show there might be a delay.
“Don't be too long!” their greeter called as she jogged back towards the flames on the beach with a wave, giving them both a great view of her ass as she went.
True to their word, Molly and Ben didn't take long. They left their bags just inside the curtain that passed for a door on their cabin, flung their clothes onto the bed, and headed down to the beach hand-in-hand. Sure enough, there was a small crowd down there paying their respects to a Chinese woman who was busily enjoying a noisy orgasm at the hands of five or six people.
The girl who greeted them was watching the action with a big grin and a bottle of beer as she chatted with a few other guests of the island and a woman that Ben recognized as an M-girl, Hailey. She broke off the conversation when she saw Ben and Molly approaching and bounced up to them with the same enthusiasm she'd shown at the plane.
“You came!” she exclaimed happily. “I'm Lucy, by the way.”
“Not yet I didn't.” Said Molly, slyly. “this is Ben, and I'm...” she raised a hand to the side of Lucy's head then leaned forward and kissed her, an act which the tattooed beauty returned eagerly “...Molly.”
Lucy giggled then pressed herself up against Ben for an equally steamy kiss. “Oooh, I knew the moment I saw you two that you'd be fun.” she enthused “you guys here on the free promo?”
“Sure are!” said Ben, guiding both girls over to a square of towel that somebody had laid on the beach while Molly grabbed a couple of beers from the cooler. “Any idea how many others are?”
“Fifty or so.” Lucy said. “I think. Including us. Not too many, not too few... I reckon there's a good chance of getting to do somebody... or be done.” She sounded like either option was just as good. She gave Ben's cock a cheeky squeeze as she sat down next to him “Or both.”
“Hey!” Molly exclaimed in mock outrage. “That's mine!”
“Awww...” Lucy moaned and pouted “but I wanna!”
“You've got to learn manners and ask first.” Molly said, her serious tone betrayed by the smile that was creasing her eyes and the corners of her mouth.
“Pleeeeaaase?” Lucy asked, directing a pout at Molly that made her lip ring glow in the firelight.
“What do you think, Ben?” Molly asked, teasingly.
“I think you girls need to learn how to share.” Ben chuckled, swigging his beer. “So how about you kiss and make up?”
Lucy raised a hand to her mouth in playful shock “Molly! Is he suggesting what I think he's suggesting?”
Molly giggled “I think that he's suggesting we should do this...” she kissed Lucy again, obviously having the time of her life “...and then THIS...” she pulled away and slipped his rock-firm prick into her mouth, grinning like a cheshire cat.
“Thought so.” Lucy said, and joined her.
Behind them, unheeded, the Chinese girl they would later wind up eating, worked herself to a final glorious orgasm that broke over her just before the axe came down and ended her life.
Lucy, Molly and Ben became inseparable immediately, falling into a three-way relationship as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Even before the end of the second day they were discussing options for moving into a more permanent lifestyle back home.
“Of course” Molly pointed out “we all three have to survive this weekend...”
The promotion had proven to be a real success – most M-net users were naturally cavalier about life and death, and while many strongly identified either as a Victim or a Client, the bulk of users, including the three lovers, were somewhere in the middle – willing to take the risk and accept the consequence, but not looking to actively seek out death. This of course meant there was a chance that one of them would be selected by whoever won the draw to be their victim.
“We'll play it by ear.” was Ben's opinion.
“Holy fucking shit, I think she's still alive.”
Pain was all Lucy knew. She distantly recognized and understood the words that had just been spoken, but they weren't relevant. The only thing that mattered was the pain, great red hot pulses of it sweeping over her skin from the site where her truncated torso ended in a tangle of glistening flesh and innards. She listened idly as she basked in the flow of the ruinous agony.
“Can you hear us, girly? That was a hell of a show you just put on. Fucking HOT.”
“I don't think she can hear you, Jake...”
“Yeah, looks like she's fading...”
The torment carried Lucy away like flood waters, but the searing flow of her devastation also brought soothing memories – her own, and those of her loved ones.
“So... As you know, tonight being Halloween and it being the first of November at Midnight, we're holding a double M-girl draw.”
Annie Richmond relished being where she was. She had stood as part of the neat row of beauties behind her twelve times and could remember how it felt every time a draw and auction came around. Or at least, how it had felt for her. Although willing to take the risk of dying, it hadn't really appealed to her so she had been very relieved to make it through her tenure as an M-girl and take over the network. For her, each draw had been an exercise in patience, willpower and nervous terror. She could read the same expression in about half the girls as she turned to face them, holding a ping-pong ball with a name written on it. The other half were glancing around with anticipation, clearly wanting for it to be them.
Sadistically and strangely, she always preferred it slightly when the girl drawn for the night was like she had been – willing, but not eager. Having been there, being able to empathize with them, just made the emotional experience that little bit more keen for her. She opened the ball and read it, and there was an in-draw of breath from the girls and the crowd.
The chosen girl – petite and small-breasted with raven curls – sobbed and stared at her aghast, but rallied magnificently and, steeling herself with a deep breath, stepped forward. Her hand trailed behind her where another of the girls was giving it a good-bye squeeze. Her expression was hollow as she stood shivering beside her mistress. Her replacement stepped into the line-up behind her, fidgeting nervously and obviously in the “not eager” camp.
“And the second girl for the night...” Annie inserted a ball containing the new girl's name into the randomizer, turned it over a few times, then fished inside and pulled out a second name.
She suppressed a thrill of satisfaction at the dismayed gasp that the now-doomed blonde issued. Two scared girls in one night! She knew she was a bitch for enjoying their misfortune, but then again you didn't get to be the owner and administrator of a global underground snuff pornography network by being a nice person.
“So, now it's onto the prize draw for our free attendees. Just to go over the rules again: First place gets you your pick of one these two -” she waved her hand at the trembling snuff-girls “plus one of your fellow attendees to snuff. Second prize is one of your fellow attendees, third prize doesn't net you a victim, but the three top places mean you're immune to being chosen. Winners can claim one extra victim by agreeing to self-snuff. Any questions?”
There were none. Everybody had read the rules time and again.
“okay, so, I'll draw third prize first...” she reached into the bucket that contained about fifty scraps of paper with numbers on them. “twenty-six!”
A man in the crowd raised his hand, holding the scrap of paper marked “26” and looked relieved. “No upgrade!” he called, loudly and clearly.
“Okay... you get to sit this one out.” Annie teased with a wink. “For second place.... Nicole, why don't you draw this one?” The blonde French snuff-girl nodded meekly and fished a scrap from the bucket without looking. She and Gabby were holding each others' hands for comfort.
“Th-Thirty-one!” she managed to squeak out, eventually. There was a cheer from the crowd and a brunette in the back held up her card.
“Get up here babe, we'll let you pick your victim after the first place winner is drawn.” Annie told her, and stood aside as the lucky party-goer scrambled up onto the stage, panting with excitement. “Gabby... would you do the honours?”
The tiny dark-haired woman's hand fished into the bucket without hesitation. For all her nerves, Gabby was composed.
“Ten!” she called, clearly.
There was a silent, expectant pause, and in the middle of it Lucy's quiet voice rang out clearly.
“Guys... that's me!”
“...in and out. Never seen anyone in this state live more than a few seconds. Freaky.”
“You think sh.....to five minutes?”
“I wouldn't bet on it.”
“Bet your life, Rachel?”
“Fuck no. Bet somebody else's though. Winner buy....ser a victim.”
Lucy stopped listening again. The memory that was surfacing on the tide was an especially precious one.
“I said Merry Christmas! I'm your present, little sister!”
“I don't understand...?”
“Didn't anyone ever tell you what the Christmas Presents at Club Moros are like?”
Lucy's older sister, only a year older than her, gave her a cheeky kiss on the lips.
“It means, silly, that I want you to kill me.”
Lucy stared at her, dumbfounded. “But... Sue?! I don't want to kill you!”
Sue looked nonplussed. “Why not? It's what I want.”
“I love you!”
“I love you too, Lucy. That's why I want YOU to be the one who does me!”
“Sue, no. Please, no.”
Sue took Lucy's hands, and brought them up to her throat. She pinned them there with one hand while the other slid down her sister's arm, teased a nipple, brushed the flat expanse of her tummy, then slid between her legs, where it found warmth and moisture.
“Your mind's telling you no...” she teased. “But the rest of you...”
Lucy bit down on the traitorous groan of pleasure that threatened to burst from her. “I...”
“We both want to be Victims, sweetie.” Sue continued. “I know you want to go out giving somebody pleasure, just like I do. Giving YOU pleasure.”
“Sue, I don't...”
“I want this. I want this more than I've ever wanted anything in the world. One way or another, I'm going to die tonight, and if you won't do it, I'm sure Mr. Lawes up there will. Or... hmm... we could both go up there...?”
“I'm not ready yet, Sis.”
“Well, I am. So, Merry Christmas. Now are you going to kill your present or no..?!”
The question ended in a strangled choking noise as Lucy's fingers tightened their grip. They collapsed to the floor and their lips met. Sue's hand never left her sister's pussy, but her other one found her own, and soon the pair of them were a wriggling knot of pleasure and asphyxia on the hard wood floor. Sue's body shook and spasmed as it fought instinctively to draw breath, but her hands never stopped working their magic, even as Lucy showered her face with kisses, stolen between gasped exclamations of “Oh God, Sue, I love you. I love you so much!”
The last thing Sue heard before she passed out was her younger sister's litany of devotion ending in a rising orgasmic squeak in response to the stimulation from her spasming fingers. She never woke up again. By the time Lucy recovered enough to loosen her grip and start trying to wake her up, Sue had been dead for three minutes.
It shocked Lucy a little just how quickly she realised that the experience had only been so intense because of the genuine grief she experienced throughout.
Gabby just stared blankly with eyes full of fearful moisture as she was given her way to her soon-to-be-murderer. Number thirty-one had already picked her victim – a man who had almost bounded up on the stage, rock-hard and enthusiastic. When Lucy had been asked which M-girl she wanted, she hadn't hesitated in pointing at Gabby.
She hadn't been prepared to win. She hadn't thought about what she would do if she did. Nevertheless, there was only one thing she could imagine doing in this situation – only one thing that felt natural and right.
“Molly? Ben? Get up here, I'm upgrading.” she said.
“...at's it, looks like you owe me a – no, wait, she just came round again.”
“One minute to go!”
“This is impossible.”
Lucy opened her one working eye and stared at the two speakers for the first time. With her remaining hand, she gestured to the man, Jake.
“Baby girl, this is incredible. I don't know how you're still with us!” he said as he knelt beside her.
“C... c.... cock.” she forced out, distantly amazed that her lungs could work at all.
“I. Wwwant. To sssuck... cock. One last t... time.”
The woman – Rachel – made an incredulous noise, and Jake just stared at her.
“Seriously?!” he exclaimed.
“Let. Mmmee d-die wwwwith a cock in. my. my. Mmmouth.” she demanded. “P-p-please.”
Jake needed no further encouragement. With a disbelieving shrug, he undid the fly of his jeans and popped himself out and slipped himself between Lucy's bloodied lips.
She let the warm, pleasant and familiar comfort of giving head carry her away into the visions again. She barely noticed when Rachel lay down next to her and started sucking on her nipple.
Gabby was shivering. Ben looked ready and rock-hard. Molly flung herself into Lucy's arms and gave her a kiss full of terrified passion. Her whisper was a gust of warm air in Lucy's ear, for her to hear only.
“If I'd won, I'd have done exactly the same thing.”
“I can't imagine anyone I'd rather die with.” Lucy whispered back, her voice quavering.
“I love you.” Molly said.
“I love you too, Molly. Wanna help me snuff Ben?”
“Fuck yes.” Molly whispered, in tones that hinted at how horny she was feeling. “but let's do the M-girl first.”
It was hard to tell if Gabby was panting more from the fear or from the thorough fucking she was being given. Her face was barely above the surface of the water now, and the waves made by both her and Ben's as he pounded into her washed over her face and into her mouth. Her ankles were each tied to eye-hooks bolted into the floor of the pool, and her wrists were strapped and pulled apart by ropes running through two more eye-hooks and from there to a winch and ratchet by the poolside. She was spread-eagled, kept afloat only by her own bouyancy.
Lucy was panting in sadistic glee as Molly ate her out, and gave a little excited squeak as she reached over to give the handle another pull. With five solid clicks, the ropes got shorter, the angle got shallower and Gabby's head was pulled down just a little bit further, so that now her face was only above the surface about half of the time.
Somewhere in the middle of the desperate splashing and gulps of air, she heard what she had been waiting for – a carnal moan that sounded suspiciously orgasmic - and hit the green button that started up the winch's electric motor. Quickly and easily it pulled in a meter of rope and with a final “ANH!” of mounting pleasure, Gabby vanished below the water's surface forever.
Her hair had already been floating and lashing wildly around her, now it became a cloud that enveloped her entire head in floating brown tendrils. She looked around wildly as it became clear she'd never be able to come back up for air. Fighting for life, if only to experience the last climax of her existence, she bit half her lip, closed her eyes and bucked furiously against Ben's cock, which erupted. He shot a full load of cum deep into her with a gasp, and her last breath – her last orgasm – bubbled out of her mouth and nose, boiling the surface of the water before it escaped forever.
Water flooded Gabby's lungs. She convulsed, retched, tried to breath again and only drew more inert liquid into her body. The ability to move fled her – even if they hadn't been tied, her limbs no longer obeyed her but she found that, strangely, she didn't mind so much now that the end was here. The spike of her climax had settled into a strange, floating euphoria she had never imagined before. The world, she realised, looked quite beautiful from under the surface of the water. As her vision greyed and then darkened, her last wish was that she could share the epiphany of her drowning with somebody. Then, with a last tiny curl of bubbles and a flutter of her eyelashes, she was dead.
Ben stood, stretched and sighed, water cascading off the muscles of his back, his ass and his abs, and dripping off his cock. “If that was my last ever fuck” he said aloud “I'm going to die a happy man.”
He felt warm skin against his as Molly pressed herself close against him and slid her hands around his body so that one was rubbing his chest and the other lightly gripped his cock. Every sensation was heightened and intense, right down to the way the little patch of hair pressed against his buttocks was tickling. She kissed the side of his neck and murmured “guess what?”
“What?” he asked, turning in her grip to kiss her lips, relishing the sensation of her soft tit-flesh rubbing across his own wet naked skin.
“It was. UNH!”
Molly's expression twisted into a mask of agony and horror at the same instant that Ben felt a piercing, tearing violation of his abdomen. Lucy had borrowed one of the club's custom-made tools and put it to its intended purpose – pneumatically assisting her in forcing a metal spear through two human bodies at once. The two lovers were now nailed to one another through the midriff, and their blood mingled as it flowed down their bodies and clouded the water around their knees.
Molly recovered from the shock enough to give him a weak grin. “Gotcha.”
Ben couldn't speak. The breath had been driven out of him, but he had the strength to cup the back of her head with his hand, and kiss her again, with a fury and passion born of wanting to let her know how he felt about her even as his life drained away.
She pressed herself even tighter against him, returned his love with interest, and not even her violent, involuntary convulsion as the second spear exploded through her spine, her heart, out through her sternum and into his own hammering cardiac muscle could stop them.
Slowly, the two embracing corpses toppled sideways into the water and became the heart of an inky red cloud.
Salt in her mouth. Pleasure in her nipple.
Not relevant any longer. Happening to the body, not to Lucy. Still pleasant, though. Still feeding joy into her as the last bonds broke.
“I owe you a victim.”
“She can't STILL be alive?”
“still breathing, look.”
Breathing. One more link to sever, one more piece of the body to discard. She'd forgotten to stop breathing. She let it happen, told her heart to stop beating.
“There she goes. Thanks babe, you were amazing.”
“I changed my mind baby. After seeing that... if you wanna do me, I'm yours.”
“Look at her. She's smiling.”
Lucy's last wish was that she could communicate the joy of her apotheosis. But it was too late, for that. Ben and Molly were waiting...
“She just washed up. I've got the team trying to figure out who she is.”
“Poor girl. Of all the islands in the south Pacific, she had to wash up on ours.”
“I can make it quick if you want, boss.”
“No, no. I'm not as nice as Alastair was. I like to play with my food first.”
“Have it your way, ma'am.”
“Thank you Harry, I will.”
Kelly couldn't remember feeling this comfortable in a long time. The skin-scorching sun, the itch of salt water, the wood and metal against her skin all seemed a very long way away. Instead, there was soft and white and warm.
She jolted awake.
She was in a bed, naked. It was a big bed, and comfortable, and it sat in the middle of a large apartment with a full wall-window overlooking a picture of tropical paradise. Whoever owned the apartment was clearly a big fan of BDSM erotic art, but otherwise the whole place was tastefully decorated.
A young woman was sitting in a recliner by the window, working on a laptop and sipping a cold beer. She looked to be in her late twenties, and wore her hair in a nest of dyed dreadlocks, purple fading to black. She glanced up at the bed at Kelly's movement and smiled a warm, happy smile.
“Welcome back.” she said. “how are you feeling?”
Kelly sat up, and groaned as her head protested. “Augh... awful. Sorry. And... confused.”
“You're dehydrated. There's a jug of water next to you.”
Kelly turned, saw the jug and grabbed it, gripped by a thirst she'd never have imagined was possible before the plane crash. The other woman watched her drink it with a slight knowing smile. Finally, Kelly had to stop with a gasp for air. A lot of water had gone all over the sheets.
“Oh.. God, I'm sorry. Where...?” She suddenly collapsed, dizzy.
“Answers in good time, sweetie.” said Miss Dreadlocks. “For now, I put something in the water to help you sleep...”
This time, when Kelly came to, she was in the same bed, but the sheets were dry and Miss Dreadlocks was lying next to her, brushing a stray hair out of the way.
Kelly couldn't deny, she felt much better than the first time she'd woken up. So much so that she didn't really mind being naked while a stranger – a female stranger – did something so intimate and caring.
“Hi.” said Miss Dreadlocks “I'm Annie.”
“Kelly.” she replied, feeling unaccountably relaxed. “Did you save me?”
“Not exactly.” said Annie. Spotting Kelly's slight frown, she smiled “you washed up here.”
“About the worst possible place you could have washed up, I'm afraid.” Annie said.
It was a strange thing to say, but Kelly was too busy luxuriating in the softness of the bed and the happy comfortable feeling of being groomed and loved to dwell on it too much. She giggled.
“Why would you say something like that?” she asked.
“It's the truth.” Annie said. “though I guess you feel like you couldn't be anywhere better right now, right?”
Kelly nodded, and giggled. She had only just noticed that Annie too was nude. She distantly marveled that she really didn't mind. In fact, for the first time in her life she was finding another woman erotic.
“Am I high?” she wondered aloud.
“As a kite.” Annie smiled. “A bit too high, actually.” she bent down and kissed Kelly on the lips. Kelly was too stunned to respond at first, and the sober core of her was desperate to pull away from the weird lady who..
…had tied her to the bed...
...was all lips and warmth and strawberry lip gloss and tongue and MMMM....
...tied to the bed....
...never kissed like this before...
...TIED TO THE FREAKING BED...
The sober core shut up and whimpered as the tongue in her mouth became a torturing trail of nibbles and kisses down her chin, her neck, her breast, then a warm lick on the inside of her thigh, trailing upwards and inwards to release a thousand waves of rolling pleasure that spread out from her pussy, filling her and building one one another until her mind went away for just a few seconds of bliss.
“...this.... this isn't quite... how I was expecting to be rescued.” she joked, when electric bolts of passion had stopped brawling inside of her.
“More sober now?” Annie asked.
Kelly was. “Why am I tied down?” she asked.
“I've got bad news for you.” Annie said.
She stood up, and threw on a thin silk kimono dressing gown. “Have you ever heard of M-Net?”
Kelly shook her head no. The fading drug buzz was quickly letting her sense of healthy fear come back.
“That's good, because we're about the best-kept secret on the planet. A few hundred of the world's richest and most powerful, and a few thousand more of regular folks who share a passion that is VERY illegal everywhere. We're sick and wrong and we love it. Care to guess what the M stands for?”
“I'm a-afraid to.” Kelly said, fighting past chattering teeth as honest fear took root. “M....mur...”
“Yes. M for Murder. Good girl.”
“Oh God...” she sobbed. Her guardian angel had become a demon in mere seconds.
“Oh, hush, sweetie, don't worry. Don't worry. I'm not planning on killing you.” Annie rushed back to the bed and wiped the tears out of Kelly's eyes. Kelly thought of biting at her fingers, but the look of honest compassion in Annie's face stopped her. “I'm just telling you why you can never leave this island. So, I'm afraid you're not rescued. Not really.”
Kelly just stared at her. She felt numb, and violated. Just a few minutes ago the monster who was now talking quite openly about murder as a sexual fetish had taken her to such incredible heights of pleasure. Her stomach twisted into an uncomfortable guilty knot at the memory of her orgasm, and she revolted herself by, just for a second, feeling a sense of longing for the murderer's tongue to slip inside her again.
“I mean it sweet thing, I really don't plan on hurting you. You're completely safe. If I was just going to kill you, you'd have woken up in a torture chamber.”
“You're sick.” Kelly said at last, sounding more like a sulky child than a moral human being.
“Yep!” Annie replied happily.
“So if you're not going to hurt me...?” Kelly didn't finish the question. She wasn't even sure what the question was.
“Well, we take our privacy very seriously. You can't ever leave this island in case you let the cat out of the bag, and you'd better believe that we have killed people who jeopardized our privacy before. So I guess that makes you my prisoner. The question is, do you want to stay tied to something forever, or would you rather have the run of this nice lagoon atoll?”
“You can't be serious?”
“Completely. You're not getting off this island, so your options are to be a high security prisoner, or a minimum security prisoner. Or if you want me to, I could just kill you. You'd look fucking gorgeous with your brains all over my sheets.”
“Go on then, untie me.”
Annie laughed “Not yet.”
She picked up a remote control from the bedside table and Kelly's restraints slackened, allowing her to sit up and hug her knees.
“You murder people? For... for sex?”
“Murder is how the law sees it. But I've never killed anybody who didn't want me to.”
“Nope. You think that's unbelievable, you wait until I show you just how huge the necrosexual market is. There are a lot of people out there who get off on snuff porn vids, and a lot of THEM would pay good money to star in one. As either victim or... client.”
“I don't believe you. That's crazy.”
Annie giggled. “Yes, yes it is. But you'd better believe it sweetie, there are a lot of people in the world who get off on death, and a lot of them think that getting their crazy asses killed will be the ultimate sexual high. I don't know about getting killed, but doing the killing drives me fucking wild, there's nothing like it. It's a match made in fucked-up heaven.
She smiled at Kelly's expression of wide-eyed denial.
“I'll happily demonstrate, if you want me to.” She cocked her head, arrogantly. “Go on. I can have two people in this room begging me to kill them inside five minutes. Just say the word. I dare you.”
A distant, incredulous part of Kelly's brain watched in horror as, nettled, scared, confused, sickened and still just a little bit high, she looked the bitch in the eye and said, unable to stop herself, “Go on then.”
Kelly couldn't cry any more. The tears just wouldn't come. The brutalized wreckage of what had once been a man was hanging opposite her and she had killed him, condemned him by calling Annie's insane bluff. It had been Annie's hands holding and working the tools that had taken him apart so viciously, but only on Kelly's own instructions.
There had been two, to begin with. A man and a woman had marched into the apartment aroused and ready within minutes of Annie's call.
“Pick one.” she had said. Kelly had refused. “Pick one, or I do them both.”
She hadn't been able to force herself to make the call until Annie's countdown had passed one and the last second was nearly spent. Finally, just before Annie could crow “zero!” and claim both lives, her hand had shot out as far as her bondage would allow and she had cried “him!”
She wondered if she was having a nightmare. Whether she was still clinging to the wreckage of her plane, hallucinating under the implacable grip of terminal heatstroke. She cried and screamed and begged Annie to stop as her chosen victim thanked his “Goddess” and begged her – literally begged her on his knees - to kill him.
She had bound him even more immobile than Kelly, nailed his pulsing erection to a wooden board, and then proceeded to cut his dick into inch-long chunks while he howled and shrieked in agony and lost his mind from the pain. She had driven steel spikes into his abdomen, delicately peeled the skin from his chest to reveal muscles which jerked a macabre dance of pain as she plunged a knife into his gut and spilled his innards all over the floor.
Kelly could have turned away at any point. She could have shut her eyes, blocked her ears, turned her head and hidden from the depravity she was being shown.
Could have, but didn't. But she had cried. Tears of terror, remorse, of empathy and grief. She had cried because he was in pain, cried because she had caused it, cried because he smiled and thanked his murderer before the end, cried in disgust as Annie kissed his severed head while finger-fucking herself, cried with self-loathing at the flush sensitivity in her breasts and the wetness in her cunt, cried as she felt her whole grip on the universe slip and tumble away as she watched a man ENJOY being tortured to death in more vile and inventive ways than she could have imagined.
The image of his final expression - a moment of blissful revelation - was indelible, scarred forever into her.
Two men came into the room and cleared up the mess while Annie was showering, quickly and professionally. By the time the Empress of Snuff sauntered back into the room, smiling like the cat that got the canary as she dried her limbs on a soft towel, there was nothing to show that a man had died there aside from the wet mop-marks on the ground and the tears that had soaked all down Kelly's front and into the sheets around her.
Annie picked up the remote, and Kelly's restraints tightened gently, until she was once again spread-eagled on the bed, not uncomfortably but immobile. She climbed into the bed alongside Kelly and ran a languid finger down the length of her captive's body. Kelly tensed, equal parts afraid and ashamedly eager to be raped.
Instead, Annie kissed her lightly on the cheek and said “if you'd like to die now, just ask.”
Kelly didn't respond, and after a few seconds, her captor drew the sheets across them both and fell asleep, leaving the captive to stare defeated at the ceiling, until fatigue finally won the battle against emotional trauma and she fell into a fitful, unhappy sleep.
Kelly hissed in discomfort. Her ordeal under the baking castaway sun had left most of her body red and peeling from sunburn, and Annie was busy rubbing some kind of soothing cream onto the worst affected areas.
Given the choice, Kelly wouldn't have let her do that. Annie's touch sickened her. Kelly had never seen a person die before, and to watch a person be murdered, and for both killer and victim to show every sign of having ENJOYED it... Her world had turned on its head in one evening.
But she didn't have the choice. She was tied down. The straps around her wrists and ankles were soft and safe, but unrelenting. The most she could do was squirm in protest as the caring hands of a sadistic killer explored every square inch of her skin.
The worst part was her own mounting, confused arousal.
“You're insane.” she said, the first words she'd spoken to Annie since the beginning of the snuff last night.
“If you say so.” Annie replied, placidly. “I don't FEEL insane, personally.”
“Because I get off on killing people?”
“Yes! That's abnormal!”
“Abnormal, yes. Insane... I don't think so.”
Kelly turned her face until she could stare in disbelief.
“To me, 'insane' would mean I wasn't able to think my actions through.” Annie explained. “ It'd mean I was doing it because... I don't know, because God told me to, or because I had voices in my head or something.” She gave Kelly the bright smile of a totally untroubled conscience. “I know full well what I'm doing, and I'm doing it for honest, tangible reasons. Sure it's abnormal, but that's not the same thing as insane.”
Kelly didn't answer. She shut her eyes and thought of her boyfriend. She knew he was dead now – the plane had literally fallen apart around them, and she had no idea how she had survived. It was too much to hope that he was alive, and utterly forlorn to believe that if he was he might hold on to hope that she was too.
She wished she could cry. But there wasn't enough grief left in her body.
She couldn't stop herself from licking her lip as Annie massaged the cream into her breast, or biting it in response to the cheeky nipple-pinch.
“Your body knows what I'm all about” Annie said, and Kelly hated herself. “We're just waiting for your brain to catch up.”
“If you're going to kill me, kill me.” Kelly said, quietly. “Don't torture me like this. Please.”
“Oh, sweetie...” Annie sighed sympathetically “We both know you don't really want me to. And as long as you don't want me to, I won't. I don't get off on rape.”
“Then let me go!”
“Not an option. I'm sorry gorgeous, I truly am, but I'm completely serious about protecting my organisation and the people in it.”
Kelly turned her face down into the pillow and sighed, too defeated to protest. She didn't even tense when Annie brushed a few stray hairs out of her face.
“You're welcome to walk around free on the island.” Annie said. “So long as you agree to the security mercs keeping a close watch on you.”
“Close. They won't follow you into the bathroom but that's about it. If you're good, I might give you a bit more freedom after a while. Beats being tied to my bed, right?”
“If you like. A lot of people don't bother on Isla Moros.”
The rules were actually pretty simple. The mercenaries checked her cabin thoroughly every day in case she was trying to stockpile anything in there other than clothes and books, and required that she take half an hour of light exercise – a walk around the island – while they did so. She wasn't allowed food in the cabin, so if she wanted to eat she had to dine with Annie or with one of the flirtatious sorority of so-called “M-Girls”.
It was a queasy experience, knowing that fifteen of the twenty-seven girls and three men she met on the first day of her pseudo-freedom would be dead within a year. They were a varied bunch, some bubbly and vivacious, others more introverted, but what they all had in common was a genuine happiness, even joy of life. She turned down sex with all of them, over the course of the first few weeks. She had a thirst for company, however, and it was hard not to like even these strange alien creatures with their sexual fixation on death.
Travis was one of the three M-boys, although “boy” was an odd term for a handsome athlete in his mid-thirties. He and his cousin Melissa had joined the stable seven months previously, at the start of November when two of the M-girls died in the big halloween event. Both were quietly intellectual Canadians who stuck to the fringes of the near-perpetual hedonistic party that was an M-girl's daily life, sampling it when the mood took them. They were completely open about their incestuous relationship, and good at rationalising their necrosexuality. They had also apparently talked Annie into making a few exceptions to the rules that governed Kelly's captivity, and each visit from them brought with it a couple of nice bottles of wine and some of Travis' excellent baking.
“You're going to die one day.” Travis said one time. He was reclined lazily in Kelly's cabin, slightly buzzed from the wine but still perfectly coherent.
“I know, but... why hasten it?”
“Why prolong it?” Melissa countered. “If it's inevitable, the only choices we get are When and How.”
“That sounds nihilistic to me.” Kelly said.
“Maybe it is.” Travis said. “But I don't feel like a nihilist. I feel like somebody who's decided that I want to live an exciting life.”
“By ending it early?”
“By RISKING it ending early.” he corrected her. “For me, being part of the M-stable is a gamble, with the ultimate stakes. It's a rush every time.”
“A lot of the girls figure that it's better to burn bright and hot and fast than to fade out.” Melissa said. “You know, have a great time and end with a bang.”
“So if your number comes up...?” Kelly asked, fascinated. The cousins looked at one another.
“No regrets.” Travis said.
“Why should there be?” Melissa added. “Life's been good to me. I've met interesting people, fucked a lot of them, done stuff most people could never even imagine. I'd HATE to have a “normal” life of the same gray routine every day for thirty years. If it ends tomorrow... well. Peter Pan.”
This drew a frown and a “huh?” from Kelly.
“You know, Peter Pan? 'To die would be an awfully great adventure'?”
“You believe there's something that happens after you die?” Kelly asked.
“I hope so.”
“And even if not...” Travis said, then adopted the tone of voice of somebody quoting from memory “Did the ten thousand years before thy birth trouble thee? Well no more will the ten thousand after thy death.”
Kelly frowned at him. “I don't recognize that one.”
“Neil Gaiman, a comic book series called 'Lucifer'.”
“You get your wisdom from comic books?”
“Wisdom is wisdom.” Travis replied, peacefully. “Doesn't matter where or how it's written.”
“Only place I've never seen wisdom written down is a bathroom wall.” Melissa added with a giggle.
“Okay, if you believe in an afterlife I can maybe get my head around not being afraid to die, but if we're just.... transiting between two infinities of nothing, doesn't each second count?”
“How many seconds have you wasted in your life feeling bored on a Sunday evening or something?” Melissa asked. “People don't use every second to the fullest anyway.”
She giggled, and took a swig from the wine. “Hey, do you mind if I suck Travis' cock?”
“Wha...?” Kelly's train of thought derailed. “Why?”
“Because I want to.”
“Because I'm here!”
“I could eat your pussy instead if you like.” Melissa offered, and both cousins burst out laughing at the look Kelly gave them.
“She's serious, you know.” Travis said. “If we're all fated to die, the only thing that really matters along the way is how much you enjoy yourself. What's so great about a life spent inside your comfort zone, eh?”
They gave her a look that said “...well?”
For the second time in her life, part of Kelly's mind stood back and watched aghast. She had no idea if it was the alcohol, the loneliness, Stockholm syndrome or whatever else, but it was almost as if a second Kelly shouldered her conscious mind aside and took over. “Go on, then.” it said.
Melissa grinned. “Blow him, or eat your pussy?”
The Cheshire Cat himself couldn't have produced a broader smile than Melissa at that moment. She took another hit of wine then crawled forward, tugged at the front of Travis' shorts, and took a moment to savour the musky, masculine aroma of his cock before wetting her lips and wrapping them eagerly around its soft, tender end.
Travis closed his eyes and took a delighted breath through his nose as his cousin wiggled the full length of him into the back of her throat and tickled his balls with the tip of her tongue. When he opened them again, he caught Kelly's gaze.
“Go on.” he said. “Get naked.”
Even conscious, detached Kelly felt a powerful desire to do as he suggested. She couldn't deny that the display of lust in front of her had made her ferociously horny. She didn't stand a chance of refusing. She swayed to her feet and gave him her best impromptu striptease. Not long after, Melissa's cheek was warm and soft against her own, a pressure that turned first into a steamy kiss, and then an almost loving competition to see who could lavish more attention on the rock-hard dick in their mouths.
It was heaven. Aside from the drug-fueled, semi-consenting night with Annie, Kelly had gone without sex now for nearly a month, the longest dry spell of her adult life.
Up until tonight, she hadn't felt like it. The tangled grief, horror and culture shock of her captivity had completely crushed her sex drive.
Travis and Melissa clearly sensed the need that even her raunchy alter-ego stopped shy of saying aloud, and their lovemaking soon went from being a girl-and-girl-on-guy roll in the hay, to being him and her - two beautiful, skilled and attentive lovers - worshiping at the altar of Kelly's body.
She had never before been the center of attention like this. It occurred to her that her boyfriend, Andrew, had never devoted himself to her like this. With him, it had always been fucking, not lovemaking. She hadn't even appreciated that there was a real difference before. The guilty thought flashed through her mind in one beat of her hammering heart, then evaporated as it ran headlong into the most incredible emotional and physical pleasure.
Melissa kissed her, and Kelly tasted her own moisture on the other girl's lips. It drove her wild, and as one cousin's talented tongue was replaced with the other's diamond-hard dick, Melissa scooted her pussy around and presented it to Kelly's face.
It was a night for new experiences. Kelly had always considered herself straight, and the evening with Annie hadn't changed that. There was no aloof, spectating part to her brain right now but if there had been, she would have been astounded and amused by how she had gone from hetero to fully appreciating the eroticism of the sight and smell of a gleaming wet cunt inches from her mouth. It was the most natural thing in the world to kiss it, brush Melissa's clit over the sensitive nerve endings of her lower lip, then bury herself up to the nose and send her tongue questing inside.
Travis, on the other hand, was torturing her. He was going slow, keeping up a steady but gentle rhythm that was different in almost every way from the macho hammering she was used to. He graced her nipple with a suck and a swirling tongue in time with the grinding of his hips.
"Faster" she begged, then whimpered in frustrated haste as he chuckled and paused for just a teasing second.
"Nuh-uh. Sloooow." he said, sounding amused.
"Aaaaoooh you son of a bitch... don't torture me! Fuck me faster!"
He refused. She couldn't stand his restraint, couldn't believe the man who was loving her like she'd never been loved before could be so cruel to her. The longer the tease went on, the more agonising it became. She NEEDED to be fucked, every part of her demanded power, and speed, and force.
The torture dragged out for what felt like hours of sadistic slowness, and her pleasure just wouldn't stop mounting. Each new height brought a new begging cry of "faster!" from her, until it became a mantra that was all that was left of her mind.
His cock drove her out of herself, leaving nothing but the irrational, self-abusing desire for the bliss to FINALLY end. It was pleasure unlike any she had ever known, but all it served to do was focus her into one thought, one burning need.
Melissa dismounted and whispered into her ear.
"Do you feel alive?"
"God... yes!" Kelly moaned.
"Do you want to come?"
"If you come, this'll be over."
"I don't care! God, I need it!"
Melissa laughed gently by he.
"I feel like this *all the time*" she said, and kissed her.
Travis gasped, lost his rhythm, applied just a little more force and that was enough. Kelly's mind broke into a million pieces and there was an interval whose length could have been anywhere between a second and a year as she felt him explode into her and send rushing heat to her very core. At long, final last, she came.
She wondered if the infinite instant of ecstasy which destroyed her mind and then re-made it was what dying felt like.
She might have lain there gasping and incoherent for hours, she didn't know. Only Travis' ragged, exhausted breathing finally reminded her that there was a real world, and she was still in it.
"A... whuh. wow." was all she could manage.
"I think we broke her." Melissa said, a laugh bubbling out of her.
There were strong arms under her, a pair of lips against hers, then the softness of sheets against her body, and the warmth of naked skin on naked skin. She fell asleep to the loving tattoo of kisses on her neck, and of hair being brushed away from her face.
“I don't want to lose either of you...”
Kelly was aware that she was almost whining. The thought of losing either Travis or Melissa was agonising.
“Odds are that you won't, baby.” Travis told her, hugging her close.
“If we don't.” Melissa said “then they'll just drag us both in there and kill us anyway. That's part of the contract. Please... come with us?”
“But if... I don't know that I could watch...”
“If it happens, wouldn't you rather be there to say goodbye?” Melissa asked.
“Rather than just hearing it from whichever one of us comes back?” Travis added.
Kelly bit back a sob. “You're... right. You're right.” she said.
It was the first of July. Time for one of the M-ployees to die. Planes and yachts had been arriving in a steady trickle for most of the last three days, and now the sea around the island was solid with moored craft. Kelly had been shocked to watch some of their owners come ashore – faces she knew well from Hollywood, music, world politics, and sports. Some were people she could never have imagined would be into something so depraved, whose public personae were so enlightened and loving and nice that the idea of them attending a commercialized murder and cannibal barbecue felt like a betraying punch in the gut.
She had been propositioned by three of the people who had always been on her “would fuck if given the chance” list and she had turned them down. A talk show host she had always been in awe of had expressed their disappointment that she wasn't the new M-girl, and had requested the privilege of decapitating her. A professional boxer had flirted with her, telling of the time he had hung a girl up by her neck and then used her for a punching bag and asked if she'd be interested in allowing him to repeat the experience.
At sunset, the party started in earnest. Alcohol and drugs had flowed freely, men and women both famous and obscure had mingled, joked, partied, danced, fucked and even brought and sold their freedoms and lives to each other in a bizarre bazaar on the beach as the sun retreated to the horizon, blushing red as if ashamed to watch them.
When it was gone, moon and starlight were aided in lighting the scene by the light from a charcoal pit and dozens of torches. Only the stage was lit artificially, and shortly after sundown, the twenty-seven women and three men whose lives were in the lottery tonight lined up dutifully on the stage, naked and oiled ready for their demise or continued existence. All looked nervous and flush, all were restless, but what struck Kelly was that none of them seemed to actually be afraid.
Annie Richmond took the stage, and the buzz of conversation dwindled and died, leaving only the lapping of waves, the rush and whisper of palm trees in the wind, and the distant carnal sighing of a woman somewhere in the darkness.
“I won't detain you.” She said, to a general smattering of applause. “But it's been brought to my attention that some of you have been propositioning a guest of mine for sex and/or death. I wish to make it clear that this guest – Kelly – is not an M-net member, and unfortunately washed up on this island following a plane crash last month. She is not a Client nor a Victim, and you can imagine that this is all a bit of a culture shock to her. I would ask you all to please leave her alone until she adjusts.”
“Until?!” Kelly couldn't stop herself from asking, loud and outraged. She wasn't sure how she had wound up so close to the stage. There was a general chuckling.
“Assuming you do.” Annie replied, smoothly. “Get up here so they all know what you look like, would you dear?”
Kelly's feet moved despite her rebellious urge to give her captor the finger and stalk off into the night. The defiant urge translated itself into a straight-backed, proud march up onto the stage, rather than permitting herself the indignity of a shy and squeaking stumble.
She was, she realised, oddly grateful to Annie for asking people to back off. It was an unexpectedly considerate gesture coming from a sadistic sociopath, and was met with reasonable nods and a murmuring of assent from the assembled as they agreed to give Kelly her space.
She was about to leave the stage, having decided not to berate them all for their sick fetish, when Annie took her arm and leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“Travis and Melissa have asked me to invite you to draw tonight's name.” she said.
Kelly froze, and looked to her lovers, who were holding hands nervously in the line-up. They gave her a wan, scared smile and nodded encouragement.
She didn't want to. She was terrified that she'd reach in and pull out either of their names. She KNEW that doing it would mean that she'd be effectively choosing which of the nearly three dozen was definitely going to die tonight. She didn't want that blood on her hands at all. The idea that the blood might belong to the two people she cared most about in all the world right now all but paralysed her.
The mantra in the back of her head was “no, no, no, no, no...” but her traitorous body took over again and she walked, numb with dread, to the horizontal barrel full of ping-pong balls with names written on them, turned it over three times, then reached inside.
Thirty balls. Thirty lives. She didn't want any of them to end, but there were two she ESPECIALLY wanted not to draw. But she couldn't see inside, couldn't tell the difference between her lovers and their colleagues. There was nothing for it but to grab at random, and rely on the odds.
She groped around, found a ball, took it, and drew it.
The words “Sara J” were written on the side in careful black marker.
She handed it to Annie.
She barely paid attention after that. The unfortunate Sara J's terrified gasp of dismay, her wobbly, tearful walk to the front of the stage, the applause of the crowd, the raucous noise of the auction as sums of money she couldn't have earned in a whole lifetime were bid on the privilege of human slaughter, the way the M-stable gathered round and said their farewells to their departing friend, who shared tear-streaked and trembling embraces with all of them. It was all background to her relief, and to Travis and Melissa's own subdued celebration that they would get to live for at least another month.
The M-stable had a duty to the crowd, so she couldn't celebrate with them. All of the twenty-nine survivors were there to entertain to the guests, and pretty soon every one of them had been partnered off to a paying customer.
She joined Annie instead, the only other real acquaintance she had.
“Guilty?” Annie asked, handing her a glass of wine.
“Yeah....” She couldn't take her eyes off Sara, who was chatting with her purchaser. He was an older man, and it was amazing to watch her terror evaporate in the face of his kind words. Sara's weak smile quickly found strength and within minutes she seemed to have even more life and passion in her than she'd had on the few occasions that Kelly had spoken with her in the Stable. She even began to laugh and flirt as they discussed her sacrifice, as if the idea of it held only delight for her.
“Anton there always makes it beautiful.” Annie said. “I'm glad you're here to see this.”
“I don't want to see it.” Kelly muttered, though the bitter resentment she tried to muster wouldn't come. The protest sounded insincere.
“You should see it anyway.” Annie said. “I forced you last time. I was caught up in the moment, and I didn't think it through – you need to see how a life can end wonderfully.”
“I thought you liked it cruel?”
“Cruel can still be wonderful!” Annie said happily. “I've killed people in ways that shocked me even as I did it, and they all thanked me when the end finally came. For some people, my sadism is exactly how they want to go out. If I'm fulfilling their heart's desire, even if that desire is... hideous, brutal stuff? Well, to me that's still beautiful.”
Kelly shivered despite the warm pacific summer air and the glow of the charcoal pit. “How can death be beautiful?” she asked.
“Romeo and Juliet?” Annie suggested, after sipping her wine. “or Anthony and Cleopatra. Or Desdemona in 'Othello', or... fuck, Bruce Willis in 'Armageddon'.”
“They all died for love, though.” Kelly said. “Sara's dying because she gambled her life for money and got unlucky and now somebody's paying for the privilege of murdering her. How is that beautiful?”
“Beauty is where we make it.” Annie told her. She ran a sympathetic hand down the line of Kelly's jaw “Be brave and watch. Please?”
Sara didn't die quickly, nor painlessly, nor without fear. But she did die beautifully.
Anton, it transpired, really was a master of seduction, and he used all his skills to comfort his victim, who in the end gave him a wan, brave smile as she lay down for him on a crucifix made from brushed steel that gleamed in the firelight. Clearly Anton had some kind of religious fixation because he had given her a white loincloth to wear and had brought a coronet made from barbed wire from his chalet. Kelly couldn't hold back a snort of contempt as a few members of the crowd, though clearly perfectly fine with deadly cannibalistic debauchery, shuffled their feet and glanced around uncomfortably as the most sacred scene in Christian mythology was played with for their erotic entertainment.
“Hypocrites” Annie murmured, only just loud enough for Kelly to hear and clearly intending the comment only for her. She had to agree.
The snuff started gently – rather than being nailed on, Sara was first tied to the cross, wrist and ankle. There was a hauling and heaving of ropes and the torture device swung upright and thumped down into the post-hole prepared for it.
Annie sighed at the sight: Sara was a bit on the skinny side, and a light brunette whose hair fell a little further than her shoulders. The muscles of her shoulders, thighs and tummy flexed and worked against gravity, clearly visible as the ruddy glow of the fire played across her at an angle, creating shadows that tickled Kelly's burgeoning sexual appreciation for women.
“Christ should have been a woman.” Annie said. Kelly couldn't help but agree – despite the nagging voice that insisted she should be revolted at the fact this was even happening, and another - the part that had gone to Sunday school as a little girl – was revolted by the sacrilege unfolding before her, the biggest part of her was resolutely pointing out how incredibly erotic the doomed girl looked up there, and apparently winning the votes of the nipples and pussy demographics.
Anton climbed a ladder and pushed the crown of “Thorns” down onto Sara's head, all gentleness gone. The M-girl shuddered and moaned in pain as the sharp wire scraped cuts in her forehead and scalp that sent glistening red trickles oozing down her face and neck. Satisfied, the murderer stepped back,handed the ladder off to one of the club's discreet assistants. He pulled a large knife from his belt.
Kelly gasped and turned her head, screwing her eyes shut, and Annie spoke to her.
“Watch.” she commanded.
Kelly took a deep gulping breath. She couldn't recall the last time her heart had beat so hard or so fast – it felt like a hundred drummers were trapped inside her chest, slamming away on their instruments in perfect time as if it would free them.
She opened her eyes.
Sara was gazing down with an expression of terrified apprehension as Anton tested the knife's blade against his thumb. Her breathing was ragged, shallow and quick as he clearly decided he was satisfied with its sharpness, and raised it to the flat curve of her tummy.
Kelly and Sara both emitted the same noise when he cut her – a sob. It wasn't a cry of pain or a shriek that tore itself out of Sara, but just a simple noise, as if she was more in mourning than in agony. She threw her head back and the muscles in her upper arms and shoulders twisted and played in the firelight as Anton sawed through the flesh of her abdomen with confident swiftness, but the most sound she made was to pant like he was fucking her rather than eviscerating her.
There was a moment of bulging wetness, and then Anton skipped back as, with a wet ripping sound, her innards gave way and slithered out of her, rearranging themselves into a sickly, sticky apron that reached to her toes, and then unravelled to leave ropes of gut twisted in the sand.
There was a murmur from the crowd that sounded to Kelly's ears like the kind of approval connoisseurs shared over a particularly fine specimen of their art.
“Still alive and conscious.” Annie muttered. “She's tougher than I thought.”
There was blood, and Anton busied himself reaching up inside his victim to stop its flow, and cut away the organs that were outside her, leaving them to drop into the sand at his feet. Sara had no strength or energy left to hold herself up – she truly hung from the cross, her face hidden behind a veil of blood and barbed wire and hair. Anton's religious fixation continued as he accepted a long spear from one of the club's assistants and drove it into his prey's side, halfway between thigh-bone and ribs. It sunk into her unnaturally thin waist and Sara squirmed weakly on the end, but with no organs to stand in the way it passed through unimpeded and eventually made a tent on the far side of her body, which ruptured and allowed the spear to burst free.
She looked up as Anton accepted a more modern tool of death – a rifle – from one of the assistants. The weapon had a green laser-dot that blazed like a tiny baleful sun, easily the brigtest light present, as he played it up the length of Sara's body. He played with her toes, caressed her legs, brushed her tummy and ran lazy circles around her nipples with it, almost like a lover's meandering finger. Sara just stared at him.
She shut her eyes as the dot steadied on her forehead, and Kelly jumped as Anton fired the second he had settled his aim. Sara's head exploded with an odd metallic noise that must have been the high-powered round passing straight through her brain, out the back of her skull, and ricocheting off the steel behind her head. The body spasmed hugely, just once, and then went completely limp.
From some of the audience, the applause was enthusiastic. Others joined in rather more reluctantly. A few had stomped off in a fury.
Annie met Kelly's eye with an expression which asked: “Well?”
She looked up at the ruined parody of the messiah above her, and despite every fibre of her moral being telling her to be apalled, she had to admit – Sara's death had been beautiful.
No, she acknowledged, with a hot coal of shame burning deep within her – it had been profoundly erotic.
I've been looking for a story for years, I think it was on one of the old sites, or else fell off the back of this one, it's set in a universe where "snuff clubs" have become legal, and it's told from the perspective of someone who owns one of them and works behind the bar, and you see a whole bunch of women get killed in different ways throughout the night. Oh, and he has a severed head of a woman that he keeps behind the bar, but I can't remember what he called it. Julia maybe? Just in case that helps you work out what I'm talking about
Another (earlier?) story from the same author
Stories on snuff show (19)
1 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-09-05 06:30 ID: b8f17e
Does anyone remember a story about a man who runs a snuff show for rich people? had things like vore, m/f, f/f, human hunting, decap etc.
had girls for waitresses and one wants to get snuffed.
some female mercenary wanted to as well and got pitted against several armed guys.
2 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-09-05 15:43 ID: 81bff6
Those were all m-net / tales from m-net stories
3 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-05 17:51 ID: 1cdac2
Anyone got the complete set?
4 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-05 17:51 ID: 1cdac2
Anyone got the complete set?
5 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-11 19:12 ID: 1cdac2
6 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-09-14 15:03 ID: b8f17e
7 . Name: IMadeAWrite @ 2013-09-15 18:16 ID: 6bf9f9
Sadly, for the sake of an easy personal life, I destroyed my backups quite a while ago. Having my vanilla porn discovered would be one thing - guro literature would be quite another
Sucks, I know, but it's not like I was ever going to take them to a publisher and become the next fifty shades of grey.
8 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-16 00:01 ID: 1cdac2
No chance of a rewrite? Or hell, a quick time machine to post up on depravedrepository?
9 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-16 00:01 ID: 1cdac2
No chance of a rewrite? Or hell, a quick time machine to post up on depravedrepository?
10 . Name: Lorekeeper @ 2013-09-16 02:55 ID: c1e3a7
Any chance of you writing more stuff, IMadeAWrite? Tales of M-Net or otherwise?
The rules of the club are simple.
We have thirty girls on staff at all times. Each girl's contract is for one year, during which time she receives full room and board at a beautiful apartment, and two million dollars a month, paid in full at the end of their contract. Their job is simple – serve drinks and food, work the stripper pole, and fuck anyone who pays for it. Club takes half, they get the rest.
And over the course of a year, fifteen of them will die for the entertainment of the clientele. One per month at our “first of the month” auction, plus one more on Halloween, Christmas and the anniversary of the club's creation, June 15th.
A fifty/fifty chance of death for twenty-four million dollars basic, plus the huge amount of money they can make privately.
They're all snuff-sluts anyway. We carefully recruit them from the internet, looking for girls who might really be into the idea of being killed for somebody else's titillation. It takes months of monitoring, investigation and psychological profiling before we approach a girl with the offer, and the guys who do it are experts. They've not yet gone wrong and found a girl who's not totally up for it. Most of them, in fact, renew their contracts at the end of their year.
Oh, sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Alastair Lawes. I'm the owner of Club Moros, on a private island far away from the prying eyes of governments and people who might take issue to the way half the women who work for me wind up dead within a year.
And it's the first of the month today. Tonight, one of our girls will die. Already, the harbour is full of planes and boats as the rich and decadent arrive in anticipation of the night's execution. The girls themselves are more nervous and chattery than usual, and I can see hard nipples poking through their shirts, all of them are secretly torn between the powerful instinct to keep living, and the desire to experience being a snuff girl.
Except for one. Becky.
Becky has worked for me for five years now. Somehow, she's slipped through the net for a full sixty months in a row, and every time she's come back and signed the contract again.
She's British, a little curvy nerdy girl with natural blonde hair, big tits and full, pouty lips. The clientele can't get enough of her, or the eroticism of her accent when she moans “ooh FUCK!” in that sultry way when she's got a cock inside her. Precisely the way she moaned it in my bedroom last night, actually.
Normally, I don't fuck the girls. I actually prefer men, but women are fun too, when I'm in the mood... and Becky could put even the most flaming gay faggot in the mood for women when she really wants to. So last night, she knocked on my door and swayed into the room wearing a robe of almost transparent bottle-green. She called me “Mister Lawes” and, when I asked her what she wanted, she just pushed me gently back into my chair and unbuttoned the fly of my jeans.
I'm proud of my cock. Sure, I've seen (and felt) bigger, but who hasn't? It's not a monster... it's my goldilocks cock. Not too big, not too small, just right. And Becky smiled at it like it was the most precious thing in the world, ran her tongue up the underside, wrapped those soft, pouty lips around the head, and took me all down in one long, slow motion.
We moved to the bed shortly after, and I lost myself for a while in the feel of that soft, strong pussy wrapped around me, the sight of those big tits jiggling with each thrust, the amber fur of her mound, and the way she wrapped her legs around me and uttered that impossibly sexy “oooh FUCK!” as she came.
“So...” I asked her as we lay gasping for breath afterwards. “What brought that on?”
She rolled over and ran a fingernail down my chest and stomach, staring at the recent instrument of her pleasure.
“I've been here five years” she said.
“Yes you have.” I said.
“I want to be killed.” she breathed, and I felt my cock stir. “I want somebody to buy me. I want them to use me, cut me apart and serve me for dinner. I want to be meat like you can't imagine. I've wanted it for five years and it's never happened and I'm sick of waiting!”
I smiled at her and gave her a kiss.
“It could be tomorrow” I told her. “Your number could come up.”
“Or it might not.” she said “I can't take it any more. If my number comes up tomorrow, I want you to snuff me anyway. Call it a special extra, I don't care, but either way... I want to die tomorrow night.”
I thought about it. Becky was undoubtedly a favourite of the customers, and we had a lot of the richest and most perverse club members coming tomorrow. A double-snuff had never happened before... It'd be a shame never to have another night with her, but I've never been a sentimental man.
“Okay.” I told her. “We'll set a precedent. If your number doesn't come up, I'll allow you to volunteer for a second, bonus snuff.”
She looked like a kid who'd just been told she was getting a puppy for christmas. “Really?!”
I smiled at her. “on my honour as a horrible sociopathic serial killer.”
Her fingers wrapped around my dick, which was hard in earnest again, and I lay back, smiling.
The night of the first was bright and clear. We'd lit the fire pit and prepared the spit for the traditional roast of our snuff-girl, and the guests were all wandering around trying to make small talk. Most of them preferred to keep their identities a secret, so wore hoods, veils, masquerade masks and all sorts of other means of staying anonymous, but I knew who they all were. Bankers, politicians, actors, musicians, executives... The only requirement for joining the club is a seven-figure income. Once you're in and have attended one of these snuff nights, you're just as guilty as the rest of us.
I nodded to one of my regulars as I joined the party. Mrs. Janet Bartleby owned horse ranching territory all across the world and was the patron of dozens of champion horses. She was fifty-three years old and still very erotic, as thin as a riding whip and proud to show off her body. Two twin boys, young emo kids with delicious slim bodies were trailing her, led by chains that were attached to their cocks. She told me that she planned to stay on the island for a week or so, and invited me to visit her yacht on Tuesday, when she planned to hold a snuff party of her own. I licked my lips as I saw the boys' cocks get a little firmer and told her I'd definitely be there.
Other regulars were greeted, a few new faces introduced – one of them, I knew, was some bigshot rapper though he had his face covered by a bandana.
Then the lottery came around. The thirty girls lined up on the stage, fidgeting in their nervous excitement. I always enjoy the chance to play the showman, so I hopped up on the stage with a flourish, drinking in the excited murmur that, for this crowd, was the equivalent of thunderous applause.
“It's that time again, chaps.” I announced with a smile and a gesture as I crossed to the tumbler full of numbered balls. A hush fell as I gave the handle a few cranks, and deepened as I rolled my sleeve up to reach inside and pull a ball out from the middle.
By the time I turned to face the girls, the atmosphere was crackling with tension.
Colette was a black French girl, twenty-three years old, who had been with us for only four months. She was all voluptuous curves, and when she danced the pole, she had a particular move – a sinuous sway of those generous hips – that couldn't be ignored. I saw her sag as the strength left her legs for a second, but she rallied tremendously and stepped forward to smile and twirl for the crowd, bravely showing off the sultry curves that would soon be cooking over an open charcoal fire.
But before the feast of her flesh, of course, would come her death. The gathered guests would bid on her in an auction, and the winner would have the right to kill her in whatever way they wanted. Sometimes, it was over quickly, with hanging and decapitation being regular favourites, with another popular option being to force the girl to commit hara-kiri. Other times, the execution was slow and vicious. I think the cruellest (and most erotic) one I ever saw was the time the winning bidder chose to have his prize skinned alive by all the other girls. She had screamed and cried for hours as the knives had done their work, but didn't once ask for it to stop. It had almost been a mercy to shove the spit through the bloody, mewling wreck of a woman and end her life.
As master of ceremonies, I conducted the auction and was pleased when Colette fetched a healthy hundred and twelve million. The winning bid was somebody very dear to me: Bridget. Bridget had completed four contracts for me before deciding to quit and use her money to become a club member, rather than staff. She had a sadistic streak that even put mine to shame, and it had been popular for a while to have Bridget be the executioner for a lottery loser, because the result was always a good show.
The crowd started to break up once the auction was over, and I caught Becky's eye as she gave me a desperate look. I held up my hand and raised my voice.
“Before... dear guests, before we let Bridget take her prize away... Becky, could you step forward please?”
There was a buzz at this irregularity as Becky, beaming ear to ear, stepped forward.
“This month marks the fifth anniversary of the day I hired Becky. Being the good little snuff-slut that she is, she's kept coming back again and again hoping for her number to come up. Well, my dear people, Becky's number has NOT come up as you can see. But last night she begged me on her knees that I would see to it that she would die tonight. Because I'm a sentimental old softy, I agreed.”
There was laughter and a rush of excitement and Becky curtseyed. Standing next to her I could see how flush her breasts were, smell the excitement between her legs and hear her gasping, aroused breath. I imagined her heart was pounding a hundred and sixty at least.
I began the bidding, and it rocketed up quickly. Becky had long been a favourite of many of the regulars, and her price quickly went past Colette's. It finally stalled at one hundred and sixty million. I was in the middle of calling “going twice” when I saw Janet Bartleby raise her hand.
Janet had never bid in an auction on one of my girls before – it was known that she much preferred snuffing men. There was a stir as the bidding resumed. Janet toughed it out until the bidding reached an unprecedented two hundred and fifty million, at which point her last competitor – a man I'm reasonably certain owns half of India – finally shook his head in defeat.
I was ecstatic. In one night I'd earned almost enough money to pay all of the girls who lived through a whole year, plus all the staff and mercenaries who keep my decadent little kingdom running.
I reached down and gave Becky a grateful kiss which she returned. Then she murmured “Thank you so much Mister Lawes” in my ear and was gone, skipping down the steps to present herself to Janet.
Colette's death was up to Bridget's usual standard. Bridget had mastered the art of using a single filleting knife to great effect. Heart pounding and knees weak, Colette sat down in the restraining chair and let the straps lock her in place.
Bridget had herself stripped naked, revealing the long legs and cable-strong back muscles that had driven the men who used her during her time working for me into a frenzy. Lovingly she straddled Colette's thighs, her skin startlingly white against the deep coffee colour of Colette's legs. She kissed her victim passionately, and then got to work.
She began by grabbing Colette's face and pinning the left eyelid open. Her other hand brought that sharp filleting knife up and drew it across the exposed surface of Colette's eye. Colette gasped in agony, and then squealed in intense pain as Bridget leaned forward and sucked the jelly of her eye right out and swallowed it. The same process was repeated on the other side, leaving Colette blind and helpless with dark bloody tears staining her cheeks, shaking and sobbing in pain.
Bridget teased her with the knife, drawing it lightly across Colette's skin. Unable to see, Colette writhed and moaned as the blade teased the most sensitive parts of her body, but never broke skin. A few times, Bridget paused at some choice place – a nipple, the belly button, the throat, and aimed the knife as if about to plunge it in. Colette would tense... then sigh in frustrated anticipation as the killing edge would move on.
This went on for several minutes until, without pausing to tense like before, Bridget suddenly grabbed a nipple, pulled it erect and sliced it off, drawing a yelp of surprise and pain from her plaything. Bridget popped the raw morsel into her mouth and chewed it slowly as she sliced the other nipple off and placed it in Colette's mouth, who made an almost girlish sound of relief as she ate her own flesh.
Now, the knife had enough pressure on it to draw blood wherever it went, leaving a meandering pattern of bleeding cuts on Colette's formerly flawless skin.
I was distracted when I felt a pair of hands slip around me from behind and cup my genitals. Turning, I saw Janet's twin toy-boys.
“Mrs. Bartleby said we were to give you a good time” one said
“Seeing as she's busy with your girl” his brother added.
“And it's the least we can do, seeing as you're going to kill us on Tuesday” added the first
I glanced over to where Becky and Janet had been, and saw that Becky was bent over a table. Janet was driving a giant black dildo in and out of her with one hand, while the other reached around to grip Becky's throat, almost but not quite choking her. Becky looked like she was having the time of her life. She was staring at Colette and Bridget on the stage and humping the dildo for all she was worth.
“Suck my dick then” I told the boys, and without hesitating for a moment they dropped down in front of me and started sharing my hard cock. I leaned against the wall and returned my attention to the stage.
Colette was making sobbing noises as Bridget continued to mercilessly take her apart. The rules of the snuff were simple – the torso and choice cuts of meat had to stay intact enough to be cooked and enjoyed, and it was the winning bidder's responsibility to prepare the girl for eating. Bridget was making good progress, having peeled the skin off Colette's right forearm. I could see muscles flexing and quivering as Bridget dug among them with the knife, cut them off and put the meat on a tray to be taken off to the grill. Bridget worked fast and within minutes Colette's arm was just a ragged skin hanging off the bones.
The knife started to migrate across her chest on its way to the other arm when Bridget apparently changed her mind, pulled it back for a second, and then plunged it into Colette's belly, just below the navel. Colette gasped, moaned in a strangely orgasmic way, and her hips jerked up like she was fucking something, which just drove the knife in further.
I felt an orgasm approach, and ordered the boys to stop sucking me so I could recover. Instead, I had them lay down and sixty-nine, which they did enthusiastically, each one suckling his twin brother's hard cock with vigour.
All around me, the orgy was getting under way. I could see the bigshot rapper had hired one of my girls – Fujiko – and was fucking her powerfully from behind against the wall. Janet had sat back to relax with a glass of champagne and was watching the snuff on stage with a catlike expression of contentment as Becky lapped at her pussy. One of my other girls, Madison, had been engaged by the Indian landowner and was enjoying herself by filling her mouth with champagne and then sucking his cock. Judging by his expression, he was enjoying it too.
On stage, Colette's guts had been removed and discreetly taken away in a bucket by an attendant. Somehow, the sultry french girl was still alive. She smiled weakly at something Bridget said, then nodded. Bridget reached up and released the straps holding her remaining arm down, and Colette started to finger her murderer even as Bridget lovingly sliced one of her breasts into thin strips like a ham.
It was hard to tell exactly when Colette died, but after a few minutes Bridget shuddered and groaned in pleasure, glanced at the hand that had been pleasuring her, then stood up off it. She signalled to the attendants and Colette's corpse was wheeled away to be butchered for the fire pit. Her remaining arm and both legs were quickly taken off with power tools, and her head was removed with a cleaver. Her remaining internal organs were removed, the cavity sluiced out with clean water. The spitting itself took no time at all and soon her limbless, decapitated torso was turning in the heat, slightly away from the fire so as to avoid burning and blackening from flames licking it.
Bridget took advantage of the shower near the stage and then came over to me, pinkish water still dripping from her nude curves.
“The bitch died before I came, Mister Lawes. Would you like to finish me off?” She ran an enticing finger down from her shoulder to her soaking wet cunt and slid it in by way of an invitation.
I smiled. “Boys? Miss Bridget here is horny.”
The twins disentangled and soon Bridget was sighing happily in their arms with a cock in her ass and another in her pussy.
“By the way” she said, between gasps of pleasure “I've been doing some... ah! some extracurricular stuff back home, and I think the cops are going to find me out soon. I'd rather die than go to prison so if you want, you can have me back to replace Becky.”
“for how long?” I asked.
“Mmmm.... until my number comes up. Don't even bother paying me. Ooooh SHIT these boys are good.”
“Al... mmm.. yeah, I think half the unsolved murder cases in Seattle right now were my doing. If they get me, I'll be in the pen forever. May as well go out while I'm still young and sexy.”
“You've got a deal you psycho bitch.” I told her, and was pleased to see the look of relief in her face even as the twins' ministrations sent her over the edge.
I looked up at a cheer from the crowd to see Janet leading Becky up onto the stage. She'd ordered a few tools to be brought out. I was interested to see which would get used first.
“boys, go help your mistress out” I ordered, and the twins stood and wandered away, sweat-slick and happy. “Bridget...”
“You want to give or take, boss?” she asked.
“give, I think.” I told her.
Bridget beamed bent over a table, presenting her juicy pink cunt to me in such a way that she could still see Becky's last minutes unfold. I stepped forward and my cock slid easily into her well lubricated hole.
Janet gave Becky a kiss on the cheek, and then pointed to the tool I'd hoped would be used first. It was a grill, specially modified so that a well endowed girl could kneel beside it and cook up her own tits. Becky looked just as pleased as I was, and almost skipped over to the grill, which was lit and hot already. She paused to look at Janet for permission. Janet nodded, and Bridget leaned forward to press those juicy white boobs of hers straight onto the hot metal grill.
The pain must have been immense. Becky grimaced and writhed, but held her tits firmly down against the metal with both hands. Moans of agony escaped from her, but I could still see the moisture running down her thighs and the wild, lustful look in her eye.
“Oh my god, she's SO into it.” Bridget whispered, and fucked me even harder.
“You would be too.” I told her. “Imagine it's you up there, cooking your breasts.”
“One day, Bridget, it'll be YOU turning over the fire. One day, somebody's going to do to you what you did to all those people in Seattle”
“Shit, that's so hot.”
“I should murder you right now you fucking bitch” I told her.
“Mmmmmyeaah. Choke the life out of me. Send me to hell where I belong”
On stage, Becky's ordeal continued. Janet had stepped up behind her and sliced the sizzling, half-cooked breasts right off her chest. An assistant wheeled the little grill away so that those breasts could be cooked properly. There wasn't much blood- the heat had sealed off the blood vessels in those magnificent tits.
Shaking in pain, Becky was docile as Janet led her over to The Frame. This simple steel assemblage was designed to do one thing – hold a woman suspended in mid air. Chains and manacles snapped around Becky's arms and ankles, and a few cranks of the winch hoisted her up to hang spread-eagled in the air with steam still rising from the two scarred patches where her breasts had been.
Janet's tool of choice was the same powered saw used to remove Colette's limbs moments earlier. This version had a heated blade that cauterised as it cut, making it perfect for de-limbing a person without killing them straight away. Smiling evilly, she applied it to Becky's thigh and in one easy motion, sawed the tiny British blonde's leg clean off. Becky howled in pain throughout, but when she looked down at the older woman again, her expression was peaceful... even grateful. When Janet sawed the other leg off, this time Becky's expression was just pinched as she bit down on the pain and tried to ride it.
I wrapped my hands around Bridget's throat and squeezed. “I could kill you right now, if you want” I said, ramming my dick into her even harder than before. She just made an inarticulate noise of pleasure and stared at the stage, her gaze riveted to Becky as Janet sawed first one arm then the other off.
The Twins lowered Becky's limbless, twitching torso to the ground and stood back. Becky turned her face and her eyes met mine across the orgy as Janet gripped her hair. The saw descended once more, and suddenly Janet was holding her hand aloft, Becky's beautiful, pouty-lipped head swinging from it by the ponytail.
“Fucking do it” Bridget rasped past my choking hands. “Kill me now. Oh god! Please, kill me now!” Involuntarily, my grip tightened and shut off her air.
Still staring at me, Becky's blonde head winked and mouthed the words “thank you” before her eyes closed forever.
There was a croaking sound from in front of me. Starved for air, Bridget was choking and dying and her cunt quivered and rippled around my cock as a fearsome orgasm shook through her. The sensation sent me over the edge and I shot what felt like a river of semen into her as she writhed, thrashed, and collapsed.
I took a second or two to recover and pull out of her. Then I flipped her over onto her back, locked my mouth to hers, and sent a rush of air down her throat. After only a few brief seconds of CPR, suddenly she jerked and gasped awake, choking and coughing as her lungs started working again.
“I....” she gasped “I wanted you to kill me.”
“I don't kill my working girls.” I told her. “Now get to work.”
The feast of two meat girls that filled the rest of the night was one of the best ever. Janet took pleasure in sharing Becky's steaming hot cunt with me. We retired later on to her yacht with the twins, and only just managed to restrain ourselves from holding the snuff party early.
Some things are worth waiting for.
I admit it, I enjoy being fucked up the ass.
As you will probably have already gathered, I - Alastair Simon Lawes - am not a man with many hangups about enjoying the things I find pleasure in. I'm a bisexual, necrophiliac murderer and cannibal, though interestingly I'm not a rapist. I don't find any joy in taking by force what so many people over the years have been willing to give me freely. Their intimacy, their virginities, even their lives and flesh. I'll gladly receive when given, but never take by force.
I'm also not aroused by urine or faecal matter. Some of the clients who come to my club are, and that's their prerogative, but for me there's nothing sexy about them at all. Give me saliva, semen, sweat and blood any day.
Anyway, where was I...? Oh yes. On a boat with a cock in my ass and another in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Janet – still gorgeous in her mid fifties – with a glass of wine in hand and a couple of fingers in her pussy, watching me suck and be fucked by two equally gorgeous (though much younger) men. She was wearing what was technically a long black evening dress, but honestly it was more like an ankle-length cloak with a broad strip of ruffled fabric across her midriff. It left her small, still-firm breasts and hairless pussy fully exposed, and her nipples were as hard as the diamond rings that pierced them.
The men I was fucking were Twin brothers, pierced and tattooed with that black over-the-eye emo haircut. The only way to tell them apart was that one's hair falls to the left, the other to the right.
There was certainly nothing different about their generously sized penises, as my very VERY close inspection was proving.
Lest you think this tale is going to purely involve my homosexual side, I'd just like to point out that my own cock was busily filling out my favourite employee, Bridget. Tall, lean and muscular, with straight brunette hair to the points of her shoulder blades and unsettling blue eyes. Not actually that beautiful, but with a sultry confidence and knowledge of her own sexual tastes that more than compensated.
All the girls I employ are aroused by the prospect of their own deaths and those of others. Deep in in their libidos is a simple equation: “death = sex”. Doesn't matter who, what or how, if somebody is dying, they get wet. They aren't alone in that impulse either – I make millions every month off the snuffing of one of the girls who work at the club on my private island, Club Moros, and also off the discrete service I provide which puts predators and oh-so-willing prey in contact, and makes sure that the authorities never figure out whodunnit. A fair percentage of the missing persons cases across the whole world are down to my organisation and the service it provides.
Surprised? We're good at keeping it all a big secret. It helps that senior officials in a few governmental intelligence agencies (no, I am not going to say which ones) are regular attendees at Club Moros. Besides, there are bigger fish to fry than a bunch of perverts in international waters who take men and women who'd almost certainly be committing suicide anyway, and introduce them to people who would otherwise be murdering their way through the general public. My only ever business rival was a man who used to facilitate the kidnap, rape and murder of unwilling victims, and wasn't fussy about details like, for example, whether the requested victim was a little girl. Being the nice chap that I am, I even attended his funeral.
I won't claim to be a nice person. I'm not, I'm a horrible person who gets his jollies from cutting people to pieces. But even evil has standards, eh?
Speaking of which, the whole point of this little party on the boat is that the two lively, delicious young men fucking me were soon be dead delicious young men. They were like the club's girls, in that the idea was clearly driving them wild. The cock in my ass was as hard as a hammer's handle, and the one that Bridget had just popped out of my mouth to have a suck on was pulsing like a bass woofer at a rave. How neither of them had come yet was beyond me.
“Kiss” Janet ordered from behind me, and I looked up to see the brothers lean forward over my back and lock lips passionately in a kiss that was FAR from brotherly.
“All right, you can come now”. She said, in a kindly tone, and I marvelled at the control it must take for anyone to hold back from reaching climax for so long until explicitly allowed to do so. Especially considering how huge a turn-on their imminent demise obviously was for them both.
They must have been holding themselves right on the brink for a while, because almost immediately after Janet gave the order, I saw Bridget smile around the cock in her mouth, allowing some whiteness to seep out. Seconds later, I couldn't resist a groan of satisfaction as the meat tickling my kidneys seemed to swell and surge, sending a familiar warmth deep into my rectum.
Finally sated, the boys pulled out and stepped away from Bridget and I. Knowing what I like, Bridget rolled herself on top of me, then gave me a kiss full of tongue, sharing the salty taste in her mouth.
A few minutes later, I felt tension building up in my balls and didn't fight it. Bridget felt my orgasm approaching though, and slipped off me to replace her cunt with her mouth, swallowing down my semen with a broad, raunchy smile.
“Bridget? Be a darling and eat my pussy would you?” Janet asked. Bridget didn't need a second invitation and crossed the floor in an almost feline crawl to bury her tongue in the older woman's crotch.
Janet made an “mmm” noise and sipped from her wine, managing to look regal and stately even with a brunette tonguing her clit. She gestured to the boys, who were lounging around and enjoying the show, their cocks recovering remarkably fast from the ordeal of their delayed orgasms.
“It's time.” she said. Both cocks became hard in seconds and the twins smiled at one another before sharing a kiss.
Arousing as the scene was, my own penis wasn't yet able to rise to the occasion, so I dragged myself over to a throw cushion and sat back against the wall to watch.
“So, what do you have planned for them?” I asked Janet. I picked up a half-finished wine from where I'd left it and took a gulp, rinsing the taste of semen from my palate.
“Well Alastair, dear. I was thinking that the boys love to suck each others' cocks, but the poor darlings have never tasted their own.” She said airily.
“That does seem a shame” I agreed, smiling at the mental image of each lad chewing on his own severed penis. “but I was rather looking forward to eating them myself.”
“True, there's nothing like pan-fried dick after a good snuff.” she mused. “hmmm... I tell you what, I have a pair of cavalry sabres hung on the wall in my room. How do you fancy a swordfight?”
“Soundfff good t'me...” Bridget mumbled from between Janet's thighs, prompting a stern glance downwards from the senior dominatrix.
“Did I SAY you could talk, Bridget?” she asked scornfully.
“Mnn... no, mifstreffs.”
“Then shut up and pleasure me, there's a good girl.”
I chuckled at that and glanced at the twins who were listening raptly to the conversation, waiting for the order that would determine how they would die.
“I've always liked contrast” I said. “I like a quick snuff just as much as a slow one. And look! We have two willing snuff-boys here.”
“Capital idea. Let's play aztec sacrifice shall we?”
“I don't know that game.” I confessed. “What are the rules?”
“Oh, they're very simple. Samuel here goes and fetches the dagger from my dressing table. Then he cuts out Matthew's heart and eats it. Sound good?” Watching the twins, I saw their cocks get even harder than before, somehow.
“I'm more in the mood for a decapitation, but that does sound enticing.”I said.
“Kneeling, block, or harakiri?”
“They're your slaves, Janet.”
Janet thought for a few seconds and then said “It's an old classic that I never get tired of seeing... Matt, dear, go fetch the seppuku kit for your brother, would you?” One of the twins – who until now I'd been thinking of as “Lefty” - stood and hurried away. “Sam... come here, darling.”
Sam – or “Righty” as I'd been calling him – got to his feet and walked across the room. His expression and posture were that curious mix of trepidation, lust and eagerness I'd seen on so many snuff-sluts in my time. He was trembling in fear now, but his cock was still erect and pulsing with the rhythm of his hammering heart.
With gentle pressure of her hand, Janet pushed Bridget away from her pussy. She stood up and put a hand to Sam's cheek, lovingly.
“When you first came to me, I told you that I never give pleasure to my slaves myself.” she said. “Which wasn't quite true... I will pleasure you all, just once. You've been a loyal, lovely lad to me Sam, and I will never forget you.” She kissed him softly, then dropped to her knees and wrapped her lips around his throbbing dick.
Bridget scooted over to me and pressed herself up to me, masturbating herself slowly. I wrapped an arm around her and cupped a boob. There was very little noise, except for the wet slurping as Janet gave Sam a skilled, experienced blowjob that I began to feel very jealous of.
It took a while, but eventually Sam gave up on holding his climax in and gave a deep-throated, guttural cry of pleasure that echoed away off the side of the boat and out across the calm tropical waters. Janet swallowed every last drop with the same earnest, loving expression. Then she stood up and whispered in the shaking young man's ear, too quietly for me to hear.
“Yes, m-mistress. Thank you, Mistress.” Sam said “May I kiss my brother goodbye first, please?”
“You may.” Janet replied beneficently. Sam turned to his twin who was stood by patiently. The two gave each other a huge, brotherly hug and then a long, loving, much less brotherly kiss. He took the Tanto from Matt's unresisting hand then went to kneel in the middle of the floor.
There was only a moment's hesitation. Matt drew the sleek, curved sword and took position behind his brother, raising it like a baseball hitter waiting for the pitch. Sam took a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth to steel himself, and then forced the blade deep into his own guts.
I was amazed he didn't cry out in agony, because the pain must have been indescribable. Instead, gritting his teeth, Sam drew the blade slowly across his abdomen, left to right, until a great ugly gouge was spilling blood down his groin and legs. Instinctively it seemed, he leaned forward and with a warrior cry Matt brought the shimmering blade down in an arc that parted Sam's black-haired head from his shoulders in a gout of blood that washed across the deck and sprayed Matt full in the face.
Matt dropped the sword and rushed to pick up the severed head, with its face that was identical in every way to his own. Sam's eyes were closed and the muscles had gone slack- he was already dead. Tears carving clean channels through the blood on his cheeks, he raised the bloody lump to his lips and kissed his brother's dead mouth and forehead.
Beside me, Bridget tensed and convulsed as she came hard, but the only audible sign she gave was a gasp of shuddering breath.
Matt recovered quickly, and soon he was smiling through the blood and tears on his face. After the original natural reaction, his deeper more unnatural nature was taking over and he was clearly even more submissively ready and excited to die than before.”
“Shall I take the meat to the galley, mistress?” he asked.
“Yes Matt, thank you. Bridget, hose down the deck.” Janet replied. She took the head from him and put it in one of the two beer coolers she'd set out on the deck. I guessed that she'd probably make use of the island's taxidermy service in the morning.
Janet sat down next to me as Matt shouldered his deceased sibling's brother and carried it away to the galley, and Bridget busied herself with sending reddish water sluicing off the side of the yacht and into the water of the bay.
“So... what shall we do to Matthew?”
“Well, I did bring Bridget aboard. She's something of a master at snuffing people in inventively cruel ways.”
“Hmm.... did you have anything specific in mind?”
“Not really.” I said.
Janet looked up to eye Bridget as she ran a broom across the deck, scrubbing the last of the bloody water into the sea. Beneath the light of an almost full moon, the bruising around her neck from where I'd choked her to within an inch of death only a few nights ago was clearly visible.
“...Have you ever seen her kill somebody without using a tool?” She asked, curiously.
“You mean with her bare hands? No, never” I said. “It could be very interesting.”
“Yes... it could. Matt!”
The emo-looking snuff-boy was standing respectfully to one side, obviously wanting to hear our murmured conversation but unable to.
“Yes mistress?” He asked.
“Go fetch the folding table with the straps from the hold.”
“Yes mistress!” he was gone, with an eagerness that brought a smile to my face. The boy literally couldn't wait to be snuffed. We could hear him banging away below decks and when he reappeared a few minutes later, he was dragging a modified folding massage table with strong leather straps to hold the wrists and ankles, which he unfolded in the middle of the deck.
Janet commanded him to lie down, and did up the straps herself, firmly securing him. Then, once he was properly locked in, she leaned over to kiss him tenderly.
“Matt, my darling, precious boy. Thank you so much for the wonderful gift you have given me. I will never forget you.” and with that, she straddled him and rode his rock-hard cock.
Showing the same control as he had used with me, Matt resisted his orgasm until finally Janet threw her head back and gasped in ecstasy, at which he also issued an animal growl and allowed himself to come.
Again, I was struck with a twinge of jealousy for Matt. In all the years I'd known Janet, I'd never seen or heard of her fucking anybody, OR sucking them off. She only ever received pleasure and never gave it in return – it was part of her domination ritual. But then again, she'd never before invited me to join her in snuffing her slaves. From a spectator's perspective, it looked like she was a black belt of the sexual arts, an absolute master of using her body to best effect.
Even if the only people she ever fucked like that were her snuff-slaves, I reflected, it might well be worth it. Matt looked like he might expire then and there from the force of his orgasm. As he came down from the high however, Janet leaned down and again whispered something I couldn't hear into his ear.
“Yes, mistress. Thank you mistress.” he replied solemnly, and put his head back.
Janet climbed off him. “Bridget.”
“Yes, mistress?” Bridget asked, panting in excitement. For tonight, she was an honourary slave of Janet's. Immune to being snuffed or seriously harmed, but still bound to obey her like any other sex slave.
“You are to kill this snuff-slave for me. You are not allowed to use any tools – only your own body. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mistress!” Bridget replied eagerly.
As Janet sat down next to me again, Bridget began by walking around the restrained snuff-boy, trailing a finger on his chest, flank, thighs, arms and tantalisingly close to his genitals. On the third circuit, she put a hand to either side of his face, and bent down to kiss him. I could see the wet pink glint of tongues, and then she did something I couldn't quite see. Matt made a “HMMNRRGH!” noise of pain, and Bridget straightened up with some difficulty. As she stood up, I saw blood on her face and a ragged chunk of flesh – Matt's tongue – in her mouth. She spat it overboard and licked blood from her lips, clearly enjoying her victim's moans of pain.
Janet gave an appreciative murmur next to me, and lifted herself onto my lap. She grabbed my hand and guided it to her pussy, which I found to be slick and hot as I began to rub it. My other hand came up to cup her breasts and pinch her nipples as I watched Bridget continue.
Bridget, meanwhile, had inserted one of her shapely legs under matt's restrained arm and planted her foot against his rib cage. She heaved against him with a roar of exertion and Matt echoed the noise as his shoulder, shackled at the wrist, dislocated with an audible pop. This angle of attack clearly pleased her, as she pulled back slightly and then kicked at Matt's ribs with her powerful, muscular legs, driving the wind out of him. This didn't seem to satisfy her as she kicked again and again, until Matt was whimpering in torment from what must have been two or three broken ribs in his side.
Mercilessly, Bridget straddled his bruised, damaged chest and sat there, grinding her pussy against him for a few seconds while she sucked on her fingers. I was about to scold her for stalling when she reached forward with those newly-wet fingers, and gouged her fingernails into Matt's eye sockets.
Eating a person's eyes is Bridget's trademark move. It doesn't matter who she's snuffing or how, she will ALWAYS find a way to consume their eyes, even if it means taking them from the head after the snuff is finished and the corpse has been readied for cooking. The next few seconds were full of Matt making an indecipherable, agonised noise as Bridget cruelly plucked first one eye then the other out of his head. With an almost childlike giggle, she reached down and pushed one of the eyeballs into her pussy. The other she popped into her mouth and swallowed without chewing.
Janet sighed as I drove my fingers into her and cruelly twisted one of her nipples.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Bridget found new and increasingly exotic ways to inflict pain using only her hands and feet. She dislocated Matt's jaw with a kick, broke his nose with her elbow, broke his arm with a clever application of force and grip. In my arms, Janet moaned and wriggled and enjoyed herself.
“That's enough, Bridget. Fuck him and choke him to death.” She said eventually.
Bridget seemed clearly disappointed at not having more time to play – she had just inserted one of Matt's fingers into her mouth, ready to bite it off – but with a meek “yes, Mistress” she obeyed, pausing only to pull.
Perhaps not surprisingly given the pain he was in, Matt's cock wasn't very hard, but that soon changed as Bridget sucked on it. She was a champion cocksucker herself, and even the gravely wounded snuff-boy quickly came to attention, despite his wounds. With a triumphant smirk, Bridget threw a leg over. She paused long enough to take the eyeball from her pussy and consume it, and then guided the blinded, tied down man's manhood right into her.
She fucked noisily, gasping and moaning without any shame, wrapping her hands around Matt's throat with just enough pressure so that he couldn't breathe easily, especially given his broken ribs. As she humped him harder and harder, her grip got tighter and tighter and, from somewhere, Matt found the reserves of energy to start enjoying the last ride of his life. His own hips started pumping up into her as she shifted to place her forearm as a bar across his throat and rested her whole weight on it, closing off the last of his air.
He died quickly after that, bruised, broken and half dead anyway, the shortage of air didn't need long to rob him of the last of his strength... but what little he had left was channelled into a climax that made him thrash so hard the table actually moved across the deck. By the time he stopped, it was clear that it was because he had expired.
This didn't stop Bridget. Driven into a sexual frenzy by his death, she continued to fuck the cadaver for several minutes until finally she reached her own peak and collapsed, sweating and panting on the body of the man she had just killed.
Janet's own orgasm was nowhere near as visually impressive, but I could tell that it was an intense one anyway. She tensed in my arms, drew a single wavering gasp of air, and then relaxed.
“Bridget” she gasped, after a minute or so to recover. “Mister Lawes is hungry. Go and fry up Sam's cock for him would you, dear?”
“Y....” Bridget could barely get the word out. “yyyes, m-Mistress.”
“Delightful” Janet said to me as Bridget staggered away toward the galley in an exhausted post-orgasmic daze. “Simply beautiful.” She stood up and went to examine Bridget's handiwork.
“I'm almost jealous of the sending off you gave them” I confessed as I poured champagne for us both. “I didn't think you ever fucked or gave pleasure to anyone”
“You could experience that too if you wanted, my love.” She replied, with a wink and a smile.
“You mean I could become the next of your snuff-slaves.” I replied.
“Beloved, I've fingered myself to sleep many times imagining it.”
It may surprise you to learn that I gave the idea serious consideration. None of us are on this Earth forever after all. When my own death comes, I would much prefer it be a snuff rather than some disease, a mishap, lawful execution or simple old age. And witnessing Janet's truly expert sexual prowess had made the idea highly enticing. But....
“Not... yet.” I said as I handed her a champagne. “You would definitely be my first choice, but I'm not in any hurry.”
“Ah yes. That old saying of yours” she smiled.
I raised my glass. “the best things...” I said with a smile.
Her glass met mine with a chime. “Are worth waiting for.”
Worth Waiting For: Chapter 3
I woke to the sound of automatic weapons fire.
Nothing to worry about, of course. You can't live on your own private island in international waters without needing some protection, and the protection in this case comes in the form of a mercenary team who live and work on the island, protecting it from pirates and making sure that whenever somebody is snuffed on the island, they are consenting and have received permission from me.
Recruiting them is a tricky balance. The natural choice of person to act as private security for an island full of necrophiliacs and cannibals would be, well, necrophiliacs and cannibals. On the other hand, you really don't want to have emotionally unstable murderers wandering around with automatic weaponry. So, the trick is to find veteran mercs who are into snuff but not unstable, or ones who are so utterly jaded that they genuinely don't give a fuck so long as the pay's good. And the pay is VERY good.
The live fire training exercises and target practice that keeps them sharp can be a pain in the ass sometimes. The island isn't very big, so the sound of assault rifles will wake you up pretty much wherever you are, which is inconvenient if you have a massive hangover. That's why all the apartments are soundproofed.
But of course, I wasn't in my apartment.
The fire pit was still glowing faintly, for which I was grateful. It gets warm quickly on a tropical island, but the mercs start their drills early on training days, so it was still chilly, with a light mist coming off the lagoon and I didn't feel much like walking back to my apartment just yet, so the heat from the banked embers was very welcome.
If not for the loud hammering of rapid-fire from the barracks, I'd have enjoyed waking up stark naked on the beach by a fire. I'd held a private party out here last night. Just me and a lovely Russian girl called Anastasia. She'd long since gone cold of course, but I pulled a few tender strips of meat off her carcass and chewed them thoughtfully as I watched the sun rise over the ocean.
I became aware of footsteps behind me and turned. The man who was approaching didn't bat an eyelid. He'd seen me naked far more than he'd seen me clothed, and the cooked carcass of a human being was an extremely common sight on the island.
“Good morning, Harry.” I greeted him with an expansive smile.
“Mister Lawes.” Harry McVenner was not a man of many or very eloquent words. Except for when he was swearing noisily at the mercs – then you could go on all afternoon and use some VERY colourful expressions. As far as I can tell, he's also as completely asexual as he is amoral.
“Breakfast?” I asked generously. “She's gone cold I'm afraid but she's still delicious.”
“No thank you, sir.”
“Suit yourself. What can I do for you, anyway?”
“Your client from China arrived this morning, Sir. The plane's moored at point seven.”
“Ah, excellent. Did you find the requested volunteers?”
“Yes sir. Seven men, as requested. They're warming up on the course right now.”
That explained the noise, at least. “Thank you, Harry. I'm going to go get dressed. Tell your men that if they're hungry for long pig, there's two thirds of a girl down here that needs finishing up so long as they leave the site tidy.”
“I'll do that Mister Lawes, thank you.”
He turned and marched away toward the barracks at speed. I knelt down in front of the well-cooked corpse of my companion of last night. The face was still mostly intact, so I kissed her dead lips and thanked her, then closed her eyes and headed back to my apartment, chewing on a cut of meat from her gluteus maximus.
The walk back to my apartment was largely uneventful. I paused to say “good morning” to two of the club working girls – Madison and Yvette – who were out for an early morning jog. The two of them smiled at my nakedness but didn't pass comment. After all, if the billionaire head of a secret global network of sexual deviants can't go nude on his own private island, what's the point? I informed them that there was a half-eaten girl on the beach and if they got there quickly they might be able to grab some of the meat, plus a few of the troopers if they wanted. They thanked me and jogged off towards my last night's campsight.
Back at my apartment, I showered, brushed my teeth and shaved, and tried to select something from my generous wardrobe, finally settling on a slightly old-fashioned but very stylish khaki linen suit that was just crying out to be matched with a pith helmet... if only I owned one. I popped a couple of painkillers with a glass of water to ease my hangover, and then called my new client.
Xiao Guan-Yin and I exchanged polite greetings and I welcomed her to the island. Normally, I'd have turned on the charm but having read the report from the psych-profiler who'd invited her to try out the matchmaking service, I thought better of it. It wouldn't work anyway. From what I understood, while nearly everyone on my payroll gets off on death, Guan-Yin literally couldn't get excited at all unless she was killing somebody, or in serious danger of being killed herself. An irony, considering that her name apparently translates as “Goddess of Mercy”.
So, when invited to use our service, she'd told the selectors to give her pretty much anybody at all as a demonstration. This was her second use of our service, and it was possibly the most unusual request we had ever received.
You see, when I was talking about my island earlier, I was really only referring to the northern half of it, around the lagoon and coral atoll. The other half of the island is a wilderness - a tangled, dense forest that it would be very easy to get lost in if it wasn't so small. It is, however, big enough for Guan-Yin's purposes, because what she requested was that she be allowed to hunt and be hunted by a number of my mercenaries in that jungle. We had settled on seven, at an appropriate price, this being judged enough to satisfy her bloodthirst.
Seven mercs versus a single small Chinese lady may sound like impossible odds, but Guan-Yin's file suggested otherwise. Let's just say that it's amazing how deadly some people can be and leave it at that. Frankly, I had my doubts that seven would be enough.
Pleasantries exchanged, I arranged to meet her at the jungle's edge. She showed up wearing only a simple white T-shirt and loose cargo jeans, with no other visible equipment. We shook hands, and I was quietly amazed at the strength in her grip... and a little unnerved (and aroused) by the cold look in her eye.
We went over the rules again, as she herself had dictated them. The only equipment she would be allowed would be a survival knife. She would have until six o'clock that evening to turn the wilderness into her little territory, and then the seven mercenary volunteers would enter, armed with whatever weaponry and equipment they felt like.
I was surprised by how literally she took the “knife only” rule. She thanked me earnestly, and then promptly stripped off her clothing. Her body, I confess, was amazing. My taste in women usually involves women who are a healthy weight, but still curvy, soft and womanly. Her narrow hips and small, high breasts came from a body type I don't usually go for at all, but it was her muscles that set her apart. I could see almost every one of them, tensed and powerful beneath taught, supple skin. There wasn't a gram of spare fat on her anywhere, and not a single muscle that didn't look like it had been exercised to human perfection. The effect was... predatory, and highly erotic.
She turned to present her tight buttocks to me. “Would you confirm that I am not smuggling anything?” She asked. I was pleased to oblige her and used my finger to explore first her pussy, then her anus and found nothing. A quick palpitation of her stomach left me feeling nothing hard that might indicate she had swallowed something, and an investigation of her mouth turned up nothing. I began to check her hair for a concealed garotte, but she stopped me, and instead used her knife with bewildering skill and precision to trim it down to an elfin cut that just served to accentuate her delicate oriental features, and couldn't conceivably be used to hide anything.
“You are indeed carrying nothing other than your knife, Miss Xiao.” I informed her, and that concluded our conversation. Weighing the simple blade contemplatively in her hand, she strode into the foliage and out of sight without any further comment.
With several hours to go until the mercs were due to go in, I pulled my cellphone from my pocket and invited one of the club's snuff-girls, Angela Wu, to join me in the club's hot tub.
Several hours later, I was reclining among a pile of throw pillows and beanbags on the main floor of Club Moros. All of the girls, some clients and a fair few of the mercs and other staff were present, and like most events at the club, clothing was optional. I, for instance, was completely happy and comfortable skyclad, and Angela had fallen asleep nuzzled up against me wearing only a dreamy smile.
Lazily, I looked around and caught Bridget's gaze. She winked at me and cheekily pulled down her top to flash me for a second, then returned to gossiping and giggling with two of the other girls.
The reason for our little party was the large bank of screens and flat TVs that the club's techs had set up on stage. Everyone in the club wanted to watch Xiao Guan-Yin's hunt play out, so over the preceding few days the techs had laboured to wire the jungle with a few hundred cameras, including conventional ones, so-called “starlight” cameras which could see clear as day even on an almost pitch-dark night, and thermal cameras.
Everyone's favourites were the starlight cameras. No shitty Paris Hilton sex tape green for these things, the view through each one might as well have been fully lit, if you ignored the predominately dark blue colour range. No, THAT colour scheme was reserved for the seven screens showing the view from the helmet cameras of the seven mercs who were going through their last weapons and equipment checks not far from where I'd intimately examined the body of the woman they would soon be playing a deadly game of hide and seek with.
To keep things fair, they didn't have any kind of night vision goggles or thermal imaging sights on their guns. Other than that, almost anything went. Between them they were carrying two shotguns, three SMGs, one M4 carbine and two of those British SA80 assault rifles. I'd wondered aloud about the wisdom of using those in such close environs, until one of the girls – Mercedes, our resident cowgirl and Texan gun nut – had explained the word “bullpup” to me.
A hush fell over the makeshift theatre as the mercs finished their checks, wished each other good luck, and entered the hunting ground.
On the thermal cameras, Xiao was completely visible, but via the starlight cameras she was surprisingly hard to pick out. Pretty much the first thing she'd done was cover herself head to toe in mud, and she hardly stood out against the trees at all. She moved instantly when the hunters entered the forest, ghosting away from the spot she'd been making camp for the last half hour and circling east as the mercs split into two teams – four and three - and started to advance as a unit, heading directly south in a methodical search pattern.
For a long time, nothing much happened, but the hall was rapt, silent except for the occasional soft sound of pleasure as people vented their tension and arousal, sometimes with the help of another, sometimes not.
For my part, the marathon session in the hot tub with Angela had left me quite unable to get aroused, but that didn't stop her from quietly taking my cock in her mouth and working it with her tongue.
When Xiao finally struck, it was with a suddenness that made several people jump, and even prompted a couple of startled shrieks. She had worked her way close to the larger merc team and was lurking nearby, moving with a silence that seemed impossible given how much foliage there was around to brush through, or noisy things to step on. She paused between two large tree roots as the patrol got closer and closer, and it seemed impossible that one of them wouldn't see her, but it was clear that she was even more invisible to them than she was to thestarlight cameras. On the helmet cams, we saw her appear in the frame again and again, eyes gleaming silver-bright from reflected infrared... but the mercs never reacted once.
Then she made her move. The moment the point man had looked away, and the other three were turned to check the flanks and van, she sprang from her position between the rocks and appeared to just sprint past the point man without touching him. Then she was gone into the brush with a rustle as behind her startled yells erupted, accompanied by gunfire.
The point man, seen from a starlight camera, had an almost puzzled expression as he raised his hand to the geyser of blood spurting from the ear-to-ear gouge in his neck, and I considered how sharp the knife must be to produce such a wound with so little apparent effort. Still frowning more in consternation than anything else, he sunk to his knees, then onto his side and passed out. A few seconds later the vital signs on his helmet cam readout flatlined. Xiao had scored her first kill.
There was a buzz of excited conversation all around me, all of it appreciative. Looking around, I could see that a lot of people had started the orgy off in earnest. Bridget, I noticed, was enjoying herself in a corner with a client's cock in her mouth – I recognized him as an international sports personality – and straddling the tongue of somebody whom I judged to be one of our other snuff-girls, Reshma, though it was hard to tell given where her face was.
Xiao, meanwhile, had escaped, and paused to regroup near a camera cluster. Everyone could see the difference in her. Moments before, she had been an ice queen, totally expressionless and totally unaroused. Now, her nipples were like pencil erasers, her eyes were slightly glazed and her lips were parted. The change in her personality was dramatic too. She spotted the camera and blew a kiss to it with one hand while the other slipped two fingers into her pussy. She grabbed one of her boobs and savagely twisted her own nipple, then with a smile and a wink she was on the move again, moving to attack team two and leave team one to cool down a little and be less jumpy.
Halfway across the wilderness, team two had entered a zone she had spent some time preparing during the day. The trap wasn't very elaborate. In fact, it was just some vines tied to bushes in such a way as to make them rustle and move as if somebody had brushed against or through them. Xiao herself was far too stealthy to make such a noise, and slipped into position where the vine ropes met, in the cradle of a tree's branches several feet off the ground. Smiling evilly to herself, she grasped one, and gave a slight tug.
I don't know much about combat, but the mercs moved with what looked like commendable speed and professional precision as they all snapped around to aim their guns not directly at the bush that had moved, but rather in its general vicinity. They held fire, however.
Xiao tugged on a second rope, and another bush nearby issued the faintest of rustling sounds which was drowned almost instantly under the BRRAAP! Noise of an SMG being fired at it for just a second or so.
“Noise distraction” one of the mercs said. “stay frosty, she's here somewhere.”
What the others made of this order stayed unknown, because that was the point where the huntress activated the OTHER trap. With a flick of that razor-sharp knife, she severed a vine, and a branch that had been pulled right back around and tied in place straightened out with a crash and crackle of stressed wood. It caught one of the mercs full in the chest and launched him into the underbrush with a wet cough as his rib cage was crushed by the impact. Another merc spun to the ground cursing as the whip tip of the branch caught his arm. The damage was only superficial however, and he was back on his feet in seconds.
“Shit...” he cursed. “Where is she?”
“Check Tanner.” the team leader ordered, and the merc with the bruised arm peered into the destruction left by the flying body.
“If he ain't dead, he will be soon.” he reported.
“Fuck 'im then. Fall back, let's get out of these traps.”
Xiao watched them go. once they were out of sight she dropped from her tree and vanished into the undergrowth near where the fallen merc had flown. The merc had landed just in sight of a camera, which zoomed in on him as Guan-Yin appeared like a wraith from the brush next to him. He was, for the time being, still among the living but was clearly on his way out. Seeing her approach he tried to raise his gun, but there was no strength in his arm and she took it from him without effort. Instead, she sat on his chest, which drew a moan of torment from him, and pressed her nude body against his ruined torso, writhing like a snake as she rubbed her pussy against him. She pressed her knife to his throat, and the man's pained noises turned to gurgles as blood started to flow from his jugular, which Guan-Yin lapped at like a thirsty leopard.
It didn't take long for the merc to expire, his last breath bubbling wetly through the gory hole in his throat. Guan-Yin issued the first sound she had made since the hunt began: an involuntary girlish gasp of pleasure. Then she stripped the holstered side-arm from his corpse, strapped it around her own sweat-slick, toned legs, and was gone into the brush again.
Moving swiftly and surely, she soon caught up with where team one were advancing cautiously along a trail. This kill wound up being quite simple. The vanguard wasn't watching his back properly and she almost walked up behind him, sliding the knife into the side of his throat before he even became aware of her presence.
The dying merc stood still, apparently too shocked to react or make any noise, and daringly she pressed herself against him. Her hand slithered around his body to fondle his crotch, and she nuzzled the undamaged side of his throat, planting sweet kisses there. She even unzipped his fatigues and slipped her hand inside. For a few seconds they stood there intertwined in a mockery of two lovers as she let his strength desert him. She smiled in anticipation as he sagged, knowing what the noise would bring.
The middle man in the patrol turned and gave a startled yell. His shotgun came up and roared and Xiao ducked as the body of the man she had just killed jerked, buckshot slowed just enough by his body armour to avoid penetrating and killing her.
Lightning-quick, her pilfered handgun almost leapt from its holster into her hand and the second merc went down, an arrow-straight line of three holes appearing above his heart, in his throat and between his eyes. The point man, carrying one of the SA80s, brought the weapon around and sprayed accurate death at where she had been, but she was already gone. Moving with almost supernatural grace and precision she spun through the hail of bullets, behind a tree, into a bush and away. A stray bullet caught the pistol and tore it from her hand as she fled, leaving her totally unarmed.
The merc with the assault rifle checked his comrades, and pulled Xiao's abandoned knife from the first one's throat with a passively curious “hunh” that was very at odds with the brutal firefight of only moments before. He made the same noise when he discovered a splatter of blood on the tree Guan-Yin had gone to ground behind. He was wearing a full-face mask in defiance of the tropical night-time heat, but we could still see him smile grimly behind it.
Sure enough, the bitch was hit. On thermal camera, the bleeding wound made by the 5.56mm round that had gone through her left bicep was a glowing trail. She was muttering to herself in Mandarin as she moved, clearly in pain, but her path was taking her straight towards the two survivors of team two.
“What's she saying?” I asked Angela. Around us, the orgy was in full swing and you'd have forgiven people from not paying attention to the show on screen, considering how much world-class cock and pussy was coming together in the room, but everyone was rapt, staring at the drama on screen even as they fucked each other raw.
“In English, she'd be moaning “Fuck yeah. Oh god, I'm so hot”.” Angela told me, smiling ear-to-ear. My own contented smile broadened and I had her get on hands and knees. Still focusing on the camera action, I fucked her doggy style.
Back in the jungle, Guan-Yin had paused to fashion a makeshift tourniquet from the pilfered gun holster. She worked quickly and soon the blood flow from the wound in her arm had stopped, though the arm itself was still hanging weakly by her side. Despite this handicap and her lack of weaponry, her enthusiasm wasn't dented in the slightest and before long she was stalking up on the two remaining members of team two.
Her assault lacked the careful planning and cold hunting behaviour of before. This time, she launched herself from the brush as soon as they were both facing in the wrong direction. One of the mercs went down as she kicked the back of his knees and he fell flat on his back. The other was bowled over as she charged him with her shoulder. Before he could recover she had pressed a knee against the back of her prey's neck, grabbed the front of his helmet with her good hand and yanked hard. The merc convulsed as his neck broke noisily, and his vital signs flatlined on our monitors instantly.
Merc two rolled upright and started to bring an SMG to bear but Guan-Yin was a blur as she spun in past the weapon's barrel and knocked it from the merc's grasp with a roundhouse kick. The two began grappling and striking at one another using a simple but brutally efficient unarmed combat system that owed as much to down-and-dirty street fighting as it did to martial arts. The merc, despite trying to exploit the psychotic Chinese woman's wounded arm, was clearly outmatched and soon wound up being thrown to the ground with a rush of knocked out wind. Grinning in triumph, Guan-Yin leapt astride him, pinning his arms to the ground with her knees and began beating him around the head with a stone. She got two good blows in and was raising the stone for a third when a gunshot made everyone watching jump.
The camera that had been watching the fight pulled back a little, and we could see that even in the middle of being bludgeoned to death with a rock, the merc had found the presence of mind to pull out his sidearm and fired it straight into Xiao's perfectly muscled, toned belly.
Xiao dropped the rock, her face a mask of equal parts horror, pain and shock. But beneath all that was the reason she was on the island in the first place. There was an undercurrent to her expression that said that, beneath the agony of a gut-shot, and the fear of her now certain death, she was enormously turned on, and sexually satisfied on a very, VERY deep level.
The merc moved his pistol for a second shot, but somehow Xiao's good hand whipped around and smacked the gun away just before it went off. She grabbed his wrist, and the two wrestled with the deadly implement for several long, agonising moments.
Ultimately, the stunning blows to the head that the merc had taken proved his downfall. Guan-Yin managed to get a leverage advantage and slowly, inexorably and with no small hint of malicious slowness, she forced the gun around until it was pressed against the defeated man's temple, and squeezed the trigger. Bone, blood and brain matter exploded across the forest floor and Xiao made a loud noise of triumph and pleasure, totally forgetting to be silent just long enough to undo herself.
There was a rustle of foliage behind her and she twisted, already raising the pistol with incredible reflexes, but the last surviving mercenary had the drop on her, and a three-round burst from his SA80 crippled her remaining good arm and put a bloody crater in her thigh. The pilfered pistol dropped from her nerveless fingers and she fell back on the grass with a cry of pain that sounded suspiciously orgasmic.
The game was over, and she knew it. Even without the gut wound, neither of her arms would ever work properly again, and her leg was useless. Defeated, Xiao Guan-Yin smiled at the man who was about to kill her. Her left arm still worked enough for her to push two fingers deep into her pussy, and she soon lost herself to mounting pleasure, fingering herself desperately.
The merc let his gun fall to the ground and pulled his defeated foe's knife from his belt. Guan-Yin stared at it with wild, lustful eyes, then looked into the merc's eyes with a pleading expression. He smiled grimly behind the mask and knelt down next to her.
The blade must really have been very sharp. Guan-Yin issued another of those erotic squeals of agony as he took it to her chest, cutting an X shape into each tiny, pert breast that must have gone right to the bone. He cut her again and again, with each stroke of the blade becoming less like a precise incision, and more like a machete swipe until he was hacking madly at her body, flaying her perfectly athletic body with a hundred berserk strokes.
Somehow, even this didn't kill her. Throughout her mutilation, she continued to ram her fingers in and out of her soaking wet cunt. When finally he stopped, gasping and sobbing, it was only so he could pull his pulsing, glistening cock from his fatigues and ram it into her.
She took the knife from him in the hand that was still covered in her own juices, and raised it to point directly at her own heart, angled so that it would slip between her ribs. He placed his hand over hers, and the knife paused there just long enough for her to close her eyes and start twitching in orgasmic pleasure. Then, as one, they sank the blade up to its hilt into her heart.
She died instantly, eyes closed and lips parted in an expression of sexual bliss that sent most of the Moros snuff-girls wild in sympathy and jealousy. The merc issued a bestial rumbling noise as her pussy spasmed in her death throes and milked a ferocious climax from him. Back in the club, the scene drove me over the edge too, and I shot pulse after pulse of burning hot cum into Angela's womb.
I sat back on my throw pillow, panting and sweating, and watched as the surviving merc pulled the knife from Xiao Guan-Yin's hearts and licked the blood off it. A little unsteadily, he turned and walked away from the flayed body of the Chinese huntress, back towards his quarters, a shower and a well-earned bed.
“Well done, Harry.” I said, raising an imaginary glass to salute him. I'd wanted for a long time to see him come out of his shell and murder-fuck somebody.
It had been well worth the wait.
Name: Lorekeeper @ 2014-01-01 07:34 ID: f33daf
In appreciation of the influx of consensual guro stories of late, I'll repost some more of this old classic by IMadeAWrite:
The Christmas event at Club Moros doesn't actually take place on Christmas day. People want to spend the day itself with their families after all, and even though most of us are thoroughly non-religious, there's still something about snuffing people on the day itself that feels... uncomfortable. So, the actual event is held two weeks before, on the tenth. And it is easily the most fun night of our year.
There is of course the attraction that it's one of the fifteen days per year on which we snuff one of the Moros girls, but there's also a tradition of gift-giving which is uniquely.... us.
The private yachts and planes have been arriving for days, each bearing a party of Moros club members and a number of gifts.
Many of those gifts will be for me. Others will be for other club members, or for the Moros girls. One or two will be gifts to the club as a whole, and all the gifts are the same: They are all living human beings, and by sunrise on the morning of December 11th, they will all be dead.
It is, in short, the single largest annual mass suicide/homicide in the world. Last year, eight lives came to a violent end, four of whom were club members who presented themselves to me as presents. It's the one night of the year when self-snuff is allowed, too, and last year two of our patrons wound up taking their own lives.
This year, the party was already off to a good start. I had been pleased to receive two snuff-slave gifts: a beautiful young Italian man from Janet, and a Brazilian call-girl who'd met with her former owner via the Moros network.
Bridget and Madison had both also received gifts, admirers who were club members thanks to the patronage of a wealthier member and who had gladly given themselves to their favourite M-girls. I was also aware that their patron had signed Janet's half year snuff-slave contract and sealed the deal with a gift of his own wife. So, we were up to six just within the first hour, though none of them were actually dead yet.
People were apparently holding a competition to see who could arrive the most fashionably late, and we didn't really want to begin the snuffing until most of the attendees had arrived.
Did I mention that I was presiding over this feast of festive decadence dressed as Santa? Well, I was.
“And have you been a good girl this year?” I asked jovially of the petite, naked, pigtailed blonde on my lap.
“Oh no, Santa, I've been sooo naughty.” she purred, grinding her bare crotch against my leg.
“Oh dear. And how exactly have you been naughty?” I asked her.
“Mmm...” she kissed me, and giggled as my massive, curly false beard tickled her. “I used MorosNet.” she said.
“Go on....” I said. I grabbed her wrist and guided her hand to her pussy.
“Oooh, Santa, it was wonderful. I found this shy, skinny nerd from New York. Anh! Oooand I took his virginity! He was so happy, he said he'd be my slave for ever and ever.”
“And what did you do with your slave?” I asked, smiling broadly.
“I ordered him to prove his loyalty by cutting off his own penis and cooking it for me to eat.” she purred. She pushed fingers soaked in pussy juice into my mouth as she continued.
“Ooooh and he was such a GOOD slave, he even did his balls too. And he stood and watched as I ate them aaalll up. And as a reward for being such a good slave, I took him down to my basement and introduced him to my table saw.” She took the fingers from my mouth and inserted them into her sopping cunny again.
“Well, you certainly have been VERY naughty.” I told her with a wink. “And Santa Lawes always rewards a naughty girl. What would you like for Christmas little girl?”
“I'd like you to give a year's club membership to my BFF, Hailey.”
“You know the rules, Sandra.” I told her, slightly sternly. “Club members have to be vetted by the psych team.”
“Oh, she'll pass.” Sandra said, beaming happily. “She operated the saw.”
I laughed. “I'll see what I can do. Now run along little girl.”
I gave her a slap on the ass as she slipped off my lap and she ran away into the crowd with a skip and a squeal, nymph-naked and carefree.
The next person in the queue was a welcome old friend I hadn't seen in months. “Dan!” I cried and rose from my Santa throne to give him a big hug. Dan owns a “small” oil drilling firm that his grandfather set up, and was one of the first members of club Moros. He has a lifetime Diamond membership which grants him access to special services such as fifty million dollars of annual club credit for use on MorosNet or on snuff night auctions.
“Al, it's been too long.” he said with a grin. “Sorry I couldn't come last month, I heard you finally had a double-snuff.”
“Yeah, Becky couldn't take the wait any more and persuaded me to bend club rules for her. Nowadays the M-girl contract has a clause that says a girl can volunteer for a snuff auction on the fifth anniversary of her hiring and every year thereafter.”
“How'd the girls like that?”
“Total approval. Our next five-year would be Mercedes but that's in a year and a half. She says she'll definitely use the clause if she makes it that far, though.”
“Well, Merry Christmas. I brought you a present. June?”
A young woman – redhead and skinny, with big brown eyes and lovely pink puffy nipples – stepped up beside Dan and smiled at me. I was taken aback. June was Dan's youngest daughter, and would only have turned eighteen a few weeks ago. Dan's son and two other daughters were all club members and his eldest daughter, Brandi, had been one of the first M-girls, snuffed while her father watched proudly a mere four months after the club first opened.
Six years ago, when June had just turned twelve, I had been visiting Dan to discuss this idea I'd had for using the internet to set up a matchmaking circle for people interested in snuff sex, and to ask him for an investment in getting it set up. Halfway through the conversation June had marched into the room jay-naked and, bold as brass, asked me to take her virginity. I'm not interested in children so I'd let her down, I hoped gently. Dan later told me that she'd been heartbroken “for at least a week” until she convinced her brother, then fifteen, to do it instead.
I could still remember the way she'd looked, pre-teen but with all the confidence of an older woman, showing herself off in the arrogant certainty that no man could resist her. And I hadn't resisted, not really. For six years, I'd hoped and dreamed about the day I could finally have her to myself. The thought of fucking her, owning her and of snuffing her had been a recurring fantasy of mine for half a decade. Even the thought of seeing the vital spark leave such a vivacious young thing was enough to make my cock get a couple of points firmer.
“Oh, Dan, she's perfect.” I gushed, almost overwhelmed by gratitude. Her mother had served herself as dinner at his birthday party three years previously, and for the whole event I'd been imagining it was June instead – not hard, as she very closely resembled her mother. Father and daughter smiled at my obvious delight. “I hope you don't mind getting the same boring old thing I give you every year.”
That “same boring old thing” being that, rather than being auctioned off, the M-girl whose name came up in tonight's lottery would automatically be his to play with.
Dan shook his head sadly. “Not this year, Al. I'm self-snuffing tonight.”
The news saddened me somewhat, but I see people I like die on a very regular basis. A lot of the time, I'm the one killing them. The trick is to find joy in their life and death and not mourn them. Easier said than done, but I've had a lot of practise. I'd miss Dan, but I was also salivating at the thought of getting to watch his own daughter murder-fuck him before I did the same to her.
“What's happening to the family business?” I asked.
“Oh, we've got it all sorted out with your people. Officially, our yacht ran into trouble two days ago during a pleasure cruise, and we're all missing presumed dead. After which it won't be the family business, of course.”
“All five of you? The whole family?” I confess, I was a little shocked. Ever since I'd seen Dan and the four kids barbecue and eat their mother, I'd known the whole family were my kind of freaks, but I'd never anticipated this.
“Yep. June is your gift, obviously. Bill, Sue and I are going to self-snuff together and Annie's volunteering to be an M-girl.”
“But... the whole family, Dan? Really?”
“We've all been looking forward to it since Miranda cooked herself for us.” Dan said simply, and that settled it. “Besides, Annie's only doing the M-girl thing for a year. If she lives, then she gets to be the miraculous survival story, marooned on a desert island for a year, and the whole company goes to her.”
“She's not quite as eager to be snuffed as the rest of you are, I take it?”
“Not quite. She's a client, not a victim. But she wanted to do something, if the rest of us are.”
I nodded my understanding. “Client” and “Victim” are the terms used in our circle to refer to the two possible roles on M-net. Classifying yourself as a “victim” means that you have a death wish, so usually if a person just wants to be snuffed, they just pay to sign up on M-net as a victim. Becoming an M-girl is an alternative for those who aren't averse to the idea of being snuffed, but don't actually actively want it to happen... usually. Obviously, there are exceptions like Bridget or Becky, but most of the M-girls i've ever employed have been consenting, but not actually enthusiastic.
There are other advantages, such as getting paid rather than having to pay for the service, so a lot of M-girls are women who can't afford to pay to become Victims. Those are usually the lifers, the ones who keep coming back until they're finally snuffed. Whatever a given person's logic, I rarely mind because M-girls are each worth a lot more to me than willing victims who pay for the M-net service.
“Are you sure you don't want your usual present anyway? One last kill before you go?” I offered
“I'm sure, but thanks Al. You've been good to us over the years. It's been Long Pig at every birthday party for the last three years thanks to you and M-net.”
Impulsively, I pulled my fake beard aside and gave him a kiss which he returned through a smile. “Alright.” I said. “But you're not going out without letting me suck your cock one last time.”
“Alright, alright you sentimental idiot.” he laughed. “No rush though, we've got a long night ahead of us. The best things, eh?”
“The best things.” I agreed. I grabbed his hand and guided it to the bulge in my festive red-and-white pajama trousers, which he squeezed fondly before walking away to find a waiter.
I resumed my position on the grotto's throne and smiled as my next supplicant sat on my lap. He pulled his own stiff rod from his pants, slipped mine out too and pressed the shafts together. I felt our balls touch and his warm hand wrap around both of us as he told me how he'd been a very naughty boy this year...
Some hours later, I'd finished with being Santa Lawes. All the wishes were dealt with, and all the presents had been exchanged – a total of eighteen live, willing human sacrifices to other people's pleasure, plus the M-girl whose number was about to be drawn. At some point during the long list of people wanting to sit on Santa's lap I'd lost the red-and-white pajamas, so by now I was wearing only the beard, the hat and a massive erection.
This drew more than a few wolf-whistles and catcalls as I bounded up on stage to draw the lottery, and I paused to show myself off for a second.
“My friends, welcome and a very, VERY Merry Christmas to you all!” I cried joyfully. “You all know my old saying, about waiting for things....” I paused for effect, and people groaned as the moment dragged on to a few seconds. “...okay, that's enough.” this drew a laugh. Smiling like a showman, I reached into the randomizer and drew out a ping-pong ball with a name on it.
I turned to where the M-girls were all lined up on the stage, every last one of them rapt and aroused as they waited, YEARNED to see if it would be their name tonight.
“Fujiko!” I announced.
There was the usual pantomime of the girls sagging in a mixture of relief and disappontment, then clustering around their newly doomed friend to congratulate her and say their goodbyes, but this one went on for a while. Fujiko had become enormously popular with the girls during the eight months she had been with us. She was a one-shotter, a girl who had joined the M-girl team for one contract in the hopes of netting herself a few million US dollars-worth to help her build a career and wealthy future back in Japan.
That prosperous future would now never happen, but it was clear she didn't really mind. She'd been enjoying life on the island so much I was pretty sure she'd been planning to renew her contract, and girls who renewed their contract once usually kept renewing it until their number came up.
“By the way, Dan has very kindly forfeited his usual gift from me of being able to win tonight's auction automatically, as he has given himself as a present to his children tonight, so I'll give you a few minutes to check your funds and then we'll start the bidding!” I announced. “Dan, get up here.”
Dan slipped through the crowd, accepting a few farewells and compliments from other patrons and stepped up onto the stage.
“I insist you have a hand in this, so you can be the auctioneer.” I told him. He readily agreed and started the bidding at the usual price of thirty-five million.
I smiled and dropped to my knees. He was wearing a stylish dark grey suit, and I unzipped the fly of his pants and slipped his penis out. He was already quite hard, having anticipated my move, and I smiled as I enveloped the head in my tongue, then licked all the way down and up the underside and flicked the very tip as an ending flourish. I moistened my lips and slid them slowly over the soft, pink flesh of his cock and closed my eyes as I took him down and down, deep into the back of my throat and beyond.
I'm proud to say that thanks to the very slow blowjob I gave him, he had a hard time focusing on the auction, but also that the patrons, perhaps inspired by the show I was putting on, bid very generously and Fujiko eventually went for a hundred and sixty-eight million dollars to the owner of a string of casinos, who promptly gave the tiny, large-breasted Japanese girl to his wife. There was a round of applause when I finally stimulated Dan to come in my mouth, and I grinned wickedly as I swallowed his seed, even as he bashfully acknowledged the crowd.
I stood up and wiped my mouth with a grin. “Well, my dear people, I think we're almost ready to begin the really fun part of the night. If there's anyone here who wants to suddenly offer themselves to somebody else as a gift, speak now or you'll have to wait for next year.”
I was a little disappointed, but not surprised, when nobody volunteered. Club members tend to be a decisive lot who'd have gifted themselves early on if they were going to do it at all.
“In which case, my darlings, I'm pleased to announce that last year's record has been soundly broken and that tonight no less than THIRTEEN people will be snuffed. And remember, if you decide that you want to self-snuff tonight, go right ahead in the knowledge that the M-network will take care of covering it up.”
I stood there in the spotlight, thoroughly enjoying myself as I paused for effect, then...
“I declare tonight's festivities... begun!” and there was a scramble as people rushed to “unwrap” their presents.
The first death happened five minutes later. The Italian snuff-boy that Janet had given me died with his nose stopped up by candle wax and my painfully hard dick deep in the back of his throat, shutting off his air. His last orgasm was shot deep into the cunt of the Brazilian girl who'd been given to me. His final desperate, instinctive attempts to draw breath drove me absolutely wild, and I think he actually drowned in my semen as the tension that had been building in my balls for several hours was finally released.
The second and third happened together. Two club members, young women who had been introduced to each other and the club via a patronage, had given themselves to each other. They had settled on a double short-drop hanging, wrapped around each other and fingering each other senseless with their lips locked in a final deathly kiss. They jerked and writhed on their nooses, but didn't once let go of each other until long after they were both dead. Their nude, shapely corpses were left swinging gently on the stage for the rest of the night.
Madison – Mousey-haired, geeky Madison - suspended her willing victim, the fourth casualty of the night, in the Frame that had held Becky at the start of the month, and ate the living cock and balls right off his body with the aid of a set of sharp metal over-dentures, chewing and swallowing the raw organ with relish. He passed out from the pain, but she revived him long enough to give him a loving farewell kiss before she used a power saw to remove his head. Moaning in carnal delight, she pressed her dead devotee's face into her pussy and stimulated herself to a rippling climax with it.
Number five was an attempt by a husband and wife pair to carry out that old Dolcett fantasy of the spit impalement clean through the pussy and out through the mouth. True to reality rather than the fantasy, the massive trauma from the sharpened spit sent the victim into shock and she expired long before the stained pole slid between her lips. The process of cleaning and gutting her carcass for the fire pit was messy and, to my mind, not really very erotic but her former husband obviously got off on it, and as he watched he fucked one of the M-girls, Laura, so hard that she fainted.
Number six was my Brazilian gift, on whom I performed brain surgery, club Moros style. I tied her to a chair with a pair of large, angled mirrors In front of it that afforded her an excellent view of the crown of her own head. Wanting her to be conscious, I scalped her under local anaesthetic, and carefully removed a neat round cap of bone to expose the pinkish brain underneath. The mere sight of her own naked cerebellum was enough to make her come, especially when I prodded it with a finger, which made her jerk and gasp.
The wound was already mortal, but her death would be slow and entirely unerotic, so I hastened the process using a sharpened egg whisk attached to the bit of a masonry drill. She spasmed and jerked in a very pleasing way and spat a string of incoherent noises that might have been attempts at words as I reduced her brain to a bloody slurry inside her skull. June, who had been tonguing her pussy, reported that her last experience in this world was an earth-shattering orgasm.
Number seven was Fujiko. Again, her killers wanted an impalement but this time they weren't concerned about a neat Dolcettish spit roast. They wanted something much more brutal and medieval, so she climbed onto a device designed specifically for that purpose. Nothing so much as a steel spike sheathed in a steel tube with a narrow wooden platform to stand on around the outside, it raised her high in the air on a pneumatic piston, and then the outer sheath platform dropped slowly away. Diligently, Fujiko guided the sharp (but not too sharp) pole into her cunt, and the platform fell away until ultimately her weight was fully supported on the spike. Over the course of several long minutes, as others died around her, Fujiko slid slowly down and down the pole, whimpering and screaming in agony as the spike slowly violated her innards, lubricated by the river of blood running down it.
Eventually, her deep genetic instinct to live kicked in and she became a frightened animal, kicking and wailing in terror. Each motion only served to drive the spike further into her, however, and she passed away soon after, growing weak quickly until only a few involuntary post-mortem twitches were left to drive her cooling body down and down, until the spike finally emerged from the top of the rib cage, at the base of her throat. With the last resistance gone, gravity took over and her impaled, ruined, beautiful carcass slid down the rest of the pole's length to land with a thump at the bottom. Her dead, lifeless eyes were still wide open and she spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling with an expression of horror and fear.
Number nine was the woman to whom Fujiko had been given as a gift. Astoundingly, even after witnessing the horrific ordeal Fujiko had undergone, she willingly asked for and received exactly the same death. I was amazed, given how obviously traumatic the experience had been for the M-girl, that the casino baron's wife mounted the pole with every expression of intense arousal. The outcome was exactly the same however, right down to the naked, unreasoning fear and the open-eyed wild stare into eternity. I noticed, however, that despite their wails and screaming, in the end they had both died with soaking wet cunts and diamond-hard nipples.
Number ten was Bridget's devoted fan. His eyes were already long-gone into her belly of course, but she had taken care to make his death as slow and vicious as possible. Her tool of choice for the night was a simple screwdriver, and a semicircle of admiring fans had gathered round to watch as she demonstrated increasingly creative and sadistic ways to employ it, right up to and including decapitating her plaything once she was finally bored, after her third or fourth climax. Don't ask me to go into detail about how you decapitate somebody with a flathead screwdriver. Let's just say that it's a drawn-out, complicated and very messy procedure that made me respect her abilities even more, and drew a round of vigorous applause from the onlookers.
Number eleven was the wife of Janet's new male snuff-slave. Janet had been lovingly screwing her senseless in what I now knew to be a ritual of thanks to those who gave her their lives (Except Becky, I recalled. Presumably she had different rules for M-girls). Her death, when it finally came, was quick and probably comparatively painless. It was a classic sword beheading. Crying in response to those deep, indelible survival instincts, the woman was nevertheless docile and consenting as she knelt and bared her neck, and I could see her fingers still working between her legs as her former husband, Janet's new slave (whose own death was now only six months away) hefted the excellent claymore from Janet's private collection, and took her head off with one powerful swing. I was pleased to see that tonight was one of the rare occasions when a severed head remained alive and conscious for a little while after the decapitation, and Janet raised it to her mouth for a sweet, shared kiss to usher her slave's ex-wife into eternity.
Which brought us to the two deaths of the night I had been most looking forward to, and putting off until last on the basis that they were probably worth waiting for - Dan and June. Dan was currently in the middle of a room with his rigid shaft buried deep inside his son, Bill's, ass. June, and Annie, meanwhile, wee were taking turns giving Sue a tongue bath, and Sue was treating her brother to a fantastic blowjob. I didn't know what the five of them had planned, but I assumed it was going to be excellent, given the quality of the fucking that was on display.
I took stock of the party as they I waited for them to finish their incestuous little gangbang and get down to the real business. A little disappointingly, nobody had decided to self-snuff this year, but the quality of some of the deaths had been surpassing. From the two lovers still hanging from the gallows, to the stage where Bridget and Madison were showering the gore off each other and having fun doing it by making their victims' severed heads make out, to the corner where Fujiko and her brief owner continued to scream silently, propped upright by the invading poles that had passed right through them.
There was a noise from the middle of the room and I returned my attention to Dan and his family. A thrill of anticipation hit me as I realised what was going on.
June and Annie had given their old man, brother and sister a last goodbye kiss each and withdrawn. Now, Dan and Sue were inside a reinforced bulletproof glass chamber that had been dropped from the ceiling, a tool used only in snuffs that involved explosives, to avoid collateral damage to the patrons.
The explosive itself was what we called a “dildo grenade”. I hope you don't need TOO much prompting to get a rough idea what those are, but the crucial things to know are that they're remotely activated by an onlooker or by the snuffees themselves, and have enough power to pulp anyone who happens to be in the chamber with them. Right now, Sue was sucking on it furiously while Dan and Bill double-penetrated her.
June sauntered over to me, shining with sweat and her own sex juices.
“They always come together”. She said with a smile, staring at the display of shameless incest inside the blast cage. She slid the fingers of her right hand inside herself, and with the other she massaged one of her tits. “Every time. That's why they like that threesome so fucking much. Guess that's why they wanted to go together.”
“We know when they'll push the button, then.” I said, smiling. We stood there and watched her family fucking inside the cage for several seconds, and then her warm hand snuck into mine and laced fingers with me.
Smiling like the Cheshire Cat, I pulled June in close, sending one hand to slip between her legs while the other found her breasts. Her knees went weak and we settled down to a kneeling position, both of us entranced by the display in front of us.
I saw the end coming easily enough. The fucking in the blast cage reached a crescendo and, true to June's prediction, Father, son and daughter all came together at the same time. I wished that time could slow so that I could see the moment in exquisite detail. We had ultra-high speed cameras watching the cage of course, slaved to the same remote control as the bomb in Sue's mouth. But it just wouldn't be quite the same as getting to watch the actual moment of death at that leisurely, intense pace.
Through the glass, Dan met my gaze – or possibly June's, it was hard to tell - even as he climaxed. Beneath him, his children were in the throes of their own ultimate orgasms. He gave me a smile, his eyes closed in ecstasy and he clicked the remote.
Through the thick blast-proof glass and steel reinforcement of the chamber, the explosion was reduced to a dull, muffled CRUMP! The glass crazed as shrapnel hit it several times faster than a rifle bullet, but didn't fail anywhere. The view became obscured as impenetrable liquid red smeared the inside of the chamber. There was silence in the club for a second, and then the winch in the ceiling pulled the chamber up and away, to reveal the bloody mass of pulped meat and organs and splintered bones that had only seconds before been a passionate, incestuous threesome. Now, only a forensic pathologist could have told where each obliterated corpse ended and the next began.
In my arms, June gave a gasping sob that was as born as much from grief as from arousal.
“Shit. They're really dead.” she gasped. “I loved them so much and they're really dead now! They killed themselves!”
Her older sister and my newest M-girl, Annie, had a similar expression of confused, horny bereavement on her face. Moving with jerky, stunned steps she wandered over to us and sank to her knees, throwing her arms around her little sister for comfort.
“It's what they wanted.” I reminded them, perhaps a little cruelly. “And it's what YOU want.”
Annie shivered, but June actually perked up at that.
“Yes. It is, isn't it?” She said in a faraway voice. “Ever since Brandi died. Ever since I ate mom.”
Annie sobbed again, but this time it was pure erotic excitement. From where I was kneeling, still holding June close to me, I could see that she was fingering herself into a frenzy, even while her cheeks were wet.
“You gave yourself to me, June. And I'm going to kill you.”
“Oh....” there was fear in her voice, but it was an excited, eager sounding fear.
“But I've got something special planned for you. You're not going to die tonight, you see.”
“Go on. Tell me. Tell me how you're going to use me!” she gasped.
“Oh, it's very simple. You see, it's been too long since I last made a girl into soup.”
“Hnnnh!” she whimpered, petrified and oh so very willing at once. She was trembling in my arms, but rather than trying to pull away, she was grinding herself against me.
“First, I'll fuck you. I've been wanting to ever since you were a little girl who begged me to take her maidenhead. Then I'll take your arms and legs and cook them. It's alright, you'll get to have a taste. I'll cook them in private for just you, Annie and I to share.”
At the mention of her name, Annie gave me a look that spoke volumes about just how much she really was into it all, and how scared she was of admitting it. I put a hand to the back of her head, lovingly, and then with gentle pressure I directed her to kiss her sister, which she did with startling passion.
Unprompted, their hands sought each other's pussies.
“Then, I'll fuck Annie. For a year, she's going to be mine, and I always start it off with a private session. Who knows, maybe in a few months her number will come up and somebody will do to her what I'm going to do to you.”
“Nnnnnnffffuck!” Annie whimpered, breaking the kiss for a second.
“But before I cut you up and cook you June, you know what I'm going to do to you? Do you want to know what the most horrible torture I'll give you is?"
"MMM! Oh, tell me, tell me!"
I smiled a smile that the Devil himself couldn't match for pure malice.
"Nothing." I said simply. "I'm going to wait. I'm going to be patient. I'm going to tease you and tantalise you. I'm going to drag your life on and on and keep you guessing about when the day will finally come. Before I'm done tormenting you, you will beg me on your knees to end your life. And when I finally decide that the time is right, I'm going to have your arms and legs off and boil you. I'm going to bring a big old pan of water up to the boil, and toss you right in. And when you've finally died from the scalding heat, I'm going to fish you out, clean you up, and chuck you back in to make a beautiful girl soup. I've done it before, I know the perfect recipe.”
June shuddered in my arms, but it was purely the product of a jolt of pleasure running through her from my skilful fingers.
“Who knows, maybe I'll have somebody join you in the pot. Maybe it'll be a delicious young stud. Maybe I'll make two-girl stew. Maybe Annie's number will come up on the First, and I'll buy her and make sister soup, that could be novel.”
The two sisters were thoroughly lost in the brutality I was describing to them now. I went on and on, casually laying out June's frustrating, humiliating and painful fate in as much agonising detail as I could, until both girls finally came with the shrieks of true snuff-sluts coming face to face with their most intimate desires.
As they came down, I murmured in June's ear for her alone.
“I've waited a long time to have you, my darling.” I said. “I've waited six years to feel you in my arms, to have your pretty little cunt wrapped around me. I've waited all that time, so I'm going to wait a little longer before I finally give you the end you crave. Because the best things – the absolute best things in life – are worth waiting a long, long time for.”
Name: Lorekeeper @ 2014-01-01 07:38 ID: f33daf
True to my word, June had to wait a long time before her end came.
The rest of December was spent enjoying her thoroughly. She still expected every day to be her last and was unreservedly sexual throughout. She shunned clothing and took every opportunity to fuck me or anyone else I ordered her to. Several times, I had her while we watched the ultra-slow motion footage of her family's death by exploding dildo.
Then the First of January came round, and it was time for the first M-girl snuff of the year. She spent the whole day quivering like a violin string, expecting to be chosen for a double-snuff that night.
The “lucky” girl that night was Eva, who was auctioned for ninety-three million to one of my favourite clients, a leading world expert in anaesthesia and pharmacology who regularly made use of willing M-net victims and Moros snuff events in unofficial (and unpublishable) clinical trials. With a shot of his latest creation to the back of her neck, Eva apparently felt no pain at all as the client and Bridget took her apart well past the point where shock and trauma would ordinarily have killed her. When she finally expired, she was staring in amazement at her own heart as it stopped beating.
January was a slightly calmer affair as June got used to the idea that I was serious about waiting for an opportunity to make her death genuinely special. Interestingly, we became more intimate. Our sex stopped being quite so frequent, vigorous and carnal and became more... intimate. I began to think of it as lovemaking rather than fucking. We'd spent the previous month trying pretty much everything, and I still fondly recall a fivesome with June, Bridget, Annie and a male client. Now, it was an exploration of just how good it could be to devote yourself to one person for a time.
On February the first, Mercedes “won” the lottery. She sold for a hundred and seventeen million and her purchaser decided to hang her from The Frame and bisect her lengthways with a chainsaw. I always enjoy it when somebody does that, because the result is inevitably spectacular, sending a fountain of blood and torn meat all over the club. Watching it got me so hard that my dick felt abnormally heavy, almost painful – as if I might snap it off if I exerted myself too hard. This didn't stop me from fucking June's tight anus for the first time while a young man – one of four new members of Club Moros present on the island for their first snuff night – took her from below. I love the sensation of another big, stiff prick rubbing against mine, especially through the narrow wall of flesh separating anus and pussy.
My relationship with June changed again after that. Now she became unstable: some days she would demand a fitting death and berate me for not keeping my promises. Other days she begged me on her hands and knees, offering (and doing) anything to sweeten the deal. Once or twice, she actually broke down in floods of tears, suddenly terrified of the very thing she had gifted herself to me to receive. We didn't have sex in the same way twice that month, instead exploring all the emotional possibilities of consenting sex, from genuine passionate lovemaking, through impersonal sex, to violent and bitter fucking that amounted almost to her raping me. We explored the tumultuous gamut of human passion and I luxuriated in every moment of it, even when she hated me. Especially when she hated me while I had my cock inside of her.
March came around and it was the turn of one of our two Jessicas – Jessica D - to die. I took delight in stretching the announcement out to the point of twanging tension before finally announcing which one it was, causing both to let out a gasp of held breath simultaneously. What surprised everyone (and delighted me) was that Jessica's purchaser, who paid eighty-seven million to win the auction, requested that June do the work of snuffing her.
As we watched, Annie told me that June had always been a Victim and never a Client. Although her father Dan and Annie herself had both “entertained” several Victims at their estate over the years, June was the only member of their family who had never actually ended another person's life, even if she had been willing to enjoy the show and the meat.
Her first ever snuff was a masterwork. June set to work with a cold determination, and soon had poor Jessica writhing and wailing in agony as decorative swirl-shaped strips of skin were flayed off, leaving behind a tribal tattoo in bloody flesh. She force-fed Jessica cuts of her own meat, both cooked and raw. She prepared the writhing M-girl for cooking by stuffing Jessica's generous D-cup boobs with cream cheese, painfully expanding them up to a taut F-cup. She cooked her victim's pussy while it was still attached and presented it to Jessica's purchaser, who ate it with gusto as its former owner looked on, smiling through the pain at her devourer's obvious satisfaction with his meal. Over the course of an hour, June took bits off of Jessica, skilfully tying off blood vessels and ensuring that, as catastrophic as the pain she must have been feeling was, the M-girl remained alive and conscious throughout. Finally, only a ravaged and bleeding torso and head remained, and June finally ended Jessica's torment by wrapping those deceptively slender fingers around Jessica's throat.
I did not allow her to shower. Instead I licked every inch of her clean personally.
In March, our relationship entered a phase of mature familiarity. We had tried all sorts of variations on physical and emotional content in our lovemaking, and we returned to a few of our favourites. She and Bridget tied me blindfolded to the wall and teased me with their lips, tongues, hands, cunts, feet and pretty much whatever else they could think of before shoving a vibrator up my ass and retiring to the bed to screw each other senseless while I could only hang there and listen. She brought some of the mercenaries back to my room and fingered herself as she watched me indulge my neglected homosexual side. One time, I tied June to the wall and turned her into a helpless spectator, unable to even pleasure herself as I fucked her sister Annie up against her.
April came, and Marie became our snuff girl for the night. She rode the same pole that Fujiko had died on at Christmas, but impressed everyone by staying calm all the way. Unlike the expressions of terror that had been on the faces of the two women who died on the spikes in December, Marie's final expression was one of orgasmic pain. That evening, June and I watched the footage of Dan, Sue and Bill self-snuffing in the blast box again. Our whole month was defined by watching footage of people dying, from the extensive library of M-girl auction events, and special events like private snuff parties on the island, to the death of Xiao Guan-Yin and private footage shared with me via the M-network. June's complacent acceptance of her situation evaporated under the steady stream of snuff pornography, and by the end of the month she was once again speaking longingly of the day when I would keep my promise and turn her into soup.
May the first arrived, and when I drew the night's name, I knew that June's long wait had come to an end.
“Tonight's snuff-girl will be.... Bridget.”
There were cheers and wolf-whistles, but from where I was standing, I clearly heard Bridget say “It's about damn time...”
The crowd were already hurling bids at me, but I was having none of it. I held up a hand and over the course of a few seconds the hubbub died off until everyone was listening to me.
“I'm going to invoke Clause Seven.” I said.
There were frustrated groans and several curses, but no real objections. Clause Seven was the one exception to the rule that says I'm not normally allowed to bid on M-girls. After all, I'd be paying myself, which is hardly fair. Clause Seven allows me, once per year, to automatically win an M-girl auction in exchange for every club member present getting two months of free club membership. I hardly ever invoke it. This was only the second time, in fact.
Bridget was busily bidding farewell to the other girls. No girly hugs for her – she graced each of them with a lingering, sensual kiss and a whisper in the ear. It took a while, but eventually she was ready and stood square in front of me, hands on her hips and an expression that said “...well?”
“June?” I called
My Christmas present hurried to my side.
“It's time. Say goodbye to your sister.”
Outwardly, June gave no response at all, but Bridget and I shared an amused glance when she muttered a relieved “Oh, it's about fucking time!” as she turned away from us and skipped over to Annie, who dragged her little sister into a big bear hug.
Bridget watched as the siblings went from an embrace to kissing to a tender farewell fuck, smiling faintly.
“Suck me off.” I ordered, and without an instant's hesitation she was down on her knees. She took my full, firm length in one go and I felt my cock-head slip past the back of her throat, and her tongue flicker out to lick at my balls while she deep-throated me.
Around us were the familiar rhythms of people settling in to the slow part before an orgy REALLY gets underway. Most of the M-girls had found paying clients to attend to, and the few who hadn't were shaking their asses.
Eventually, the sisters were done. I let them lie there in each others' arms for a while and eventually they shared a last, tender kiss and an “I love you” and that was it. June was on her feet and returning to my side.
“Stop” I ordered Bridget, and she obeyed instantly. Both girls had an expectant look, as if they were more interested in what I would order them to do than in the fact that the order would lead inevitably to their deaths.
“Bridget. Come here.”
She walked over.
“Tear out your own eyes and eat them.” I ordered her. It was kind of her thing, and I felt it only fair that she do it to herself at her own snuff.
Not only did she obey, she practically hurried to do it, gasping in sudden aroused fear and lust. These quickly gave way to short little screams as she dug her long, strong, sharp fingernails in around the sides and back of her eyes. Her breath came in shuddering, pained gasps as she braced for a second, and then she issued a guttural cry of agony as she wrenched those two unsettlingly baby-blue orbs clean out of her face with a gruesome wet noise and a lot of blood, blinding herself.
June rushed forward to support her as Bridget swayed on her feet, jerking and twitching from the shock and pain of what she'd just done, breathing heavily.
“Ahh.... h-holy shit... fuck... I never imagined... it was that intense... fuck...”
Again, she didn't hesitate. Into her mouth went the first eye, to be swallowed whole. I could see the lump it made in her throat, and almost feel the muscles working hard to push it down. The second, as was her habit, she crushed with her teeth before swallowing.
“Well done, slave. As a reward, you can eat June's too.”
June didn't even need prompting. Almost lovingly she took Bridget's hands and guided them to her face. Seconds later, a “Nnnnngh!” noise was forcing its way past her gritted teeth as Bridget's strong fingers violated her face. One of the bloody morsels was in Bridget's mouth even before the other had left the socket, and the other followed immediately. June sagged and collapsed against her partner, who wrapped an arm around her.
They were both beautiful, I realised. Their faces were masks pinched tight against the throbbing pain of their terrible wounds, coated in a mix of blood and tears. Despite being blind, they seemed to know exactly where the other one was as they leaned toward each other and their lips met. I could smell their excitement already.
“Girl soup tonight, folks!” I announced as I took their hands and led them to the stage. I gave instructions about what I wanted to the stage attendants and they rushed to grab what I'd requested from the storage room.
It was quite an extensive list. Girl Soup isn't as easy as just chucking a woman live and whole into a pot of boiling water, though we do do that... to kill them. Like boiling a lobster. So, the big glass boiling pot was wheeled out and positioned over the charcoal cooking pit, filled with a hose and the fire lit. That much water would take a long time to come to the boil, so I had the attendants working on the pot start preparing the other ingredients. A handful of stock cubes, plus an assortment of vegetables – potato, onion, carrot, the usual. I always prefer a thick stew sort of soup, so there would be lentils too, later, but for now those were left out to keep the mixture clear so everyone would be able to see inside when the time came.
The first step was a booster shot of steroids, to help counter the system shock of what I was about to do and keep my two precious girls alive and conscious right up until their boiling bath.
Strong twine was brought out, and I had the girls stand pressed right up against one another, so that every inch of their limbs and torsos were in contact. They laced their fingers together like intimate lovers, and the slightly shorter June stood with her feet between Bridget's, ankles touching. I didn't order them to make out, but they did so anyway. I took the twine and spent several long minutes wrapping it around and around them, tying them to each other so that they'd never separate again while living.
Their breasts looked delicious pressed together in between them, and I regretted slightly not slicing them off and grilling them there and then as hors'd'oeuvres. There's no sound quite like that made by a woman having her titties removed.
Instead, I laid them down on the floor of the stage. The wood of the stage is thick and sturdy, designed to double as a chopping block or cutting board. Unable to see, and wrapped up totally in their death-partner, the girls never knew about the cleaver I accepted from one of the attendants until I brought it crashing down and removed two feet simultaneously at the ankle.
The attendant on standby rushed forward with a glowing hot steel plate and pressed it to the stumps, cauterising them. June and Bridget both barely bit back on their screams, and were still gasping from the pain as I cruelly gave them no time to recover before taking the other feet off.
The feet were taken away to be washed and prepared for the pot. I considered taking their hands off as well, but decided that they looked so cute with their fingers laced together, giving each other comfort and strength, that they'd be better left attached for now.
My cock brushed against rope and skin as I worked, and I realised that I was almost painfully hard, and hyper sensitive. There was also the matter of seasoning to attend do.
“My dear people!” I announced “I need four volunteers to come up here and help me season the meat!”
Naturally, a lot more than four volunteered, so I picked the ones whose pricks looked about as hard and ready to blow as mine was. They climbed to the stage looking delighted at getting to fuck the meat one last time, and I invited them to enjoy both girls' pussies and assholes while I slipped my own meat in between June and Bridget's faces and accepted a double-blowjob from them.
The logistics of four men squeezing in to fuck four such closely-placed holes resulted in quite an intimate orgy at the far end. All four hard cocks might as well have been rubbing against each other. That's not a situation likely to phase a Club Moros man, though. Indeed, two of them started making out while they fucked June and Bridget senseless, and a third was staring at me in adulation, as if imagining that it was his lips that were coating my throbbing organ in a slick film of saliva and my own precum.
I didn't last long. I barely had time to know I was coming before my orgasm hit me, and I plunged my head into June's mouth while Bridget sucked and licked greedily on my twitching balls.
I allowed the other men to finish too, which they all did in due time. One by one they filled my girls with their semen and withdrew back into the marathon mass of debauchery that was happening on the club floor. Not a single person was going without, and I could clearly see that all of the remaining twenty-nine M-girls were busy with a cock or two inside them, or their tongue exploring another woman.
The pot, I noticed, was coming to the boil.
“Get me the Jaws,” I ordered, and smiled as Bridget and June both gasped. The Jaws are a set of modified “Jaws of Life”, as used by firefighters the world over to cut cars apart and free the victims. Ironically, they're one of the crueller tools in our arsenal, perfect for snipping a girl's limbs off but neither quick nor humane.
The modification is to their blades. Normally, a snuff-slave would die very quickly from blood loss after having a limb removed in such a crude fashion, so the blades are heated to the temperature of a frying pan or griddle. Not enough to glow, but more than hot enough to sear the flesh they pass through and cauterise it. And of course, the added sensation of burning flesh makes them that much more wicked to use on a person.
The hydraulic pump in the Jaws makes a distinctive noise, and the girls heard it when I took it off the assistant and turned it on. Both being masochists, they were already pretty high off the amputation of their feet and their mutual blindness, and the sound that heralded something bigger getting taken off them made them both pay attention.
“What do you think, girls?” I asked them. “Where should I start?” I touched the hot tip of the jaws to June's buttocks, where it hissed and made her yelp.
“Oooh, do our tits, master.” Bridget begged “I've wanted to feel what that's like for years.”
In the face of such an earnest request, I could hardly refuse. I took a knife and cut away some of the bindings around their bodies, but left their arms and legs tied. Now with free access to those lovely tits, I grabbed one of Bridget's pierced nipples and pulled, until her breast was stood well proud of her chest. I guided June's head forward and down until she was able to take the piercing between her teeth and hold it for me. She did so eagerly, sucking on Bridget's steel-hard nipple as she held it ready to be taken off.
With the Jaws spread as wide as possible, I manoeuvred them into position until Bridget's taut boob was right in the trap. Bridget's breath was ragged in her throat and I could see from the pulse in her neck that her heart must have been hammering like it was trying to jump out of her rib cage.
When they closed, the Jaws first settled against the soft flesh without piercing, but with the distinctive hiss of cooking meat. Bridget threw her head back, her empty eye sockets screwed closed and an expression of incredible pain on her face, but she didn't issue a sound. As they closed further, the tit compressed, and then split open under the enormous crushing pressure. It took only a few seconds for the Jaws to close completely, and Bridget's tit was suddenly swinging by the nipple piercing from June's mouth.
Bridget finally made a noise: she gasped, her whole body trembling like a leaf.
“Oh holy fuck, that was amazing. Do the other one.” she demanded.
How could I refuse? I dialled the tool right down to its slowest setting and repeated her debreasting on the other side. By the end, smoke and steam were curling up from the roughly circular burn scars where her breasts had been, and the air smelled of cooked human flesh. I whispered instructions to one of the assistants and he took the two quivering tits away to slice and grill them.
To my astonishment, Bridget actually came, stimulated to orgasm by the pain alone. I'd heard of it happening, but never witnessed it myself before.
June's own mammaries were far too small to use the Jaws on, but I was determined that whatever I did to Bridget, she'd experience too. Besides, as fascinatingly brutal as the Jaws are to use, they aren't a patch on feeling the twitch and jerk of flesh as it parts beneath a sharp blade.
A set of ceramic carving knives and a cutting board were brought to me. Each was better than razor-sharp, and stored in a rack that kept them heated to the same cooking temperature as the Jaws. I pulled June's right boob taut and pinched it to the wood of the board firmly, causing her to gasp in discomfort. With my other hand, I whipped one of the blades from the rack and set to work before it could cool.
Being incredibly sharp, the knife made short work of her flesh, and June's right tit was sliced off in a single stroke, which produced a shriek from her. It was a shriek of pain, yes, but in beautiful contrast to Bridget's silent enjoyment it was also a wild, carnal cry. June was getting off on her mutilation just as much as her co-snuffee was and sure enough, when I took the second tit off with a much slower and more deliberate stroke, June's whole body twitched in a way that wasn't entirely a pain response.
“Oh... wow.” she mumbled when the power of speech returned to her.
“Intense!” Bridget agreed readily. Her eyes were long gone of course, but I could picture the way they'd be shining with excitement right now if she'd still had them.
“You want more, slaves?” I asked, my voice full of loving benevolence as I tied their bodies back together.
“Master, yes!” that was June, her voice raising half an octave in girlish excitement.
“Then you'll have more. And worse!” I scooped up the Jaws again and nodded at my assistants.
Four sets of Jaws were brought to life with a hum of hydraulic pumps, and the girls had just enough time to realise what was going on before their arms and legs had all been caught in a set of Jaws.
Set on the slowest speed, the Jaws took almost a full minute to completely sever their arms, and forty seconds more to do the legs. I had chosen to do one set of arms – June's right and Bridget's left. Both girls spent the whole process incoherent. Unable to move properly, unable to follow the overwhelming instinct to struggle and try and escape the source of their pain they thrashed and strained at their bondage. Bridget stared empty-eyed at the ceiling and gave voice to a keening wail of pure torment.
For the first time, her face betrayed fearful horror at what was happening to her. June instead turned her face into the older girl's neck, gritting her teeth and voicing her pain only as an “Nnnnngh!”. Tears ran from the bloody ruin of her eyes, leaving a pink track across her cheeks, and I could see the muscles in her shoulders moving as she tried to wrap the same arms that were being torn from her body around Bridget for comfort.
Eventually the last pair of legs fell away, leaving two denuded torsos bound intimately together. I let them both recover, and they spent a minute or two gasping and crying as the seared nerve endings around their terrible injuries shut down for good, lessening the pain.
I hadn't been sure if they would both survive the simultaneous quadruple amputation, but was pleased to discover that they had. Even as I watched, the tension left what few remained of June's visible muscles, and she lifted her head from the hollow of Bridget's neck. Blindly, she sought out a kiss and was rewarded when Bridget's tongue slipped wetly past her lips.
“Fuck, I wish I could finger myself right now” June whispered when their lips parted.
“I know.” Bridget replied “That was... unbelievable.”
I didn't need any further invitation... or any invitation at all really. My cock was as hard as a hammer-handle again, and without any further ado I rolled the girls over so that Bridget was on top, and shoved myself into her soaking cunt, which was slick with her own flowing juice and the cum of the last man to fuck her.
June seemed a little disappointed when I grabbed a handful of Bridget's hair and pulled on it, yanking the brunette's head back out of reach of June's questing lips. I compensated her by transferring my dick into her pussy and started fingering Bridget instead.
June giggled. It was a girlish, carefree noise that didn't match the ruined condition of her once-flawless body at all.
“We're putting on a hell of a show, aren't we?”
“We are... mmm...” Bridget agreed. “Too bad... mm.... too bad we'll never get to watch the replay.”
“It, ah! Oooh, it wouldn't be the same, would it?”
I laughed at that, and slapped Bridget's ass, hard.
“You sound like you're actually enjoying it.” I teased. My cock glistened with a mixture of male and female love juices as I pulled it out of June and pushed it back into Bridget's pussy again.
“Master, you've got to take Miss Janet up on that offer someday.” Bridget purred happily. “This is so intense.”
June just moaned an affirmative as I teased her pussy and asshole both with my right hand.
“Fuuuuck.... Seriously. Being a Victim is way better than being a Client.”
I smiled. “You really want to die, don't you?”
“Fuck yes.” June moaned.
“Uuuuhmmm... You have no idea.”
Bridget actually laughed. “So much, I wish you'd stop fucking me so we can get to the good part.”
I glanced at the pot. It was simmering away beautifully now. Any girl – or what was left of one, at least – that went in there would die pretty quickly, but I couldn't begin to imagine how much it would hurt. I'd seen girls boil before. Heck, I'd seen Bridget lower two or three M-girls into the soup herself. Every last one of them had gone out wearing expressions of pain and terror to match Fujiko's ordeal on the spike at Christmas. And they were all but begging for it.
Then again, Bridget and June both had already endured some incredibly sadistic acts with every sign of enjoyment.
I smiled maliciously
“The best things...” I reminded them teasingly.
I'm quite proud to say that I lasted for another thirty minutes, and brought both girls to climax multiple times. Finally, though, I simply couldn't hold out any longer, and graced them equally – darling, beautiful young June who I'd waited for since her twelfth birthday and Bridget, easily the most beloved of my M-girls - with the last ejaculation either of them would feel, which I shot onto their outstretched tongues.
They were still swapping my seed in a messy kiss when I snapped the Collars on. These devices are thick rolls of soft, padded leather that allow us to hang a person by the neck without cutting off their air completely. Perfect for, say, winching two limbless women into the air and positioning them over a pot of seething hot water on the boil. They serve a doubly useful role in keeping the head above water, preserving it against the boiling heat.
Sensing the wash of heat and steam from below, the two entered a frenzy of delighted lovemaking, wrapping their lips around each other jubilantly as they ground against each other. I'm not sure they even heard me bid them a very fond goodbye before I pushed the button and they plunged into the vat of roiling hot soup.
They did die quickly, and their last expressions showed that they suffered the absolute limit of what a mortal can be made to endure. But there was no fear. When I pulled them out a few minutes later and removed their heads to have them mounted on my wall, I observed that beneath the pain, both girls were smiling.
After they had been appropriately cleaned out, the girls' carcasses and limbs went back into the pot until their meat had completely disintegrated off the bones. With some seasoning and my pick of the ingredients, the resulting soup was delicious. It's easy to overpower the delicate taste of human meat if you're not careful, but this time it came out perfect. I even fancied when I chewed on soft meaty lump from my bowl later, that I could distinguish which girl it had come from.
It was the perfect end to their lives, and I further commemorated them by having their finger bones made into a necklace. But their real enduring legacy – the thing for which I now have the most cause to thank them – is that they persuaded me to take the plunge and give myself to Janet.
And that's all I have
Prettydead, you are amazing.