P R O L O G U E
The War was not a pretty one. There is no pretty war but The War started out pretty, in that it was relatively bloodless with a few bombings and mostly protests.
But then the government was dominated by a single theocratic faction, and committed genocide like the world had never seen before. Missiles launched from satellites destroyed millions residing in ghettos instantly, millions more were locked up.
Former allies knew something had to be done; They equipped and trained the remnants of the previous government and whoever would join them, and even sent in their own Special Forces. Rival superpowers took their chance and armed their own proxies with massive numbers of cheap but effective weapons.
The theocrats found they had been both outnumbered by one revolutionary faction, numbering tens of millions of hardened soldiers, and outgunned by the other.
It was at this time that the rival superpowers marched on their circumstantial allies with legions, and a single nation's civil war turned into an even bloodier World War.
When the smoke cleared generations later, there were no victors.
"I TOLD YOU TO LAUNCH A L L OF THEM!" General Crut hammered his fists on the ceramic table.
"That would've been overkill, we can now counter-" Admiral Hurker favored safe bets, wearing out the opponent cost-effectively.
"Boys, boys." Mr. President held his left hand up, "So their missiles took out our own. We have more."
He stood up and turned to face the largest monitor; it showed countless corpses strewn among rubble. Drones gunned down whoever ran.
"I'm glad I have both of you to even each other out." Crut always demanded quick action. Hurker favored safe bets, wearing out the opponent cost-effectively. The general came from a backwoods redneck family that used a paddle, but the admiral grew up classier, with a rich family that favored a cane. Both descended from military lineage. Both were men of faith. Both made no secret they wanted to gut the other.
Meanwhile, across the ocean...
"I can't believe we have to thank those brutes for this." A Prime Minister spoke to her advisers.
"They did it for self-interest." A political strategist stated the obvious, "Just assure the public we need to work with them and that we're willing to."
"They're going to march on us as soon as they can." Admiral Yehch contemplated the fleet they were sending. "Damn the Americans, they got themselves into this mess."
"We've had an arrangement with their intelligence services." The Prime Minister spoke.
"And they cannot be trusted, spying on YOU!"
She was about to respond but her corded phone rang. "Send them in." Moments later, 2 Russian men walked in. They stood like statues, saying nothing.
"Well!" Yehch glared. One Russian walked to the Prime Minister and handed her photos.
Her eyes went wide and she covered her mouth. "You monsters..." A girl, naked and crying, had a bloody back and a plank of wood holding her wrists and neck in midair, her feet flung outward from a fire beneath her. "Why show me this?"
"We want you to see what you friends do." The man informed her and took back the photos. "Yes, that is the resistance's doing." Resistance? The minister didn't know there already was one, the raining missiles were such a shock. "A girl who, growing up as she did, might've had every reason to shoot little black boys." The Prime Minister already felt sick to her stomach and now had trouble not puking.
"So," The minister paused, "you've shot down their satellites. You had missiles aimed at them and men ready to fire. How did you get these photos? How is there a revolutionary backlash already? Most Americans don't already know what is going on."
"Oh, we've had Americans at every angle inviting us over for their parties. A hillbilly who hates us will still tell us everything for the price of a truck. Or a little girl to call him 'daddy.'"
"Get out." Yehch didn't give a damn any more about the Prime Minister's authority.
"The Americans will starve your fleets. They will encircle you and shoot down any resupply. You cannot win this."
"So why are you here?" Yehch wanted an end. He needed to know how.
As quickly as police and national guard forces were deployed to where they were needed most, agents who had forewarning opened caches of weapons; even young boys and girls were handed rifles and grenades, if they could use them, and were instructed what positions to fire from and when to retreat. Most did not hold ground well but more than expected made effective combatants. They were not effective subordinates, however.
Finding a surviving teacher who gave him detention for skipping class, Ryan and his crew held the 23 year old down and stripped her. The took hammers to her shins and forearms and drilled holes in her knees. She thrashed about and the hellions nearly jizzed themselves clutching the squirming nude woman to the gravel parking lot.
Down just a few blocks, a small goth girl, Sceia, was the only survivor of the squad trusted to one revolutionary agent. Mostly made of adults, they were sent into the fray many times over. Police captains quickly realized they were a key threat and dispatched SWAT teams to circle and starve them. They didn't know there was a double agent who gave warnings, but when they did, he was executed and his 13- and 17- year old daughters were stripped naked made to march through a burning gauntlet of poison ivy and frightened hornets. Sceia saw the scene and videos their deaths with her phone, posting it to social media and titled it "What the police do when they can." She saw the double agent's wife being held upside down from a roof to witness her daughter's painful demise, and once they had been stung and burned to death, she was dropped. Her skull cracked in 3 pieces and her neck snapped. Contemplating anyone peoples' misery, Sceia thought to headshot them but realized it would give her position away. Spotting the hellions through her scope, she decided to do just that. She relocated, fired and ran, deceiving both her former classmates who bullied her and the police who did the same, even groping her on one occasion, into confronting each other. The police slaughtered the youngsters with one casualty of their own, and Sceia sniped the pig who grabbed her butt years ago when she was 11. It was worth the risk. A rocket exploded close to her general position but wasn't sufficiently aimed, perhaps the recoil was too much. A 2nd shot would be more accurate so she ran and jumped from a window on the other side, landing on dumpster from which she saw rivers of corpses. She was right, the room she just fled from let out a blast of concussive force and thermal energy. She noticed sentries in the streets on both sides of the alley but they were preoccupied with the commotion down the street, contemplating if they should assist or run the other way. She took her chance and sprinted to a car. A bleeding man lay inside, breathing heavy and coldly. He caught her eyes and after what felt like forever, silently handed her his wallet through the shattered window and lay silently, then stopped breathing. Gunfire drummed in the distance and she took another chance, sprinting to the other alley.
A drone pilot spotted her and informed a commander, who relayed the information to field command. She was swift enough and fled to tunnels that were no man's land, being too risky for either side and already contested. She found charred corpses and a little girl crying with her arm shot off.
Across the nation, similar scenes played out.
"RYAN GRATOS!" A police chaplain called out. He stepped up and held his arms forward with anticipation. 3 weeks ago, his brat gang was slaughtered by police that left him to bleed to death. Now here he was, having recuperated and completed training, working with police. Police that he had constant run- ins with. Police that believed in what they were doing and had their own ethical quandaries to deal with.
"I know we've had our differences, but I see you as an equal now." One who constantly seemed out to get him tried to remedy their differences.
"We will never be equals." Ryan spat, "I'm better than you. Simple." Now here he was a day later, getting a fucking laser gun. He dreamed about having one as a kid but now wondered why a fucking laser, and was it worth it? The nerds he taunted now teased him that he was actually fucked. He really didn't dislike them, he made sure his buddies went easy on the weaker ones who couldn't stand their shit. But he couldn't blame them for making him uneasy and wanted reassurance that it really was cool.
"No, it's got better range and that's all the good it does for you. The real advantage is it doesn't cost the people giving it to you shit to resupply. Bullets aren't so cheap." He had to admit it made sense, even if they were destroyed by grenades now and then and were pricier up front. Thinking back to the previous day's conversations, he holstered his rifle at his side and stepped back in line.
Sceia stood next to him, wondering if he had any idea she led him to his probable death and the loss of all his close friends. She twiddled the old man's wallet in her pocket, thinking back on him. Some stranger in a car, wrong place and wrong time, giving his last gift in the hopes it would help her. She needed to know about him, but it could wait. But not for this, she had better things to do than a stupid ceremony.
"HEY! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING!" The chaplain yelled out.
"I have shit to do."
"Stand down, let her leave." A higher rank who had previously not said a word told the chaplain, who glared at her and then nodded.
She could smell the corpses that had been cleared out. How many had died in just minutes? The smell was unbearable, but one grim-yet-careless friend seemed unfazed. "Oh god." There was a little girl someone missed. Dead in the corner, just poking out from under a car. It reminded her of the girl she saved just 3 weeks ago, surrounded by charred corpses.
"Ehehg, ehghwaghrr..." Crying off in the distance. Sceia looked around, realizing she had been walking for some distance and stupidly unobservant of her surroundings. Luckily, it was a very stormy day and drones were unlikely to spot her, plus sentries were stationed to give warning and EU allies had finally arrived. But could this be a trap? Surely, the military coup could have sneaked Seals or Rangers past the Resistances' defenses.
It was a grown man. He didn't notice her and she stood still, wondering what he might do if she was spotted. Eventually she was and she reflectively pulled her newly issued laser-rifle and pointed at him, while he instantly scuttled to the corner and held his hands up, wide-eyed, yelling "NO PLEASE!" but she panicked and instinctively fired, though she flinched and missed. He sprinted from the wall to a door to her left/his right.
"Oh my god I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! Who are you, I'm sorrr, really, I'm really sorry!"
"Please I don't want to hurt anyone, I'll do anything just don't kill me!" His voice was deep for someone shouting so rapidly, but very desperate.
"Please, I'm just a scared girl, I was given a gun and I'm scared like you." There was a pause filled with only their heavy breathing, "Please, come out with your hands on your head," She gulped, hating how she sounded like a damn cop- how she hated those damn pigs! "...and let's just talk. Please."
He stepped out from around the corner, looking down to the side, slowly raising his head and looking at her only in his peripheral vision.
"Why are you crying?"
"My family is dead." He pointed to the door, "I dragged their corpses there and put them all in a bed together." He sniffled and rubbed his nose, his left hand still holding his hair, "I'm going to join them."
P R O O M . . . They both ducked. "What was that?" Sceia asked.
"It sounded like an explosion far away. We're being shelled.
"AHHHHH AHHH AHH AH AH AHAHAHAH AHHHHAAAHGGHHHHhh... ow. ah"
Ryan's new friend was fine some seconds ago, but now was a charred corpse.
P B A M MM !! !
A couple of cars exploded nearby, shrapnel hitting his fellow soldiers in their limbs and torsos, and one was left grazed on his forehead, suddenly feeling a migraine worse than withdrawal he ever had.
"AHHOWWAww!!" Ryan looked at the nearest victim several dozen meters away. That could've been him, and probably would be some day soon. Bones were everywhere. Eyes flung from skulls that were flung from torsos flung from limbs. He almost stepped on an eye.
"FIRE! FOR FUCK'S SAKE MEN! FIRE!" At what?! Their commander was not directing them towards any target and there was nothing to shoot at, as far as their own eyes could tell. Firing randomly at the enemy, Ryan remembered another advantage to his laser; It wouldn't give his position away to the enemy. Not without special detection, his nerdier friends had told him.
He quickly realized a disadvantage when an enemy soldier became apparent and they all shot at him, but the birck wall he took cover behind, as well as his helmet and armor, left him impervious to infantry lasers. A sniper got him in the head, gushing blood everywhere around the headless corpse.
The old shivering man cowered behind Sceia.
"Oh my... no. no. NO!" The French sniper turned to the American with an assault rifle, "What? What am I looking at? Why are children in cages?"
"PLEASE LET US GO WE'LL DO ANYTHING!" A small girl cried. She was nude and hardly hitting puberty.
"This isn't your concern."
"I didn't know about this."
"You were a part of the deal, you knew what was up."
"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU MEANT RAPING CHILDREN!"
"IT WASN'T ME! WE NEEDED THEM OR IT WAS OUR ASSES IN A FIRE!"
"PLEASE BEFORE THE BAD WOMAN COMES BACK!"
"What bad woman?"
Sceia had trouble making out the voices, she could only see the silhouettes of the French sniper and an American with a more typical gun. She didn't yet know the man spoke French.
"I give her these girls to experiment on, and she gives us better weapons. The canisters I used, issued not by our generals, but some rich spoiled lady who liked her boy toys and girls." The Frenchman slapped him. He glared at him for a moment then power-punched him in the nose, "Eat frog legs, coward." The Frenchman kneed him in the face and they both grappled, their noses bleeding on each other.
"PLEASE STOP! WE WANT TO GO HOME!" The kids in cages cried as the other troops pulled the fighting men apart.
Suddenly the room was filled with a clanging sound and an instant later, the sound was replaced with thick smoke. Everyone was coughing but the French troops had gas masks they pulled over the faces as they took cover. They saw the Americans getting gunned down by well-armored mercenaries wearing no logos, just glistening black armor. Their native comrades were all dead in seconds and they returned fire, killing whatever mercenaries that weren't able to flee.
Sceia and the old man ran down some distance, far away. She saw Ryan and some others aiming their guns and looking around desperately. She hid in a dark, quiet room. She saw the smoke clear on the end she just came from heard French. Figuring her allies had won, she sneaked towards them and saw them shushing the smaller children as they freed them from cages.
"This is disgusting."
"No shit. This is war..."
"War isn't always like this. These are savages."
"Savages and we're on their side..."
"Quiet I say!"
"I'm not on their side, just against other barbari- oh god."
"Qui- what?" The French captain paused and looked at the tables covered in small skinless corpses. One writhed in unliving agony.
BAM BAM BAM BAMBAMBAM the room was alternating black and flashing bright. Sceia passed out.
"You stupid Americans." The Russian shoved one back, "You don't know what it takes." He laughed. "Trust the foolish British and Germans, they'll get you out of your mess."
"Shouldn't we-" a scrawny American wearing glasses pointed at the Russian's bleeding wounds, but stopped when the bleeding Russian took a cigar from an American next to him, bulkier than anyone else there, and put it out on his bullet wound. "But... the bullet."
"What? Do you want it?"
Admiral Hurker walked through his corridors, many women on display, facing the wall, their hands on their head, their bodies shaking, and their asses red. He grabbed one pretty redhead's fat rear and fingered her pussy. Maybe she would've enjoyed it if she didn't associate it only with a coming punishment. "Ehahkg!" She tried to hold in her sniffling but it burst out with snot. "OW! OW OW OWWW!" She jumped around 180 degrees but was held back in place by him holding her neck with his left hand as he spanked her and slapped her thighs, then spun her around and held her arms in the air above her head and smacked her bell as she begged for mercy "Please sir I'm sorry I'll be still!"
"Prove it." He kept slapping her body.
Meanwhile, a dozen miles away, General Crut looked down at the pussy and anus presented before him, a lovely ass raised in the air, hoisted over a wooden fence with nails in the top piercing her already smacked belly. A curly-haired brunette with a red ass and a paddled bottom, her feet and palms were held out to be slapped with rulers as his wife inserted needles into the young girl's anus and cunt. He continued to paddle the begging 18 year old who eventually could hardly gasp for breath. After his fun, he stepped back and sat in his makeshift throne, watching his minions drip calculated amounts of kerosene over her legs, particularly drenching her bottom, hands, and feet.
"No, no please sir please don't do this, I'll wash your dishes on time I swear! OHHhhhoohhhnooohhhho!"
"I suppose it could wait." He thought about the thin trail of fire down her legs, back, and arms, connecting the large swathes of flames on her giant ass to her flailing feet and hands.
"THANK YOU SO MUCH SIR!" Her needled cunt and anus twitched with anticipation and her entire body shook wildly, especially her giant vibrating butt that made such a tempting target.
"Mrs. Crut," He addressed his wife, "Please insert more needles, into her back and thighs."
"NO NO NO NONONONONONOOOO NO PLEASE MISS DON'T NO PLEASE! AH AHH AHHHHHHH AH OWWAHAHKKEEEEEEKAH AHOWWW!"
"Silent." His wife spanked her sharply, causing her to jut her butt up and spasm her anus, the needles gaining more of an effect, especially the ones between her anus and cheeks.
"More needles. Cover her."
"Oh god no!" The good Christian girl meant it towards her deity as a prayer.
"Taking the Lord's name in vain?!" Crut's pious nephew grabbed his bow and quiver, being well versed in archery, "May I, Uncle?"
"Please teach this naughty brat a lesson." The bare spanking he gave her as she did the dishes she had been slow to do hadn't been lesson enough but wasn't as lenient as she hoped for. His nephew launched several arrows into her bottom, then her thighs.
Her entire body- face, ass, legs, arms, back, belly- was all covered in needles, and her ass and thighs had arrows jutting out of them as well. The flammable liquid was running over her, and it was time to light it. After an hour or five. Midnight rolled around, and everyone was gathered.
She was burned exactly as he imagined, her needled and slapped limbs flailing in the smokey air above her. Her ass, previously the highest point of her body, was till raised above her head, anchored to the ground by a thick rope tied to heavy weights. She was a squirming X of bleeding fire and metal.
"Know that you will go to Hell, having died in rightful pain and disgrace, you incompetent, pathetic thing" His words were the last thing that stuck in her ears along with her own screaming, and she felt only pain, disgrace, and terror.
Both Admiral Hurker and General Crut knew it was their destiny to do even worse things to each other.
T.V. Reporter Gets Kidnapped
1 Year after 4F
"Hi, you're watching FUKS4NEWS!" The blonde anchorwoman cheerfully smiled at the camera then turned to the brown-haired man at her right.
"We have quite some news today. In the previously BCMA-held region of Durlot, California, SCAF initiated a coup and ousted their former allies from most of the center. The Black Christians and Muslims Alliance pages on social media are swearing to launch a counter attack and retake ground, while Spiritual Colored Army of Feminists are taunting them and posting videos of their victory celebration."
The television program showed shots of comments made by blue- and red- haired black girls with scars, tattoos, and piercings retorting statements of indignation next to profile pics of pastors and other scarred girls with dyed hair and tats but wearing crosses. Then low-quality videos of people encircling a fire and swaying back and forth.
"For more, Alice Von Braiche." The televisions in bars and homes across the nation showed a younger blue-eyed woman with straight black hair step forward to the camera, National Guardsmen of various races standing behind her, a couple with grenade launchers.
"H-" An explosion interrupted her. Smoke filled the room. Gunfire erupted. Smoke cleared, the camera had been knocked down, showing her lying flat and looking about like a scared cat.
A rod jutted out from shadows and yanked her into an unseen room. Coarse voices muttered to each other as one spoke clearly "see what happens on our-"
"WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTY!"
"My ass they are." A bartender spoke to a client he just handed a drink.
"I'm checking out their pages now, I want to know what's going on. Damn the news censoring this, I want to know." The customer replied, anxiously pulling out his phone. "Well shit.
People asked him for the pages and he told them a website, what program to download. People used to dismiss his advice to get special programs, now they listened when he said normal browsers simply wouldn't do.
There was a live-stream of Alice crying and squirming but held in place, her arms stretched out before her, her left leg kicking the floor and her right being held down with a 5-pronged pitchfork pressed into her ankle.
"What a pretty one you are." A wispy voice floated from a shadowy man that knelt by her and gently held her face, rubbing her cheek. She looked up at him and screamed, his face and other arm out of the camera's view.
"Pleasse let me gooohohhhg.." She whined, her eyes dimming from wide to squinting as the pain flushed back in and increased her distress.
The camera was held back and pointed out a window. At least a hundred well-armored men and women wielding AK-47's and 74's, a couple of Uzis, and one with a shotgun were standing guard in the street below and on another rooftop.
"For General Sherro."
"FOR GENERAL SHERRO!" The live video showed the new cameraman's arm raised forward as he shouted and the well-equipped mercenaries returning the gesture. Emili Azul Sherro's troops were always fearsome to behold. She looked for morale and skill in her troops and had the money to equip them. Signing for her was like selling your soul.
Every recruit had to prove his or her worth- especially bravery. Sherro knew it didn't matter how many men you had if they all panicked and fled the instant they were attacked. She would take in the physically weak and strengthen them- if they could brave flames. She'd take the fat, if they could play at least a single game of Russian Roulette and then put with needles in their own limbs.
Those who proved themselves found that pain tolerance was priority number one for training. "Life Hurts and Everyone Dies" was their motto. You had to basically worship her to join, but it was worth it... if you survived.
The camera turned back from the street to face Alice- much further from her now. The man who caressed her was still kneeling, now joined by 3 ladies in bulletproof black masks. Not a trace of their skin showed but their very feminine figures did. They were chest heavy and curvy, with wide hips and slender waists. One had long soft blonde, straight and silky, flowing over her trenchcoat, another had jet-black hair that was just soft and silky but behind her in a pony-tail. The slenderest of them stood in the middle, just inches shorter but still tall and intimidating, and took off her mask. It was the Witch-Goddess herself. Anarchist-General Emili A. Sherro
She was not visually unlike the reporter, at first glance. Both had black straight hair and bright eyes, though Emili's were green and her hair was shorter and slick, covering her face but not reaching her shoulders. She stepped over the shadowy man and on Alice's back.
Anonymous 29-Nov-16 05:13 # 7960 Up to top Down to bottom
"Cut her clothes off." Emili stomped Alice's spine, holding back so to not break it.
"What no! Please!" Alice squeaked in pain, which Emili met with laughter.
"Is that enough to scare you? Being naked and some bruises." Her expression changed to contempt. "You're pathetic!" She spat on Alice's face, just over her ear. It ran down her hair and over her eyes. "Spit on her! Spit on her back! Piss on asshole!" She stomped on her face and pressed deeply, and Alice could feel all her clothes being pulled from her and spiky grooves under the boot stomping around on her back, then splattering drops of spit her back.
A knife was shoved under her green panties and sawed through them and the top of her pants, before her panties were yanked away and shoved in her mouth as her pants were pulled down her legs. The man holding a pitchfork in her ankle stepped on her pants, vertically posting the pronged staff in her leg, and used his other hand to undo his zipper and aim his cock. Alice's shaking knees drummed the floor as her butt wiggled temptingly in the air, reflexively and without any of her own conscious input.
Emili sharply punched the shaded man with a wispy voice in his chest, "DON'T GET ANY ON ME!" He looked back with wide eyes of fear and nodded, kneeling to spit more accurately. She pet his thick hair as light gleamed in his reflective steel collar, she then grabbed it to yank him back just as urine from the other man splattered between Alice's buttocks and then into her asshole.
Her arms were pressed to the ground by 2 cloaked figures, spitting and drooling on her, drinking various heavy liquors. With one foot still on Alice's face, Emili stomped on her right elbow.
"Her arm! Raise it! Snap her elbow in half!"
He obeyed and lifted her hand, pushing her wrist towards the general's knee.
"GYAAAHH!" A high-pitched squeal left her circled lips as she could only feel pain in her right elbow and ankle, then the pain on her back and face returned. Her vision wass blurred but she could strongly smell smoke and everyones' body. After some moments, she regained sensations of her anus being filled and rapidly pushed around by piss, along with the crevice of her ass being splattered and reflecting a wall of urine in a semicircle that landed on her thighs and back. Her eyes faced her still-unbroken arm and she could see only nothing else except the man holding it.
"Tear it off!"
Her arm was still in great pain, but it became sharper when it was twisted. It multiplied her agony with every rotation and soared when Emili's henchman jabbed his fingernails into the started tearing away bits to weaken it for him to pull off completely, holding Alice's wrist with both hands and pushing his feet into the ground, losing his balance and almost flying backwards when it tore off and her bones showed.
"EEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHAAAAAA" Alice gasped, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH" She couldn't breathe, "AH" She gasped but no air came in, "ah.... uh." She tried desperately to inhale.
"Time for a belly slapping." Emili stepped off Alice's body and stood on her hair. "Flip her over. Show the world her lovely boobs." They were nice. The man with a wispy voice held one arm under Alice and put the other on her ribs to flip her over. The man with a pitchfork leaped sideways, having emptied his bladder, and shoved the top of the pitchfork to the ground, yanking her right leg over her left. The man holding her left arm released and let it flail helplessly, forming a fist and pathetically pounding Emili's armored shins and boots. Her left arm got scrapped against the dusty granite floor and was noticeably hurt like most of her body, but not in hellish agony like her right arm or ankle.
Her boobs had also been scraped and bounced wildly upon release. The pressure of such breasts being pressed into hard granite by an entire human left them purple, and the sudden friction of being yanked in rotation essentially slashed sections of skin.
"Everyone, slap her belly!" Emili commanded, "Spank her! Smack her thighs!"
The 4 men obeyed, drumming their palms on her tummy and ass, 2 of them holding an ankle in the air and claiming a leg.
"YES! HAHA" Emili licked her lips seeing this, "SKIN HER!" She put her hands in her pants and started masturbating. Alice's unimaginable agony made her sure she would die from the pain alone.
The pitchfork-wielder removed it and pulled skin off from the shattered ankle to her waist, tearing from the side of her ass and hip. The man-who-no-longer-held-her-left-arm picked up where the man-no-longer-holding-a-pitchfork left off, grabbing skin from the wound and running a line from her ribs to her right shoulder, then down her arms.
"Pull on her legs! PULL HER FROM THE HAIR ON HER HEAD! The four men pulled with all their might, digging their feet in the ground and pushing themselves away from Alice while maintaining iron grips on her skinless legs.
A thick trail of blood slid from her back and pooled around her, swamping her thick hair. Strands of dangling skin followed, flowing from where they were still connected like yarn taped to a suffering toy. Emili lit a cigar and ignited the spots of alcohol that was spat on her arms, burning some strands off. Pieces of her scalp tore off and and clumps of hair stuck to Emilie's boots. Her breasts dangled around, swaying back towards her face- as if her own nipples stared into her eyes- as she was dragged, then bouncing forward and smacking her bloodied ribs and belly when her scalp quit and she was yanked her from own hair. Her tits bounced forward and back several times, eliciting laughter from everyone in view of the camera plus several others, as well as many shadier viewers enjoying the footage.
Alice thrashed about, flailing wildly. Her torso jutted up and her blood-crowned head crunched forward- only the hairline remaining of her once-lush locks. Her left arm smacked the floor several times, swinging up and slamming down, and what was left of her right arm rotated wildly as she sprang her chest side to side, swinging her boobies with them.
"I love how your titties dance as you suffer!" Emili kicked one, causing the screaming professional to jut to the side, expanding her ribs on one side but crunching the other, which Emilie quickly took the opportunity to stomp on multiple times in just seconds. She did the same to the other side, even focusing on Alice's solar plexus and already-spanked belly.
Alice jetted her chest from side to side, twisting and begging, blocking as best she could with her left arm, with sharply put pressure on the bone jutting from her right elbow and causing her to helpless fall back on her shoulders. Emili stomped on her breasts, kicking them and smushing her boots around Alice's nipples until their turns came. The nipples were sliced off before the rest of the breast was skinned. Most of her skin had been removed, but her vagina was left.
"Give me her ankles!" She held them high and apart as the camera focused on the 2 ladies, then zoomed in on Alice's genitals, "Take all the skin off her! Her belly! Her back! And her neck! Yes, even her cunt!" Alice thrashed wildly, screaming or inhaling quickly when she wasn't choking on pain. Her breasts dangled above her, occasionally hitting her chin, glaring her in the eyes and pouring blood in them.
"Cut her ovaries out! Cut her clitoris off! I want her girlhood! Give it to me! It's mine now!" Emili laughed viciously, "I WILL KEEP YOU IN JARS!" She stepped on Alice's skinless neck then stomped down several times. The high-definition video zoomed on Alice's bare pussy being skinned, the unshaven but visible vagina being sliced away after a knife was shoved in one side, then circled around. The clit was sliced away and handed to Emili, who released one ankle and pocketed Alice's clit and pubic skin.
Emili stepped away and buried the pitchfork pointing-up in a potted plant, before shoving Alice's ass on it upside down as she bled. It poked through her meaty-but-skinless asscheeks and her left arms sprang down to hold her up, but her arm gave in and she dangled helpless and pathetically in midair, her bottom slowly being torn from itself. She shook as violently as possible, even before Emili's 2 female bodyguards stepped forward to cut out Alice's innards- first taking her ovaries, uterus, and prolapsed anus, then gutting stomach open and pulling out intestines.
Alice's final moments were spent blinded by her own blood- feeling herself be paraded down a street and planted in a garden, doused in gasoline, and incinerated before the last blood left her head- flailing in pain and panic the whole time. Emili and her 2 bodyguards hammered the charred corpse's cranium and broke apart her skull- leaving her face broken but somewhat recognizable, being the only part of her body with skin left- and put Alice's cooked brain where her vagina used to be, nesting it at her crispy pelvis, at the bottom of her spine where her asshole used to be. She was essentially a statue that decorated the city garden for until she decomposed. Ravens, vultures, and crows picked at her, feasting on the bugs that called her home. Flies infested her with maggots.
She was a hideously wretched sight- but her waist was still thin, her hips wide. The hair from her head draped over her brain, her intestines over her chin, and her rectum and ladies parts in jars on Emili's bedside drawer.