/rp/ - Role-playing

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In recent years, it seems like “Kill the Above” threads have cluttered up this section; and I will admit to being largely responsible for most of it. So, I figured it would be prudent to try to gather these into as few threads as possible: three so far; one for teens and adults, one for children, and one for beasts/monsters.

Here’s the first thread.

Death Above

You have probably seen this enough times to know the gist of it, but I’ll explain for any newbies.

Poster 1 posts a character/characters and scenario.

Poster 2 writes a story in which Poster 1’s character is killed, based on Poster 1’s outline. Then Poster 2 creates their own character, and the next person repeats the process; and so on and so on.


1. All characters must be human, or closely resemble humans; elf ears and unusual skin tones are perfectly fine. No monsters, animals (anthropomorphic or otherwise), or other critters.

2. Characters must be at least thirteen years old. Immortal characters should not appear under thirteen, even if that person is hundreds of years old.

3. You may create multiple characters for your entry, but no more than ten at a time.

4. You may enter original characters or characters from pre-existing material; if you post a character from a show, game, etc, you must name the material that character is from.

5. Fill out a story for the previous entry before posting your own scenario. You may ignore this rule if the last post was made thirty days ago.

6. If your story is too long, you may post it in /lit/, or on another site, and post a link.

Character Template;

Description: (You may write out the character’s appearance or use an image. You may also post details about their personality, if you choose.)
Type of Death: (Optional: Is it an execution, random murder, assassination, suicide, combat-related death, or something else? Leave blank if you want the person writing the story to decide.)

If you’re using multiple characters;

Character 1

Character 2

Character 3


Type of Death:


Name: Laura Smith
Age: 23
Description: See Pic
Type of Death: Assassination
Scenario: Laura sits alone in her apartment.


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Forgot Pic


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Name: Reffa
Age: 27
Description: See image. A large, muscular bandit woman
Type of Death: Taken out by a rival gang (assassination/combat, your choice)

Laura Smith typed away at her computer, working on her story about corrupt local politics, blissfully unaware that her 23 years of existence were about to be violently cut short. She had her headphones on, and was jamming along to her favorite band, which masked the sounds of her apartment door lock being picked.

The assassin felt a surge of excitement as her efforts were met with success, and the door swung open with a squeak. The hitwoman took out a silenced pocket pistol and padded her way into the apartment. She could hear Laura humming happily to herself, and felt her excitement rise. She turned around a corner and saw the young woman sitting at a desk, her back turned to her killer.

The hitwoman raised her handgun and placed the sights on Laura's head.
She squeezed the trigger, and the gun coughed, its report muffled by the silencer. The bullet zipped through Laura's neck, severing her spinal column and ripping open the young woman's carotid artery. Laura fell forward, her head smacking into her keyboard. She wheezed, blowing wet crimson bubbles as blood sprayed out of the exit wound and covered her computer monitor. The girl was crippled and was bleeding out fast.

The assassin didn't like to leave things up to chance however. She walked up to Laura and grabbed her head, twisting it so that her victim could look at her. Laura's eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. Her beautiful eyes filled with fear and pain. The assassin smiled as she placed the handgun against Laura's forehead and fired once more, ending her target's agony and spraying Laura's brain matter against the wall.


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Name: Chloe Rochelle
Age: 23
Description: See Pic, kind, pregnant, woman.
Type of Death: Murder
Scenario: Sitting on her bed after a long day, waiting for her husband to return home.


The Blades of Crimson once terrorized the roads and highways leading to the capital. Then, Reffa, a muscle-bound woman with spikey red hair, joined the King’s Bane; the new subjects of fear for merchants passing through these lands.

Quick with a blade, and possessing a keen eye and unrivaled accuracy with a bow, Reffa was a force to be reckoned with. Yet, the world was changing, as their old rivals were quick to learn; strong swordsmen and archers were to become a thing for historians, as a new weapon entered the kingdom.

Herrit, crouched in a tree and toting the rifle he bought from a foreign merchant mere weeks ago. It was the easiest he ever possessed, and now this lowest ranked henchmen will exterminate the Crimson’s worst nightmare.

A sound like thunder rang out, and Reffa dropped to the ground; a fountain of blood poured from her neck as she gurgled and thrashed about. Herrit watched for several minutes, beaming with Glee, as she bled out. When her movements ceased, and piss pooled around her figure, he dropped from the tree.

He removed a knife from his pants as he grabbed her hair. With a quick slash, Herrit cut a deep gash in her throat, and continued carving. With all of his strength, he carved through the bone, and pulled her head off. He left, covered with blood, to take it to his leader as a symbol of his loyalty to the Banes.


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Name: Renee Norris
Age: 25
Description: See Pic. A proud soldier, unafraid of even her own death. She’s also quite proud of her body, fond of showing it off, and has an insatiable sexual appetite.
Type of Death: Murder or Execution.
Scenario: Enemy soldiers find her relaxing topless near a stream, as her unit set up camp nearby. They either decide to kill her on the spot, or arrest her to be executed on their base. (You decide.)
Bonus: If executed, she agrees to go with them peacefully if they give her some cock.


Chloe sat on her bed, breathing in the sterile, flowery, aroma of her freshly cleaned house, her gown raised and hand over her tight, round belly. She lightly massaged her stomach, feeling the movements the unborn child in her womb. Her right hand slid around the girth, and reached towards her crotch, only to find her slit out of reach over her bulge.

“Damnit!” Chloe adjusted her position, leaning back, to no avail. “Guess I’ll have to wait till…”

A knock on the front door drew her attention.

“Josh! He’s home early. Good!” Chloe laid back, intentionally leaving her gown raised so that he would see her pussy, out and ready, when he entered the room. Eager for him to take care of the itch her fingers couldn’t reach, a wave of frustration washed over her as she heard another knock. “The door is unlocked, honey! You don’t have to keep knocking.”

A second later a faint click echoed down the hall as the front door opened, and light footsteps approached the bedroom. Chloe spread her legs slightly as he turned the knob, and laid against the pillow as she gazed peacefully at the ceiling.

“Hey Josh, how was your,” the door opened, instead of her chubby husband with messy black hair, a skinny man in his forties, blond hair combed neatly and a neatly trimmed mustache, and a nonchalant expression on his face, entered the room with a silenced pistol in his right hand, “…day,” she finished slowly.

He aimed, her chest expanded, drawing in air. A short high-pitched scream escaped her lips before he fired a bullet into the center of her forehead. Her head snapped back limply against the pillow, as a trickle of blood poured from the red hole in her head. Urine gushed from her urethra, soaking the sheets between her legs. Her assassin, a man sent by her husband’s psychotic, yet wealthy, ex girlfriend, turned and left. Josh would come home hours later, greeted by his wife’s dead pussy, and the end of the family they dreamed of.


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Name: Morrigan Aensland (Darkstalkers)
Age: 341
Description: See Pic. Ancient, superpowered succubus. 5'8" tall and measuring 35-22-33.


I was always jealous of the other guys in the barracks when they'd brag about how many women they'd raped while on raids into enemy territory. The guys always said how lucky I was to be so well hung, but that never helped me talk to women, so even by the time I was promoted to lieutenant and given command of my own platoon, I was still a virgin.

On my platoon's first raid into enemy territory, I was determined that it would be my turn, and since I was in command, no one could tell me otherwise. That's when I saw an enemy captain bathing topless by a waterfall.

She was scooping up water and splashing it onto herself, rubbing at her smooth skin and huge, perfect breasts. She thought she had privacy. None of the other enemy was anywhere near, and her rifle was stacked with her clothes out of reach. I had a rock-hard erection the moment I saw her. I told my men to stay back and cover me from the trees, then I went ahead alone.

I opened my pants to let my throbbing 10" shaft pop out and I drew my combat knife as I approached her from behind, my boots muffled by the rush of the waterfall. I reached around to grab her breast with one hand and pressed my blade against her other breast.

"Don't move," I growled, "You're mine."

Suddenly I was on my back and there was a sharp crack as the back of my head hit the rocks.

"You have got to be kidding me!" She laughed as she stared down at me, holding my knife. "Men are all the same. You see a pair of beautiful breasts and your brains switch off completely. Here, maybe this will help."

She slammed her knee into my belly and grabbed my dick. I screamed as she made a few quick sawing motions with my knife, then stood up holding my penis, severed at the base.

"From now on, try thinking with your head instead of…"

The rifle bullet hit before the sound of the shot reached us. The bullet went cleanly through her right breast and then tumbled through her left breast, exploding out the other side in a shower of fat and blood, the whole left side of her breast disintegrating. Her left breast deflated into a bloody mess as its insides splattered across the rocks.

She dropped my knife and my dick and then fell to her knees clutching her breasts, her mouth working without any sound coming out but a few breathless cries of pain.

"No!" she finally screamed. "My breasts! My beautiful… No, no, this can't be happening."

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she let out a single sob, then she suddenly growled and grabbed my gun from my holster. She launched herself toward the forest, her ruined breasts hanging limp, her gun firing blindly into the trees.

"You bastards!" She roared even as a hail of bullets ripped into her, tearing her body to pieces.

Her head finally rolled to a stop in the grass, leaving her arms, legs, and torso all scattered in separate pieces far behind.


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Maybe Laura (20) legitimately wants to die and is too afraid to do it herself, or maybe she has some dark sexual fantasies. But either way she's paying someone (maybe a professional hitman, maybe just someone 'morally flexible') to rape and/or kill a certain girl who's supposed to be home alone at a certain date – without the killer knowing that she herself is that target.


“Foolish mortal, stop running!” The succubus' laughter peals through the forest as she haphazardly slings some more fireballs after me, one flying right past my shoulder and another hitting me in the back, making me stumble, but the thick reinforced leather of my coat prevents any real damage. “Where are you going?” She's clearly not expecting any real challenge and just toying with me.

…Just as I'd hoped. I make a sharp turn and leap through the empty window of a derelict barn standing in a small clearing surrounded by the even more ruined remains of several more buildings. But the only exit door is blocked by some debris from the collapsed roof, and the succubus is right behind me, I'm trapped.

Or so she thinks, as Morrigan opts to make a dramatic entrance by slowly floating down through the hole in the roof, only for her powers to suddenly fail as she gets close enough to the ground and she falls the last few metres, roughly landing on her hands and knees with a pained yelp. “How? What is-”

“Look around you, wretch.” I smirk. “This place used to be a chapel, back when there was a village here. And it seems even now some of its holy power remains, enough to rob you of your powers.”

“I don't think so.” Having quickly regained her composure, Morrigan stands up again, beginning to conjure a larger sphere of fire between her hands. “I can still do this. And if I burn these walls to cinder your holy place is going to be naught but dust in the wind.”

“Perhaps. But I won't let you.” At a snap of my fingers the massive runic circle I spent multiple days carving and painting, then covering it with some dust and leaves to hide it, flares up, and huge, heavy manacles appear to close around Morrigan's wrists and ankles, chaining her feet to the ground and forcing her arms spread to her sides, and her spell dissipates as the circle further suppresses her powers.

“What?” It takes a moment for her to realise the full extent of her predicament, and her confidence quickly turns into panic. “Where did you learn that?”

“Is that really what your concern should be? I'd rather be more worried about saving your head.” I take a moment to get a closer look at the succubus. Her body could be that of a tall, beautiful, curvaceous woman, but the long green hair and two sets of bat-like wings, two large ones somewhere on the middle of her back, and a pair of smaller ones on the back of her head, make it blindly obvious she's anything but human. She's wearing black knee-high boots over a light purple pantyhose with darker bat motifs, long red opera gloves and what would probably best described as a sleeveless, strapless dark purple leotard that's just barely reaching up to the middle of her breasts, with a cleavage that almost goes down to her navel, not even trying to truly cover her up.

Seeing how the chains don't even budge, after a few moments Morrigan gives up tugging and straining against them. “What do you want from me?”

“Like I just said, your head. And to eradicate all of your kind.”

“No! Please, I never did anything to you, why would you do that?” And once more she starts pointlessly trying to break free from the chains, before stopping and instead leaning forward as much as they will let her to give me a good view of her cleavage barely contained by her costume, her voice dropping into a sultry, seductive tone. “Come now, you don't really want to do this. If you let me go, I'll fulfil your every desire. I can make your wildest, most depraved dreams come true, if you'll just spare me.

“So you can sap my life and soul in the process? I think not, demon.” Even though the images her words evoke nonetheless make my pussy kind of wet in my panties, but I wouldn't have lived so long in this business if I were seduced this easily. “It's time to face judgement for your transgressions.”

At a gesture of mine, the spell circle activates and the chains shift, pulling down and forward to force Morrigan onto her knees, her arms slightly forward and to the sides to perfectly expose her neck. As I reveal a large bulky sword, the weight and shape making unsuited for combat, but the ideal tool to put down demons and other vile creatures, Morrigan starts thrashing and stuggling again, her wings pointlessly fluttering in panic.

“Please, I'm begging you, don't do this! I swear, I'll leave these lands and never return to trouble you again! I-”

“Save it.” I ready myself, lifting the sword over my head. “May the lord have mercy on your soul if you ever had one, and if not return to the abyss that birthed you.”

“No, don-” Moriggan's desperate pleas are cut short as I drop the blade and she lets out a brief surprised scream before falling silent. Her head rolling over the ground before coming to rest face-first in the dirt, her body begins wildly convulsing, shuddering and jerking around as much as the chains will let it and her wings twitching, as she pees herself in death, the urine staining the crotch of her leotard and dripping to the floor between her legs.

Picking up Morrigan's severed head, I find that her eyes are still moving, her mouth ineffectually trying to form words, so I turn her around, holding her so she gets a good view of her own body's death throes as the last thing she'll ever see, and by the time her body has stopped its last twitches, so has her head, her eyes completely empty.

I dismiss the chains and Morrigan's body crumples to the floor; I'll admit it would be quite tempting to have my way with it now, but I don't know how much dark power still lingers inside her even after her death, plus out here isn't really the safest location for that either, who knows what other unsavoury folk or wild animals might show up. So I contend myself with completely stripping her, taking just a moment to grope and squeeze her beautiful, supple breasts and probe her warm, wet and tight pussy that surely drained many a man of his seed – and life force – with my fingers, before driving a stake through her heart just to be extra sure and preparing the pyre.

The number of sanctified and apotropaic ingredients to the fire makes for quite the cloud of smoke as I light it, but it also burns extremely hot and fast, somehow turning Morrigan's entire body into ashes in maybe half an hour. Extinguishing the fire with another spell circle, I wait for it too cool a while before scattering the ashes to the wind. My work done, I return to the nearby city, the citizens of which will sleep easier today, knowing I erased every last trace of what once was the demoness Morrigan.


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Name: Christie Monteiro
Age: 21
Description: see image
Type of death: Christie is a well trained fighter, but this time the Brazilian beauty has bit off more than she can chew. Utterly defeat and humiliate her before you end her, permanently

The target was home alone when the masked man broke in and found her, just like the missive had said. He'd been paid - in advanced - to take this woman, force himself on her, use her and then if he so desires, end her. Its not quite his usual sort of task, but not one that he'd turn away. Being paid in advanced was a nice touch. He could have just walked off with the cash but he was a professional and there was every chance that this client of his would spread word that he'd reneged.

So he'd come through the back door at night, with one goal in mind. He found the woman, just as she was entering the kitchen he'd broken into. Her picture didn't do her nearly enough justice. The young woman was an out and out babe, wearing an oversized t-shirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs, and holding a bowl in her hand, as if she were taking it to the sink. The place was cool - the air conditioner was running - and her nipples stood out like peeks under the fabric. Clearly there was no bra under her shirt, and the thought got him hardening as he looked at her.

Laura stared in shock as if she couldn't quite believe there was someone there in the kitchen with her, or so the man thought. He used that surprise to close the distance fast. Before she could do much more than let out a yelp, he crashed his fist into her face, hard. He felt something give under his gloved knuckles. There was a sharp crack as she dropped the bowl and yelled in clear pain now. The house wzas isolated however, with a large yard around it, so the man wasn't too worried. He shoved her back into the counter and smashed his fist down again on the beautiful face, stunning the girl.

She was clearly reeling, head lulling to the side and tears pouring down her face. Her left eye was bruising up darkly from the twin blows, and she looked as if unaware of where she was. That worked fine for the man, who flipped her over and dragged her down the counter, pressing her face to the tile until he came to the sink. He smacked the side of her head against the side of the basin, hearing a yelp of pain, and reached behind her to push the shirt up over her hips. He had her face first in the empty metal depression, her feet weakly sliding about on the bare floor. One hand gripping the back of her neck, the other jerked her dark panties down.

To his surprise, she was already glistening wet. Dripping and outright sodden with desire. "You're turned on by this," he said, smacking her ass with his hand and drawing out a sobbing mewl. He wasted no more time, shaking his head and fishing his now hard dick out. There was no foreplay, he just shoved himself in as far as he would go, getting her to kick her bare feet about as she was forcibly stretched. She squealed like a pig as the dual pain of the shattered orbit of her eye and the brutal thrusting coursed through her.

But so too did desire. He could feel the way her cunt clenched on his cock and knew he would not last long. He smirked under his mask and set a heavy pace, using his free hand to push a plunger into the sink. Then casually as if he were washing her dishes instead of fucking her against her will, he flipped the faucet on.

Laura took a moment to clue into her predicament. The water was filling the sink and her face was starring right down at it. Eyes went wide as the realization of what was going to happen hit. She was being raped. She was going to drown in her sink while being rapped. She screamed, loudly, and began to beg for mercy. This wasn't how she thought it would happen. This hurt so much more, the beating delivered to subdue her.

Annoyed by the yelling, the man fucked her harder, his hips jerking up, smashing his cock into her tight pussy, wrecking it with each powerful motion.The basin was filling up reasonably fast and he gave a hard shove as she screamed again, her feet lifting up off the floor as her face splashed into the water. She shook her head from side to side and tried to keep her nose and mouth out of the liquid, drawing in deep gulps.

Soon however the water was too high and she was shoved under. Her pussy clenched like a vice as her whole head was forced into the water, splashing it about as she thrashed under his grip. The man thrust harder and harder and he was rubbing her in all the right places. The orgasm caught Laura by surprise, suddenly hitting her cunt like a ton of bricks, pleasure sweeping up through her and dooming her. The girls mouth shot open in the now full sink and she screamed out her pleasure - and water rushed in, burning her lungs. Eyes wide she gasped like a fish, but unlike a fish, she could not filter air from the dishwater and it filled her lungs swiftly, sending her body into convulsions.

The last thing that Laura felt was a sudden, liquid heat flooding her innermost channel, causing another orgasm to flush across her. The contract killer deposited his seed with a heady groan, and then pulled out swiftly, as the girls thrashing intensified. Even if he pulled her head out now, he knew it would be of no avail. She'd likely swallowed too much water. But he held her there as her hips jerked and her body bucked, water filling her lungs to the brim. She gave a shaking jerk, and then went limp as she proceeded to void herself all of the kitchen floor.

Well versed in such moments, the man had stood to the side as the target made its mess, and he cut the sink off. He pulled his hand back, shook it off and let the thing go limp, head still in the water, body crumpling against the cabinets. It's legs were spread wide as he fished his phone out and he shot a photo of the remains, cum dripping from bruised and swollen pussy lips, the head still floating in the sink, and piss running down its thighs. Satisfied that he had done the job he'd been paid for, the assassin zipped himself back up and set about to make his get away.

In the end he lit a candle on the counter, opened the oven, and turned it on/. It would take a little while, but soon enough the gas would build up and the whole place would go up like a candle, burning away any physical evidence of what he had done. Thus satisfied, he stepped out of the house, and hit send on his phone, transmitting the photo to the mysterious client that had wanted this Laura done up in such a way. He always sent proof, and once the photo was away, he'd ditch this burner phone like all the rest. Having left the house, he didn't see the message received notice on Laura's phone, tucked away in the living room. It wouldn't survive the fire however, so not even the investigators would notice the oddity of the woman having a photo of her own murder in her inbox.


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Name: Angelina Johnson
Age: 15
Description: see image. Bright young student, virgin, and a genuinely good person. Desperate for romance and sex, with at least a dozen crushes at school, but she’s too shy about that side of herself to admit it.
Type of death: Botched Assassination
Scenario: Expecting some redhead prostitute in her late-20’s, an assassin is surprised to find the house occupied by a black teenager, home alone in her bed and rubbing her pussy. The client gave the wrong address, but Angelina seen the assassin’s face and gun. To make matters worse, the girl knows his intended target. The unfortunate teen needs to die, otherwise she could ruin the whole operation.
Bonus: Angelina, realizing that she doesn’t have much time, asks the assassin to take her virginity before it’s too late. If not, she would like to finish masturbating before being snuffed out.



Christie thought she was a tough little cookie. She would never be weak again, her ten-year-old self once thought, after she finally beat the shit out of the stupid bitch who bullied her the school year prior. If she could just keep training, and never get up, nobody would ever make Christie Monteiro their victim again. Anyone who tried usually ended up in the hospital, with a bad case of “falling down a flight of stairs” even if it was a single-story building.

In recent years, death matches became the new favorite pastime in the States, with recreational murder being legal so long as everyone involved has signed a contract. This new form of entertainment saw thousands of casualties, and only a few dozen survivors, every year, but the prize, enough money that a person could live comfortably for the rest of their life, drew in plenty of naive wannabe badasses. Christie, never afraid of anything, having just celebrated her twenty-first birthday, figured the annual Bare Fisted Murder Tournament in Chicago would be a breezy path to financial security and fame.

Thirty minutes ago, the Brazilian babe posted a dozen picture of herself, clad only in latex bra that only covered her nipples, and panties which hugged her ass cheeks, on Facebook and Instagram, with the caption “READY TO KICK SOME ASS!”. Hundreds of people, from family and friends, to guys she barely knew from high school who added her, flooded her with comments that she would never read as she headed for her first, and final, match. Now she was staring across a patch of dirt at a burley pile of muscles that was her opponent, as he charged towards her, bellowing at the top of his lungs, surrounded by thousands of spectators blasting the arena with an unintelligible roar of cheering, chanting, and hundreds of conversations.

Christie stood her ground, her eyes set on his crotch, and her right foot ready to swing the moment he got to close. He crossed that threshold and stepped sideways as Christie’s foot swung upwards, connecting with his knee rather than his balls. Before Christie could make another move, his massive fist slammed into her face at full speed. She went sprawling to the ground, dizzy and a sharp pain pulsating from her forehead. A sharper agony erupted in her skull as she attempted to lift herself up, and a feeling of nausea swept across her stomach.

Before she could make another attempt to stand up, the man’s ass crashed into the center of her stomach as he body slammed her. Christie grunted, and clots of blood flew from her mouth as he crushed her intestines.

“Ain’t you a pretty little thing,” he said, looking down into her face. “Think I might play with you before I break yer.”

“Fuck you!” Christie spat. His fist slammed into her mouth, sending a fresh wave of agony oscillating through her face. She gagged as one of her teeth, dislodged and coated with specs of blood, ended up in her throat.

“Wanna say anything else with that hot little mouth of yours?”

Tear drops spilled from her glaring eyes, as Christie’s body trembled beneath the weight of her opponent. He stood up and unzipped his pants. I’m going to be raped, she thought. The possibility that she could die in this tournament was something Christie thought a distinct possibility, sure. She, like many of the hotshots who took part in this competition, felt it was a very remote possibility that they would die. The fact that it seemed she would die in her first match, after only delivering a kick to her opponent that didn’t manage jack shit, was horrific beyond any outcome Christie had considered. But, she was going to be raped. Her first death match, and her opponent was going to rape her and snuff her out, like some prostitute having a bad run with some gangbanger. Not if you fight, a voice whispered; the voice of the girl who swore never to be someone’s victim again; the voice Christie thought died moments ago when the mountain man punched her in the face.

As her opponent’s erect nine-inch cock sprang forward, throbbing and hungry for her snatch, Christie reached out and yanked on his member as hard as she could. He bellowed out a scream which drowned the collective voices of the spectators, and immediately grabbed Christie’s arm. He pulled her into the air, and grabbed her bra with his free hand, ripping it off as he tossed her athletic body over his shoulders. The men in the crowd began hooting as she landed on her back with her bare breasts pointing up at the sky.

Still gripping his dick, he pushed the piercing agony emanating from his crotch to the back of his mind as he focused on making the little bitch pay. He leaned back and let gravity do the rest, crashing down onto Christie’s face. Muffled screams could be heard from beneath his ass, as her nose shattered, and another wave of piercing agony washed over Christie’s skull. Her screams intensified as more of his weight shifted on top of her, as he leaned back, laid on top of her, and rolled over her body. He planted his hands on her breasts and looked her in the eyes, with a wide, maddening smile.

He grabbed her right arm with both hands, lifting the upper portion while pushing back on her forearm until he heard a distinct snap. Christie screamed again, more extreme than ever as the worst pain in her life shot up her arm and enveloped the limb. He repeated the process with her left arm, and her screams became more erratic, changing in intensity as the pain overwhelmed her, sending her in and out of consciousness. He sat back, grabbing her panties as she laid on her back screaming into the air.

With a few mighty rips, he removed her panties, and exposing her plump pussy to his sore, yet eager, cock. It was wet, from the excitement no doubt, ready, and quickly penetrated by a dick whose owner was too impatient for foreplay.

Her arms useless, and body wracked with constant and unending pain, Christie could only cry like a helpless child as he thrust his member in and out of her. A part of her even welcomed it, eager for the release of endorphins which would at least bring some respite to her suffering. As the pain faded, Christie felt a resurgence in her resolve to fight, even as her screams became moans carrying the pleasure she felt as her final orgasm built up. His seed, warm and sticky, sprayed into her womb, and moments later, her pussy contracted around his member, milking every last drop of semen, as both groaned their satisfaction.

When it was finished, Christie laid there, here breasts rising and falling with each breath, with a smile on her face, while the lake of semen flowing from her hole gave her a strong urge to vomit. Her foe got up, put his dick away and zipped up his pants, while her mind tried to figure how she felt about what just happened.

Before she could recover, he reached down and pulled Christie to her feet. He gripped her shoulder-length hair in two thick strands and wrapped it around her neck. Her eyes bulged, as Christie realized what he was doing, when he pulled the strands tightly and lifted her off the ground as high as she would go. Christie gagged and started flailing helplessly. He held her high in front of him, moving around to give everyone in the crowd a view as she asphyxiated on her own hair.

The voice in Christie’s head urged her to fight, even when he ignored each kick that connected, and her arms hung uselessly. Her body began to weaken, her vision fade, and she watched the crowd shouting and cheering for her demise. The voice also faded, and was replaced by the memories of her old elementary school mates laughing as they watched Emily Rochester shoved her into the cafeteria trashcan. Those laughing school children seemed to meld with the crowd of spectators, watching her die with her titties bouncing and legs kicking. She closed her eyes, and the world faded as her brain shut down. Shortly after, she voided the contents of her bladder and bowels onto the ground; an embarrassment she would have been happy to know she missed.

The man held her lifeless body up, continuing to dangle it for the crowd like a ragdoll, for almost three minutes after she passed. He let go, and her body crumpled to the ground. A team of medics and the referee came out onto the field. After confirming that Christie Monteiro was dead, the referee declared her opponent the victor.


File: 1558811421200.jpg (73.6 KB, 1000x1200, D6VS7ysU8AEiEXD.jpg)

Name: Liza
Age: 18
Description: See image. Tomboyish college student, loves soccer and baseball.
Type of Death: Murdered by a jealous ex boyfriend

Angelina Johnson screamed as the door to her room burst open and a man wearing a grey ninja uniform strolled in. She hurriedly pulled her bed sheets over her naked body, her fingers still sticky with the pussy secretions produced by her masturbation session. "W-Who are you? What are you doing?!" she yelled, her voice wavering in fear.

The man took one look at the teenager and swore. He had been asked to kill a red headed prostitute, but instead he was face to face with a young black schoolgirl. Her eyes slowly shifted to the katana in his hands, stained red with blood. "Please, don't hurt me", she whispered as the man slowly advanced towards her bed. He pulled her out of bed and threw her to the ground.

She squealed and cowered on her ass, her hands raised up in a futile effort to protect her face. The assassin struck, his katana blade plunging point first into her chest. Angelina gasped, blood spraying from her nose and mouth as the sword punctured her left lung. Her hands grasped at the blade, but the assassin pulled it out, slicing her palms apart. The sword plunged down once more, this time going straight through her forehead and out the back. Angelina's eyes rolled up, a final shuddering gasp rattling past her blood flecked lips. Angelina's killer placed one boot against her blood soaked chest and wrenched his katana out of the young girl. Her head dropped back, banging against the hardwood floor. Blood pooled around her head like a crimson halo.


File: 1559165971690.jpg (143.4 KB, 991x1400, 8cb71e5d6b257f21dc835a8d92….jpg)


There she was. That fucking bitch, Liza. Eric ground his teeth at the sight of the girl - his ex girlfriend - walking into the locker room after splitting off from the others on the baseball team. She'd made the summer league team and was one of the only girls on it. He had not made the cut. The other two forewent the lockers, Erik saw, in favor of a shower at home. That left the 18 year old second base man - woman - alone in that side of the sports complex.

Looking around, Eric realized that this was his chance. He trod across the field, pausing to snag a bat - her bat - from the dugout where it lay. The little tomboy cunt would pay for standing him up, he knew. Eric swung the bat a few times, getting a feel for it. He hadn't made the team in part because the summer league didn't offer up the position of designated hitter. He couldn't catch for shit, but Eric could swing with the best of them.

He found her in the shower. Liza was nude, and a sight to behold. Tomboyish in hair did not mean tomboyish in figure, and though she wasn't the biggest titted girl that Eric had seen, she had plenty of womanly curves. He'd remembered her breasts bobbing above his head not too long ago, and the anger fueled him on. She'd denied him, and that was the end of that. She'd pay.

Liza was humming away, some incessant pop tune that Eric couldn't stand. She had her eyes closed, head back, and the water was running down her tan lined front. He could see the bitch had recently shaved her cunt. All the more to make it appealing to one of the other girls on the team, Eric figured. No way she'd ditch a man like him for some other stud. She had to be a dyke. Too busy munching some other girls rug to give him the time of day. Which was a damn shame, since he knew she was hell on wheels at fucking, but was pathetic when it came to ducking a dick.

Well, Eric thought to himself as he moved into the open shower area, readying his attack, she'd never suck, or fuck, anything ever again.

The first that Liza realized she was not alone was when the bat whistled in the damp air. Confusion passed over her face as her eyes opened, just in time for pain to bloom up from her knee. As dead on as he ever was, the bat crashed into Liza, shattering her right kneecap with proficient force, buckling her leg and sending her to floor, clutching it in agony.

"AYEEEEEAAAARGHHH!" She wailed as tears sprung forth and she rocked, naked on the floor, back and forth.

"Never gonna run home again bitch," Eric said, panting after the firs swing, a malicious gleam in his gaze. The girl had dumped him. In front of his friends. She was going to pay for the mistake. She was sobbing and blubbering, screaming at him and gasping for air. Her leg was up, clutched against her chest and she was on her back. The other leg was splayed out to the side, heel digging into the wet tile, trying to find purchase, to push her back from him.

It left her cunt exposed, and looking at those perfect folds, Eric felt rage well up again. Pulling back, he swung that bat like it was a golf club, aimed right at her pretty snatch. TWUNK!! A smack of bat on flesh, and the girls screams intensified. "HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT?" Eric shouted. He'd felt something break between the girls legs. The blow had smashed her pelvic bone. The bat rose, the bat fell, and Liza's ankle shattered next. Then her left elbow, with a viscous swing. Panting, another swing, and the right shoulder cracked and dissented. She was barely aware at that point, the pain too much.

Eric gasped, looking down. He'd covered her in bruises, and Liza's eyes had this listless look about her. He grunted and hefted the bat again, his arms tired. "Hey, batter, batter, batter," he muttered, taking his stance. She blinked, looking up at him, eyes widening a bit as realization dawned. She couldn't raise her arms though, or summon the breath to scream. She could only open her mouth as she heard him say, "Swing, batter batter, SWING!"


They found her there that next morning, her body dripping wet from a shower that had gone long cold. It had washed away the mess she'd made when Eric had killed her. From the looks of the damage and the report after, the final blow had shattered the girls right orbital socket and smashed in the side of her skull. Death had been almost instant. Unfortunately, the water washed away all the physical evidence on sight. And Eric had taken care of the wooden bat, burning it to ashes later that night at a bonfire party for the team.


Name: Mikaru Kote
Age: 23
Description: See image
Death: Mikaru works at the local coffee shop and stayed late one night to close up. Unfortunately, an irate customer takes out their anger in revenge for a badly made latte!


File: 1559191386156.png (637.52 KB, 659x1231, 73250491_p0.png)

Name: Sherry
Age: 21
Description: See image. A devoted single mom to a 5 year old daughter. Works at an upscale strip joint to provide for her child, having put her promising athletic career to rest after an accidental teen pregnancy. Despite the loss of her dream, she loves her daughter and would do anything for her.
Type of Death: Murdered.
Scenario: Stalked by a serial killer.

The man watched from his car as the pretty young asian closed up the coffee shop. The old anger came bubbling up again, but he kept a lid on it, letting it simmer below the surface. His hand gripped the revolver stashed in his hoodie pocket, running his thumb over the worn logo emblazoned on the plastic grip. He ruminated over the events that lead to this, the silence of the office as his manager sacked him in front of everyone, the hysterical screaming of his wife as he tried to explain over the phone. It had all come to a head when he tried to get a coffee at the shop and the dumb gook bitch had messed up his order. How could anyone fuck up a simple coffee, two sugars, one cream?

The sound of a door opening then closing interrupted his reverie. The girl, now in her casual day clothes walked across the street, then cut into an alley way. He got out of his car and followed. The girl was engrossed in her phone, her face lit up by the pale glow of the screen. She wasn't bad looking, her purple hair cut short, soft lips curled into a slight smile, a perky set of tits that pushed against her shirt. He pulled the gun out and cocked the hammer. The metallic click alerted the girl, who spun around suddenly.

It was one of those things that would stick with him until his dying days. Her droopy eyes wide, her mouth forming a surprised O. The man fired, and a single hole punctured the center of her chest, right in between her tits. She fell back, dead before she even hit the ground. The bullet, a .357 JHP had carved through her heart and spine, causing massive internal shock and flicking her switch off immediately. Blood, dark and sticky slowly expanded, soaking into her shirt and causing the fabric to hug against her breasts tightly. A wet spot stained the crotch of her pants as her bladder relaxed.

He pointed the gun down, and emptied the rest of his bullets into her torso. Her corpse jerked and twitched with each bullet impact. A feeling of emptiness came over him as he stared into her empty eyes. There wasn't anything left to be angry about.

The man flicked the revolver cylinder out and dumped the empties into a plastic baggy. He threw it into a dumpster behind the coffee shop before driving away, his rage satiated.

23 year old Mikaru Kote stared blankly up at the night sky, never to draw another breath again.


File: 1559321246161.jpg (2.07 MB, 1922x1837, 329b202909d2cddfa368f62ddd….jpg)

Name: Monika Gray(Left)
Age: 21
Description: See image. A hyperactive young woman, with child-like playfulness, although quite intelligent. She is also quite naive and trusting

Name: Jennifer Norton(Right)
Age: 22
Description: See image. More mature than Monika, but still hyperactive, especially when hanging around her. Jennifer is less trusting and very protective of her friend.

Type of Death: Murdered.
Scenario: Jennifer recently broke up with her boyfriend, and he decided to kill her. He stalked her as she walked to Monika's apartment to hangout. Though he holds no grudge against her friend, he grows impatient and decides to just kill them both.


Early in the morning, closer to midnight than to dawn, on Christmas Eve, Steve Hanson waited in a snow-filled alleyway behind a strip joint called Bouncing Bunnies. He sat crouched behind a dumpster, shifting gaze from an old Honda to the backdoor of the strip joint. Waiting.

A metallic creak turned his gaze as a young woman with short blonde hair walked out into the could, towards the old Honda. Completely cloaked in darkness, obscured from the only source of light, a dim street lamp, he watched as she walked by with not even a hint that she might not be alone.

“Hey there!” Steve called out as he moved out from behind the dumpster.

The woman stopped in her tracks. She opened her mouth to speak then stopped when her eyes fell on Steve. Steve knew that she recognized him; as much as she could recognize a man who spent every evening for the last few months at the joint, and who sat quietly and alone at his table, scarfing down chicken tenders and downing it with beer, as he watched her and six other women dance around poles in skimpy bunny outfits. Though, judging by how she repeatedly opened her mouth and didn’t say anything, she probably never expected to meet him.

She finally spoke after staring at him for almost a whole minute. “Um… hey there, yourself,” she laughed weakly as she finished the last word. He continued to stare, not uttering a word. “So… uh, can I help you? My shift is over, but I can…,” Steve drew a gun from his coat jacket and her mouth just hung open.

“I just think it’d be kinda hot to see how your tits bounce when I shoot them.”

Her eyes widened and she stepped back. “Please, mister! I have a little girl at home who really needs her…,”

Multiple shots rang out. Six holes opened in the woman’s sweatshirt, ripping through her massive breasts and lodging in her lungs. She staggered back several feet before collapsing to the ground, clutching her breasts as blood gushed out, soaking into her sweatshirt and turning most of it from a light grey to a crimson red. Steve watched her tits rising and falling, contracting and expanding, as she thrashed about on the ground, and made raspy sounds as she attempted to draw breath. Thick clots of blood and screechy gurgling poured from her mouth as she tried to scream.

Steve aimed the gun, and fired continuously. Her breasts jiggled with each impact while her body jerked, as bullet after bullet ripped apart her lungs. The last one, fired straight between her tits, exploded her heart, and a fountain of blood shot up out of her mouth, and ran down her face like a waterfall.

His gun emptied, Steve placed it in his jacket and sat over the woman as her thrashing slowed and her body went limp, ready to bolt if he heard sirens. He stood over her until a dark spot appeared on the crotch of her sweatpants and a puddle of piss formed between her legs. Steve pulled a knife from his pocket and stuck it in her left thigh. He created a long cut, then two curved cuts connected to it, forming a scythe. Steve looked down at his handiwork as he scratched his chin, before pocketing the knife and pulling out his phone. He snapped a few photos of the corpse then ran off down the alleyway.


There was ten minutes left until Christmas. Steve Hanson sat on the bed in a fancy hotel room, watching the news. While other guests prepared to celebrate the holiday, Steve listened to a reporter interview a sobbing Cynthia Bell, on the brutal murder of her daughter, Sherry Bell, at the hands of what the media has dubbed the Northeast Reaper.

Steve shoveled extra salty chips into his mouth as some wannabe hard ass detective promised to bring him to justice. He chuckled and shut off the TV. He pulled out his phone and masturbated to Sherry’s corpse before going to sleep.

The next morning, using the Wi-Fi of a nearby McDonald’s, Steve found Sherry’s Facebook and sent the images to her friends and family, then dumped the phone into a trashcan along with a lit match.


File: 1559629152358.png (2.31 MB, 1191x1684, 73772526_p0.png)

Name: Riley
Age: 17
Description: See image. A runaway from an abusive home, dropped out of highschool to hang out with a rough punk music crowd. She acts tough, but is still emotionally vulnerable.
Type of Death: Random murder

Even from the apartment hallway Jamie could hear their giggling and yelling. The sound of Jennifer's high pitched laugh pierced his skull, driving his rage. That fucking whore had no goddamn right to betray his trust, their relationship like that. And to do it so casually, it was like the past 5 years never even happened. He dropped the gym bag to the floor, knelt down, and pulled out a double barrel shotgun, its barrels sawed down to about 12", but its stock kept intact for greater control. He flicked open the breech, rummaged through the pocket of his hoodie and procured two 12 gauge 00 buck shells. One, then two, then a THUNK as he flipped the barrels shut.

He took a deep breath, gathered up his nerve, then kicked down the apartment door. A shriek emerged from the bathroom, and he swiveled towards it, the shotgun raised up. The door opened, a billowing cloud of steam wafting out, followed by a slender naked white girl with ginger hair. "Jamie, what the FUCK!", she screamed, her eyes wide in fear as she saw the gun in his hands. "I'm sorry, Monika", Jamie muttered, before squeezing the trigger once. A tightly spread pattern of buckshot printed itself into Monika's modest chest, and the petite woman flipped over onto her ass, blood spilling from her open mouth. Monika twitched, a horrified moan burbling from her blood stained lips as she pawed at the mangled mess of her palm-sized tits.

More screams came forth from the tub as Jamie entered the bathroom, transfixed by his target. Jennifer Norton, Jamie's ex girlfriend, the girl who had cheated on him by having a lesbian relationship with her best friend. She cowered, curled up in a fetal position, her hands raised in a pose of submission. "Please, Jamie, please", she sobbed pathetically. "Don't shoot, don't shoot". She opened her big brown doe eyes, tears rolling down her soft ebony cheeks. For a moment, that old feeling of affection rushed through Jamie's heart. She crawled forward on her knees, her slim hands grasping at his pants zipper, pulling it down and exposing his penis. He grabbed her by the back of her head and pushed her face forward. She eagerly began to lick his erect penis, her hands massaging his balls and shaft as she expertly ran her tongue around his cockhead. Jamie felt a nut coming, and pressed his pelvis against her mouth. She suppressed a gag reflex as he spurted a thick, hot wad of semen down her throat. He sighed, pushed her away, then pointed the shotgun at her forehead. "W-Wait, no-", was all Jennifer could muster before the shotgun roared once more, blowing apart her head in an extravagant explosion of blood, flesh, brain matter, and skull fragments. Her body, now rendered almost headless, teetered on its knees, before crumpling forward, landing heavily onto the now deceased Monika. Jamie wiped the blood off his face with a paper towel and walked away, leaving the mess to be found later that evening.


File: 1559768404114.png (155.75 KB, 804x1150, Jane Nguyen.png)

Name: Jane Nguyen
Age: 21
Description: Member of a biker militia, protecting a confederation of city-states in post-apocalyptic Texas. She’s tough, bright, and loyal to her comrades and her people.
Type of Death: Combat or Execution
Scenario: Her unit was decimated by forces of an empire expanding from the West, defending a frontier city. She takes refuge in town, using guerilla tactics against the invaders and arming civilians. Enemy forces eventually raid the house she’s using as a base.
A: She’s killed on the spot. Possibly raped, as well.
B: She’s taken to the center of town and executed as a warning to the rest of the townspeople.


The woods beyond the edge of town were so thick that, even at high noon, light barely pierced the canopy. In the early hours of the morning, during a new moon, a curtain of blackness permeated the region. It was miles from the nearest road, and very few people ventured out there after the sun went down. Those woods were the perfect place, as far as a gang of rowdy teens were concerned, to hide out. They felt safe, that not a soul would find them.

Someone did find them, however; though, Jack very much doubted if he could be considered a soul. He found them back in town at a punk music festival and followed them around as they purchased, and shoplifted, food, supplies, and booze. They sat around on blankets, with a metal tin filled with the embers of the fire they lit hours earlier dimly illuminating their campsite, chomping down junk food and getting loaded. Jack was still watching off in the distant, sitting on a large rock and fidgeting with something in his coat pocket. He filled himself up on beef jerky and cheese, washing it down with soda and sweet tea.

He waited for them to pass out. They did, long after midnight; one at a time. The only one left awake, and the one who drew his attention to this group of teens in the first place, was a slim young lady with short blonde hair, and tattoos down her arms. She sat close to the center of the group, but, and seeing how she was the only one awake, Jack considered his chances of taking her without alerting the others. He waited instead, watching until she finally laid down. After a few minutes, he scarfed down the last of his jerky and made his way to the campsite.

Jack walked softly, stopping in his tracks for a minute each time he crunched a stick or leaf. He stepped over a few sleeping bodies, briefly stopping over a young Asian chick with long dark hair and big tits; he briefly considered taking her, as she was further from the center of the group, but continued onward to his original target.

Jack stopped inches from the young blonde and crouched next to her body. He leaned in next to her face and inhaled, taking in the scent of cheap beer and snack cakes coming off her breath as she snored softly. His lips met hers in a light kiss, slipping his tongue briefly sliding into her mouth and tasting the flavors his nose picked up moments ago, while his hand softly brushed aside strands of her soft hair. He broke off the kiss when she let off a weak cough, and waited over her as she shifted in her sleep.

“Shhh! Go back to sleep, sweetie,” Jack whispered as he softly caressed the side of her face. She returned to her slumber, while Jack continued feeling and massaging her delicate teenage body, moving down her face to her chest, cupping her medium-sized breasts through her shirt. He held them, squeezing them softly, and feeling her hardening nipples as they poked through the fabric.

“Such lovely little thing,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her before standing up.

Jack reached into his coat and pulled out the thing he fidgeted with the entire night; a small homemade crossbow, loaded with a long and narrow iron rod with a sharpened end for a bolt. He aimed it at her mouth and waited for her to open it as she drew breath, then fired. The rod shot through the back of her throat, piercing her brain stem.

The teen’s eyes shot open as a loud raspy gasp for air escaped her lips, and gurgled briefly as blood filled her mouth, before going quiet. Her body sporadically twitched.

Jack stood over his prey, watching for her twitching to stop, and ready to run if any of the others woke up. They remained asleep, aside from two that turned over when he fired his weapon, and Jack assumed they were far too loaded up on booze, and assuredly dope. the girl twitched for almost three minutes, before she laid still forever. A wet spot formed in the crotch of her shorts, her bladder having emptied itself as the life faded from her body.

For a few more minutes, Jack looked over his prey, and the group of friends she spent her last day with. They dressed in all black, wearing chains and spikes, with tattoos and piercings all around. They probably thought they were badasses, rough kids. Would they feel that way in the morning? Probably not, Jack was certain.

As if to demonstrate his thoughts, Jack pulled out an old receipt and another iron bolt. He dipped it in the blood pooling near the blonde and wrote “I almost considered you” on the back of the receipt, before placing on the Asian’s massive rack.

Satisfied, he left for the gang to discover his handiwork long after sunrise.


File: 1559887215461.jpg (216.3 KB, 753x1200, 74554120_p0.jpg)

Name: Amelia Yuzuki
Age: 17
Description: See image. A "hafu", born to a Japanese woman and American father. Sex addict, very carefree attitude
Type of Death: Murder
Scenario: Jilted ex boyfriend breaks into her home after school


The battle of Nuevo Laredo was long and vicious, but eventually the biker militia guarding the town was driven out into the badlands, leaving only scattered pockets of resistance. The imperial forces soon overwhelmed even those few brave men and women, stringing the poor souls up from the lamp posts, or just plain shooting them as they surrendered.

Jane stumbled into the bright mid day sun, wincing as she put pressure on her wounded leg. The soldiers prodded her forward with their rifles, and she bit her lip and limped up to the wall, determined not to give the bastards any satisfaction. She made a concerted effort to ignore the pile of corpses dumped to the side, many of them her friends, and focused on the wall. She stared at the bullet holes pockmarking the surface, and the still wet spatters of blood, and despite herself, felt the bite of fear deep in her soul.

"Alright fellas, I drew the short straw, so I get first dibs on her corpse!", a soldier hollered, to the laughter of his mates. He loaded a single round into his rifle and shouldered it, aiming it straight at Jane's back. Sweat poured down her forehead, dripping onto her heaving breast as she waited for the end.

Jane didn't even hear the gunshot that ended her life, only the impact that felt like a 2x4 slamming into her. The round nose bullet punched in between her shoulder blades and severed her vertebrae. The bullet encountered muscle and flesh and mushroomed, carving a large wound channel through her lungs and heart, before exiting out of her left breast in an explosion of blood. The young woman fell forward, slumping against the chipped concrete and sliding down, leaving a fresh new streak of blood against the wall. More blood poured from the exit wound and from her lips as she coughed and wheezed, eyes wide in shock. Her killer walked up to her prostrate form and straddled her body, rolling her over to face him. Her deep brown eyes filled with tears as the soldier ripped open her shirt, revealing her perky brown tits and firm, muscular abdomen, warm and slick with sweat. He grabbed and squeezed her breasts, smearing her blood around her chest. Jane's body stiffened as she drew her last breath, her fingers clawing at the ground, then immediately went limp as she passed away, her eyes glazing over.


File: 1563777949829.png (222.17 KB, 552x1000, 73606888_p0.png)

Name: Candice
Age: 24
Description: See image. An experienced, high class prostitute
Type of Death: Up to author
Scenario: In a penthouse suite

Kenji slipped into the half open door of the Yuzuki household, a large golf bag in his hands. His experience from dating Amelia for the past two months meant he felt he knew the best time to strike. On Friday, the parents usually went out to get dinner, leaving their daughter alone to look after the house. This was usually when Amelia would bring over a boy to fuck, which was him, until it wasn't. He burned with rage as he mulled over the memory of seeing Amelia suck that douchebag Toshikawa's cock in the boys bathroom at school. He'd make the slut pay for toying with him so casually.

He dropped the golf bag on the living room couch and zipped it open. His father's katana was inside, held in a glossy black sheath. Kenji took the sword out and slipped it out the sheath, swinging it around carefully. It felt weightless, and the blade shone underneath the light. Gripping the pommel, he slowly crept up the stairs to Amelia's room.

Girlish laughter rang out from behind the pink door, Amelia's name painted on it in kanji and in English.
It was ajar, and Kenji peeked through the slim crack into the room. It was just how he remembered it, floor messy with clothes, a rumpled bed, and Amelia hugging a boy close to her well endowed chest. The boy wasn't Toshikawa, he looked quite a bit younger, had a dark tan and spiky hair dyed green.

Kenji breathed in, and kicked open the door. Amelia turned around, a shocked expression on her face. "Kenji, what are you doing!?" she yelled. Her eyes locked on to the sword, and her face went pale. The boy scrambled to his feet. Both Amelia and the boy were buck naked and slick with sweat. "Hey, no need for that, buddy", the boy said, his voice cracking with pubescent nerves. Kenji noticed the kid had a dick that outsized his own by at least 5 inches.

"Who're you?", Kenji asked, his anger barely contained. "Aikazawa Hidetaka, I'm a second year at the junior highschool close by", the kid answered. Kenji lowered his sword, and Aikazawa looked relieved. The boy walked forward, a conciliatory hand proffered. In one single motion, Kenji sliced Aikazawa's head clean from his shoulders. The blood sprayed from Aikazawa's neck stump like a high pressure water hose. The headless body crumpled to the floor, his head rolling forward and bumping against Kenji's sneaker. Kenji leaned over and grabbed the head by its neon green bangs. Aikazawa's bright amber eyes were wide, and Kenji swore he could see the pupils focus on him before falling dark. He tossed the decapitated head back at Amelia, who was frozen still in shock.

The head of her most recent boy toy falling into Amelia's lap snapped her back to reality. She screamed, got up and rushed for the door, her large tits swaying as she ran. Kenji raised his sword and swung with all his might. He felt the sudden shock of the blade striking Amelia's torso and carving through her abdomen, guts, and spinal cord.

The teenage girl fell to the ground in two parts. Her upper half was still conscious and crawled forward, focused on the door. Blood rushed out of the severed ends, pooling onto the hardwood floor. A trail of intestines and organs followed Amelia as she dragged herself to the top of the stairs. The girl coughed up blood, gasped, and fell still, her right arm outstretched in one final attempt.

Kenji grabbed her upper half by the arms and dragged the unfortunate girl back to her bedroom. He took the sword and chopped through her neck with a single strike, letting the head roll free. The jilted ex arranged the headless body of Aikazawa, placing the boy's limp cock into Amelia's open mouth. Aikazawa's head was placed inside the open chest cavity of Amelia's upper torso.

Unzipping his trousers, Kenji jerked his dick a couple times, getting it hard. He placed his penis inside Amelia's pussy, gripped her sweat slick thighs and began to pump his pelvis. Her cunt was still tight and hot, slick with love juices and Aikazawa's cum. Kenji felt his balls tighten and increased his humping rate. With a grunt, he blew a load inside his former girlfriend, pulling out with a wet pop. His cum dribbled out of her slit, mixing with the congealing blood.

The boy grasped the katana, placed the tip at his stomach, and dragged it across his flesh. Pain exploded in his abdomen, and he bit his lips until they bled. Sweat dripping from his forehead, he repeated the action vertically, letting his guts fall from the gashes. Feeling weak, he fell forward, his face landing in a pile of Amelia's intestines. Distantly, he heard the sound of Amelia's parents pull up to the driveway, and smiled. They'd find a big surprise waiting upstairs. With that thought, he too passed away.


File: 1569866244932.jpg (708.55 KB, 850x1202, FI022.jpg)

It's been well over a month.

Name: Jessica Ling
Age: 25
Description: See Pic. Chinese-American with an insatiable appetite for sex, though she sees herself as more of a romantic than a slut. Works as a spy for the United States.
Type of Death: Assisted Suicide
Scenario: On an espionage mission in Moscow, she uncovered a shocking secret. Though she managed to return the data to the States, the Russians became suspicious, and will not allow her to leave the country. The Russians cannot know that she discovered their secret. To prevent her from spilling anything, she had to die. Unable to do the deed herself, she arranges for an assassin from the United States to take her out. She only asks that, if they find her masturbating or engaged in sexual activity, to let her finish before finishing her; and, to either kill her without her even knowing, or making it quick.

Bonus: Jessica fears her body being used by the Russians once discovered, and requests that her assassin mutilates it after she’s dead.


File: 1569908749355.png (867.01 KB, 750x1334, 75912317_p0.png)

Name: Arlene
Age: 20
Description: See image. A social media influencer who has ended up owing a serious drug debt to some unsavoury and violent people
Type of Death: Murder
Scenario: Parking garage at midnight.

July 12th, 2021
Location: apartment complex located in the suburbs of Moscow.

The small loitering suicide drone buzzed lazily over the high rise, its gimballed IR/Thermal camera locked on to the attractive, naked young woman sunbathing on a balcony on the 15th floor. Its operator was in a white panel van, about 10 km from the unmanned aircraft. He kept one hand steady on the control stick, the other hand jerking at his erect dick. Jessica Ling was one fine piece of pussy, he thought to himself as the camera zoomed in for a close up of her exposed chest, her bountiful tits rising and falling as she slowly masturbated, her slender fingers rubbing her neatly manicured cunt.

His earpiece crackled. "We've got a go for the mission. Deliver the package and exfiltrate as soon as possible". With a disappointed sigh, the drone operator put away his cock and concentrated on the objective at hand. With a light touch, he pulled the drone into a deep dive, making sure to keep the nose pointed at the target's center mass. The altimeter rapidly ticked down, from 4000 feet to 3000 feet to 1000 feet within a minute.

Jessica Ling knew she was supposed to die some time that day. She had made the request herself, knowing that the alternative of being tortured by the FSB's interrogators, or even worse, spilling the beans on the CIA's activities within Russia would be disastrous. She just didn't know how. Would a sniper put a bullet through her head? Would her car be rigged to explode? Would someone slip cyanide into her morning coffee? The nervous anticipation of her imminent death had made her incredibly horny, and desperate for sexual release.

The spy was no longer able to contain herself. She pulled off her t-shirt and black lace panties, poured herself a couple shots of whiskey and made her way to the reclining chair on the outdoor balcony. It was a fine summer morning and she stretched her arms out lazily. For some reason, Jessica felt incredibly ALIVE at that moment. The breeze blew warm Moscow air across the balcony. She could feel every micro current of air brush against her curvacious, athletic body. Jessica pounded back a shot, then another for courage. The spy sat down on the recliner, spread her long, powerful legs and began to rub her pussy vigorously.

Jessica closed her eyes as she began to feel the onset of an orgasm, and she increased her shlicking pace. A faint buzzing sound reached her ears. Despite her aroused state, the training drilled into her still reacted. She opened her eyes and looked across the sky. There it was, a speck from her vantage point, but no mistaking it. A drone, a little dart shaped thing circling above. Not one of those high altitude jobs, but something capable of being carried in a backpack. She knew then that her life was very nearly at its end.

Jessica masturbated harder and faster, determined to get one last orgasm out before dying. Despite her patriotism, her heart began to pound away in fear. She was scared shitless of death, of ceasing to exist, and of her parents and siblings never knowing the truth of her demise. The buzzing grew and grew, and Jessica grabbed her left tit, squeezing and pulling at her breast and nipple. Finally, she felt her cunt squeeze and contract, and felt the familiar rush of ecstasy and release, sticky fluids squirting over her fingers. The buzzing stopped, and Jessica opened her beautiful, almond brown eyes for the last time.

The drone cut its engine as it entered terminal velocity. Nestled within the streamlined airframe was a 25lb plastic explosive charge mated to a contact detonator. The tip of the nose piece punched into Jessica's pert, soft right breast. It continued on, plowing deep into her body, breaking through her ribcage, piercing through her right lung, and finally breaking out her back. There was a half second pause as Jessica Ling stared at the object impaling her formerly flawless, supermodel body. She opened her mouth to scream, and the detonator finally activated, rather belatedly.

Even from 10 km away the explosion was big enough to rattle the inside of the white panel van. The drone operator smiled, and turned off the display. Another successful mission, and for a bonus he had managed to screencap all 600 frames of the last minute of Jessica Ling's life, all from a top down perspective. Hell, he had even managed to get a view of her insides. That was something new to fap to.


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Name: Ardata Carmia
Age: 8 Alternian sweeps, 17 Earth years
Description: See image.
Type of Death: Raped, tortured, then killed.
Scenario: First Contact. Landed in secluded village deep in the woods. She is by herself. Trolls of her blood color (blue) are known to be tough to kill.

The people that Arlene were know to associate with some… seriously messed up individuals. One of them just so happened to be a company that employed assassins of various different species. These assassins were known for working very professionally. Arlene had owed them a rather large amount of money, which she refused to pay although she obviously had the money to do so. She had used the excuse of not having enough money yet and needed more time. She owed them $150K.

A hundred and fifty thousand US dollars. That kind of money not being forked over required some serious retaliation.

Arlene was walking to her car in the brightly lit, but desolate parking garage. It was about ten o’clock PM, with the lights of the city illuminating just about every square inch of the block she was in. Unbeknownst to her, the group that she had owed money to had gotten officially fed up with her lack of payment, and hired an assassin to kill her in the very parking lot she was in. Before getting in her car, she posed beside it for a selfie and posted it online. As expected, it immediately blew up, with people commenting both her looks and filters.

However, there were several mentions of a hooded figure behind her. The people who had mentioned this figure made concerned or condescending comments. Finding this strange and taking the advice of these people, she looked behind her. No one was there.

Imagine the surprise she got when she saw a hooded figure standing right in front of her!

She barely had a chance to scream when the figure cupped one hand around her mouth and grabbed a fistful of her hair with the other. The figure forced her to the ground, dragging her to the front of her car before uncupping its hand from her mouth. Before she could cry for help, the figure pressed a blade to her neck and demanded to have the $150K she owed. With tears in her eyes and her mascara running down her face, she said that she needed more time gathering the cash.

Angered with this answer, the assassin first slashed her throat with the knife, fished her wallet out of her pocket, grabbed her by the hair, and threw her out of the garage. It took five seconds for her to land on a car below with the sound of the car’s alarm going off on impact mixed with the sounds of breaking bones and shattering glass. The figure peered over, staring down at his/her handiwork. Taking out a phone, they dialed a number on it. When the person on the other end answered, the figure said “Money secured. I’ll get this to the client by 10:30.”.


Still waiting for Ardata to die…


Still waiting…


Bumping so it doesn’t get buried.


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Its been a month, so I'll post a new prompt.

Name: Atsuko
Age: 19
Description: See image
Type of Death: Combat
Scenario: Up to the writer


I really love your writing here. So I drawn this scene for you in my art gallery. art/res/25124

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