/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.

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