Disclaimer: This story contains elements of extreme violence towards
women, as well as torture and gratuitous snuff. This story is a
fantasy, and if you are incapable of distinguishing fantasy from
reality, seek professional help, and quit reading stories like
this. For the rest of you perverts, enjoy!
Finally, this story is copyrighted by the author in 2004. Permission
is granted to reproduce this story subject to the following
provisions: 1. This entire work, including copyright notice and
disclaimer, must be reproduced in its entirety. 2. You cannot charge
a fee for access to the site where this is posted. If you want to
reproduce it on a pay-site, please contact me for details (email
to chairman a-t scubed d-o-t org (you know the drill)).
You Bet Your Life
by The Chairman of the S^3 Society
"Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to 'You Bet Your Life', the
only game show where contestants lay it ALL on the line. Jack, why
don't you tell us a bit about today's contestants?"
"Okay, Mark. Debra M. comes to us from Lake Bluff. She is 27, stands
5'8", and weighs 118#. She has natural blonde hair, blue eyes, and
measures an incredible 38DD-21-35. She is an aerobics instructor,
and keeps herself in top physical shape."
"Well, Jack, she's going to need to be top shape today. Who else
do we have?"
"Jeanette T. is from Downers Grove. She is 22, topping out at 5'2"
weighing a mere 101#. Like most redheads, Jeanette is blessed with
emerald green eyes, and is lovely, at 34-22-33. She is a legal
secretary, and fences competitively on the side."
"Welcome to the show, Jeanette. Jack, who is our final contestant?"
"Lydia J. lives in Evanston. The 25 year old history grad student
is 5'5", weighing 111#. She has brown hair, grey eyes, and measures
a shapely 36-24-36."
"Thank you, Jack. Well, contestants, as you know, 'YBYL' is a show
where you attempt to survive grueling ordeals, suggested by our
viewers. The losers die. The survivor wins. Now, each of you has
already demonstrated a degree of toughness, enduring tortures to
qualify as guests. Why don't you each tell our viewers a bit about
your preliminaries? Debra, let's start with you."
"Fine. Well, Mark, I just had my 27th birthday, and since my Master
chose not to renew my exemption, I was selected to be a contestant.
To make it to the show, I survived 'The Mark of Canes'. In this,
I was given 100 strokes from a cane while holding a riding crop in
my teeth. Had I dropped the crop, I would have been disqualified,
and (given my loss of exemption) terminated summarily."
"Interesting. Jeanette, what about you?"
"Mark, my father had been unable to find a buyer for me, and so
was forced to sell me to the show. My qualifying ordeal was to have
fifteen candles shoved into my cunt and have them lit. I had to
keep them there until my pussy juices extinguished them."
"Wow. Lydia, what's your story?"
"I was given a choice by the university: play here or be given to
the Alpha Alpha Sigmas for their pledge barbecue. My qaulifying
ordeal required me to have 100 clothespins put on my tits, and then
have them whipped off, one by one, in silence."
"Great. Well, folks, we have some tough ladies here today, and
believe you me, they are going to need every bit of that toughness
to survive. After this word from our sponsors, we'll be back with
our first ordeal."
***
"Are your old riding crops losing their sting? Does your painbitch
laugh when you get out the cane? Do pins and needles fail to inspire
the proper degree of terror? You need something new. You need:
The Heater! The Heater is a flogger with metal strands, which can
be electrically heated to white-heat. One flogging with this will
encourage her to change her ways. And as if that weren't enough,
we'll also throw in The Zapper absolutely free. The Zapper is
another wire whip which is connected to a Van de Graaf generator,
allowing the thongs to be charged to two million volts. But because
this is static electricity, it cannot cause permanent injury or
death. But it can cause her to WISH for death... So act now, and
order The Heater and The Zapper. Call our toll-free number, operators
are standing by (they have to stand, since they helped field test
the whips)."
***
"Welcome back, everyone. Now that we are all ready, Jack, why don't
you tell us a little about our first ordeal?"
"Right you are! The ordeal in this first round was suggested by
Harold Nesbitt, who wins the right to terminate the loser. Harold,
will you describe 'The Shot and the Bucket' to our contestants and
our audience?"
"Sure. First, though, let me say how excited I am to be on the
show, and how much I am looking forward to terminating the first
round loser. Anyway, 'The Shot and the Bucket' is quite simple.
Take an ordinary plastic bucket and remove the handle. Replace it
with chain, to each end of which is attached a large clamp. The
clamps will be attached to the contestants labia. Then buckshot
will be added to each bucket. The first contestant to have her
labia torn off loses."
"Thanks, Harold. Okay, contestants, take your positions."
Each girl was strapped onto a frame that held her legs spread wide,
making her labia stand out prominently. The buckets were attached
to each, Then a device consisting largely of an giant funnel full
of buckshot with a regulating device attaching a hose to the bottom
was wheeled over. The regulators were set to allow the shot to fall
at a rate of two per second.
The gates were opened, and the studio was filled with the steady
'tink'ing of buckshot, falling into plastic buckets. They seemed
far too light to accomplish their mission, yet they fell with a
steady relentlessness. The terrified girls suffered little at first,
but gradually as the minutes wore on, they began to show signs of
a strain.
All three girls pussy lips began to stretch, longer and longer.
Soon, Lydia was whimpering, and shortly thereafter Jeanette began
to moan as well. Only Debra remained silent, stoic.
Their lips continued to stretch, and suddenly, without warning,
Debra's bucket fell to the ground, spilling buckshot everywhere.
"No, dammit, it's not fair! I exercise every day. I am in top shape!
I refuse to lose just because my cunt lips weren't stronger!"
"Sorry, Debra, but you LOSE! Harold, would you like to tell us what
you have planned for Debra today?"
"Sure. Debra, I had originally planned to terminate my prize by
means of the 'The Yellow Butterfly' (think about pulling off wings,
and pressing the bodies flat in books). However, given the obviously
fit body that Debra has, I am changing to 'The Death of the 50,000'.
I have designed a special machine that will simultaneously whip
each breast, each ass cheek, and her pussy at the rate of two
strokes each each second. That's a total of ten strokes per second,
which means that it will take about an hour and a half to deliver
all 50K. I rather doubt that she will survive that long, though if
she does, I will simply continue it until she is terminated."
"Boy! Tough luck, Debra. Jack, will you help me strap her in?"
"Sure. Just hold still, you stupid bitch... There! Harold, you may
throw the switch."
*Snick*
Budda-budda-budda... Everyone realised how cleverly Harold had
designed the machine. Each whip struck in sequence, rather than
all at once, as one might expect. Thus, the continual sound of whip
on flesh.
Debra managed to remain quiet for almost the first ten minutes.
According to the machine, she had received five thousand of her
whip strokes before she made a sound. However, when she broke, she
broke completely. She sobbed, she howled, she wailed, she promised
anything to be spared the ordeal. To no avail!
The whipping went on and on, driving Debra into her own private
hell where nothing existed but the pain, the endless pain. By twenty
minutes, she was hoarse from screaming, and at thirty she flirted
with unconsciousness. But Harold had built well. The moment her
head began to roll, electric shocks were applied to her fingers
and toes, hands and feet. She was shocked back to alertness
repeatedly.
Finally after some thirty thousand or so whip strokes had been
delivered, she sagged in her bonds. The shocks failed to revive
her, and the trickle of urine down her legs was mute testimony to
the efficacy of the machine. She was its first victim, but Harold
vowed she would NOT be the last.
"Wow, Jack. Have you ever seen anything like that before?"
"No, Mark. Harold, you're brilliant. Thanks for being on the show
with us. Okay, when we come back from the commercial message, we
will find out which of our two remaining contestants survives Round
Two of 'You Bet Your Life'."
***
"Dave, you hungry?"
"Yeah, but I'm sick of burgers, pizza, and tacos."
"No problemo. I just heard about a great new place called Arnie's."
"Really? What kind of food do they serve?"
"Slutshimi."
"What?"
"Slut sashimi. You pick the slut, then select which parts you want,
and their chef cuts them off right in front of you. And for those
people who hate the thought of eating cunt-lips or nips raw, they
will stir-fry them with fresh vegetables, right at your table. It's
awesome!"
"Sounds great. Let's go!"
Visit Arnie's for all your fine dining needs. Now featuring take-out
and delivery.
***
"Damn, Jack, now I'm all hungry. To take our minds off food, why don't
you introduce the gentleman who dreamed up our second round ordeal?"
"Right you are, Mark. Our next ordeal is the brain child of Martin
Thomas, of Waukegan. Martin, your ordeal is called 'The Juicy Lucy.'
What does it entail?"
"Well, the principle is quite simple. For each of the girls, an
electrode is inserted in her asshole, and another is clamped to
her clit. Matching shocks of varying current and duration are
applied simultaneously to each girl. Although the current and
duration are random for each shock, with a random time interval
between shocks, the device is programmed such that the current
gradually increases, the duration of the shocks gradually increases,
and the interval between shocks gradually decreases. So the
intensity will grow over time. The loser will be the first girl to
scream non-stop for at least three minutes, or the first one to
lose consciousness."
"Incredible. I think I speak for everyone when I say that we
are definitely looking forward to seeing 'The Juicy Lucy' in
action. Martin, would you please hook our contestants up?"
"Sure thing."
Since both girls were already mounted on frames from round one,
all Martin had to do was to insert the anal electrodes, which
were the size of grapefruit, for extra cruelty, and to clamp
the girls' clits with the other electrode. He then stepped back
to the controls, and pressed a button. Both girls jumped
immediately.
"We have a good connection," Martin told them. He then pushed
the start switch.
At first, nothing seemed to happen. But after about ten seconds
Lydia's body tensed. She began to breathe more heavily. A few
seconds later, Jeanette did likewise.
"By the way," Martin added, "if you and the audience look up, you
can see a display showing when the next shock will be delivered,
and while it is being delivered, how much longer it will last, and
how severe it is, on a scale from 1 (a mild tingling) to 10 (almost
certainly lethal)."
The audience looked up, and saw that the current shock was a two,
and would last only seven seconds more. Sure enough, seven seconds
later, both girls slumped in their bondage frames. The display now
indicated twenty-six seconds until the next shock, which was slated
to be a five.
As the clock wound down, the audience leaned forward in anticipation.
The clock hit zero, and both girls immediately went rigid in their
bondage frames again. Now the clock indicated that they had forty-one
seconds to "enjoy" this shock. Sweat was pouring off of them both,
but so far, neither had made a sound.
The countdown timer now showed a mere three seconds until the next
shock, which was only a three. This lasted twenty-one seconds, and
both girls remained silent.
And so it continued. The shocks got longer, and more intense. The
respites between shocks got shorter. The first time the intensity
hit eight, both girls rewarded the audience with a loud scream.
However, this shock lasted "only" thirty-eight seconds, so neither
came close to losing.
After about ten minutes on the frames, Martin announced, "See the
yellow light that has now come on? That means we have entered stage
two. In stage two, no shock is ever less than a four, never lasts
for less than one minute, and the recovery period is never longer
than fifteen seconds."
Sure enough, the audience could see that a new shock had begun,
that was a seven, and due to last for 89 seconds. Both girls were
shaking like leaves when it finished, and Lydia was sobbing, softly
but continuously.
They got a mere four seconds to recover, and then got a six, for
three minutes and twelve seconds. Both screamed occasionally, but
nowhere near the requisite three minutes.
And so the game continued for another ten minutes. The audience
noticed that the status light had changed from yellow to red. Martin
explained, "Now we are in stage three. In stage three, the shocks
are never less than a six, always last for at least two minutes,
and the recovery period never exceeds five seconds."
Sure enough, the next shock began. It was a nine, and was scheduled
for an amazing four minutes and forty-seven seconds. About fifty
seconds in, Lydia began to scream. Over her head, the scream clock
began counting. Fifteen seconds later, Jeanette joined in, but
that only mattered if Lydia could somehow stop herself from screaming.
Both girls passed the one minute mark, then one minute and thirty
seconds. Neither showed signs of stopping. Two minutes came for
both girls. As Lydia passed two minutes and thirty seconds, she
managed (by dint of nearly superhuman effort) to still herself for
the requisite five seconds. She immediately began to scream again,
even louder than before, but her five seconds of control bought
her a reprieve, with her clock starting over again.
Jeanette continued to scream, and as time ran out, the audience
began shouting down the final "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five!
Four! Three! Two! One! Zero!"
"Well, Mark, it looks like Jeanette is our loser. What have you
got planned for her, Martin?"
"It's called 'The Joan of Arc'. First, we'll pump gasoline into
her belly and intestines, and then, well, then we set it alight."
"Ouch, sounds painful."
They proceeded to fill Jeanette with gas, until it came trickling
out her asshole. Martin lit a propane torch, and used it to light
the gas coming from her ass. The fire burned its way into her ass,
and up her colon. Jeanette screamed like a woman suffering the
torments of the damned. Come to think of it, she was a woman
suffering the torments of the damned. Damn!
She screamed until flames began to shoot out of her mouth. She was
then unable to scream any more, and expired, beautifully.
"Wow, Martin, I can only say, 'That was HOT!' And now, let's have
a final word from our great sponsors."
***
"Hello, I'm Bob Gunderson, owner and manager of BladeWorld. I'd
like to be your one-stop shop for all of your slicing, cutting,
dicing, and poking needs. Whether you need a knife to skin your
bitch, cut off her tits, or just some needles to sew her cunt shut,
we have them in stock. And if your needs are more specialised, we
do have a blacksmith on staff, who can make any custom blade you
might require. So come on down to BladeWorld, and remember our
motto: If she ain't screaming, it wasn't a BladeWorld blade."
***
"Welcome back. Mark, would you please explain to Lydia her final
choice?"
"Sure, Jack. Lydia, you now have a choice. We can either live
spit-roast you for our studio audience, or you can go for the grand
prize, and take the final challenge. While we will not tell you
the nature of the final challenge, we will tell you that for every
minute you survive, one thousand dollars will be paid to you or
your heirs. If you survive thirty minutes, you will go free, and
will get a twenty-thousand dollar bonus. So, Lydia, make your
choice: Live spit-roasting, or 'The Final Challenge'!"
With that, a clock appeared, counting down from ten seconds. "If
you don't choose by the time the clock reaches zero, we'll let the
audience decide."
Lydia was too afraid to pick, and dithered until "Bzzt!" "Time's
up, Lydia. Now, ladies and gentlemen of the audience, I am going
to ask Mark to describe this week's 'Final Challenge' before you
are asked to vote. Mark?"
"Well, Jack, tonight's 'Final Challenge' is a classic. If the
audience selects it, Lydia will be hanged. Our staff advisor has
crafted a noose that, based on Lydia's weight and physical condition,
gives her a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the first fifteen
minutes, and one chance in ten of surviving the whole thirty
minutes."
"You heard the man, Everyone please find the voting button on the
right arm of your chair. Please select 'S' for spit-roasting, or
'H' for hanging. The votes will be tallied electronically, and the
results displayed on the screen."
The numbers flickered and flashed, and when the final tally appeared,
it was ... The Noose. Several audience members sighed in disappointment.
"Just a minute, folks. Now, since you have voted to have Lydia
hanged, we have a special announcement: All of our female audience
members have been entered into a pool. One lucky girl will be chosen
from the pool to be live spit-roasted for the rest of us. Lydia,
will you do the honors?"
Jack held a large bowl out for Lydia. She reached in, and drew out
a piece of paper. Jack took and said, "Suzette T, of Winnetka, you
are our winner. Come on down!"
An oriental girl, about 5'2", 89#, with (of course) long black hair
and brown eyes (which currently held a stunned, "deer caught in the
headlights" look), came down to the stage.
"Suzette, why don't you tell us a bit about yourself. Let us 'Meet
the meat' as it were."
"I am twenty-one years old, and work in a fast-food joint. I measure
33J-19-34, and have been trained by my father to be spit-roasted
since I was six years old. I am so stunned to have been chosen. I
hope I have enough meat to feed the entire audience."
"Actually, Suzette, we have a confession to make. We arranged with
your father to roast both you and your two sisters, Sandra and
Sharon, if the audience voted for the noose. So there will be plenty
of meat to go around."
And with that, an assistant led two more stunningly large-breasted
asian girls on to the stage. The crew was quite efficient, and soon
had all three girls spitted, and turning over the coals. It was
time for "The Final Challenge".
A hangman's frame was wheeled out on stage, and the noose was fitted
over Lydia's head, and snugged up against her throat. Jack leaned
over and pulled the lever, dropping the floor out from under the
doomed girl, and starting the clock.
For the first five minutes, Lydia breezed through. She began to
think that she had a chance of surviving. After ten minutes, though,
it began to wear on her. Her breathing got labored. Bizarrely, the
less she was able to breathe, the more she twitched and struggled.
At the fifteen minute mark, she was still going, but it was clear
to the experienced observers that she wasn't going to make it to
thirty minutes. At last, at about twenty-one minutes and thirty-two
seconds, she expired.
"Is there a Rudy Jacobs in the house?" asked Jack.
"I'm Rudy," said a tall grey-bearded man.
"Congratulations, Rudy, you were selected by a random drawing. You
win Lydia's carcass. Just tell us what you'd like done with it,
and we will make all the arrangements."
"I won?! Cool! Tell you what: Have her head stuffed and mounted.
Have her skinned, and have the skin tanned and made into a jacket.
Then have her butchered, and have the cuts and chops delivered to
my place. And thanks, guys."
"You got it. Well, everyone, Suzette and her sisters are starting
to smell pretty good here, so this is Mark and Jack, saying 'So
long, and see you next week, to watch three more lovely ladies
compete on "You Bet Your Life!"'"
