First, the standard disclaimer: What follows is a work of FICTION.
If you are incapable of distinguishing fact from fiction, STOP
READING. Go tune in to something harmless and innocuous. This is
NOT FOR YOU. Second, this story features acts of forced sex, brutal
torture, and snuff. If this offends you, please leave now. Really,
we don't mind. Finally, of course, the obligatory warning: Do not
try this at home. The activities in this story are carried out by
highly trained fictional characters, with many years of experience.
Attempting any of this in real life will likely result in embarrassment,
incarceration, or being forced to watch a Pauly Shore marathon.
You have been warned. For the rest of you perverts, those who are
still with me, enjoy!
Also, this story is copyrighted by The Chairman in 2004. You may
post this story in other venues, with three caveats: One, if you
do, the author would appreciate the courtesy of an email, with a
URL, so he can see where his work is going. Two, if you wish to
post this on a pay site, contact the author to make arrangements.
Three, you must keep the copyright notice intact.
Thank you.
email chairman [d-a-s-h] bdsmlibrary [a-t] scubed [d-o-t] org
***
Celeste was watching the movers, trundling the last of her few
possessions down the stairs, out the lobby of her apartment, and
into the truck. I was watching her. At about 5'8" or so, early
thirties, stacked, with a long torso, she was well worth watching.
But then, I wasn't just watching her because she was a foxy blonde
bombshell.
No, I had plans for her. Violent, painful plans, that she would
not survive. She was a local newscaster, and had recently accepted
a job with one of the major news networks, either CNN, or Fox News,
or maybe MSNBC. I don't know, and honestly, I don't care. Anyway,
her new employers had arranged to pack up and move her stuff. They
even offered to fly her to them, while hiring someone to drive her
car to her new home.
But no! She didn't want some teenaged grease-monkey driving her
beloved red convertible cross-country. She just knew they would
wreck it, or ruin the clutch, or something. So she declined their
offer, and was going to drive it herself. She didn't know it, but
that was the last mistake she would ever make in life.
I waited until the movers had taken the last load of stuff, and
driven off. I knew that she would make one more trip up, to make
sure they hadn't forgotten anything, as if they would. When she
came back down, I was waiting.
"Excuse me, miss. Can you tell me how to find 4415 North Pine
Avenue? I'm supposed to be making a delivery there, but I thought
this was the right neighborhood, but..." I shrugged, helplessly.
To her, I looked like just another simple-minded delivery driver.
Nobody of importance to her. She looked at me, and for a minute I
thought she was going to tell me to fuck off, when basic human
decency won out. "This is 4202 North Pine, so basically, go two
blocks further that way..." She turned to point, and then crumpled.
The sleep agent I had injected her with was quite fast acting.
"Oh, dear, let me help you. I'll take you to the hospital" I said
for the benefit of any onlookers. None were about. I loaded her
into my truck, and drove her away. After a bit, I turned into a
large, anonymous parking garage. I found a deserted floor, shifted
her to a box in the back of the truck, and pressed the switch. The
truck has a rather nifty paint scheme, devised by one of our members.
It is electronically programmable paint. It can digitally change
from black to white, or vice versa, such that with the touch of a
switch, the truck can have any of several logos on the sides. Now
it longer bore the logo of a mythical delivery company, and instead
bore the logo of a large insurance company, whose "company cars"
were all anonymous white vans like ours, with the logo on the side.
Oh, by the way, I mentioned a club, didn't I? I am the founder and
president of a very special club, the American Cunt Exterminators.
Once a month, we kidnapped some cute bitch, raped her, tortured
her, and snuffed her. This month it was going to Celeste. Too bad
for her, but quite good for us.
Anyway, I knew that the sleeping agent (created by another of our
members, a surgeon) would keep Celeste, or Cunt #27, as she would
now be known for the remainder of her brief and pain-filled life,
out cold for at least another hour. Just long enough to drive her
to the highly isolated country ranch of another of our members.
***
I arrived at the ranch. Cunt 27 was still out cold. I unloaded her
from the box, grabbed John (the ranch owner), and between us we
carried her to the barn. We strapped her onto a short and wide
plank. Her head hung loose off one end of the plank, her ass and
cunt off the other.
The rest of the members gathered round to look at her. "Hey, I know
who she is." That was Jack, our surgeon. "She's Celeste, that babe
from WZQW. What a fox. How the fuck did you get her?"
"Well," I answered, "a source told me she had taken a better job
with a major news network. She decided to move her own car. Oops!"
I'm Eric, by the way. I am the procurer for the club.
Just then, Cunt 27 came out of it. "What the fuck?!? Untie me, you
pig-fuckers! Let me go, or I will personally see every one of you
on national news."
"Shut up, cunt!" I shouted. "Let me explain something to you. You
are nothing. You are nobody. You are Cunt 27. We have kidnapped
you. We have had one of our members dispose of your car." That
was Bill, who owned a junkyard. "Nobody knows you are missing. You
have no friends in the area. Your new employer will eventually
notice you didn't show up, but nobody saw anything. There will be
an investigation, but nothing will come of it. Eventually, your
employers will think you took your generous signing bonus and
disappeared." Thanks to Joe, who has forgotten more about computer
crimes than the FBI ever knew, her bank account had already been
emptied, paid to cash.
"So here is the deal. We are going to strip you. We are going to
rape you, repeatedly. We are going to torture you, and finally, we
are going to kill you. You can't stop this. There is no bargain
you can make. You can offer to fuck us. So what? We are going to
fuck you regardless. You can offer us money. So what? Money can't
buy the pain and suffering of a cunt like you. Money can't buy the
joy of ending your worthless and miserable life. You have nothing
to offer us, so don't waste our time. And don't beg, or plead. That
really annoys us. Annoy us, and we'll have Doctor Jack cut your
vocal cords. On the one hand, that would suck, because we couldn't
hear you scream. On the other hand, we wouldn't have to put up with
your whining and pleading. It is a tough choice. Don't force us to
make it!"
She looked at us, but stayed silent. Good. Apparently, she had
gotten the message. I pulled out my knife, and grinned. She whimpered.
I began to slice her clothes off. "Don't move," I warned her. "This
knife could slice you to ribbons, but we don't want that...Yet!"
I grinned again, more evilly than before.
Soon she was naked on the plank. She was better looking naked than
clothed. Most people aren't, you know. For most folks, clothes are
a godsend, and something not to be shunned. But for a small percentage
of the populace, like Cunt 27, clothing should always be optional.
Richard walked up to the cunt's mouth, pulled out his cock, and
said, "Make this good and wet, bitch! I am gonna fuck the dog shit
out of you, and this is all the lube I'm gonna use." This was no
idle threat. Richard was hung like a stallion. He always took the
first poke at our cunts. It demoralised them, being fucked by
someone that big. They were sure it would "kill them". Later, of
course, they learn that there are far worse fates than that.
He pulled his cock from her mouth, grabbed her legs to spread them
wider, and jammed it into her shaven snatch. She grunted, but didn't
cry out, not because she was afraid of having her vocal cords cut,
but because Jack was mouth-fucking her. Jack has access to a new,
experimental drug, that allows a man to stay hard for hours, and
to come as many as ten or fifteen times in a day. He always brought
us a supply for club weekends.
Yes, I said weekends. We grabbed our cunts on a Friday, raped and
tortured them until Sunday night, and finally put them down like
the dogs they were.
"Am I in yet? This cunt is so loose and sloppy, I just can't tell."
This from Richard. He likes to fuck with their minds, to make them
feel worthless (which they are, really), and to take any shred of
decency they might be hanging on to.
Jack joined in. "Jeez, in such as cock-sucking business as TV news,
you'd think she'd be better at this. My wife gives much better head
than this." We all nodded. She did, and had, to every one of us,
on many occasions. Our wives/girlfriends were also our slaves. We
played our less fatal games with them, and often invited them to
help out on club weekends. Sometimes their ideas were far more
cruel and inventive than anything we could come up with.
As Jack was about to come, he pulled out of her throat, and came
on her face, and on her tits. "You were such a lousy cock-sucker
that you don't deserve my beautiful come in your body." He turned
and walked away. Cunt 27 looked crushed.
Our plans were taking effect. As each member fucked her cunt, her
asshole, or her throat, they made comments like "We oughta just
rip that tongue out of her throat, it isn't doing her any good in
her mouth" or "Last time I touched an asshole this big was when I
shook hands with the governor" or "I hate the loose feeling of
sloppy seconds" (again from Richard, mocking her with the size of
his cock).
As each of us was about to come, we all pulled out and came on her
body. "A worthless cunt like you doesn't deserve our spunk." After
we had all fucked her many many times, and it was getting to be
about midnight, I called a meeting.
"Okay, everybody has had a chance to fuck her. What do you think?
Is it worth our while to play our games with her this weekend, or
would we be better off snuffing her now, and inviting the girls
out for some fun, the rest of the weekend?"
Everyone felt that while Cunt 27 was one of the worst fucks that
we had had, she looked like a good screamer. So we decided that we
weren't gonna snuff her that night. We called a couple of the girls
who had come out to assist, and had them strap on dildos. They
were instructed to keep raping her, all night long, but never to
let her come.
***
When we got up in the morning, the girls were still raping her.
They knew the penalty for disobedience. They had watched my first
wife pay it, after she refused to let Richard fuck her in the ass.
She was a very petite woman, and thought he would never be able to
fit in her cunt, let alone her ass. It turns out she was right. He
did tear her asshole when he raped it. It didn't matter, of course,
since we were going to kill her anyway, "pour encourager les autres"
as the French say.
Anyway, by now Cunt 27 was half-crazed, and quite dehydrated. We
ordered the girls to stop. "Are you thirsty, you worthless cunt?"
She nodded. "Well, you don't get water. Water is reserved for
people. Cunts like you only get piss. So the question is, how
thirsty are you, cunt? If you are thirsty enough to drink our piss,
open your mouth." She hesitated for only a second before she opened
up.
We all tooks turns, pissing in her mouth, on her hair, in her eyes,
up her nose, and all over her worthless, come-soaked body.
"There is one member of our club you haven't met, yet, cunt. Mark
is the bare knuckles boxing champion in the state. It's an underground
sport, obviously, and generally matches are to the death. He hasn't
lost a match yet, or even been close. Mark, why don't you introduce
yourself to Cunt 27?"
Mark walked over to her, smiled at her, and punched her in the
belly. She grunted in pained surprise. He proceeded to punch and
beat her for the next hour or so. By the time he had finished, her
nose was bloody, her eyes were swollen shut, and her body was
bruised and battered like, well, like someone who had received a
thorough beating from an expert, which she had.
We left the girls to tend to her, and get her in shape for more
games in the afternoon. We went to have some lunch. It was the last
of the chops from Cunt 44, who gave her all for the club last month.
"What do you guys think? Is she good eating, or should we just
dismember her?" I said this around a mouthful girl-meat.
"Well, she looks good to me. Nice legs, a good rump, tits not bad,
a good long torso, so plenty of ribs and loins. Not too fatty, but
not so skinny that the meat has no flavour. Let's barbecue her."
John owned a cattle ranch, that still had the old slaughterhouse,
and he occasionally slaughtered his own cows (both four and
two-legged) for meat, so he knew what he was talking about.
***
After lunch, we returned. I had a new torment to try out. I had
worked this out with Doctor Jack. First, we took a speculum, and
forced her sloppy cunt open. Then he reached inside her, and pushed
some peanut butter deep into her cunt, and through her cervix, into
her womb. The others watched us, not knowing what we had in mind.
I pulled out a small box, with air holes in it. I opened it up,
and took out three white mice. I showed them to Cunt 27. "See these
rodents, cunt? We are gonna put them in your worthless cunt. Then
we are gonna sew your cunt shut. They wont mind, at first, because
we have spread your cunt with peanut butter. We've also put peanut
butter in your womb. They will eat the peanut butter, and in an
effort to get every last bit, will nibble the insides of your cunt.
When that is gone, they will crawl through your cervix, and eat
your womb. This will probably be the most pain you have yet felt
in your life, though it won't be the last or the worst. Oh, by the
way, these mice are a fairly vicious breed, who will fight for the
last few nibbles. The battleground will be your worthless female
organs. We're not taking them out until they are all dead."
We put our plan into action. I put the mice into her, and Jack
sewed her cuntlips up. He used a regular sewing needle, and thread.
The needle must have been kind of dull, because the cunt screamed
a bunch as he stitched her cunt lips together.
For awhile, there was no apparent effect. She shook a little as
the mice tickled her insides, but they hadn't run low on peanut
butter, until there was a snarl from her cunt. The mice were fighting
now. She began to scream. It was quite beautiful. She had a lovely
screaming voice. Must have been all the voice training she had
done.
Suddenly, her screams intensified, and went up an octave. The mice
had clearly moved to her womb. The snarling got fainter, but her
belly began to twitch and move. It looked like the bitch was
pregnant, and the "baby" was kicking (and biting).
After a time, the movement stopped. Her screaming didn't, though.
I decided the mice were all dead. "Jack, cut them out." She looked
puzzled. "No, we aren't going to cut your cunt loose and reach in
there. Instead, Jack is going to do a hysterectomy on you, without
anaesthesia, of course. So even if we didn't kill you, you could
never be a real woman again."
Jack got his scalpel, the semi-dull one he reserves for cutting
cunts, and did the deed. She screamed, of course, and quite loudly.
It was music to our ears. We decided that rather than stitching
her belly back up, it would be simpler and more efficient to simply
cauterise the wound. I grabbed a propane torch and did so. There
was a smell of cooked girl-meat in the air. Wonderful. I was
definitely looking forward to tomorrow.
"Guys, I was thinking. Why should we wait until tomorrow to eat
her?" Instant hubbub. "No, I am not saying we should snuff her now.
But we could give her a quick quadruple amputation without affecting
our plans for tomorrow. What do you say? Should we cut of her arms
and legs, and eat them tonight? Sort of a 'sneak preview' as it
were?" The votes were now unanimous. We took the chainsaw, and cut
her limbs off. Sure, it is kind of messy, but for inducing sheer
terror in a cunt, nothing is more effective than a chainsaw. Once
again, I cauterised the wounds with the propane torch.
The cunt tried to pass out. "Oh no you don't, cunt!" I slapped her
face. "You don't get to escape from these tortures except when we
release you." I detailed some of the girls to keep her awake, while
the rest of us went to fix dinner.
***
I was eating a good steak, fresh, barely warm, and bloody, just
the way I like them. Meanwhile, my wifeslut was on her knees,
between my legs, "eating" me. She was damn good at it, but then,
she had seen the videos of her predecessors' final days. The others
were relaxing in much the same way, save for Jack, who for some
reason the rest of us couldn't fathom, liked to have his toes
sucked. To each his own, I guess.
After dinner, we returned to torment the worthless cunt some more.
I had Jack cut the thread binding her pussy lips together. "I'm
gonna give those cunt lips some new jewelry." I grabbed the leather
punch. I punched six large holes in one cunt lip, then the other.
I grabbed a box of grommets, and fitted each new bleeding hole with
one. Now we could lace her cunt shut, or force it open, quite
easily.
"I have an idea." Richard didn't often speak up at club meetings,
but whenever he did, his ideas tended to be good. He asked me for
my buck knife. I handed it over. I was curious to see what he would
do. He surprised us all when he began to cunt-fuck her with the
knife. It was ... amazing. Apparently he had done this before,
because he drew only small amounts of blood. Cunt 27 was completely
rigid, and straining not to move a muscle. She knew that if she
let her body's natural instincts take over, and clamped down on
the stainless steel invader, she would cut her worthless cunt to
ribbons. She also knew that sooner or later, she would give in.
To make her torment worse, Richard grabbed a vibrator, and began
to buzz and torment her clit. Soon, she was panting and twitching.
She wanted to come, but she knew the consequences. When she finally
came it was with a scream of pleasure that quickly became a howl
of agony. Richard continued to fuck her with it. Now she was bleeding
steadily. He continued to masturbate her, again and again, until
her cunt was a bloody mess. He walked over to the barbecue pit we
had earlier used to cook her limbs. He found a pair of tongs, and
seized one of the still glowing coals from the firepit. "We can't
have you bleeding to death tonight, cunt" he said, and with that,
he plunged the coal into her torn and bleeding cunt. The effect
was amazing. She went rigid, and the most inhuman scream was torn
from her throat. Really, she was like a woman possessed by the most
evil spirits. That was close to the truth. She was possessed by
the most evil men, which was about the same, to her.
Richard decided that one coal was not enough to properly sear her
worthless cunt. He took another, and another. Each time, her screams
got louder, longer, and ever more inhuman. It was hard to believe
that such sounds came from a human being, even a worthless cunt
like her.
We gave some of the girls tasers, and instructed them to use them
on her, all night, to keep her awake, alert, and in pain. We went
to bed.
***
I woke up the next morning with my wifeslut sucking my cock, and
to the sounds of screaming. For a minute I was pissed, thinking
the club had started without me. But then as my brain woke up, I
recognised the screams as coming from Jack's current bitch. Her
screams had a special quality that you could recognise, even at a
distance, even half asleep.
We went down to breakfast. Steak from our cunt girl, and eggs. A
good farm breakfest. And having eaten, it was time to return to
the grand entertainment for today.
Back in the barn, we were deciding how to torture our little cunt
before we killed her. There were several possibilities. One thought
was that we inject her tits with acid, and let them dissolve from
the inside, until it reached her heart. Another was to take a
low-caliber pistol, like a .22, shove it up her cunt, and fire
until she died. With any luck, it would take ten, fifteen, or even
twenty shots to do enough damage to kill her. Yet a third thought
was to spit and barbecue her.
In the end, though, it was Richard's suggestion that carried the
day. We put his plan into action. First, we got Mark to give her
another beating, this time holding nothing back. That meant it was
okay for him to break her ribs, dislocate her jaw, knock out teeth,
pop an eyeball, and other such things, all of which he proceeded
to do with great gusto. Soon, she was a battered and bleeding
wreck. She had screamed throughout, proof that she wasn't beyond
the ability to feel pain. While she lay there, we all told her what
we thought of her. "You're nothing but a worthless whore!" "Whaddya
mean, whore? Who'd pay to have sex with this pathetic cunt?" "If
we kill her, we're just doing her a favour, since no one would ever
want her now." "So what, no one ever wanted her before. If it
weren't for the drugs we get from the dock, my dick would never
have gotten hard fucking her." "Yeah, I admit, if there were a
prize for giving head, she'd finish dead last." "No doubt about
it, the most useless piece of fuck meat we have ever had." "Well,
guys, there is only one way to show her her true worth."
We all began to piss on her. We had each had about five or six cups
of coffee at breakfast, so we all had very full bladders. We pissed
on her for a long time, all the while telling her how lucky she
was that such fine men as ourselves had chosen to share our blessed
golden piss with her, and how generally worthless a piece of shit
she was.
When we had finished pissing, we took turns kicking her. We wanted
to grate those broken ribs against each other. Her cries and screams
were music to our ears. One by one, we took to standing on her
belly, and grinding our heels into her tits. They were far from
the large and firm orbs they had been as recently as Friday morning.
Now they were flat, saggy tit-bags. "Don't feel like we have
disfigured you, cunt. We have just let the whole world see the
worthless piece of shit that you kept hidden within you. You thought
that by exercising, and keeping fit, you could keep others from
realising what a useless, filthy little slut you were, but we saw
the truth. And now, so can anyone else. Let's finish her, guys!"
Everyone agreed it was time to put the worthless cunt-slut out of
our misery. Richard went to his pickup, reached in the box on the
back, and drew out something small and round. Oh, shit, that was
anti-personnel shrapnel-spewing hand grenade. He shoved it in her
cunt, and pulled the pin. "Fire in the whore!" he shouted, and we
all stepped back, whilst grimacing at his bad pun.
With a sudden "Crump!" her belly expanded, and then flame shot out
of her cunt. "Fire in the whore, indeed" I thought to myself. She
howled. It was no longer a scream. It had become a deeply animal
howl. The howl of an animal that has suffered an extremely painful,
near-fatal wound.
"She's still alive," Richard observed. Then he grabbed two more
grenades, pulled the pins, and stuffed them through the slot left
open after her hysterectomy. Soon there was a satisfying double
thump, and she slumped at last. John grabbed her torso, and took
it back to the lime pit behind the barn. In a very short while,
Cunt 27 (once known as Celeste) would be nothing more than a memory.
