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!"'"
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