Flaying Flame

 

***

 

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. Anyone who seriously

believes the author did or advocates these activities is wrong. Second, this

story features any or all of the following acts: forced sex, brutal torture, and

snuff, all featuring willing (and unwilling) female victims. If this offends

you, or even if it is just not your cup of tea, 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 install

Vista on a 500MHz PIII w/ 32MB RAM, a 10GB hard drive, and no CD-ROM, only a

floppy drive. 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 2007. You may post this story

in other venues, with three caveats: One, if you do, The Chairman requests the

courtesy of an email, with a URL, so he can see where his work is being used.

Two, if you wish to post this on a pay site (or any site where a membership is

required), contact The Chairman to make arrangements. Three, you must keep the

disclaimer and copyright notice intact.

 

Thank you.

 

email chairman [d-a-s-h] posting [a-t] scubed [d-o-t] org

 

***

 

"Get your cape," he ordered. "We're going out."

 

Flame jumped up in excitement. She was normally naked around the house (well,

save for her ever present collar, wrist and ankle cuffs, and high heels). The

cape meant they were going somewhere kinky, where she need only be sufficiently

dressed (or at least covered) to pass through the vanilla world.

 

Flame was, as her name might suggest, a redhead. A real, 100% natural redhead,

with the green eyes and pale skin that that implied. She stood about five foot

two or so, with straight hair that hung to mid-back, and sometimes playfully

covered her small but firm breasts. She wasn't narrow-waisted, but her hips and

ass flared sufficiently wide to make her waist appear small by comparison. In

short, while not being drop-dead supermodel gorgeous, she was quite pretty, even

voluptuous, in her way.

 

"Master," she asked, hesitantly, "may I ask where you are taking me?"

 

"Of course, little one. I am taking you to Sadique." He noted her suddenly

worried look. "You've heard stories of it?"

 

"Yes, Master, I have. They say that the Masters and Mistresses there do the most

terrible things to their slaves. They say there is even an incinerator

on-premises to dispose of slaves who don't survive their Masters' pleasures.

They say that any slave who goes there unaccompanied will be lucky to ever be

seen again."

 

He looked at her, solemnly. "Yes, little one, those things are all true." She

shuddered as he confirmed her fears. "However, I promise you that nothing will

happen to you that I don't permit. Any slave who is there with her Owner is

protected. Nothing may be done to them without the Owner's permission. So don't

worry, you will be under my protection."

 

She was terrified, not at what her Master might do to her, but at what she might

see done to others.

 

***

 

They got in the car. She had her hands cuffed together, under her cloak. It was

fastened only at the neck, and relied only on its overlapping folds to provide

any concealment. Needless to say, whilst riding in the car, he folded it back,

so that anyone who could look in to their car could see her thighs, and perhaps

her cunt.

 

After a drive of fifteen or twenty minutes, they were in the warehouse district

of town. He pulled up at the guard shack outside a nondescript little factory

that she had passed a dozen times before, and waved a magnetic card key at the

reader. Satisfied, the electronic gatekeeper allowed them into the parking lot.

 

The "employees parking lot" (as a sign proudly proclaimed this to be) was

entirely fenced in with a solid wall, permitting nothing within to be seen from

outside. Her Master parked the car, and came around to her door. Even if she

didn't have standing orders to allow him to open all doors for her, her cuffed

hands precluded her exiting on her own.

 

When he opened her door, he leaned in and unfastened her cloak. "You won't be

needing that tonight." With that, he led her, naked and leashed, to the entry.

Once again, he flashed his magnetic key card, and once again, with a buzz, the

door unlocked.

 

The door opened into a small entry room. It was well-lit, and about fifteen feet

by fifteen feet. There was a small partition just inside the door, such that it

wasn't possible to see even into the entryway from outside. The complete and

total seriousness with which the club took its security precautions scared Flame

far more than any of the stories she had heard about Sadique. Well, she just had

to trust her Master to protect her.

 

Coming around the partition, she saw a double-door at the far end of the room,

guarded by a modern-day Kerberos. Well, not quite, as he had only one head; he

did, however, have three chins. Despite that, he didn't look like a soft man,

but more like one of those only-recently-civilised barbarian princelings.

 

He was looking at her Master, but more, he was ogling her. Finally, he looked

at her Master, and asked, "You gonna let Mistress Elke use her as a demo dolly?"

 

"Why? What's she planning?" her Master replied.

 

"You know how good she is with a singletail?" Her master nodded. "Well, I hear

she is going singletail some lucky slut to death. I sure would like to see your

little redheaded number be the one." Flame looked at the man, horrified. Here

he was, speaking admiringly and enthusiastically about seeing her whipped to

death.

 

She looked at her Master, pleadingly. "No, little one," he reassured her, "I

have no intention of letting Mistress Elke have you." She practically wilted in

relief.

 

After checking her Master's electronic card key one more time, they were allowed

to enter. The main room was a large chamber, perhaps 50' x 100', perhaps larger,

but definitely *not* smaller. It was like a scene out of hell, or at least a

Dolcett illustration. Her Master looked around the room, obviously seeking

someone in particular. After a moment, he spotted whomever he was seeking, and

led Flame by her leash to a dark and quiet corner of the room.

 

There, she saw a red-and-grey haired woman chained in a standing spreadeagle,

being whipped by a large bear of a man with a long grey ponytail. This would not

have been that unusual, save that every whip stroke scratched the skin, and some

drew blood. Flame's Master led her over to a young couple who were watching from

nearby. Actually, that statement was only half accurate: The man (who partook

somewhat of the bear-like build, but with a long brown ponytail) was watching,

while the girl (who was naked, with wavy shoulder-length red hair, and clearly

a slave) knelt before him, sucking his cock.

 

The man looked at her Master, nodded. Her Master nodded back. "Evening, Darryl,

Gwen." The cocksucking slave looked briefly at him in acknowledgement. "This is

my slave, Flame." Darryl took a long and appraising look at Flame. He seemed to

see right through her.

 

"Evening," was Darryl's response.

 

*mmph* was Gwen's.

 

"What's the occasion?" her Master asked, nodding at the woman being whipped.

 

"Well," Darryl responded, "tonight is my folks thirtieth anniversary."

 

"And?"

 

"You know my mother, and you know how she always manages to get the things she

really wants?" Flame's Master nodded. "Well, for about the last month or so, she

has been hinting, hell, practically begging, that she wanted Dad to snuff her

for their thirtieth. This morning she gave him that whip, which has small bits

of sharp metal embedded in the falls. He was clearly touched by the gift, and

promised to use it to whip her to death tonight. Besides, you know she would

have turned fifty next month, and she always said she wanted to be snuffed while

she could still make his dick hard, so..."

 

It also made Flame's Master's dick hard, and he grabbed Flame by the hair and

forced her down to her knees in front of him. She knew what was expected of her,

and set to work with a will.

 

"So what do you think?" he asked Darryl.

 

"It's hot, no doubt about it. I've always enjoyed watching my mom get tortured,

and for that matter, I've enjoyed torturing her. In fact, I'm thinking about

doing my little sister next weekend." He wrapped a hand in Gwen's hair, pulled

her back to look at him, and said, "What do you think of that, slut? Should I

snuff you next weekend?"

 

Flame boggled. Gwen was Darryl's sister? But she was even more surprised when

Gwen replied, "Why do we have to wait until next weekend, Master? Why can't you

do me right now?"

 

"Several reasons, slut," he replied. "One, I want Dad to be able to watch and

enjoy it. Two, I want to have plenty of time. And three, I want you to spend the

whole week in anticipation, knowing that a week from Monday, you will exist no

more. I want you wondering just how bad it's going to be, and I promise you, no

matter how bad you imagine it can be, I will make it worse. You will suffer the

most terrible and brutal torments imaginable, and you will scream for hours."

Gwen shuddered, but Flame wasn't sure if it was in fear, or anticipation.

 

***

 

The two men watched the flogging in companionable silence for a few minutes,

until at last, Flame's Master said, "Knowing your folks, this will no doubt go

for hours, at the least, and I have a few other folks I wanted to say 'Hi' to

tonight. Speaking of which, have you seen where Mistress Sahara is holding court

this evening?"

 

"Over there," Darryl gestured to (of course) the far corner of the room. Flame's

Master led her in that direction, but as they passed a small knot of men

gathered in the middle of the room, he stopped, and greeted one of the men.

 

"Ethan, how the hell are you, dude?"

 

"Not bad, not bad. You?"

 

"'Bout the same. How long's it been? Four years? Five?"

 

"Something like that. Say, is that your current slave?" Ethan pointed to Flame.

 

"Yeah. I call her 'Flame'. What about you?"

 

"That's my slave." Ethan pointed towards the knot of men. Looking closer,

amongst them, could be seen a woman, inverted. Her ankles were clamped to either

end of a spreader bar, suspended from the ceiling. Her mass of blonde hair

swirled about her head in the bucket she was suspended over. One by one, the men

were taking turns pissing on her, and into the bucket.

 

"What's up with that?"

 

"Well, a few weeks ago, this slut confessed that she hated the smell and taste

of piss, so I decided that for the rest of her life, she was going to be a

piss-slave. She will drink only piss, her own and others."

 

"And the bucket?"

 

"Well, I said for the rest of her life. But I also promised her that I would

snuff her by drowning her in piss. It's simple, really. So long as she can

swallow everything in the bucket, she lives. Sooner or later, though, she's not

going to be able to swallow it all, and then..."

 

"Delightful. Do you mind if I...?"

 

"Of course not." Flame's Master made his contribution to the bucket.

 

"Well, I must dash, but let's not let it get to be quite as long before the next

time, okay?"

 

"Sure thing. If she survives tonight, I am thinking of having a BBQ tomorrow out

at my place. Come on by, and help me snuff this bitch. I've been getting tired

of her for a while, and longing to put her on a spit."

 

"Maybe. I'm gonna be busy tonight. How about I call you tomorrow? About noon?"

 

"Fair enough. See ya', hopefully!"

 

Flame and her Master resumed their walk to the corner where Mistress Sahara sat,

with her coterie of followers, admirers, and hangers-on.

 

***

 

Sahara was a lovely woman. She had soft mocha skin, generous tits barely

contained by a black leather bra, long legs highlighted by black leather

thigh-highs, and a black leather miniskirt that flattered her waist. She was

also the most intimidating woman Flame had ever seen.

 

"Dahling, how good to see you," she greeted Flame's Master.

 

"And you, m'dear," he replied, gallantly. "So where are the Ukrainian twins,

Talia and Sonya? You said you wanted to show me what you had done with them."

 

"You're looking at them." He was puzzled. While there were female slaves aplenty

in the area, none were obviously twins, or indeed, appeared to belong to Sahara.

 

"Huh?"

 

Seeing the confusion on his face, Sahara stood up, and twirled, slowly. "I

skinned them alive, then tanned their hides to make this outfit, along with a

pair of matching floggers. Girlskin makes the best leather. So soft, so supple.

And of course, nothing beats the look in a girl's eyes, when she knows you

really are going to skin her. The terror, the pleading, it's exquisite, really.

Have you thought about having Flame skinned? I could make a beautiful jacket

from her hide. And panties, too."

 

Flame looked at her Master, pleading. He answered, "I'm not going to skin her,

Sahara, though it is an intriguing thought." Flame looked horrified at hearing

her Master say that.

 

"Please, Master, no," she said, before she remembered her Master's rule, that

the only sound sounds he wanted to hear from her in the dungeon were screams and

moans. She clamped her hand over her mouth, as if to stop the words coming out,

but it was much too late.

 

"You will be soundly tortured for that later, Flame," he told her. "In the

meantime, kneel at my feet while we chat." He seated himself on the loveseat,

next to Mistress Sahara. She knelt, looking at his crotch, while he rubbed his

hands idly on her body.

 

Her Master and Mistress Sahara chatted for a time, and to Flame, it was mostly

yadda-yadda-yadda, talk about people she'd never met doing things she had no

interest in, although one snippet jumped out at her. Her Master said, "so what

ever happened to Harvey? Did he win the International Ponygirl Championship with

Michelle, I think her name was? I know he thought she might be the one."

 

"No," Sahara answered, "he didn't."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Well, Michelle broke her hip, and since he couldn't be bothered with the work

of tending to her in the fairly full-body cast she would need to be in to heal

properly, he did what pony owners do in that case, he put her down, and sold her

to a dog-food factory." Flame shuddered in fear at that, and Sahara chuckled.

"I'm only teasing, dear little one. Besides, no dog food factory would accept

unknown meat from an anonymous source." Flame looked relieved. "No, he actually

had her butchered here in the club kitchens. She was a little too muscled for

my taste. I prefer softer girlmeat. Like you, little Flame." Flame really

shuddered as the dusky Mistress stroked her tits and cunt.  Was she afraid, or

excited?

 

"Afraid," she told herself, "definitely afraid, and not, repeat NOT the least

little bit wet or excited." She almost believed herself. But her wet cunt gave

the lie to that belief.

 

***

 

Finally Flame's Master said to Mistress Sahara, "I've got to go get Flame

chained in the storage area, prior to going to see Elke's demonstration. See you

there in about ten? And save me a seat!" He grinned.

 

"You bet."

 

Rising, he led Flame across the room to a side door. "I think seeing what

Mistress Elke is going to do might be too much for you, little one, so I am

putting you in storage," he explained. "You will be chained in a room with other

slaves. You are not permitted to speak, and to ensure that you don't, I will be

gagging you. You will remain there in safety until I return."

 

They entered the room.

 

Flame saw several other naked slave girls chained to the wall of the storage

room. She noticed the large colored fobs hanging from each girl's collar. Her

Master explained, "Black tags are for slaves that can be used for any purpose,

including torture and snuff. Red tags indicate girls available for torture,

green available only for sex, and white means the slave is not available for

anything." Flame noted with relief that her Master tagged her collar with a

white tag. She opened her mouth to receive the ball gag. She hated the ball gag,

but her Master loved it. "You'll be safe here until I return, little one. No one

will harm you without my permission." With that, he turned and left.

 

Flame looked at the other slaves chained in the room with her, but all were

gagged as she was, so that was about all she could do. She zoned out, not

exactly sleeping, but lost in the world of her own thoughts. She was quite

surprised when rough hands seized her. She tried to say, "I'm a white tag!

Leave me alone!" but all that came through the gag was "Mmph! Mmpphh!" She

waggled her neck, trying to draw attention to the white tag on her collar, but

her assailant just looked at her, and whispered, "Hush now, little one, my

mistress sent me to fetch you."

 

Flame shook her head in denial. "I am under my Master's protection," she tried

to signal him. "You've got the wrong slave." He apparently guessed what she was

trying to say, because he replied, "No, little one. My mistress told me to get

the slave with the flame red hair." Flame looked around, and saw that she was

the only redhead in the room. "So I've got the right slave."

 

He proceeded to cuff her wrists and ankles together with short lengths of chain.

"You can walk with me like a good little slut, or I can taser you into

unconsciousness, but either way, you are coming with me. Now, will you behave?"

Flame nodded. "Good."

 

He walked her out a back door, into what looked like a loading dock. Backed up

to the dock was a white limo. Her assailant led her to the back, and popped the

trunk. "Hold still!" he commanded. She saw him pull out a hood from his pocket,

and pull it over her head. She began to shake in fear.

 

After she was hooded, she felt him lift her up and set her in the trunk. She

heard the lid thump closed. She was driven for a while. Up and down hills, over

bumps, across bridges, and so on. She tried keeping track of the turns and hills

and such, but hooded in the dark, she quickly lost track.

 

The ride lasted for somewhere between twenty minutes and forever (she had no

real idea how long). Finally, they arrived. She heard the trunk opened, and two

sets of hands lifted her out. She was carried into a building (at least, she

heard a door open and close), down some stairs, through some more doors, until

at last she was laid flat on a large table.

 

She felt her hands and feet being stretched into a classic spread-eagle, and

straps fastened them tightly in place. A further strap was placed around her

neck, so she could not move. She felt someone remove the hood.

 

She blinked in the light. She could see a figure silhouetted above her, but

there was a light on above that person, so she couldn't make out who it was.

However, her question was answered when the figure spoke.

 

"Hello again, little Flame," said the voice of Mistress Sahara. "After I saw you

this evening, I simply had to have you, so I sent my boys to get you."

 

Flame tried to protest, though the gag muffled her quite thoroughly.

 

"Oh, you think your Master is going to save you? Think again, slut. He sold you

to me this evening." Flame shook her head as best she could whilst strapped to

the table. Her Master wouldn't sell her.

 

"Yes, I would," said his familiar voice. "Why do you think I brought you to

Sadique? I was shopping you to potential buyers. When Mistress Sahara offered

to not only skin you alive, but to do it here at the club, tonight, where we all

could watch, and to give me a flogger made from your hide later, I couldn't

resist."

 

Flame could only stare in horrified silence at her (now former) Master. How could

he do this to her? Didn't he care about her? Didn't he love her, as she loved

him? Did she mean so little to him? Wait a minute, did he say skinned alive?

 

"Yes, little Flame," Mistress Sahara said, "I am going to skin you alive. It is

quite excruciatingly painful. I will, of course, ungag you first, so you can

entertain us with your screams. When I am done, you will be of no further use

to me, and I will dispose of you in the incinerator. I warn you, if you fight

or struggle, if you cause me to damage your lovely hide, you will be thrown into

the incinerator while you are still alive. I have seen it done before. Hell, I

have done it before. Every slut I have incinerated alive has screamed like,

well, like a slut who is being incinerated alive. Don't fuck with me, slut!" She

hissed with quiet menace.

 

With that, Sahara ungagged Flame, and bent close to the trembling slut's ear.

She whispered, "Do you believe me when I tell you that if you cause me to damage

your hide, I will incinerate you alive?"

 

"Yes, Mistress," Flame was only able to manage a whisper herself.

 

"Good girl."

 

Mistress Sahara was as good as her word. It took about an hour to skin Flame,

and judging from her screams, it was quite excruciatingly painful. Flame did her

very best not to move, and did quite well.

 

***

 

Finally, the gruesome ordeal was over. Flame was more naked than ever before in

her life (and given that her disposal was preordained, as naked as she ever

would be). Some members of the watching audience had been sick, but for most of

them, this was merely an appetizer for their cruelty. The passions Mistress

Sahara and Flame aroused would be slaked only in the screams and snuff of other

sluts that night.

 

Mistress Sahara looked at the ruined (but still living) thing on the table that

had been Flame, and said, "You did very well, my little slut. I did not damage

your hide. I am proud of you. Now, push her into the incinerator!"

 

Flame looked shocked. She tried to mouth her protest, but she was hoarse from

her hour of screaming. Mistress Sahara knew what she was trying to say, however,

and she responded to the doomed slut, "My dear Flame, I never promised you that

I would kill you before I put you in the incinerator. I only promised that you

would be put in alive if you struggled. What I didn't mention was that it was always

my plan to incinerate you alive, no matter how well you behaved. But I promise you

this, I will order them to set the incinerator on the "slow-roast" setting, so

that you will have at least five minutes to cook and burn for us before you die.

Flame on!" she chuckled evilly.

 

Actually, it took almost six minutes.

 

***

 

Six months later:

 

The slave girl writhed under the cruel bite of the whip. Her Master was flogging

her pussy with it, and she loved it. When he finally finished, as she hung limply

on the St. Andrews cross, she said, "Master, I just love that flogger. I'd like to

get you another one, one day."

 

He grinned oddly at her, and said, "Don't worry, dear one, one day you will."