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.
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