Model Bus

Model Bus.

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Torture, snuff, non-consensual, m/f/f, extreme content.

.If you do not like bloodthirsty tales of brutality, do not read any further. This story is a phantasy of sadistic cruelty that bears no resemblance to reality. Women endure hours of vile torments that would kill a real person in five minutes, and their tormentors seem endowed with magical sexual prowess that a Viagra salesman would envy. If you do read it, I hope it releases your own sexual needs harmlessly in this phantasy world.

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A torture story by Susan.

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This tale is phantasy and made for people who enjoy over the top tales of outlandish and quite unrealistic cruelty and torture, snuff, and forced sex. Do not even start to read on if this is not your scene. There. Two warnings. Now enjoy!

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Chapter one. Twenty-Two Pussies.

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The coach was top of the range, each of the twenty-four seats a testament to ergonomic design, comfortable to sit in, able to recline and convert into surprisingly comfortable sleeping couches. They were arranged in four seat booths to give an air of privacy to communal travel. Fold down tables, each with private lap top connection, phone charger and pull down video/T.V. screen were provided in front of each seat. Not only was there a spacious and sweet smelling toilet compartment at the rear of the coach, but even a shower and a beautifully fitted out dressing room with well lit make up mirrors and a superb stock of top fashion lip sticks, blushers, eye-liners, and so on. Stereo speakers were angled to provide a selection of music to each booth, the highest volume carefully maximised at a level that did not intrude into the next booth. To aid the illusion of privacy, sound-deadening curtains could be drawn across the footway. This ran along the offside of the coach rather than down the centre, thus maximising passenger space.

Two of the seats were empty. Miss Ipswich and Miss Colchester had not yet been collected as the coach swept through the drizzle towards Stansted airport where the girls were booked on a flight to sunny Spain. They were going to compete in the finals of the beauty contest organised by one of the major make up companies of America, the prize being a one-year contract as the advertising model for the company products Worldwide.

They passed Stowmarket, heading down the A14, only about fifty miles from the last pick up in Cambridge, but it was time for a refreshment break and the driver pulled in to the service station at Beacon Hill.

Giggling girls ran from the coach to the bright lights of the service station, plastic,

PVC or leather protecting them from the inclement weather.

“Fifteen minutes maximum!” the driver shouted after them, grinning, as he felt good about driving round such a sexy looking collection of glamour. He walked round the side of the main building, heading for the truckers café.

The two men who came alongside him were grinning. “Jesus, Mate. Got yourself a prime cargo in those little dollies. What is it? Some posh hen night? “

They were one each side of him as they swung round the corner of the building. Each took hold of one of his arms as he collapsed when the stun gun met the base of his spine. The trio continued walking, the middle man appearing to be rather drunk, unable to use his legs properly, stumbling and sagging between his supportive escorts. They went straight on, into the car park, a third man opening the rear door of a large black four by four. “Alright, Mate. In you go. Rest up a bit. There!”…. and the door closed. One man went back towards the now empty coach, keys neatly retrieved from the stunned driver. He swung up into the driving seat, anonymous in dark clothes behind the smoked windows. After a few moments, one of his colleagues strolled over and handed him the uniform jacket of the driver together with a small metal suitcase. He put the jacket on, then opened the case and fitted the small gas cylinder below one of the seats half way down the coach. He primed the release valve, and then waited for his passengers to return.

The air operated doors hissed open halfway along the side corridor and the groups of returning passengers entered the coach without even looking at the driver.

He counted them in, then extinguished the bright lights and started the engine. He drove slowly at first, well used to commercial vehicles but finding the fancy controls of this luxury vehicle a bit strange to get used to. Back on the dual carriageway A14 he could relax. In a few miles, he was confident he could handle the vehicle properly and had seen that his colleagues were behind him with the 4x4.

Contrary to popular myth, it is extremely difficult to gas people without either killing them or causing such distress that they become highly agitated before succumbing to narcosis. The cylinder planted in the coach would have no effect other than to emit a most unpleasant smell, a mix of rotten eggs and burnt rubber.

Just before the next junction, the driver released the gas. He switched on the speaker system and said he would pull off the dual carriageway and sort out the problem as soon as possible. Behind him, girls were coughing and gasping as the acrid smell affected their breathing. The driver flashed his rear lights, and took the small left junction, which would lead to a small village, Claydon. Almost at once there was a lay-by and he pulled off the road. He opened his door and went round to meet the other two men who jumped out of the 4x4. They handed him two repeater stun guns, and each had two for themselves. Six zappers, twenty-two female passengers, all to be stunned before they panicked and tried to leave the vehicle. There was little traffic around, but the occasional car drove by. The rain meant there were no pedestrians in sight. The driver opened the main side door and all the men leaped inside. Fast and efficient, the men stunned the passengers so quickly that there were only a couple of shouts of dismay, nothing that would even have been heard outside the coach.

Twenty-two pretty girls slumped in their seats, shuddering and twitching as the electrical impulses of all their muscular activity struggled to recover from the devastating tazar shock. Zip lock nylon closers went around wrists and ankles, then one man brought a small case from the 4x4 and handed out rubber ball gags. Within less than three minutes, the passengers were helpless and gagged.

One man jumped out and drove the car away after zapping the real coach driver once more and throwing him back into the coach. The “relief” coach driver started his vehicle and returned to the main road. The third man stayed with him on the coach and began to inject each of the girl passengers with an anaesthetic that would send them to sleep for at least three hours.

When he withdrew the needle from the arm of the last girl, the anaesthetist took a deep breath and paused for a minute to let his own heart rate slow down, then went to the seat beside the driver.

“They’re all sleeping like babes,” he grunted. “And some of them are stunners! Jesus, we are going to need a bloody case of Viagra to cope with that lot. Twenty-two pussies, and every one a looker. How are we going to deal with so many? We only ever had four at once, that black girl and the hitchhikers. And that took some planning with the food and so on. Can we manage twenty bloody two?”

“No problem. We just don’t need to keep them so long. D’you realize, we can snuff half a dozen at once if we feel like it? Just wade in and slaughter some really prime pussy meat. It’s like my dirtiest dream ever coming true.”

“What about the coach? We’ve never had anything so big to get rid of before.”

“As soon as we make the farm the girls will vanish, and before anyone even starts to look for the coach it will be neatly parked, nice and empty. Don’t worry. We’ve planned the moves pretty well.”

At the next main junction, they turned left. This was the first time, other than the brief zapping stop, they had deviated from the expected route. It took just over an hour and a half to reach the small private lane leading to the farm. It was dark and there seemed to be not a soul around. This was the critically dangerous move, getting off the road and inside the huge barn without anybody noticing. Well, if someone had seen a coach turn in, and reported it when the media went berserk about a missing party of beauty queens, the farm would be discovered…but it was only the first stop. The men had a bit of work to do before they could start to enjoy themselves.

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Chapter Two.

Horse Box to Hell.

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Two women and the other man were waiting in the farm. They worked with speed, controlling the urge to panic, as there was so much to do and so little time to do it. The unconscious passengers were carried from the coach and secured inside a large horsebox transporter truck. The stalls inside had been modified with removable sections of padding formed into coffin like shapes. Straps at top, middle and bottom secured a girl inside each lidless “coffin” in a standing position, albeit slumped a little as they were unconscious. If they came to before reaching their next destination, the captives would be helpless, any struggles absorbed by the padding. All the workers were to be congratulated on resisting the temptation to explore or interfere with any of the helpless goods they stacked so securely. With all twenty-two girls and the unfortunate driver secured, the workers set about cleaning the coach of all traces of their having been inside it. Then one man, carefully gloved and wearing a hair net and untraceable coveralls, drove the coach to the park and ride area outside Ipswich. He inserted carefully cleaned coins in the commercial meter, locked the coach, dropped the keys down a road drain, and quietly walked away. Pre-planning had plotted the location of all security cameras along their routes. With care, one could get to a residential street close by in which parking was not restricted, get in to a previously parked vehicle, and drive away without having been recorded on a single camera.

The two women drove the horsebox. This was because policemen do not think horsey type ladies can possibly be criminals. There was a virtually zero chance of them being challenged. The vehicle was in top condition, fully taxed and insured, driving well within any speed limits, (which was to be expected when carrying livestock), and it is not unusual in that part of the country to see horses being transported between stables, often at night when the roads are less busy.

In the back, the three men were looking at their captives and were already getting excited.

Jason Clark was a property developer. He had the foresight to buy a complete housing development “off the plans” in 2001, the value of each of the one hundred and fifty six properties had more than quadrupled. He was in the multi million bracket, paying his taxes, living with his pretty wife Marion in a very exclusive area near Epsom in Surrey, supporting local charities, a model of propriety except when he and Marion made love. Then they both became monsters of depravity.

Marion was driving the horsebox. She was twenty-seven years old, a natural blonde, and had been perverted by her father when she was a child in South Africa. He had enjoyed whipping women, and brought her up to enjoy the sight of a servant stripped and tied and being whipped and sexually assaulted. Her mother, Sally, had been a willing participant in these events. When Marion sat on her mothers lap watching Daddy thrust his manhood into the well striped rear of a sobbing black girl, Mommy’s fingers had brought a wet excitement to her daughters nether regions. They used to call it “tickling”, and Marion was tickling both her Mother and Father and herself long before she became a teenager.

The Clarks lived about twenty miles away. There was some trouble with blacks protesting about working conditions and Marion’s father, Robert Henderson, and Mr. Clark dealt with it unwisely. Two servants and a couple of farm hands were killed, so both families sold up and returned to “the old country” before facing charges. Jason, one of two Clark sons, found the young Marion exciting, especially as he found that by talking about what their parents did to the servants made her want to share a bit of “tickling” with him.

Marion was sixteen at the time, a long legged coltish girl with a ready smile, athletic disposition, and a mind like a sewer. Jason, three years her senior, set about perverting her even more. She was a willing pupil. They became inseparable, and married two years later.

Terry was Jason’s brother, two years younger. It had taken quite a long time to drag him down into the mire of sadism the couple inhabited, but he became hooked when a girl called Siobhan turned him down, in a heartless and cruel manner.

“She’s a bitch, Terry!” Marion had said. “I’d like to strip the cow, tie her on a table, whip the skin off her, then watch you and Jason fuck the shit out of her!”

Terry was not shocked by this outburst. He knew the peculiar likes of his brother and sister-in-law, frequently saw the filthy books they read and the disgusting comics they pored over. Just for once, though, he actually pictured what such a scene would be like, and to his surprise and embarrassment, he suddenly had a raging hard-on as he imagined fucking a well-whipped Siobham in front of Marion. He tried to conceal it, but Marion saw his attempt to cover the bulge in his pants and laughed with glee.

“You like the idea, don’t you? All that morality stuff about Jason and me liking cruelty and sex, then you think of flogging that heartless bitch and get turned on. Come on, don’t be shy. Admit it. You know I’ve always wanted you to fuck me, don’t you? Jason knows. I tell him sometimes how I’d like both of you to have me at once. If you were not such a prude we could get some serious fun going, you know.”

The poor sod had no chance. Despite his holier than thou protestations about his brothers dirty predilections, Terry secretly envied the blatant sexuality of Jasons lovely wife. And he had lain in his bed, hand on hardness, visualizing her splayed legs and the pouting cleft eager for his penetration more times than was healthy.

Two weeks later, poor Siobhan didn’t know what had happened when her world turned into a blaze of impossibly vivid colours and her mind seemed to explode into waves of sound that didn’t enter her ears. The LSD tabs she had been slipped took reality away from her big-time. It was like taking a lamb to the slaughter.

She had no idea where she was or who she was with as hands pulled at her clothing. She had no idea that she was being stripped and roped over an old discarded pallet in a tumbled down ex-stable to the north of Epsom Downs.  She heard the screams without knowing it was her voice. The colours were turning violent, dark purples, deep crimson, shot with pain spikes as fire etched her naked flesh. The white doves soaring in a stormy sky turned into dragons, equipped with long curved talons, swooping out of the whirling clouds to claw at her flesh. The acid fuelled phantasy grew ever more frightening, ruptures in her flesh admitting monsters that grew and surged deep inside her flesh, fish-scented wet soft pillows of womanhood pressing her face, pain, deep serious savage hurt from in front and behind at the same time, awful lurking fears that she was being crazily abused by laughing sexual demons implanting their Devil seed in every orifice of her body…….

They had not killed Siobhan. They had whipped her, cut off both her nipples, burned her vulva with lighted cigarettes, and repeatedly raped her. Then they almost drowned her washing her body and cleaning her inner orifices with bleach. They dumped her on a council rubbish tip, naked and unconscious, still delusional on her acid trip.

The police were unable to get any sense from her, even after weeks of intensive hospital care. She could not remember anything but horror and pain, and is still undergoing treatment for mental problems.

And Terry had become a convert. Having tasted the power of rape and the cruel satisfaction of violence upon helpless girl-flesh, a combination of natural lust and eager teaching by his brother and sister in law soon had him as perverted as they were, and eager to taste the forbidden fruits of brutal lust on another woman.

Both sets of parents, meanwhile, lived by the sea near Eastbourne, spending much of their time as a foursome both in bed and in general companionship. Strangely, as sometimes happens when parents have enjoyed illicit sexual pleasures with their young daughter, Robert and Sally had found their deviant sexual interests in Marion faded as she became a confidant teen. Instead, they now shared fond memories of their cruel sport abroad with the Clarks, frequently holding foursomes at which they would gleefully excite each other talking about the black girls they had flogged.

They had no idea that both the Clarks boys were far more depraved than they were.

Or that Marion had already killed four young women.

Things changed when a fox ran across the A27 road between Eastbourne and Lewes. The Clarks were driving home late at night. He swerved, lost control, and met a Polish juggernaut head on. Neither of them survived the impact.

The funeral was at Pevensey Bay, and Marion, Jason, and Terry naturally attended, staying the night with her parents.

The drink was flowing. And the talk naturally veered to the old times in Africa. It was Jason who said “Remember how Dad used to whip those black bitches arses raw? Jesus, that used to turn me on like hell, seeing their naked tits bouncing while he flogged their backsides, and hearing them scream!”

There was a moment or two of silence, then Sally said “I never knew you saw any of those things, Jason. That was not really what children should see!”

Marion laughed. “Come on, Mom. I sat on your knee watching Dad flog a few bitches too, didn’t I ? Don’t kid me you didn’t know it turned us all on seeing them struggle!

You certainly had a few orgasms watching him fuck them, too.” 

Everyone looked at each other, almost as if they were wavering between denial and truth, then Robert reached forward and poured himself another whisky.

“No use denying it, Jason. Your father and I did have a lot of somewhat illicit pleasure out of disciplining the female staff. We found it highly erotic and very satisfying. Most white land-owners did the same out there back in those days.”

“It’s a lot more fun doing it to a white girl!” Jason grinned. “You ever tried it, Mr. Henderson?”

This time there was an almost electric charge in the air. Marion caught her breath, staring at her father with her bright blue eyes wide with expectation. Her mother was blushing.

Robert put down his glass and leaned back in his chair. He looked around the faces, saw the tense expressions. “Have you?” he smiled.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Frequently. And I was accompanied by my lovely wife on those occasions,” Jason said, reaching out and squeezing Marion’s hand. “And she is very good at it.”

“You’ve whipped girls?” Sally gasped, looking at her daughter in amazement.

“Mom, we’ve done a lot of things. I didn’t know Jason was going to talk about it, but it’s enough for you to know we don’t have any hang ups about what you did in Africa. If we’d been older, we’d have joined in and loved it. So stop treading on egg-shells and drop the polite chat, alright? Jason, Terry and me are all sadists. There, now you know.”

“Is that true, Terry too?” Sally said, her eyebrows trying to climb off her forehead.

“Yep. He’s a convert. We share sex and cruelty. Why not? You and Dad fucked with his Mom and Dad for years.”

Nothing like a bit of plain speaking to clear the air. After a stunned silence, suddenly everyone started talking. Two hours later, Marion was telling her parents how she and the boys had captured a total of four young women and tortured them to death.

Modesty had been banished. Both women had removed their panties. All three men had their cocks out. The parents listened with rapt attention as their pretty daughter and their son-in-law detailed fiendish outrages they had performed on the helpless naked bodies of their captives. It was way past the burning cigarette on the pussy. Now it was how a breast sounded as it landed with a delicious wet “splat” when it was sawn off a girl hanging from a hook driven into her vagina, suspended upside down over a barbecue grill. 

In the morning, the talking resumed. The details of how the girls had been captured, and how their corpses had been disposed of, reviews of some of the most depraved tortures, and some very advanced “tickling” once more between parents and daughter, this time in the presence of and with the full support of her husband and brother-in-law.

Both Marion and the men were astonished how casually the older couple accepted talk about murder and savagery, not a suggestion of disapproval or even distaste as some really gruesome details were revealed. It seemed the Hendersons had enjoyed violent sexual torture in their minds for years, even though they had been unable to actually inflict more than minor injuries on their victims. After Marion had been “tickled” by her mother whilst watching Daddy ravish the whipped behind of one of the plantation blacks, she had not known that her parents went to their bed and made love whilst talking about how they would slaughter their arse-whipped slave in the most diabolical ways, if it were possible. Mummy and Daddy had thought such advanced ideas were not suitable for their pre-teen daughter…… 

Thus the terrible trio became five, and plans for the most ambitious torture-fest began, at first in the “what if” mode, but rapidly progressing to the “we could” stage. Serious and careful planning followed. The idea, proposed by Robert, was simple. The most likely parts of any plan involving murder were the abduction and the disposal. No-one had ever been caught in the act of actually killing an abducted female. As the farm owned by Jason gave virtual carte blanche to the disposal problem, it was the capture that posed the most threat of capture. So Robert suggested they abduct a whole group of victims in one operation, thus providing them with more pleasure at less risk.

The collecting coach for the Max Factor Beauty Pageant in Spain was the ultimate prize for those who wish to despoil lovely females. Up to twenty four of the prettiest young women in the South of England on one vehicle……

Through business contacts in the transport world, tenuous enough to defeat investigation, routes and times were obtained.

The horse box, already owned and used on the Essex farm, was modified. A block of dilapidated farm storage buildings including deep grain and silage storage pits was transformed inside with sound proofing and hidden cells, all wired to an elaborate security camera system. The cost was dear, but Terry used part of the estate of his deceased parents to provide much of the finance. Most of the work was done by Polish immigrants who could hardly speak English and had no idea what they were creating. The final touches were added by the five after all the Polish workers had left, the chains, restraints, frames and other special devices….

Weeks later, as the first fingers of a rosy dawn lightened the big open sky over the flat landscape of  Norfolk, twenty two young unconscious girls and one man were unloaded from a horsebox and locked in soundproofed safety on a big rambling old farm in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by flat fields in which horses grazed and only grass was growing. They had been transported to Hell and their nightmare was about to begin.

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Chapter Three.

Pussy Galore.

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Although all of the sadists were desperately keen to start on their captives, they had a lot of work to do before they could relax. Valet the vehicles, burn clothing, arrange false records of stock movements, check for unexpected phone calls, and so on. If they were ever to be approached by the authorities about their whereabouts on the night of the abduction, they had to be secure in their stories so nothing could tie them in with the abduction.

None of them had any criminal record. Not even a parking ticket. They eventually relaxed, sure that they had covered all possible problems. Although the prospect of what was to come was exciting, all of them were exhausted and decided to sleep for a few hours before starting their adventure into savagery.

In the cells there was a slight smell of urine. A few of the girls had come round, found themselves trussed up and ball-gagged, and promptly wet themselves. Most were still drugged out. The coach driver was awake, also bound and gagged, but not woozy from drugs as he had been shocked unconscious. He had a horrible premonition that he was not going to like finding out why he lay in a dark concrete cell, and was hoping that somehow his passengers were safe. He hoped this could be some sort of terrorist kidnap deal that he might be able to emerge from unscathed. On the other hand, he had been carrying a very special cargo…..

Sally pulled the drawstrings tight on the black leather wasp-waisted corselette Marion was wearing. “Darling, you look like one of those old American bondage cartoon mistresses” she laughed. “Sadie Stern or something.”

Thigh length black shiny leather boots emphasised the look. With no panties on and the low cut of the corselette exposing her cherry red nipples, Marion knew she looked sensationally sexy and imperious. She coiled a short supple black leather whip and clipped it to a loop fashioned on the waist of the corselette. Normally shoulder length and flowing, her blonde hair was drawn back into a severe bun. She had used brilliant red lipstick and plenty of mascara and eye shadow to make her features suggest sex and dominance.

Her mother, still a good looking and well preserved woman at the age of forty-five, wore black lace panties and a peep-hole bra. that only just contained her ample breasts. Her long sun-tanned legs were featured with black mesh stockings held up by a wispy black suspender belt. Ann Summers Specials, Christmas,2006.

Her husband had on light cotton trousers and a sports shirt. He had no underpants beneath the trousers.

The brothers wore jeans and tee shirts.

The survey cameras covering the exterior of the property could see for miles over the flat countryside. No-one was around as the five went to inspect their captives, and, naturally, any casual farming staff had been given time off. No deliveries were expected. Even the post could be left at the box almost one and a half miles along the private lane.

Jessica Holdaway lay curled up on the concrete floor of the first cubicle. Jet black hair, petite but curveatious frame, slightly Italian features, but a lovely looking piece of girl-flesh, she was crying, finding even that was not easy with the big ball gag strapped into her mouth. She had tried to get up, but her ankles were roped together and fastened to a metal ring set in the floor. Her wrists were secured behind her back. She was terrified, aware that she had wet herself, totally unable to comprehend how her wonderful exciting trip to Spain could possibly have become a horrible experience like this. She whimpered as the door to her cell opened and a little more light illuminated the almost bare surroundings.

With the stupid optimism of the human race, Jessica felt a surge of happiness flood her body. She had been discovered, rescued, all the horrors were behind her. She rolled slightly onto her back, looked up at her rescuers, and saw a man unzip his jeans and pull out his erect penis. Beside him was a woman standing open-legged, fingering her bare crotch, dressed like some kinky cartoon character.

“Mmmmnnnmmm” through the gag.

“Dirty slut has peed herself!” from the woman, and suddenly, sickeningly, and totally without any reason whatsoever, the man kicked her viciously right in her stomach.

Jessica doubled up, gurgling. She could hardly breath. Pain lanced into her, and there was nothing she could do to make it better. Another kick, from the woman this time. Point toed leather boots. In her side, just below the ribs. Christ, that hurt….

She rolled and squirmed, retching for breath, unable to stop them as they hoisted her to her feet. The woman was smiling at her, big blue eyes sparkling as if she was high on coke. Her nipples were on show. What the Hell was going on?

“Have a good look, Sweetie. In about an hour you will be licking those little love buds and trying ever so hard to get me all excited so my husband will stop hurting you. Or maybe you’d rather suck my pretty pussy for me, huh?”

The man let go of his penis, but only so he could start to wrench open Jessica’s blouse. She couldn’t step back, her hands were locked behind her, and she suddenly realized that this crazy couple meant it. The bizarre dress of the blonde was for real. She was some sort of sexual psycho. And her stiff-cocked man was now ripping off the teenagers bra. to expose her fine 38” beauty contest winning breasts! His fingers grabbed her nipples and screwed them round with brutal savagery. The gag muffled her first real shriek of agony, but it was enough to turn on Jason.

His wicked wife helped him free the girl from the floor ring and drag her into one of the play rooms. In less than five minutes, Jessica was strapped face up on an “X” shaped wooden cross, naked.

The cross was supported by ropes, holding it some two foot six off the ground, just the right height for Marion to be able to stand astride the victim’s head and by bending her knees slightly, rub her juicy cunt over Jessica’s face.

“Take the gag out, Darling. She can’t lick my pussy with that in her mouth!”

The girl started to protest and beg as soon as she could speak. Jason smashed his fist into her face, cutting her upper lip.

“Shut up, cunt. You only talk if we tell you to. Your new job is to suck cunts and cocks. Do it well and you might live. Fuck up, and we’ll cut you into little pieces. One more word and I’ll hurt you like you can’t even imagine!”

“Oh, hurt her anyway, Darling” Marion cooed. “I like to hear her scream!”

Jason grinned. His cock wanted relief. He stood between the open thighs, positioned his glans at the pink pout of the teenagers love tunnel, and thrust two inches into her dry vagina. The heavy cross swung slightly away from him, but then swung back. He held his ground, and four inches more went into the pretty girls pussy. Kinetic energy at work. A swinging fuck table. Two more weighty surges, and his black curls meshed with hers. She was deliciously tight. He rode her, reached forward to grab those big swinging breast, dug his fingers in as hard as he could, and twisted her trapped tits until she was absolutely shrieking in pain. To his absolute delight, he saw his wife start to pee into the teenagers screaming mouth, the hot yellow shower filling her throat, choking her and making her cough violently, which splashed hot piss all over Marion’s corselette.

“Look what the cunt has done!” Marion snapped. “Pass me your knife, Darling.”

Jason handed her his small folding blade. She snapped it open and slid the point into Jessica’s right breast, slitting open the side curve of the underflesh, a bloody gash from which scarlet streams flowed at once.

“Oh, yes. Cut her!” Jason cried, starting to shaft the spread-eagled girl with deep brutal strokes, wildly excited by the brutality of his grinning wife.

Marion grabbed the bleeding tit by the nipple, pulling upwards until the weighty orb was a cone of creamy flesh with blood pouring from the cut in the base. She stabbed the blade repeatedly into the breast meat, in time with her husband’s deep thrusts, waiting until she could tell he was about to come before she hacked through the aureole and sliced the whole nipple free. He came just as the suddenly tip-less tit sagged down, sliced, pierced, a bloody remnant of its former glorious firmness. With his depraved wife stabbing the helpless blonde, each thrust he had made into the ravished cunt had been made extra delicious because the violent pain made the poor bitch contract her muscles, effectively giving his weapon a vaginal suck-off.

As Jason was grunting in the throes of his climax, another unearthly scream could be heard. Marion chuckled, waving the dripping severed nipple over Jessica’s face, letting blood drip into her mouth. “Sounds like Mom, Dad, and Terry are having some fun, too!”

Galina Wilson was from Bristol. Eighteen, of Eurasian stock, light coffee complexion, tiny waist, sharply peaked breasts, and lovely long legs. She was upside down in another playroom, already naked. Her lovely coils of jet black hair swept the concrete floor as she was buffeted back and forth by the two men fucking her. Bob was enjoying anal rape for the first time since leaving South Africa, Terry faced him, shagging Galina’s cunt. She could do nothing to prevent this brutal double penetration as her arms had been broken at the elbow by Sally, who was now tightening the winch pulling the coffee coloured legs wide apart, urging her husband to fuck their screaming victim ever faster and deeper. Already the muscles in Galina’s thighs were corded. Her body weight hung from her roped ankles, the ropes leading over the winding drums of the makeshift rack. The men could feel each other’s weapons driving deep into vagina and anus, the thin wall of muscular tissue between the two orifices letting the thrusting knobs sometimes rub so tightly they could sense their foreskins peeled back by the ridge of the other glans.

“You want to come or hurt her some more first?” Sally asked, sensing that only a few more turns would probably dislocate the girl’s hips.

Reluctantly, the men pulled out. Bob had brown smears on his penis.

“Make her suck her shit off you, Bob!” Terry suggested, his own cock showing a few traces of blood. Possibly Galina had been a virgin. She certainly screamed loud enough when he first drove into her slit.

They pushed a table under her torso so she now lay face up with her taut stretched legs angled upwards and wide apart, her broken arms dangling helplessly off the edge of the table top.

Bob climbed on the table, straddled the girl, sitting on her belly. “You heard my wife, slut. Your going to suck your filthy arse shit off my cock, understand? You refuse or dare to try and bite me, and I’m going to cut your tits off slice by slice and push the bits right up your filthy fuckhole arse.”

“Let’s just show her how much pain she can feel if she refuses, Darling. Come on, Terry. Grab a pair of pliers and let’s take a cunt petal each.”

As he walked round to get to the spread pussy, Terry grabbed one of the girl’s hands and brutally jerked her broken arm, actually hearing the shattered elbow make a grating noise before the sound was obliterated by her agonised shriek. He had been surprised how vicious Sally had been, using a lump hammer to smash the elbows without seeming to experience any remorse. He knew, of course, that in South Africa she had helped flog and sexually mistreat the servants, but smashing a girl’s elbows was a bit more drastic than flogging her backside with an elephant cock quirt.

He stood beside her, following her lead, clamping his pliers onto one of the swollen pussy lips below the black fur triangle. Despite the age gap, he found Sally sexually very exciting. She had a fine body, the Ann Summers outfit showing it to full advantage, and she was amazingly depraved. That made her highly desirable, and in the build up to this torture fest, Terry had fucked her quite a few times and loved every second of her company. Now, squeezing the fleshy petal of a helpless nude captive’s pussy and standing alongside her as she did the same to the other labia, Terry realized he had been a fool not to welcome sadism into his life a lot, lot, earlier.

“Now!”

“AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!”

They stretched Galina’s pussy lips wide apart, stretching them like puppy dog ears, twisting and crushing the sensitive petals at the same time.

“You ready to suck, bitch?” Bob grinned.

“Yesss…I’ll do it….please don’t hurt me again…..please…”

He lifted his loins over her face, lowered his shitty knob into her mouth, and instructed her on how she was to lick around the ridge, push the foreskin back with her tongue, rim him and then suck the knob into her mouth.

Her shapely tits were squashing against his hairy arse cheeks, exciting, begging to be hurt……

“Now all the way, slut. Suck me good!” and he thrust his hard shaft down into her throat. Never having had a man in her mouth before, though she had once rubbed a boy until his dick sprayed globs of sticky stuff over her hand, Galina was sure she was going to be suffocated, choked, or both, and coughed and tried to twist her head away. With seven inches of manhood in her larynx, that was not a wise move. Her teeth caught Bob’s shaft and he withdrew angrily.

“You filthy nigger whore…you bit me, you bitch. Now you’ll learn what real pain is,” he shouted. “Hurt her cunt. Do it now!”

Between her legs, Terry and Sally needed no second bidding. Their pincers clamped harder than ever, and they began to wrench the girl’s cunt lips to shreds.

Bob grabbed a hammer and began to smash the offending teeth out of Galina’s mouth, crushing her lips and breaking her jaw and cheek-bone in the process. Her blood made nice warm lubrication as he shoved his cock back down her throat. The bitch couldn’t bite now.

Between her legs, the pincers ripped her cunt lips into bloody shreds, digging deeper in the scarlet slit to grab morsels of her vaginal walls to rip from her body. Her clitoris was claimed by Sally, her own sex throbbing with unholy excitement as she seized the bloody nub of pleasure and after twisting it round three full circles ripped it out of the lip-less hole. They dug deeper, nipping unseen gobbets of meat from deep inside the poor creature’s pussy and dropping the slivers of flesh back in the gushing hole, ramming them cervix deep with the steel pincers.

Bob pressed down on the squirming girl, his cock as far as it could go down her throat. He was still using the hammer, smashing it onto her shoulders, her ribs, her pert breasts, hearing bones crack, feeling the shocks of agony like ripples of bliss along the length of his buried penis. He drove the hammer inside her eyes, two tremendous blows that pulped the sockets and exploded the eyeballs as he shot his sperm into her throat in a mad ecstasy of savage lust.

She was probably unconscious, but her body was still responding as the strips of raw meat were being torn from a wide scarlet gash between her legs. Her face was almost destroyed.

Sally saw the bloody pulp where Galina’s eyes had been. “Jesus, Bob. You gonna skull-fuck her?”

They had often logged on to Hafnium’s site….it was one of his predilections, to drive his cock into a girl’s brain through the eye socket.

If he had any erection left, Bob might have tried it. If the hole through the socket bone was big enough, you could possibly drive a good stiff cock right into her living brain!

Maybe worth a try on another victim…

He picked up a knife and started to carve off her breasts. The other two changed their pincers for blades and began to slit open Galina’s belly and slice pieces off her rump.

In South Africa on the farm one got used to gutting animals, and it held no horrors for them to slit the shuddering female open from vulva to breast bone. There was the smell, of course, but that unpleasantness was more than compensated for by the incredible feeling of total supreme power as they took a pretty girl’s life.

Meanwhile Marion had sliced off Jessica’s right breast completely, and was now using a gas jet in an attempt to cauterise the huge circular wound to stop or at least slow down the blood loss. The smell of roasting meat was really appetising. This was the first time the couple had been able to torture a victim without regard for making it last. Before, burns had been individual, cigarettes or the tip of a heated brand. This time, Marion was virtually cooking the girl’s chest, the blue flame boiling blood and searing meat in a demented wave of cruelty that had the poor girl squealing and shuddering, almost out of her mind with pain and the horror of what was being done to her body.

Her husband had taken back the knife and was skinning the trimmed dark pelt of Marion’s pudenda, a neat cut up from the very base side-line off her swollen outer labia majoris, twist and slit over the mound just above the hairline of dark tightly wound black curls, then down the far side and make a slit into the bottom of both petals. Grip them at that base line, twist fingers really hard, and wrench upwards as hard as one possibly can.

The slut goes even more insane as her pube starts to rip and  Jason feels his wrist sprayed with hot blood and piss. Twist even harder, inhaling the roast meat smell of bubbling fat as he watches his evil wife playing the blue gas jet over the sizzling raw circle, tug and actually feel the meat start to tear, his hand rising slowly at first, then with  a sudden rush as the slit edges can not prevent his cruel fingers from literally tearing off her cunt meat…..

He cuts up and downwards in the lipless vagina, opening her so he can force his fist inside her, pointing the knife in the sperm-wet tunnel first so that as he fist fucks her the blade slides straight into the ring of her raised cervix and he can start to slice his way into her womb with every brutal fisting thrust.

Marion giggles. “Christ, you’ll kill the bitch, Darling!”

“So we’ve got plenty more. Cut the other tit off. Slice her to fuckin’ shreds. Let’s really fuck her up !”

Marion found a long-handled carving knife. With the deadly gas jet held in her left hand, now playing randomly over breast, arms, shoulders and belly, she used the carving knife like a light-weight machete, swinging it in a wide arc to lop off Jessica’s remaining nipple, then whip thin meaty slices off the fountaining udder with repeated slicing strokes that cut actual wafers of slightly oval shape getting larger and larger as the knife neared the wider base of the meaty cone.

Suddenly, as she was just having to saw off the meat from the rib bones, Marion saw her husband’s knife blade rip upwards from inside the girl’s womb, erupting like those monsters in Alien. She had to drop the knife and the gas jet in order to grab her own shuddering pussy and manipulate the surge of shuddering climactic energy that erupted into a fantastic tingling orgasm, spasming her thighs, tingling right down to her toes, and making her yelp almost as if in pain as it burst inside her with a fire-cracker detonation.

Sweating, her blonde hair shaken loose from the severe bun and now tumbling to her shoulders, Marion gasped for breath like an asthmatic.

“Oh, my fucking God….That was the dirtiest most gorgeous fucking sight I’ve ever had…..Oh, God….is she dead yet?”

“I think she’s past caring, anyway” Jason growled as he pulled his arm out of the slashed and ruptured sex hole of the lightly shuddering but now silent victim.

“One down, plenty more to go !”