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Subject: {ASSM} Bullet Babes {The Marquis} ( viol, gun, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST
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Date: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 16:10:01 -0400
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This is the work of the Marquis (remember http://www.scrye.com/~marquis/
? )

 I begin with Tara, simply because of the breasts. Tara is all about
the breasts. They dominate her body completely, these two vast
storehouses of firm, tender mammary meat. They defy gravity. They
speak to me. And what they say is, "please fill us with blazing lead."

The weapon I am using is a specially designed torture pistol. It is a
selective fire model, with single shot and full auto options. It is
chambered in .22 caliber. It fires good small rounds, rounds that take
a while to kill. I never cease to be amazed at the number of .22 slugs
a girl can take before she finally succumbs.

Tara howls in desperate agony as the searing lead tears into her
tender bosom. I give her a short, controlled burst in each breast:
four or five bullets into each tit, just like that, to start her off
right. Her nearly naked body bucks and convulses in its chains as the
bullets rip into it. Using auto fire is a bit of a risk, I admit. But
I have calculated correctly. Tara's monumental breasts stop the
bullets, and none reach her heart.

She stares at her ruined tits with horror and disbelief. Blood
trickles out of the holes and runs along the perfect round curve of
her exquisite bosom. The two of us spend a few precious moments
staring at the thick red rivulets. Then Tara looks up at me with
desperate, tear-filled eyes and utters a single word, the word which
means that I have won: "please."

I smile, switch over to single shot, and gut-shoot her. Her death is
now assured...though if I do not shoot her again, she will not die
quickly. I throw back my head and laugh. What could be better than
watching this flawless, bullet-ridden body suffer?

Just one thing: the knowledge that two more perfect playmates are
watching the whole execution. Crista and Gia cringe in their shackles,
screaming wildly as I torture their girlfriend to death. Nothing I
could possibly say to them would prepare them for their own destinies
as this does. I put bullets into Tara's thighs. I kneecap her. She
stumbles and falls, gagging as her weight comes down onto her steel
throat collar. I put a round into each of her shoulders, shooting her
with passion and precision. Blood bubbles up over her full pink lips.
I glance at the crotch of her tight blue g-string. Yes, there's the
dark spot: she's pissed herself. But her soft, innocent blue eyes are
still full of pain; she's a long way from death yet. And so I leave
her, for the moment, and move on to Crista.



Poor, poor Crista. She actually believes she can buy her way out of
this, as she has probably bought her way out of so very many things.
There she stands, back against the wall, legs spread, bald pink cunt
open and waiting. Her hands are resting on her magnificent round
breasts, just above the stiff pink nipples. She is showcasing her body
for me. Here I am, her body seems to say. I'm young, I'm gorgeous, I'm
perfect. I'm precisely the kind of girl you want to fuck. And I know
how to use my body. I'll fuck you back. I'll be the best lay you've
ever had, if you let me live.

I switch back to full auto and open up on her. The first burst goes
into her taut belly. Then I stitch a long line of red wounds up her
body diagonally, right through the breast and onward to the shoulder.
I gasp with delight as I see how beautiful she has suddenly become.
She was not, in fact, truly perfect before. Now she is. The bullets
complete her.

She looks at me and starts to cry. She breaks down completely, bawling
like a little girl. She cannot believe that I refused her offer. She
cannot believe that there are a dozen bullets in her body. But there
are. Every move she makes--and she makes many, as she twists and
writhes in her chains--moves the bullets as well. I take a moment to
reload, dropping the spent clip and slapping in a fresh one as I watch
her pain mount. I can almost sense the little lumps of lead making
their way through the traumatized meat of her belly and breast. I
switch to single shot and give her a few more things to think about:
three perfectly placed rounds in the right breast, around the nipple.
I let the pain have its way with her as I move on to my third and
final canvas.

 I have saved the best for last. Words cannot adequately describe the
perfection that is Gia. Her breasts are huge, and so perfectly
spherical that they are almost eerie. She has a sharply cut waist. A
tasteful navel piercing highlights her relentlessly hard belly. Her
only other jewelry is a cross, the symbol of a dead god who cannot
save her. She wears a minimal rectangular strip of brown pubic hair.

Gia is no longer screaming. Indeed, she is making no sound of any
kind. She stands there silently, staring at the bullet-ridden not-
quite-corpses of her fallen comrades. There is a glazed look in Gia's
eyes; she is in shock. Watching me do what I have done to Tara and to
Crista has caused something to snap in her mind. Her world has changed
in the last few minutes, and she is no longer quite sane.

I switch to single shots. I want to take my time with her. Perhaps I
will see if I can set a record, a personal best. I begin with the
obvious low-risk wound locations: the hands, the forearms, the elbows,
all exquisitely painful targets. Then the biceps: bullets churn
through taut, sculpted muscle. The shoulders are next. She has ten
bullets in her already, and I've only just finished the arms.

The gut-shots are painful enough to break through the shock, and she
starts to scream again. I fill her belly with lead, pumping round
after round into that lean little tummy. I draw a circle of low-
caliber wounds around her navel ring. Her internal organs die one by
one, but she lives. Her heart and lungs remain untouched. Only her
liver dies, her spleen, the things she does not need. I fire into her
thighs. She shudders, her tormented body convulsing in response to my
limitless cruelty. I fire into her calves and she goes down,
strangling slightly as the neck collar pulls up tight against her
chin. She howls in a remarkably inhuman way as I put a few rounds into
her feet.

I notice for the first time that I have become ruthlessly hard. It is
amazing how erotic it can be to butcher women like this. How will I
satisfy myself? There are so many possibilities...but I know how I
want to do it.

First I must tie up loose ends. And so I go to Tara's quivering body.
Remarkably, she is still alive. I pull her tiny g-string to one side,
revealing her cunt. I thrust the hot, smoldering barrel of my weapon
into her. I gun-fuck her a bit, teasing her, tormenting her. Then I
pull the trigger. She bucks wildly on the gun barrel as I end her.

Crista still has enough wits about her to sob as I come for her. There
is no g-string here; the gun barrel simply slides up into her, all the
way in, the blood of Tara's death still fresh on its cold, uncaring
metal shaft. I rape Crista ruthlessly with the gun; for some reason I
feel that she deserves a bit more and so I give it to her, refusing to
finish her as she howls and begs for death. When at long last I do
pull the trigger and send my hate up into her womb, I feel that she
has earned it.

I have saved the breast for last. Gia is gurgling, drooling, but still
quite viable. And her tits are, as yet, untouched. I position myself
carefully, spreading her thighs, taking her. She has the tightness of
the tortured. I move gently inside her, enjoying her resistance. To
think that I once fucked willing women, women who were not dying...Her
cunt is delectable. The only thing that could make it better is what I
do to her next. I press the blood-streaked muzzle against her pouting,
peerless breast and pull. Her body bucks and her cunt twitches as the
bullet does its work. I fire again, timing the shot to correspond with
my thrust. Yes, that's it. I give her a round for each thrust, and my
rewards are immense. I do unspeakable things to her tits, filling them
with lead, destroying them slowly, conquering them. What this does to
her mind, I cannot be sure. What it does to her body is apparent,
however. She fucks me like an eighteen year-old in heat, up and down,
in and out, everything, all of it, right now.

I drop the gun and grab her breasts, pressing, squeezing, kneading,
pushing the bullets into her meat. My hands are slick with blood. She
is doing all the work now, fucking me desperately as her body
convulses in helpless terminal agony. I hear a deep dark gurgling in
her throat--oh, yes, that's her death rattle, and right on time,
because I'm there.

With a double handful of devastated tit meat, I thrust up into her and
allow the spasms of her dying cunt to finish me off. I gasp as the
orgasm wells up deep inside me; it is nearly blinding, and when it is
done, so is she. I am inside an exquisite corpse, as deeply satisfied
as I can ever remember being.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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