Message-ID: <57428asstr$1205871003@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: h11g2000prf.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail From: anony.mouse2@hotmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <8c972947-3a1b-45cc-b436-9d9316ee1c1e@h11g2000prf.googlegroups.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 12:37:35 +0000 (UTC) Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com Injection-Info: h11g2000prf.googlegroups.com; posting-host=203.213.7.130; posting-account=gtZVmwoAAAAgzR4fSEB1kU8MwnTI6Dqz User-Agent: G2/1.0 X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; en-US; rv:1.8.1.12) Gecko/20080201 Firefox/2.0.0.12,gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe) X-HTTP-Via: 1.1 bri-pow-pr1.tpgi.com.au:3128 (squid) X-Spam-Prev-Subject: Flogging Estella Warren ( viol, whip, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 05:37:35 -0700 (PDT) Subject: {ASSM} Flogging Estella Warren ( viol, whip, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST X-Original-Subject: [spam 5.4] Flogging Estella Warren ( viol, whip, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST Lines: 171 Date: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 16:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2008/57428> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, newsman The whimpering bitch is on her back, cold steel hard against her shoulders and ass. Shackles an inch thick hold her wrists and ankles to the execution table. The locks are slaved to her heartbeat; she knows with one hundred percent certainty that she will not leave this table alive. She stares in horror at the five men who stand before her. Physically, they are virtually identical: tall, strong, muscular. They are bare chested. They wear skintight black leather pants and executioner's hoods. She remembers what the frightened young blondes in the holding pen said. Apparently the executioners are chosen on the basis of two criteria: their cruelty, and the size of their cocks. Each of the five men holds a different whip. There is the riding crop. There are the two floggers: one short and red and stingy, one long and black and thuddy. There is the dreaded single tail. And there is the one she cannot think about. She remembers what the judge said: "Estella Warren, you have been found guilty of being a fertile human female. The sentence is death. In addition, your crime features the special circumstance of extreme physical beauty. I therefore sentence you to be whipped to death in a procedure which shall last not less than two hours, video footage of which shall be edited for immediate broadcast on state television." Estella's eyes are dry, but barely. The tears are near and she knows it. She is stark naked, spread eagled. It is the most compromising, exploitative position she can imagine. Her pussy has been shaved and lubricated; it glistens under the studio lights, pink and perfect. The cameras are everywhere: there are half a dozen she can see, and probably more she can't. They will drink down her death and beam it into every living room in the nation. And when they hold the population reduction plebiscite, it will pass with 98 percent support. She does not bother to beg, for there is no point: she has nothing to bargain with. The one thing she has to offer is free for the taking now. And so she simply waits for them to come for her, which they do. They start slow. The flogger men go first, brushing her naked skin with the soft falls of their whips as she squirms and struggles on the table. After a few minutes of this they give her some strokes. They are surprisingly gentle at first, but she whimpers nonetheless, for she knows that this represents a beginning. Gradually they build. The strokes fall heavier now. She feels the sting of the little red flogger, the deep wallop of the black one. The two sensations play off each other. The men focus on her small, round breasts and on her firm thighs. She gasps as the twenty tails of the red flogger come down together, just next to her trembling bald cunt. The long black flogger strokes the length of her breast, and one of its falls catches her stiff pink nipple. She howls, and knows that by doing so she has guaranteed that this scene will find its way into the broadcast. The flogger men step aside, to make room for the crop and the bullwhip. Estella's gorgeous body tenses on the table as the men approach. The crop artist goes first, and he is not gentle. The stiff leather clapper falls on the tenderized meat of her tit, and she jumps in response. He whips her hard and he whips her fast, raining the strokes down onto her punished breasts as she writhes and screams beneath him. She feels the depths of his sadism through the crop. This man wants to hurt her, wants to see her suffer. She catches a glimpse of the bulge at the crotch of his tight leather pants. Yes, he wants her to feel it. He crops her taut young thighs, always hitting the muscles just so, maximizing her pain. Then he returns to her breasts, harder now, hard enough to bruise. She howls. He moves down once more, to the thighs and then inward, sweet Jesus no--but yes, of course, he is cropping her cunt, striking the sweet tender lips with glorious abandon as the tears flow freely down Estella's high, proud cheeks. She now receives ten lashes with the single tail. The bullwhip man is as precise as his comrades. Estella takes two on each rock-hard nipple, and nearly passes out from them. Then she takes two on her pussy, and does pass out from those--though just for a moment. The whip artist wakes her up with more breast strokes, going back and forth between her brightly glowing pink tits as she cries in agony. The flogger men move in again, and this time it is far worse, for now they are building on their previous work. Her breasts and thighs are a brilliant brutal pink, and her breasts are swollen. She has already gained half a cup size; her breasts look unnaturally large over her gaunt supermodel's midriff. Her thighs and pussy are screaming from the abuse, and now the flogger tails fall down on her like a punishing rain, hitting her, hurting her. The flogger men lash her ruthlessly, and this time they do not confine themselves to her "safe" areas. They whip her belly too, and why not? They certainly don't have to worry about damaging her internal organs. Perhaps they even intend to do so. What was it that brainy college girl had said, in the pen? Something about controlled kidney damage? Estella can't remember, exactly. All she knows is that it hurts terribly. She sobs like a little girl, and still they keep hurting her. After the second flogger session they pause to rape her. The leather pants come off, revealing massive purple cocks. She closes her eyes and tries to go limp as they come for her; she knows that fighting will only make it much, much worse. But her body rebels instinctively as the first cock enters her. She may be spread and shackled. She may have forfeited all legal rights. But it is still rape, damn it, and it still hurts. So she struggles, even though she knows that this only makes it better for him. Another man takes her mouth. She most certainly does not bite. Indeed, she does what she can for him, hoping to buy a little mercy with her wet, able tongue. He fucks her throat enthusiastically, and he is long enough to be dangerous: she cannot breathe on the down thrusts, and must time her respiration very carefully. Two men stand on either side of her face and masturbate. The one who holds the thing she cannot think about stands aloof. He is waiting. His time will come. Her cunt is tight, her mouth warm and quasi-willing. The sight of her slender body writhing in the throes of a double rape is enough to get the other two men off. All four men come more or less together: the one in her pussy grunts and twitches, and the one in her mouth shoots his load down her gagging throat, and the other two finish themselves off Bukkake style, ejaculating all over her cheeks and lips. Humiliated, her face dripping with cum, she lays there and whimpers as they return to the task at hand. The crop man is more wicked than ever; he places bruises atop bruises, and her muscles scream their protests. The single tail strikes with ruthless accuracy, slicing her flesh. It leaves long, angry red lines on her tortured tits and thighs. They are cutting her now. They flog her a bit more, but only a bit: the crop and the single tail are in charge now, as the torture builds. They whip her until her nipples bleed. They whip her belly, and she feels something break inside her. And then (dear Lord, no!) the crop artist spreads open the hood of her clit, exposing her sweet tender love button. He brings his instrument down hard, right on target, once, twice, a third time, and she knows at last what hell is. They take her again, trading off, the two who masturbated before using her throat and cunt this time. They are rougher now, more violent. They've had their pleasure already. This is about hurting her. The rape is savage; it lasts and lasts and lasts, immense cocks thrusting into her broken bleeding body as she twists and suffers on the table. Once more they paint her with their come. Her face is drenched with it; she feels like a whore. She stares into the camera, sobbing, no longer human, and she knows: it's time to die. He comes for her at last, the fifth man, the one with...oh, dear God...with the snuff flogger, the one made of stiff, razors-sharp wire. He brushes it gently against her ruined breasts, and she experiences what would have been an orgasm, if this were about pleasure. The flogger goes up and comes down, nine strands of wire slicing her breasts like a loaf of bread. The cuts are deep and red; he's butchering her. The wires slash her other tit, opening it, revealing its essence. He cuts her belly. He cuts her thighs. The wire touches her in a hundred places, and where it touches her, it leaves behind a telltale trail of scarlet. She gazes down at her devastated body. She is bleeding from a score of wicked red wounds. Her lifesblood is pooling on the table. She is on her way. And so he sets down his whip and lowers his pants, revealing the biggest cock she has seen yet. He enters her, hurting her terribly as he does so. He begins to thrust, torturing her with his shaft. His comrades approach with handfuls of salt, which they dutifully rub into the shredded meat of her tits, into her deeply lacerated belly and thighs. She gurgles, drowning in pain. He grunts with delight as her agony peaks: they are rubbing salt deep into her naked meat, and so she must clench her cunt tightly, massaging pleasure into him even as he violates her. He can feel her dying. He fucks her hard, pulling out all the stops as her pain shades into death. She stares up at him, dark eyes full of horror, semen drizzling down her chin. Salt-covered hands work her tits, her hips. She moans softly as her blood pumps out onto the table. Her cunt issues the special signal that means she is done; he howls and comes into her. She stiffens and goes limp, her duty quite successfully performed. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+