Message-ID: <57434asstr$1205878202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: s8g2000prg.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail From: anony.mouse2@hotmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <d4b4deed-5b55-4df6-827f-e1860ad0835a@s8g2000prg.googlegroups.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 12:39:16 +0000 (UTC) Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com Injection-Info: s8g2000prg.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: Week 41 ( viol, elec, preg, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 05:39:15 -0700 (PDT) Subject: {ASSM} Week 41 ( viol, elec, preg, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST X-Original-Subject: [spam 5.4] Week 41 ( viol, elec, preg, snuff, m/f tort } REPOST Lines: 191 Date: Tue, 18 Mar 2008 18:10:02 -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/Year2008/57434> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, newsman I feel the special secret thrill as he clicks the handcuffs shut around my wrists: the thrill of maybe, the thrill of what if, the thrill that comes from knowing that this might be the night that my husband finally decides to end me. I am forty one weeks pregnant. I could go into labor at any moment. My husband is about to fuck me (oh, yes!); that might be enough, all by itself, to get me started. Yes, I might start, but I will not finish, for he will not let me deliver this baby. I have looked into his eyes and into his soul, and I know this to be true. I stand quietly in my white bra and panties, waiting patiently as his eyes assess my body. I feel huge but well-loved: my swollen round belly draws him to me, as do my engorged breasts. He has been coming for me almost daily of late; he simply can't resist my massive, pregnant body. He nods, satisfied. "Lay down, slave. On your back." "Yes, master." I hasten to comply. It is not entirely comfortable to lay down upon my cuffed wrists. My tremendous weight presses the sharp steel into my flesh and I wince. But my pain is unimportant. Obeying my husband is the only thing that matters. His practiced hands peel the dripping panties off of my immense hips. He takes a moment to examine the panties, and smiles when he sees how wet they are. He stands before me, naked and hard. Will he take me now? No: he wants me completely naked. And so his fingers reach for the central hook which holds my bra closed. (All of my bras open in front; since my wrists are inevitably bound when my husband takes me, this is quite necessary.) And now he pauses to caress my huge, swollen breasts. His fingers play gently with my enormous, rock-hard red nipples. Though I know it is forbidden, I whimper softly. I can't help myself. The excitement is intolerable. "Quiet, slave," my master commands. "Sorry, sir," I whisper. But he continues to play with my erect nipples. I writhe uncontrollably. Why doesn't he just fuck me? Can't he tell how badly I need it? Yes, of course he can--and that's exactly why he's waiting. He is tormenting me with his fingers, and I love him for that. A second involuntary whimper escapes my lips. My husband's eyes sparkle. "I warned you once. Now I have to punish you." "Yes, master!" I squirm gently on the bed, awaiting the sweet kiss of the crop. Last time he whipped my breasts until the nipples bled, and I'm sure he will be every bit as thorough this time... But that is not a whip he's holding in his hand. It's a scalpel. I gasp in delight and astonishment. Could it be...? I have no time for further thoughts. He grips my nipple and pulls it up, away from the breast. The scalpel flashes, and I am suddenly blind with pain. I watch, amazed, as a crimson fountain erupts out of my nipple hole. I realize that I am screaming, but that's not important. What matters is the agony, the desire...he has not yet touched me below the waist, and yet... He takes my second nipple, and that sends me over the edge. It is the most difficult (and thus the most satisfying) kind of orgasm: a non- clitoral climax which suffuses my entire body. I come volumes, as the bright red blood bubbles up out of the gaping wounds where my nipples used to be. The blood trickles slowly over my vast, pregnant breasts. I feel that am truly a woman, perhaps for the first time in my brief life. "Silence, slave!" my master roars. Removing my nipples has dramatically aroused him. His cock is a swollen purple weapon, and I cannot wait to feel it inside me. "Please, master," I moan. "It hurts so much...Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it hurts! Please, master, I...I have to scream...my nipples..." "Are gone. As your clitoris soon will be, unless you shut up." I open my innocent brown eyes as wide as I can. "Oh, please, sir, no! Not my clit!" The script calls for me to utter these words, and I deliver them faithfully, though I silently pray that he WILL castrate me. If he takes my womanhood, he will kill me. I'm sure of that. "You dare to question me?" he howls. Mutilating my breasts has driven him mad with lust. He wants to snuff me; I can feel it. I just have to push a little more... "No, master!" I whimper. "I would never dare to question you! But without my clit, I would never feel pleasure again. I would..." "You would have to concentrate on pleasuring me...which is what your body is for, after all." "Yes, master." He has the idea now. "Greedy bitch. Stealing pleasure all these years, when your only thought should have been to service your husband..." His scalpel descends into my thick, black thatch. I hold my breath and await my destiny. I feel pressure. He's seeking, searching. He knows exactly where to find it. The scalpel pushes, cuts. I howl as my tormented body experiences the unthinkable. He cuts from bottom to top, neatly bisecting my clitoral bump. The pain is staggering. I remember hearing somewhere that the highest concentration of nerves in a woman's body is to be found in the clit. He completes his work with a devastating horizontal cut. My desecrated body bucks and convulses its way into a second orgasm. Like its predecessor, this one is generalized, but this climax has a strong clitoral component to it. It's as if my dying clit is saying farewell, leaving me with one final gift. By the time I recover some semblance of sanity, my husband has set aside his blade. He has now produced a strange and vaguely sinister electrical device. It consists of a black box, which is connected by wires to a pair of square paddles. "Do you know what this is?" he asks. "No," I gasp, barely able to form the word through my agony. "It's called a defibrillator. It's used in hospitals. It's designed to deliver a short, sharp shock, to restart a patient's heart. However, I've made certain modifications to its design." He does not specify what those modifications might be, but I imagine that I will find out soon enough. I hold my breath as he presses the paddles against my naked, ravaged breasts. The device is apparently operated by means of thumb switches; he throws these now, and I scream through clenched teeth as the sizzling current flows into my tortured tits. My naked body is wracked with convulsions. I scream wildly, no longer concerned about possible punishments. I know that I have earned the ultimate sanction tonight. What I do at this point is completely irrelevant, and I have never known such perfect freedom. The shocks are indeed sharp, brutally so, but they are by no means short. They continue long past the time when my heart would have restarted, had it stopped. This is a medical device no longer. In my husband's capable hands it has become a fine instrument of torture. I sense his next move before he makes it. He has been working me over like a true master, letting the pain build slowly so that at last I might be prepared for the ultimate torture. He has deliberately stayed away from my pregnant belly so far, and we both know what that means. He has chosen to save the best for last, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Now he deactivates the paddles and moves them from my breasts to my belly. He places one just above my extroverted navel, and one just below. He smiles a loving smile. And then he throws the switches. I feel a pain unlike any I have ever experienced before. The agony is cripplingly intense; it is surely as excruciating as anything he's ever done to me, and that's saying something. But there is something more. This pain is not mine, or not mine alone. To my infinite astonishment I realize that my daughter is also feeling this pain, and that I in turn am feeling her pain, as she kicks and thrashes inside her mother's tortured body. There is no precedent for this pain, no name for it. My husband holds the paddles in place, patiently increasing the current as his wife and daughter squirm and suffer and die beneath his hands. I am in awe. I have always admired his power, but this, this is something astonishing. I am nothing to him. I am less than nothing. And the life that he has planted in my belly...all of this he will sacrifice, for a moment's pleasure. And as the deadly current flows through the amniotic sac into my fetus, I see that this is just and right. He snuffs our daughter first, boosting the current as our little girl slowly kicks her way towards an inevitable death. I sense her death; something in the way I'm gurgling tells him what has happened. He deactivates the paddles and sets them aside. I am not long for this world; we both know that. He takes his scalpel in one hand and his cock in the other. He guides the latter into my tight, dripping cunt; the former opens my throat. I gasp and gurgle as my life flows out through the vicious gash. He has slashed my throat, and now I will bleed to death on our bed as he fucks me. Our lovemaking has a tender passion to it which is beautiful enough to make me cry. I have no clit, and so I do not come. Ah, but just to have him inside me is enough. The sweet thrusting, the hardness, the desire I feel in him. Forgetting that my throat is cut, I open my mouth. No sound emerges. His strokes become more rapid. He's close, which is good, because I am fading fast. The darkness closes in around me. My lifesblood is pumping out, out, onto my breasts, onto the bed clothes...my husband gasps and comes into me, filling my dying body with his seed once more. I smile and let the blackness claim me. -- 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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+