Posted by Ed on January 27, 2001 at 01:10:38:
I posted this awhile back, but since a Britney story was requested I'll repost it. It was inspired by a few pictures, which I've linked below.
Killing Britney
I always considered myself a professional, but after about a year of working as Britney’s bodyguard, I just decided one day that she needed to die. I think I’ve pinpointed when the exact moment was. She was doing a photoshoot for a magazine, I forget which, and she was wearing a white lace outfit, and, with her long sandy brown hair and those huge brown eyes, she looked like an angel, an absolute angel. I knew then I just had to have her, had to have all of her, forever.
For the next week as I worked I watched her, waiting. I don’t think she had any idea; Every time those brown eyes met mine I could tell she felt comforted, safe. I was the angel’s guardian, with my pitchfork hidden in my pants, tight and hard.
Then it happened. I realized later I was just waited for a method, some sign to tell me how to do it. She was getting ready for another photoshoot and I was guarding the door to her dressing room. I heard the door crack open and her smooth, sweet voice ask shyly “How do I look?”
I turned and looked. She wore a flimsy white blouse with the collar open and plunging dangerously low. Her white throat called to me, and my lust rose to heights previously unthinkable. I was shocked by how much I wanted to run my hands up the front of her body, wrap my hands around that exposed, slender throat, and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze with all my might. I mumbled a compliment and watched her primp and pose for the photographer, all the while fantasizing the feel of her neck beneath my fingers.
I got my first taste a few weeks later. After one of her binges with her so-called “friends,” and the methodical beating of a few amorous admirers who thought they could take advantage of my angel’s weakness to recreational narcotics, I was left alone with a drugged and vacant Britney. Her friends had coaxed her out of her clothing, leaving nothing but a form-fitting pajama-looking number I had glimpsed her in a few times before.
I carried her drugged body upstairs, feeling her tight curves beneath the thin fabric against my body. She sighed a little as I laid her out on her bed, her bare legs crossed, one hand on her stomach. She stared at me, her mind somewhere far away.
She looked so good, I had to try. I approached her, running my hand up her smooth, tan thigh, over her virgin pussy just beneath the soft cotton, across her hard, flat stomach, up over her large, soft breasts, and finally coming to rest on her neck. She made no reaction. I wrapped my hands around her neck, getting a feel for it, loving it. I tightened a little, and then a little more. She started to squirm and gave a little moan. My crotch hardened instantly as I felt her squirm, watched her slinky body turn and shift in response to the pain. But she was still far away, had no idea what was happening. I knew what I wanted,
but this wasn’t the time.
I released her neck reluctantly and watched as she settled down. Her eyes shut as she drifted off into drug-induced unconsciousness. I leaned over and kissed her forehead, whispering “Soon, my angel.”
She had a splitting headache the next day, but remembered nothing, as I had expected.
The time came only a short week later, during her first stop in what would have been a tour across America and parts of Europe. I waited patiently backstage as she went about her routine, playing over and over in my mind how the night would commence. I had it all planned out by the time she came backstage. She was exhausted as she strode through the awaiting throng amidst congratulations. Her tan skin was sheened with perspiration in her leather All American Girl outfit. The hip-hugging red pants and a star-spangled bodice only accentuated her tan, athletic build. She looked so cute in it; I decided it would be a shame for her to take it off herself. I followed her into her changing room as she sat down with a husky sigh.
“Well, how did it go?” I asked casually.
“Really great, but I’m soo tired, I can’t wait to get this stupid costume off,” she said. She was like that, always polite and never telling you right out to get lost.
“It looks really good,” I said innocently. “I mean, you look really good in it.”
“Thanks,” she said shyly. I still amazed me how shy she was sometimes. It was
intoxicating.
“No problem.”
“Was there something you wanted?” she asked as kindly as she could.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to say this, but for the last couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided that tonight I have to strangle you to death, and then have sex with you.”
She blinked. That was all the time she had.
My hands shot out and wrapped around that delicious neck before she could move, and I squeezed, oh God, how I squeezed.
Britney was strong for a girl, petite, but strong, I’ll always give her that. As her hands clamped around mine in her first few moments of confusion, I was thankful I had allowed her the opportunity to resist. She was going to put up one hell of a fight.
Her arms tensed as she tried to pry my hands away from her neck, but to no avail. Her whole body rose to the occasion, throwing herself backwards repeatedly, trying to break my grip. Her limbs flailed, raining down blows onto my chest and shoulders. I squinted my eyes and squeezed harder, feeling her pulse pound beneath my fingertips as she thrashed, her eyes wide with fear and confusion, her mouth agape.
“WWWwhhHWHGghYYgyyy…..?” she managed, but I merely squeezed off any further
inquiries.
Her legs kicked at me, and tried to pull her away, but she was locked in my grasp. My angel was staying right here with me.
Britney’s hands clutched at her neck as time passed, every fiber of her body dedicated to getting air, sucking in breath. Her mouth gaping open, the dull, gagging rasp of her failed attempts to breathe. I was reminded of her singing, and was a little sad then that after tonight I would never hear her sing again. I brought my head in closer, staring into those huge, terrified brown eyes and whispered to her my favorite Ted Nugent song: “I got you in a stranglehold, Babaaay…” I think, on some level, she appreciated it.
My angel fought like a devil, but we both knew she was mortal, and a girl can only go so long without breathing. Her mighty struggle was taxing her, and though I ached from a dozen places where her fists and feet had connected, my hands still encircled her throat like a noose of flesh and bone. I squeezed with everything I had, squeezed away her life. It was working. Her eyes began to glaze over, and her features began to soften as she slowly slipped away.
Her struggles lessoned too. Her drunken movements became easy to fight. All I had to do was keep squeezing and watch that compact, sexy body slowly writhe as darkness overtook her. Her legs could barely support her now, and her hands clung to mine like a drowning girl to a life boat, with no strength left to pull herself over. I slowly eased her to the ground, watching her tan limbs quiver and tremble in her last throes of life. I knelt over her; one hand continuing the struggle while the other was free to explore her dying body. I gently pulled her hands away from her neck and folded them over her bare tummy; she had no concept of what was killing her anymore anyway. I straightened her legs out before her, smoothing the red leather sheathing them, feeling the tight muscles beneath twitch uselessly.
The end was close now, I could tell. I knelt beside her and guided her over the edge. Her body twitched a little more, and then was very still. I gazed into her eyes and saw that she was crossing the boundary. I kept up the pressure. “I want all of you, Britney, not a scrap remaining,” I whispered.
She suddenly began shaking mechanically, surprisingly violently, as her body purged the remainder of her life like waste. I also knew she was pissing freely in those hot red pants. Then it was over. She was over.
My free hand rested atop the stars and stripes adorning Britney’s breasts. I pressed down, between the mounds of soft flesh and felt for a sign, any sign of life. I felt nothing. I ran my hand down and lifted a limp wrist, feeling there. Nothing.
Britney Spears was dead.
Slowly, reluctantly I released her neck, her skin peeling away from my sweaty hand, noting the simplicity of the gesture that would have saved her life only a few moments before. But it was too late now, she laid still and dead before me.
I gazed into her face, her eyes vacant and empty, her mouth open, her tongue protruding past her teeth ever so delicately.
I leaned over and kissed her still lips, pushing back her tongue with my own. I leaned over more and gently kissed her eyelids shut. I let my fingertips gently trace the contours of her face. She was so cute.
A spare microphone was sitting on her bed. I smirked as I lifted her head off the ground and pressed the microphone to her lips.
“Sing something for me, Britney. Just for me.”
I placed my palm on her bare tummy and pressed down. A long, ragged sigh was pushed past her lips as she expelled the stale air trapped in her lungs. I smiled, knowing that I alone had heard Britney’s very last song.
But now was not the time for games. I knew this was the dangerous part. Strangling Britney had been the fun, easy part. Although she had put up a good fight, she really had had no chance against a man of my size. Now I had to escape with her body back to her house. Only there could my angel truly reach heaven.
I stood over her, considering how I would carry her. The classic way would be to loop one arm underneath her knees, and wrap the other around her shoulderblades. Would they buy that? I remembered carrying her up the stairs of her home, how her limp, dead weight had felt so good in my arms, though she had been merely drugged. I couldn’t wait. I knelt beside her and scooped her corpse into my arms. Her red leather pants stretched tight over her legs as they draped over my right hand. I rested her flaccid cheek against my chest. As I stood, her arms slipped down from her tummy to her lap, her legs bobbed a bit, but she was steady. I looked in her mirror and saw it was good. I just had to make sure her head didn’t fall back. The illusion would be ruined. I carried her to the door, and opened it.
The throng was waiting. There was a collective gasp as her people saw her prone in the arms of her bodyguard, eyes shut, face ashen.
“Miss Spears is exhausted and not feeling well. She is returning to her home for the night. No reporters, no questions,” I said in my best authoritative voice. I guess they bought it, because they all started running around, but said nothing further to me.
As I carried the dead teen sensation out of the concert hall, I whispered into her deaf ear very quietly, “Only you and I know you’re really dead. It’s our little secret!”
I slid her into the waiting limo and sat her beside me, resting her head against the side of the cabin, doing my best to make her look helpless but alive. I sat next to her as the car drove away.
For the first time I found myself wishing she hadn’t worn something so revealing. The leather pants and bodice/bra thing looked killer (hehe) on her, but her skin was starting to get pale. She looked really good, pale or tan, but it was a little suspicious. Even still, I found I couldn’t keep my hands off her. I rolled up the limo-separator thing and leaned over her, pushing my hand down her tight pants and scraping the back of her throat with my tongue. It was a little weird kissing a dead girl, but her flaccid lips were good to suck on and tasted sweet.
We finally got to the house, and I pondered killing the driver, but decided against it. I pulled Britney’s body out of the car, hoisted her into my arms, and carried her inside. As I shut the door, my heart began to race. I let Britney’s head fall back, liking the way her neck looked as her head dangled upside-down, with her hair hanging and swishing. I hurried up to her bedroom, barely able to contain myself. I threw her body onto the bed and stripped off my clothes. She calmly awaited my attentions, her limbs spread out randomly over the mattress.
“Now, angel, it’s time for you to get out of those clothes, and it’s time for me to slip into something comfortable.” I thought that was pretty clever.
I started with her top, slipping the straps off her shoulders. It was surprisingly tight. I reached under her and struggled with the strap, but finally released it. I pulled the leather haltertopish/ bra/ bodice/ whatever away and sighed as her proud breasts were bare to me at last.
“Nice, Britney, very nice.”
I gazed at her topless body for only a moment before my greedy hands began to feast. I gave her breasts a test-drive. As I worked the soft mounds of flesh I saw that the rumors were all wrong.
”I never doubted you, Britney,” I said before nipping her left nipple.
I sucked greedily for a long time, before I thought that it was about time those pants came off. My hands trailed down her firm tummy and came to rest on her crotch. My hands felt the cunt beneath the slick leather and I had a hell of a time untying those blasted pants. I ripped the damn things open, my breath catching only for a moment before I grabbed the loose ankles and yanked the pants down. The red leather caressed her long, tan legs as they slid away. I tossed the pants over my head and watched her legs fall back to the bed, her tight, ample thighs jiggling as they bounced on the mattress. I saw that she had indeed soiled her panties.
“Poor Britney, daddy make it better,” I cooed as I rolled the panties down her thighs. Once again I was glad I had waited, her legs just felt better dead.
I stood and looked at my handiwork. Teen idol Britney Spears lay strangled and dead before me, spread out on her bed, completely naked, her bare, smooth flesh awaiting my every whim. I wondered how long she had spent sunbathing nude so that I would have her delectable body tanned from head to toe. I almost had to wipe away a tear.
I kneed her muscular, dancer’s thighs apart, getting a good look at her dead, virgin pussy. I gripped either side of her hips, aimed my throbbing tool, and thrust her limp body onto my dick, burying it inside her. Obviously mere words cannot describe the waves of pleasure that overtook me as I pumped in and out of my angel’s sweet dead body. Her whole body shook from the violent pumping, head rolling from side to side and arms sprawled above her head in some kind of posthumous cheer of sexual excitement, legs dangling off the edge of the bed, bare feet dancing. She was wonderful. My tongue explored every gentle curve of her body. We rolled around the huge bed, connected at the hips like Siamese twins. She was so flexible, I twisted her into positions I had thought impossible. Her naked flesh was putty in my capable hands. She was mine. All mine.
I came so explosively I thought in the haze I might injure her, but there was no chance of that. I collapsed, sweat rolling off me in sheets, and rested atop her cooling body.
“Wow,” was all I could say as I stared into my angel’s expressionless face. Such a young girl. Britney Spears, dead at 18. Perhaps it was greedy of me to take such a ripe young girl all for myself. I sighed and kissed her perky little nose. It was too late now, Britney was dead and that was that.
I stood up and started to root around in her expansive closet. I pulled out a flimsy red nightgown that looked suitable, and sat down beside her.
“Let’s see. You went to bed after not feeling well during your show. A crazy stalker broke in while I was asleep on the couch, having forgotten to set the alarm. I awoke to find you… hmm can’t say I wandered into your bedroom…. laying out on the lawn, still wearing your nightgown, strangled dead and raped. I then called the police.” I looked over to Britney lying beside me. “Sound good?”
Of course, even if she could speak, she wouldn’t have helped her murderer with his story. Britney had been a forgiving girl, but not that much. Her brown eyes stared out vacantly, neither accusing nor forgiving.
I struggled to get her body into some sort of sitting position. After a few tries I was able to slip the night shirt over her head and down to about waist level, which was sufficient. I hoisted dead Britney into my arms one last time and jogged down the stairs. By now she was genuinely cold, though her skin was still smooth and soft. I carried her out onto the front lawn. I picked a spot and dumped the corpse unceremoniously in the grass. Her dead, bare white arms and legs were shocking contrast the lush, living grass they were sprawled out in. I stood and observed her dumped body for awhile, her brown eyes open and staring at me, but not seeing me, her lips gently parted, her teeth and tongue just barely visible. She was still as sexy as ever.
I walked back inside and called the police. The coroners had zipped her into the body bag by the time I had returned to the sight. She was cremated shortly afterwards, but they couldn’t rob me of my angel. She flies into my dreams every night.
An angel: http://celebs.great.nu/britney/3.jpg
The white blouse: http://www.britneyspears.org/pictures/magazines/allure/04.jpg
All American Girl: http://www.britneyspears.org/pictures/rollingstone/01.jpg
Dumped: http://celebs.great.nu/britney/20.jpg