Slay Belles (seasonal snuff!)


Posted by Kewpid on December 18, 2006 at 14:37:34:

SLAY BELLES

This is what the new remake of “Black Christmas” should have been like …

Karen had never got this drunk at an office Christmas party. Her head throbbed and her stomach rolled as she sat up on the bed. The room in which she found herself was dark and unfamiliar, but a string of multi-coloured lights hung like a garland round the window frame.

Grimacing, she rubbed her fingers through her short brown hair. The stylish, punky cut still felt unspoiled. But then she found the plastic party antlers. Karen frowned and tugged them, but the things were fixed in place.

She realised she was nude apart from panties. A sudden spasm of fright snatched at her throat. She had no idea where she was, but the room was bare and dingy. The wallpaper was peeling and the shadows clung like mould. She swivelled on her butt and heard the bedsprings creak beneath her. The bed was old and iron-framed. A stocking dangled from the end of it.

She bit her lip and held her breath, ears straining at the silence. Her heavy breasts drew taut. Her hackles rose. But the murky, hissing hush remained unbroken. Karen stood up cautiously and tiptoed over to the window pane.

Beyond the wreath of winking lights, the night was cold and empty. There was just a field, two floors below, its snowy shroud unmarked and sickly pale. She pressed her face against the window, squinting fearfully. Her bare breasts nudged the chilly glass, the big pink nipples swelling up like buds.

The house seemed like a rambling old building, and somewhere in the country. She felt horribly alone. The clamour of the party seemed unreal now, as distant as a half-remembered dream. Had she worn these reindeer antlers there? She tried to force her mind back, but her memories had been turned into mush.

Then she heard an eerie moaning noise. Her head snapped round. It was coming from the darkened fireplace. Karen’s hand went to her mouth, her pale eyes widening. She backed away, then realised it was just the wind caught in the chimney flue.

Her tautened shoulders slumped again, but her heartbeat kept on thumping. The silent house was brooding, full of threat. An instinct made her feel her arse. There was a tuft stitched to her panties. She craned over her shoulder and discovered a white tail.

Oh shit, thought Karen wretchedly, I should have stuck to Coke.

Downstairs, in another bedroom, Gemma had decided the same thing.

She too had muddled memories of the party – and maybe getting off with somebody. But nothing to explain what she was doing in this bedroom, with its gaping fireplace and rotting drapes. Emma was green-eyed and cute, with tits the size of melons. Her blonde bobbed hair hung round her face. A tinsel halo had been pinned to it.

Aside from that, she wearing white lace panties, with matching mitts – and a pair of gauzy wings. She could feel them fixed to her bare back by straps over her shoulders, the loops too tight for her to shrug them off. She’d been lying face down on the bed, transformed into a fairy – or a Christmas angel who had lost her gown.

Gemma raised herself, her fine hairs prickling. Wherever she had ended up, it wasn’t a good place. The room was dim, but coloured lights reflected on the ceiling, as if the building had been strung with them. She listened, but could only hear the throbbing in her head. Her lips twitched as she struggled not to cry.

Then she heard the dull creak of a floorboard. Her breasts heaved as she gasped; the nipples stiffened painfully. Heart in her mouth, she waited, but the sound was not repeated. Although she didn’t know it, it had come from Keeley’s room on the same floor.

Keeley waited, frozen too, but the house stayed sunk in silence. She’d been tiptoeing around the room when the floorboard creaked beneath the threadbare rug. Like her friends, she’d woken in a sparsely furnished bedroom, with a stocking hanging from the iron bed. The house seemed very old, perhaps Victorian. But the mantelpiece was draped with fairy lights.

She watched them winking silently, as if to mock her horror. It felt like she was trapped in a bad dream. She’d gone to the party as a sexy Santa, but she’d lost the bright red minidress and was stranded in her scarlet satin briefs. The bobble cap was still perched on her mane of chestnut hair, but otherwise she’d woken up completely nude. Her pretty face was full of apprehension. The lights reflected in her big brown eyes. Her boobs were plump and pendulous; they lifted with each breath. They were her proudest asset but had never felt so flushed and vulnerable.

She nibbled on her fingernail, then glanced towards the door. She hadn’t checked if it was locked; but what was lurking in the silent house? The same thought went through Suzie’s mind in another of the bedrooms. She was cowering against the bedhead, knees drawn up against her naked breasts.

The room in which she’d found herself was dimly-lit and draughty, enough to raise goose-pimples on her skin. A Christmas tree was standing in the corner, but it was unlit, a sinister black shape. She listened nervously for any sound beyond the door, and tried to figure out what she was doing here.

She was an elfin, perky girl with short fair hair and innocent blue eyes. She’d turned up at the party dressed as Santa’s Little Helper, but her short green dress was nowhere to be seen. She still wore her felt pixie cap and high-heeled ankle boots, but she had nothing but her knickers in between. Whatever had befallen her was just a queasy blur, but now her mind was sharp and glittering with fear.

The four girls waited, unaware of one another’s presence. Karen, Gemma, Keeley, Suzie – all of them as timorous as mice. But someone else was in the house, for whom names didn’t matter: they were just four Christmas cuties with big tits.

Karen had been circling, as restless as a cat, but now she heard a scraping noise and tensed again. It was coming from the shadows of the fireplace. Not the moaning wind this time. Her fingers crept unbidden to her lip. There was a tingling pause, and then the faint sound came again, as if someone was squeezing down the chimney flue.

He eyes flicked to the stocking on the bedframe. It was expensive, sheer silk, in contrast to the shabby attic room. A sudden nauseous thrill went through her belly and she scurried over to the bedroom door. Turning the handle desperately, she found it wasn’t locked. With a last glance at the gaping grate, she darted out into the passageway.

Keeley heard the rapid squeak of footsteps overhead. She looked up and her heartbeat leaped. The spooky sounds receded and went quiet. In the silence, she too heard the muffled noises in the chimney. She thought it was a rat at first. Her skin began to crawl. As she edged around the room, the movement came again. It sounded much too big to be a rat. Keeley backed towards the door, her bosom heaving now. Then something fell like a displaced brick, and flecks of soot spilled out across the hearth. Keeley whimpered, terrified, then swung towards the door. Like Karen’s, it had not been locked. But somebody was waiting right outside.

Keeley’s hazel eyes grew wide with horror. The shape was dressed like Santa Claus, with a coat as scarlet as her underwear. The little girl in her could not believe he’d moved so quickly – he should be coming from the fireplace! The fur-lined hood was drawn around a pool of total darkness. He had no face. There was an ice-axe in one red-gloved hand.

He swung it down at her before she had a chance to scream, still less to try and shield her cleavage from the blow. It struck her with a thwack between her collarbone and breast, and Keeley arched her spine and bleated pitifully. Her mouth gaped as the sharp titanium point carved through her chest, and then she grimaced as the impact split her heart. She tried to scream, but the blow had left her winded, and a squeaky gasp was all the sound she made.

He forced her back into the room and Keeley stumbled, writhing, her breasts stuck out convulsively. She clutched at them in vain. Then her legs gave way and she collapsed like a shocked schoolgirl. Her tits bobbed like blancmanges as she landed on her back. The swollen nipples stayed erect. The axe protruded stiffly. The teenager stared blankly upward, eyes as dull as stones.

Gemma heard the thud, and jumped. A heavy silence followed. Alarmed, she turned this way and that. There were no footsteps from the corridor. She didn’t hear the ice-axe being prised from Keeley’s chest. It left a bloody red rosette that matched the dead girl’s briefs and bobble cap.

The fur-lined red gloves grasped the axe’s handle. The hooded figure waited, listening. Then it moved across the room and ducked into the fireplace. The lights blinked on the mantelpiece, their glow tingeing the girl’s voluptuous corpse.

Silence filled the house again. Karen stole along the landing. The staircase loomed before her like a gulf. She hesitated miserably, then started creeping down it. Gemma heard the risers creak, and hugged her panting breasts protectively.

Suzie slid off her own bed and listened at the keyhole. The stealthy footfalls prickled down her spine. She was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the faint sounds from the fireplace. What mattered was that somebody was coming down the stairs. He’d been lurking in the attic, which was ominous enough, but it seemed that he was coming for her now. Suzie snivelled to herself, and reached for the door handle – then lost her nerve and backed away, until she sensed the presence in the room.

She swung round with a sob of fright, and the faceless Santa seized her, his red-gloved fingers locking round her neck. Suzie’s shocked eyes widened and she made a throttled sound, then flailed in panic at the looming shape. But the Santa was untroubled by his perky-breasted Elf. He put his thumbs against her larynx and pressed hard. Suzie’s tongue popped out, engorged and glistening. She bucked and squirmed, but couldn’t wriggle free.

Her pert boobs heaved against his chest; her grunts and gurgles faded. Her hands stopped plucking at his sleeves. Her arms fell to her sides. A final death-spasm twisted her, and then her head drooped sideways. Her pixie cap was still in place. Her clenched, contorted face grew blank and slack.

He kept her airway closed for a few moments, then lowered the strangled Elf onto the bed. Her pussy bulged against her briefs, but that would be for later. He still had work to do before the dawn.

Karen, meanwhile, had reached the lower staircase. She ventured down, her heartbeat drumming harder with each step. The entrance hall was dark, but light came seeping in from somewhere. She peered between the banisters and saw a looming tree in the front room. Fairy lights flashed on and off, but the room appeared deserted. She kept on slinking downward, past the open doorway. Everything was quiet.

Impulsively she made a dash for safety, but the front door of the house was firmly locked. Karen cursed under her breath, still struggling with the handle. Her gym-toned biceps bulged in vain. She bit her lip against a surge of tears. Then she heard a slow creak on the staircase. She twisted round and gasped aloud. A faceless shape was coming down the stairs.

Karen bolted back along the passage. The figure came on down the flight, his footfalls clumping now. She hadn’t even registered the ice-axe in its hands; the Evil Santa aspect was enough to frighten her out of her wits. She scurried through the kitchen, hyperventilating now. The back door was secured, but with the key still in the lock. She fumbled with it, glancing back as the figure reached the hallway. The shadowed face stared back at her and then the shape came stomping in pursuit.

Karen squealed and turned the key. The lock clicked but the door still wouldn’t budge. She rattled it, then realised it was bolted. Her fingers scrabbled with the bolts. The shape was almost breathing down her neck. Then the door was open and she plunged into the night. The cold air gripped her tender breasts. She fled, her bare feet stumbling through the snow.

The Santa reached the threshold and his right hand raised the axe, reaching back over his shoulder as he focused on the fleeing girl’s bare back. He saw her white tail bobbing and his arm came whipping forward. The ice-axe tumbled through the air and struck the girl between the shoulder blades.

Karen felt a crushing blow that made her squawk with pain. She came up short, breasts jiggling, her mouth an O of woeful disbelief. Reflexively she tried to grope for the protruding axe, then shuddered in a spasm of anguish, features twisting up with misery. She whimpered once and then pitched forward, tits-first in the snow. But the pain made her keep wriggling, like a white-hot iron buried in her back.

Karen sobbed and tried to crawl. The cold snow scalded her. It seared her pussy through her briefs; her swollen nipples seemed about to pop. But she could feel him coming, hear the slow crunch of his boots. Snivelling, she clenched her teeth and tried to raise herself. She’d pushed her upper body up, tits dangling in the snow, when he walked up and put his foot onto the axe. He trod down on it heavily and drove the point in deeper, pinning Karen to the ground and crushing all the air out of her lungs. She arched her backbone, but her scream was silent. Gemma never heard it where she cowered in the house. Karen writhed beneath him till her sweet mouth filled with blood. Her last breath rattled in her throat, and her pretty face smacked down into the snow.

Gemma had retreated to the far side of the bedroom. She’d heard the footsteps creeping round – and something like a muffled squeal downstairs. Then silence for a long, long time. She ventured to the window. The countryside was lifeless in its ghostly shroud of snow.

She thought she’d heard a door opening and closing. Did that mean that her captor had gone out? She hesitated, full of indecision. The house felt quite deserted now. The wind moaned dully in the chimney flue.

At length she summoned up the nerve to try the door, and found it was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, she sidled out into the passage. If she’d been left alone here, it might be her only chance to get away.

As well as sick with fear, she still felt stupidly self-conscious with those butterfly wings between her shoulder blades. Grimacing, she reached the stairs and paused again to listen. The hallway was dark, the front door shut, but coloured lights reflected on one wall.

Gemma preened her hair in nervous reflex, as if to check her halo was in place. Then she started down, as if descending through a minefield. One of the stairs creaked underfoot. She froze, but the dark house stayed undisturbed.

She forced her muscles to move on. The front door shifted closer. She looked into the open living room. A Christmas tree was sparkling with multi-coloured lights. Gemma gave a little gasp. Someone was lying huddled under it.

She crept down to the bottom of the staircase and gave the closed front door a yearning glance. But the woman on the floor had looked like someone her own age, and in the same predicament. She swallowed and went back to check her out.

As soon as Gemma stepped into the doorway, she knew she’d made a horrible mistake. Her eyes grew wide and she began to whimper. The dark room flickered with the fairy lights.

There were three girls lying crumpled up beneath the Christmas tree, like a pile of gifts all ready to unwrap. But the three of them had been unwrapped already: like Gemma, they were only wearing briefs. A splash of red had streamed down Keeley’s cleavage, but otherwise their bare breasts were unmarked. The swollen nipples seemed to promise pleasure, but she saw at once that all three girls were dead. Karen’s eyes were closed and she looked sulky, while Keeley had her head thrown back like someone who’d just come. Suzie’s tongue was sticking out in shameless provocation. It was a tableau from a nightmare – or the sweetest, sickest dream.

Reindeer, Elf and Santa lying lustfully entangled; but there was no fairy on the Christmas tree. Gemma moaned and stumbled back from Suzie’s milky stare. Too late she sensed the patient presence at her back.

The man behind her seized her like a bear-trap. Gemma wailed in panic and he clamped a red-gloved hand over her mouth. She squirmed in vain, her cries stifled to whimpers as he forced her closer to the Christmas tree. Gemma struggled frantically. Her gaze flicked round the room – and then she focused on the thing in front of her.

A stainless-steel meat hook was suspended from the ceiling. Her eyes grew round as saucers, and she thrashed. But the big man in the scarlet coat manhandled her towards it. Her muffled shrieks emerged as mewling sounds.

Abruptly he released his grip and spun her round to face him. Gemma glimpsed the faceless hood, and then he thumped her in the belly, hard. The impact paralysed her for a moment. Her pelvic-floor muscles relaxed and a squirt of pee soaked through her white lace briefs. She doubled forward, groaning, and he grasped her by the arms and raised her with surprising strength. She goggled down at him in disbelief.

Then he forced her down onto the meat hook. The sharp point snagged her naked back and slid between two ribs. Gemma squealed at him like a stuck piglet, and he let go of her arms. Her body slumped. The wicked hook took all her weight and Gemma screamed in anguish. The point pinched her right lung until it tore.

Burning pain surged through her chest. She wriggled like a fish, but her convulsive kicking only made things worse. The hulking figure clutched her tits and squeezed them. Gemma howled in misery, her blonde head flipping back. She tried to fend him off but it was hopeless, her every movement mortifying her. His thumbs pressed at her sensitive pink nipples, and her scream was choked by blood from her pierced lung.

He left off fondling her breasts and stood back to admire her – a stricken fairy struggling to fly. Then he picked the ice-axe up and swung it. The point hacked into Gemma’s chest and the blonde girl’s mouth fell open mournfully. Her body jerked, and then her head fell sideways, lolling to one shoulder as the life fled out of her. The Santa pulled the axe free, but her body dangled limply. Her tits made her top-heavy and she seemed to thrust them at him even now.

He stood there, breathing heavily, surveying the four bodies. It had been a Christmas party none of them had bargained for. And now he could look forward to unwrapping four sweet presents.

The only question was, which pair of briefs to peel off first?