Posted by NBabe on February 15, 2000 at 21:24:23:
“Hello there everyone, this is Pat Summerall along with John Madden, back for the second day of the snuff olympics. What are your thoughts on the first day and your predictons for today, John?”
“Well Pat, yesterday we saw a great event, the snuff marathon. I think all three of those girls are possible all-Madden material. Now today we have some classical snuff olympics events. I can’t wait to see the outcome.”
“Me either John so let’s get out in the field where our new correpondant, Howie Long,”
fade out and fade in
“Hi back there in the studio to Pat and John, Howie Long reporting here. I’ll tell you one thing, yesterday was great, but today we are going to have a treat, for this is a premierre event. What the hammer throw is to track and field, the nail gun event is to the snuff olympics. Let’s look in as the world class necrobabe, Vicky, is used by celebrity nailer, Bill Clinton. Bill earned his nailing credentials the old fashioned way.”
God damn it! Let me go!" Feisty Vicky Taylor struggled in her chains, unwilling to accept the fact of her bondage. Bill smiled at her. She wore solid steel manacles which were secured around her wrists by thick padlocks. These shackles held her wrists so far above her head that she had no choice but to stand on her tiptoes. That's how Bill likes his chains: nice and tight.
"You son of a bitch!" she shouted. "When I get out of these chains, you're gonna be in some pretty fucking serious trouble. They'll lock you up and throw away the key."
"Maybe they will," Bill conceded. "But you won't be around to watch it happen. You see, Vicky, you aren't getting out of those chains. Not in this lifetime, anyway."
Vicky's eyes widened in horror as she realized for the first time that he planned to snuff her. "Jesus. You sick bastard..."
"That's right, Vicky," he said, warming to the topic. "I'm going to torture you to death, and I'm going to rape your gorgeous, dying body. Do you want to know how I'm going to torture you? I'm going to use this. Do you know what it is?" he showed her the nail gun, holding it right in front of her soft, brown eyes so she could get a good, long look at it.
"No," she whispered.
"This is an industrial nail gun. It's designed to shoot steel nails into wooden beams. But it also works quite well at shooting those nails into soft, warm flesh. I always wanted to nail myself a Necrobabe, Vicky, and now I'll finally get to do it. I want to thank you in advance for donating your magnificent body to this project."
"Please, no..." she whispered. She was really scared now.
“Wow, John and Pat, what about that technique of instilling terror. No wonder this guy is number 1 in the world.” Howie relates in the background.
"Oh, yes, Vicky." She was wearing a tight, pink/ purple one-piece swimsuit which zipped up the front. Bill slips his finger through the ring of her zipper and began to pull down slowly, gradually lowering the neckline of her suit. He really took his time, savoring each new inch of flesh as it was revealed to him. Gradually her cleavage grew, resolving at last into two astonishing, snow white-colored breast melons. Suddenly her breasts burst free. Bill gasped as saw how perfect they were: firm, flawless, topped with big, pink nipples which were just begging to be nailed. he kept unzipping her suit, uncovering a flat belly which rippled with muscle. And then he was to the top of her neatly trimmed pubic bush; he kept going until her pussy was fully exposed.
"That's better," he noted, stepping back to admire her body. Her physique really was first-rate. He wondered if they might award her the Necrobabe of the Year title. If so, it would have to be posthumous.
She was shivering in her chains. A few minutes ago she had been so proud, so defiant. It doesn't take much to turn any woman into a frightened little girl. Just some good chains and a nailgun.
"Please," she whimpered. "Please don't hurt me."
"Go ahead and beg," He told her. "It turns me on. Now, let's begin, shall we? Where would you like the first nail, Vicky?" He began to circle her body, hefting the nailgun, looking for a good target. There were so many: her splendid breasts, her flat belly, her sweet, heart-shaped ass. Yes, that was it: her ass. He pressed the gun against her left cheek, gently squeezed the trigger. There was a wet sound as the gun put a six inch nail into Vicky's buttock. She stiffened in her chains and began to scream wildly. A little blood trickled out from around the head of the nail, but not really very much, considering how deeply it was embedded in her. He put a matching nail into her other ass cheek, then moved in front of her to see how she was responding.
It took her a minute or two to stop screaming. He just relaxed and enjoyed the show. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks; she was clearly in extraordinary pain. Finally she began to get ahold of herself. Her screams became whimpers; then even these died down and she began to breathe normally. It was obviously an effort for her. Bill was impressed at her willpower.
"Please," she whispered. "I'll do anything you want. Just stop hurting me. You can fuck me..."
"I can do that anyway," Bill pointed out.
"But I'll fuck you back. Wouldn't that be better?" She was desperate now, offering him what she thought was a tremendously desirable service.
"Not at all. Vicky, you're already giving me exactly what I want: a beautiful, supple Necrobabe's body to torture, and a nice cunt to rape once the torture really starts turning me on. I'm sorry, but there's really nothing you can offer me that would compare with that."
"Oh, God..." Vicky whimpered.
"Have you ever thought about getting your navel pierced?" Bill joked. "I think it would look great on you. Here, let's try it." Bill presses the gun into her belly and fired, sending a nail deep into her stomach. Her legs twitched; if she hadn't been tightly chained, she would have doubled over in agony. She made a choking sound; a dark trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her sultry mouth. He added a nail to each of her thighs, and she began to scream like an animal, the way he like women to scream. It was music to my ears. he really wanted to fuck her, but she wasn't suffering enough yet. A few more nails would fix that. Bill only fucks women who are in very serious agony, women who are well on their way to an excruciating death
That means he doesn't get laid too often, but when he does, it's always spectacular.
Since he was snuffing Vicky, He didn't have to stay away from her internal organs; as long as I avoided her heart, she'd stay alive long enough for me to rape her thoroughly. With this in mind, He returned to Vicky's backside and put a nail through each of her kidneys. Her body really began to convulse as these nails penetrated her; she was coming along nicely. Now it was time to move to the next stage of the torture.
Pressing the gun against her upper back, He put a nail through her right lung, then shot a nail into her left lung. Moving back in front of her, he saw a look of unparalleled horror on Vicky's sweet, face.
"That's right, Vicky," Bill said, enthused. "I've pierced your lungs. They're filling up with blood right now. You're starting to drown. A good swimmer like you, and you're going to drown right here in front of me. And I'm going to fuck your brains out while it's happening. But first, there are just two things missing." The nailgun spoke sharply, sending a spike into her left nipple; a second later, another nail made her breasts a matched set. Luckily, she had ample chest coverage; the nails went deep into her tits, but stopped well short of her heart.
Now Vicky was ready for him at last. He released her chains, sending her luscious body tumbling to the floor. He picked her up and carried her to a nearby table, her wrist chains unreeling as he went. She was in shock, too weak to resist. He bent her down over the table and forced her legs apart, holding her neck with his right hand. She looked fantastic, with nails in her ass, kidneys and upper back; she was a real work of art. She had on high heels, which shaped her calves nicely. And her sweet pussy was peeking timidly out from between her thighs, just begging to be fucked
.
Bill inhales sharply as he enters Vicky. Her cunt was sublime; it had that special tightness that only unwilling cunts have, that exquisite resistance that only necrobabes can provide. He brushs Vicky's dark, wavy hair aside and pressed the nailgun against the base of her skull. The final nail would go into her brain at the moment of his climax.
As he pushed her down against the table, her breasts were pressed flat; this pushed the nails even deeper into her. She moaned softly at that, but most of her noises were of a different sort now. Mainly she made the gagging, choking sounds of a woman trying to breathe through a lungfull of blood. The tension in her body was unbelievable. He had never before fucked a body so hard, so lean, so resistant. It was an immensely satisfying fuck.
.
As he feels himself grow close, his finger tightened impatiently on the trigger. He longed to send Vicky to her necrobabes reward. Just a few more strokes...he thrust deep into her dying body, savoring her suffering. he felt his climax well up inside his cock as his cum flowed toward her pussy. He pulled the trigger. And the back of Vicky's skull exploded. She went wild as the last nail entered her brain. His luck or skill was incredible: he had pierced her brain in such a way as to produce impossible, inhuman convulsions. Her body twitched and shuddered and refused to die! Her cunt latched onto his cock; he wanted to come, needed to come, but she was squeezing him so tightly that he simply couldn't. She was so tight that the muscles of his cock couldn't even spasm into orgasm. There literally wasn't room in her cunt for him to come!
Bill has never felt anything remotely like it: this moment of perpetually suspended ecstasy, an endless orgasm, an infinite climax. Finally she relaxed, just a little, just enough: he erupted into her, spewing hot semen into her fresh corpse.
“Holy smokes, Pat and John, I wish Terry was here, that was one of the most spectacular events I have ever seen. That Bill can really nail a girl and that Vicky, what a world class necrobabe she is. This is Howie Long reporting from the nail gun event of the snuff olympics. Back to the studio.”
“Pat, Vicky has to be one for the all-Madden necrobabe team. What a death, what a squirm with her body full of 6” nails. That was great. “
“Yes, John, but there is much more to come.”
Fade out from Pat and John and fade in to the commercial for the necrobabes beachside girl roasting restaurant. Fade in on Gabby the necrobabe about to be tenderized and cooked. Correspondant Theodore T. Rex watching intently.
The hot sand serrated Gabrielle's belly as she plowed into the beach. She was just in time. She had managed to get under the ball; now her powerful muscles flexed as she strove with all her might to send it over the net. All eyes were on the ball; time seemed to stand still as it arced lazily up and up and yes! over. But as the ball began its downward trajectory, Gabby saw that it was perilously close to the corner of the court. If it landed outside the line--she couldn't bear to finish that thought. She watched in breathless anticipation as the ball drifted down. None of the men on the other side of the net made a move for it. They were betting the ball would land outside, and oh, dear Lord, they were right. Gabby felt her life slipping away from her as the ball passed the line and impacted on the sand, just inches out of bounds. A cheer went up from the other side of the net. The men had won, and Gabby had lost everything.
Gabby's team captain went through the formality of crossing over to ask the men which of their opponents they wanted, but everyone already knew what their answer would be. All of the women on Gabby's team were attractive, but none could compete with her. When she heard her name, she stood and brushed the sand from her naked belly. One by one her teammates came by to give her a hug and a few more or less sincere words of condolence. Then they vanished, as quickly as they could. Gabby could scarcely blame them. If she were in their shoes, she certainly wouldn't hang around to watch the orgy of torture, rape and murder which was to come.
Now Gabby was alone with nine hungry men. She tried to put on a brave face, but it was very hard. By the terms of the bet, they now owned her body. They could do anything they wanted to it, anything at all. Gabby was filled with terror; she imagined a thousand tortures to which they might subject her, and each was more horrible than the last.
"I suggest we whip her to death," one of the men said. Gabby recalled that he was a medical man. "She's in absolutely peak physical condition; I'm sure she could take several hours of whipping. We can take turns, and everyone will probably get several chances to punish her. What do you all think?"
"I like it," one of the other men agreed. "If we hang her, we just get to watch her die. But whipping is a real hands-on torture. We all want a chance to hurt that beautiful body, don't we, guys?" The other men all agreed.
"OK, let's string her up between the net poles." Two of the men took down the volleyball net, rolled it up neatly and set it aside. Without saying a word, Gabby stepped between the poles. The thought of being whipped to death was utterly terrifying to her. But a bet was a bet. They had defeated her team fair and square.
"Should we strip her?"
"No," the doctor cautioned. "Leave her shirt on. She'll last much longer if we whip her through the fabric."
Gabby gasped in pain as they tied her wrists. The rope dug into her flesh, cutting off her circulation. She started to protest, but thought better of it. After all, what was the point? She belonged to them, and their goal was to maximize her suffering. If she complained, she would only be assuring them that they were doing things properly.
They tied each rope to the top of one of the metal shafts, then bound her ankles to the bottoms of the poles. Gabby was spread-eagled and helpless, a human volleyball net.
The doctor produced a riding crop and sliced through the air in front of her a few times, as if testing the whip. Gabby suspected that this display was more for her benefit, and though she resolved not to give him the pleasure of a response, she flinched despite herself. The whip whistled sharply as it slashed through the air, and this told her that it had a sharp, cutting edge to it.
He paused for a moment, selecting his target. Gabby looked straight ahead, refusing to lower her eyes. She could feel his gaze on her breasts. She wore a shirt of yellow Lycra which was so tight that it rendered any bra irrelevant. Her firm, round tits jutted out against the skin-tight yellow fabric; her nipples, hardened by the cool sea air, were clearly outlined. The letters "USA" were emblazoned in silver just above her left nipple; they were slightly distorted by the bulge of her breast. The shirt was cropped high to reveal her flat, rock-hard abdomen. Below she wore the tiniest thong-backed brown g-string she had been able to find. Gabby had hoped to distract her opponents with her body, but that tactic had obviously failed. Now she regretted the attempt, because although they had not stripped her, she stood nearly naked before them.
The doctor found her nipple with the first stroke, and she howled in torment. The pain was blindingly intense; Gabby had never been whipped before, and certainly not on the nipples! Laughing, he whipped her breast a second time, and a third. She tried in vain to wiggle out from underneath his relentless whip. Stretched taut between the two poles, there was no way she could possibly escape the crop.
He rained the strokes down on her with a precision which made her doubt that she was the first woman he had ever whipped to death. Every stroke found her breast; most struck her tender, tortured nipple. She screamed wildly as he whipped her, but her cries of anguish only seemed to encourage him.
Just when she felt she was about to pass out, he switched to her other tit. Now the pain was even worse, for Gabby felt these new strokes against the constant background of aching agony that radiated from her other breast. Her sleek, blonde tresses flew as she tossed her head--the one part of her body she could still move--from side to side. She drew her full, red lips back over dazzling white teeth and emitted an exquisite series of sultry screams. A seemingly limitless pool of tears welled up under her icy blue eyes, and soon her cheeks were drenched.
At last someone put a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Hey, why don't you give the rest of us a chance?"
It took him a moment to overcome his whipping frenzy. "What? Oh, yes, of course." He handed the other man the whip as Gabby sobbed softly. "I'll go start the coals."
Coals?
Gabby's new torturer went around behind her and began to whip her back. That wasn't nearly as bad as having her breasts whipped, but it still hurt like hell. His whipping style was different from the first man's: slower, more ponderous, not as accurate, but with a great deal of power behind it. Gabby didn't scream as this man whipped her; she simply whimpered softly each time the crop came down across her shoulder blades.
The third man whipped her ass, and this was, in some ways, the worst abuse she had yet suffered. The first two men had whipped her through her shirt--she remembered the doctor saying that she would last longer that way. This was the first time the whip had tasted her naked flesh. Here she had nothing more than a strand of butt floss to protect her; her sweet, round ass cheeks were fully exposed. Gabby howled in desperate torment as the whip slashed her firm, naked buttocks. The other men were standing around, drinking beer, laughing, waiting for their turn. She learned from listening to their conversations that her ass was bleeding from several deep lacerations.
The fourth man whipped her belly, and again the pain was staggering. This time she did not scream, for she could not: it was almost impossible to catch her breath when her belly was being whipped. She gasped in relief when her tormentor handed the whip off to the next man; looking down, she saw to her dismay that her abdomen was criss-crossed with angry, red whipping sores. Blood trickled down her belly, staining her g-string.
One by one the men took their turns with her. She was surprised to learn that each had his own distinct whipping style. Some whipped faster, some took their time. Some peppered her body with light, quick strokes; others gave her one cripplingly hard blow at a time.
As the day wore on, they layered the strokes over her suffering, helpless body, covering every inch of her with slashes and sores. They spared only her face, perhaps so that the purity of its beauty would throw into sharp relief the horror that her body was fast becoming. They whipped her thighs, her hips, her calves, her arms, the small of her back.
Quite a few of them whipped her breasts, and eventually her shirt could no longer protect her from the ravages of the breast torture. Two dark red stains appeared around her nipples, and slowly began to spread downwards through the Lycra.
The men seemed to be competing amongst themselves to see who was the most accomplished sadist, who could hurt her more. One of them noticed that there was still a certain part of her that hadn't yet been whipped, and so he placed the crop between her legs and brought it up hard. Gabby nearly passed out as the whip struck her g-string. She had more nerve endings there than anywhere else in her body, of course, and now they were all screaming simultaneously. Laughing at her torment, the man repeated his feat several times, halting only when the doctor stepped forward once more.
"She's had about as much as she can take," the doctor announced. "Another ten or twenty minutes of whipping will probably kill her."
THANK GOD, Gabby thought. IT'S ALMOST OVER.
"Let's get her over the coals. We can finish her while she roasts."
Gabby tried to ask what they were going to do to her, but her voice was too weak. They untied her, and she slumped into their strong, hairy arms. She had been strong herself, once. But the whipping had made her a woman once more.
They took her to a large bed of coals which was bracketed by four short metal posts. Now her clothes came off at last. They pulled her yellow shirt up over her head, revealing her firm, flawless breasts with their stiff, bleeding pink nipples. Her g-string came down over her thighs, exposing her tight, bald pussy. They put thick, leather shackles on her wrists and ankles. The shackles were linked to small metal caps, and now Gabby understood. The caps fit onto the tops of the four posts, and soon Gabby was spread-eagled again, horizontally this time, suspended face-down over the coals. She whimpered softly. The heat was tremendous; within moments she was drenched in sweat. She heard her flesh begin to sizzle.
They whipped her as she cooked, lashing her ass, her naked back. She no longer had the strength to scream; indeed, she made no sound at all.
After a few minutes they turned her over. Lifting her off the posts, they flipped her over and replaced the metal caps. She had a moment or two of relief; her breasts and belly were no longer cooking, thank God! But soon enough her ass began to sizzle. The whipping resumed; it was the doctor again. Her dry, chapped lips worked silently. He leaned close, to hear what she was trying to say. "Please," she gasped. "I can feel myself cooking. It's unbearable. Please, finish me now."
He nodded and began to whip her breasts again, lashing them as vigorously as he had at the beginning. The difference, of course, is that now they were naked, covered with bright pink sores and topped with ruptured nipples. It didn't take much to finish her: a few quick, hard strokes, placed just right. She shuddered as this final agony tore through her. Then her body went limp over the coals. She continued to cook for a few hours until her body was a golden brown and then was served to the men and the reporting correspondant.
“Well, Pat and John you can take it from me Teddy T. Rex, these necrobabes are so tenderized and well cooked they simply melt in your mouth. Don’t be a couple of old dinosaurs, get out of the studio and down here and see for yourselves. Back to you guys”
“Mmmmmm that looks good.” John says. “much better than those thanksgiving turkys we use to have at the football games.”
“I’ll say, those guys at the beach restaurant really know how to cook a necrobabe, well let’s get back to our next event back to the beach for some swimming in shark infested waters. Our correspondant, Dan Rather.”
Dan begins to speak “As usual, the dazzling white beach was vacant except for a single olive-skinned beauty. She was certainly no older than twenty, and her sculpted body had a certain kinship with the ancient statuary for which this island was justifiably famous. Indeed, she could very well have been one of these statues, quiet and still, unmoving, frozen in time. A minuscule red bikini concealed her secret parts, but the rest of her was spectacularly evident: firm high breasts, hard flat belly with a delicious navel indentation, sleek firm thighs, long athletic legs. Her waist-length brown hair was arrayed neatly about her head. Her oiled skin glistened in the morning sun.
But on this particular morning, it turned out that the beach was not quite as vacant as usual. She hears nothing, but feels a sudden sharpness at her throat. “
She opened her eyes, inhaled sharply. She made no overt movements, but now her luscious body displayed a certain tightness.
"Please don't hurt me," she whispered.
"Hurt you?" the man with the knife replied. "No. No. Nothing that easy."
"I know you," she murmured. "From the village..."
"That's right," the man admitted. He was heavy, dark, covered in wiry black hair. "Every day you come down here, with that body, showing it off. On my beach. You don't fuck me, that's fine. But you don't fuck anybody. You show that body, you don't fuck anybody."
"I..."
"Don't go for men. I know. That's OK. We have some fun anyway. Come on, get up. We go back to my boat. Have a little fun."
He left her unbound while he tied the noose. He wanted her to see what he was doing. She eyed the knife. It was right by his side. If she dove for it, could she grab it before he did? Probably not. It wasn't worth a knife in the gut if she was wrong; she'd take her chances with the rope.
"Please," she whispered, "don't do this."
"Been waiting to do you for a long time," he replied, tying off the knot. "Watching you. Planning it." He confronted her, his massive bulk dominating her, overpowering her. The noose was over her head before she knew what was happening. It took him a minute or two to get her endless brown tresses through the loop. And then the bright white nautical rope was tight against her throat.
A tear trickled down her cheek, hot and desperate. Was he really going to kill her, just because she was a lesbian? "Please," she whimpered. "I'm begging you...please don't hang me..."
He shook his head. "Not gonna hang you. Noose is just to get you started." As if to prove this point, he attached the line to an overhead winch. The motor hummed to life, pulling her feet off the deck. Her hands flew instinctively to her throat. As he swung her hanged body out over the railing, she dug her slender fingers under the rope. Her lean, strong biceps flexed as she fought the noose. She discovered that if she devoted all of her strength to the project, she could keep the rope loose enough to allow minimal breathing.
Her endless, olive-hued legs kicked impotently above the crystal-blue Mediterranean water. "Please," she gasped, and that was all. Her plea had no content beyond that simple word.
"Better. You look good like that," he decided. He let the young beauty kick and squirm for several minutes, admiring her movements, enjoying her helplessness. At last he retrieved the knife.
The blade flashed towards her lean, naked belly, but her reflexes were good: she twisted away from his thrust. He laughed and stabbed at her again. Again she dodged. And so began an elaborate dance. Her motions were conditioned, in part, by the noose and by her fight against it. But the blade added subtle complexities to her movements. Her slender body twisted and writhed its way through contortions which would have put the most brazen temple prostitute to shame.
Firm, melon-sized breasts jiggled and bounced beneath her red bikini. Her infinite brown tresses flew about her like a dark tempest. Gagging and choking, she squirmed in desperate, helpless panic.
At long last the blade found its mark. She gasped as the steel point thrust home. His aim was perfect: the blade neatly perforated her navel, calling forth a tiny rivulet of bright red blood. The thin line of crimson trickled lazily down her taut belly. It pooled at her g-string, then began to fall, one drop at a time, into the clear blue water.
And at last his plan was revealed to her. The water began to churn with activity. Her nubile body tensed with terror as she realized the horrible truth: these waters were infested with sharks, and she was to be their next meal!
She tried to force herself to be still as he lowered her into the sea. She knew that her motions would only attract them. But it was impossible. The horror overwhelmed her. Her long, muscular legs kicked their way into the Mediterranean. And nature responded: a single massive beast separated itself from the rest and opened its jaw wide to receive her. She saw an immense double row of brilliant white teeth. She saw her legs vanish into the shark's maw. And then she went quite blind with pain.
When she regained her awareness, she was hanging over the water once more. Or rather, what was left of her dangled above the surface. The shark had severed her body just below the navel. Legs, cunt, g-string--her entire lower half was gone. The pink tendrils of her intestines swung lazily beneath her gaping abdominal cavity.
She realized that her hands had left her throat. She no longer had the strength to fight the noose. And yet she could still breathe, a little. She simply no longer weighed enough to hang fully. Had he planned it that way? She looked up to find him laughing. Yes. Yes. He left her like that for a few minutes. And then he lowered her once more.
The shark came for her again. She felt the huge, powerful jaws close over her breasts, her shoulders, her neck. Darkness engulfed her, and she expired.
“That certainly was a hungry beast wasn’t John? This is Dan rather reporting on water sports from the snuff olympics, back to John and Pat.”
John’s voice booms as he says “ There appears to be something going on at the archery range let’s get over there and back to Howie who has just arrived.”
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to another exciting evening of Snuff Archery! Tonight's contestants are two of the most spectacular women ever to grace the boards of necrobabes.com. The short, sultry, bare-breasted beauty in the powder-blue teddy is Miss Rachel. Her statuesque opponent, Miss Petra, has sheathed her prodigious mammaries in a translucent yellow bra, but is wearing nothing below the waist. One of these two lovely ladies will die horribly tonight, because only the winner leaves this contest alive! Tonight's human target is necrobabe of the Year 1999 Lisa . No matter who wins this contest, we can be sure that Lisa will lose. Now let's go live to the field, where tonight's competition is about to begin!"
Rachel and Petra basked in the lustful whistles and cheers of the mostly male audience. Smiling and waving, they wiggled their hips and blew kisses to their legions of fans. The crowd roared as Rachel lifted and cupped her flawlessly spherical breasts. Not to be outdone, Petra reached between her thighs and began to finger herself suggestively. Both women were young and fit and supremely confident. Indeed, one of them would turn out to be a bit TOO confident, and would pay for her arrogance with her life.
The referee approached the two Necrobabes with a clipboard. "The winner of this contest has the right to determine the loser's fate," he explained, speaking into a microphone for the benefit of the audience. "I'd like you to register your preferences now, please. Rachel, how will Petra die if you're tonight's winner?"
Rachel leaned close and grabbed the mike as if it were a stiff cock. "I would LOVE to see this big-breasted bitch crucified," she said huskily. A cheer went up from the audience.
"Very good. And you, Petra?"
Petra's eyes flashed angrily. "What I want to see--what I WILL see--is Rachel on a rack, stretched until she begs for death."
"Very well. If you step over to the equipment table, you'll find your bows waiting for you." Petra and Rachel hurried over to the table, where each of them selected a powerful compound bow. Mighty biceps flexed and tensed as the two women tested their bows.
"If you're both ready, we'll bring out the target," the ref announced.
"Get that auburn haired bitch out here!" Rachel cried into the mike.
"Yeah, I can't WAIT to put a few shafts into that haughty cunt!" Petra agreed. "Necrobabes of the Year always think they're so much better than the rest of us."
At a signal from the referee, two assistant refs led the naked, sobbing girl onto the field. With her wrists cuffed behind her and her face wet with tears, Lisa looked more like a scared little girl than a Necrobabe.
The two men led Lisa to a thick wooden post which was set in the middle of the field. Unlocking her cuffs, they forced the terrified necrobabe onto her knees. Then they pulled her arms around behind the post and re-cuffed her.
"You will notice that target rings have been painted on various parts of Miss Lisa's body," the referee explained. Indeed, Lisa's shivering body was covered with tiny, concentric green circles. She sported one at each shoulder, one at her navel and one on each thigh. One bright green target had been painted directly onto her right breast; the bullseye entirely obscured her small, red nipple. Lisa's pubic hair had been shorn away to make room for the cruelest target of all, the one whose bullseye rested squarely on her clitoris.
"Every bullseye on Miss Lisa's body is considered a non-lethal target," the ref asserted. "The contestants will take turns firing into Miss Lisa. Points will be awarded based on the accuracy of each shot. If, after each contestant has fired three shots, a clear winner can be established, that winner will be permitted to snuff the target. We will then adjourn from the field so that the loser may be tortured to death. If no clear winner can be established, both contestants will fire simultaneously at the single remaining target, and the contest will go to the woman whose shaft comes closest to the bullseye. If either contestant accidentally snuffs the target, she will immediately forfeit the contest. Let's begin. Miss Rachel, you may fire first."
Rachel selected a razor-sharp arrow, notched the shaft against her bowstring and pulled the string taut. As she sighted in on Lisa's helpless, quivering body, the terrified necrobabe cried out in desperation: "Oh, please, Rachel, don't do it! I'm so scared, Rachel! Oh, God, please don't put an arrow in me! I'm begging you, Rachel! I'll do anything, just please don't shoot me!"
Rachel lowered her bow in frustration. "Will you gag the target, please?"
"Yes, of course," the ref agreed, and signaled his assistants. They hurried forward with a large, red rubber ball gag, which they quickly installed in Lisa's mouth.
"That's better," Rachel decided. "That bitch was really breaking my concentration." She raised her bow once again, pulled the string taut, sighted in on Lisa and let the shaft fly. Lisa howled wildly through her gag as the arrow embedded itself in her right shoulder. The crowd cheered enthusiastically. Rachel had scored a bullseye!
"Yes!" Rachel cried in triumph, raising her fist into the air. "Let's see you beat that, Petra."
"Stand aside and I will," Petra replied icily. Shouldering Rachel aside, she raised her bow and notched a shaft. Lisa could only shake her head from side to side in a wordless plea for mercy. Her feathery dark mane fluttered in the breeze as Petra sighted in on her. The huge-breasted Necrobabe's powerful muscles were like steel springs as they tensed, drawing the bowstring back so far that the bow seemed about to snap in two. As Petra released the string, her arrow flew towards its target with such speed that it was almost invisible. The crowd roared approvingly: not only had Petra scored a bullseye; she had propelled her arrow with such force that the arrowhead had gone all the way through Lisa's shoulder, embedding itself in the wooden post behind her. A gout of bright red blood erupted out of the wound as Lisa twisted helplessly on the stake.
"Very nice," Rachel said sarcastically. "But if you don't watch it, you'll snuff her."
"I know what I'm doing," Petra assured her.
"We'll see about that," Rachel replied, stepping up to the table and choosing another arrow. She drew the string back, sighted and held her breath. Her breasts quivered as she released the bowstring. The head of her shaft vanished inside Lisa's left thigh: another bullseye!
"At least you're making this interesting," Petra said dryly. She hardly even looked at her target as she prepared for her second shot, but the shaft found its way into Lisa's other thigh with the eerie accuracy of a guided missile
.
"What IS it with you?" Rachel said, exasperated.
"The score is tied at two bullseyes apiece," the ref announced. "Miss Rachel, it's your shot." By now, Lisa was obviously in serious distress. Blood ran in thin rivulets from her shoulders down onto her firm, pert breasts. Her thigh wounds had not yet begun to bleed much, but it was clear that they soon would. There was pain in Lisa's bright, green eyes, and something else as well: fear. She could feel herself bleeding to death on the cool grass of the archery field. Medical help was out of the question; she was a target, not a person. She could do nothing but kneel there and watch her life's blood spill slowly out onto the ground.
Lisa didn't even move as Rachel's third arrow entered her breast. Once again, Rachel's aim was perfect. The shaft stood straight out from her tit, its razor sharp head buried deep in her nipple. Blood fountained out of the ruined mammary, and Lisa gurgled softly as her mouth filled with the coppery fluid.
Petra's eyes blazed as, stiff-nippled with excitement, she notched her third shaft and let it fly. It perfectly bisected Lisa's navel, sending the tortured Necrobabe into paroxysms of pain. Lisa began to vomit up blood; blocked by the gag, this blood made its way back down her throat, where she began to choke on it.
"Your performances have been perfect so far," the ref decided. "And only the clitoral target remains. Please ready yourselves to fire on the count of three." Rachel and Petra raised shafts to strings and pulled mightily. "One...two...THREE!" Two shafts flew as one, splitting the air in their eagerness to deliver their messages of pain and death. Lisa arched her back, thrusting up her splendid breasts as the shafts entered her. One of the shafts had perfectly punctured her clit, giving her a kind of pain that surpassed all others in its intensity. The other arrow, however, was low by an inch or two. It had taken Lisa like a lover, thrusting its way up into her tight, pink slit, piercing her cervical wall, coming to rest in her abdomen. And that was enough. Lisa entered her death throes, twisting and writhing in her bonds as her life spilled out through her ruptured cunt. She bucked twice and relaxed, still and dead at last.
"We have a winner!" the referee announced. "And of course, that means we have a loser as well."
“Who won? And more importantly, who lost?
If Rachel lost, you'll get to see her die later in the olympics on the rack. On the other hand, if Petra lost, you'll get to see her die on the cross.
Stay tuned and now back to John and Pat.”