Posted by NBabe on February 16, 2000 at 09:16:35:
“Pat Summerall here for John Madden again. Here we go into the third day of the snuff olympics. The first event today is the celebrity girl inflation games starring Cameron Diaz and Jennifer Love Hewitt as the victims of world champion girl inflator Hans Gruber. This event was held late last night so there is a tape of the event we have held over.”
Fade out, fade in to Hans.
"I'll prepare you first, Love." She goes by "Love," because there are so many Jennifers. Frankly, she already looked quite prepared. She was bent forward, her ass in the air. It was the kind of pose you wouldn't see in Rolling Stone or Maxim. I had allowed her to keep her tight, pale blue tank top, because I really liked the way her massive, round young breasts strained and bulged against it. But apart from the top, she was naked. I had her in a very compromising position, wrists bound, hands pulled back almost as far as her ankles. I had a good view of her tight pink sphincter and her sweet, hairless pink snatch. She was ready to be taken "doggie style," but I had something much better than mere rape in store for her.
Love was really scared. I like to use very young actresses, because they scare so easily. "What are you going to do us?" she asked, her voice shaky. I hoped that the mike would pick up that fear and trembling. I decided that it probably would.
"You and Cameron are going to help me conduct an experiment in comparative inflation," I said mysteriously. I then took two enormous dildos down from the pump mechanism. I made sure they were properly lubed. I was standing directly behind Love, so of course she couldn't see what I was doing. But she certainly felt it when I shoved those colossal, hard rubber cocks into her cunt and ass. She cried at the violation. I rammed the cocks deep, giving her twelve inches of thick dildo in each hole.
"Oh, Jesus! What are you doing to me?" she gasped. I really liked the fact that she couldn't see what was happening; it increased her level of terror dramatically.
Unlike Love, the cameras could, and did, see everything.
Now for the good part. I threw the cervical penetration switch. Inside Love a sharp steel prong emerged from the tip of the vaginal dildo, neatly puncturing her cervix. She screamed, of course. Across the room, Cameron grew very restless in her chains. She could see what was happening to Love, and she certainly had no reason to expect that I would be less cruel to her.
I enjoyed Love's screams for a few moments, then took a third dildo from the pumping machine. Like the first two, this one was connected to the machine by a thick rubber hose. I shoved the third plastic cock unceremoniously between Love's thick wet lips. I then switched on the flow.
The pumping machine was filled with synthetic come, a remarkable fluid quite indistinguishable from human semen. Large quantities of this now began to flow into Love's mouth. She whimpered and started to gag. I saw her throat work as she began to swallow the stuff. That would keep her busy. She was in no real danger of choking; any excess semen could trickle out harmlessly around the edges of the dildo. Still, she was bound to swallow a great deal of the stuff by reflex, as she tried instinctively to empty her mouth.
In any case, I liked how she looked with her lips stretched around a huge, come-drenched cock. She looked just the way a girl should look: helpless. Degraded. Humble. I sensed a million cocks stir and harden as the realtime video stream made its way around the globe.
"Good girl," I said softly, stroking her long, straight dark hair. "Swallow all the come. A whore like you should be able to gulp down gallons of it." She gurgled, her dark brown eyes articulating silent, meaningless pleas for mercy. I switched on the two rear dildos. They began to churn and vibrate, filling her ass and pussy with simulated come. I nodded, satisfied. I could never rape her in all three holes at once, but the machine could.
A good deal of synthetic come was flowing through the cervical prong and up into her abdominal cavity. I checked her eyes to make sure she understood the implications of this; she did. It would be getting mighty tight in the space beneath her flat little belly, and soon.
Satisfied that Love was sufficiently tormented for the time being, I turned my attentions to Cameron. Like Love she was bottomless; unlike Love, she was not bald. Cameron wore a neatly trimmed rectangle of short blonde pubic hair; it looked good on her. I had given her a tank top similar to Love's: very tight, very revealing. She also wore a studded leather dog collar and a good deal of makeup: eyeliner, thick red lip gloss, dark paint on her nails. She looked like a very skinny, very sexy slut. It was a refreshing change from her usual "good girl" image. Her breasts were not as large as Love's, but they rose firm and pouting against her tight tank top, and they did catch the eye nicely. Cameron had the painfully hard tummy and slender curves of the supermodel. She looked eminently snuffable.
She was standing on her tiptoes, her wrists chained high overhead. I wanted to lift her hips and plug her onto my cock, but I resisted, for I had an even stronger desire to do certain other things to her.
"Just one dildo for you, Cameron," I said, and produced it.
She eyed it dubiously. "You're not actually going to put that inside me."
I grinned. "Of course I am." I glanced meaningfully at Love. She whimpered, prone and helpless, come dripping from her mouth, ass, cunt. I didn't have to say anything.
The dildo went into Cameron's cunt without difficulty. Cunts are made for cocks, after all, and this particular cock was well greased. I shoved the dildo all the way up into her, until I was sure the head was lodged against her cervix. She moaned softly but didn't scream or protest. Older and more mature than Love, she understood the futility of resistance.
I threw the penetration switch. Cameron winced as the small steel shaft shot through her flesh wall and into her belly cavity. I admired her restraint; it must have hurt tremendously, but she didn't make a sound.
"Liquid for Love. Air for you," I said, and started the pump. The air flowed into her slowly. After a few moments I noticed a slight bulge in her tight, toned tummy. Cameron would now begin to inflate like a balloon, but it would take a while.
I checked on Love, reaching between her legs to feel her belly. There was a distinct bulge. She would be feeling the stretch by now. And the anal dildo had surely filled her entire intestinal tract with come.
I returned to Cameron's chained body. "I'm curious which of you will last longer," I explained. "Love has a slight head start, but her pump works a bit more slowly than yours. It'll be a close thing, I think."
Cameron was beginning to crack. Her tummy bulge was quite noticeable; she could almost be pregnant. There were hints of tears in her pale blue eyes. "Please," she whispered. "Don't do this...oh, God, I can feel my belly stretching..." Her response was perfect. She was putting on a fabulous show for me, and for the cameras which captured the action from six different perspectives. I could feel the CD burners humming in Jakarta and Anchorage and Rome. This scene would make me famous.
"Tell me how it feels, Cameron," I said, but what I meant was: tell us all how it feels.
"It hurts," she whined. "My body wasn't meant for this..."
"I disagree. Describe the pain for me."
"Like my stomach muscles are on fire...I can feel them stretching, tearing. Oh, sweet Jesus, it hurts..." She began to whimper softly, but she gave me no more than that. I wasn't going to get a scream out of her without some effort.
I settled back to enjoy the show. The two women inflated gradually; it took the better part of an hour. Their faces told the story: horror growing as their bellies swelled, until at last they neared their natural limits, the fullness of a pregnancy which had come to term at last. Cameron did not beg and Love could not, but it was in their eyes: they saw their doom, and they would have done anything I asked to avoid it.
Love went first. It was sudden and dramatic: her distended belly simply burst like an overripe fruit. There was a deluge of white come, followed by a shower of blood and guts. She gagged on her mouth dildo, gurgling and twitching as she began to die. She had never been lovelier. Her breasts were flawless and immense beneath tight cotton. Her face had a look of absolute despair, as if she had just witnessed the greatest imaginable horror. The rear dildos pumped synthetic semen into her ass and her convulsing cunt as she went into shock. Even when she finally did go limp, the dildos continued to fill her eviscerated corpse with jism.
The spectacle of Love's demise finally destroyed Cameron's resistance, and she began to scream at last. She looked fantastic, her slim body swollen to impossible dimensions by the pressure of the air within her belly. This is what a pregnant supermodel should look like: the swell of the fetus, yes, but otherwise skinny, perfect.
Her sassy blonde hair danced around her face as she twisted in her chains. She was drenched in sweat from head to toe; her tank top was plastered to her smiling, hard-nippled tits. The top clung greedily to her prominent, protruding ribcage. Her tears were flowing now. She panted like the bitch whose collar she wore. She was mine.
She was about to burst; it was time to give her her special surprise. "I'm afraid you haven't seen the worst of it yet, Cameron," I told her. "You see, that gas inside your stomach is quite capable of carrying an electrical charge. Allow me to demonstrate."
I threw the switch. Her convulsions were excellent: energetic and convincing, they were the motions of a gorgeous woman in some serious pain. She was truly suffering. The belly stretching had been bad enough, but this...! The electrified gas filled her entire abdominal cavity; it penetrated into the darkest recesses surrounding her liver, her spleen, her bladder. Cameron jumped and danced for me and for her virtual audience, her slender body responding beautifully to this new pain.
The extra torment pushed her over the edge; she was sobbing freely now, and she couldn't speak at all. Electric agony shot into her internal organs, burning her, torturing her tremendously. I saw it in her eyes, her body. She was nearing a climax, an orgasm of the best kind. She was very close.
Right on time her belly burst, showering guts down onto the floor. There was a brief flash of blue as the electrified gas escaped from her gaping belly cavern. And then there was only quivering, half-naked Cameron, staring down in horror at her steaming guts.
I couldn't help myself. I went to her, pressing my lips against hers, kissing her deeply. She murmured softly; it was deeply erotic. I pressed my tongue into her mouth and held it there as she quivered and convulsed and died. I actually felt the moment of her death. You can tell, after a while. It's easy to feel with your cock, a bit harder with your tongue, but it can be done. I knew when it happened, and it was sweet, and I lingered in her mouth for a moment before withdrawing.
Fade out and back to John
“Well I can certainly see why that Hans is the world champ. He certainly did a great job of inflating those two girls. After this quick infomercial, we will return with more of the Snuff Olympics.”
The cameras switch to Ron Popeil the inventor of Ronco’s angelfire6000 torture leotard. He starts a film of a satisfied user.
Underneath the usual bows and ribbons and tissue paper was a simple flesh-colored leotard. It wasn't what I would call a special gift, but I decided to be gracious. "Oh! Thanks. I need a new one for my aerobics class."
He smiled mysteriously. "Why don't you put it on?"
I felt a glimmer of hope...and in my breasts and loins, I experienced a very different kind of feeling. Could it be true? "Surely it isn't an Angelfire 2000...?" I asked, praying that it was.
His smile grew broader still. "Nope. It's an Angelfire SIX thousand."
I gasped in astonishment and delight. But... "How could you possibly afford it?" I blurted, then felt embarrassed.
He was too pleased with himself to take offense. "They've started leasing them now. After all, no one really needs one for longer than a few weeks." My nipples crinkled as they realized the full implications of that remark. "And I applied for a grant from the Marquis Foundation," he continued. "It's a fabulous organization. They work to provide the benefits of this new technology to everyone, regardless of their wealth or lack thereof."
I gave him a big hug. "Oh, Frank! Thank you so much. I've dreamed of this moment for so long, but I never imagined it would actually happen." I reluctantly broke away from his embrace and began to shed my clothes with great enthusiasm.
The fit was snug and perfect. The leotard was built for an extremely slender girl; luckily, I happen to qualify. I felt the smooth, soft caress of the intelligent fabric against my warm skin. Looking down, I saw that the leotard was actually translucent. You could see everything through the thin, tight garment: my tiny bald cunt, my small, firm breasts, and every little bump on my hard red nipples.
"Um, hello? Leotard?" From what I had read, it should be voice activated.
"Hello, Laura," the garment replied. I didn't know where the speakers were, but the voice sounded like it was coming from right behind me. It was like having a lover whisper in my ear...an impression which was enhanced by the fact that the leotard spoke with exactly the kind of deep, rich male voice which drives me wild. In fact, it sounded a little like Frank's voice.
"You know my name?" I marveled.
"Oh, yes," the leotard assured me. "Frank has told me all about you. I've been looking forward to snuffing you, Laura."
I nearly fell to my knees when I heard that. It was about the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me...and the person who had said it wasn't even really a person. Or was he? Artificial intelligence made things so confusing.
"I want you to snuff me," I whispered.
"How shall I do it, Laura?" the leotard asked solicitously.
There was a small river running between my thighs. I couldn't remember when I had been so excited, about anything.
"I want it to hurt," I said firmly. "A lot. And I want it to take a long time. And...well, that's all. Can I leave the rest up to you? Can I just let you surprise me?"
"Of course, Laura. Just leave everything to me. I promise I'll give you a magnificent death."
I left the leotard on for the rest of my life. I just couldn't bring myself to take it off. Besides, I had to keep it on, because I never knew when the torture was going to happen. And there was really no reason to take it off. When I had to go to the bathroom...well, the waste passed right through the magical fabric of the garment. I can't explain the science of it, but it worked. And when Frank fucked me (which he did constantly) the crotch of the leotard acted as a sheathe for his cock, like a condom. It must have been thinner than a condom, though. Frank told me he could hardly feel it at all; he said it was just like fucking my naked pussy.
I was multiorgasmic during our lovemaking sessions. When would the torture start? What kind of pain would I suffer? How would I die? It was all so mysterious, so erotic, so forbidden.
The torture began in the middle of the night. I was asleep, exhausted after wrestling with Frank for several hours. I awoke drenched in sweat. I was burning up; it felt like a had a raging fever. But the heat wasn't coming from me.
"I can precisely regulate the temperature of my inner surface," the leotard explained. "I could roast your entire torso if I wanted to."
I kicked off the thick down comforter under which Frank and I slept. "Yes," I whispered. Being roasted alive would be such a sexy way to go...
"Patience, Laura," the leotard cautioned. "This is just a taste."
It was a delicious taste. My skin felt like it was about to burst into flames. I felt the heat all over the upper half of my body, from my shoulders down to my crotch. It seemed to be most intense at my breasts, and especially at my nipples, but maybe that's because they were the most sensitive parts of me. I also felt excruciating, exhilarating heat between my thighs, but I couldn't tell if that was heat from the leotard, or heat from me.
I bit my lip and whimpered softly, trying not to wake Frank. But God, how it hurt! I grabbed the sweat-soaked comforter in my fist and arched my back, thrusting my slender, burning body into the air. I reached down and touched myself through the leotard. I rubbed my blazing clit twice, and that was all it took. I came profoundly, and fell into a grateful sleep as the heat slowly faded.
The next morning I told Frank what had happened. He was sorry to have slept through it, but I knew that he'd have a chance to enjoy some leotard excitement before the garment finished me. We had breakfast together--we were both ravenous, having fucked our way through a lot of calories the night before. Then I gave him a kiss and left for my class.
I attend an extended aerobics class every single day. It helps me to maintain the kind of body I want to have (which is also the kind of body Frank loves): thin and hard, with a flat belly, a tiny waist and firm, strong thighs. I said "hi" to the other girls and started my warm-ups. I was wearing tights to cover my lower half, and since it was an all-girl class, no one really cared that I had on a transparent leotard.
I started working up a good sweat as we went through our routine. The pain hit me about halfway through class. It was blindingly intense, far worse than the heat of the night before. It was all I could do to keep from collapsing on the floor. I bit my lip hard to stifle the scream that was trying to come out of my throat.
The instructor was looking at me with surprise and concern. I tried to smile. I mouthed the word "cramps" and began to move towards the bathroom. She nodded sympathetically and looked away. I heaved a sigh of relief, but my problems weren't over. I could barely walk. It was the most intense agony I had ever felt. It was so excruciating, in fact, that I couldn't even figure out what kind of pain it was. I couldn't think at all; my brain was completely short circuited.
I managed to stumble into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I fell to the floor, twitching like an epileptic. And at last I realized what it was: electric shocks. The leotard was shocking me. It was wonderful; I had never felt this kind of pain before.
I just lay there on my back, convulsing wildly. I couldn't do anything else. I was utterly helpless, completely under the spell of this magnificent piece of technology. Spittle ran down my cheeks and chin; tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. My hard little tits were twitching. The shocks stimulated every muscle in my torso, making them contract and convulse. If only Frank could have seen me like this! He would have loved it; he would have taken me on the spot.
It took every ounce of will I possessed to keep from screaming. I had no strength to masturbate, but that didn't matter. I just lay there and suffered, and that was better than any mere pleasure. The pain was far more intimate, more meaningful, more intense. It felt so right...like this was what my body was for.
"You're doing nicely, Laura," the leotard said. "You're really coming along. It hurts more now, because you're moving further down the path. And you know where the path leads, don't you?"
"Yes," I whimpered, and came spontaneously, without even laying a finger on myself.
When that delicious session had finally concluded, I managed to put myself back together and get on with my life. Thank God I didn't have to work today! How could I possibly deal with customers, knowing that the agony could resume at any moment?
Still, I had plenty to do, even on my day off. My next stop was the grocery store. I wheeled the cart quickly through the aisles, figuring that the leotard probably wouldn't hit me again so soon after the aerobics class.
I was wrong.
I was in the middle of the frozen foods aisle when it hit. It was a burning pain again, but subtly different from the first one. This pain I felt only in my abdomen, and it wasn't exactly heat, it was more like...
No time to think about it. If the leotard was operating true to form, this session would be even worse (better) than the last, which meant I had to get out of the store, and fast. I abandoned the shopping cart and fled to the parking lot. In the relative safety of my car, I pulled my sweater up, to see what was going on underneath. The pain was blinding, and it was growing more intense all the time. It felt like something was eating right through me.
"I've released a powerful acid," the leotard told me, "but only onto the area between the bottom of your rib cage and your clitoris. Your breasts and sex organs will be unaffected."
"Frank will be glad to hear that," I gasped. I didn't care. I didn't need sex any more. The pain was enough.
I pulled the hem of my sweater up just in time to see the last bits of my belly flesh vanish. And there were my organs. They were cleaner than I would have expected; there was almost no blood. Really, they were quite beautiful, soft wet things of various colors. I tried to remember what they were all called. Spleen. Gall bladder. God, was that really me I was looking at? It was all so unreal.
I was in tears, shaking from the pain. I managed to get my purse open. I swallowed some uppers. I was going to need help staying conscious through all this.
"Don't worry about the integrity of your body, Laura," the leotard told me. "I'll hold your guts in for you. I'm your skin now."
"Yes," I whimpered.
Somehow I managed to drive home. The leotard continued to torture me en route, reviewing and combining some of my previous pains. The heat and the shocks returned now, more intense and excruciating than ever.
"We're so much more intimate now, Laura," the leotard whispered. "It's so much better this way, don't you think? With your abdominal flesh gone, I can really get inside you and do the things you need me to do."
It was true. The shocks carried wonderfully well through my bare, wet organs. I nearly passed out several times...but always when I was sitting at a stop light. I realized that the leotard was looking out for me. He wasn't going to let me die in a mere traffic accident...no, he had something special planned for me. So I was in pain the whole way home, but it diminished each time I accelerated, and built up each time I braked. It was as if I controlled the pain with the pedals of my car. But of course the leotard was doing it all, playing me like a Stradivarius violin. I responded willingly, eagerly.
I staggered into the house and found Frank watching football on TV. I was in too much pain to speak, but I didn't have to say anything. He switched off the game as soon as he saw the look of desperate agony on my face. Crying softly, I lifted the hem of my sweater, and showed him what had happened to me.
He was on me instantly, tearing the clothes from my body with a violence I had never seen in him before. When I was naked--apart from the leotard which was now the only skin I had from my sternum to my cunt--he laid me down on the floor of the living room and began to make love to me.
He paid special attention to my exposed belly, caressing and massaging my organs through the translucent leotard. Through my tears I managed to tell him about the heat and the shocks. He nodded thoughtfully, and began to knead my belly with his palms. I howled in agony as Frank pressed the searing hot, electrified inner surface of the leotard into my exposed organs. My body convulsed wildly. The pain had reached a new height, thanks to the tender ministrations of my sweet sadistic lover.
Frank had a raging hard-on. His cock was brutally stiff, an angry red weapon. He entered me savagely. Although I was drenched with arousal, it still hurt. I am very small and very tight; Frank is always large, and this was the largest I had ever seen him. He was insane with lust; seeing me like this was driving him mad. That's how I knew for sure that what was happening to me was right. I had never been sexier than I was right now, with my slender body twitching on the floor as the leotard shocked and cooked my naked guts.
The heat was more intense than ever. I could actually feel my guts roasting, and I could smell it, too. It smelled good. Like meat on a barbecue grill. Would Frank eat me when I was done? I hoped so.
I fucked him as best I could. I didn't actually have much control over my body at all, but that didn't seem to matter. The shocks made my muscles move in dramatic and exciting ways, and that included my pussy muscles, too. The look on Frank's face told me that I was satisfying him in a way I never had before. Sex had always been great between us, but this is what had been missing: my pain, my death, my utter and absolute commitment.
As I realized this I felt something new, something special: a subtle but growing tightness in my protruding ribs and in my hard high breasts. The leotard was shrinking; it was slowly crushing me.
Frank was fucking me like a machine; he was in the groove, in no danger of coming. He was using his immense cock to assert his power over me, and that power was considerable. But even more extensive than his power was the power the leotard had over me. That power was absolute; quite literally, the garment had the power of life and death over me. How much it had taught me in such a short time, about pain and suffering and what it means to be a woman!
I heard a rib crack, but I was already in so much pain that I hardly even noticed. Then another rib snapped (they were like fragile little twigs), and I felt something else, another tightness, this time in my lungs. It was hard to breathe, and getting harder all the time.
"As I grow tighter around your body, Laura," the leotard told me, "I will eventually grow so tight that you will be unable to breathe. You will asphyxiate, Laura. You will strangle."
Yes, I thought. Of course I could say nothing.
"I know you, Laura. I know how you want to die. And I will make that dream come true." The shocks increased dramatically, and the heat as well. I smelled smoke; I was burning, or rather my insides were. I imagined charred black husks in place of my liver and kidneys. But my tight hard breasts and my perfect hairless cunt would be untouched. I would be a beautiful corpse.
Frank was fucking me faster. Instinctively he sensed that I was getting close. He rammed into me, penetrating deeper than he had ever gone before. It was magnificent, a masterful performance, but my mind was elsewhere. Most of my ribs were broken now. My skinny, mostly-naked body thrashed about on the living room floor as the near-lethal shocks tore through it. I was foaming at the mouth, my eyes bulging. I was ready.
I drew a deep breath, my last. The leotard tightened around me, and I found I couldn't exhale. Oh, beautiful garment! With a double lungful of air, I had a couple of minutes of life left to me, but I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that I was dying. And now I was free, free at last, free to be the woman I've always wanted to be.
I grabbed Frank with my lover's muscles, coaxing an orgasm from his turgid cock. And as he came into me, I began to come as well. But this was no ordinary orgasm. It was my swan song, a fabulously intense cascade orgasm. The leotard kept it going, giving me the kind of shocks I would feel if I were dying in an electric chair, heating my organs to the point where they would have burst into flame if there had been any air inside my cavity. I came wordlessly, unable to make a sound, too strangled to speak or do anything except suffer. My body bucked and thrashed wildly around my lover's cock. I felt the shocks, the heat and the pain in my nipples, my clit and my soul. And I kept on coming and coming and coming until I just couldn't take any more.
Finally my deeply tortured body gave up, and I died. But you knew that already, didn't you?
Ron thanks Frank and his wife for the testimonial and quotes a price of 6 easy payments of $39.95 + S&H for the angelfire6000 and sends it back to John and Pat.
“Thanks Ron,” John comments “Fans, If you remember yesterday, in the archery contest there was a loser. That loser is in our next event. Here’s to you Howie.”
“Thanks john, and yes we are out here at the girl stretching event to see Rachel stretched for her loss in the archery, shhhh and let’s look in.”
The design of the rack was fairly ordinary; it was a straightforward vertical design. The victim stood with her back against a flat, wooden surface. Her legs were spread. Tight shackles secured her ankles to the rack's vertical wooden plane. Her wrists were chained together; a single strand of steel links ran from the center of her wrist fetters up to a large overhead winch. And that was all there was to it. The chains tightened with a turn of the winch's handle. A ratchet kept them tight until the torturer decided to loosen them, which generally occurred only after the death of the subject. It was a simple machine, from a simpler time. There had been no fundamental changes in rack design since the middle ages.
The rack may have been fairly unexceptional, but there was nothing ordinary about the terrified victim whose naked body currently graced it. Her name was Rachel . Her striking, exotic features were framed by red-blonde hair. Her waist was impossibly slender, her belly magnificently flat. She had long, sleek, athletic legs, and she kept her pubic hair neatly trimmed.
Rachel's breasts were the highlight of an entirely splendid body. They were two of the finest breasts in the world. They were quite large, of course; Rachel carried D-cup, Playmate-caliber sexual weapons. But the importance of Rachel's breasts went beyond mere size. They were absolutely spherical, without the slightest defect or deviation. Their mathematical perfection was obscene, unnatural--and beautiful. The upper halves of Rachel's twin spheres featured dark, oversized nipples. I kept the torture chamber slightly chilly, to ensure that these would remain painfully erect at all times.
"Please don't hurt me," Rachel whimpered, biting her lip in helpless fear. I smiled and began to tighten her chains. She squirmed gently. As the chains grew tighter, she began to moan softly. Another turn of the winch had her screaming. Rachel was a soprano, and the agony brought out all the subtleties of her lovely voice. I stepped back to enjoy her screams, and to admire her suffering body.
Impossibly, being stretched on the rack had made her even more beautiful. Every muscle in her was tight, tense, ready. Her stretched, tortured body had a deeply sexual energy to it. Best of all, the stretching action forced her to display her breasts in the most incredible way. The wooden surface of the rack was slightly concave--this was a woman's rack, after all, designed to bring out the best in the female form. It worked wonders on Rachel, putting a slight and subtle arch into her back, forcing her to thrust her peerless breasts up and out. I had a strong temptation to torture those breasts. I longed to fill them with electric pain, to whip them until the nipples bled and burst. I resisted. I wanted Rachel to experience the agony of the rack without distraction.
What I could not resist was the temptation to fuck her spectacular tits. I lubed my throbbing cock and stepped onto the access stool. My prick, which is not small, was lost in her cleavage. I cupped the sides of her immaculate tits; they were soft and cool, as perfect to touch as they were to look at. I squeezed her breasts together gently, making them into a cunt. I began to thrust back and forth, staring at her tortured face as I raped her tits. Her eyes were shut tight against the pain, her thick lips pulled back over pearly white teeth. Her delicious screams filled my ears as I came. I gave her an immense pearl necklace, hosing her chest down with semen.
Having satisfied myself, I resumed the torture. I went slowly now. Rachel had a lot more suffering left in her, and I wanted her to last all night. And so I turned the winch a single click each time, giving her twenty or thirty minutes to experience this new tightness, this new pain, before turning the handle once more. Rachel was in constant, ever-increasing agony, but there was no danger of death, not yet, not until I allowed it. This simple rack gave me complete, precise control over her body and its pain. I gave silent thanks to the Inquisition for granting me the means to torture this magnificent woman so thoroughly.
Rachel sweated as she suffered; soon she was drenched from head to toe. The firm, naked globes of her breasts glistened with sweat and semen. I savored the sweetly pungent scent of her sweat, the heady aroma of a woman in agony. Her throat quivered, delivering a vast cornucopia of sound: rich, full bodied screams at first, then strangled moans as she grew weary. As the torture wore on, she was finally reduced to making small whimpering sounds, the sounds of a suffering animal
After about six hours of stretching, Rachel's shoulders finally popped free of their sockets. The right shoulder went first, and she resumed screaming at once; the left shoulder joined its sister twenty minutes later, on the next click of the winch. Her hips followed in short order. I began to increase the time between clicks. A woman can last quite a while on the rack even after her limbs are dislocated, but you have to be careful. Prior to dislocation, the subject is simply being stretched; afterwards, she is more accurately being broken.
Rachel was having trouble catching her breath. That was good; it meant that she was beginning to asphyxiate. If a woman is stretched properly on a rack, she will strangle to death. Her body will eventually be stretched so tightly that the muscles responsible for filling her lungs will be unable to perform their task. The period following the onset of asphyxia is the most spectacular, satisfying part of a terminal rack session. The subject is already in immense pain from the stretching; now the sweet agony of strangulation is added to her ordeal. It is crucial to maximize the duration of this part of the torture, for now comes the most intense pain a woman can feel on the rack
.
I began to give Rachel a full hour between clicks, and I was able to tighten her chains four more times before she finally succumbed to the inevitable. She was astoundingly gorgeous as she suffered. Her exquisite body was twisted into a parody of perfection. She was unable to scream or make much noise at all. She could only pant quietly like a dog as she struggled to breathe.
She died just after completing her tenth hour of torture. I gave her one final click. Suddenly her eyes opened wide. She stared at me, her green orbs expressing limitless pain. She gurgled softly, spittle running down her chin. Her spectacular breasts quivered and heaved. She relaxed subtly; it was hard to notice, because she was stretched so tightly. But then her head rolled forward onto her chest, and I knew she was gone.
“Back to you, John.”
“Thanks Howie. I tell ya, Howie, and Pat, It is really going to be tough to pick an all Madden team from these great necrobabe competitors. Stay turned fans, there are more spectaculor events to come.”