The club was small and intimate; the hand-picked audience, numbering about twenty-five, sat at a collection of about eight tables fronting the stage. When the house lights went down, everyone stared with rapt attention at that stage. After all, they'd paid quite handsomely to be here tonight, to witness these unique proceedings.
The stage lights came up; a man dressed in combat fatigues came out, stood center-stage, and looked to his left. Mere seconds later, a lovely young woman came out from the curtains there. She was dressed simply, in a low-cut black dress and heels. Her hair was auburn, her eyes hazel, her face broad and youthful-looking. She smiled at the audience, the music began, and the girl started a strip-tease. The man, his arms folded, just watched her.
She did not stop until she'd divested herself of all of her clothes except her shoes. Her body was very striking, her legs long, her stomach flat, her breasts softly rounded and not too large.
She turned toward the man, danced over to him; he opened his arms to receive her, but when she put her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts tightly against his shirt he dropped his hands to his sides. The girl laid her head on his shoulder, facing the audience; he dug into his pocket, came up with a three-inch switchblade knife. Holding it up so everyone could see it, he snapped it open while he wrapped his arm around the girl's waist. Holding her tightly, and turning her slightly toward the audience, he stabbed the knife into her bare back, burying it to the hilt.
She went rigid against him; her eyes squeezed closed and her mouth dropped open a little, but there was no surprise evident in her expression. He released the knife and held her for a moment more, then lifted her head; when he kissed her, she kissed him back. Supporting her, he turned her back fully toward the audience. The knife was buried in the right side, below her shoulder blade; a red line was lengthening slowly down below it. He turned her around and she extended one arm; from the front she looked untouched, except for a small amount of blood that had already appeared at the corner of her mouth. With a sensuous flick of her tongue she licked that away.
He led her to the edge of the stage, still supporting her. Her steps were halting and uncertain--it was obvious that walking was causing her pain--but she came along with him willingly. They descended the steps and came out among the tables. The girl's face was strained but she was managing a smile as they stopped between the first two tables. The man turned the girl around carefully, letting the patrons see, close up, the knife standing in her back.
The men at the tables touched her breasts and her genitals; one put his fingertips on the handle of the knife that was piercing her. She winced but she grinned at him over her shoulder.
"Can you service some of our guests?" the man with her asked.
"I'm sure I can," she said softly, only a little strain evident in her voice. One of the men at the table unzipped his fly and extracted his already-hardening penis. A soft floodlight played on them as the girl crouched down in front of him, pressing her breasts against her thighs, and leaned forward, taking his penis between her lips almost gingerly. She began to suck him, slowly and carefully. Anytime either of them made a quick movement, the girl frowned and winced again. Below the knife standing in her back, the thin stream of blood kept growing longer.
The man who'd stabbed her made a broad hand gesture toward the stage; two more girls, one small, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and dark-skinned with an extremely lovely face and the other taller and paler, black-haired, blue-eyed and just as beautiful, came out onto the stage. Like the first girl, both these stripped themselves naked except for their shoes; unlike the first, both wore military-style knife scabbards strapped on their calves. Still dancing, they circled each other with stylized steps; after a few moments they stopped, smiled at each other, and unsnapped the scabbards. The knives came out, long and double-edged but quite slim.
As they continued, it was obvious that it remained a carefully-rehearsed dance, not a true fight. They feinted at each other as if they meant it, but each time the seemingly intended victim shifted her position just enough to avoid being hit. Gradually, their movements became faster, almost frenetic.
Closer and closer they danced, the shiny blades flashing in the stage lights. Finally, while they were quite close to the front edge of the stage, the taller girl struck downward with her knife, aiming it at the dark girl's chest. This time, the intended victim, instead of dodging, pushed her chest up and forward to receive the blade. It struck her breast above the nipple, sliced vertically down through it; an inch emerged from the lower side. The dark girl shuddered, but didn't miss a beat; as her blood began oozing out she grabbed the other girl's wrist, forcing her to leave the the knife buried in her breast.
She stared at her companion for an instant. Then, underhanded, she drove her own blade into the tall girl's lower belly, piercing her deeply.
Now the tall girl trembled and winced; while the dark girl pulled her knife from her belly she let go of her own knife, leaving it standing in the dark girl's breast, and looked down at her wound. Blood was spilling out steadily.
"You've won, Maria," she said evenly. "You've killed me; I won't fight you any more. May I have my knife?"
Maria offered her breast. "Take it, Suzanne," she said.
Gently, the other girl pulled it up and out; more blood spilled free. Holding it her hand, her body bent slightly from the pain of the freely-bleeding wound in her abdomen, Suzanne turned to face the audience and managed a seductive if strained smile.
Men began waving money at her; she pointed to one, he gave the bills to the director, then jumped onto the stage. He stripped in a matter of seconds, and, at Suzanne's instruction, laid down on his back. She sucked him to erection, then lowered herself onto him and began moving her hips up and down.
After a few moments of this she lifted her knife again, and turned it inward, toward her own body. Still moving her hips and smiling down at the man under her, she took a deep breath and stabbed herself savagely in the right breast.
She groaned, threw her head back; Maria, who'd been waiting nearby, came to her, held her shoulders. Chewing at her lip and groaning, Suzanne held her knife with both hands and jerked on it again, forcing it more deeply in. She was trembling violently; beneath her, the man from the audience was obviously nearing his orgasm.
"Help me, Maria," Suzanne sighed. "it's time for me now...!"
"Yes," Maria agreed. Holding the other girl's head against her stomach, she waited until the customer was stiffening in orgasm, then stabbed Suzanne again, through her left breast this time. Suzanne went rigid, her body quivering; Maria snatched out her blade and quickly sliced through her throat, opening it completely. Blood sprayed, Suzanne's body shook without coordination. After pulling her dying companion back and off the customer, Maria, still holding her bloody knife, stood up. After slipping it back in its scabbard, she too offered herself to the men watching, and money began waving again. She selected two, they paid the director and joined her onstage. Allowing one of them to fuck her while she sucked the other, she brought them both to orgasm--and had at least two herself, to judge by her face--then sent them back.
All this time the director had waited offstage, with the auburn-haired girl. Now he left her, returned to the stage, went to Maria. He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her so that she was facing the audience. Her body was streaked with blood and there was a line of semen running from her full lips. "Tell them," he instructed, "what you want me to do now."
She smiled and, drawing her knife, offered it to him. "I too am wounded," she said, touching her still-bleeding breast. "I too should die, I too should be killed. Will you do it for me?"
He grinned and shrugged as he took the knife. "What can I say?" he asked rhetorically. He stepped behind her; she raised her arms, clasped her hands behind her head. Her slightly conical breasts were pulled up high, and each of her ribs stood out in sharp relief. He reached around her, holding the knife but turning the blade away from her, and ran his hands up over her breasts, pausing to tease her nipples. The girl sighed; her eyelids fluttered and her nipples grew quite erect. The man dropped one of his hands, slipping it between her thighs; she spread her legs slightly, and his fingers came up to massage her genitals.
"I'm ready," she said, her voice husky. "I'm ready whenever you are!"
"You are?" he asked, pushing a finger up into her vagina. "You sure?"
She squirmed. "Yes," she sighed. "Yes, I am!"
"You want it?"
"Yes!"
"Now?"
"Yes! Yes! Please!"
He withdrew the finger, but he held onto her left breast tightly, digging his fingers into it. Pressing his body against hers, he brought the knife up in front of her eyes, then swept it back down until it touched her side, just under her right breast, lying between two of her ribs.
"Do me," she pleaded. "Do me now!"
He did, driving the knife in between her ribs, burying about half of its length in her chest.
Blood appeared around the blade and her body stiffened, but she didn't cry out and she didn't bring her hands down. "Yes!" she whispered, her voice very strained. "Yes! That's it, oh, my God, yes!" She looked down at it. "Go ahead," she urged. "Put the rest of it in me, I want it, I want..."
"Sure, baby," he replied, keeping his face close to her hair. "Whatever you say." He held her very tightly and pressed hard on the knife. With an audible tearing sound, the blade went sliding slowly on in. The girl sighed, trembled, and gasped, but she remained silent as it entered her.
He held it in place for several long seconds, periodically jerking it a little harder into her; much more of her blood was welling out around the steel now, beginning to run down over her lower chest. "Hang on now, baby," the man told her. "Hang on real tight. I'm gonna cut you now."
She glanced back at him, and her body shuddered visibly. "Yeah," she breathed. "I'm ready for it!"
He dropped his left arm, bringing it around her waist, hugging her body up even tighter against his own. Then, keeping the full length of the knife buried in her body, he started pulling it hard, back toward himself, dragging it along a line marked by two of her ribs.
She went utterly stiff against him again, her face tight, her eyes squeezed shut, her legs shaking violently. The knife moved on, opening her side; blood began pouring out, streaming down over her chest to her abdomen, and from there onto her thigh.
He continued until the blade reached the midline of her side; then he stopped and abruptly jerked it out. For a moment he just held her while she sagged slightly in his grasp, blood rushing down her side and bubbling around her lips.
Turning her toward him but being careful to keep her torn side in the view of the onlookers, he bent his head down and kissed her. He still had to support her, and, despite her trembling, she kept her hands clasped behind her head, and she, like the first girl, kissed him back.
"Stab me again," she begged, her lips less than an inch from his. "Stab me again, I want to feel that blade back inside me, real deep, real hot! I want to you stab me, I want you to--oh! oh! Oh, God, ahhhh...!"
He'd done as she said, burying the blade to its hilt in her abdomen, down low, just inside the joint of her hip. He snatched it out and fresh blood spurted, striking the floor a yard away. She shuddered again, lifting one graceful leg briefly.
"More?" he asked her softly, holding up the bloody blade.
She swallowed hard. "Uh-huh," she managed. "More. I want... want... knife... in me...!"
Dramatically, he pointed the knife at her, holding the blade horizontally; she looked at it, nodded, and he drove it forward, piercing the softness of her breast this time, right alongside the erect nipple. New blood welled out, but this time he did not pull the knife free. He left it in her, holding it while he jerked her body repeatedly toward his own, indenting her breast deeply as the blade bit deep into her body, again and again. Each time it went deep she grunted, but her face had now taken on a sleepy, dreamy expression, her eyes half-open and her lips curving in a slight smile.
Finally, he yanked the blade out. As before, the girl's blood started spilling out much more rapidly, adding to the pool that she was now standing in. She was sagging even more now, and at this point he began to let her slide down toward the floor. At last, she unclasped her hands and grabbed his arms, hanging on to him as she sank on down.
Then she was on her knees while her hands clutched at his. Blood was draining from her mouth now as well as from her wounds; her chest was heaving as she struggled to breathe. She managed to hold that position for a few seconds, but then she collapsed at the man's feet. Crouching down, he turned her body so that both her wounds and her face was visible to the audience. She pulled her legs up, assuming almost a fetal position, and brought one hand up to her lips. Her eyes remained open, but after a few seconds, her trembling turned into uncoordinated jerking movements.
Then, abruptly, she let out a long breath and did not take another. Her eyes glazed rapidly; one small foot shook a few more times, and at last, she became still.
Down on the floor, the auburn-haired girl's partner stiffened in orgasm; she swallowed most of his semen, but a small amount dripped over her lips. Slowly and tentatively, she stood up and looked back at the man on the stage, who remained standing over the body of the dead girl, the knife he'd killed her with still in his hand. With careful steps, she started walking back toward the stair leading up to the stage; he met her there, offered her his hand. With a slight smile, she took it, mounted the steps.
"I need more," she told him, her voice faint.
He turned her around, examined the knife that remained in her back. "Yes," he agreed. "You aren't bleeding much now. Maybe we should take this out."
By way of response, she stepped up to him and put her arms around his neck again, laying her head on his shoulder, as before. He turned her back to the audience, reached around her, wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the knife; she winced and clenched her eyes shut as he began drawing the blade slowly out of her. The bleeding had indeed stopped, but as the knife came free it began again, a thicker line of blood spreading down her smooth back.
He handed her the small knife then. "Okay," he told her. "Go back down there, among our guests. See if one of them wants to stick this back in you!"
She smiled back at him, turned, walked back down the stairs. A couple of the men were waving handfuls of money at her; she went to the nearest one, took the bills from him, then handed them to the man on stage, who stuffed them in his pocket. Finally, she returned to the man and, with a seductive smile, gave him the little knife.
"My God," he said as she sat down at his table and pulled her chair close to his. "You don't know how I've dreamed about this!"
"You don't have to dream any more," she told him, resting her chin on her clasped hands.
"Can I see--uh--?"
"My back? Surely!" She turned in her chair, showing him the puncture wound, the still-draining blood. He touched lightly above it, around it.
"Christ," he muttered. "Doesn't it hurt?"
"Well, sure. But not too bad, not now. Sharp pains every time I breathe, in or out." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Touch it, if you want to. I don't mind."
"But it'll probably hurt you..."
"Hey, that's what I'm here for! Go ahead; do whatever you want!"
He laid the knife on the table and leaned close to her bare back, putting both his hands on her, spreading the wound open and watching a new bead of blood well up and run down over her body. "God, that's beautiful," he murmured.
She turned back to him, still smiling. "I know it is," she agreed. "Don't you want to make another one like that, somewhere else?"
"I'd like to make two or three!" he exclaimed.
She raised her eyebrows. "That'd be fine," she whispered. "Just be careful. Stay away from my heart and my throat. Okay?"
"Okay..."
"Good. Now: what do you want to do first?"
He grinned. "I've got a sort of a fantasy..." he told her.
She answered his smile. "How does it go?"
"Well," he said, scooting his chair around. "We're spies, see, and your cover is blown, and you know too much so I have to kill you. And you know I do, and so you just let me. Real quiet. Okay?"
She nodded. "I'll do my best!"
He put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close to him, pushed a drink in front of her. "You're drinking this," he said, "while I'm doing you!"
Unhesitatingly, she picked it up. "Go for it," she said, taking a sip and keeping it in her hand.
Holding her shoulders, he picked up the knife and brought it across in front of himself. "Nobody else here," he said, "can know what I'm doing! They should think we're lovers, something like that!"
She laughed a little. "All right. Let's get started!" Her face became serious. "They know about me," she hissed. "They'll pick me up, anytime. You know what you have to do."
He looked confused for a moment, but then realized that she was playing through the role. "I don't want to do that to you," he said in a flat tone. "Don't want to hurt you..."
"You have to. It has to be; just do it, don't think about it, just do it, now. I'm ready."
He touched the point of the knife to her side. "You're sure?"
"Yes. Do it."
He smiled and began putting some pressure on the knife, rocking the blade back and forth a little. Their faces close, she looked into his eyes; he kissed her and pushed harder.
"Tell me when it's inside you," he whispered.
"It's close," she answered. Her voice was a little strained. "Push harder!"
He did; she flashed a slight frown, then took another sip of her drink. Her hand shook visibly. "You've got it in me now," she told him. "It feels white-hot, I can feel the blood running out! Go on now, go on! It'll go easily now...!"
His own hand shaking too, he continued, and the blade slipped very softly on into her trembling body, stopping only when the fingerguards rested against her skin. "I can feel your blood," he said, his voice trembling even more than hers. "Running over my fingers...!"
She took yet another sip of her drink, then kissed him again. Throughout, her facial expression had shown very little sign indeed of what he'd been doing to her. "Can I stand up?" she asked. "Let everyone else see it too?"
He nodded and she pushed herself to her feet, turning her body so that everyone could clearly see the knife piercing her side. Fresh blood ran from beneath it, a bead of it moving steadily down across her hip, drawing a red line behind it.
"Okay," she told him after she'd rotated herself once to let everyone see it. "You want to pull it out now?"
"Yes," he agreed. "Yeah, I do!" He put his hand against her side, just above the knife, and started pulling on it. It came easily, but she grimaced and supported herself by putting her hands on the table. As the tip left her skin, more beads of blood came washing out, one following another, widening the track down her side.
She turned her head and looked at him. "Do me again," she whispered. "I want you to do me again, I want you to stick that knife in me again!"
"I want to fuck you," the man told her. "My cock feels like it's about to explode!"
"Get your pants down," she said pragmatically. Her voice was even, but she was holding her side, and she was breathing hard; her face, which she was working to keep smooth, contorted periodically.
He did, very quickly, and she guided him to sit down in his chair. Then, swinging one slim leg over his, she lowered herself onto him, impaling herself on his penis. She bounced up and down on him; each time she came down, blood and fluids squirted from the wound in her side.
"I'm getting really weak, I want the knife," she whined. "I want to feel the pain, I want to bleed...!"
He hugged her to himself and shifted the knife to his left hand. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he stabbed the blade into the right side of her back, burying it. She squirmed against him and groaned; he snatched the blade out and drove it home again, closer to her side this time.
"Oh, yeah," she sighed. Her face was completely smooth now, and a little smile was playing around her lips. "God, it's so hot, it hurts so bad... hurt me some more, please, hurt me some more, hurt me bad...!"
This time he tore the blade out of her, ripping a gash in her side as it came free. Still holding her tightly, he plunged it into her side, just below her ribs, and worked it back and forth vigorously in her flesh.
She was relaxed on his lap now; she hardly reacted when he pulled the blade free and turned his attention to her back again, stabbing her down low, in the region of her kidneys. Her head was still on his shoulder but her eyes had fallen closed; blood ran steadily from her slightly-parted lips, streaming down over his shoulder.
Abruptly, her body shuddered violently, just once. She went limp on the man's lap; he drew the knife out of her back, let her fall slowly to the floor. One of her hands was twitching a little, but she was otherwise still, and she was not breathing.
An Oriental girl seated at a nearby table stood up. "Is she dead?" she asked. She was breathing very hard, very unevenly. The man glanced at her, nodded; she looked up at the man on stage, who was still standing with folded arms. "I--I want you to do me too," she said, her voice wavering. "I do, I really do!"
The man on stage grinned, but he said nothing. Instead, he came down the stairs quickly, went to the trembling girl. She looked up at him, her dark eyes huge; he grabbed her wrists and spun her around. "Cord!" he yelled, and a man stepped from the wings up on the stage, tossed him a piece of clothesline. Quickly and expertly, he tied the girl's wrists; then, roughly, he shoved her back onto one of the tables, keeping her hips right at the edge. He pushed her arms back over her head, tied off the line binding her wrists to the table leg. Leaning over her, he yanked another small switchblade out of his pocket.
"Makin' dreams come true," he said, "is our business here!" He reached down with the knife, hooked one of the buttons on her shirt, snicked it off. The remainder followed quickly; her shirt fell open, revealing a bra. Carefully, he slipped the knife under it in the center, sliced upward. It too fell aside, exposing smooth conical breasts with dark, very erect nipples.
The girl's eyes were wide, wild; she was breathing very heavily, almost in gasps. Carefully, the man ran the point of the knife around on her smooth tan skin, grazing it over each of her nipples at least twice. He tipped it up, pressed a little valley in her breast, lowered it, moved on. Raising her head, she watched it intently. Each time he tipped it up, she held her breath. He noticed, grinned at her, raised it so that the point was resting on her right breast, just inside and below the nipple.
When she took in a deep breath and held it he plunged the knife in, burying the three-inch blade to the hilt.
Blood welled up; the girl arched her body, gave a sobbing groan, and drew up one of her legs. Leaving the knife where it was, the man pushed her leg down and tore her skirt and panties off her. "Someone come and fuck her," he said, feeling between her thighs. "She's more than ready!"
Three men jumped up from nearby tables, began fumbling with their pants. The man from the stage pointed to one; he pushed his pants down, and his erection swung forward. The Oriental girl's vagina was soaking wet, and he slipped right into her. As the man pumped his penis into her, the knife-wielder drew yet another of the switchblades from his pocket, snapped it open. Again he began gliding it around the girl's chest, avoiding the knife that still stood in her right breast.
This time, he stopped when it was resting just above her nipple on the left; he pushed down, indenting her skin. This time he just kept pushing, until finally the blade broke through her skin and sank right into her.
More blood welled up; she girl squirmed and closed her eyes but did not scream. Now leaving the second knife, the man drew the knife out of her right breast, and, wasting no time, stabbed her again, near her navel this time. He ground the knife into her slight body viciously, working it around deep inside her.
Leaving it imbedded in her abdomen, he leaned down over her face; each time the man at her groin thrust himself into her the knife moved inside her. "Is that what you wanted?" the showman asked.
She looked up at him and gave him a fragile and trembly smile. "Yes," she sighed. "Yes! Ah, God, I'm dying, I'm dying...!" She raised her head again, looked at the two knives standing in her body, at the flowing blood. "Fuck me," she demanded. "Fuck me, stab me, kill me, I want to die...!"
"You got it!" Yanking the knife out of her belly, he started stabbing her with it repeatedly, concentrating on her breasts and upper abdomen, rhythmically plunging it in and whipping it out. Very quickly her whole torso was covered with blood. She was coughing and choking, spitting up blood; the knife continued to dance in and out of her body. At last he stopped, allowing the man fucking her to finish. By the time he did, the Oriental girl's eyes were staring blankly, and her chest no longer moved.
Up on the stage, yet another girl had come out. This one looked very young, not more than perhaps sixteen. She had long dark brown hair, an attractive tanned face; her dark eyes looked a little wild. She was carrying a small gym bag and she was dressed like a high-school cheerleader, a large "S" on her tight sweater. She was clearly braless; her nipples poked hard against her sweater. Her legs were muscular but very shapely, very tan.
"And now for our next and our final act," the knife-wielder said. "We have, for your entertainment, Stephanie. You've seen several of our women die here tonight, but Stephanie's a little different--she's going to do it all by herself, she's going to commit suicide while we watch. And in a rather special way... isn't that so, Stephanie?"
"Yes," the girl said in a soft voice. "Yes, that's right, that's what I've agreed to do." She touched a finger to her lower lip, looking both young and innocent and very sensual at the same time. "I'm going to kill myself. Here, tonight, on this stage. That's what you all want me to do, isn't it?"
There was an enthusiastic murmur of approval from the audience; Stephanie smiled shyly. She bent down and unzipped the gym bag. Reaching inside, she took out a Coca-Cola bottle, the old glass type. Holding it up, she showed it to the onlookers; both the bottom of it and the top had been broken, both ends showed jagged, razor-sharp edges. Smiling, she licked the top, cutting her tongue slightly in the process. A few drops of blood appeared.
Holding the bottle in one hand, she unzipped her skirt with the other; after a quick push it fell to the floor. She was wearing no panties; once the skirt was gone she was nude from the waist down, except for her shoes. Her hips were very slender, her pubic hair sparse, her vaginal lips prominent and swollen. "I guess," she said softly, "I'd better get started. Don't you think?" Again the audience made approving noises. Smiling, her eyes half-lidded, Stephanie came up to the edge of the stage, turned to the side, and knelt down.
After posing for just an instant, she pressed the large end of the coke bottle against the outer edge of her thigh, near her knee. Carefully and methodically, she started drawing it slowly up toward her hip. The smooth skin of her thigh parted cleanly as it passed; an inch or so below the moving point of glass, blood started welling up and out. Soon it was streaming down over her thigh. Her face a little tight but a half-smile playing around her lips, she kept going; when she reached her hip she came right on around the curve, cutting on, not stopping until she'd nearly reached her waist.
"Is this good?" she asked in her soft, little-girl voice. "Are you all enjoying this?" The audience vocalized its assent; she smiled, changed her position, and, just as carefully, slit open her calf.
For several minutes she kept cutting her legs with the bottle, carving a deep furrows into the inside and outside of each thigh and up the back of each of her calves. When her legs were painted bright red she put the bottle down, stood up, and, putting her hands on her hips, walked back and forth across the stage several times, letting the audience see the deep cuts and the free-flowing blood. After several minutes she stopped center-stage and abruptly pulled off her sweater. Her breasts were quite small but high and pert; her nipples stood out like bullets.
Kneeling down in the pool of blood on the stage, she faced the audience; she spread her knees widely. Picking up the broken bottle again, she held it in her right hand and stroked her own breast with her left. After a moment, she began caressing it, very gently at first, with the jagged edge of the bottle. Finally she lifted her breast a little with her hand and located the point--the same point she'd used to cut her legs--up under it, near the centerline of her body. Then, pushing upwards hard, she started pulling it across.
The point sank very deeply into her breast; fresh blood erupted, some of it running through the open-ended bottle. Smiling at the audience--there seemed to be no question that she was enjoying what she was doing--she cut all the way across under her breast before taking the bottle away. For a moment she posed, letting the streaming blood drip onto the stage. Then she moved the bottle to her other breast, cutting it in exactly the same manner.
Again she stood up and walked back and forth a few times; after a moment she stopped center-stage and faced the audience. Then, with her knees locked and her feet widely spread, she pushed the base of the bottle against her lower belly. Holding it there, she smiled sleepily out at the audience--and then she began to twist it.
She threw her head back as the bottle sliced through the soft skin of her abdomen; blood and other fluids rushed out, both through it and around it. Relentlessly she kept cutting herself; when she finally took the bottle away a loop of her intestine, itself cut and bleeding, was visible through the deep ragged wound in her belly. Her movements methodical, she put the bottle aside and glanced over at the master of ceremonies, who was giving her a questioning look. She responded with a slight nod.
While she waited, the master of ceremonies brought an odd device onto the stage; it consisted of a heavy round base, of iron evidently. In the center of it was an upright post, its height adjustable; the tip of it was pointed, and down four of its sides were blades, like the blades of a hunting arrow. Locating it center-stage, he left it; Stephanie, her eyes shining but her already-mutilated body trembling, walked unsteadily toward it; the M.C. decided it would be well to help her, and he did, holding her shoulders. Stepping up onto the base, Stephanie pressed her body against the upright; the point was nestled into her pubic hair. Bending down, she loosened the locking ring and pushed the top down a bit. When she stood up again she could step over the tip of the upright. Its point was now about an inch below her groin.
She glanced out at the audience, smiled her sleepy-eyed smile, and, bending her knees, carefully oriented herself so that the tip of the shaft was resting between her labial lips, aimed directly up into her vagina. Holding her shoulders, the MC helped her keep her balance.
Then, bending her knees even more, she started sliding down on it. As she did, the MC released her, let her go on down.
Blood began to flow almost immediately; she closed her eyes tightly and opened her mouth wide in a silent scream. Reaching down, she grabbed the already blood-soaked shaft with one hand, and she grabbed at her own thigh with the other. Still, she kept slipping on down, allowing the bladed shaft to penetrate further and further into her body. Losing her strength and her control, she began sliding down faster; her arms flailing, she leaned her upper body back in a hard arch. A moment later, the arrowhead point came ripping through, tearing free from just below her breastbone. Blood flooded out; her body twitched a few times, then sagged limply, still impaled on the shaft.
Shortly afterwards, the audience began to file out; the MC watched them go. Looking over the empty club, he sighed. There was a lot of work to be done, a lot of cleanup--before the next show could begin.
He didn't mind. His was, he was sure, the best job in the world.