Echos from the band's deafening heavy-metal music faded off into the distance; once the screams and squeals from the excited girls down front had died down as well, Jared, the black-clad master of ceremonies, stepped center stage and plucked one of the mikes from its stand. He took an instant to savor the moment; right now, it was his show. "It's time!" he cried, pointing out toward the carefully-screened, hand-picked, audience. "Time for the real show!" His still-pointing finger swept along the first few rows; there, three-quarters of the audience consisted of girls in their late teens or early twenties, most of them true beauties. "You know what we need now," he growled. "We need a volunteer!"
Enthusiastically, well over half the girls--and a few men, as well--waved hands in the air; here and there someone tried to drag his date's arm down, mostly without success. Jared scanned the would-be volunteers; Gods, he told himself, this wasn't going to be easy. There were so many, and so many of them were so good, so very good. Keeping his hand moving steadily--he didn't want any one of them to assume she was the chosen, not until he'd made his decision--he studied the faces, the bodies.
After a while, he found himself focusing on a slim dark-haired girl, an energetic but very delicate-looking girl who was bouncing up and down with her arm waving vigorously. He made his decision; his pointing finger stopped moving, he crooked it toward himself. She went wide-eyed, pointed toward herself disbelievingly; with a smile he nodded, and she sprang from her seat. There was a young man sitting beside her who tried to grab her, tried to hold her back, but she jerked free and rushed toward the stage. On seeing her as she passed by the guards and mounted the stage steps, the crowd roared its approval. Dressed in brief shorts, tennis shoes, and a thin shirt, she was as graceful as a deer.
Jared took her hand as she came close. "Yesss..." he almost hissed. This one was outrageous, this one was going to be one of the best ever. "Welcome, my dear. What's your name?"
"Mandy," the girl answered. Her face was broad and slightly squarish, her eyes huge and very dark, her nose miniature; her mouth was rather small but her lips, especially the lower, were very full. Glossy dark hair framed the whole and swept down her back past her shoulders, surrounding a long slender neck. She was flushed with excitement. "Mandy Lattimore."
"All right, Mandy Lattimore! How old are you, Mandy?"
"Nineteen."
"You in school?"
"Uh-huh. College freshman."
"Have you been to one of our special shows before, Mandy?" He held his breath, hoping against hope that she wouldn't say no. Not, of course, that that would cause him to send her back; the ambience was just a little different, that was all.
"Yes--yes, I have! The spring show, in Russellville--"
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, yes, yes. That was a good one, wasn't it? A girl named Tina was our volunteer that night. You didn't leave early, did you? You did see that part of it, didn't you?"
She bounced on the balls of her feet. He looked down at her legs, almost all of which were revealed by her brief shorts. They were remarkably lovely; long, slim, perfectly shaped. She seemed to pose them automatically, bending one smooth knee a trifle and holding her thighs slightly tight, defining each muscle under sleek and utterly unblemished skin. "Yes... yes, I did!" Her voice was full of enthusiasm. "Every single second!"
Oh, wonderful, Jared told himself, and the long sigh from the audience told him they felt the same; just wonderful, she knows the whole routine... "Good. Are you ready to get started then, Mandy?"
"Oh, yes!"
Jared raised his arm dramatically; behind him, the band's bass player started picking out a dark, minor-key, walking line. An instant later, the keyboardist joined in, followed by the drummer. At the moment the music was rather soft. From stage left a video cameraman appeared, creeping closer to Jared and the girl.
"Take it off, Mandy," Jared commanded. "Take it all off!"
She smiled, flushed, kicked off her shoes, then reached for her shirt. Quick fingers undid the buttons; she pushed it back over her shoulders, let it fall on the stage. A whispering murmur of approval flowed through the audience. Her breasts were extraordinary, high and extremely firm if not too large, tipped by cylindrical, already-erect nipples which were surrounded by delicate roseate areolas. Just below her rib cage her stomach sank in sharply, forming a flat smooth surface reaching down into her shorts.
Which she immediately revealed more of by pushing the shorts down. She kicked them off, then stripped off her panties; her hips, slender and tight, wonderfully complemented the rest of her body. Nestled between her thighs was a triangle of soft pubic hair through which her vaginal lips peeped pinkly. Reaching out to her, Jared took her by the hand and, raising her arm, turned her around twice; the audience responded with a roar of approval.
While he was turning her, two stagehands were wheeling an apparatus onto the stage; together, he and Mandy watched it come. Made almost entirely of black cast iron and set on a large flat wheeled platform, it consisted of a simple frame about six feet square. From each inner corner hung a chain with a single padded handcuff attached; there was another chain at the top center, hanging on a convenient hook, that had an adjustable metal collar attached to the end of it. In the center of the frame, standing on the platform, was a wooden box about eighteen inches high. The platform itself stood some two feet off the stage; all around its perimeter was a trough six inches deep. At the corners holes connected the troughs to spouts that led into squat glass jars, each capable of holding a couple of gallons of fluid.
Mandy stood staring at it as the men rolled it into position. Still holding her hand, Jared leaned close to her ear. "If you saw the last show," he told her, "you know what to do now!"
She glanced at him. "I want..." she murmured hesitantly. She blushed, lowered her eyes.
"You want what?"
She flicked a glance toward the band. "I want Johnny to take me," she said, low. "Johnny, or Ned."
Jared grinned. "You can have both." He turned to the band. "Johnny, Ned!" he called--into his mike. "Mandy wants you two to escort her!"
The singer and the lead guitarist both looked up. After Ned put his guitar down, they both came to her.
"Oh, guys," she breathed, "you are just the greatest, the greatest..."
"No, Mandy," the singer said as he took her hand from Jared. "You're the greatest!"
As the guitar player took her other hand, she looked like she was about to faint. "Oh, I'd do anything to show you guys how I felt about you, about the band, about the music..."
"We know," Ned grinned. He tugged at her hand very slightly; she followed without resistance, taking the few steps that brought her to the apparatus. Releasing her, the two men stepped up onto the platform; once there, they turned and reached out their hands to her. She accepted their hands, she allowed them to assist her as she too stepped up onto the apparatus. Without any urging or direction, she turned to face them, and, stepping into the center of the square, she stood on the box, spread her arms, and reached for the chains in the corners; on her face was an enormous, rapturous, smile.
Colored lights played on Mandy's naked body and on the apparatus as Johnny reached for the chain at the right, Ned the other. Quite gently, the two men fasted them around her wrists, snugging them up tightly. There was a slighty awkward moment when Johnny pulled the box out from under her feet, leaving her almost dangling, her toes just touching the floor. Kneeling, the men took her legs by her calves; at their touch Mandy threw her head back and sighed--audibly, since by now a stage hand had focused a shotgun mike on her. Johnny and Ned pulled on her legs, drawing them out to the sides and fastening the padded cuffs chained to the lower corners around her trim ankles. Finally, Johnny stepped up in front of her; while she wriggled with excitement and the audience hooted, he pressed his body against hers while he unhooked the center chain and fitted the collar around her neck--tightly, but not tightly enough to choke her. Stepping away, they left her hanging there spread-eagled and returned to the band.
The band fell silent. "And now," Jared said to the onlookers, "you are about to experience a special privilege, a rare privilege; a performance of a song that has not been recorded in any studio and shall never be recorded in any studio, a song performed and recorded live only. Ladies and gentlemen," he swept an arm back to the band, "I give you The Yellow Terror, in a performance of 'Paingod.'" He pointed at Mandy. "And our special guest performer will be--Miss! Mandy! Lattimore!"
To open, Ned struck a pair of violent chords on his guitar; on the next beat the remainder of the band joined in, and the audience was assaulted by a wall of sound. After a moment, Johnny started spewing some lyrics into his mike; for the most part they weren't intelligible, but the word "pain!" came through clearly, repeatedly. He sang one verse, then, carrying both his mike and its stand, he came across the stage toward Mandy, moving along in a lurching dance.
Bound though she was, she was keeping time with the insistent beat, flexing her knees and elbows to set herself in motion. Dancing in front of her, Johnny ran his hands down over her bare body, touching her face, squeezing each breast, teasing each nipple, spending considerable time at her groin and then letting his hands glide down her legs.
Then, after singing another phrase, he put his mike on a stand and, with exaggerated movements, slipped his hand into his pants pocket. When he pulled it out again, he was holding a small object that at first looked like a small wooden staff of some sort. Holding it up and using both hands, he pulled it apart, revealing a glittering steel knife blade that had been hidden within, a blade that was long but very narrow. He dropped the cover back in his pocket and showed the audience the knife. They responded with a raw screech of anticipation.
Then he turned back to the bound and helpless girl. "Ready, Mandy?" he asked, speaking the words but pitching his voice to the fundamental of the chord then being played.
Now, from the audience there was a strangled howl of "No!", evidently from the young man who'd tried to restrain Mandy to begin with. She, however, gazed rapturously down at Johnny. "Oh, yes," she sighed. "Yes, yes, I'm ready, go for it, do it!"
Adopting a stylized pose, he aimed the little knife at Mandy's bare belly; the once-loud music dropped down to a low insistent murmur. Mandy, her face a study in frenzied excitement, stared down at him. For a moment they formed a frozen, still-life tableau.
Then the drummer hit a rim shot on his snare, and at the same time Johnny's arm shot forward. The knife caught Mandy an inch or two below her navel, and it sank right into her.
Blood welled up; she stiffened and trembled in her restraints. The band broke into a heavy series of harsh chords; on the first downbeat Johnny dragged the knife a few inches upwards, on the second he plunged it deep again. Much more blood appeared, spilling down her belly and running onto her legs. Mandy groaned loudly. a grinding sound, rising in pitch and volume; Johnny, screaming "Pain!" into his mike, repeated the whole sequence. When the knife slipped in near her solar plexus she screamed too, but hers was a high, long shriek of agony.
Jerking the knife out, Johnny danced away from her and took his place center-stage. Blood streamed from the ten-inch incison down the center of her abdomen. As rapt as the audience, Jared watched her squirm with pain. He'd argued with the band before, trying to reserve for himself the privilege of inflicting that first, that very special, piercing; but they'd all insisted that the honor should go to Johnny, their front man.
Besides, he told himself, he had his own part to play--and it was far from a bad one. For now, he contented himself with watching; Mandy was still squirming in pain as blood ran freely from her ripped belly, as it pooled on the base of the apparatus and ran from there to the collecting jars. The stagehand with the shotgun mike was doing his usual expert job, every moan she uttered was coming over the PA clearly; the cameraman zoomed in and panned up and down, recording and simultaneously showing her bleeding body and contorted face on the big screens facing the audience.
Ned was next up; he put his guitar on its stand and took the knife when Johnny offered it to him. With a different but no less menacing step, he danced over to the apparatus to which Mandy was bound.
Moaning, her eyes wide, she watched him come. Stopping close in front of her, he waved the knife back and forth and stared at the long cut down the center of her abdomen. Jared inched closer. "Give me a good one," Ned said in a soft voice. "Give me a real good one!"
"I will..." she answered, her voice very unsteady. She grimaced, then gave him a sidelong look and a slight smile. "Do it to me, Ned. Give me a reason, hurt me...!"
Grinning, he began caressing her body as Johnny had, smearing her blood on his hands; he seemed to be focusing more on her breasts than Johnny had. Finally, after kissing each of her nipples, he poked them, playfully, one after the other, with the point of the knife, provoking a gasp from her with each touch. As the verse the band was playing came to an end he was pressing the knife into her right nipple, the blade vertical, the point resting just under the stiffly-erect tip.
Then the rimshot echoed from the drummer, and Ned, at the same time, stuck the knife's point into her breast.
Mandy's face contorted and she threw her head back as the blade sank in, as fresh blood started spilling out; Ned pushed it deeper, driving the blade on in until it struck her ribs and wedged between them. She screamed as it scraped against the bones; Ned withdrew it a little and began drawing it downward, working it in and out a little, slitting her breast open neatly from nipple to base.
Delighted with her performance, Jared moved a little closer as Ned started repeating his action on her left breast. Mandy was screaming beautifully, she was squirming sensually against her restraints; one after another her shrieks pealed forth as Ned cut open her left breast to match her right.
He withdrew then, leaving Mandy dangling, bleeding from three deep cuts, moaning softly. Leaving his station, Eddie, the keyboard man, was next; he slapped Ned's hand as they passed and took the knife he offered.
She looked down at him as he stepped up to her; kneeling before her, he began stroking her long legs gently, starting at her knees and working upwards. At her groin he stopped, he looked up at her face; their eyes locked, and he slipped the knife's point into her pubic hair, just above her genitals. His other hand went between her legs, he held her buttocks. Again he paused, watching her eyes, letting both her and the audience savor the moment; then he started pushing the knife in.
Mandy gave a piercing cry, a wonderful cry; the knife sank in and blood spouted out. "Yeah, baby!" Eddie cried in pitch with the music. He didn't cut her as the other two had, but he did grind the knife into her pubes, provoking more bleeding and another shuddering cry from the trembling girl. "Yeah, let's hear it, let us hear your... PAIN!"
He pulled the knife out, left her with blood flowing steadily down her legs; Jack, the bassist, met him on the way and took the knife from him. Dancing his way up to Mandy he caressed her body for a few seconds, after which he drove the little knife deep into her right side; while she howled and spasmed in her restraints he slit her side open from her ribcage to her hip. He left her, turned the knife over to the drummer--who repeated the performance on Mandy's left side.
As he left her she was clearly weakening; she was hanging almost limply in her bonds, her arms and legs trembling as her blood dripped steadily, her head down. Jared came to her, lifted her head, looked into her pain-wracked eyes.
"Last verse," he told her.
"I... mmm... ready..." she sighed.
Slowly, while the band's music built to a frenzied pitch, Jared turned a small valve head built into the side of the frame; then, striking a match, he held it near the frame. With a whoosh almost inaudible over the music and the crowd roar, a line of little blue flames spread along the inside sides and base of the frame, each little tongue of blue fire an inch or so long.
He kissed Mandy passionately. "This is it," he told her. "Loud as you can!"
She couldn't smile anymore, but she nodded weakly; he stepped back and opened the valve all the way. Blue fire flared out, licking the sides of her body and blasting up between her spread legs. She shrieked and began thrashing in her restraints; the crowd screamed, the band, all the members watching her, blasted out music. Her pubic hair ignited, burned away quickly; she screamed even more loudly, bouncing and surging, apparently fighting now to escape the bonds she'd willingly accepted. Wherever the flames were touching her--her thighs, her groin, her sides, and the sides of her breasts--her skin turned bright red before quickly darkening and beginning to blister. Smoke, thick and black, rose from her skin. She screeched as blood began to erupt only to boil away in the heat.
After just a few minutes--too few, Jared always thought--she began to weaken, her struggles became more subdued. Her cries became harsher but softer; she rolled her head back and forth as her body burned, as blood gushed out.
As the climax of the song approached--they'd gotten this timing down to a fine nuance--Mandy's right side broke open. Her eyes flew wide open as her entrails spilled out into the flames, but she had only a moment to experience it before the lower part of her belly split as well, dropping her intestines down between her legs, right into the hottest part of the fire. They ruptured instantly, draining fluids into the flames; with a loud hiss, smoke and steam boiled up around her torso. She spasmed violently a couple of times, made an odd gurgling sound, then hung limply in the flames. The song ended; the band and the audience watched in silence as her corpse continued to burn.