Posted by Extranjero on December 28, 2002 at 15:40:21:
“Come on, babe,” the snapper crooned, “let’s have them one more time.”
Olivia beamed obligingly and stuck her bare breasts out. The lights blazed and the camera whirred. She shifted on the chair that she was straddling. Now a coy look, not entirely faked. He lapped it up. She’d splashed cold water on her tits to tauten them and make the nipples hard. They still felt tender, tingling with the heat of every flash.
“That’s it,” the snapper murmured. “Perfect shot.”
Olivia grinned at him, relieved, and covered up her nipples without thinking. This was all still new to her. She wasn’t really sure how far she’d get. All the time she’d simpered at the camera, she’d been thinking of how gawky she must look. Her nose was too long, certainly - but it made her smile endearing, people said. Perhaps she looked too timid, with her cavernous doe eyes. But maybe that was part of her appeal.
The man was disassembling his Pentax. Olivia picked her bathrobe up and put it on again. She knew she was attractive, with her dark brown eyes and honey-coloured skin. The hint of eastern spice in her complexion was offset by the posh drawl of private school. Olivia was an art student who’d made the final twelve. She didn’t need the money, but she did enjoy a dare.
Her hair hung like a dark fan to her shoulders. She shook it back and gave the cameraman an impish smile. Then she heard the click of heels, and someone came into the makeshift studio. It was one of the cool-eyed girls who were co-ordinating things.
“All finished?” she asked brightly. The snapper grunted, packing things away. The smart young woman gave Olivia a practised smile. “Dinner’s at 6:30, so you’ve time to take a shower. Remember, you’re black tie.” Her tone was brisk.
Olivia nodded carelessly and padded from the studio. One of the blondes was lounging in the corridor outside, her cigarette ash glowing fitfully. Like Olivia she was nude beneath her loosely-knotted wrap. Her blue eyes came around disdainfully. It was Katy, a career girl in her twenties, with a haughty poise, a cut-glass voice and a halo of blonde curls.
“I hope you didn’t try seducing him,” she sneered.
“No; why, did he turn you down?” Olivia came back sweetly. Pleased with herself, she sauntered past and headed for her room.
* * *
Someone knocked and entered as she was putting the final touches to her makeup.
“Oh God, here comes a man with a camcorder,” she complained to her reflection, and carried on applying eyeliner. Nicola, who shared the room, stepped up into the limelight. She was wrapped in a big bathrobe, with her hair still wet and tangled from the shower.
“Hi,” she giggled. “We’re just getting ready.”
Olivia sensed the camera swing around to point at her. She was sitting there in briefs and nothing else. Hoping that her boobs looked good in profile, she gave the cameraman a playful glance. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the competition logo. The red light on the vidcam seemed to fix her like an eye.
“How are you feeling, girls?” he asked.
“We’re fine,” Olivia murmured. “What’s for dinner?”
“Hungry, huh? Don’t worry, we’ve got quite a feast prepared. We’ll be doing some more shooting while you eat, so keep those smiles up!”
“What time is it?” asked Nicola.
“Just after six – no hurry.”
“There is for her,” Olivia said, still smiling at the mirror. “She needs another hour to choose her clothes!”
“Ooooh!” said Nicola and snatched a pillow from her bed. She swiped Olivia’s shoulder, and both girls collapsed in giggles. The dress code for the evening was bow ties and panties only: white for the blondes and black for the brunettes. Fair-haired Nicola had brought her skimpiest white thong. It made Olivia’s scanty black lace briefs looked almost prim.
“I’ll leave you to it, then …” the man said dryly. Olivia gave a little wave and picked her lipstick up. She looked round as the door closed. “God, what are we going to do when this goes out?”
Twelve of them had got this far: six blondes and six brunettes. The cameras had been with them all the way. The programme was called GlamorGirl; it showed them being groomed as pouting beauties. None of them had any previous modelling experience, but they had the confidence to make the most of their good looks. This weekend at a country house would see them whittled down. Then the series would be aired on satellite and cable, the audience voting for their favourite girl.
“We’ll swan round being famous,” was the blonde girl’s bright response. She had a pretty, fine-boned face, but Olivia found her silly and complacent. Nicola was toying with her hair-dryer thoughtfully. “So: do you think I should dry my hair, or leave it wet …?”
* * *
6:28. They came down to the dining room together - tummies in and tits stuck out and bow ties knotted neatly at their throats. Nicola’s hair still hung in damp gold ringlets. She was going for the sultry look, but undermined it with her empty grin. Olivia smiled cheerfully and told herself to stop being such a bitch.
The table had been laid for twelve, six places on each side. Some of the girls were hanging round it, trying not to preen themselves too much. The big room had an open fire which crackled in the background. The wave of heat was welcome and Olivia basked in it. The corridor had been too cold; she reckoned it was meant to perk their tits up. In that it had succeeded, and her own felt large and firm.
“Where do you think the cameras are?” asked Nicola beside her. She was clearly keen to give them a good view. Olivia shrugged, distracted by the food awaiting them. There were plates of juicy chicken breasts, and bowls of fresh, ripe fruit. Carafes of wine, both red and white, and baskets of fresh bread. All served on crisp white linen with a sparkling crystal glass at every place.
She felt her grin get wider as she moved up to the table. Slender though she was, she’d always liked to feed her face. “I guess we just sit anywhere,” she said to Nicola. The other girls were gathering. They smiled politely as they took their places. Olivia settled down and spread a napkin on her thighs. She didn’t want to stain her brand new briefs.
“There isn’t any cutlery,” said Jakki with a whiney undertone. She was a sulky-looking girl, her bee-stung lips well suited to a pout. Tossing back her long fair hair, she looked round for a waiter. Olivia poured herself some wine, and leaned against the high back of her chair. The furniture was dark with age, in keeping with the fixtures round the room.
The twelve of them sat waiting for a moment. The lighted candelabra put a sheen on their bare skin. Vicky looked frustrated, like a greedy little girl. Stuck-up Sophie plucked a grape and ate it daintily.
“Oh for God’s sake,” murmured Fran. She picked a chicken piece up with her hands and started eating. The others followed suit, and more wine glugged into the glasses. Olivia glanced towards the door and saw it had been closed. The TV people had withdrawn. No cameras were in sight.
“Got any plans for after this?” Fran asked. Olivia shrugged. Fran took another bite and licked her fingers. She was a winsomely attractive girl with pale greenish eyes and dark bobbed hair. “I could just go back to being a temp,” she murmured. “But now I’ve got a taste for it, you know?”
“The chicken? I can tell!”
Fran snickered, and let spots of grease drip onto her firm breasts. “It’s titty-lickin’ good!” Olivia teased. Stifling a little squeal, Fran peered down at herself – then shrugged and poured more wine into her glass. Olivia grinned and glanced along the table, discreetly checking out the other girls.
It seemed that several came from privileged backgrounds, just like her. Sophie was as graceful as a beautiful gazelle, with a hood of glossy hair and huge brown eyes. Her panties were black silk; Olivia guessed they’d be La Perla. Sipping her wine, she watched as Sophie played with her bow tie. She hadn’t quite decided if the other girl was snobbish or just shy …
“I’m hoping to make Playboy once the series airs,” said Sarah-Jayne beside them. A lithe, athletic-looking girl, she’d ignored the meat and was working through the fruit. Middle-length brown hair and cool blue eyes. She had the quiet confidence of someone who enjoyed achieving goals. Olivia smiled amiably and glanced away again.
Vicky was a posh girl, too, another pert brunette in a black tie. Olivia watched her guzzling a peach. She still wore gold-rimmed spectacles, insisting that they gave her an advantage. “It’s brainy girls they go for now,” she’d boasted over lunch, as if her C-cup breasts would make no difference.
The white-tie blondes were working hard to charm the hidden cameras. Susie had a gilded, gamine haircut and enough vivacity to light the room. A petite and perky girl, she chattered brightly with her neighbours, her blue eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. Zoe was much quieter, and her smile looked secretive, her calm gaze overshadowed by her fringe. But Olivia sensed the confidence behind that earnest stare. She guessed the girl was quite a little minx in her own right.
Nicola was burbling away and eating plums. Olivia caught Leilani’s eye and blushed. Leilani was a snooty cow, too spoilt for her own good. An olive-skinned brunette with long dark hair and smoky eyes, she blended English elegance with Filipina beauty. Her sequinned thong was barely there. Her tits were fabulous. Olivia knew a rival when she saw one.
Katy gave her no such qualms. The bitch was much too smug and self-important. She swanned round with her boobs out and her nose stuck in the air. The viewers weren’t about to vote her in. Listening to her squeaky voice, Olivia smiled and nursed her confidence.
Who did that leave? Just Danni, with her dimpled grin and mane of ash-blonde hair. Big tits and a gorgeous bod. Her confidence begin to wilt again. Olivia bit into a peach and felt the juice go dripping down her chin.
“Christ, they must be loving this,” said Frannie cheerfully. Her voice was giggly with the wine she’d drunk. Remembering the cameras, Olivia sat up and breathed in. Nicola stuck out her tongue at someone. Along the table, Zoe coughed and gagged.
“You should have spat, not swallowed!” Danni called.
Zoe made a croaking sound and scrabbled at her throat. Her mischievous blue eyes were wide with fright. The other girls just stared at her, their banter dwindling. “Christ, she’s choking,” someone said, and Sophie started getting to her feet. Zoe’s tongue poked out and she fell back into her chair. Her fellow diners gaped in consternation – all except for Vicky, who was frowning at her plate. A queasy ache had started in her belly. She stopped chewing and sat there, feeling cold sweat on her brow. In moments the dull pain became a nauseating spasm. She doubled forward, groaning through a mouthful of sweet pulp. Now the pain was in her throat, as if she’d swallowed acid with her wine. Choking, she collapsed across the table. The girls around her shied away in shock.
Zoe writhed and gurgled as the spasms throttled her. Her pert breasts heaved, the nipples shiny-tight. Olivia watched with saucer eyes – then heard a gasping sound from right beside her. Sarah-Jayne had reared back, her hands pressed to her chest, her face a mask of horrified dismay. She bucked and slithered from her chair, collapsing to the terracotta tiles. Olivia twisted round and watched her squirming on the floor. She felt her heart start hammering, engulfing her with dread. Sarah-Jayne lay gagging and grimacing, her fingers round her throat as if she meant to choke herself. And Jakki was convulsing too, as sudden stomach pangs tormented her.
“Oh God, it’s poison,” Frannie wailed. She stared in horror at her greasy fingers. Olivia jerked her glass away, the red wine soaking crimson through the cloth. She waited, heartbeat pounding – and poor Susie started clutching at her throat. She wriggled vainly in her chair, her mouth a breathless O. Zoe had gone limp, and Vicky’s body lay inert. Now Jakki wailed, as woeful as a child with tummy ache. Her sulky face contorted as she slithered from her seat. “Jesus!” Danni sobbed. Leilani sprang up like a cat. Food was dropped in panic. More wine spilled across the cloth. “God, what’s happening?” Katy moaned, her own chair scraping back. But Olivia still sat frozen as the stricken girls succumbed. Susie made a wheezy sound and lolled, her eyes wide open. Sarah-Jayne and Jakki twisted feebly and lay still.
The seven remaining girls became a tableau for a moment. Some in their seats, some standing, all transfixed with disbelief. Their panicked cries had tailed off, and silence clogged the room. Sophie took a sobbing breath. Leilani looked as fearful as a fawn. Olivia gripped her chair-arms tight to keep from shivering.
Then the doors banged open and they all looked round in fright. The TV team came striding in and lined up at the far end of the room. All were wearing plain black jeans and tee-shirts: even the two women, who an hour before had worn smart business suits. And all of them were holding silenced pistols. The fat tubes jutted out aggressively.
Olivia’s eyes grew rounder as she shrank against her chair. Her heart was surely loud enough to hear. The other girls cringed nervously. Leilani pressed her palms against her breasts.
The red-haired man they’d known as the director smiled at them. “Where do you think you’re off to, girls? You wouldn’t want to leave before dessert.”
“For God’s sake …” whimpered Nicola. She began to back away. Olivia felt her hackles rise. She sensed the cameras focusing on them. The director gestured at the lifeless bodies.
“We spiked the food at random, just to see how many of you were unlucky ...” Olivia was aware of Sarah-Jayne, sprawled at her feet. “Relatively speaking, obviously,” the man went on. The other shooters chuckled at the joke.
The programme’s online editor was gloating at them all. “My,” he crooned, “what big tits you’ve all got.”
“All the better to shoot them through,” another man said dryly. There were gasps and sobs among the girls, but no-one quite believed that this was happening. Not till the director raised his gun and shot Sophie through the knot of her bow tie.
The pistol gave a muffled cough, as flat as a damp squib. It made things seem unreal a moment longer. Sophie gawped at him in shock, then gagged and clasped her throat. Behind her, Fran recoiled as blood spritzed onto her pale breasts. She sat there, open-mouthed, as Sophie gargled and convulsed. And then the other guns began to shoot.
They sounded so innocuous, like firecrackers in a sandpit - but the bullets they spat out were real enough. Sophie jerked and quivered as the white-hot slugs bit into her soft breasts. A rivulet of blood already glistened in her cleavage, and more came spilling out in pretty squirts. The pain the bullets caused her pampered flesh was exquisite. Her fingers left her throat and clawed her tits despairingly, her severed bow tie dangling between them. But the burst of shots was merciless. She keened through gritted teeth. Her lovely face contorted as she crashed against the table and collapsed like a deflating rubber doll.
Fran began to squeal with horror, staring at the blood spots on her breasts. It wasn’t very wise to draw attention to herself, but it didn’t really make a lot of difference. The shooters switched their aim to her and kept their pistols spitting. Her tits were two plump targets with pink bull’s-eyes at the tips.
She saw her own breasts jiggle as the bullets thudded home. Her squeal increased in pitch as she was flung back in her chair. For a moment there was numbness – then a searing burst of pain that made her scream. Some of the guns had turned elsewhere, but the cool-eyed female PA stayed with Frannie. The wailing girl felt three more bullets chewing through her flesh. She bounced and wriggled in her chair, grimacing like she did at orgasm. The PA smiled. Bull’s-eye. Bull’s-eye. Fran groaned and toppled forward. Her pretty head banged down onto the table, as if she’d simply drunk too many Snowballs.
The storm of bullets lashed the plates around her. Glasses shattered, spaying thick red wine. Chicken breasts were plucked into the air and plums exploded. The shooters worked their triggers with a steady, numb momentum. The room sang with a cyclone of hot lead. The .22 rounds were pencil slim, inflicting tidy wounds, but they shared their calibre with M-16s.
Danni wasn’t going to be a sitting target too. She mewled in fright and sprang up from her chair. The bullets aimed towards her breasts whacked hard into her stomach, one plucking out the jewel in her navel. The blonde girl gave a gutted whoop of pain and flopped back down. A shot meant for her breast went through the middle of her forehead. It punched a neat red hole in the blonde tangle of her fringe. Danni’s head snapped back; her bosom swelled invitingly. The gunman got her fixed at last, and shot her through both tits to see them bounce. Danni shifted loosely with the impacts, and then drooped over the left arm of her chair. Blood oozed into her hairline and went streaming down the contours of her chest.
The other girls flailed round in wide-eyed panic, but all of them were cornered as the leering shooters started to advance. Olivia had left her chair with all the swiftness of a frightened rabbit - but now that she was moving, there was nowhere she could go. Bullets whickered past them and blew dust puffs from the wall. She squealed and tried to hide behind a chairback. The table was a mess of plastered food and spattered wine. Fran and Vicky slumped face down, indifferent to the carnage all around them. Susie didn’t blink as white wine splashed over her breasts and dribbled down her front to soak her briefs.
The guns kept up their coughing, like rain drumming on a roof. A wooden fruit bowl split apart, its peaches splattering. The juicy sound was much the same when more shots perforated Katy’s breasts. She screwed her haughty face up like a girl about to cry and reeled back from the table wretchedly. The wounds were neat as nail-heads, but her heart had split as ripely as the fruit. She swooned and crumpled to the floor, still clutching at her boobs. Olivia drew no pleasure from the sight.
The barrage of shots had slackened off to isolated pops. Someone shot a candle out. Another bullet smashed a china plate. Olivia felt her terror rise to take her by the throat. She looked round at Leilani was who cringing further down by Danni’s chair. The sultry girl stared back with eyes as liquid as a deer’s. Nicola, meanwhile, had crawled between the table legs, as if the bloodsoaked tablecloth could hide her.
The shooters kept on sniping as they closed with the unfortunate young ladies. Leilani caught a glimpse of one and came out of her crouch to plead with him. “Don’t shoot,” she sobbed in her sweet voice, “I’ll fuck you if you want …”
He smiled at her as if enticed – then raised his gun and fired. Leilani gave a gasp of shock and clasped her numb left breast. The man kept shooting, targeting both tits. Leilani writhed and clawed herself, grimacing with the pain. Another pistol joined in from the far side of the table. She forced herself to turn towards it, begging to be spared - but the shooter kept on plugging her, unmoved. The small rounds were absorbed by her firm body, inflicting wounds like pretty polka dots. The impacts sent her reeling back to slump against the wall. She slithered down it, mewling tearfully, and then went limp. Olivia sobbed with fright behind her hands.
The team moved round the table, coming at her from both sides. Her head began to swim as she rose upright. Maybe she would faint and miss what had to happen next. Olivia raised her hands, a hopeless gesture. Her heart was pumping hard enough to burst. She stood there in her posh lace briefs, her tender bosom trembling. and waited for the agony to start.
Nicola was snivelling behind the tablecloth. A couple of the gunmen stooped, and poked their silenced guns between the chairs. The trapped girl crouched on hands and knees; Olivia heard her squealing in dismay. Then she choked and gargled as the guns went phut-phut-phut. Her head banged on the table’s underside as she convulsed. Six or seven bullets burrowed into her soft flesh. In moments she was silent and unmoving.
The other pistols turned towards Olivia. A hissing silence settled on the room. She bit her lip and stared at them with big don’t-hurt-me eyes. The director smiled back, and waved his gun towards the nearest empty chair.
“Congratulations, girl,” he said. “It looks like you’re our winner. Just come on over here and take a seat.”
Olivia simply gawped at him. The silencers stayed levelled at her body. Reluctantly, as if through glue, she moved towards the table and sat down next to Susie’s drooping corpse. The blonde girl’s face was pinched and pale, her girlish sweetness soured. Olivia’s wide eyes flicked to Fran. The green-eyed girl still giggled in her head. But Frannie lay face down amid the remnants of her food. A crimson stain had soaked into the cloth beneath her breasts.
One of the women came around the table, a sparkling tiara in her hands. She stood behind Olivia’s chair and placed the jewelled circlet on her head. Olivia stared up, stupefied, then peered across the table. The blonde PA was watching with a smug twist to her lips.
“It’s for a special DVD,” the woman told her brightly. “Very limited edition, so no danger that your mum will ever see it! GlamorGirl’s just a front, course. The title will be SnuffStars. And you’re our first Snuff Idol. Aren’t you proud?”
Petrified, Olivia watched the pistol coming up. “No!” she wailed despairingly. “Oh, no!”
The woman simply smiled and started firing. Olivia gasped and shuddered as she felt the bullets pummelling her breasts. The impacts crushed all feeling for a disbelieving instant, but then her tits were gripped with burning claws. Olivia squealed, her hands upraised in hopeless self defence. The barrage drove her backwards and she bucked against the chair, her heart’s blood squirting from her tender flesh. The bullets sizzled deep inside and made her squirm and shriek, but the pistol kept on pumping her with lead. Her head flipped back, her pretty face a death-mask of dismay. The chair reared up on its back legs and toppled with a crash. Olivia’s body flopped in it, one shapely leg still hooked over the seat. She felt the world turn upside down, and then the jolting tumble stopped her heart. Her very last sensation was a squirt of soaking warmth into her briefs.
Her riddled breasts stopped heaving as her head rolled to one side. Her glittering tiara stayed in place.
The shooters stood back breathlessly and let the cameras through. The slaughter had been captured from a dozen different angles, but the viewers would be eager for the closeups. The guy with the vidcam moved among the bodies and lovingly recorded each in turn. Behind their backs, the babes had been referred to as “snuff bunnies”, a far cry from the fame they’d dreamed about.
Most of the girls had wet themselves as life drained out of them. It showed up better with the blondes, whose white briefs clung to soggy pubic tufts. But the posh brunettes had pissed their panties just as shamelessly. Sodden curls escaped from Sophie’s silk La Perla briefs, and Leilani’s sequinned thong was soaked with pee.
The snapper ranged around the room, doing portraits of each victim. These would be added to the “before and after” section of the stills gallery. Someone put his fist in Vicky’s hair and hauled her head up. “Great,” the snapper purred and got her plump tits into focus, the black bow tie above them like a velvet butterfly. The camera whirred, the flash reflecting off her gold-rimmed specs. Brainy girls were well and good, but dead girls with large breasts were rather better.
The first guy let her slump again and moved along to Fran. She too was hauled up to face the camera, her features almost sullen as her neatly-punctured breasts were photographed. “I quite liked her,” the snapper said, but his friend was unconvinced. “She didn’t have the spark,” he said, and let her tits smack down against the table.
The snapper moved around to the Snuff Idol. She sprawled there on her upturned chair, her panties clinging damply to her crotch. Half a dozen puncture wounds dripped blood over her breasts. Whrrr … whrrr … whrrr the camera went. Olivia’s eyes stayed closed. She never felt the flash on her cold flesh.
“That’s it,” the snapper murmured. “Perfect shot.”