Posted by Kewpid on July 23, 2009 at 11:44:47:
“So what’s this movie called again?” asked Gemma.
“Seven Damsels of Castle Blood,” said Susie, glancing up from the fat script. She couldn’t help but smirk at the daft title, but this was her first acting job and she felt a flutter of excitement too.
The big stretch limo turned another corner, and they saw the country house as if on cue. It was more a Tudor manor than a castle, but it had stout walls, a tower, even a moat. Nicola craned round to look. “That is so cool,” she murmured.
“I’m sure they’ll change the title,” Sophie said offhandedly.
The posh girl’s studied nonchalance made Ruth smile to herself. She knew that Sophie was a novice like the rest of them. No doubt she hoped to graduate to frocks-and-bonnets dramas, but first she’d have to slum it in a trashy horror flick.
Claire was leafing through her script and looking rather doubtful. They hadn’t got their copies till the car had picked them up. Fran gave her a nudge. “Have you found your sex scene yet?” Her teasing tone made Claire turn pink. “I told them that my clothes stay on,” she sniffed.
The limo cruised along the lane between luxuriant hedgerows. The countryside beyond was empty, drowsing in the heat. The house looked more imposing by the minute. It felt to Ruth as if they were being chauffeured back in time.
She’d never really thought of being an actress. Working in a bank was boring, but it paid the bills. Then, during her cigarette break, someone had approached her and said she should audition for his film. Ruth was sensible enough, but the prospect had intrigued her, and she couldn’t quite freeze out his flattery. Eventually she had agreed, and turned up for a screen test, with Gemma as her chaperone. The pair of them were signed up the same day.
For Gemma, it was just a lark – she’d rather be a dancer – but Ruth reckoned she might get the acting bug. She gathered that the others were all budding drama students, though they’d never acted in a film before. Of course, this one would probably go straight to DVD; but maybe it would get her noticed, opening the door to other things ...
The house’s moat flashed sunlight like a mirror. It was more like a private lake, surrounding the old building on three sides. The frontage was protected by a gatehouse, but the iron barriers parted as the car purred up to them. The girls were suitably impressed. Fran cooed and Gemma giggled, while Susie pressed her nose against the window, starry-eyed.
The limo scrunched into the gravel courtyard. A van was parked outside the house, and Ruth glimpsed film equipment in the back. Their driver, a big man in a tuxedo, parked beside it, then clambered out to open the girls’ doors.
There wasn’t a red carpet or a storm of flashguns waiting, but the actresses already felt like stars. Fran bounced out, as eager as a beaver, and gave the stone-faced man a winning smile. Her mane of chestnut hair framed elfin features, but her Gucci sunglasses made her look cool. “Would you like my autograph before I’m famous?” she asked brightly, but the driver stayed expressionless. She shrugged and sauntered up to the front door.
Susie was the next one out, all goody-two-shoes cuteness with her short blonde hair and innocent blue eyes. She was the smallest of the group, but perky and vivacious. “I’ve known clubs creepier than this,” she tittered, peering round.
Claire, dismounting after her, smiled primly at the driver. The house looked rather lovely, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be here. Perhaps she should have held out for a chance to play Ophelia, instead of some air-headed heroine. She hadn’t even found out if her character survived this. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she followed Susie over to the house.
Sophie too was less than keen on lurid horror movies. She knew she would be so embarrassed if this got released. But even posh brunettes needed their first step on the ladder, and once she was established, she could leave this piece of trash off her CV. Besides, she rather fancied being a medieval lady. She knew that she was beautiful enough.
Ruth climbed out and glanced towards the gatehouse as the iron gates swung smoothly closed again. “I guess we’re trapped here then,” she said with cheerful resignation. Gemma grunted, still absorbed by something in the script. Ruth’s smile widened slyly: she looked rather like a pixie with her cropped dark hair and mischievous brown eyes. Discreetly she pinched Gemma on the bottom. “I bet you I’m the Final Girl,” she teased.
Gemma almost squealed as she was goosed, but kept her mouth shut. She liked to play the haughty blonde, particularly when they were in bed. No-one at the bank knew that the two girls were an item. Some sniped that short-haired Ruth was queer, but nobody had realised Gemma was. So the office gossips twittered on in blissful ignorance and missed the passionate romance behind their backs.
Nicola got out and pushed her shades onto her forehead. Like Ruth, she had a gamine haircut, but she was more po-faced and aloof. The coolness was a mask for her ambition. She meant to grab her share of limelight, even if she had a minor role. If that involved her shagging the director, she reckoned she could live with it. A girl did her best acting while in bed.
She climbed the steps into the welcome shade of the interior. A reception room was on her left, with a table running down the length of it. Glasses of white wine and trays of tasty-looking nibbles had been laid out for the budding actresses. The others were already digging in. She moved to join them, and took a chilly sip of Chardonnay.
“Something tells me this won’t be an art movie,” purred Gemma, and Ruth smiled wryly as she glanced around. The cast had dressed down for the heat, and to show off their figures. It looked like they’d been chosen on the basis of their boobs. Ruth herself was wearing a tight tee-shirt, while Gemma’s sun-kissed cleavage pouted from her summer dress.
Sophie ran a preening finger through her dark silk hair. The wine was cheap and flavourless. She sipped it with disdain. “Will this be your first film?” Claire asked politely, her pale eyes blinking through her stylish specs. Sophie sensed her awkwardness and smiled graciously. So someone else was having doubts. “I hope it’s not my last!”
Susie ate another canapé and licked her fingers. “I guess I’ll have to swim ten lengths for every one of these!” Fran snickered – she was just as slim – and picked another goujon. “We haven’t started working yet. Perhaps we’ll burn it off, being chased around ...”
The sense of woozy nausea crept up slowly. At first they tried ignoring it, but their carefree conversations soon tailed off. Ruth felt her balance start to go. Her head began to hammer. Susie gripped the tablecloth, unsteady as a foal. The others lurched and stumbled. Sophie’s wineglass dropped and shattered. The room grew claustrophobic, murky, smothering their thoughts. One by one they crumpled to the floor and lay unmoving. Susie dragged the cloth with her, and a plate fell with a clatter as she slumped.
* * *
Fran had felt this bad before – she went clubbing every Friday – but it took a while to work out where she was. As consciousness seeped back, she sensed a chair under her bottom, and a piece of linen pressed against her cheek. Belatedly she realised she was slumped over a table, like a diner who had had too much to drink. She raised her head, and thought she’d jarred her brain loose. The room rotated and grew still. She squinted through her fringe.
“… Ohmigod …” breathed somebody beside her. She didn’t wonder who or why. What mattered was that she had lost her clothes. Her summer dress had turned into a medieval gown, snug-fitting and as sheer as gossamer. It had long sleeves, a deep scoop neck, and a skirt slit to the thigh. Her underwear had disappeared, and her boobs and pubes were clearly visible.
Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment; her belly filled with ice. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for. There’d been some kind of horrible mistake. To left and right, she sensed the others waking. Gemma clutched her throbbing head. Claire grimaced blearily. All of them were dressed in gowns like flimsy body-stockings which gave no protection to their pampered flesh.
Ruth managed to straighten up and sat back, feeling queasy. Her breasts heaved in the clinging gown. She felt a surge of dread. But the room in which they’d been lined up was empty. It looked like afternoon outside, the summer day still hot.
“What the hell just happened?” whimpered Susie.
Ruth glanced round the sunlit room. Her skin began to crawl. “I think the film’s just started,” she said hoarsely. “Let’s shift our arses, girls … we can’t stay here.”
The others stared back dumbly for a moment. Fear spread across their faces as she watched. Ruth focused single-mindedly on Gemma. She clambered up and went to help her friend. Gemma groaned and clung to her. Ruth murmured soothingly, aware of Gemma’s silky boobs against her own. That morning, they’d been making love. They’d do the same this evening. “God, I feel like shit,” breathed Gemma.
“Come on, love,” said Ruth, “we’re going home.”
Sophie too was on her feet and pouting miserably as she surveyed the room in which they found themselves. There was an outsize hearth behind the table, with suits of armour on each side of it. The panelled walls were hung with sombre portraits. Despite what Ruth had said, she saw no cameras anywhere.
“They’re playing a horrid trick on us,” she bleated.
Fran was unconvinced by that. She padded to the doorway. The entrance hall beyond was cool. The eerie silence made her hackles rise. She peered upstairs. The labyrinthine building seemed deserted, yet she had a creepy sense of being watched.
She turned to the front door and fumbled with it, but the iron lock was firmly closed. She snivelled in frustration and stepped back. Claire had ventured after her and bit her lip forlornly. “There must be a way out of here,” she whined.
Nicola was still slumped at the table. Susie bent and squeezed her shoulder. “Come on,” she cajoled, “we have to go.”
“Fuck off,” mumbled Nicola, still groggy. “Leave me be …” Susie shook her urgently. The gamine-haired brunette just shrugged her off. Susie hovered by her, undecided, until Ruth caught her eye. “Just leave her, then.”
Fran and Claire were waiting in the hallway, and Sophie was already by the door. “We have to stay together,” she insisted. Ruth and Gemma moved to join her. Susie glanced back once, then followed them.
Nicola was half aware that she’d been left alone, but was too stupefied to care. She’d never had a hangover like this. The wine had been much stronger than she realised. She knew that she might miss the read-through, but she couldn’t raise her leaden head. She had a vague awareness of her costume. It felt constrictive and it made her sweat.
She didn’t hear the muffled creak behind her. The thudding in her temples drowned it out. More sounds followed, stealthy and metallic, as something ponderous began to stir. Nicola moaned softly to herself. Her brain was splitting, but she realised that she had to make a move. Gingerly she raised her head and grimaced with self-pity, then pushed herself back upright in the chair. Her large breasts panted in the sweaty nylon. She felt abruptly sick and gasped for breath.
One of the suits of armour now stood right behind the chair back, its visor like a vulture’s beak. Its well-oiled joints had barely made a sound. It was a robot, programmed for destruction, and its prey was any girl who crossed its path.
Belatedly she sensed its bulk behind her, but before she could react, it clamped a hand across her mouth. Her squeal of fright was stifled by the gauntlet. She clutched at it and wriggled in her chair. The knight lifted a medieval dagger, and held it poised above the grunting girl. Then the blade punched downward like a piston, and pierced the crown of Nicola’s trapped head. The wicked point had so much force behind it that it sheared through her befuddled brain and came out at the top of her taut throat.
The would-be actress went into convulsions, still clawing at the hand that choked her scream. Her legs kicked wildly underneath the table and her bosom quivered as her body jerked. She made a throttled sound, her face contorting, but the iron hand would not release its grip. Her fingers fluttered, then fell back. Her wine-filled bladder emptied. She shuddered as her nerves shut down, and sagged into the chair.
Mechanically, the knight withdrew the dagger. A stream of blood ran down her throat and spilled between her breasts. Apart from that, and the red stain in her hair, she looked unsullied, though sulkier than when she had arrived. As the knight relaxed its grip, her corpse drooped sideways, head falling to one shoulder as her tits bulged from her gown. The hidden cameras savoured every curve of her slumped figure. She’d got the limelight that she wanted – but it was the end of her career.
The other girls were creeping through the building, in blissful ignorance of her demise. “So do you think they’re watching us?” hissed Susie. Fran didn’t even bother answering. Hovering behind them, Claire blushed primly and pressed her forearms to her stockinged breasts.
“There has to be a back door,” Sophie said.
You mean the tradesman’s entrance, Ruth thought snidely. She’d only met the girl today, and already thought she was a spoilt cow. A part of her accepted that she envied Sophie’s beauty, despite the dire predicament they shared.
Reaching out for Gemma’s hand, she squeezed it. “It’s going to be locked,” she said. “I reckon it’s the windows we should try.”
Sophie glanced back sourly. “We mustn’t make assumptions.” Her own disdain for bolshie girls like Ruth was clear enough. She carried on along the panelled passage, but Ruth stopped short. “I’m going to check these rooms first,” she announced.
Gemma’s warm breast brushed against her shoulder. Fran and Susie hesitated, obviously not sure whose side to take. But Claire knew Sophie was a kindred spirit. She scurried up to stand with her, her bare feet scuffing on the polished floor. Sophie gave the others her most condescending look. “We’ll catch you up,” said Fran, unfazed by it.
Sophie sniffed dismissively and turned her back on them. Ruth couldn’t help admiring her tight arse. Claire gave them a reproving glance and hurried after her. Ruth caught Fran’s doubtful eye and shrugged. “We’d better do this two by two,” she said.
She tried the nearest door. The room beyond was hushed and empty. The furniture was draped in sheets. A diamond-leaded window sieved the light. She and Gemma tiptoed in, their breathing getting hoarser. Susie tried the room next door, while Fran kept watch outside.
Sophie had a nagging fear that she had lost her bearings. The house felt like a maze, and it was bigger than she’d thought. She didn’t share her doubts with Claire, who was trailing in her footsteps. Sophie was too snooty to admit to being at fault.
They passed a suit of armour like a sentry in the passage, a crossbow cradled in its gauntlets. Something made them give it a wide berth. Claire glanced nervously over her shoulder, but the brooding shape stayed motionless. Her knotted stomach started to relax. Ahead of them, another knight was standing by the corner. As Sophie made to sidle past, the armour gave a creak.
The posh girl flinched and wavered for a moment, and as her startled eyes grew wide, the figure’s hand shot out to seize her throat.
The metal fingers tightened round her larynx, and Sophie gagged and clutched its armoured wrist. The thing had struck as quickly as a cobra, and now its dormant bulk began to stir. The helmet glared at her with empty eyeholes. She writhed in panic, choking now. This horrid game was going to go too far …
Claire recoiled and watched as Sophie wriggled, her own eyes round as saucers as she stared. Her terror swelled to fill her chest and stomach, and she fought the surge but couldn’t keep it down. It vented in a high-pitched scream, but Sophie kept on struggling as the knight compressed her windpipe with one hand. Claire backed off and screamed again, succumbing to hysteria. She had no chance against the knight. The only thing to do was save herself.
She turned to flee and halted with a whimper. The other suit of armour had stepped out to block her way. The crossbow in its hands was aimed towards her. She goggled dumbly at the knight, then filled her lungs again. Her breasts inflated in the clinging nylon, the nipples standing out like big bull’s eyes. But the grim machine cared nothing for her body. It shot its bolt and hit her in the chest.
Claire grunted like a female tennis champion as the impact drove the breath out of her lungs. She stumbled backwards, stupefied, her arms still at her sides until her shocked face clenched with sudden agony. Her hands flew to her breasts and clawed them vainly, but the pain kept squeezing till it crushed her heart. She sobbed and slumped in miserable submission, while Sophie fought in terror for her life.
The posh girl didn’t notice Claire had fallen. Her own attacker filled her universe. She beat her fists in vain against its breastplate, but the armoured monster was implacable. Shrugging off her feeble blows, it slowly squashed her windpipe till her mouth gaped open and her tongue poked out. Her body squirmed, her sweaty cleavage heaving as she put her all into her final scene. The knight kept squeezing till her larynx ruptured. Sophie jerked, her dark eyes rolling, forcing one last gurgle past its grip.
Her body sagged, but the robot held her upright, as if she was a swan with a wrung neck. After a pause, the armoured fingers opened and let her slither limply to the floor. The pair of knights went on to standby, primed for further movement. But neither of these girls would move again.
Claire’s shrill screams had petrified the others. A ghastly silence followed, and Fran’s nerve was first to snap. She bolted in the opposite direction, along the corridor towards the entrance hall again. Susie was left standing in the room, beside the window. “It isn’t locked,” she called out shakily. Just what they’d been hoping for – but no-one came to join her. Ruth and Gemma darted past the doorway and were gone. Susie chewed her lip with indecision, not sure if she should follow them, or try and clamber out.
Fran had reached the room they’d woken up in. She saw the girl called Nicola still lolling in her chair. “Wake up, you stupid cow …” she squeaked, and then her scared eyes widened as she registered the vivid spill of blood. Nicola’s cleavage glistened wet and scarlet. Fran recoiled in horror, clapping one hand to her mouth.
She hadn’t even noticed that one of the suits of armour was no longer standing by the fireplace. Still less was she aware that it was now beside the doorway, and she’d passed it as she rushed into the room. Her unprotected back was turned towards it, and she had no warning of its presence till its arm joint creaked. Before she could begin to turn, it hacked down with its dagger, but the point glanced off her shoulder blade instead of plunging home. Nonetheless, the impact jarred her body, and she threw her head back with a groan of pain. Her bosom almost popped from the low neckline of her gown as she lurched forward, nearly crippled by the blow.
Stricken, she reached out and grasped the table for support, then gave a whimper as her wrenched arm took her weight. Behind her, the steel figure raised its dagger and advanced implacably towards its prey. Fran was bleating with distress, still not sure what was happening, though her eyes were locked on Nicola’s slumped corpse. Above her pounding heart, she heard the heavy tread behind her. Galvanised, she twisted round, her hands still braced against the table’s edge.
The suit of armour seemed to tower above her, and she stared at it with tearful disbelief. Her wide eyes said don’t hurt me like a puppy’s. The blind knight plunged its blade into her breast.
Fran convulsed and squawked, her body arching as the medieval steel bit through her flesh. Then the weapon was jerked free. Her punctured boob kept panting, and a squirt of scarlet hit the knight’s chest plate. It struck again, above her tits this time, towards her heartbeat, and the girl went into spasm as she was pierced. Her legs kicked out on each side of the knight and tried to clasp it, her bare thighs rubbing at its iron cuisses. Already she had no breath left to scream with. The dagger was ripped out again, and Fran flopped back onto the tabletop. The knight remained between her legs as life wheezed from her body. Her pussy gaped beneath her gown, ignored by the machine
Gemma and Ruth had reached the entrance hallway when they heard Fran dying in the dining room. Panicking, they veered away and fled up the main staircase. Ruth took the lead, her hand in Gemma’s, both girls whimpering. The landing of the upper floor was empty, apart from suits of armour standing guard. Ruth forced herself to halt, and hugged her girlfriend. They listened, trying to hold their breath. The house was silent now.
Susie was still cringing by the window she’d found open. The silence brooded like a live thing, creeping up on her. She glanced out through the leaded pane. There was no ground beneath it, just the pewter-coloured water of the lake. If she climbed out, she’d have to splash down into it and swim. She couldn’t see how deep it was, but the far bank was just fifty yards away.
Impulsively she pushed the window open, then started peeling off her skin-tight gown. Her frantic fingers tore the flimsy nylon. She hated getting naked here, but the garment might impede her as she swam. Her eyes kept darting back towards the doorway, but she heard no movement in the corridor. Stripped at last, she clambered through the window, then slowly lowered herself towards the lake.
“What the fuck is going on?” sobbed Gemma.
“I don’t know, love,” Ruth whispered – and the nearest suit of armour turned its head.
Ruth’s mouth fell open in an O of horror. She watched the figure start to move, like the bronze man in that Harryhausen film. It held a vicious-looking mace, as spiky as a hedgehog. The two girls shrank away, then fled, and the armoured robot lumbered in pursuit.
There were three steps at the far end of the passage. “It might not get up those,” Ruth gasped. She glanced round desperately. There were weapons hanging on the wall – a buckler and a broadsword. A crossbow too. She scurried up and snatched it from its hook.
The bow’s string was already drawn. There were bolts arrayed beneath it, a decorative fan of death. She set one in the groove. “Ruthie,” Gemma sniffed, “what are you doing?” Ruth’s boobs swelled as she breathed in. “I’m going to slow it down.”
She kissed her girlfriend, stifling her protests, then slapped her on the buttock. “Run! I’ll be right after you.” Gemma stared back miserably. Ruth forced herself to smile, and the blonde girl did as she was told. Ruth gave her arse a final, yearning glance.
Her heart thumped as she turned at bay. The knight was still advancing, its gait unnervingly mechanical. Retreating up the steps, she raised the crossbow. Her fear was coming to the boil. She struggled to convert it into rage.
The crossbow’s butt was pressed against her shoulder. “Come on!” she goaded the approaching shape. Her fingers tightened on the bow’s crude trigger. Its felt like it had rusted stiff, then gave way suddenly. The violent recoil sent her stumbling backwards, but she heard the clang of metal, and the knight lurched to one side.
She caught herself and almost giggled wildly. The knight had walked into the wall. Its feet stomped on the spot. Its shoulder piece was dented from the impact of the quarrel, and it seemed disorientated by the blow. “You tin-pot bastard,” she exclaimed, her confidence returning. But the robot was still functioning. She knew that she would need another shot.
There was a metal stirrup at the front end of the crossbow, and she realised in a flash what it was for. Resting the stirrup on the floor, she put her foot in it and braced the weapon while she pulled the bowstring up. Her tits bulged from her gown as she leaned forward, and her muscles strained to draw the heavy cord. The knight reversed a step and swung towards her. She glared at it, still struggling with the bow.
Then she heard a grating sound. The robot’s breastplate quivered and split open down the middle as she watched. Her eyes grew wide with disbelief as the halves swung out on hinges to reveal a row of tubes within its chest. She simply stared at them, not comprehending – or understanding all too well, and knowing what came next.
The tubes gave a pneumatic cough, each launching a flechette that found its mark in one of Ruth’s inviting breasts. The stinging impacts jolted her like punches, and she gave a wheezy grunt and clutched herself. But the darts had penetrated her plump bosom, and her heart and lungs were punctured like balloons. Pain exploded in Ruth’s chest. She tried to scream, and couldn’t, and her face contorted with her soundless cry. She was too agonised to think of Gemma. And then it was too late for love, as her body pitched face down onto the steps.
In spite of what she’d jokily predicted, she wasn’t going to be the Final Girl. As blood spread out from under her squashed bosom, her tearful girlfriend fled from room to room. The place was claustrophobic as a doll’s house, its walls and ceiling closing in on her. She glanced over her shoulder, but there was no sign of Ruthie. Snivelling, she came up short and listened to the hush.
Once more the ghastly mansion seemed deserted, though the hidden cameras were still filming her. They’d captured every nuance of her terrified performance, and the finished film would win her many fans. Of course, they weren’t the audience she’d expected. A clientele of snuff buffs would enjoy the final cut.
A minute passed. She wished that she could just curl up and hide, but first she had to be assured that Ruth was safe. Pressing her hand against her mouth, she crept back down the passage. A part of her still wanted to believe this was a prank.
She’d almost reached the corner when another armoured figure stepped mechanically into the corridor. Gemma gave a little squeal and stiffened like a rabbit. The bulky figure blocked her way. It gripped an ugly halberd in both hands. The weapon was a pike crossed with a poleaxe. The figure levelled it at Gemma and advanced on her.
Snivelling, she backed away. The robot came on slowly. The halberd had a slender spike. She felt her stomach cringe. Her instinct was to run like fuck, but her muscles felt like toffee, and besides, she didn’t dare to turn her back. “Oh please …” she sobbed, despite herself, still wretchedly retreating. The knight remained implacable. She nerved herself to flee.
But Gemma had forgotten the first rule of horror movies: Don’t walk backwards when you’re in a creepy house. Fixated by the first knight, she had no sense of the second till another halberd jabbed into her back.
The shock made her look scandalised, as if she’d just been goosed instead of pierced by a medieval spike. She made a throaty, unstrung sound and reached behind her blindly as her heavy bosom strained against her gown. The halberd in her back was driven deeper. Its sharp point lanced her stomach and her belly filled with pain. Gemma mewed and writhed. The pain engulfed her. She closed her eyes on the first knight – until it stabbed her too.
The spike was thrust into her midriff, just below her cleavage, and the blow felt like a boot that winded her. Gemma bucked and flailed at her tormenter, then screamed in anguish as the point drove deep. Her tits swelled tight, the nipples budding stiffly, and then she jerked and coughed a spurt of blood. It spattered the knight’s breastplate like the money shot it was, and Gemma’s head drooped as she felt herself deflate. She saw a spike erupt from her taut belly, its metal glistening with gore. Oh shit, she thought, and died.
Susie didn’t hear her scream as she swam across the lake. The water was as cold as death. She didn’t dare look back. As she neared the bank, her feet felt for the bottom and she touched its muddy softness with relief. A few more strokes and she stood up, then risked a glance behind her. The manor still looked very close, but the open water cut it off from her. The surface was as placid as a mirror. Shuddering, she slicked her wet hair back and waded on.
The shore was overhung with trees which promised to conceal her. She pushed towards it, waist deep now. There was a sudden bubbling in her path. Susie cowered back, her stomach cramping, and then her blue eyes widened as an armoured figure rose out of the lake.
It was the first knight she had seen, its joints cascading water. She heard a muffled whirring as it straightened from its crouch. Susie stiffened, petrified, her wet skin turned to gooseflesh. She felt her nipples going hard, but couldn’t cover them. The dripping visor watched her for a moment, and then the figure raised its hands and lurched towards her throat.
Susie squealed and floundered back, her face a mask of terror. The robot followed clumsily. She splashed clear of its grip. Whimpering, she tried to wade around it – but another helmet broke the surface, blocking her escape. Susie’s mouth fell open as the second figure rose, its steel as filthy as the first one, draped with slimy weed. Water leaked like black tears from its eyeholes. It creaked and raised a length of chain, a spiked ball on the end.
Susie gawked at it, then started gasping, her slick breasts heaving as she filled her lungs. Shaking her head, she backed away and the figure shambled forward. Its arm rose in a programmed movement and lashed out at her. Susie recoiled, almost going over backwards. The vicious ball went scything past, and droplets spattered her.
Righting itself, the robot hauled the ball back while Susie sloshed round desperately. The other one was trying to cut her off. She glimpsed the safety of the bank, so close it seemed to mock her, but the pair of knights were trying to force her back. The chain flailed out and splashed her with another near miss. She glanced towards the house’s walls, but knew she had no chance of swimming back.
Instead she tried to lunge between the robots. She dodged and stumbled, close to tears – then bleated as a third one blocked her way. It surfaced as grotesquely as the others, like a sunken U-boat rising from its grave. It had no weapon in its hands, which hardly reassured her. Her wide eyes flicked round in despair, with nowhere left to turn.
The third knight raised its arm and pointed grimly. The gesture made her feel a thrill of dread. It stood there, as accusing as a spectre – but then its gauntlet dropped down on a hinge.
Susie blinked in bafflement. The hollow wrist kept pointing, and she heard the sudden pop of compressed air. Next moment something stung her tits like needles. She looked down with a gasp, and saw two hooks caught in her flesh. One had pierced the pale skin of her left breast; the other snagged the pink tip of her right. A fine wire trailed from each of them, connected to the robot and whatever it was hiding up its sleeve.
“Oww,” she bleated plaintively, and reached up to unpick them, but then something flickered in the robot’s wrist. A blaze of electricity flowed into Susie’s body and she gave a high-pitched scream of agony. Her muscles quivered as her nerve ends sizzled. She squirmed and tried to clasp her breasts, her features clenched with pain. The taser in the robot’s arm fell silent for a moment, then crackled with another pulse, and Susie shrieked again. It felt as if a white-hot mouth was sucking on each nipple. She bucked, her damp head flipping back, her body jiggling. The current flooded through her, hot and choking. It wiped her thoughts out, froze her heart, and when it stopped she flopped down like a doll.
The
echoes of her screams had barely faded when the crew emerged to wrap
the movie up. The actresses were ready for their close-ups, which would
be inserted in the master shots. The men fanned through the house to
film each corpse with hand-held cameras, exploring blood-soaked
cleavages and sour post-mortem pouts. The gowns were ripped off as they
went, exposing tits and pussies. The special edition DVD would feature
necro scenes. It wasn’t quite the movie that the girls had been
expecting; but no one watching it would doubt they’d given the
performance of their lives.