Posted by Sawney Beane on June 12, 2006 at 22:56:56:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #31
THE BEACH PARTY
by Sawney Beane
13 April 1996
1,919 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of consensual snuff and gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: In some ways I don't like this story because it seems too commonplace, but that is only because of the internet hegemony of Dolcett. This story is, I believe, my most obviously Dolcett and Perro Loco influenced work. I have made a few deliberate changes in the standard procedures outlined by Mr. Loco, but the spirit is much the same.
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It was a peculiar procession but one that occurred with gruesome regularity on the grounds of the big house on the hill. Christine had been a part of four previous semi-annual treks through the small patch of woods between the manor house and the beach, but this was to be her last. Everything was familiar to her, but she saw the event very differently.
Nick led the way through the woods carrying a bag of various tools. Cindy, Becky, Elizabeth, and Terri carried more goodies, including a seven-foot steel pole. Christine walked at the rear with Mark. Amy and Teresa stayed in the house to get everything ready for dinner. The sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon as Christine stepped onto the beach. She stared at the beautiful sunrise with the disquieting knowledge that it was the last sunrise she would ever view.
No one said a word on the beach, but everyone knew his or her role perfectly. Mark and Nick grabbed shovels and began to dig, while the five attractive young women set off in search of driftwood. Everyone worked efficiently, although the men did occasionally pause to admire the bikini-clad bodies of their female companions. Christine did her best but found herself understandably distracted.
For Christine, it was a day of unreality and unusual emotions. Everything seemed plastic and artificial to her, while at the same time she had a feeling of perfect clarity. It was as if she could step outside of herself to see everything with perfect objectivity, but there was nothing to be seen. A tightness in her abdomen and a weakness in her shoulders made her wish she were someplace else. She was as nervous as she could ever imagine, but she did not have any regrets. It was a feeling of wanting to get something over with. She didn't so much fear the end result, but the anticipation was torturing her.
But it was not as if she was in this situation against her will. It had been more than two years since she had voluntarily surrendered her sovereignty to Nick and Mark. This peculiar pair of guys were in the midst of collecting women with personalities like Christine's. She became a voluntary slave because she did not want to deal with any responsibility. Christine had never felt as free as she had on the first day of her bondage. Never again to have to decide, to plan, to regret, or even to think. She had just to do what she was told and live her life on cruise control. Nick and Mark wanted sex slaves and housekeepers, and there was a limited number of women willing to fulfil those roles. Christine was very much one of them.
But there was one catch that had made Christine hesitate before surrendering herself. Nick and Mark made no secret of the fact that they now and then enjoyed a rather rare delicacy. The terms of the slavery gave the two masters the power of life and death over their slaves, and they refused to give any guarantees regarding how long a slave would be allowed to live. From the start, Christine knew that as soon as Mark and Nick decided that she would look better on the dinner table than in their bed, she would have to endure the beach party. In the end, the idea had fascinated her, and she made her last decision by assenting to the terms of the agreement.
There were very few like Christine, but there were a few. Nick and Mark managed to indenture an average of just under three women per year, and they'd been at it for nearly ten years. Their stable of slaves was slowly increasing in number because they strictly limited themselves to two ultimate feasts a year, one in the spring and one in the fall. Christine was about to contribute to the spring festivities.
When Nick and Mark had finished digging a trench six feet long, three feet wide, and one foot deep, they mounted a "Y" shaped bracket at each end and piled much of the dry driftwood within the pit. Christine and her comrades had gathered about four times the capacity of the pit in driftwood when Mark gave a curt nod to indicate that it was enough. Christine shivered with the knowledge that the real fun was about to begin.
Mark unfastened the clasps on Christine's bikini, and the two small pieces of fabric fluttered to the sand. She waited patiently and unembarrassed as Mark and Nick silently admired their victim's tanned skin and trim muscular body. Mark's dismissive nod signalled the onset of the next step as he and Nick turned their attention to other matters.
Cindy and Becky took Christine by the hands and led her into the pounding surf for a quick bath. Sponges and salt water cleansed Christine's sweaty body and gave her what she expected to be the most pleasant experience of the rest of her life. But it didn't last long enough.
When the trio marched back across the sand to the waiting firepit, Elizabeth and Terri had just finished laying out the sheets and greasing the spit. In obedience to an unspoken command, Christine slipped off her sandals, brushed the long blonde hair out of her eyes, and stretched herself out on one of the sheets with her head near the edge. A second sheet protected the seven-foot steel rod from the sand, its ominous tip looming between Christine's trembling knees. Just relax and it will be over soon, she told herself.
Mark and Nick were ready. Mark lifted the end of the rod, while Nick held Christine's thighs widely spread. Elizabeth and Terri assisted by supporting the far end of the greased pole, and Cindy and Becky stationed themselves at Christine's shoulders to hold her hands and reassure the doomed woman.
At first it was just a bit uncomfortable. After witnessing four such skewerings, Christine was under no illusions that the spit entering her vagina would turn her on. Its tip was tapered but not sharp and entered her easily. She'd had bigger things in her than this two-inch diameter rod in the last two years, so it didn't hurt too much, but something about the situation kept her libido in check.
The discomfort approached pain as the tip passed through her cervix and into her uterus. Her heart rate accelerated, and Cindy and Becky had to hold her shoulders down against her involuntary urge to sit up and escape. Had she made the correct choice? Was this really a good idea? There was always room for doubt, but she was still convinced that it had all been worth it. Right now she would have preferred to have had her throat slit though.
The tip of the spit pressed against the wall of Christine's uterus uncomfortably. She moaned as Mark and Nick employed their cleverest trick. A narrow bore through the length of the spit contained a long stiff dowel with a razor-sharp tip. Nick, from the far end of the pole, pushed the blade through Christine's uterine wall. Mark immediately guided the tapered tip of the spit through the rupture and into her abdominal cavity. Now things were truly painful, and Christine squeezed Cindy's and Becky's hands in response.
The rounded steel tip passed smoothly through Christine's belly until Mark found her stomach and pressed the tip against its outer wall. Nick performed his dowel trick again, and the spit was in her stomach. Christine's agony intensified.
Christine's inarticulate grunts and moans were the most anyone had said since the party had arrived on the fatal beach, but she felt with a sense of urgency as the spit moved up her oesophagus that she wanted to say one last thing before the steel pole emerged from her mouth and silenced her forever.
The only thing she could compose on such short notice was "Good-bye," and it was almost incomprehensible through her gurgling moans. Nick was near her head now and gave her a condescending look of approval as he placed one hand on her forehead and another under her shoulders to tilt back her head. Christine felt the burning of stomach acid in her throat and mouth as the tip of the rod slid across her tongue and out of her mouth. Some blood followed it, and her eyes misted over in a daze.
Oddly enough, Christine was now thinking about the fact that she would never again see her feet. A defence mechanism of some sort had pushed large issues like death out of her mind and forced her to focus on the smaller tragedies. She found that she could breath sufficiently albeit somewhat less easily than before the introduction of the spit. She waited, a helplessly skewered animal, and took little notice of the activities of her persecutors. She found the blood and metal taste in her mouth unpleasant, and the grating of the steel rod against her teeth irritated her.
Meanwhile, Mark and Nick had rolled her over onto her belly, and Cindy and Becky were engaged in the task of shearing short Christine's long blonde locks. Then Nick and Mark set about what Christine had expected to be the most unpleasant part of the entire experience. They inserted a thin steel rod through the pre-drilled hole piercing the spit just between Christine's knees. Then, mercilessly, Nick drove one sharpened end of the rod through Christine's left knee, the steel passing through the ligaments just behind her kneecap. The bloody tip poked out the other side and made the four bikini-clad assistants wince. The opposite end was immediately shoved through Christine's right knee in a similar fashion. Much as she had dreaded this particular aspect of the torment, Christine barely noticed this small addition to her troubles.
Mark tied Christine's ankles together around the spit, and Nick bound her wrists behind her back. Then, together, they lifted the encumbered spit into the air and brought it to rest in the crooks of the two "Y" shaped posts. Christine dangled helplessly above her fate, and stared unthinkingly ahead down the long line of unpopulated beach.
The four women were immediately employed with buckets of sauce and long-handled brushes in marinating Christine's shivering body. A brush across her face brought Christine somewhat closer to realizing her looming fate. Mark and Nick set about lighting the fire, and the dry driftwood crackled to life with little difficulty.
Christine noticed the heat of the small fire, and, as the fire spread across the firepit, she felt the heat grow in intensity until the scorching waves pressed oppressively against her skin. Elizabeth was given the first shift turning the crank that rotated Christine's skewered body over the flames. Christine's world began to spin uncontrollably, and the flames relentlessly licked every inch of her body. Her pubic hair sizzled to fiery life, crackle, and vanished, leaving only second-degree burns in the sensitive skin in its place.
Mercifully, Christine's life did not last long after the fire was started. The smoke filled her nostrils and hindered her already laboured breathing. At the same time, she quickly went into shock as most of her skin was seriously scorched. Her last thought before losing consciousness was to wonder if the two men and six women who abused her thus would enjoy their feast as much as Christine herself had enjoyed her share of Sheila, Monica, Traci, and Debby. She fervently hoped so.