Saturday

Melanie's weighted glove smashed into her sister’s pretty face at the exact moment she felt Chelsea’s fist connect hard with her own belly. She was doing her best, but the pain made it difficult to focus. All she knew was the first one down would be gutted and dipped slowly into a vat of boiling oil. Painful, but not a very dramatic end. The conversation with her sister, while waiting to go on, came back to her.

"Look, Mel, one of us is going to end up deep fried. So we might as well go all out to put on a really good show first."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, no holds barred. Punching below the belt positively encouraged, kicking and biting as well."

"Okay." Melanie had replied, a little uncertainly. "But don't blame me when I ruin your looks."

Chelsea chuckled and reached over to grab her sisters crotch, something she'd become very familiar with in the past few days. "So long as you don't blame me when I ruin this sweet little pussy."

They’d stuck to their pact. As a result, the naked sisters were using fists, knees, even teeth, anything to bring their sibling down. Neither looked the sweet young thing they did when they'd climbed onto the stage. The weighted gloves and boots, which represented their entire costume, were doing their damage. Both girls were covered with ugly cuts and bruises, blood flowing freely.

Chelsea reckoned she must look as bad as her sister now, face swollen and ugly, teeth missing, tits and belly bruised and broken. She felt something crack as a lucky blow landed hard on her shoulder. One arm down it was just a matter of time before she fell to the floor under a rain of blows, butts and kicks. Once down the pain got worse. Desperate not to lose now, Melanie was ramming her boot into her sister’s pussy and arse, raising massive welts across her most sensitive parts. She continued until there was no chance Chelsea could even force her legs together, let alone rise from the stage floor.

“Sorry sis.” Melanie whispered in her ear as Chelsea was lifted away.

“That was the deal.” she croaked back. “I’d have done the same.”

****

Agony, she’d felt the knife, wielded in her sister's hand, slice open her belly. Hands reaching in to pull her organs out, a searing pain as a blowtorch stemmed the blood. Now half her legs were burnt black in the oil as she descended so slowly. Chelsea had tried to lift them up, but was so damaged she could manage no more than a feeble struggle, causing a bit of a chuckle from the watching partygoers.

****

Now it was Melanie’s turn. She'd heard plenty of rumours about her father's snuff parties, but hadn’t quite realised what winning would mean. At least everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Her other arm and leg were being roped up to repeat the tug of war, her right arm had been ripped clean off last time! Plus she hadn't realised everybody would be fondling her. Even broken like she was, she found being exposed so humiliating. Well she said fondling, the last bloke had forced his entire hand into her tight little arse, before wiping his shitty fingers on her face. Now a whole bunch of giggling older women were taking turns to piss on her, as two new team of lads limbered up.

This was it. Armless, her remaining joints hopelessly dislocated, held upright by poles jammed into her arse & pussy, her father was calling the revellers up for the ultimate party game. One dart each, the person who finished her off, as shown on the display above her head, could claim her snuff and win a bottle of champagne – and her body! She couldn’t imagine what depravities might be committed on her disfigured corpse.

Here goes, she thought, as the first dart pierced her belly.

This story is a fantasy, set in another place, with only the slightest passing nod to our reality as it’s glimpsed on a distant horizon. If this isn’t immediately apparent to you, I strongly suggest you seek urgent psychiatric care.