Chapter 4 – Making an Entrance

“When’s mum on?” asked Becca. “Have I got time to nip out? We’ve finished all the crisps.”

“I’m not sure.” her father replied. “That’s the trouble with being live, they’re always moving things around. Your mum only left a couple of hours ago, so you’ve probably got time if you’re quick. Still, don’t blame me if they rush her on and you miss it.”

“If you’re going.” piped up Chloe. “Can you grab some more cola? I’ve nearly run out.”

James looked at all the empty cans on the table and admonished his younger daughter, “And you can’t blame me either Chloe if you end up choosing between wetting yourself and missing your mum on the telly.”

****

Susan and Juliet couldn’t help staring at each other, even if they were both still wincing a little. Hair and make-up had finally been, knocking years off both women. Susan wished now she’d had a make-over before, her hair positively shimmered and bounced with life.

After that had been costume, which turned out to be rather painful and, to both women’s dismay, excessively minimalist. Neither woman was entirely steady on the tiny four-inch stilettos their feet had been forced into, but that wasn’t the real issue. The only other items of attire were the new ornaments that had been skewered through their nipples and glans - which both were now tenderly feeling, trying to very delicately ease the throbbing the fitting had caused.

“My youngest’s going to be pretty jealous.” announced Juliet, unable to keep from running soothing fingers into her crotch, as she sought to keep the conversation light, “It’s only a few months ago I told her she couldn’t get her nipples pierced, and all she wanted were little gold bars.”

Susan reached up to touch one of the heavy rings that had been driven deep through the meat of her breast. She couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to have this sort of piercing, she could probably be hung from these rings. Come to think of it, that’s probably why they’d been given them. She was just wondering whether to share her thoughts with Juliet when, after another quick tap, and again without a pause for reply, their dressing room door was briskly opened.

“Hello ladies. I’m Cindy, I’ll be showing you where to go. Any questions, now is the time to ask me.”

Cindy was a slim young woman, and would probably look quite pretty, thought Susan, if she took the time to have a good wash and get some sleep, maybe even choose more flattering clothes. Still, despite deep bags under her eyes and greasy skin, she had that hungry, excited look of someone enjoying their work.

“No questions Cindy.” responded Juliet, who seemed unwilling to give up her whimsical attitude. “We go out, get tortured, then snuffed. I’m sure if we’re getting it wrong someone will help us.”

“Good attitude.” Cindy actually looked impressed. “I’ll be back in five. Make sure you’re ready to go.”

“I wish I could be so casual.” Susan turned to tell Juliet when Cindy had whirled out with the same energy she’d burst in with. “I’m just a bag of nerves.”

“Truth to tell, so am I.” Juliet whispered conspiratorially.

“Really.” she replied in surprise. “I thought you were like my eldest. She’s actually looking forward to appearing if she can.”

“Oh no.” Juliet assured her. “Honestly I only entered the lottery because I was pretty sure if I couldn’t choose I’d get sent to the local tannery.”

“Is that bad? I’ve no idea about making leather.”

“Gutted though your pussy so as not to damage your hide and then tanned alive for two days to keep the leather soft. I thought, even if I get picked, it can hardly be worse.”

Susan was dubious there could be something worse than what she and Juliet were about to experience. “And the exposure didn’t bother you? I’m still not sure I wouldn’t prefer tanning to that.”

Juliet broke into a chuckle at this. “You really don’t know about tanning do you? Tied out in lines at the plant, your insides missing so you slowly snuff from pain and dehydration - and that’s not the worst bit.”

That certainly sounded like the worst bit, and Susan said so.

“After you’ve been tied out your skin needs to be prepared, and the best way of doing that is to constantly spray it with fresh urine.” Juliet explained to her. “It’s a small town and everyone is expected to do their bit. That means at some point everyone you know will come along and piss over your naked body.”

“Even the kids?”

“Absolutely. Their urine is especially prized for making the softest leather. I can still remember getting into a fight with a girl called Jill because she’d deliberately aimed into my mother’s mouth, which was really mean as the woman couldn’t swallow. Not that I wasn’t quite proud that my mother was going to be best quality leather, but then she did have lovely smooth skin.”

I suppose it’s just a necessary bit of an industrial process, thought Susan, but could I really be as calm as Juliet describing how I saw my mother tied up and gutted, then being expected to piss on her? Although, maybe I might get a bit turned on by it, like hearing about my mother and James? She tried visualising Chloe and Becca squatting over her and letting go, that didn’t help, she wasn’t sure if she was excited or disgusted.

“That’s me.” Juliet concluded. “Where would you have ended up if you hadn’t entered the lottery?”

Juliet’s question was innocent, but, after hearing about the process of being tanned, not wanting to be ground for pet food seemed a little picky. As a result, Susan mumbled her answer dismissively.

“Probably just sent for pet food at the local plant. My husband works there.”

Juliet winced sympathetically, but she didn’t pursue it, instead changing the conversation to the perennial favourite of children.

****

“Or maybe you’ll be gutted.” Chloe suggested to her mother, watching as Susan picked out clothes to wear to the studio. “Like that fat woman with those really uneven boobs.”

That distracted Susan, it wasn’t going to matter what she chose to wear now, but she’d been selecting as carefully as if she was going for a job interview. Now she stood, sensible skirt in hand, wondering how to reply to her daughter’s casual comment.

She remembered the act Chloe was talking about, the woman had been positively gross and her boobs were badly mismatched, but how had Chloe seen it? That had been three years ago and surely her daughter had been in bed? Then there was the humiliation, they’d tied up her poor wallowing body so she struggled on the floor like a beached whale, and that wasn’t just her embarrassed fantasy, the set was a seaside scene. Was Chloe hoping to break down laughing along with the studio audience, with the way of she’d heard people gasping for breath? In the end, when Susan did speak, she went for the part that honesty compelled her to admit hurt most.

“Are you really comparing me to her?” she asked her daughter in a small voice. “Do you really see me as some great sweaty whale?”

“No Mum. You’re a bit chubby, but not grossly fat like she was.” Chloe answered with the ruthless honesty only a child could get away with. Then, forestalling her mother’s next question, “And, before you ask, your tits are actually pretty even. I was talking about what a good show she put on. That’s what I’m hoping for, aren’t you?.”

How to answer that? Even now she still couldn’t, decide what was she hoping for today. The question was too hard to answer, and, anyway, there was something else she needed to quiz Chloe about.

“How did you manage to watch the telethon three years ago?” she demanded. “You were only twelve. Your father and I certainly didn’t let you watch it. Long before the whale came on you’d been tucked up in bed.”

“You can record it.” Chloe explained in a mock-slow voice to her mother, then more normally. “Jenna’s dad always used to let us watch it the day after. I’d have told you before, but you always get so uptight about things.”

“I’d have banned you from going round to Jenna’s, you mean.” Susan corrected her with a smile.

Chloe gave a secret little smile as she watched her mother bend down to pull a practical skirt over an even more practical pair of knickers. The girl hadn’t bothered with knickers. or even a bra today, a fact she fondly believed no one knew. Susan knew, but couldn’t think how to broach the subject, she was pretty sure her youngest intended to frig herself as her mother was humiliated on national TV.

****

“It wouldn’t surprise me if Chloe entered the lottery as soon as she’s eighteen. I’ve never known a child so obsessed with getting snuffed on telly.”

“Well at least she won’t end up as a slow hanger.” Juliet sought to comfort Susan. “There’s no way the producers would waste someone so young on background. If she gets picked she’ll definitely have a starring role at that age.”

It was a sort of comfort. Susan started to speak, wanting to hear more, but the ever-frantic Cindy burst in on them again.

“Ready ladies?” Cindy asked.

This was it. Neither woman spoke, just nodded.

Barely acknowledging that her charges had been struck dumb, after all she must be used to it, Cindy carried straight on, “You’ll be entering from opposite sides. I’ll take you round first Juliet, then come back for you Susan.”

“Don’t worry about taking me.” Susan told Cindy, finding her voice. “Sandy pointed out my studio entrance when she was bringing me here.”

“Okay. But you’ll still need to wait for me, I have to let the control room know you’re on your way.”

Cindy was obviously in a hurry. Susan and Juliet barely had a moment for a last word before the girl whisked Juliet away. They brushed cheeks, carefully so as not to disturb the make-up, and Juliet whispered a last few words of advice Susan’s ear.

“Don’t forget, keep it light. I’ve felt loads better about this by avoiding too many really serious conversations.”

She’s right, I should do, thought Susan. It’s not as if I don’t know treating it as fun helps - this whole thing almost felt like a good idea after that conversation with Becca.

****

“It is going to be weird seeing someone I know on there, mum.”

Susan was putting Becca’s clothes away in her bedroom. She’d had a brief conversation with the back of Becca’s head, but now her eldest had looked up from her study desk to make this comment, scanning her mother’s face quite closely

“I suppose so.” Susan hadn’t really thought about that, there’d been a couple of people she’d recognised over the years, but no one she really knew. “You know you don’t have to watch if you don’t want to?”

“Of course I want to mum.” Becca was bristling again, annoyed with her mother for constantly dropping hints she should give it a miss. “I’ve already told you it’s the way I want to get snuffed, and if I get on I’m certainly not going to stop my kids from watching.”

“You want to be snuffed like that woman last year, pissing yourself in a doggy costume as you’re whipped with razor-wire, she was screaming for over an hour?”

Susan couldn’t stop herself. She wasn’t even trying to dissuade Becca from watching any longer, she just kept thinking of everything she’d seen on the telethon over the years - and how she was going to be one of those women!

“Yes!” her daughter was emphatic. “Get snuffed in a blaze of glory on television. It’s got to be better than some anonymous chop in a slaughterhouse, or going to dad’s place and being thrown in the grinder. I don’t want to go to dogfood at the bottom of a pile of rejects - probably with my face jammed in some fat slapper’s bottom.”

Or worse, thought Susan, now she’d discovered what had happened with her mother and James. Mind you, from the way Becca was talking, she might think going like mum an improvement.

She didn’t mention her own mother’s snuff, instead asking her daughter, “That’s all very well, but, if you did get on the telethon someday, how do you know you won’t end up suffocated under some large woman’s backside anyway? It wouldn’t be that surprising if they came up with something like that.”

“But it’s different doing it for the show.” pointed out Becca, cutting to heart of the matter as far as she was concerned. “Who’s going to worry if she’s a bit sweaty and smelly. Even if she takes a crap that’s just a bonus - imagine the cheer you’d get.”

Or that could be me, Susan couldn’t help thinking. I don’t know what part I’ll be taking yet.

“I don’t know why you’re going on at me like this mum.” Becca continued, pulling Susan back from an image of her face swallowed by a massive arse-crack. “It’s a bit unfair. If not for the show, why did you enter the telethon?”

To avoid all this, her mother thought, even if sometimes I almost feel like I want to. I think I’m not really trying to put Becca off, just convince myself.

“Not every woman can be snuffed on TV.” Susan pointed out to her daughter. “Most women will end up going for some sort of butchery, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I know Brooke’s mum went for pet food last week, your dad told me. It wouldn’t be very nice to lord it over your friend just because I’m on the telethon would it?”

“I suppose not. It’s just I can’t believe how lucky you’ve been.”

Becca’s nearly contrite answer finally made Susan realise how many people, especially her daughters, wanted what she’d got without even trying. She still wasn’t convinced she was happy about it, but she vowed to make a real effort.

****

Susan reached the last junction and turned into the corridor leading to the studio, walking into a bustle of people. Despite her fears, not many of them gave her nakedness more than a single glance, most seeming frantically busy. There were three people interested in her though, a couple of young women in long dresses standing to one side at the far end, watching closely as Susan wended her way carefully towards them down the corridor, and a young man, equipped like Cindy with a headset, beckoning frantically at her from next to them.

“Quickly, quickly.” he urged her as she neared him. “We need you on now.”

“Oh.” answered Susan in confusion. “I thought I had a few minutes.”

The young man, looking quite annoyed, answered distractedly, “You did, but the last woman snuffed early. Who goes down when they’ve only had their tongue cut out?”

The studio door opened, and another pair of beautiful young women in satin ball gowns came through, carrying the body of Susan’s predecessor between them. He was being a little unfair, Susan thought. The woman looked like she’d been used as dartboard, her torso covered in pricks of blood. Her slightly tired but still quite youthful face was unexpectedly undamaged, apart from the crimson stream still dripping from her mouth.

The two loitering women moved to either side of Susan, taking up positions like an honour-guard. Susan opened her mouth to talk to them when there was another tinny little sound in the assistants headset. The door opened, and Susan found herself propelled into a suddenly brighter world.

“Next we have Susan, a mother of two from Southside who works as an office administrator. Come on up Susan.”

That was Bill “Double-Drop” Ritchie, the genial host of the telethon for over a decade. Susan stepped cautiously into the dazzling studio lights, blinking a little as her eyes adjusted. Despite promises to herself, she couldn’t help hunching up a little, sharply aware of her nakedness.

****

As her eyes adjusted she could take in the set, spread out before her. Sparkles seemed to be the theme this year, everything glittering in silver and gold. Against the back wall was the traditional row of slow-hangers, all purple faces and pointlessly pistoning legs. Even as she watched one hung still, her bladder releasing onto the head of her replacement, kneeling quietly underneath.

A quick sweep took in the other familiar games of the telethon. The rack corner, the dart board, the dunk tank (can you hold your breath for five minutes while trained piranhas eat your nipples?) and, of course, the quizmaster’s podium. This year’s podium was particularly spectacular, made to look as though it had been built out of naked women tied together.

Susan lurched forward to climb up the steps to join the host. Only realising, as she came closer, that the bound, naked women of the podium were real, and already looking the worse for wear. Her two supporters left her at the foot of the steps and she climbed cautiously up, balancing as best she could against the flimsy handrail. The fine points of her stiletto’s sank into the exposed flesh beneath them, giving her arrival its own personal fanfare - the wails of suffering women.

Even climbing cautiously Susan managed to lose her balance a couple of steps from the top. Reeling backwards her entire weight came to rest on one minute heel, sinking it deep into the ‘floor’ beneath her. A bubbling gurgle made her look down. She stared, dumbfounded. Her heel had sunk right through the already mangled breast of the woman she was standing on, disappearing to its full length into her chest. Susan stood for a moment in awe, she had just snuffed someone.

It wasn’t deliberate, but the shock of snuffing another woman gave Susan the jolt she needed. She could have been some anonymous cow stuck in the staircase, not even dispatched deliberately, just trodden on by a nervous old woman in unsuitable heels. Instead she was being given a starring role, a chance to go out in style. Her face broke out in a genuine smile as she positively tripped up the last few steps.

“Glad you could join us Susan.” Bill greeted her. “How do you like our new staircase?”

A moment ago she’d probably just have mumbled some response. Now, on an adrenaline high, Susan positively gushed with enthusiasm.

“Brilliant Bill. I almost wish I was a step of myself.”

“Don’t worry Susan, I think you’ll find we’ve got something even better planned for you.” replied Bill, easily joining in the jovial mood.

Susan beamed even wider at this. Unconsciously arching her back to push out her tits, something she’d never have thought of doing before.

“Unfortunately Susan.” Bill informed her, with mock concern. “We introduced a rule with our new staircase. Any contestant who snuffs a step has to take one swat to their arse from that step’s husband.

That doesn’t sound so bad, thought Susan. Then she remembered last year, when the swats had all been delivered with axes.

“Don’t worry love, we’re not using axes this year.” the host told her, apparently reading her mind. He paused for effect, and pulled something out from behind his desk. “It’s baseball bats now!”

An excited man was already running up the stairs, completely ignoring his late wife as his foot crashed down on her mutilated body. Before Susan could really take it in she found herself bent over the desk. Next moment she heard, rather than felt, a squelching thud that knocked her sharply forward.

As the pain hit her, and she raised her head to gasp, her voice was silenced in shock. Projected, forty foot across, on a screen at the rear was her own backside, dark pubic hairs and patches of cellulite quite clearly visible. Susan found herself watching with interest as a slow-motion bat crashed into her sagging cheeks, fatty ripples wobbling away through her skin. It should have been a moment of pain and humiliation, but she was actually grinning and bringing her hands round to add two further slaps.

“That was refreshing.” she announced, getting a roar of mirth from the audience, who could clearly see the bruised red welt across her buttocks.

“Okay everyone.” the host raised his hands to quieten the audience’s laughter. “Let’s hear your appreciation for Susan’s opponent - a chef and also a mother of two - Juliet. Come on up Juliet!”

Standing to one side, her bottom feeling like it was on fire, Susan still found herself caught up in the moment - smiling and clapping as Juliet cautiously stepped up to the platform from the other side. Her ascent was accompanied by a series of whimpers and howls, but presumably no kills. At any rate she wasn’t invited to bend over and have her buttocks mashed.

“What on earth happened to you?” Juliet whispered, as she moved to stand beside Susan.

“Got a bat on my bum after I snuffed one of the step women with my shoe.” she whispered back. “Just count yourself lucky you’re a better walker than me, my bottom’s on fire.”

“I’m not so sure. I think your bum may have got the audience on-side.” Juliet giggled.

“Okay ladies.” Double-Drop’s voice boomed out next to them. “Let me explain the rules of ‘Lose It’, the game you’ll be playing tonight.”

****

“That’s Susan from work.” Marlene told her husband, as he came back into the lounge with a fresh beer.

He peered at the screen. “Oh that’s who you were on about. Isn’t she married to James, bloke who works at the pet food plant?”

“That’s the one.”

“He’s a laugh. You should hear his stories about what they get up to when they’re quiet. It’s amazing what you can get away with when all your meat’s going to end up in the grinder.”

“You do remember that my mum ended up there?” Marlene admonished, a little pained by the possibilities her husband was hinting at.

“And Susan’s mother apparently.” he replied, completely unabashed. “You should hear what James did with her.”

Marlene didn’t want to know what James did with his mother-in-law, but luckily her own husband’s attention was diverted by the sight of Susan’s bruised buttocks on the screen.

“What happened to her arse?”

“Slipped on the steps. Her stiletto went right into the women she was standing on and she had to pay a forfeit.”

“Nice,” he grunted with approval. “She’s certainly got plenty there to play with.”

“It’s not a bad bum for her age.” Marlene defended Susan. “Mine’s not much better – and that could have been my arse you were watching.”

“I’m not complaining. Come over here and we’ll see if I object to yours.”

I should have remembered he always gets randy on telethon night thought Marlene, as she licked her husband’s cock clean after a brief but forceful session in her rectum. Even after all these years gagging a little at the taste of her own shit.

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.