Chapter 4 – Welcome Emily

Stepping into the main area of the club, Emily strained to see anything more than shadows. After the clear, white light of the induction chamber, the dull red glow that permeated the main room made it hard to see more than just the outlines of people and furniture. The pain from her induction was still throbbing in her cheek so, hoping to calm herself a little, she headed to the bar for a drink. Emily ordered a cocktail and, while waiting, peered around at the expensive new hell she had bought for herself.

Nearly everyone she could see was a woman. All of them were wearing similarly revealing costumes, many of them sporting a degrading legend. The girl nearest her, looking barely eighteen, had her pussy on display and a halter top that read ‘Well Fucked Cunt, I’ll Need Both Your Fists To Break Me’. When she could see a man, he was invariably surrounded by a gaggle of barely-contained female flesh, all of them trying to persuade him to take them to a private world of hurt.

Around the walls were deep booths where, she assumed, the action happened. This early in the evening it appeared the men were still making their first selection for entertainment, none of the booths showed any sign of being occupied. The odd scream did ring across the room though, as a man either tested a woman, or she demonstrated on herself what he could expect. A rare older woman who walked past, wearing nothing but a sheer body-stocking, already had a knitting needle stuck through one of her thighs - woven into the back of her costume was the line ‘Mother Of Two, Snuff Me While My Daughter Shits In My Eyes’. Was her daughter the girl sitting at the table she was walking towards? - She was holding another needle. Emily idly wondered if her mother would come here and abuse her, help her to attract a man.

Retiring to an out-of-the-way table, Emily sipped her cocktail while she drank in the atmosphere. The lack of music, other than the occasional tuneful scream, created an odd, almost academic, feel to the place. Listening to the conversations she could hear, many of them being whispered, around her, she was shocked to realise a main topic of conversation was her - news of her sterling performance under the brand seemed to have already got around.

She was, apparently, one of the ‘strong’ ones, information that she found made her strangely happy. The other women were clearly envious of her endurance and strength, knowing this would make her a particularly prized torture toy. Should I feel like this thought Emily? Should any female in this room? Why does the news that I am likely to die, writhing and screaming, before many of them, make me feel so proud while they look on with envy? To drive this pointless introspection from her mind she ordered another drink, and began looking around to see if anything ‘amusing’ was happening.

A movement in the corner of her eye made her glance round. Just about to disappear into a booth behind her was Helen, the girl in front of her from the queue. Even if she hadn’t caught a glimpse of her face she would have recognised that one-sided chest, the other side now revealed to be a raw scar.

Others in the club had also seen this and a small commotion started, many of the girls rushed over to the booth Helen had walked into, jostling each other for a good view of the action happening inside. Almost the only women left scattered around the room were those already surrounding one of the few men.

"What's going on?", she asked a latecomer who was scuttling past her.

"Someone got lucky", the girl replied quickly, “Can’t stop. I’ve got to get a good view of what she’s getting.” Then she hurried on over to where the other girls had gathered. Lights had come on in the booth, allowing everyone gathered outside to see all that was taking place inside. Emily left her drink on the table and went over to join them.

Squeezing herself into a gap at the front, Emily managed to get a prime view of Helen and the man who was with her. Inside the booth she saw a handsome guy ripping Helen’s clothes off and biting hard on her naked body. Helen winced as he caught a nerve or broke her skin. Satisfied with her initial reaction he started to pinch her remaining nipple, his other hand slipping into her well-lubricated cunt.

"She's so lucky", someone said.

"Yeah, I wish it was me inside with that hunk Charlie, instead of her."

“Mind you. I heard last week he did four girls in one night. I’m not giving up yet.”

“I’d give up - you’re too perfect for him. That’s why he’s in there with that uni-boobed slut.”

“He’s not a cunt-tease though. Helen’s not going to be walking out of there, lucky cow.”

While the watchers were twittering excitedly, Charlie had bent Helen over the table in the booth and was ramming her repeatedly, deep in her arse. Several women outside started to unashamedly masturbate as he began punching her kidneys and jeering at her deformed body. Helen was bearing up well, only a grunt of pain escaped her lips with each blow.

Satisfied, he pulled out of her arse and pushed her down to kneel in front of him.

“Lick me clean, bitch. I don’t want your filthy shit smeared all over my wonderful cock.” As she took him into her mouth, he grabbed her hair and forced his entire length into her. Clearly unable to breath, she struggled wildly for nearly a minute before he released her.

She sank down further, gasping and retching, but it was clear her ordeal was just starting. Speaking sternly he asked, “What do you want me to do to you?”

“Snuff me” was the breathless reply.

“And how do you want me to do it?”

Helen didn’t speak, unable to say aloud the humiliating end she craved. This drove Charlie to slap her face, first one side then the other, leaving her red-sore, with blood dribbling from her lips.

“Answer me you deformed slut!” he shouted, inches from her face. “How do you want to die?”

“Slowly..” the words were dragged from her “Painfully.. I want to be put down like the worthless cow I am.” Tears ran down her face as she debased herself before him, confessing the humiliating end she craved.

It was clear why Charlie was so popular with the members. With no compassion for the weeping body before him, he yanked her up so hard some of her hair, and scalp, were torn out. Still gripping what remained of her hair he dragged her backwards across the table. The snap of a rib bone could clearly be heard as he leapt on her, pinning her down, and began to tighten the table’s leather straps around her.

Grabbing a pack of six-inch nails and a lump-hammer from the cupboard he now approached Helen again. Firmly strapped to the table she could only mewl in horror as he approached with these new weapons of destruction.

“You’re my snuff-bunny now, cunt. I’d save your voice, you’re going to be needing it.”

The girls gathered outside shuddered with collective pleasure as he drove the first nail through the right hand side of her belly, driving on until the large head was squashing her stomach almost flat against the table. Helen’s scream at the first blow had been piteous, but as Charlie drove on, rupturing and distending her organs, her howls changed to the panting of pleasure, her distorted nature bringing her to her first pain-induced orgasm of the night. The second nail in her left side again left his snuff-bitch screaming then coming.

Charlie grinned as he spat in her face, the degrading act adding further to her maelstrom of emotions. “Not going to bother with that one saggy tit” he jeered at her.

One nail through each shoulder completed the pinning of Helen’s torso to the hard table. Beyond screaming, she was now gibbering and thrashing her head from side to side. After undoing the straps he wrenched her right leg into a wide open stance - the crack of a dislocated hip echoing in the room as he achieved his preferred position. Two more nails in the thigh held her right leg there. He repeated that in every violent detail for her left.

Charlie mounted her now. Plunging into the abused woman, pinned so tight she was unable even to writhe in the agony she was feeling, he fucked her harder and harder, making the nails rip into her flesh. The watchers outside now saw the change they were expecting. Pushed beyond her limits, her body responded from the place they all knew they had, she began her final high.  A positive puddle began oozing from her wet pussy and the note in her voice began to grow more breathless. Sensing his moment, Charlie bunched one hand and began punching her contorted face. Blood flew as he flattened her nose, smashed out her teeth and broke her jaw. Grabbing the lump hammer he smashed her eye sockets, bursting the eyeballs with fragments of shattered bone. Helen’s body grew rigid at this final, sadistic, indignity and she shook with her last orgasm. As her killer pulled out of her, spent and limp, it was clear she was now no more than a corpse.

“That was incredible,” panted one of his fans, now sitting in her own puddle on the floor.

“God, I need that guy to do me,” whispered Emily, still twitching in the aftershocks of her own orgasm, totally lost to the depraved world she had entered, all doubts and questions driven from her mind with lust.

Charlie climbed off the table, pulled his trousers back up, and sauntered out towards the bar for a drink. Stepping with careless abandon he planted his size ten squarely on the face of one of his admirers, now lying breathless on the floor from the excessive masturbation his snuff session had caused.

Nearly all the women followed Charlie to the bar, desperate for him to notice them - and slaughter them with the same inhuman abandon. Emily did attempt to follow, but the sheer mass of hungry girls blocked her way.

Leaving the club, still very much in one piece, late that night, Emily reflected on the amazing scenes she had witnessed. Any one of which she knew she would have willingly been a part of.

The mother-daughter team had been lucky. Obviously inspired by their advertising, they had died with their nostrils blocked with the others shit, their mouths sewn together in a mockery of a passionate kiss. At least a dozen others had been snuffed that night, all of them screaming and coming their way to oblivion. Many more had been tortured and mutilated, several woman would be leaving with fewer breasts and fingers. Charlie had only snuffed one more woman that night, but the sadistic ingenuity with which he had taken his second willing victim marked him out, even among the skilled killers at G.M.I.D., as the man Emily hoped would, one day, select her.

She had made some attempts to be noticed, but being new, and a little shy in such a charged atmosphere, Emily had been unable to get close enough to any of the men. Resolving next time to be bolder, and take more care with her selection of clothing, she hailed a taxi and went home to frig herself to sleep.

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.