WARNING! ADULTS ONLY! The following is an extreme work of erotic fantasy fiction that graphically describes the bizarre sexual killing of an innocent young girl. All persons places and events are fictitious. If you are offended by this type of subject matter -- DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS WARNING! Also, this story must not be read by or forwarded to anyone under the age of eighteen or whatever the age of majority is in their country of residence. To do so may be illegal.

SEVEN MINUTES by MILES ARCHER

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PROLOGUE

Many thanks to the excellent Jamie Writer for his marvelous inventions of Richard and his  future world of 2400 AD, where a disastrous gender imbalance in the birth rate has made the killing of large numbers of pretty teenage girls an enticing necessity sanctioned by the state, both to redress the imbalance and raise funds for its always hungry coffers; because anyone who can afford it can purchase one or more or these enchanting young creatures to kill in the manner of his choice -- with certain restrictions. The world government euphemistically calls this massive system of murdering girls for pleasure “culling.” To prevent a decent into total barbarism and to maintain at least the veneer of civilization, the state enforces “excessive cruelty” prohibitions that only marginally limit the amount of pain a girl must suffer and how long she must endure it while she is being “culled,” but as you can read in several episodes of Jamie Writer’s lengthy and ongoing Richard saga, even these restrictions can be ignored by those wealthy enough to pay for exorbitantly costly “exemptions.”

Jamie’s writing mostly centers on the delights of manually strangling beautiful young girls to death (delicious), but in his stories there also are a number of allusions to other state approved culling methods, one of which I wish to explore here. So with hope for his forbearance, this is dedicated to Jamie Writer and his Richard, for it is in their fantasy future that the following little tale of erotic horror unfolds. 

FINDING MISS RIGHT

Yesterday you had toured State Culling Studio 6, vulgarly referred to as “the shooting gallery.” Ominously painted all in black, it was twenty feet wide by thirty-five long with a high, twelve-foot ceiling. At the far end a single wooden post was sunk into the hard stone floor, which placed it exactly twenty feet from the firing point. To the left and right of and slightly behind the firing point were plush seats for an audience of ten. They will be unoccupied today, for this is your first time and whatever transpires is to be for your pleasure and your pleasure alone.

   You awoke at three a.m. to begin your simple preparations, because even though shooting girls to death is only the third most popular culling method (after manual strangulation and hanging), Studio 6 is booked around the clock. You had wanted to strangle your first girl, having dreamt many times of the tender white throat of a beautiful teenage girl in your hands as you slowly squeezed the life from her, but at the last minute you had changed your mind and chosen this less intimate way to kill; because frankly you did not know what your reactions would be while you were actually taking an innocent life for the first time. For many years society has recognized the normal, powerful sexual urge in many if not most men (and a few women) to kill pretty young girls and cruelly hurt them while doing so. Yet many of these same men, when confronted with the opportunity to fulfill their ultimate fantasy, discover they cannot go through with it themselves and must employ a professional trained by the state to kill the girl for them, so they can at least vicariously enjoy watching her suffer and die. You did not want to numbered among this group! So you chose to methodically shoot to death your carefully selected girl, Tally, thinking that after seeing the first round enter her superb little body there could be no turning back.

   As you checked over the light target rifle loaded with the three small caliber, low velocity rounds that are mandated by law, you thought about the aesthetic and practical reasons for this. The small caliber insures a small entry wound, and the low velocity makes large unsightly exit wounds unlikely, thus preserving a girl’s beauty while she is being dispatched. Some may think the culling of thousands of innocent girls each year a barbarous cruelty, but there is no faulting the state’s refined good taste in the methods used to kill them. On the practical side, the low velocity rounds have just enough power to deeply penetrate a girl’s body while reducing the possibility of a hit severing the nerves of her spinal column and prematurely ending her ability to feel what is happening to her.
   Which started you thinking about the videos you had been shown as part of your first-time-culler’s orientation session, and in particular a video titled “How Not to Cull With a Firearm.” A lovely raven haired girl of fifteen, her dark eyes wide with terror, was bound with her arms behind her back to the wooden post of a standard firearms culling studio. Her name was Alicia, and she had been selected for this necessary but somewhat brutal demonstration because she had flaunted some major rule (unexplained) during her training as a potential culling victim. After an announcer’s brief explanation of the video’s purpose,  a professional culler fired his first round into one of the girl’s shapely thighs, causing her to scream and thrash in her bonds -- an obvious culling rules violation because all three hits must be in the girl’s torso. As soon as Alicia’s struggles quieted enough for him to aim properly, the marksman fired his next round into her right shoulder. While technically this hit was in Alicia’s torso, it also was a violation because all hits must be in the area of a girl’s vital organs, and each one should have the potential for eventually killing her. Alicia screamed again but did not struggle violently, so the culler was able to quickly fire what should have been his final round into the swelling curve of the girl’s stomach area, just above her navel The doomed teenager jerked forward so violently, for a moment it looked as though Alicia might yank her bound arms out of their sockets in an involuntary and vain attempt to double over from the pain. Obviously this wound must kill her, but as the minutes dragged on with the lovely fifteen year old sobbing in hellish pain, it was equally obvious that she would not die or loose consciousness within the time limit set down in the excessive cruelty regulations. When that point was reached the culler fired a fourth round directly into the poor girl’s heart, and with a final shudder she mercifully expired. There was a fourth “mercy round” in your pocket that you were determined not to need.
   At the end of these musings you noticed the clock. It was time to leave for Studio 6 and lovely little Tally’s 4:30 appointment with her painful death.

   As you drove to the culling center, a large Edwardian mansion in a park-like setting that had the look of a private girls’ school, your thoughts went to Tally and what she must be feeling in the hour before she was to be killed. Was her fear of death becoming overwhelming as she was undressed and led into the darkly foreboding place of her execution? Tally’s training should have prepared her somewhat for the pain she would have to suffer and how long she must endure it before she would be allowed to die, but could a girl who had never really been hurt in all the years of her sheltered life truly understand what mortal pain was? 
   Tally had been the fourth girl you interviewed during the selection process. Ranging from fourteen to eighteen years old, all of them had been pretty, but when Tally demurely walked into the private interview room you instantly knew that she was the one. This was the girl you needed kill, at any cost. She was small, barely five feet tall, and looked younger than her years, which you secretly found very arousing. With large wide-set blue eyes, a small almost pouty mouth and a mass of curly pale blonde hair, she was in the state of perfection between the adorable cuteness of a little girl and the stunning beauty of a young woman -- truly a fantasy brought to life. It was with a small lump in your throat that you introduced yourself and said, “Your name is Tally... Tally Villon and you’re of Swedish-French extraction. Is that correct, dear?”
   Smiling nervously she answered, “Yes, sir. I’m French on my father’s side, but I guess you can tell that from my name.”
  “Thank you, Tally. Now please undress for me. You may leave your panties on if you wish.”
   With a shy smile Tally unbuttoned and removed her short lavender silk mini dress to reveal a figure that while very slender was anything but boyish. Supple hips, narrow waist and pretty little upturned breasts made her a fetching image of adolescent femininity. After shamelessly staring at her delectable young body for a minute or two, it was plain that you were making the girl nervous. So with some reluctance you said, “er...thank you, Tally. You may get dressed and then please be seated.”
   When she was sitting across from you the girl looked up and hesitantly said, “Sir, I...”
  “What is it, Tally?’
  “Sir, I’m...well, it’s just that I’m so afraid of what you’re going to tell me.”
   The moment of truth had come and there was no reason to prolong the suspense, so with hypocritical gentleness in your voice to disguise your delight you replied, “Tally there is no point in denying that you are quite the most beautiful young girl I have seen in many years, and I’m sorry to say that means very bad news for you.”
   The color momentarily drained from Tally’s adorable little face, and with tears beginning to well up in her eyes she managed to get out, “Does...does this mean I‘m going to be killed?”
  “Yes it does, Tally, tomorrow morning at 4:30.”
  “Why? Why so soon? Oh please, sir! Couldn’t I have a little more time? I don’t want to die so soon!”
   In spite of her training, it was not unexpected that the news of Tally’s impending death was a terrible shock to her, as it would be to any fourteen-year-old girl; and you were afraid that she might be on the verge of breaking down completely. So summoning up your most comforting manner you said, “Now, now, dear. You must have known this was coming. Isn’t that true, Tally?’ 
   She didn’t answer but just nodded her head. So you went on, “It must have been obvious to you for some time that because of your remarkable beauty you were certain to be selected to be killed. Considering that you have been eligible for culling for more than a year, I’m truly amazed that you hadn’t been claimed and culled long before now.” 
   Calmed a bit and maybe even a little flattered, Tally said, “That’s easy to explain, sir. My parents are Amazonian missionaries. I was called to the culling center over a year and a half ago, but because of the slow communications and difficult travel (and foot dragging by her parents, you were sure) I only arrived here three months ago.”     
  “I see,” you said, pleased that Tally had calmed considerably, “but has that been enough time for you to complete your training?”
  “Yes, sir. As soon as the administrator saw me he put me in a special accelerated course.” 
   You weren’t surprised. A girl this pretty and innocent looking was always in very high demand, and you quailed at the thought of the premium you would pay for the privilege of killing her. 

   The potentially most difficult part of the interview was now at hand. By law you had to tell this sensitive young girl how she was going to die -- an obligation that was not without its cruel pleasures.
  “Tally, I’m here to help you through this anyway I can, and one of those ways is to answer your questions about what is going to happen to you tomorrow morning.”
   She paused as if afraid to ask what she most needed know, and then said in a meek little voice, “How will you do it to me, sir?”
  “Do what, Tally?” You didn‘t want the girl to avoid the word  “kill,” because just hearing her say it in connection with her own death gave you a perverse thrill.
  “How...how will you...kill me?”
  “Well, Tally, my plan was to manually strangle you to death,” The girl gasped and a slight yet visible tremor of fear passed through her pretty little body. You ignored it and went on as though you hadn’t noticed, “but for a number of reasons I changed my mind and chose a different method.” Before you could continue with what Tally would probably think was even worse news, she slumped in her chair with a sigh of relief. With no way or desire to sugar coat the terrible reality, you bluntly went on, “I have decided you will die in studio 6 -- the shooting gallery.” 
   It took a moment for the hideous truth to fully register. Then with a look of horror she blurted out, “God, no! Please! Please don’t do that to me! We had to watch a training video of a girl being shot to death as punishment. They hurt the poor girl terribly and it seemed to go on forever! Please! Please don’t make me suffer like that! I...” 
   Grabbing one of her trembling hands you cut her short by firmly saying, “Stop it, Tally! I saw that video too. It won’t be like that!” (You didn’t add that it wouldn’t be much better.)
  “But why, sir, why must you hurt me so much?  Couldn’t you enjoy smothering me...or even strangling me? Oh, God, it must be awful to be shot three times! I don’t know how I...” 
   Again you silenced the frightened girl by squeezing her delicate hand --  this time almost to the point of pain.
  “Have you forgotten your training?” you asked. “Every approved killing method has the potential to hurt a girl very badly. Most think that from the reactions of the girls who are put through it, slow manual strangulation must be the most painful way of all to die; and as you know, under the newly relaxed cruelty restrictions a girl may be strangled or smothered for up to ten minutes before she is finally killed -- thee minutes longer than the time allowed to kill a girl in the shooting gallery.” 
  “But dying with bullets inside me...it will hurt so bad!”
  “Yes, Tally, it will.” You paused for a moment to let the hard truth sink in, and then added, “Look, honey, during your training you learned that some men just want to watch a sweet little girl like you die, but what were you told is the reason why most men pay such huge sums for the right to cull pretty teenage girls?” 
   Tally lowered her eyes, and in a monotone that you hoped might imply her resignation to her fate, she said, “To enjoy hurting the girls while they kill them.”
  “Good. Correct.”
   The doomed girl in silence for a minute or so with her head bowed, and then without looking up she asked in a small voice, “Where will I be shot?”
   Smiling inside because the struggle had been won, you replied, “Why in Studio 6, of course.”
  “I’m sorry, sir. I mean where in my body will I be shot.”
  “Oh, I see. Well, dear, that will depend on a number of factors that are unknown now. Besides, it really is better that you don’t know this until it actually happens.”
   The girl thought for a few moments and then asked, “Will you have someone do it to me so you can watch me die?”
  “No, Tally. I’m going to shoot you to death. No one else will be present when it happens.”
   Though trying to be brave, Tally‘s voice quavered when she asked, “Sir, will you enjoy hurting me while I‘m...while you‘re killing me?”
  “Yes, sweetheart, very much. I don’t know if you are able to fully understand this, but if you can it will make the waiting tonight and what happens to you tomorrow easier. A sweet young girl as pretty as you is meant to suffer a painful death at the hands of a man. It is your proper destiny. Tomorrow, while you are being killed, you will be more lovely than at any other time in your life, and during the few minutes of your torment -- really a very short time -- you will become for me the most exquisite creature on earth. Will you try to accept this and do your best to be brave for me in the morning?” With tears in her eyes Tally nodded her ascent, which convinced you that she would suffer through her final ordeal in a way that would provide you with extraordinary erotic delights -- as her interview already had. With nothing more to cover you said, “Run along now, dear. The matron will tend to your preparations and any last requests you may have.” 
   Tally got up to leave, but when she reached the door she turned to you and asked, “But I still don’t understand, sir. Why does killing a girl like me give a man so much pleasure?”
  “I don’t know, Tally. no one does. It’s just always been that way.” 

KILLING MISS RIGHT

Yesterday’s remarkable events -- finding the perfect girl and the secret erotic thrills you experienced while telling her how she was to die -- had filled your dreams of last night with vivid images of  Tally’s exquisite little body writhing in its death agonies. And as you drove through the culling center’s ornate entrance gates, you could not help wondering how closely reality would match the intensity of your erotic desires.
    Now as you enter the culling chamber for the real thing, carrying the instrument of cruelty and death, your anticipation and excitement over what you are about to do to an innocent girl mount to almost unbearable levels. You purposely avoid looking at your helpless little victim until you are kneeling at the firing point. Finally you peer through your sights at the lovely fourteen-year-old girl you have chosen to kill -- and she takes you breath away! Here, this way, trapped in this hopeless situation, Tally is more radiantly beautiful and desirable than you could have possibly imagined. Falling softly to her shoulders, her light blonde curls frame the delicate features of her heart-shaped face; securely bound to the thick wooden post, her exquisite adolescent body glistens in the light of a single theatrical spotlight. Naked, in body and spirit, she is completely vulnerable to whatever is to be done to her.

   Tally sees you now and her eyes widen in fear. Silent tears begin to streak down her sweet young face, and she utters a single almost inaudible word, “Please.”
   After all your talking to her, what could the girl possibly mean? Is she begging you not to kill her, or to make it quick? Tally knows there cannot be a reprieve; she is here to die. She also knows that your pleasures will not lie solely in her death. So you do not answer, because you are going to kill her, and for your sexual gratification you do not intend to let her die quickly or easily.
   In spite of or possibly because of Tally’s cryptic plea, it is all becoming too wonderful. As you pause, feasting on the vision of this stunningly beautiful young girl in the final terror filled minutes of her life, you want time to stop, to forever extend this dark tableau of beauty at the brink of extinction. But this perfect image cannot last unchanged, and to bring the painting to life and completion you must advance to what will be ultimate truths for both of you.
   Tally sees you raise the rifle to your shoulder, and realizing this must be it she closes her eyes and cries out, “Please, God, no!” You ignore her and slowly move the sights over the subtle feminine curves of her enticing spot-lit body, pick your initial target, aim carefully, and slowly squeeze the trigger. CRACK! The girl shudders and jerks in her bonds as the first small bullet violently enters her lower abdomen like some vicious deflowering, some evil ejaculation deep inside her that brings not life but agony and death. She gasps loudly but does not scream as you had expected. The shock and impact has been too great for Tally’s petite body and her breathing actually stops for a few moments. It is not until her breath returns that you hear her first cry of pain, and it is more a wail of utter despair than a scream. 
   Again you linger, longer than you should, reveling in the intensely erotic images of this enchanting young creature writhing in pain and terror at the beginning of her mortal agony. As you watch Tally hopelessly struggle in her bonds, you wonder if this innocent girl can possibly understand how much pleasure her suffering is giving you. Can she possible conceive of how much you love hurting her? You can easily imagine that, in spite of her training, how shocked she must be to discover that being killed is this hard; that anything could be this painful. Worse is to come. Tally has four more minutes of hell to endure before you will allow her to die.

   There is little bleeding because of the small caliber round you used on her and the coagulant injection she had been given earlier, along with a special medication to prevent her from going into shock and losing consciousness too quickly. Brave girl, you think. Except for her involuntary cries, Tally hasn’t broken down into sobbing tears as you feared she might. Or is it just that she is in too much pain to weep?  You would slow the killing process to prolong her suffering and your pleasure  if you could, but the law and a small spark of humanity within you say it is necessary to move on. But not before, out of sheer cruelty, you cannot resist asking the badly wounded girl, “How are you feeling, Tally?”
  “Hurts...Oh...it hurts, it hurts.”
  “Of course it does, sweetheart. Just try to hold on. It all will be over in a few minutes.”
  “ So afraid...I don’t want to die!”
  “ That’s how it should be, Tally. Killing you would hold little pleasure if you didn’t desperately want to live.”
  “I can feel...I‘m...Oh, God...I’m dying.”
  “Nonsense. Not yet, dear. You haven‘t been hurt enough.” 
  “Ple....”
  “What, honey?” 
   But there is no more. Waves of torment have reduced Tally’s words to delightful little girlish whimpers of pain. 
   This sadistic little interchange with a dying girl has you incredibly turned on as you raise the rifle sights to a point on her firm young belly slightly to the left and below her navel. You pause for a moment to try to suppress you mounting excitement, and then squeeze the trigger. CRACK! And again the beautiful lithe body bucks and jerks in it bonds, but this time the girl’s back arches and Tally’s piercing scream of agony echoes throughout the chamber of death. The impact again makes it impossible for her to catch her breath for a few seconds. As she does it is evident that the two cruel wounds in her abdomen are making it extremely painful for the dying teenager to breathe, making the mock sensuality of her body’s torturous writhing a delight to watch. So you take a few moments to drink in more of the girl’s exquisite suffering while you decide how to finish her. You are very pleased with Tally -- and with yourself. You have timed it perfectly. There are two minutes left; just enough time to deliver the killing wound you have often dreamt of inflicting on a girl, and still have Tally die before crossing the excessive cruelty deadline.
   As you lift the rifle for the final time, Tally raises her head, and with tears of pain and grief streaming down her lovely face, the dying little girl whispers the pitiful last three words of her short life: “Please...no more.”
   Somehow this mortally wounded girl’s hopeless plea for mercy excites you more than anything that has gone before. Somehow it elevates what you are about to do her to a moment of sublime erotic pleasure. Without waiting or answering, you fire the last bullet through her pert little breast and deep into her right lung. There is a brief shriek of agony as Tally’s sad eyes fly open in shock and disbelief at the horror of what you have just done to her. Then after a few seconds of silence that seem like minutes, she begins to painfully cough and gag as her lung fills with her life essence. You watch, transfixed by the unforgettable sight of a lovely young girl beginning to strangle to death; beginning to literally drown in her own blood. She is weakening now. Her terribly painful coughs are subsiding to gurgling noises, and a small rivulet of red forms and trickles out of the corner if her cute little mouth. You think she might have lost consciousness, but as you look closely...yes, there still is a faint glimmer of agony in those half-closed baby blue eyes. She is still here, still suffering as she dies for you. Tally will not be spared the hideous pain of the terminal horror to come..
   Slightly under one minute after receiving her last and most devastating wound, Tally’s cruelly violated little body, still vainly fighting for life, begins the first involuntary tremors that soon become the excruciating convulsions of her death agonies. With her breath rapidly failing, each spasm is accompanied by ever weakening little gasps and cries of pain. Finally at the end of another seemingly endless minute of hellish torment for her and incomparable pleasure for you, three particularly violent convulsions wrack the poor girl’s tortured body, and with a sigh of what could be relief she gently falls completely limp in her bonds, her once sparkling eyes blankly staring out at you from the land of the dead. There are a few feeble post-mortem twitches that make it appear as if Taffy’s body is still trying to bring her back -- but it is over. At the pinnacle of her radiant youth and beauty, the life of another innocent girl among thousands has been mercilessly snuffed out. 

   And, exhausted by the pleasures and intensity of the most erotic experience of your life, you realize with some surprise that your seven minutes are up. Reluctant to go, you stay for a little while longer to enjoy examining the girl’s body, gorgeous even in death. Then as you are leaving you think, I must remember to write Tally’s parents to thank them for their lovely little daughter.

THE END

All comments welcome and much appreciated.

Miles Archer
5/21/01

Modified an expanded
12/20/01