FOR GROUP MEMBERS ONLY. THE FOLLOWING 
MUST NOT TO BE FORWARDED OR POSTED IN 
ANY OTHER PUBLIC FORUM.

WARNING! ADULTS ONLY! The following is an extreme work of erotic horror fiction that 
graphically describes the brutal sexual killing of a thirteen-year-old girl. All persons, places and 
events are fictitious, and as such their depictions are protected as free speech under United States 
law. However, if you are offended by this type of adult subject matter -- DO NOT READ BEYOND 
THIS CAUTIONARY DISCLAIMER! Most importantly, this story must not be read by or knowingly 
forwarded to anyone under the age of eighteen or whatever the age of majority is in their country of 
residence. To do so would be irresponsible and may be illegal.

THE CHAIR
by Mao Se Tongue 

   The pretty little blonde bound to the large wooden chair was alluringly slender and extremely young. She 
had the fantastic look of a frightened little girl. Yet she occupied a delightful nodal point between two states 
of physical and sexual maturity, and both the proto woman and the thirteen-year-old majorette were terrified. 
Her adorable face was wet with tears that partially resulted from her shame at being nearly naked. Only a tiny, 
lavender silk, string-bikini bottom stood between me and a wonderfully tight virgin quim. Debbie Malone was 
petrified because she naturally assumed I was about to rape her. I had no such plans, but the girl would not be 
comforted in the least when she learned what I intended doing to her was going to be infinitely worse.

    Being a relic of the inquisition, the massive chair in which she meekly sat had a long, dark history. Its ancient 
oak frame exuded the lingering psychic auras of more than one young lady’s death agonies. I alone had ended 
the lives of three beautiful teenage girls in this sinister device. None over the age of fifteen; they had all been 
slender and irresistibly feminine like Debbie; and as I knew Debbie would, they had died exquisitely. With the 
hint strange powers of its own, the chair seemed to ensure this. Superficially resembling a traditional electric 
chair it held its young victims’ bound wrists down against its thick, flat arms. Leather straps tied their slender 
ankles to square legs. Being such a huge chair, a small girl like Debbie seemed lost in its ominous embrace. 
With her legs and thighs spread painfully wide, the chair kept her young body open and vulnerable all 
possibilities. However, this was a garroting chair, and the cruel death it was about to inflict on this sweet young 
thing would be slower, more intimate and ultimately much more painful than electrocuting her.
   With tears streaming down her innocent young face, Debbie pleaded, "Please, sir, let me go! I won't tell 
anybody about this place! I promise!" Smiling down at the desperate schoolgirl, I silently went on with the 
simple preparations for torturing her to death.  
   Debbie's head and neck rested uneasily against a hard, vertical oak plank. I reached down, my hands moving 
behind her neck on either side of her trembling body. As the terrified girl squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for 
the rescue that would never come, I found what I wanted, lifted it up and then lowered it over the girl’s head. 
There wasn't much to it, just a loop of coarse hemp with a wooden handle affixed to one end. Debbie 
immediately understood what it was and what it was about to do to her. "Please! Don't choke me!" she begged, 
looking younger than ever. "Pleeease! I don’t want to die!”
   "I know, my dear," I agreed. "That's what makes this so beautiful.”
    She was sobbing uncontrollably as I pulled her long blonde hair free of the loop. While her body was 
underdeveloped she did have budding breasts, small, firm and hinting at the promise of womanhood. Naturally, 
no bra marred the view. Her waist tiny, her hips narrow, like many beautiful young girls whose bodies haven't 
quite happened yet she had something of the model about her, lithe and Lolita-like, and very, very arousing. I 
paused to savor both her exquisite body and the moment, and then began to turn the wooden handle. The rope, 
which was firmly attached to the wooden plank behind Debbie's head, began to tighten around her delicate neck. 
This was the basic garrote, the simplest of mechanisms, a tried and true method for torturously separating a young 
female from her breath, and her life. I continued to slowly turn the handle until I could see that little Debbie had 
developed severe breathing problems. Then I stopped and held the choking pressure on her constricted throat 
steady. This was the space I loved to explore; the place where the girl’s breathing was painfully difficult for her 
but still possible. The garrote gave me prefect control over the little majorette's respiration, and I meant to use this 
to keep her alive for as long as possible. I prefer strangling young girls to death, not only because of their arousing 
unspoiled beauty. Debbie was my youngest victim to date, and I fully expected the thirteen year old’s youthful 
endurance would make it possible for me to enjoy torturing her for hours before I finally took the ultimate pleasure 
of killing her. 
   "Please...it hurts," she gasped almost inaudibly as the rope squeezed a little tighter.
   "I'm pleased to hear it. Garroting a girl is supposed to hurt her very badly in deed." 
   "Can‘t...breathe...oh, God...so scared..." These would be her pathetic final words. I twisted again, and her 
hopeless pleas became liquid gurgles. Language, the thing that made her human, was choked out of her by a few 
inches of hemp. Only a five hours ago Debbie Malone had been strutting and prancing her skimpily clad little body 
across a junior high athletic field -- now she was nothing but an delicious piece of girl flesh, and I couldn’t think of 
a single reason not to enjoy strangling her to death as such.   
   Her pain and desperation put fantastic tension into Debbie’s beautiful limbs and torso. As she franticly fought 
for her life, I reveled in her taught belly and subtle thighs with their young muscles seizing and straining in protest 
beneath her flawless skin. Here was a delicate yet resilient female physique, vibrantly alive and incredibly responsive 
to inflicted pain. Her pert little tits quivered appealingly as she struggled in the garroting chair’s remorseless grip. 
Seeing a schoolgirl’s pubescent breasts with their fear-hardened little nipples was more than enough to keep me at 
full erection, especially since Debbie’s twitched so invitingly while her superb little majorette's body writhed in 
torment. 
   I studied the girl’s lovely face as I strangled her. Sometimes her crying eyes were closed, but mostly they were 
open, mirrors of her pain silently begging me for mercy. Sensuous red lips quivering in terror and softly curled hair 
framing her angelic countenance completed the sublime vision of doomed innocence. 
   I played Debbie’s squirming body like the fine instrument it was, taking her on a hellish journey through the 
varying degrees of pain and terror suffered by all properly strangled girls. My previous kills had given me an 
excellent sense of how much a slight young thing like Debbie could stand without loosing consciousness. I 
modulated the rope’s tightness accordingly, allowing her a breath here and there, making her torment last but 
most of all not letting her die. She was in constant agony without ever quite reaching the point of no return. The 
little teenager’s tanned skin shone with a gloss of pain sweat that highlighted her jiggling little breasts and heaving 
chest. Her cheeks glistened with a constant rain of tears -- and still she struggled. I dragged out my adorable 
victim's torture for hours, during which I spontaneously ejaculated half a dozen times. I was delighted by her 
adolescent body‘s amazing endurance -- and by my own sexual stamina, when I felt myself about to orgasm for 
the seventh time.**
   Using the greatest care, I kept the beautiful junior high majorette in unbearable pain while balancing her on a 
knife edge between life and death. But regardless of my diligence, all good things come to an end. Almost four 
hours had passed since the rope had first tightened around the girl’s slender neck. No longer pleading for mercy, 
her sad eyes now begged me to let her die. It was time to force little Debbie up to the most intense level of 
strangulation trauma a young girl can suffer, before she lost consciousness on me and died from sheer 
exhaustion. I released the handle and let her breathe.

   Debbie’s entire body shuddered. Her chest expanded dramatically. Then she began to claw the wonderful 
life-giving air into her aching lungs with panicked inhales and exhales. After a minute or so, with normal color 
returning to the girl’s pain-flushed face, her head dropped to her chest and she began sobbing uncontrollably. 
I didn’t interfere. I needed the little thing to recover some of her strength.
   Five more minutes passed before her bitter sobs as last quieted to whimpers, and Debbie raised her head to 
hesitantly look about. When she did I caught a glimpse of the deep, angry bruises on her graceful young neck, 
the sight sending a fresh charge of sexual energy through my loins. Then the girl peered up at me, and I could 
tell from the look in her eyes that she was beginning to hope against hope that I was going to let her live. This 
was the perfect moment!
   I grasped the handle and quickly turned it. Her neck was jerked back against the vertical board, giving the 
horrified little girl just an instant to scream, “Nooooo!!!” before the rope grew lethally taut, choking off all 
sound but a few faint gurgles.
   The terror stricken thirteen year old instinctively knew I was about to kill her. She began to buck and jerk 
even more violently than she had earlier, her still energetic young body desperately fighting against the renewed 
pain and her approaching death. I gave the handle an extra twist, locked it in place, and stepped back to 
masturbate while I watched my pretty little majorette die in agony.
   Debbie’s pink tongue was protruding from her gaping mouth in a continuous gag reflex. Her crying eyes 
were open wide with a look of absolute terror that sent waves of indescribable pleasure through my throbbing 
member. The cruel rope was squeezing the girl’s little neck so tightly, her delicate throat tissues were certain to 
have been crushed beyond saving.
   A minute passed, and Debbie’s eyes began to noticeably bulge out of her head. A trickle of blood mixed 
with the saliva that dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. Well into the second minute of her lethal 
strangulation it became difficult to distinguish the girl’s futile struggles from her involuntary convulsions. By 
the end of the third minute Debbie was staring blankly into space, her weakening body's writhing reduced to 
an occasional spastic shudder. Yet the doomed girl was clearly still alive and in excruciating pain, and I was 
having great difficulty in delaying my fantastically building orgasm until the moment of her death.
   Finally, at the end of four and a half incomparable minutes, Debbie’s gorgeous little torso began to twitch 
and then convulse in her agonizing death throes. Approaching the moment of her extinction, disconnected 
from everything but the bind-bending pain, the dying girl involuntarily arched her back as if offering her small 
breasts to me in some final supplication. At this instant I ejaculated with an orgasm so explosively violent, I 
couldn’t be sure of who was dying. When it was finally over and my vision cleared, I saw the girl’s limp body 
was motionless except for a few feeble post mortem twitches. Then I noticed that her tiny bikini bottom had 
been stained dark by a vaginal discharge so massive it still was dribbling out of her in little spurts, leaving me 
to wonder until the end of my days about what had really happened

**What the hell, it’s a fantasy

reformatted 8/14/03

.

.