The theater's seats are full. Thirty-two couples, mostly man-woman couplings, but a few women with female companions. Loose clothing is common, to allow easy access to genitals and breasts. It is normal for the audience to engage in sexual conduct during these festivities. Mostly hand jobs, but oral sex sometimes happens and the less inhibitive will participate in seat-fucking, both parties facing the stage in a soft cushioned chair.

The three stars of the show are bound to chairs on the stage, leather straps snug at wrists and ankles, pressing flesh and bone against each chair's arms and legs.

They are naked and show marks from my earlier attentions.

I'm not going to bore you with the details of my life. By now, you should know who I am and what I like to do.

I've been tasked with executing these three sisters.

Their sentence: death by hanging.

But it will not be quick and easy. There will be no drop of the body and the snapping of a neck. Each will die slowly, the noose strangling the life from their bodies as the audience watches and cavorts.

From the fate of Stretchable Jenny's family, I have changed my approach. Each woman will not be brought separately into the theater. Instead, the ones still breathing and not dangling from the rope will get to watch the in-progress execution. Two of them, and then the remaining survivor, will watch her sister die, bound and helpless, knowing her turn on the rope will be coming soon.

As for my future paying customers, multiple cameras are trained on the women's faces and bodies, whether they are sitting or hanging by the neck. We have full frontal and full rear shots, as well as cameras at their sides. The customers of the streaming service will be able to select exactly what they wish to see, for every second of the stream.

These three lovely bitches will live forever in digital form, even as they die.

And I've added a twist for each of them to enjoy.

Each of them will decide exactly when her execution will commence.

The theater is small, with four rows of eight seats staggered at a steep incline. Mirrors positioned at the back of the stage will afford the audience a view of each woman's ass as she suffers torture and dies.

There are three heavy wooden chairs bolted on the right of the stage, facing the small platform at its center, twelve by twenty-four inches and raised just a foot off the floor. It is high enough. There is a button on the right edge of the platform and when depressed the rectangular platform recesses into the stage's floor. A noose hangs above the platform. When the platform descends, the woman's toes will be left dangling.

When the platform descends, one of these lovely ladies will begin her slow, agonizing dance of death.

For the audience's enjoyment.

For your enjoyment.

For the enjoyment of the millions who will buy the video and streaming services.

And mostly, for mine.

The three young sisters have been sentenced to die.

The reason: I couldn't care less. I've been hired to do a job. It's one that I will really enjoy.

They stare at me as I walk onto the stage to the audience's applause, holding a cattle prod. To gauge their strength and tolerance, I had spent an hour alone with each of them a few days before, working on their hands.

Lacey will die at the age of twenty-two. She's the weakest of the trio, fainting each time I had snapped one of her fingers at the middle knuckle. I knew it after the second finger but broke all of them anyway for fun. She just spasmed and sobbed and kept passing out. Tall and slender, with soft and delicate features, a fairly flat chest and the ass of a marathon runner. She isn't my idea of a good fuck but back in the 60's she could have been a famous model.

Molly, five years older than Lacey, has a cartoon figure, voluptuous and curvy. Huge breasts, an ass that could double as an ottoman, the thighs and calves of a powerlifter but without visible muscles. Her hair is also long and dark, with natural curls. She bucked in the torture chair like a bull trying to throw a rodeo rider when I ripped out each of her fingernails with pliers. She screamed like a banshee but never passed out.

Halley was the middle sister and looked different than her siblings. Shorter, with blonde hair cut tight about her head and the body of a soccer player, lean muscles in her arms and legs, a jutting ass and breasts that nicely fit into an average man's hands. She reacted with defiance and hatred as I pushed two heated needles beneath each of her fingernails. She jerked in her torture chair, teeth clenched, grunting out her pain in deep, staccato bursts. She is the strongest. Out of the three sisters, I had enjoyed raping her the most.

Although, in a sense, Halley had raped me.

They were all in shape, with shaved pussies and flat tummies and no traces of veins or cellulite. Three nice, young bodies. Three ladies waiting to hang.

I face the audience. "As you know, after each of these bitches expires we will open up her body for bidding. The lucky winner will be allowed the opportunity to fuck her corpse."

Wild clapping and loud cheers.

I face the sisters.

"Do you have anything to say to one another, before you are executed?"

"Don't kill us," Lacey whines.

"Look at me," Halley says.

Lacey shakes her head, gazing at the floor.

"Look at me!"

Lacey and Molly meet their sister's eyes.

"I love both of you," Halley says. "Everything was worth it. I'll love you forever. We need to be brave. This will all be over soon."

"I never thought this is how it would end," Molly said.

"No one does."

Lacey tries to say something and her mouth moves but she can't get out any words.

"You're going to burn in hell for this," Halley tells me.

"You girls will get there long before me," I laugh. "You girls will be burning for decades before I join you."

The audience watches with rapt attention. Some of the men already brandish their erections.

"We'll start with the youngest," I announce loudly. "Let's kill the youngest cunt first."

My two helpers are large, muscular men who had taken turns raping Lacey and Molly over the last few days. Lacey struggles, crying and begging as they untie her from the chair and bring her to the platform. Each of her fingers has been treated and splinted, to prevent an unfortunate medical crisis. With practiced efficiency, her wrists are handcuffed behind her back and a short chain holds her ankles close together. One man restrains her quaking body while the other lowers the noose around her head, sweeping her long hair out of the way and tightening the knot. The men step back. She stands naked and trembling, knees and ass quivering, damaged fingers wiggling, her back straight and the rope to the ceiling without any slack.

The thick, rough rope hugs her neck.

A stream of urine splatters on the platform as she wails in terror.

I playfully rub Molly's head.

"Your sister's a real pisser," I say.

I take hold of Molly and Halley's chins and force them to look at me.

"Now you get to watch your sister hang," I tell them. "Soon, you will be next."

The procedure has been explained to them several times. When they reach over with their right foot and step on the button, their execution will begin.

Lacey stands, her eyes roaming over the audience, some of whom already have begun pleasuring their partners. The position makes her look thinner than she is, more vulnerable, more breakable.

I hold up the cattle prod.

"This won't kill you," I tell her. "Not any of the individual shocks, or the shocks altogether. But each shock will really hurt. Really, really hurt. How long I shock you is entirely up to you."

"Please don't kill me!" Her voice is tiny and high.

"Step on the button!" Halley yells at her.

I play with her tits. They're very small and frankly not worthy of my attention but it is fun to dig my nails into her nipples.

Her cunt is dry, even when I rub her clit. I push my finger inside her.

"Warm," I say. "It won't be so warm when the auction winner fucks your dead body."

"I don't want to die! Please don't kill me! Please!"

"I won't," I reply. "You're going to kill yourself."

I press the prod's bulbous end against her slit and turn on the device. Electric fire races into her pussy.

She vibrates wildly, eyes rolling into her head, spit flying from her mouth.

I let her rest for a minute. She's breathing in deep gulps, crying.

"Let me go, please let me go!"

"Leave her alone!" Molly shouts.

I blast Lacey's clit again with electricity. She wails, writhing to the extent allowed by the noose, sweat spraying like a mist from her skin.

Ten seconds.

She's gasping and crying, looking at her sisters. "Make him stop!" she begs. "Someone make him stop!"

The prod's tip pushes open her vagina.

"If you were home, I bet this would be a cock," I tell her. "A big, fat cock. I bet you had cocks in you all the time, you worthless slut. I bet your cunt was like a tunnel on a highway, with cocks driving into you like speeding cars."

I juice her and fuck her with the prod. She screams in short spurts like a child crying so hard she can't catch her breath.

I give her a moment so she can speak.

"Please, oh please, oh god, please stop hurting me! Don't hurt me anymore!"

"I can do this all day," I say. "It's fun."

I rub the prod up and down her slit while I shock her for twenty seconds.

A woman in the front row pulls up her skirt and sits on her partner's cock. She gyrates, her back rubbing against his chest, pleasuring them both as they watch the screaming women suffering agony on the stage.

I fuck Lacey again with electricity.

She's sagging, eyes losing focus, snot dripping from her nose. Sweat covers her.

"No more," she whispers, her voice cracking. "No more."

"Fuck you."

I continue torturing her.

Electric pain blossoms from her clit deep into her guts.

She's crying, her chest heaving.

I again press the prod hard to her slit.

"No more," she whispers and steps on the button.

The platform descends.

Lacey hangs.

The noose tightens about my neck and the men move away from me. I can't stop trembling. I'm trying hard not to cry but I can't and tears roll down my face. All those people, staring at me. At my naked body. They want to see me suffer. They want to watch me die.

The bastard shows me the device. He's going to torture me with it.

I don't want to die.

I'm so scared, standing in a puddle of my own urine, my body on display. I feel embarrassed and humiliated but most of all, I'm just so scared.

"Please, let me go! Please!"

But he's not going to help me. The little I know about him is this: he has no heart. He has no mercy in him. They had strapped me to that chair in that windowless room and he talked about testing me. I begged. He took my index finger and snapped it. White light filled the world and I was overwhelmed by pain. I don't remember passing out. I just remember always opening my eyes with him holding another one of my fingers and that awful snapping sound and the blinding pain.

They had tied my hands behind my back, my weight adding to the pain of my broken fingers as I lay on a dirty mattress in another windowless room and his helpers took turns raping me.

It hurt so much.

They just used me.

They fucked me raw.

In the audience, in the front row, a girl is sucking on a man's cock. Another couple is having sex. Others are shouting at me. Cruel words. "Die, bitch, die!"

This can't be happening.

I've never been engaged, or married, or been on a honeymoon, or had a child.

And now I'm going to die, but I don't want to die.

He's squeezing my breasts and I want to vomit and he's trying to pull off my nipples and it hurts.

I can't stop shaking.

The rope is tight under my jaw and the rope burns my skin.

He rubs between my legs and is inside me with a finger.

"Some man is going to fuck you when you're dead," he tells me.

The device presses into my crotch.

"Please, please, don't hurt me! Please, please!"

Pain.

A thousand heated knives stab into my groin. I've lost control of my body, or what little control I have. I'm shaking. The knives stab upward into my womb.

Abruptly, the pain disappears. I stand shivering, held up by the noose, my legs weak and unsteady. I'm breathing in bursts and suddenly exhausted, as if the energy has been leeched from my cells.

People are clapping and cheering.

He massages my ass.

"Let me go," I groan.

"You know how to make it stop," he says. "I'm just going to keep torturing you until you do."

He presses the prod into my crotch and shocks me again, massaging my sex with electric fire.

When the current flows I am lost in a world of agony.

He's pushing the prod inside me.

"Oh god, no!"

I'm being brutally fucked with electricity. It burns away my insides. I am screaming and jerking.

Sweating, eyes trying to focus, a roaring filling the world.

How long can this go on?

He rubs my sex and shocks me again and again and again.

I am so scared and I don't want to die but I can't take this much longer.

The prod touches me.

I am so tired. I am so tired of experiencing this.

I don't want to die but I don't want to be hurt anymore.

He won't ever stop. He enjoys hurting me.

"No more," I whisper.

I press down on the button.

She surprises me. She fights.

Her legs kick like she's swimming. Her broken hands try to climb her back, to get to the noose. She groans, twisting her head, swinging in a small circle. Spit drips from her mouth. She breathes in small, short gasps, her eyes darting back and forth.

The noose strangles her.

Tremors roll through her body like waves.

Snot flows from her nostrils.

After a few minutes, she begins shuddering, her face twitching.

Tears pour from her eyes.

Her ribs protrude from her sides.

She's moaning and shivering.

Her tongue swells as the rope drives into her jaw.

Molly screams and shouts for mercy. Halley watches, showing no emotion.

I whisper into her ear. "You're dying, you piece of shit. A man is going to fuck you, after you die."

Now that it's happening I want it to stop. I twist and struggle, trying to get the rope away from my neck, but I can't. It's getting so hard to breathe. My lungs are on fire. I feel my legs kicking. My tongue thickens. This isn't peaceful. This is slow, exquisite torture. I sense the darkness approaching and recoil in my mind.

My struggles slow. I hang, dying.

He curses me. It's not enough for him that I'm being executed. He has to make it personal. He has to fill my death with hate.

He shocks me again. My crotch catches fire. The noose cuts off my shrieks.

Now, just hanging, my body slightly shuddering.

The noose chokes the life from me.

I'm gurgling.

My strength fades.

I hang still, gasping for air.

I never really lived.

I'm going to die without ever having really lived.

Gradually, Lacey's struggles slow.

Her bulging eyes roll into her head. Her huge wet tongue hangs from her open mouth.

She's still alive but now barely moving. Her legs and arms hang limp, her body appears to relax. Her toes and legs darken.

She's so close to death, I think. I almost cum in my pants, watching her die.

She gulps in tiny bubbles of air like a fish.

"Die, you miserable bitch," I tell her.

I can't help myself. I press the prod against her clit and give her a final send-off.

She vibrates and I know she's feeling the pain.

Good, I think. Fuck her. Let her die badly.

I pull the prod away and her lithe and lovely body slowly stills.

Urine dribbles down her thighs.

An occasional twitch, the trembling of her lips, a slight flick of her obscenely swollen tongue.

Finally, nothing.

"This bitch is dead," I announce. "Time for the auction."

Thirty thousand dollars wins. The helpers carry Lacey's lifeless body to the adjoining bedroom and the winning bidder enjoys a long, leisurely fucking of her corpse.

It's Molly's turn.

I could tell that she had lived her life large, with exaggeration and gusto. She had been an untamed animal when I ripped out her fingernails. Afterward, she had shrieked and fought against her bindings when we tied her face-down onto the sawhorse, ankles, and wrists bound to its legs close to the floor. Her ass was so big and fluffy that each man actually had to part her ass cheeks with his hands to find her cunt.

"Time to ride the pony!" I had exclaimed.

I had recruited a dozen volunteers to train her.

She spent hours on the sawhorse, being violently raped.

It wasn't her intent, but to us, she seemed to enthusiastically pump and gyrate her hips as each of the dozen men, my helpers and I fucked her, some of us more than once. Her fierce struggles just added to everyone's enjoyment. I went first and tried to bore a deeper and wide hole than her cunt offered me. When the last of us was finished her ass was reddened from the pounding and semen leaked from her swollen slit-like water from a deep crack in a dike.

And so did her anger, but her anger came in a torrent and not a trickle.

I dislike her, intently.

It is going to be fun torturing her.

I don't want her to execute herself too soon.

I watch my younger sister die.

They strung Lacey up and that bastard shocked her until she couldn't take any more punishment. And then he shocked her while the rope strangled her. I remember shouting and twisting in the chair but I can't remember what I was shouting.

Halley sat passively while Lacey was tortured and hung. I hate her for that.

I want them dead. All of them, including the cheering and screwing cocksuckers in the theater's seats.

I fought to break free when they unstrap me from the chair. One of the motherfuckers punches me in the guts and while I'm doubled over, dry retching, the other pulls my head up by my hair and smashes me across the face with his palm.

Blood spurts from my lips and nose.

They haul me across the stage.

For good measure they each viciously knee me in the crotch, lifting my feet on the floor. I think they shatter my pubic bone. I vomit bile.

Now I'm standing up, the noose around my neck, my hands bound behind my back and my ankles chained, waiting to be tortured.

No. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me further brutalized. I won't put on a show for these motherfuckers.

Mr. Sadisto blocks my foot with his leg.

He tells me what he's going to do to me.

Oh god, no. Oh god, help me, please.

And then I can no longer think because he's peeling off the skin from my breast.

I truly dislike this bitch. It's going to be fun skinning her tits.

She is a living cartoon. Exotic features and long dark hair. A tiny waist with big hips and large thighs. Ponderous, swaying breasts and an ass the size of Texas.

A woman built to be fondled and fucked.

And also a miserable, hateful bitch.

I really want to start on her enormous ass but I worry her body would give out and she'd expire before I could finish with her tits.

I show her the device. It looks like an electric razor but instead of snipping hair it removes skin. Her eyes widen and her body stiffens.

Casually, I step onto the platform so that my left leg blocks her foot from the button.

"This may take a little time," I tell her. "I don't want you to interrupt me before I'm done."

Her breasts are huge, tear-dropped shaped but firm, her nipples aiming straight and true. I begin with her left breast and flay a half-inch wide strip from top to bottom. I make sure to stand to the side so that I'm not blocking the audience's view. Molly begins screaming immediately, shaking uncontrollably. One of my helpers stands behind her and grasps her beneath her armpits to keep her from snapping her neck. I don't pause, flaying one strip of flesh after another. Her skin falls to the stage floor. She's whipping her head in all directions and I have to hold her breast tightly to keep it from bouncing. She lifts her left foot off the floor, balancing with the help of my assistant on one wobbly leg. She kicks back with her left leg, bending at the knee, and sometimes raises up her thigh as if she's marching in a band. At first, I avoid her nipple as I flay her. Her continuous howls of agony actually hurt my ears. Tears spray from her eyes and blood flows down her body.

She's going mad with the pain.

I skin her nipple last, taking care to only remove the first layer of flesh. I don't want to remove her nipple completely because that would lessen the pain.

My other helper uses his leg to block her foot as I move to her other side.

I slowly flay her other breast, and her nipple.

Her bloody, already flayed breast swings and bounces, flinging blood.

She cannot stop writhing and screaming.

I know that I am horribly hurting her.

It feels great.

When I'm finally finished with her tits I block her foot while my helpers thoroughly sponge her bleeding breasts with saltwater.

She's beyond the ability to comprehend anything but the burning, unending pain.

We all move away from the platform.

It takes her several minutes before she can regain some semblance of thought.

"Should I skin your cunt?" I ask her.

Fear and horror have replaced the anger in her eyes.

"Or maybe I should take another layer off your tits?"

I reach for her tits with the skinner.

"NOOOOOO!" she shrieks and slams down on the button.

Molly hangs.

When the bastard ripped off my fingernails I was fully conscious throughout that torture. I could see and hear anything that was louder than my own desperate screams. I could sense my body convulsing in that chair. I watched him laugh and smile as he brutally tortured me.

This is different. I am unaware of anything but the pain.

How to describe the indescribable? Imagine someone rubbing sandpaper on your eyeballs. Imagine someone lighting your cock and balls on fire while crushing them with pliers at the same time. Imagine the most painful cut you have experienced and now imagine a million of those cuts happening simultaneously on your most sensitive flesh. On your breasts.

I screamed and screamed and screamed. The pain was beyond imagination. I would have hung myself a second after he began flaying me if my foot could reach that button. I would have done anything to stop the torment.

He skinned my breasts. He skinned my nipples.

They scrubbed my flayed breasts and nipples with saltwater. It was like taking a torch to my wounded breasts.

I howled in agony.

They didn't care.P> They brutally tortured me.

I suffered. I suffered the agony of the damned.

Even when he finished, I screamed.

Finally, I could understand him.

He was going to destroy my pussy. He was going to continue flaying my breasts.

No.

These bastards have done enough to me.

They had happily gang-raped me for hours.

They had mutilated me with glee.

I'm done.

I press the button and say goodbye to this sick, fucking world.

She kicks and swings as she begins her hanging and there's a chance she'll break her neck before she suffocates. We can't have that.

One of my helpers brings his own platform onto the stage, perfectly measured for its height. He places it on the floor behind Molly's swinging body and steps onto it. He grabs hold of her heavy thighs. He bends her backwards, increasing the pressure of the rope on her neck. His nudges her anus with the head of his massive cock.

"Give it to the bitch," I tell him. "Make her bleed."

He pushes inside her, his cock disappearing between her huge, jiggling ass cheeks.

"NOOOO!" Molly manages to shriek in a garbled whisper.

He fucks her up the ass as she hangs.

Her twitching face conveys horror.

Molly dies with his semen sloshing deep in her bowels.

At the first chance, at the first moment of comprehension, I accept my death. I long for my death. My breasts are bloody hanging globes of sheer, constant agony.

I press on the button.

The platform drops.

I try to hasten my death, kicking wildly, trying to break my neck.

One of the motherfuckers holds my legs from behind.

He fucks me in the ass.

The audience cheers.

Humiliation matches fear.

Anal rape will be one of my last experiences on the planet.

His cock tears at my insides. I gasp and choke and cry. He's keeping me from swinging and he fucks me in the ass as the noose slowly kills me. Blood and spit hang in long strings from my lips and my tongue is a hard ball filling my gaping mouth. Each breath is both desperate relief and a blowtorch to my lungs.

I'm fully aware of his cock raping my ass as I die.

By the time his disgusting cum shoots into my bowels, I've already taken my last pain-wracked breath.

He lets go of my thighs and squeezes my tits.

Final bolts of pain spear me.

Limp and beaten, I strangle and twitch and die.

The bitch fetches a higher bid than Lacey.

She does have a better body, even with her bloody tits resembling steak tartare.

The dead whore is carried off the stage for a final - and hopefully savage - fucking.

It's Halley's turn. I've been looking forward to it. She's the one who's going to be the most fun to torture. She's the one who'll provide the most excitement, watching her hang.

She slaps away the helpers' hands after they unstrap her wrists and ankles. Standing, she faces the audience and gives them an exaggerated courtesy before walking across the stage to the platform. I admire the swaying of her firm breasts and the rolling of her jutting ass. Halley turns her back to the crowd so they can gaze at her ass as she mounts the platform.

She swivels.

"Get on with it," she says. "Noose me."

The rope falls past her chin and I tighten it against her neck.

"I'm not going to push that button," Halley says. "You're going to have to do it yourself."

"We'll see. Raise your arms in the air."

The helpers wrap the thick belt around her waist and place the leather cuffs on her wrists. They clasp the cuffs to the belt. Elbows slightly bent, she stands erect, waiting.

She looks delicious. Short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, apple breasts and a basketball of an ass. The belt encircles a slim waist. Flat stomach, toned thighs, shapely calves. She has a body built to be fondled and fucked.

And tortured. For those with the desire, she has a body perfectly constructed to withstand prolonged and vicious torture.

I won't lie. If I could, I would spend an eternity fucking and torturing her. If I could, I would come inside her endlessly while she suffered excruciating pain, writhing and screaming in agony.

"So now what?" she asks.

"So brave. So foolish, but so brave."

The helpers and I hold thin whips, five feet of leather honed to a cutting edge.

"You think you can beat me into submission?" Halley asks. "Really?"

My helper whips a diagonal stripe across her back. She stiffens and grunts, wincing. He strikes her again, drawing an ‘X' of blood on her back. She grunts again, louder, her mouth opening and her eyes watering.

He lays three horizontal stripes across her ass.

She jerks, grunting louder, sweat now leaking from her pores.

The whip bites deeply into her ass flesh. Her crotch seems to jump out to the first row of the audience. The flesh of her bottom jiggles from the blows like Jell-O shaking on a plate.

"Whip her cunt!" someone from the audience shouts. "Whip off her nipples!"

She accepts the blows with gasps and grunts and quivers, like a woman quietly enjoying a man's tongue as he sucks on her clit.

I want to take her down and jam my cock down her throat. Instead, I watch quietly as the whip cuts into her back and then leaves another three stripes on her ass.

My helper beats her quickly and professionally, hitting her with all of his strength, aiming for her back and her ass. We aren't going to mess with her beautiful thighs – we don't want to damage her support legs.

She shudders, twisting slightly, her body absorbing the blows. Blood flows over her skin. Each lashing drives the air from her body, even when the whip bites into her ass. She grunts and groans, throwing her head back, her mouth open, and then sucks in air before the next lashing leaves her breathless again.

He whips her thirty times, flaying skin.

Her breasts jump during the beating, her nipples drawing imaginary circles in the air.

It takes a little over five minutes.

She stands, legs shaking, body trembling, her blonde hair soaked with sweat that drips over her face.

"Had enough?" I ask her.

"Fuck off and die," she rasps.

She has yet to scream.

My other helper takes his turn. His whip stripes her stomach and her ribs; slashes into the sides of her hips; pummels her sternum.

"Her breasts!" a woman shouts. "Hit her on her nipples!"

Halley grits her teeth, wincing and groaning, tears spraying from her eyes.

The whip tries to slice her in half.

"You bastards!" she barks in a spray of spit as the whip's tip bloodies her belly button.

My helper finishes with a violent strike that sounds like a gunshot, the lash almost embedding itself in her guts.

She's crying.

"Enough?" I ask.

She shakes her head, glaring at me.

Most of the audience is on the verge of their second or third orgasms.

My turn.

She knows what's coming. She knows what I intend to target.

I stood naked in the hallway outside the torture chambers. I could tell that he was attracted to me. I didn't expect it to be of any benefit.

Mr. Sadisto surprised me.

"What's first on the agenda for you?" he asked me pleasantly. "Rape or torture? You decide."

I felt a jolt from my pussy race up my spine, as if a lover had begun fingering my sex.

It sickened me.

"Torture," I replied.

They led me into a windowless room and strapped me into a stout wooden chair. Beside it, twenty needles heated in an urn of burning coals.

We didn't speak to one another.

He slowly inserted one of the needles beneath a fingernail.

Every muscle in my body clenched and went rigid. My back arched and I strained against the straps, trying to break free. The muscles stood out in my neck.

Fiery pain ripped up from my nailbed into my hand and up my arm.

I felt sweat running down my cheeks.

He picked another finger and inserted another needle.

My buttocks clenched. I pulled a muscle in my calf. Spittle dripped from my lips.

I glared at him. He smiled at me.

He held up another needle.

I refused to beg and plead. I refused to scream.

I nodded. Go ahead, my body language told him. Go on hurting me. Have yourself a ball.

He put two needles underneath each of my fingernails.

I thrashed in the chair.

I suffered, tremendously.

He tortured me, expertly and happily.

I experienced agony and accepted it.

When he was done the helpers removed the needles and bound my throbbing hands behind my back, my fingers a source of constant torment, signaling my brain with bursts of pain.

They brought me to another room with a mattress on the floor and threw me onto it.

Mr. Sadisto waited, naked.

He spread my legs and rammed his cock into me.

"Wait," I groaned.

"Finally, she speaks," he said.

I lay panting, hurting.

"What?"

"On your back," I tell him.

"What?"

"This isn't just for you. It's for me, too."

He hesitated and then, shockingly, complied.

I rolled over and straddled him, sitting with my ass on his thighs.

"You need to aim it for me. I can't use my hands."

He positioned his cock and I sat down on its length, sighing deeply when his cock touched my private lips, and it filled me completely.

I groaned aloud.

This was going to be my last time, I had thought. I'm going to enjoy it.

I fucked him. Slowly. His cock pushed against my vaginal walls. I tried to force its head into my womb. I tried to grind his flesh into my clit. I raised and lowered myself deliberately, enjoying every moment of his cock's journey, my pussy juices flowing onto his balls. I was sopping wet and so was he.

The fact that he had just brutally and mercilessly tortured me made no difference.

In fact, somehow, it made everything so much better.

His hands squeezed and massaged my ass.

"Rub my clit," I ordered. "Use your other hand on my tits."

I knew he would like me to say ‘tits.'

He did.

He gave my clit a good strumming and kneaded and pinched my breasts, and squeezed my nipples so hard that if they were grapes they would have burst apart.

The pain drove me wild with more desire for his pumping cock.

"Harder," I groaned. "My nipples. Harder."

He tried to twist them off me.

His cock warmed and loved me.

I rose and fell, twisting my hips, letting his cock corkscrew into my cunt. Everything felt so good, the world felt so wonderful, everything was delightful. The pain from my fingers even added to my pleasure.

He reached beneath me and stuck a finger up my ass.

I moaned and purred.

Fireworks, tendrils of lovely sensations racing through my body, one of his fingers in my ass, other fingers rubbing my clit, his hard and huge cock pumping into my cunt.

I came, drowning his crotch with my pussy juices.

I kept fucking him until his semen shot into me.

Finished, I lay beside him.

"No one gets to rape you but me," he told me.

I didn't respond, luxuriating in the pleasure he had afforded me. As if he could read my mind, he rolled onto his elbow and gently kneaded my nipples between his thumb and index finger. Pleasure flowed throughout my breasts.

"It's almost a pity that you're going to be executed," he said absently.

I shouldn't have responded, but I did. "I won't kill myself. I won't. No matter what you do to me."

He reached down and fondled my clit.

I purred, spreading my legs.

His fingers played with me.

"You will," he replied. "I am going to torture you. It will be slow. It will be horrifying. It will be without any mercy. You are going to suffer indescribable agony. And then you will gladly kill yourself."

I won't, I thought. You can go to hell. You can go straight to fucking hell.

He stroked me for a long time.

I orgasmed, warm and friendly, again and again.

Leather slashes Halley's firm, round breasts.

The helpers each got thirty strokes. I awarded myself forty. That will be enough – we don't want to whip this lovely bitch to death.

I'll use twenty of mine on her pretty tits.

I slice into her breasts.

She gags and grunts as the whip digs into breast flesh.

I alternate tits, firing the leather into her. Her facial cheeks hollow, her eyes bulge, her hands shake. Her body undulates like a crawling worm. I pummel her tits. Blood flies into the air. Her nipples split open.

Blood flows like rivulets from tattered tits.

Now her slit. It had given me so much pleasure during the three hours that I fucked her over the last few days. Now it was time to give her slit the attention it really deserved.

I swing underhand. The tip buries into her cunt.

Halley jumps a little into the air.

I fling the whip with all of my power into her slit.

She's a jumping bean.

Spit flows from her mouth.

Still, Halley doesn't scream, but she grunts and groans continuously.

I pound away at her cunt.

Blood splatter coat her thighs.

Her red-striped and bleeding ass turns hard as concrete with each blow.

Her body's reactions to the beating is similar to her frantic movements as I had fucked her. She appears to embrace the whip just as her pussy had hugged and massaged my cock.

I adjust my aim so that the middle of the whip slashes her cunt and the rest of its length buries itself into the crack of her ass.

Another adjustment so that the tip strikes her anus.

Her groans are continuous and filled with despair and pain.

With precise aim, the tip flicks inside her vagina.

Her body vibrates as if she's being electrocuted.

The hundredth lashing finishes off her clit.

I toss aside the whip.

She's a beaten, bloody piece of ground meat.

It is time to really start hurting her.

He shocked and hung Lacey and then he skinned and hung Molly.

I'm next.

I accept it. I know there will be no last-minute call from the Governor's office. There will be no dashing hero coming to my rescue.

I had known this would be my last minutes in this world.

I had waited, hoping my sisters would not be brave and that they would just accept their fate and quickly kill themselves.

They didn't.

I watched them suffer horrific torture and then I watched them slowly die.

It may now be my turn but I will not pull the trigger, so to speak. He can do to me whatever he wants. I'm not going to kill myself.

I am going to be executed but it will not be my choice when it happens.

The bastards untie me. I don't give them any trouble and will not be dragged to my death.

I acknowledge the perverts in the audience and walk to the noose, giving them a shake of my ass as I step onto the platform.

I avoid Molly's shredded breast flesh lying on the stage.

Kiss my ass, I think to myself.

They noose me and bind my hands to my waist.

The people in the audience stare at me. They and my torturers are the last people I am going to see in this world.

Fuck them, I think.

My torturers each hold a whip.

Whips? I think. They think I can't take a beating?

Mr. Sadisto looks at me with hunger.

You don't get to fuck me again, I think. My body is no longer going to pleasure your cock.

But my body does belong to their sadism.

One of the helpers walks behind me and starts his work. Leather cuts across my back. It's a fiery line of pain that cuts into my skin and my body shudders. He hits me again. The pain is deep and exquisite, and the torn skin still stings long after the strike. Now my ass catches fire as he hits me rapidly and harshly. I swoon for a moment. The blows are continuous and violent. I'm sweating and trembling. Each blow is somehow worse than the last. It's like being stung by thousands of wasps and hit with a hammer at the same time and on the same place. And the stinging goes on long after the whip falls away.

He's taking all the skin off my back and rear end. I can't keep from groaning aloud. Pain floods my system. It's eating me alive.

Now the other man goes to work. He beats my stomach and my chest and my ribs, but avoids my breasts. He hits me on the sides of my ass. The whipping is relentless. I'm struggling to breathe as he whips my guts.

My body is on fire.

They beat me bloody and now it's Mr. Sadisto's turn.

I feel faint, short of breath, and exhausted.

Mr. Sadisto lashes my breasts. The leather strips away my breast flesh and burst open my nipples.

I'm crying, dancing on the platform, being mercilessly beaten.

He pauses and points to my slit and smiles.

I steady myself, trying to prepare for the punishment to come.

I had known as soon as I saw the whips that he intended to beat my pussy into a bloody mess.

After I had straddled him, fucking him, he visited my cell three times. No one else touched me. Only him.

He pushed me down onto the dirty, thin mattress in my prison cell and spread my legs. My hands were always bound behind my back. His weight pressed down on me. His cock entered me. He fucked me. Each fucking lasted for over an hour (he told me that later). Each time, he pushed his cock into my dry pussy. I wasn't dry for long. After a few minutes, I was gushing, wetting the mattress, drowning his cock in my pussy juices. For over an hour, he fucked me, sometimes slowly, sometimes in quick rapid stabs into my vagina. After several hundred strokes he would flip me around like a rag doll. He would fuck me doggie style. He would position me so he could stand and hold my ass while he fucked me, with me either staring at the mattress or ceiling. He would have me lie on my side, my top leg drawn up knee to breast, and he'd drive into me relentlessly and sadistically while pinching my ass. He would harshly maul my breasts and nipples, sometimes digging fingers into my nipples until I actually began crying.

I knew he didn't give a damn about my pleasure. In his mind, he was raping me. And he was.

I was lost, each time. I moved my hips in rhythm to his pounding cock. I groaned and moaned, enjoying his cock inside me. He'd fondle and rub my ass, penetrating my anus with his finger, squeezing my own damaged fingers. The pain added to the pleasure.

I hoped it would go on forever. I hoped his cock would pummel me until the end of time. My sloppy wet cunt eagerly grasped his steely cock with great sucking sounds. His crotch banged into my mound. He came in great gushes of semen. I lost count of my own orgasms, each time. I was lost in ecstasy. I knew I was being fucked by my torturer; by my executioner. I didn't care. I gratefully accepted his pumping cock. I reveled in the sensations.

Combined, he fucked me for over three hours.

He fucked me into oblivion.

He fucked me to heaven.

And now he's going to lash my pleasure center and send me to hell.

Part of me knows that for him, it's his way of showing me love.

He whips my pussy.

Intense pain roars into my head.

My hips and crotch move as if I'm being fucked by him again, but it's a fucking of agony and not pleasure.

I'm jumping and grunting, the pain building.

He beats my cunt to a bloody pulp.

Now he's stroking my ass crack with the whip. My buttocks clench, trapping the leather and when he pulls it free I feel skin tear and blood flow.

I jump higher when the whip hits my anus and fight back my screams.

I almost pass out when he manages to fling the whip into my vagina.

It takes all of my strength to keep from voicing my agony. I won't give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

He whips me so hard that there can't be anything left of my sex. He's whipped it away.

I'm a bloody, ruined mess.

But I don't push the button. I'm not going to kill myself.

I stand, trembling and swaying, waiting for what's next.

I know this was just a warm-up.

I know him. For him, torturing a woman is his expression of love. This whipping has been his idea of foreplay. I'm about to experience the actual fucking.

I know my real suffering is about to commence.

She's covered in stripes and blood. Her ass is lovely, torn and swollen. Her eyes showcase the pain she's suffered.

She's a beautiful girl. I decide she should be cleaned up before we continue.

"Think about wet tongues licking you all over," I tell her. "Imagine that we are tasting your skin."

My helpers and I dip sponges into the pail of saltwater and give her a full-body cleaning.

Salt seeps into open wounds.

She convulses, her face a mask of pain, every muscle in her body twitching as the salt tortures her. Her ass cheeks jump, her breasts flop.

I vigorously rub the salt into the stripes cutting across her jutting ass, and in the torn flesh of her ass crack.

She violently shudders and whines.

I scour her cut tits and her bleeding cunt.

She's wailing but not yet screaming.

We hurt her for her pain and our pleasure, and for no other purpose. This won't break her. I'm not trying to break her, yet. I just want her to suffer.

More foreplay. They wash me with saltwater.

All of my skin burns. Its like being whipped all over, without the crushing blows.

I'm sobbing and crying out and the pain intensifies.

Why can't I pass out? How can a human body take so much abuse?

He's paying special attention to my ass and my breasts and pussy.

I must be putting on a good show for the audience. I writhe and shake uncontrollably. The pain grows. Part of me wants to die. Part of me isn't willing to let go.

My pussy is a cauldron of excruciating agony.

They torture me for fun.

I'm now a fuck-toy for pain.

Now it's time to hear her voice. It's time for her to scream.

I tell her, "I knew that beating you or the salt bath wasn't going to make you give up. This was all just for my pleasure and for the audience's enjoyment. Let's get down to business."

A helper hands me the scissors. I pull on one of her bloody, split open nipples and cut it off her breast. Blood pumps from the open wound and washes over her stomach.

"I expected milk," I said. "Had enough?"

Mouth hanging open, eyes wide, staring down at her chest and then at me in disbelief. She shudders and vomits gruel.

"How can you…."

"After everything we've done to you and your sisters, you're shocked that I cut off your nipple? Really?"

She almost begs but shuts her mouth, vomit on her chin.

With a rag, I wipe her face clean and then cut off her other nipple.

She shudders again and moans in despair.

"Your choice," I said. "Do I continue or do you die?"

She shakes her head, tears running from her eyes.

"Okay. Fuck you."

One of the helpers wheels the portable fire pit onto the stage. Flames leap in the air. The handles of the brands protrude from the fire, each ending with a glowing, ornate ‘S.'

"The salt bath was pre-heating your meat," I tell her. "Now it's time for some real cooking."

I take one of the brands and show it to Halley.

"Your choice."

"Go to hell."

I stand to her side, steadying her with my left hand on her crotch and press the steaming metal into her left ass cheek. Flesh sizzles. Her ass jerks and twitches. She arches her back to the extent allowed by the noose, her hands and fingers shaking violently, muscles in her gut and thighs clenching.

Finally, she screams, loud and long. Her shrieks of helplessness and despair and pain fill the room.

The audience cheers.

I step back, smiling.

She starts to sob.

I use another brand to burn the letter ‘S' into her other ass cheek. The flaming iron presses deep into her flesh. She howls.

I give her a minute.

"Time to die?" I ask her.

Eyelids fluttering, mouth hanging open and drool dangling to her tits.

"Well?"

"Go to hell," she manages to whisper.

Her favorite saying, I think.

I hold the tongs. I play with her tits.

She goes insane with pain.

She writhes with as much gusto as she had displayed when I raped her.

My helpers each hold two brands. They burn two ‘S's' into each side of her wonderful ass.

Halley screams and convulses, fingers spread wide apart, her head flinging side to side as much as the noose will allow.

The helpers hold her steady while I show my admiration for her powerful, shapely backside and by pressing two fiery brands into her ass cheeks.

The next brand sears into her stomach.

She writhes like a pendulum on a short arc.

Urine sprays on her thighs.

"Another?" I ask.

She sobs and won't look at me, her eyes gazing up at the rope leading to the ceiling.

My helpers brand the inside of her thighs.

She almost passes out.

I slap her across the face, viciously.

"You don't get to go anywhere," I say. "You're staying with us."

I press another brand hard against her pubic mound, burning an ‘S' into the skin above her slit.

She howls out in agony.

I take the rod from the fire pit, one inch in diameter and eight inches long.

"Either you hang yourself now," I say. "Or I ram this way up your ass."

She gazes at me, hopeless, the fight literally burned out of her.

"Choose."

She groans, "I don't want to die."

I walk behind her and run my fingers up and down her bloody ass crack. The smell of her burnt flesh floats about her. A slap on her soft, jutting buttocks jolts her. I bring the red-hot rod close to her asshole, letting her feel its heat.

"Choose."

She hesitates, crying loudly now.

I give her wonderful ass a good, long rubbing and then just barely touch her anus with the rod, burning the insides of her ass cheeks as I do so.

Halley wails in despair, reaches out with her foot and steps on the button.

The bitch hangs.

He cuts off my nipples with scissors.

The horror of the disfigurement exceeds the pain from sliced flesh.

I gag and spittle dribbles onto my chin.

My nipples join Molly's strips of breast flesh on the floor.

I am really going to die here, I think.

The helpers wheel out the fire pit and the audience chants, "Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!"

They are going to brand me.

I don't want to die.

He brands my ass.

When I was a little girl I accidentally touched a pot on the kitchen stove. I sobbed hysterically for a long time. It hurt so much.

That was nothing, compared to this.

Finally, after so much punishment, I howl.

Agony overwhelms me.

This is like all of the pain from the whipping and the salt bath being applied to one small area of skin, all at once.

I cannot believe the pain.

It overwhelms me, sucking away my soul, obliterating all other feelings.

There is only the burning agony.

He burns my other ass cheek. I can't think or focus.

He holds the tongs up to my face.

"I know how you loved it when I kneaded your nipples," he says. "This will be the next best thing."

The tongs grasp onto the edges of the torn flesh about my right breast. Heat sears into my aureoles. I scream and shout in agony.

The tongs tighten about my other breast.

The smell of burning skin rises with the smoke into the air.

The audience cheers with delight.

"Maybe in a little while I'll give what's left of your clit a long, hot squeeze," he suggests.

His helpers burn the sides of my ass.

I shout out my pain to the world, my body writhing, the rope cutting into my neck.

He burns my ass again and his helpers char my inner thighs.

Step on the button! a part of me shrieks, not wanting to suffer any more torture.

I don't want to die, a little girl's voice whispers.

He burns my stomach and then presses an iron hard against my pubic mound.

I bawl and shriek and sob.

He's holding an iron rod and threatening to push it into my ass.

I'm decorated with ornate ‘S's.'

I'm an advertisement for Mr. Sadisto's ‘brand.'

I feel intense heat at my anus.

He pushes against my puckered behind.

No more, I think.

I've lived enough.

I've suffered enough.

I press the button, wailing.

I hang.

She goes gently into the night. She doesn't struggle. She doesn't twist or kick her legs or try to grasp for something with her hands. She hangs fairly still, the rope digging into her neck, eyes and tongue bulging, mouth open, snot and spit dripping from her face. She shudders, her torn breasts heaving slightly, gasping for air. Her lovely ass quivers. Her thighs twitch.

I rub my palms over her soft burned ass, letting my fingers explore her crack.

Gurgling sounds escape her throat.

Drool leaks onto her breasts and sweat glistens on her skin.

I enjoyed fucking her.

I enjoy watching her die.

I gently rub her clit, careful not to get her off. I don't want her to have such an enjoyable send-off. Still, I give her a dollop of pleasure. She even moans softly as she struggles to breathe. My finger grows wet from her. I massage and slowly stroke her clit.

I want Halley to be on the verge of an orgasm when she dies.

I want this bitch to be denied that final pleasure when death takes her.

I don't fight death. I am ready for it.

This is my execution. It sounds so normal, like someone saying, ‘it's my birthday' or ‘it's my graduation day.' But there's a finality to ‘my execution.' A finality that I'm about to experience.

The rope cuts off air and pressure builds in my lungs. It hurts. The rope rips skin from my neck. I feel myself trembling and urine dribbles down my legs. The audience is mostly silent, trying to hear my every gasp and groan. I'm dying in front of strangers. I'm dying in front of people happy to see me pass away.

My body still hurts horribly from the lashing and the burning. I'm cut and charred. I'm bleeding. I'm dying.

He rubs my ass.

He fingers my crack.

It's getting very hard to breathe. His fingers find my clit. He's giving me a going-away present. He's going to send me away with a bang.

Darkness approaches.

It is so very hard to breathe.

My lungs catch fire.

I twitch and tremble.

He plays with my clit.

Pleasure waves roil through my torso.

I'm close to passing out.

I urinate again, lubricating his fingers with my piss.

I don't have much longer.

I can sense the approaching orgasm but it's far away. It's so very far away.

I won't make it.

I wish he'd stick a finger up my ass.

I wish he'd put his cock into me one last time.

I feel a deep longing and sadness.

I'm dying.

I feel my life flowing away.

I'll never be fucked and pleasured again.

The thought makes me so very sad.

I lose feeling in my legs and my arms and my breasts.

I can still feel his fingers on my slit.

He whispers to me," I'm going to fuck you when you're dead."

My tongue is larger than my mouth and it hangs over my lips. My eyes roll into my head.

I can't see or hear.

Pleasure drifts from my sex but even that is receding, becoming a sensation that's as distant as the stars.

Frustration. I can't cum. I'm going to die without cuming.

I stop breathing.

Tremendous longing floods my dimming mind.

I die.

I win the bidding.

In the adjoining bedroom, I put her chest-down on the bed and lift her by her thighs and fuck her corpse while gazing at her branded ass.

I try to split her apart.

Flipping her over, turned on by her sightless eyes and slack features, I drive into her burned and lashed body with as much force and power as I can muster.

Her tits shake.

I cum in waves.

She's a wonderful fuck.

Truth be told, I like fucking her now more than when she was alive.

There's nothing like fucking a dead, beautifully tortured girl. Especially when I'm the one who tortured her.

I fill Halley's cooling womb with streams of my hot jism.

Good bitch, I think, completely satisfied. You're a good dead bitch.