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Original Fiction
WARNING! This story contains detailed descriptions of very cruel tortures and murder of a teenage victim. I insistently recommend you reading it ONLY if you are really interested in the things like that. I am not going to accept any complaints or disapproval from those who might be squicked with it but who read it nevertheless.

THE SNUFFER

I am going to snuff you.

I didn't tell that aloud. Even without these words his eyes staring at me were full of terror. For a short moment there was hope flickering in them - and then, when I just slid my glance over him and walked in, he understood that there was no chance. He was a smart kid.

He sat on the floor in the corner of the empty room, with his ankles roped together and his arms tied behind his back tightly and cruelly - by his wrists and his elbows, so, that his shoulders looked twisted forward unnaturally and his chest bulged. He was gagged - I saw his distorted lips were dry and bruised; it made his face seem older.

Well, he was no more than sixteen - I knew it despite his so very tired expression (he had a sleepless night and the most possible he didn't manage to rest by day) and despite his eye-sockets black with smeared mascara. And he was handsome - not sweet - but with a subtle expressive face you are going to remember.

One of my customers picked him last night in the street and brought to the house. He caught the little hooker when he tried to snatch an expensive bagatelle from the hall. He gut-punched the kid and called his friends. They raped him all the night, as refined as they could - and when their fantasy ran short they decided to call me.

I don't know whether he would finish like this anyway, even if he didn't try to rob the host. And, actually, it didn't matter now.

There was no much left of his clothes. I saw his leather straight jacket on the floor at his feet - but there was no possibility for him to cover himself with it though he had to be cold. The room was in the basement and even I felt like huddling myself up. I didn't have any sight of his skirt - and his black narrow corselet of mat textile crumbled around his waist. One of his fine stockings slithered down to his foot, the other was laddered irreparably. The funny thing was that through all their entertainment they didn't take off his sandals - blinding golden things on 5" stiletto heels. They were laced around his ankles and didn't fall down themselves. He had to have a hell of time, having them on his feet for so long.

"Hi pretty," I said coming up to him and squatting. I smiled. I reached my hand to his face - and thanks to my voice or to my expression he didn't back from me. Not that there was any space for him to back. I found the fastening of his gag and released it. "What is your name?"

There were some moments when he couldn't speak. He tried but he couldn't. His mouth was too dehydrated after the hours with the rubber ball in it, his jaw probably strained painfully and his throat disobedient. When he did tell it - it sounded like a hiss of air going out of his lungs. Josh - or Joe - I didn't understand.

"No little one," I corrected him softly. "Your name how you call yourself in this garment."

"Mary Beth," he said.

I liked it. It was a nice name - and it sounded new for me.

I put my hand around his face. His skin was pale and by touch very smooth - girl-like; he didn't have to shave yet. I stroked his cheek-bone with my thumb slightly. His eyes were turned to me - huge dark-brown eyes, very beautiful. His gaze was mesmerized; he didn't know what to wait from me.

"I think you have to take a shower first," I said untying his feet. Oh yeah he did need it. He stank. With his own sweat and with sweat of those who had him last night and with their cum. His lovely black hair - a kind of rippled, not really wavy - was icicle-like with it - and some of it was sticky even on his lashes.

Mary Beth didn't ask me anything - although I saw his eyes were still puzzled, even more puzzled than before probably. His discolored lips worked a little, as if he hoped to find some saliva in his parched mouth.

Don't worry dear, soon you'll have more water than you will want.

I tugged the thin belts of his sandals next. He really had to feel uncomfortable - I could sense how puffy were his feet, with the laces stuck deeply into his skin. I rolled down the stockings and took them off, too.

"Come on, get up."

When I pulled him on his feet I had to take all his weight myself. I didn't wonder - I would wonder if he were not cramped after eighteen hours in this position. And he was not heavy at all. A head shorter than me and bony. His garter belt hanged on his pelvic bones. I unbuttoned it and his twisted corselet with a shade of squeamishness and dropped them on the floor.

He had cum and blood crusted on his legs and on his chest.

You know my wife thinks a prostitute can't be raped. She means everything what is done to a prostitute is just a part of his/her profession. Well, I was going to continue to call rape what was done to the kid the night before. I couldn't call it in any other way when they fucked him until he started bleeding and pinched or bit his nipples till splitting them. They beat him, too. I saw these purple stains of bruises on his belly and rib-cage. And I saw his misused genitals.

I had one of my arms around him when I turned him and reached for his hands. He almost lay on my elbow like that and I knew my jacket's sleeve could be rough against his tender injured tits. His skin was so very white that every trace on it seemed extremely visible - was it the soreness on his wrists from the rope or more bruises in his kidney area. He was going to piss blood, I thought.

"Yeah Mary Beth, yeah girl," I whispered to his ear when gently shaking him upright. "Let's go."

There was the door to the bathroom from this room. I don't remember how many times I was there; more than a couple of times, anyway. And it was not always this house. I turned the light on and helped Mary Beth to come in.

The bathroom could look old and void of conveniences but one thing I knew for sure - it was scrupulously clean. And I didn't need anything else but the tub and the shower; I brought my things with myself.

"Don't be so tense," I recommended when easing the cross-dresser's frail body to the tub. The water ran from the faucet and drained down to the hole with the pleasant purling. Mary Beth sat a kind of lopsidedly, partly on his ass, partly on his thigh, with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face was turned to me all the time, while I made the temperature of water appropriate and took the shower from the hook. The wings of his narrow straight nose were fluttering. He was in pain, I knew it. His limbs had to get dead stiff by the time I came - and now blood was returning to them. He will have more of it when they get warmed with the water. But there was not only pain in his eyes, even though for last twenty four hours he learned more of it then probably ever - and will learn more too soon.

"Wanna drink?" I filled my palms with water and brought it to his face. His hands were of no use now. He clang with his mouth to it - swallowing, gulping greedily, his lips soft and warm on my skin. I gave him more - why not? It meant nothing on the long run of this night.

When he finished and looked at me again the worried questioning expression in his eyes became even more visible.

"Will..." he licked his lips once more, as if delaying with the moment when he would get to know inevitable - and still he was not able to refrain from this question, of course. "Will I be allowed to go... soon?"

During all this time I asked myself on and on what was better, what was more correct - to tell them the truth and watch how they go mute, unable to accept it at the first second, and then become hysterics? Or to lie - to be mild with them as I tried to be mild with them in everything else? And I only half-lied, you see.

"A little more of sex pleasures from you sweet toy," I murmured under my breath. I ran the shower over Mary Beth, seeing with satisfaction how the layers of sperm melted and disappeared from his skin. His wet hair looked funny, sticking to his skull. "You can stand it, can't you?"

It was what he was doing for living - stand sex. I looked at his lashes flopping up and down under the streams of water. It took several moments before he raised his eyes to me again and said:

"Yeah, sure."

"That's the girl," I smiled approvingly. "Nah, no girls tonight." I held some water and washed his face with my palm pressing it firmly to clean the residuals of his barbaric make-up. "Now you are a good boy, aren't you?"

There was no mirror for him to check it - but my eyes were his mirror. It was strange how quickly they all start looking at me in the search of answers. But it was right; I had to become his last answer.

"Spread your legs," I asked him, "I have to wash your basket."

He did it with hesitation. I didn't touch him - just the flow of warm water on his visibly swollen balls and bruised cock. He was uncircumcised and his pubic hair was the same black and fluffy as his head hair.

"Now stand on your fours."

He watched me when I was filling the enema bag. There was no fear in his eyes - I guess he used to do it to himself. And it was just a usual enema, nothing more.

"Are you Spanish?" I asked it conversationally while looking at him standing in this funny pose in the tub. He did look attractive and vulnerable - with his narrow back and slim hairless limbs, with this small ass stuck up. I asked because he had so pale skin and so dark, almost raven hair.

"I am half-Italian," he answered looking to my face.

"That's nice." I didn't mean it was nice that he was half-Italian, it related to his smooth tender crack I reached to now. His anus looked soft and bright, a bit raw after the previous night but whole in any case. A sweet and neat anus, almost as neat as if no thick dicks ever split it open. But when I probed it with my finger the muscles relaxed readily letting me in.

"For how long do you take cocks up there?" I asked. I felt the sphincter around my finger clamping a little.

"For three years."

"Do you like it?"

"No... I mean... No."

His glance was wary - as if he feared he could say something I wouldn't like. I continued to look at him with the same gentle expression, rotating my finger inside him. Then I took it out and pushed the hose of the enema in.

"Do you like doing it with your mouth better?" I spoke to him while the water was leaking into his guts.

"Yep."

"Then you'll do it with your mouth for me, won't you?"

There was a tiny pause before he answered:

"Yes. Yes, I'll do."

I could take whatever I want without asking him. But at the same time it was not what I come here for. That's why I always asked. They never refused. I even didn't have to say: "I will be kinder to you then," - because it would be a lie anyway.

"And do you like girl's clothing?"

If I was bringing any discomfort to him with the enema his face didn't reveal it.

"I guess..." I saw him biting his lip and wincing slightly with the pain of a split on it. "I guess I do. In any case - if I play a girl I should dress like one."

"Are these your words?"

He shrugged.

"Who was your first lover?"

"My father."

"Is he your souteneur?"

"No. He died."

"And who is?"

"Gabriele. He is just a pimp."

"Has many like you?"

"Some."

"You don't use drugs?" When hoisting him I didn't notice the traces on his arms.

"I... Just a little."

"What color was your skirt?"

"Golden leather."

"Did you have lipstick?"

"Yes."

"Red?"

"Yes."

For a moment I grinned imagining the vision of the young hustler in the electric-light street - startling brightness of the narrow stripe of his skirt, easy tapping of his high-heeled sandals, whiteness of his face and the scarlet wound of his painted mouth on it.

"That's all," I said taking the hose out. The clamp was still shut, however. "We'll wait ten minutes. And meanwhile..." I nodded a bit. "Stand on your knees hon. Can you put the rubber with your mouth?"

He could. I let out my heavy organ and gave him the condom and in no time at all his warm lips were enveloping it. He was a pro - I didn't have to pull his head closer. In three or four attempts he let my cock behind his gag reflex and then the movements of his head went smoothly and sliding. His eyes were squinted shut - and I kept my own lids half-mast.

I liked the sight. Mary Beth's dark head was bobbing over my crotch while he kneeled obediently in the tub, his thin shoulders beaded with the drops of water - and more water was splashing on the cloth of my jeans. The whore looked so fragile in comparison with my own muscular frame - child-like. He was a lot older than my children, however.

"Okay, okay, you are fine, you are great baby," I muttered when feeling that my release was close. I saw a short flickering of his velvety eyes when he looked up at me - and then my cock twisted and pulsed out in his mouth. In the rubber, of course - but still it was a good sensation, long and deep enough.

I flashed the thing to the toilet after that and turned to Mary Beth. It was time for him to clean up, too - and it was time, really. I could notice he didn't feel too good anymore with the filling inside him.

I repeated the procedure after he had voided his bowels - for a shorter time, however. Then I looked at my watch and I knew we had to hurry.

"Aren't cold any more?"

He shook his head. I rubbed the towel over his light body gently and over his hair with more pressure. He didn't have time to get it dry - but it didn't matter much. I brushed him anyway - so that his locks looked shiny and clean. Then I hastily changed my own clothes.

I was not the one who liked it! No, true, I would like to do my work in my usual shirt and jeans; they didn't have to look at me during the performance. But they wanted me to be impressive. They wanted as much for their money as they could get. So, I stripped and squeezed myself into the tightest black leather pants I could put on in any case. Well, when I was in - yeah then I could agree I looked like something. Even if a bit showy. With these scars and tattoos covering my chest and back. The leather pants were the only thing I had to wear. And it was much, taking into account that Mary Beth had nothing.

The kid stood facing me, with his arms limp along his body, not trying to cover himself. Even without make-up his face was startling - with these enormous eyes in the deep shadows of the sockets, with sable-like brows and brightly outlined mouth that could be so very sensual if it were not so beaten by now.

I could read his anxiety in his eyes turned to me. What did he think looking at my bare chest, at the taut leather on me? He was afraid. But not so much afraid as he could have been if he knew. And there was something else in his eyes, something I hardly believed I saw - but I had seen it before, too. There was dependence.

"Come with me Mary Beth," I said. "You have to come."

"What is your name?" he asked suddenly. I stumbled for a moment. Then I said, I said the truth:

"Rodion."

"You won't leave me, Rodion?" he asked in a voice so small that I barely could hear it. He repeated my name right.

"No Mary Beth," very swiftly I ran my fingers over his forehead. "You can be sure. I'll be with you till the very end."

* * *

I knew where to look when I entered the place - and both my eyes and my bare feet were used to it. I guided Mary Beth by his elbow. And looking awry at his face I saw how his lashes fluttered when we were on the scene.

Well, it was not a real scene, of course. Just a kind of support in front of several arm-chairs. Six of them, exactly. Sometimes there were fewer. Never more than six. The places were already taken.

I didn't look at the faces, didn't try to discern them - that was not so difficult, even though the scene was lit and the audience shadowy. I think Mary Beth could recognize them very well - he saw every one of them yesterday night; there were others, their friends, too, then, however.

"On," I whispered this word pushing the little slut forward slightly. He stumbled. He looked back at me and I saw his lips starting verbalizing one question:

"What..."

But then we were in the circle of light.

They didn't clap their palms; not in the beginning, at least. By the end of the night, when their spirits rose, they would be much more outspoken. Now they only looked at us and even though I knew they saw me times before and I used to it I still could feel the unpleasant palpable quality of their stares. I dug my fingers deeper into Mary Beth's shoulder.

"Close your eyes bird," I said. I didn't want screaming and thrashing to start right now. Only when it will be too late.

As if it were not too late now.

His lids lay down obediently. He didn't see how I pushed the button and the device lifted to the scene from under the floor. I walked him to it and he still didn't look. Because I told him not to.

It was a cross. Not a kind of cross for the crucifixion but X-like, made of solid wood and with the most durable cuffs on each edge of the cross-bars. It was a rack. It could be put vertically or horizontally or under any desirable angle. It stood upright now.

I led Mary Beth there. I watched his face askance - whether it would distort when he felt the emanations coming from the thing. It was washed clean and clear after every time, scrubbed and brushed and disinfected. And still it had to be there, you know; it doesn't go anywhere. But the transvestite slut was not the one who could sense it.

"Turn around," I said quietly, audibly only for him, not for the audience. He did. He stood in a couple of inches from the instrument and he didn't know it.

"Raise your hands and spread your arms," I ordered. He obeyed me even before it struck his mind what implication this order could have. But then it was too late. I seized his wrists in the shackles and locked them.

"Hey!.." these gorgeous eyes, now wide with the sudden fear, opened at once. He was fast in starting flailing - but I was faster. I glided down to the floor and fixed his ankles in the same implacable manner his wrists were held. "Let me... Let me go! Why..."

I stood up and looked at him. At that moment in Mary Beth there was no more this weird charm of a rabbit hypnotized by a boa. He looked like the most ordinary teen - naked and spread-limbed, twisting in the manacles wildly. A pretty kid, surely - with his slender alabaster-like body and dark patches of hair in his crotch and under his arms. But I preferred him frozen and docile, to tell the truth. Well, I was going to put him into that state again very soon.

His head was flopping up and down wildly and he babbled:

"Oh come on... what's that? Why that? What d'you wanna? It's... it's..."

I turned the lever behind the rack and the shackles pulled his hands up sharply.

Actually, I made several turns at once - for he was not tall, really - and when the cables pulled the cuffs they yanked Mary Beth up roughly. He gasped. This short "Oh" made a break for the meaningless chatting. He was standing on his tip-toes. I turned again and again - until his feet left the ground completely. And then even more, pulling the cables of the ankle shackles down. Yes, that's how it worked. Then the inevitable happened and his body started being stretched in four different directions.

"God..." it was an exhale, not really a word from Mary Beth. I looked at him. He hanged by his hands now - and the shackles on his ankles pulled him down, already painfully. Then I turned the lever once more and he yelped.

I looked at his body that seemed to become somehow longer - stretched and narrow, with his rib-cage looking like a dome and his abdomen incredibly hollow. He was panting. I could see the thin film of perspiration appearing on his very pale skin. When I met his eyes there was a real fear in them. Real, I mean. I know how it looks like.

He followed my hand with his gaze when I reached for the lever once more.

"No... Don't..."

I turned again, he screamed and then choked. You can't virtually scream when you are stretched this much. For a moment his head fell down - then he tossed it back and I saw his throat trembling in torment. I stooped for my bag and took out a bunch of pins.

Sometimes when one of those whom I was doing on the rack screamed too much or cursed or behaved with especial indignity I was ordered to gag him. But with Mary Beth, I guessed, it was not this kind of case. We were going to get his every cry or moan or gasp - so far, at least.

Even in the searing pain of stretching he still noticed what I had in my hand and his mouth quivered desperately. Maybe, he was going to plead - or, maybe, he already started understanding it was completely useless. I took his left nipple between my thumb and forefinger and tweaked it slightly. My, it was not easy! With his tits being so tiny naturally and because his skin was so taut now I could hardly do it. I saw I was leaving the dark spots with my fingers around the golden-brown tender circle. I worked it up a little, sensing how my Mary Beth held his breath in - and that's when I drove the pin right through it.

You see, these were not just clothespins. I have three sets of them - 2", 3" and 4"-long, thicker than usual pins and not too sharp. I mean, I blunted them on purpose, so that it took some strength from me to stick them.

The little whore's shriek was short and heart-breaking. I took another pin from my mouth - I hold them like that - the ones I need now - like a tailor - and pushed it through the same nipple, only not downwards but obliquely. There was no much blood - just very minute trickles from where the points were coming out. I put two more pins in this tit and four of them in his other one.

Oh dear if you think there can't be pain like this you are wrong.

He was giving a nice cry for every pin coming through his flesh - and as I did it slowly he had enough time to get breath for making sounds. His skin became slippery with sweat - and his face was wet - but with tears. The pretty prostitute was weeping with pain.

When I stuck the 4"-long pin through his left ball he went limp. Not really unconscious because his lashes were still trembling - but kind of slack, as if his bones and muscles became dead. I cupped his balls - with the ugly pin piercing one of them - nice warm things, with the very wispy curly hairs on them. I didn't squeeze. I just held them for a little while. Then I put in another pin and Mary Beth was with us again, in his fearful misery.

I stuck ten pins into his balls and the same amount of 3"-long ones through his cock, all over from the head to the base, careful not to pierce his urethra - you'll see soon why. By this time his shrieks became much less loud, reminding harsh moans instead. When I finished with his penis and straightened I saw his face. It looked like a mask - so pale that it seemed yellowish, glistening with sweat and tears - not a pretty face. The tiny trickles of blood from the pin-holes on his chest and genitals streamed together and now the first drops of blood splashed on the tile floor under the rack.

I stepped back to let the watchers review what I had done. I didn't look at them. But I heard them - shifting, relaxing, perhaps starting bringing pleasure to themselves. I heard Mary Beth's breathing, too - even though he was almost unable to make any great noise by now his sobs were very audible, harrowing.

I put my palm on the stretching lever and turned it once more. There was something that was making me sick when I saw how his rib-cage stuck upwards even more and his limbs, unbearably drawn out, started vibrating, as if on the verge of tearing. He made a harsh howl, hardly imaginable for the dainty creature like he was.

Now I was going to start the water torture.

I knew they were getting right crazy when watching it; they never had enough of it... It was a big part of my services I was paid so generously for. So, I pushed another button and my appliances appeared on the scene.

I doubted that Mary Beth followed me with his eyes lucidly by now. His head was either sagging or leaned back and then I could see some spit leaking out of his mouth. His lovely-colored irises were so black and kept being like this - it was almost frightening. When I approached him with the hoses he made a short inhale. He already knew he had to expect pain and nothing except pain from me, whatever I had in my hands.

I pushed another lever and the rack flopped down - horizontally. I looked at the trickles of blood changing their directions on Mary Beth's chest and between his legs. I guess there practically was no pain when I inserted the edge of the hose into his hole. Then I released the clamp and water flooded to his insides.

It was just water - and I had already done it to him today. Perhaps he could think now there was not going to be something bad. Or wondered why I was doing it again. If he was able to wonder by then. Only it was not the same. The bag that was positioned on the fixture was thrice bigger than any I would make anyone take for other reasons. Liters of lukewarm water filling Mary Beth's guts implacably.

When I read the first severe cramps over his face I took another thin hose in my hands. A catheter. There was no much flesh on his cock to hold it because of the pins but I managed it, pushing the flexible tube inside his piss-slit. His eyes became great when he realized what I was doing. He could be well-accustomed to the enemas - but I don't think he ever had something like that done to him.

When I knew I reached his bladder I attached another bag of water to the outside edge of the tube and let it pour in. Into him, backwards, through his urethra to his bladder.

Well, I knew it wouldn't mean that much after what I was going to do next - maybe, just add to his agony but not multiply it. Only that was the point - to do everything meticulously, every step by step.

Even though he was stretched almost impossibly I still noticed a great shudder going through him when he realized the unspeakable sensations. He was being filled from two ends. And filled quickly. I realized it when I noticed that his belly - looking like a cavern until then - started flattening somehow. The place above his pubis where his bladder was - when I put my palm there I could feel feeble but perceptible bloating. I knew how his guts were accepting the water, too - more and more of it, bringing him new cramps.

The cramps will be nothing when we come to the end of this.

"Mary Beth," I came up to his face and bent to him. "Listen to me."

The eyes of a trapped animal looked at me.

"Please..." his throat had to be raw, his voice didn't sound as before at all. I cut him short.

"I'll be giving you to drink now. And you'd better swallow it - or you are going to choke. Do you understand me?"

I waited. He nodded; almost didn't move - but I recognized his nod. He didn't have any alternative, you see.

I put the funnel to his mouth and poured a jug of water into it. Then I covered his nose.

He jerked. At first I was amazed how he could stir so much being so stretched - and then I saw that the skin on his wrists under the shackles tore - and the flows of blood ran down from there.

But still it was too little for him to get any freedom of movement. I didn't have any problems holding him - and when what I told him became reality he started gulping the water fast and hard, as fast as he could.

I let him a tad of time to resurrect his breath before pouring another jug. After the third one I went to see what was going on at his bottom part. Yes, the bag of water that was going to his bladder was empty by now - and the bloating in the bottom part of Mary Beth's belly was very visible. His bladder held more liquid than ever at the moment - I knew it hurt - seemed it was going to burst out. But I knew it would hurt much more in a very little while.

I clamped the catheter so that there was no chance for the little bitch to piss it out and took the empty bag away.

The quantity of water from the enema in his bowels started being significant, too. It looked like his abdomen was sort of swelling from inside, bursting open. So weird - because just some minutes before it was so very flat.

He was making unbearable "Ah! Ah!" sounds - too exhausted to cry out louder. I returned to his face. Another jug of water. I knew it was as much as he could possibly get without causing much suffering - and I knew he felt it. He tried not to swallow when I poured the next jug into the funnel. But it was his body ripped between the sources of pain that chose the longer agony of drinking to the shorter pain of drowning.

Two more jugs and I found that by this time the enema bag was empty, too. He had to feel he was going to explode with it, I thought, every bit of his intestines filled with water on the verge of rupturing. I looked at his swollen belly - incredible sight - but it was what the water in him was doing. I fixed the clamp to shut his anus from release and dropped the other bag down.

I heard Mary Beth's moaning, steady and tearing, as low as it could be, with his vocal chords worn out - but I couldn't stop looking at his belly for a while. It was glistening with sweat film and the skin on it was so taut that it seemed I could tear it just with my finger. The flower of his pretty belly button started coming out.

And I could see the place where his overfilled stomach was. I couldn't say how much of the liquid went out of it to his bladder - but I knew that it was bringing the same amount of pain to him as his other bursting inner organs. I brought another jug to his mouth. His eyes were looking at me with the unforgettable expression of inhuman torment.

I made him swallow this one - and one more - and then I said:

"The last one - it will be over."

But I had something else for the last one. I didn't know if Mary Beth's vision was clear enough to see what it was. I put it to the funnel before pouring the water. A string of thin steel wire with twelve metal balls on it, 1,5" in diameter each. I pushed it to his mouth - and when he started gulping the water he was swallowing the string with the balls with it. His throat bulged agonizingly when the balls went through it. I fixed the outside end of the string to the bit that I put to Mary Beth's mouth when it was over.

The sight the unfortunate slut was presenting now was the most repulsive and the oddest possible. How many times I had seen it before - it still was shocking me. And it still was working better, maybe, than anything else for my customers.

The little prostitute's body was distorted beyond imagination. Narrow and outstretched, it had a monstrous bulging cupola on the place of the belly - as if he was pregnant on a long term, as if there was an alien foetus developing inside him. His abdomen was more prominent than his rib-cage now - a disgusting swell under the tightest skin. His navel seemed being turned inside out - its stem emerging, its cavity extended incredibly.

Mary Beth's face looked frightening - wax pale, with its features sharp and haggard and the eyes that seem to splash suffering out. He didn't make a sound through his gag - he couldn't. There were two trickles of bloody fluid coming out of his nose - the only orifices the water was leaving his body through.

I walked away from the scene letting my clients come closer to the rack. Back in the room where I saw Mary Beth for the first time I lit my cigarette. I knew what was going on the scene - as they were approaching the ugly form of the suffering hooker, touching his pulled out limbs, probing the tears on his skin, tasting his blood. I could imagine without any effort how their palms slid over his huge belly, groped carefully his pierced genitals, pressed the nubs of his nipples. They were patting his hair and his face, passed their fingers over his gag-spread lips.

I chain-smoked looking at my watch from time to time. Every minute had to make Mary Beth's agony more bitter. In half an hour I came back.

They knew exactly how long term there was for them - when I entered the scene they were in their arm-chairs again. I looked at the little martyr. They enjoyed him - I could see the spurts of their wad in his hair, on his chest and in his belly button that was not hollow any more.

I came very close to Mary Beth's face and whispered:

"I'll help you now."

I didn't know if my words penetrated the misery he was in. I turned the rack into vertical position and took off the clamp of the catheter. When I dragged it out for a moment there was nothing - his insides seemed to be destroyed. And then a stream of piss hit out of it. Red piss.

I heard some orgasmic sighs from the audience. The flow, so strong that Mary Beth's cock seemed erect with it, didn't become thinner. It changed color, however, to pink at first and then almost to normal. I removed the clamp that prevented him from voiding his bowels next. The sight was appalling. The flush of water spouting out of him was incredible. There were blood clots in it, too.

Did he have some of his insides ruined? He well might have had. His kidneys could be injured beyond recovering - and if he were going to stay alive he would need some complicated surgery on his intestines. But he was not going to stay alive.

With the water still gushing out of his bottom orifices I reached my hand to his mouth and took out the gag. I pulled it - and it pulled the string with balls out of his stomach and throat. Every part of Mary Beth's body convulsed with monstrous pain it was bringing him. The balls, every one of them, were emerging his throat, coated with bloody slime. He puked agonizingly after that - erupting the water that was forced into him so cruelly. It looked scary - his body quaking on the rack - not too visibly because it couldn't be with the stretching it was under - and the streams of bloody water leaking out of it endlessly.

His nasty belly was falling down slowly.

It took three quarter of hours for the leaking from his bowels to stop and for his vomiting to become just dry heaves. His body hanged limp, doll-like - and there still was a trickle of piss seeping from his penis. With his head lolled awry I couldn't see his face under the wave of his hair.

I waited some minutes before the new lot of torment started.

* * *

Slowly I pulled out the pins from Mary Beth's nipples. His only reaction was a slight movement of his sagged head. The tiny jets of blood from the punctures seemed unnatural, as if painted, on his chest. I dropped the pins on the floor absent-mindedly. When I started retrieving the pins from his cock and balls he moaned again - so low that this sound was unimaginable. The pins went out unwillingly from the resilient flesh of his testicles. He didn't stop pissing all the way.

When I took out the last of the pins I kept some of the longest ones in my hand. I didn't know if there was some relief for Mary Beth and what he thought about - if about anything - but he couldn't possibly expect what I did next. I picked the same pins and stuck them violently in his under-arms, right till their heads. It demanded strength - they were quite blunt after the first piercing. The cross-dresser's head tossed back and I saw his blackened mouth opening in a silent scream. He was practically past making sounds by now.

I pushed some more of the pins in his groin. Then I stooped to my bag and took out the next thing.

It was a dildo. Well, being a prostitute he had to be used to take something like that. But I was sure he had never even seen anything like this. It was 4,5"-thick, a foot and a half long object - but worse than that, it had a sand-paper-like surface. I didn't raise it to show it to Mary Beth - he wouldn't probably understand anyway.

But he understood when I put it against his anus and tried to force it in. There was such a wild jerk of his head - the only kind of movement he could do that witnessed the most unspeakable pain he had to feel.

He was a whore - but even he was not stretched enough to accommodate it. I pushed. I think he strove to escape it - even though there was no any way his body could change its position. Some short yelps were coming out of him. I hit the dildo up and inside - and then it entered. Because I tore a wound in him to let it in, I knew.

When I looked at my arms I could see my own bulging muscles while I was pushing the monstrous thing into his ass. It didn't matter if he didn't have space there to take it. I was mutilating him but I was thrusting it in.

It was inside for about a half of its length when Mary Beth passed out. I stopped. There was no speech if I preferred to do it with him unconscious - a silly question at all! - the thing was I was paid for keeping him responsive. I found a syringe in my bag, filled it and stuck it into his forearm. It was a powerful stuff; something like that we used in Afghanistan, then, years ago. It didn't take a couple of minutes before he stirred agonizingly and made a tearing animal-like howl.

I seized the dildo and pushed it again. And then, when at last it was in for as much as it was necessary, I pulled it out. The effect it made on Mary Beth, who seemed by then absolutely exhausted with the pain, was immediate and stunning. The piss from his seeping cock went in a thicker stream - and with a wet retching sound he splashed some bloody fluid over his lips and chin. His eyes were enormously huge - and if he was able to think by then he had to think I was tearing his colon out.

It was a sort of this, actually. When I looked at the dildo, pulled out from his rectum for almost its entire length, it was soaked in blood and had some tissue rags on its rough surface. I pushed it in. Out. In. I was fucking his torn rectum to the shreds.

I left the horrible thing deep inside him when finishing.

The second instrument I took was a sound - and it was not again the thing you use for your sexual games. It was as thick as my little finger and a foot long and with the same surface as the dildo I used before had.

I took Mary Beth's small blooded cock in my hands. It was cold and wet and still leaking piss. I didn't pay attention to it. His urination will stop when I force the sound inside his urethra. And I was going to do it, no matter how it would hurt him, how it would destroy him.

You are going to be destroyed completely tonight little thing.

It was a terrible sight - and the sight I couldn't miss, unlike when I was pushing the dildo into his ass - when I was submerging the sound into his ripping piss-slit. It seemed I heard distinctly how I was tearing something inside his penis - and I was tearing, of course, I couldn't doubt.

When I pulled the sound out it felt like I was wringing his cock off. He was shrieking, even though nobody could already hear him. His vocal chords were dead. But he was not - yet.

For several minutes I imitated fucking motions with the sound through his urethra. Blood was making my hands slippery and inconvenient to hold his organ. I left the sound buried in his bladder at last.

The next object I took was looking like a dildo, too - only much smaller - about 1" in diameter and 5" long. Even after everything what was done Mary Beth revealed some reaction when I stuck it into his belly button.

If there was any possibility for his to draw in his abdomen it wouldn't be too much pain, you know. The thing was there was none. He was stretched so madly that he seemed paper-flat in his stomach area. And his navel was kind of strained by then after the water torture and everything. I pressed the little dildo to it. I didn't penetrate it - just pushed it much deeper than it could go. It almost seemed I made it touch his spine.

The agony of these fucking-like motions was indescribable. By now there were blood snots leaking constantly out of Mary Beth's nose. His face didn't have anything in common with the face I saw in the next room just several hours ago. His eyes were black holes - he seemed dead, long dead - a corpse - but at the same time this corpse was alive and continued to suffer.

When it was enough with the navel-fucking I fixed the dildo on the solid belt and, putting it against his horribly looking belly knot, tied the belt around his waist firmly.

Saliva and blood was dripping out of his mouth when it gaped open after I had done it. It seemed Mary Beth looked astonished with what was done to him. But I knew he was not able to have feelings like this any more. It was just crazing pain that caused this reaction. The belt, tied extremely tightly, was making his waist so very tiny. And I tied it so that there was no any prominence on the place where the navel dildo was fixed. It was pushed into his navel to the end.

One more thing I did was to turn the stretching lever again. I saw Mary Beth's skin on his thighs tearing. And I knew I tore some of his muscles and ligaments, too.

It was time to let my customers explore the victim's body closely again. I left the scene once more, went to the bathroom and washed my hands. I was starting feeling light-headed with the sleepless night and a lot of cigarettes. But I knew it would pass as soon as I got home and have a little nap.

There was a black plastic pocket at the wall - well, it was there from the very beginning but I preferred not to look at it until my work was over (and it was almost over, you see). I didn't have to check it to know what was there. My fee. Fifty thousand bucks. The reason why I was doing it.

For my own country I was doing it almost free of charge. But it was a long time ago - and very far away from here. My own country that would give me a zinc coffin if I failed - but gave me much more than that. It taught me to kill. And now in this country my knowledge was claimed by a bunch of exorbitantly rich guys whose special pleasure was to watch death - as long and as agonizing as could be provided.

I didn't care. What I cared about were my children who would go to any college they would feel like when the time came - and would have cars and friends and opportunities to travel. For them this work on Saturday nights several times a year was not too much, really.

Then I returned to the scene to finish it.

I don't think Mary Beth felt when they were touching him, jerking off on him, twisting his nipples and squeezing his balls. I could see the traces - but this kind of pain must have been already imperceptible for him. His eyes were rolled back and I made another injection to his vein. His throat moved - and that's how I understood he was back.

For a moment I felt like saying something to him - something like: "Farewell Mary Beth". But I knew it was useless to speak to him. What existed for him now was just sheer pain. It didn't matter if I spoke to him, if I was killing him roughly or with gentleness.

I brought him some relief again - took out the dildo and the sound - blooded, frantic-looking things - and I took off the belt. With some sickening feeling I noticed that the point of the dildo went into his navel for about two inches - and when I pulled it out the stem came out with it.

But it didn't matter. He will live long enough for me to do other things.

I turned the rack for a tad, putting it to the position between vertical and horizontal, to provide the better view of everything I was going to do. Mary Beth's mauled tits almost didn't have normal tissue on them to touch. I still put my fingers on his left one and rolled it. It didn't grow erect, no more than you would be able to make a dead man's nipple erect. I still could see the slight contour of his tit-bud in this mess of injured flesh. I stopped trying. I just took the pincers, locked them around the soft knot of flesh and yanked it out.

The stimulator I had given him was working. His head jerked in a convulsion of pain. But more shocking and much more visible than that there was a flow of blood from the wound on his chest where I had torn his tit out.

I put the bit of flesh on the tray carefully. They were going to use it as a souvenir. Then I put the pincers on his other nipple and made the same with it.

It was a weird thing - Mary Beth was silent now, even though still feeling pain - but the audience was not. I heard a plash of applauds when I removed his nipples - a short one but nevertheless. And even louder than that there were their sighs and moans of pleasure.

"Jesus... Ooh, Jesus..." someone was repeating all the time.

I took another kind of pincers, bigger than the first ones. There was no any reply from Mary Beth when I clasped them around his genitals. They were big enough to be locked on his cock and balls at once. But he did reply when I pulled them up with all my force.

It was a work, you know. I was slick with sweat and my arms were already aching. The harsh hissing sounds that were escaping Mary Beth's throat were his screams he couldn't produce any more. The jets of blood were spattering from under the pincers and the sound of tearing flesh was maddening. I saw how his pubic skin was bursting and sliding off - and I still had to pull and wring his organs to separate them.

I was breathless when I had them detached at last.

The dying whore's head was shaking finely, as if in tremor. He was not in his mind any more, I thought. I put his private parts on the tray to his nipples. There were one more pincers ready.

I fixed them around his protruding navel and twisted, pulling the stem of it and the skin around it out. I was tired; I could hardly make these efforts. I yanked and wrenched - and at last it was done, and I put what I had on the tray - and there was this unimaginable hole on his belly instead of his belly button - that was gushing out with streams of hot crimson blood. I could see his bowels through this hole - his pearly purple intestines there.

Now it would be only minutes before he would die himself. But it was not what my customers paid for. When they paid they wanted everything they could get for their money - and I was going to deal the final blow - the blow of death - for the poor little hustler. And I had to be careful - it was not going to be a coup de grace.

I raised my gaze for a moment - to meet the flickering red eye of the video camera looking at me from above. One more movie in their collection was reaching its denouement. This movie won't be distributed around the world through Internet. There will be only six copies of it.

I turned the rack for the last time, putting it vertically. The flows of blood washed Mary Beth's chest and belly, streamed on his legs unceasingly. His head was hanging listlessly. It seemed there was nothing that could extract any reaction from him.

I put my hand on the lever and turned it sharply. Not for one turn - but as much as I could - and even though the device was constructed so that I could do it with minimal efforts I still had to put force into it.

The shackles pulled his limbs up and down - and now there was no speech about any degrees. I heard the most terrible, harrowing sound of his spine ripping.

This was the end. Once more Mary Beth's head jerked up - and we could see his face, dreadful in its suffering - and there was thick dark blood spouting out of his mouth in flood-waves. His legs twisted in convulsions - and his arms, too - but these were the jerks of a smashed insect.

And then I froze up. Because his eyes suddenly moved and turned to me - immense orifices of infernal torment - but they found me in the same manner as he looked at me when I was guiding him to the place of his martyrdom - as if I was the only person who existed for him. And then his black lips moved - and though there was just breath, no sound in what he said I understood him.

"Rodion," the word was.

Then it was washed with more blood out of his mouth - and the agony rose to its peak momentarily to be over a second later.

I turned away and walked from the scene.

* * *

Both Nadya and the children were sleeping when I came in. I didn't bother the kids, just looked at them breathing peacefully in the shadowy room. Our bed was warm and ready for me - and I slid into it feeling how Nadya shifted a little, giving me place. Her night-gown slithered from her shoulder and I couldn't help it - I bent to her and put a kiss on her opalescent soft skin. She smiled dreamily.

The End

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