Videos with sound:

https://my.mixtape.moe/eboaub.m4v

https://www.dropbox.com/s/305w24hhwot8489/Pole%20Dance.avi?dl=0


Soundless:
http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=62264091

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A little short story on the side:

Orphaned from birth in the festering city of Dredge, a little nameless scamp made her way on the streets for nine years before being taken in as a baker's apprentice -- were she picked up the name Muffin.

Eventually the chef, who had always been a bit secretive, was found guilty of some crime or another and banished outside the city walls, where it was believed the fog consumes your soul.

Now eleven years old, Muffin wasn't happy about being re-orphaned. She snuck outside during the day when the fog was thinnest, smuggling food and water out to her now vegetative master.

That went on unnoticed for some time, but one day she was caught by an enterprising young guardsman. Aiding the damned was punishable by death, and kids were no exception -- especially not orphans.


Even in a city like Dredge, it was not common practice to execute children publicly. Muffin was a rare exception.

"Pole Dance" was the method chosen. For this type of execution, the victim is lashed to a post then decapitated with razor wire. To ensure an entertaining spectacle, the wire would be waxed with a sodium-rich balm. This stimulates the exposed spinal nerves and causes the victim to thrash for several seconds after death -- hence the name "Pole Dance."

Muffin's execution was textbook. She drew a small crowd by merit of being a handsome little girl in her own right, and because Dregians couldn't pass up a good show. A murmur went up when the child started to cry, so one of the presiding watchmen gagged her.

Moments later the signal was given, and a length of razor wire tightened around Muffin's slender neck. It sank into her skin and punctured her throat, making her retch. Blood flooded into her mouth and she stiffened as the wire slipped through muscle and sinew.

It caught for a moment on the bone of her spine, then with a wet pop the little girl's head tumbled from her shoulders. A ragged cheer broke out, then the dance started.

Spurred by the sodium wax, Muffin's prepubescent body jerked. Her throat sputtered in a grotesque gargle as one tender thigh rose into the air. The leg came down in a jerky stomp, and the child's corpse arched in a tip-toe death throe.

Later, when the crowd had dispersed, one of the guards would remark that she was the noisiest corpse he'd ever seen. Were Muffin alive to hear that, she would've died from embarrassment -- having always been a very quiet girl with a rigid sense of dignity.

The show her cadaver was putting on couldn't be called dignified by any stretch. Blood jetted and slopped from the gory cross-section of her neck. Her little boobless chest thrust skyward and flexed. A ragged cough erupted from her throat, along with a misted fountain of hot kiddie blood.

Her four seconds of fame were over, and Muffin's dripping body slumped to the ground. Residual spasms kept her neck stump gurgling for a moment, then that too died away.

The crowd dispersed satisfied, saddened, and in one case, aroused. The watchmen disposed of the child's corpse, cleaned up the blood, and retired for the night. One of their number didn't show up for work the next morning, citing nausea induced from seeing such a pretty little thing die in such a messy way.