Filming ~ Day 10

Carol woke to the annoying sound of her alarm. Looking at the clock, she saw it was six o'clock.

"Fuck," the psychologist moaned. "I cannot believe that we did that yesterday."

The orgy had lasted until eight o'clock, but then, she and Jim had come back to her house and fucked for three more hours. Jim had left around midnight.

'At least,' she thought, 'Jim will be exhausted as well.'

She got up, showered, and ate. After getting dressed, she left the house and headed for the studio. It was six forty-five.

***

Leanne woke to the smell of fried bacon. The smell was wonderful and drew the blonde woman to the break room. Bernadette stood at the stove. Hearing a noise behind her, she looked back and saw the naked woman in the doorway.

"Breakfast in ten minutes," Bernadette said. "Can you wake the others?"

"Sure," Leanne said. "What time is it?"

"It's six thirty. We have ninety minutes until we begin shooting."

"Ninety minutes," Leanne said quietly as she turned to go wake the others.

***

Breakfast was delicious. Leanne didn't know anything about 'last meals', but for her own, this was great.

The other women, much quieter than the three little girls, seemed to be enjoying their last meals as well. The little girls, however, didn't even seem to notice the food in front of them. They were completely absorbed in their conversation about the events planned for the morning.

"Good," Jim said, walking into the room. "You're all up."

"You look like hell," Bernadette said.

"Carol kept me up until one o'clock last night."

"Bullshit," Carol said as she entered the room. "I wasn't the one who kept demanding more at eleven o'clock."

"What can I say," Jim asked with a grin. "You're just too sexy."

The little girls giggled as the mothers looked at each other.

"Anyway," Jim continued, "we begin shooting in thirty minutes. Are you all ready?"

The six actresses looked at each other and nodded nervously.

"Okay. We'll be filming Tyra, Kelly, and Renee simultaneously. Monique, Lauraine, and Leanne, you'll be taking care of them in the room where they were tortured earlier this week. You'll have ninety minutes to kill them. After that, we'll take a thirty minute break before shooting Monique's segment at ten o'clock. Are there any questions?"

No one had any questions, so Jim left them to finish their meals and get ready.

***

"Jim," Carol said as she left the room to follow him. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," he replied. "Let's go to my office."

Entering the office, he took the seat behind the desk while Carol took the seat in front of it.

"What would you like to talk about," he asked.

"You," Carol replied. "How are you doing?"

"Me," he asked incredulously. "Shouldn't you be more concerned with them?"

"No. I spent all day with them yesterday. They are, if not looking forward to their impending deaths, completely at peace with the idea. You're the one who is having difficulty with this."

"God damn it, Carol. Of course, I'm having difficulty. In a little less than two hours, three little girls - three 10-year-old little girls - will be dead. And I'll be the cause for it."

"See," Carol asked. "That's why I am concerned about you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think about this. Even if you weren't making this movie, those little girls would likely be dead within a year. They were well on their way to having an unfortunate 'accident'. At least this way, there's no surprise. They were able to finish those things they wanted before they leave this world."

"But..."

"No, Jim," she said. "No 'buts'. This's the reality of the situation. This's why I pressed you to continue with this after I researched this issue. They want this. The mother's are accepting of their children's wishes and are willing to give the girls what they want."

"And their deaths," he asked. "What about the mother's deaths."

"As a mother, I can understand them. If I knew that my daughter had been suffering and I'd been unable to prevent it, I'd be devastated. The only way their suffering can end is in death. The mothers are helping even though their maternal nature is at war with the logical conclusion that this must happen."

"That conflict between the emotional and logical aspects of each mother will cause a downward spiral that'll lead to her own death. By allowing them to join their daughters in death, we prevent the mental torture they'd endure."

"But..."

"Jim. I said no 'buts' and I meant it. This sucks, but it's the best, and I do mean best, outcome for which we could hope."

"Even though you'll be assisting in the deaths of the three mothers?"

"Like I said, it sucks. They are, however, my friends and I find I'm having difficulty refusing to aid them."

"Ok," Jim said, not convinced, but feeling more at ease. "I'll continue with this. I'm not sure we should release this film, though. It seems wrong to profit off of the deaths of these women."

"You have to release this film," Carol said. "You must. If you don't, their deaths will have been for nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"This film's going to push a lot of buttons. Buttons people didn't even know existed. This film will cause the development of a discussion that'll echo all the way up to the highest courts."

"Aren't you blowing this out of proportion?"

"Maybe," Carol conceded. "But the point is the same. Your competitors won't hesitate to take advantage of children thanks to the legislation that allowed this creation of this film. Parents need to know that there are other options."

"What other options?"

"If you'll allow, I'll arrange for you to appear on a television talk show once this movie is released. During the interview, you can address your concerns. Let people know about the dangers posed by going to just any production company. Let them know that there are companies that value the wishes of their stars as much, if not more, than the profits such films generate."

"What companies?"

"Well," Carol said, "yours, for one."

"I don't know, Carol. I honestly think I'm done after this."

"You can't do that, Jim."

"Why the fuck not?"

"For the same reason you made this film to begin with. As much as you hate this, you hate the thought of those little children being grossly exploited by your competitors even more."

"Fuck," Jim hissed, knowing he couldn't argue that point.

"If you knew that you could provide what the children want without the cruel abuse your competitors will employ, you couldn't allow your competitors free reign over this industry. You may not save all the children. You may not even save most of them. But if you could save some of them, shouldn't you?"

"Fuck," Jim repeated.

"Anyway, I wish you wouldn't beat yourself up over this. It has to happen. You lost control over this the second the little girls heard that they'd be killed at the end of this movie. If you cancelled the production, your competitors would've snatched it up in a heartbeat."

"Fuck," he said a third time.

"Anyway, pour me a drink. Not much. I'll need to be clear-headed when I go to work this morning. I just want a little something to take the edge off."

"Sounds good," he said, rising to retrieve the brandy.

***

Renee entered the room and squealed in joy when she saw the sledgehammer in the corner. Monique followed her daughter into the room and sighed heavily when she saw the hammer.

"Are you sure you want this," Monique asked her daughter as she moved to the hammer.

"Yes, Mommy," the 10-year-old said. "I really want it. I want you to use that hammer and smash my bones."

"Okay, baby, but once I start, there's no stopping until I'm done."

"That's just the way I want it," the little girl said.

There was a narrow mat on the floor. It was just wide enough to fully-support the child's torso. Renee moved to the mat and lay down. She reached out, so her arms were fully on the cement floor.

"Do it, Mommy. Smash my hands."

Monique sighed heavily. She had to do it. She hadn't been sure she could, but the look in Renee's eyes - the look that begged for her mommy to abuse her - urged her on. She raised the hammer high over her head and looked down at her daughter.

"Last chance, baby."

"Do it, Mommy."

The black woman brought the hammer down with as much force as she could. The head of the hammer slammed into the 10-year-old's left hand and there was a loud crunch immediately followed by a shriek of agony. Looking at her daughter's hand, it looked mashed.

"More, Mommy. Keep going."

The mother raised the hammer again and brought it down on the child's wrist. Another crunching sound was followed by another shriek, but this one was a little different in tone. Looking at her daughter, the child's face had gone slack, but there was a river of girlcum flowing from the 10-year-old's cunt.

"Are you enjoying this, baby," Monique asked incredulously.

"Oh, yes, mommy. It hurts, but it also feels so good. Keep going."

It really didn't make any sense to the mother, but, she realized, it didn't have to. As long as Renee seemed to be enjoying it, Monique would continue. It wasn't really like there'd be lasting consequences. After all, within ninety minutes, the little girl would have her fucking head blown off.

The mother continued the destruction of the limb. It took about ten minutes. The next to last hit on the left arm was off a little and the head of the hammer hit the cement, not the arm. The shock travelled up the handle of the hammer and stung the mother's hands.

"Fuck," she screamed. "That hurts."

Renee laughed.

"Hey," the mother objected. "You may like the pain, but I'm not overly fond of it."

"I'll be right back," Monique said as she left the room.

"That's okay, Mommy," Renee said, grinning ear to ear. "I'll wait right here."

Monique returned a few minutes later with a 3-foot by 3-foot square of plywood.

"This should absorb the shock if I miss again," the mother said, placing the piece of wood below the child's arm.

As she went to place the wood, she realized that Renee was in no position to be able to move her arm. Monique bent and took the child's smashed hand in her own. The resultant shriek of pain scared her to the point that she dropped the hand. This resulted in even more shrieks.

"I am sorry, baby," the mother said.

"Fuck that," Renee shouted, realizing what she said and lowering her tone. "That felt unbelievable. The mix of pain and pleasure is awesome. Do it again."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Monique picked up the child's hand again. She ignored the shrieks as she slid the plywood underneath.

She picked up the hammer again and brought it down on the plywood. She purposely missed the child's arm in an attempt to see how the wood would absorb the shock. She was delighted to find that there was no reverberatng shock sent up the handle.

"Here we go, again," she said to no one.

"Do it, Mommy. Finish my arm."

Monique brought the hammer down again and crushed the bone just below the shoulder. The 10-year-old moaned, her right hand moving to her preteen cunt as she stroked herself to another orgasm.

"Mommy," Renee said. "Can you do my legs before you do my other arm? I want to be able to have fun with my cunny while you do it."

"Sure," Monique said. "I can do that."

She placed the plywood below the little girl's left foot. Raising the hammer, she brought it down on the foot and heard the crunch of bones breaking. It was not, however, enough to destroy the foot as Renee wanted.

"Again, Mommy. You might have to work harder on my feet and legs. The bones are bigger."

The mother took two more blows before Renee was satisfied that her foot was sufficiently demolished. That seemed to be par for the course. Where only one blow was needed for the arm, it took three blows to achieve the same results on the feet and legs.

Knowing what she was doing now, Monique was faster, but the increased number of blows meant that it took twenty minutes to destroy the left leg. She looked at her daughter and was shocked to see the flood of cum pouring from the 10-year-old's cunt.

She moved the plywood again, placing it under the right foot. Sighing, she raised the hammer and began again. She found herself picking up speed. The blows were coming faster and faster as she went on with the child's torture. She had to wonder if it was really torture if the child appreciated it.

After another twenty minutes, the right leg was pulverised. The mother moved the plywood and asked her daughter to put her right arm out.

"It's time, baby. We need to do your right arm, now."

"I know, Mommy. Just wait a moment. I want to come again."

Monique waited and watched as her daughter furiously rubbed herself to her sixth or seventh orgasm of the morning. As she child came down from the orgasmic high, she placed her arm on the plywood.

"Now, Mommy," she said calmly. "Destroy my arm now."

The mother didn't pause. She just raised her hammer and brought it down on the hand. Like with the left hand, it only took one blow to crush the hand.

"Oh, God," Renee moaned. "So good."

Shaking her head in wonderment, the mother continued up the arm. Blow after blow rained down on the little girl's arm as Monique moved up the arm an inch at a time. After ten minutes, she was done. All four limbs had been reduced to pulp.

Leaning the plywood against the wall, Monique returned to her daughter. There were twenty minutes left before she had to kill the little girl. Getting on the floor, she moved between the child's legs and began licking the juices up.

"Oh, Mommy," Renee said. "That feels so good."

Keeping her eyes on the clock, the mother sucked and licked her daughter's cunt and clit, drawing two more orgasms in five minutes. Wiping her face with her hand, Monique rose to her feet and looked down at her daughter.

"It's time," the 10-year-old said with a grin. "Isn't it? It's time to blow my head off."

"Yes, baby," Monique said. "It is time."

The mother left the room for a moment and returned with Jim and a strange man. In the man's hand, he had what looked to be a necklace.

"Is that it," Renee asked.

"This is it, little girl," the man said, bending low to fasten the necklace around the child's neck. "Your mommy will hold the remote. When you and she are ready, she will press the button. Five seconds later, the charges will blow and your head will come off."

"Can you help me sit up? I don't want to lie here when it goes off. I want my head to go up in the air."

Jim chuckled as he pushed a block behind the little black girl. Leaning the torso against the block, he bent low and kissed her on the forehead.

"Are you ready, little girl? You know what to do?"

"Yes, Jim," Renee said. "Let's do this now."

"Okay, baby," he said somewhat sadly. "Good luck."

Handing the remote to Monique, the strange man left the room. Jim looked sympathetically at Monique before leaving the room as well.

"You have five minutes and then, we'll start rolling the cameras again."

Monique tried to say 'thank you' but the words got stuck in her throat. Instead, she just nodded. Mother and daughter just looked at each other.

"I love you, baby," Monique said. "Do you know that?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Do you believe it?"

"Yes, Mommy. I love you, too."

Tears started flowing down the mother's cheeks.

"How can you," she asked. "How can you love someone who hurts you so much?"

"I have wanted this for a while. I didn't know that I wanted to die, but I've wanted to feel this kind of pain for a long time. Thank you for letting me have it."

There seemed to be nothing more to say so they just looked at each other, communicating their love with their eyes for several minutes. Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Monique sighed, tears running down her cheeks. Before she could say anything, Renee spoke.

"Hey, Mommy," the 10-year-old said. "Do you like my necklace?"

"What," Monique asked.

"My necklace," the little girl said. "Do you like it? It's special. It was made just for me."

Monique suddenly realized that this was part of the show. Her daughter's eyes sparkled as she played her role.

"Really," the mother asked. "What is so special about it?"

"It goes 'boom'," the child said. "When you press the button in your hand, it explodes."

Monique raised the remote and looked at it. It was a nondescript block of blue plastic with a single red button on it.

"This button," she asked, showing the remote to her daughter.

"Yep," Renee replied excitedly. "I know. I will count down from five. When I hit zero, press the button."

Monique's breath caught in her throat. Was it really going to happen this way? Was her daughter going to cheerfully count down, instructing her mother to kill her?

"Five," the little girl said. "Four."

"Baby," Monique said. "I love you so much."

"Three," the child continued. "Two."

"Oh, baby," the mother said sadly.

"One," Renee said with a huge grin. "Zero."

Monique did not hesitate. Hesitating would only cause her to lose her nerve. She pressed the button.

"I love you, baby. I'll see you soon."

The charge went off as the man had said. The blast was focused toward the middle of the little girl's neck and totally obliterated the flesh and bone. The force of the explosion caused the preteen's head to fly up into the air. It rose ten feet before falling to the floor.

Monique picked up her daughter's head. Remarkably, there was little blood. Maybe the explosion cauterized the wounds.

"I love you, baby," she said, kissing her dead daughter's lips. "I'll see you soon."

She set the head on the floor and began sobbing.

***

Ten minutes later, Jim came into the room. There were no words to be said, but he held out his hand. As the black woman took it, he pulled her to her feet and led her to his office. Waiting on the desk was a tall glass of brandy.

"Drink," he said.

She did not ask questions. She just took the glass and gulped down the contents.

"More," she said, setting the glass on the desk.

He poured another glass.

"When is it my turn," Monique asked.

"We are just waiting on Lauraine and Leanne," he said. "Lauraine actually finished a while ago, but she is in the bathroom."

"Did you give her a drink, as well?"

"Yes. I thought it might help take the edge off."

"You seem to be correct."

They sat in silence, listening to the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"I'm going to go talk to Lauraine," Monique said, rising to her feet. "Maybe I can help."

So saying, she left the room. Jim poured himself a drink.