Another (earlier?) story from the same author

Stories on snuff show (19)
1 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-09-05 06:30 ID: b8f17e

Does anyone remember a story about a man who runs a snuff show for rich people? had things like vore, m/f, f/f, human hunting, decap etc.
had girls for waitresses and one wants to get snuffed.
some female mercenary wanted to as well and got pitted against several armed guys.

2 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-09-05 15:43 ID: 81bff6

Those were all m-net / tales from m-net stories

3 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-05 17:51 ID: 1cdac2

>>2
Anyone got the complete set?

4 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-05 17:51 ID: 1cdac2

>>2
Anyone got the complete set?

5 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-11 19:12 ID: 1cdac2

Bump.

6 . Name: Anonymous @ 2013-09-14 15:03 ID: b8f17e

bump

7 . Name: IMadeAWrite @ 2013-09-15 18:16 ID: 6bf9f9

Sadly, for the sake of an easy personal life, I destroyed my backups quite a while ago. Having my vanilla porn discovered would be one thing - guro literature would be quite another

Sucks, I know, but it's not like I was ever going to take them to a publisher and become the next fifty shades of grey.

8 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-16 00:01 ID: 1cdac2

No chance of a rewrite? Or hell, a quick time machine to post up on depravedrepository?

9 . Name: REd @ 2013-09-16 00:01 ID: 1cdac2

No chance of a rewrite? Or hell, a quick time machine to post up on depravedrepository?

10 . Name: Lorekeeper @ 2013-09-16 02:55 ID: c1e3a7

Any chance of you writing more stuff, IMadeAWrite? Tales of M-Net or otherwise?


____________________________



The rules of the club are simple.

We have thirty girls on staff at all times. Each girl's contract is for one year, during which time she receives full room and board at a beautiful apartment, and two million dollars a month, paid in full at the end of their contract. Their job is simple – serve drinks and food, work the stripper pole, and fuck anyone who pays for it. Club takes half, they get the rest.

And over the course of a year, fifteen of them will die for the entertainment of the clientele. One per month at our “first of the month” auction, plus one more on Halloween, Christmas and the anniversary of the club's creation, June 15th.

A fifty/fifty chance of death for twenty-four million dollars basic, plus the huge amount of money they can make privately.

They're all snuff-sluts anyway. We carefully recruit them from the internet, looking for girls who might really be into the idea of being killed for somebody else's titillation. It takes months of monitoring, investigation and psychological profiling before we approach a girl with the offer, and the guys who do it are experts. They've not yet gone wrong and found a girl who's not totally up for it. Most of them, in fact, renew their contracts at the end of their year.

Oh, sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Alastair Lawes. I'm the owner of Club Moros, on a private island far away from the prying eyes of governments and people who might take issue to the way half the women who work for me wind up dead within a year.

And it's the first of the month today. Tonight, one of our girls will die. Already, the harbour is full of planes and boats as the rich and decadent arrive in anticipation of the night's execution. The girls themselves are more nervous and chattery than usual, and I can see hard nipples poking through their shirts, all of them are secretly torn between the powerful instinct to keep living, and the desire to experience being a snuff girl.

Except for one. Becky.

Becky has worked for me for five years now. Somehow, she's slipped through the net for a full sixty months in a row, and every time she's come back and signed the contract again.

She's British, a little curvy nerdy girl with natural blonde hair, big tits and full, pouty lips. The clientele can't get enough of her, or the eroticism of her accent when she moans “ooh FUCK!” in that sultry way when she's got a cock inside her. Precisely the way she moaned it in my bedroom last night, actually.

Normally, I don't fuck the girls. I actually prefer men, but women are fun too, when I'm in the mood... and Becky could put even the most flaming gay faggot in the mood for women when she really wants to. So last night, she knocked on my door and swayed into the room wearing a robe of almost transparent bottle-green. She called me “Mister Lawes” and, when I asked her what she wanted, she just pushed me gently back into my chair and unbuttoned the fly of my jeans.

I'm proud of my cock. Sure, I've seen (and felt) bigger, but who hasn't? It's not a monster... it's my goldilocks cock. Not too big, not too small, just right. And Becky smiled at it like it was the most precious thing in the world, ran her tongue up the underside, wrapped those soft, pouty lips around the head, and took me all down in one long, slow motion.

We moved to the bed shortly after, and I lost myself for a while in the feel of that soft, strong pussy wrapped around me, the sight of those big tits jiggling with each thrust, the amber fur of her mound, and the way she wrapped her legs around me and uttered that impossibly sexy “oooh FUCK!” as she came.

“So...” I asked her as we lay gasping for breath afterwards. “What brought that on?”

She rolled over and ran a fingernail down my chest and stomach, staring at the recent instrument of her pleasure.

“I've been here five years” she said.
“Yes you have.” I said.
“I want to be killed.” she breathed, and I felt my cock stir. “I want somebody to buy me. I want them to use me, cut me apart and serve me for dinner. I want to be meat like you can't imagine. I've wanted it for five years and it's never happened and I'm sick of waiting!”

I smiled at her and gave her a kiss.

“It could be tomorrow” I told her. “Your number could come up.”
“Or it might not.” she said “I can't take it any more. If my number comes up tomorrow, I want you to snuff me anyway. Call it a special extra, I don't care, but either way... I want to die tomorrow night.”

I thought about it. Becky was undoubtedly a favourite of the customers, and we had a lot of the richest and most perverse club members coming tomorrow. A double-snuff had never happened before... It'd be a shame never to have another night with her, but I've never been a sentimental man.

“Okay.” I told her. “We'll set a precedent. If your number doesn't come up, I'll allow you to volunteer for a second, bonus snuff.”

She looked like a kid who'd just been told she was getting a puppy for christmas. “Really?!”
I smiled at her. “on my honour as a horrible sociopathic serial killer.”
Her fingers wrapped around my dick, which was hard in earnest again, and I lay back, smiling.

The night of the first was bright and clear. We'd lit the fire pit and prepared the spit for the traditional roast of our snuff-girl, and the guests were all wandering around trying to make small talk. Most of them preferred to keep their identities a secret, so wore hoods, veils, masquerade masks and all sorts of other means of staying anonymous, but I knew who they all were. Bankers, politicians, actors, musicians, executives... The only requirement for joining the club is a seven-figure income. Once you're in and have attended one of these snuff nights, you're just as guilty as the rest of us.

I nodded to one of my regulars as I joined the party. Mrs. Janet Bartleby owned horse ranching territory all across the world and was the patron of dozens of champion horses. She was fifty-three years old and still very erotic, as thin as a riding whip and proud to show off her body. Two twin boys, young emo kids with delicious slim bodies were trailing her, led by chains that were attached to their cocks. She told me that she planned to stay on the island for a week or so, and invited me to visit her yacht on Tuesday, when she planned to hold a snuff party of her own. I licked my lips as I saw the boys' cocks get a little firmer and told her I'd definitely be there.

Other regulars were greeted, a few new faces introduced – one of them, I knew, was some bigshot rapper though he had his face covered by a bandana.

Then the lottery came around. The thirty girls lined up on the stage, fidgeting in their nervous excitement. I always enjoy the chance to play the showman, so I hopped up on the stage with a flourish, drinking in the excited murmur that, for this crowd, was the equivalent of thunderous applause.

“It's that time again, chaps.” I announced with a smile and a gesture as I crossed to the tumbler full of numbered balls. A hush fell as I gave the handle a few cranks, and deepened as I rolled my sleeve up to reach inside and pull a ball out from the middle.

By the time I turned to face the girls, the atmosphere was crackling with tension.

“Colette”

Colette was a black French girl, twenty-three years old, who had been with us for only four months. She was all voluptuous curves, and when she danced the pole, she had a particular move – a sinuous sway of those generous hips – that couldn't be ignored. I saw her sag as the strength left her legs for a second, but she rallied tremendously and stepped forward to smile and twirl for the crowd, bravely showing off the sultry curves that would soon be cooking over an open charcoal fire.

But before the feast of her flesh, of course, would come her death. The gathered guests would bid on her in an auction, and the winner would have the right to kill her in whatever way they wanted. Sometimes, it was over quickly, with hanging and decapitation being regular favourites, with another popular option being to force the girl to commit hara-kiri. Other times, the execution was slow and vicious. I think the cruellest (and most erotic) one I ever saw was the time the winning bidder chose to have his prize skinned alive by all the other girls. She had screamed and cried for hours as the knives had done their work, but didn't once ask for it to stop. It had almost been a mercy to shove the spit through the bloody, mewling wreck of a woman and end her life.

As master of ceremonies, I conducted the auction and was pleased when Colette fetched a healthy hundred and twelve million. The winning bid was somebody very dear to me: Bridget. Bridget had completed four contracts for me before deciding to quit and use her money to become a club member, rather than staff. She had a sadistic streak that even put mine to shame, and it had been popular for a while to have Bridget be the executioner for a lottery loser, because the result was always a good show.

The crowd started to break up once the auction was over, and I caught Becky's eye as she gave me a desperate look. I held up my hand and raised my voice.

“Before... dear guests, before we let Bridget take her prize away... Becky, could you step forward please?”

There was a buzz at this irregularity as Becky, beaming ear to ear, stepped forward.

“This month marks the fifth anniversary of the day I hired Becky. Being the good little snuff-slut that she is, she's kept coming back again and again hoping for her number to come up. Well, my dear people, Becky's number has NOT come up as you can see. But last night she begged me on her knees that I would see to it that she would die tonight. Because I'm a sentimental old softy, I agreed.”

There was laughter and a rush of excitement and Becky curtseyed. Standing next to her I could see how flush her breasts were, smell the excitement between her legs and hear her gasping, aroused breath. I imagined her heart was pounding a hundred and sixty at least.

I began the bidding, and it rocketed up quickly. Becky had long been a favourite of many of the regulars, and her price quickly went past Colette's. It finally stalled at one hundred and sixty million. I was in the middle of calling “going twice” when I saw Janet Bartleby raise her hand.

Janet had never bid in an auction on one of my girls before – it was known that she much preferred snuffing men. There was a stir as the bidding resumed. Janet toughed it out until the bidding reached an unprecedented two hundred and fifty million, at which point her last competitor – a man I'm reasonably certain owns half of India – finally shook his head in defeat.

I was ecstatic. In one night I'd earned almost enough money to pay all of the girls who lived through a whole year, plus all the staff and mercenaries who keep my decadent little kingdom running.

I reached down and gave Becky a grateful kiss which she returned. Then she murmured “Thank you so much Mister Lawes” in my ear and was gone, skipping down the steps to present herself to Janet.

Colette's death was up to Bridget's usual standard. Bridget had mastered the art of using a single filleting knife to great effect. Heart pounding and knees weak, Colette sat down in the restraining chair and let the straps lock her in place.

Bridget had herself stripped naked, revealing the long legs and cable-strong back muscles that had driven the men who used her during her time working for me into a frenzy. Lovingly she straddled Colette's thighs, her skin startlingly white against the deep coffee colour of Colette's legs. She kissed her victim passionately, and then got to work.

She began by grabbing Colette's face and pinning the left eyelid open. Her other hand brought that sharp filleting knife up and drew it across the exposed surface of Colette's eye. Colette gasped in agony, and then squealed in intense pain as Bridget leaned forward and sucked the jelly of her eye right out and swallowed it. The same process was repeated on the other side, leaving Colette blind and helpless with dark bloody tears staining her cheeks, shaking and sobbing in pain.

Bridget teased her with the knife, drawing it lightly across Colette's skin. Unable to see, Colette writhed and moaned as the blade teased the most sensitive parts of her body, but never broke skin. A few times, Bridget paused at some choice place – a nipple, the belly button, the throat, and aimed the knife as if about to plunge it in. Colette would tense... then sigh in frustrated anticipation as the killing edge would move on.

This went on for several minutes until, without pausing to tense like before, Bridget suddenly grabbed a nipple, pulled it erect and sliced it off, drawing a yelp of surprise and pain from her plaything. Bridget popped the raw morsel into her mouth and chewed it slowly as she sliced the other nipple off and placed it in Colette's mouth, who made an almost girlish sound of relief as she ate her own flesh.

Now, the knife had enough pressure on it to draw blood wherever it went, leaving a meandering pattern of bleeding cuts on Colette's formerly flawless skin.

I was distracted when I felt a pair of hands slip around me from behind and cup my genitals. Turning, I saw Janet's twin toy-boys.

“Mrs. Bartleby said we were to give you a good time” one said
“Seeing as she's busy with your girl” his brother added.
“And it's the least we can do, seeing as you're going to kill us on Tuesday” added the first

I glanced over to where Becky and Janet had been, and saw that Becky was bent over a table. Janet was driving a giant black dildo in and out of her with one hand, while the other reached around to grip Becky's throat, almost but not quite choking her. Becky looked like she was having the time of her life. She was staring at Colette and Bridget on the stage and humping the dildo for all she was worth.

“Suck my dick then” I told the boys, and without hesitating for a moment they dropped down in front of me and started sharing my hard cock. I leaned against the wall and returned my attention to the stage.

Colette was making sobbing noises as Bridget continued to mercilessly take her apart. The rules of the snuff were simple – the torso and choice cuts of meat had to stay intact enough to be cooked and enjoyed, and it was the winning bidder's responsibility to prepare the girl for eating. Bridget was making good progress, having peeled the skin off Colette's right forearm. I could see muscles flexing and quivering as Bridget dug among them with the knife, cut them off and put the meat on a tray to be taken off to the grill. Bridget worked fast and within minutes Colette's arm was just a ragged skin hanging off the bones.

The knife started to migrate across her chest on its way to the other arm when Bridget apparently changed her mind, pulled it back for a second, and then plunged it into Colette's belly, just below the navel. Colette gasped, moaned in a strangely orgasmic way, and her hips jerked up like she was fucking something, which just drove the knife in further.

I felt an orgasm approach, and ordered the boys to stop sucking me so I could recover. Instead, I had them lay down and sixty-nine, which they did enthusiastically, each one suckling his twin brother's hard cock with vigour.

All around me, the orgy was getting under way. I could see the bigshot rapper had hired one of my girls – Fujiko – and was fucking her powerfully from behind against the wall. Janet had sat back to relax with a glass of champagne and was watching the snuff on stage with a catlike expression of contentment as Becky lapped at her pussy. One of my other girls, Madison, had been engaged by the Indian landowner and was enjoying herself by filling her mouth with champagne and then sucking his cock. Judging by his expression, he was enjoying it too.

On stage, Colette's guts had been removed and discreetly taken away in a bucket by an attendant. Somehow, the sultry french girl was still alive. She smiled weakly at something Bridget said, then nodded. Bridget reached up and released the straps holding her remaining arm down, and Colette started to finger her murderer even as Bridget lovingly sliced one of her breasts into thin strips like a ham.

It was hard to tell exactly when Colette died, but after a few minutes Bridget shuddered and groaned in pleasure, glanced at the hand that had been pleasuring her, then stood up off it. She signalled to the attendants and Colette's corpse was wheeled away to be butchered for the fire pit. Her remaining arm and both legs were quickly taken off with power tools, and her head was removed with a cleaver. Her remaining internal organs were removed, the cavity sluiced out with clean water. The spitting itself took no time at all and soon her limbless, decapitated torso was turning in the heat, slightly away from the fire so as to avoid burning and blackening from flames licking it.

Bridget took advantage of the shower near the stage and then came over to me, pinkish water still dripping from her nude curves.
“The bitch died before I came, Mister Lawes. Would you like to finish me off?” She ran an enticing finger down from her shoulder to her soaking wet cunt and slid it in by way of an invitation.

I smiled. “Boys? Miss Bridget here is horny.”
The twins disentangled and soon Bridget was sighing happily in their arms with a cock in her ass and another in her pussy.
“By the way” she said, between gasps of pleasure “I've been doing some... ah! some extracurricular stuff back home, and I think the cops are going to find me out soon. I'd rather die than go to prison so if you want, you can have me back to replace Becky.”
“for how long?” I asked.
“Mmmm.... until my number comes up. Don't even bother paying me. Ooooh SHIT these boys are good.”
“You sure?”
“Al... mmm.. yeah, I think half the unsolved murder cases in Seattle right now were my doing. If they get me, I'll be in the pen forever. May as well go out while I'm still young and sexy.”
“You've got a deal you psycho bitch.” I told her, and was pleased to see the look of relief in her face even as the twins' ministrations sent her over the edge.

I looked up at a cheer from the crowd to see Janet leading Becky up onto the stage. She'd ordered a few tools to be brought out. I was interested to see which would get used first.

“boys, go help your mistress out” I ordered, and the twins stood and wandered away, sweat-slick and happy. “Bridget...”
“You want to give or take, boss?” she asked.
“give, I think.” I told her.
Bridget beamed bent over a table, presenting her juicy pink cunt to me in such a way that she could still see Becky's last minutes unfold. I stepped forward and my cock slid easily into her well lubricated hole.

Janet gave Becky a kiss on the cheek, and then pointed to the tool I'd hoped would be used first. It was a grill, specially modified so that a well endowed girl could kneel beside it and cook up her own tits. Becky looked just as pleased as I was, and almost skipped over to the grill, which was lit and hot already. She paused to look at Janet for permission. Janet nodded, and Bridget leaned forward to press those juicy white boobs of hers straight onto the hot metal grill.

The pain must have been immense. Becky grimaced and writhed, but held her tits firmly down against the metal with both hands. Moans of agony escaped from her, but I could still see the moisture running down her thighs and the wild, lustful look in her eye.

“Oh my god, she's SO into it.” Bridget whispered, and fucked me even harder.
“You would be too.” I told her. “Imagine it's you up there, cooking your breasts.”
“Oooh, fuckfuckfuck.”
“One day, Bridget, it'll be YOU turning over the fire. One day, somebody's going to do to you what you did to all those people in Seattle”
“Shit, that's so hot.”
“I should murder you right now you fucking bitch” I told her.
“Mmmmmyeaah. Choke the life out of me. Send me to hell where I belong”

On stage, Becky's ordeal continued. Janet had stepped up behind her and sliced the sizzling, half-cooked breasts right off her chest. An assistant wheeled the little grill away so that those breasts could be cooked properly. There wasn't much blood- the heat had sealed off the blood vessels in those magnificent tits.

Shaking in pain, Becky was docile as Janet led her over to The Frame. This simple steel assemblage was designed to do one thing – hold a woman suspended in mid air. Chains and manacles snapped around Becky's arms and ankles, and a few cranks of the winch hoisted her up to hang spread-eagled in the air with steam still rising from the two scarred patches where her breasts had been.

Janet's tool of choice was the same powered saw used to remove Colette's limbs moments earlier. This version had a heated blade that cauterised as it cut, making it perfect for de-limbing a person without killing them straight away. Smiling evilly, she applied it to Becky's thigh and in one easy motion, sawed the tiny British blonde's leg clean off. Becky howled in pain throughout, but when she looked down at the older woman again, her expression was peaceful... even grateful. When Janet sawed the other leg off, this time Becky's expression was just pinched as she bit down on the pain and tried to ride it.

I wrapped my hands around Bridget's throat and squeezed. “I could kill you right now, if you want” I said, ramming my dick into her even harder than before. She just made an inarticulate noise of pleasure and stared at the stage, her gaze riveted to Becky as Janet sawed first one arm then the other off.

The Twins lowered Becky's limbless, twitching torso to the ground and stood back. Becky turned her face and her eyes met mine across the orgy as Janet gripped her hair. The saw descended once more, and suddenly Janet was holding her hand aloft, Becky's beautiful, pouty-lipped head swinging from it by the ponytail.

“Fucking do it” Bridget rasped past my choking hands. “Kill me now. Oh god! Please, kill me now!” Involuntarily, my grip tightened and shut off her air.

Still staring at me, Becky's blonde head winked and mouthed the words “thank you” before her eyes closed forever.

There was a croaking sound from in front of me. Starved for air, Bridget was choking and dying and her cunt quivered and rippled around my cock as a fearsome orgasm shook through her. The sensation sent me over the edge and I shot what felt like a river of semen into her as she writhed, thrashed, and collapsed.

I took a second or two to recover and pull out of her. Then I flipped her over onto her back, locked my mouth to hers, and sent a rush of air down her throat. After only a few brief seconds of CPR, suddenly she jerked and gasped awake, choking and coughing as her lungs started working again.

“I....” she gasped “I wanted you to kill me.”

“I don't kill my working girls.” I told her. “Now get to work.”

The feast of two meat girls that filled the rest of the night was one of the best ever. Janet took pleasure in sharing Becky's steaming hot cunt with me. We retired later on to her yacht with the twins, and only just managed to restrain ourselves from holding the snuff party early.

Some things are worth waiting for.