Were it not for the site this video was hosted on, it could’ve easily been mistaken for a taped job interview.

The woman on the hotel couch was a portrait of professionalism. She had chosen a flawlessly pressed suit dress for this occasion, sitting perfectly upright and letting the blazer’s angular lines cling to the contours of her curvy body. Her hair was done in a tidy, round bob cut, framing a contrast with her angular cheekbones and the sharp edges of her eyes. Despite the kind of video she was here to record, her gorgeous features, as if sculpted in stone, betrayed not the slightest hint of emotion. Not fear, not anxiety, not excitement.

“And, we’re rolling,” the director said, from behind the camera. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

The lady closed her eyes and offered a curt nod. “Candice Green. Twenty-six years old. I’m a lawyer. It’s my pleasure to be featured on Sensual Snuff Films.”

“I can’t remember the last time we had a lawyer on the show,” the director said. “Nothing was wrong with the contract, I hope?”

“If there were, I’m sure you would’ve already been hit with countless wrongful death lawsuits.” Candice raised her chin, just a bit. The edges of her lips curled into the smallest of smiles. “Not that I’m one to assume, of course. I’ve reviewed the full contract and have no issues with it.”

“That’s a relief.” That said, the director was aware of just how airtight the contracts were, too. Sensual Snuff Films prided itself on keeping everything above-board, and that meant having very good legal counsel on staff. “What kind of lawyer were you?”

“I’m a patent attorney. I work at Jackson & Stevens,” Candice said.

“You mean, worked.”

“How pedantic. Worked, yes. I was a patent attorney.” Candice did not look amused, though, to be fair, she didn’t look particularly perturbed in any particular way. She brushed a fringe of bangs out of her eye. “Have you considered law school, Mister Director? You would fit right in.”

Behind the camera, the director scratched the back of his head. “No… I think I’m fine with my job right now. I get to bang cuties like you for money, after all.”

“Pedantic and vulgar. I think my prior assertion has merit.” She shrugged. “Besides, don’t you think the self-introduction would have a very different texture if I were to say ‘I’m a practicing attorney,’ as opposed to ‘I’m unemployed?”

The director thought about it. “But you are unemployed. You’d be lying to the audience. Under oath and all that, Candice.”

“My goodness. Won’t even let a doomed woman keep the slightest shred of her dignity.” But, Candice laughed. She leaned back in her chair a bit, her shoulders were a bit more relaxed. “Merciless, aren’t you?”

“Mercy’s not in the job description, I’m afraid. But I’d like to think we compensate for that in other ways. Like letting our guests choose how they snuff it,” the director said. “Speaking of, I hear you brought something interesting with you.”

“That, I did. Allow me to present the subject of the last patent I will ever file,” Candice said. She stood from the sofa and beckoned the camera to follow her as she stepped across the room. A set of five mechanical chokers and a corresponding remote had been laid out across one of the beds. “On the face of it, these appear to be ordinary snuff collars, however…”

She held up one of the collars and pressed a button on the remote. The cuff came alive with a low buzz, as a small trail of smoke wafted from exhaust. Then, after a moment, the blades on the inside snapped shut; the metal was red-hot.

“These are Cauterization Collars, perfect for converting your preferred snuffee into a sex doll.” She spoke as if giving a corporate presentation— crisp, clear, logical. Straightforward, but measured. And yet, the little traces of pride were impossible to mask. “The blades are superheated. When they cut into human flesh, they cauterize the wound instantly, preventing any blood from spilling out.”

“Sounds like just what we need,” the director said. “We always get charged extra for cleaning. Can you buy these at your local big box store, yet?”

“By the time my snuff film is released, the first of these will likely be commercially available,” she said. “Also, the other benefit of using these collars is the integrity of the meat. Studies have been performed that suggest that keeping the blood inside the limb or torso helps maintain freshness.”

While she spoke, Candice put down the collar and peeled off her blazer, delicately folding it and setting it to the side. And then, she reached up and unbuttoned her top. The director was a bit miffed that she’d begun stripping early. Normally, it was his job to frame these moments to be as enticing as possible, but Candice’s strip show was almost clinical. She shrugged the dress shirt off her shoulder and folded it on top of the blazer, before returning to the bed.

“Normally,” Candice continued, “the standard procedure after removing a doll’s head and limbs is to place the parts on ice until they can be preserved. While modern cryostasis and preservation techniques are quite effective, there is no circumventing the creation of ice crystals inside the flesh, which invariably damages the quality of the meat once defrosted. The inventor believes that cauterization is the solution.”

With her shirt removed, Candice extended her arm and clamped one of the cuffs around her upper bicep, just below the armpit.

“Allow me to demonstrate.”

“Candice, wait—”

Before the director could stop her, she pressed another button on the remote. The cuff began to buzz once more. The skin around the metal began to glow faintly, then, brighter and brighter, until—

Crack!

The blades of the cuff snapped shut. The air was filled with a tender aroma, as Candice’s arm fell to the floor, with the cuff still attached.

It took Candice’s brain a moment to fully process what had happened to her. And then, for just a few seconds, the mask of professionalism cracked.

She howled in pain, delicious pain. The cut had only been for a single instant, but the white-hot burning remained, lingered, and spread throughout her upper torso. Candice doubled over, her body convulsing, gasping and moaning, as she looked at the stump just below her shoulder, and at the arm on the ground that used to be there.

The burning agony robbed her legs of their strength. One buckled before the other, as she toppled to her knees. The shaking in her legs strained her tight pencil skirt, spreading them just enough to let through visible traces of arousal.

And then, it was over. Though Candice’s skin was visibly matted with sweat, though she was visibly heaving and shuddering with the afterglow of her sudden, masochistic orgasm, she gathered herself, picked up the arm, and returned to her feet.

“A-As you can see…” She cleared her throat. “The arm has not lost any of its color or its tenderness. Mister Director, if you would feel it.”

He did so, stepping out from behind the camera. “It’s as if it were still attached to you.”

“Quite so. You see, the other defining feature of the cuffs is the ability to take in oxygen through these vents. The oxygen is injected into the limb, head, or torso, and the cuff induces circulation, tricking the meat into thinking that it’s still alive.”

“Very ingenious. However… don’t you think you’re getting ahead of yourself?” The director confiscated the remote and the rest of the collars, pulling them out of the reach of Candice’s remaining arm. He leaned in, his voice barely a growl, just loud enough for Candice, and the microphone, to hear. “These are mine, to use on you. I’ll decide when those limbs go, understood?”

Goosebumps. Candice tried not to let it show, but she was doing an increasingly poor job of playing the good office worker. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re a bit overdressed. Strip. And do it slowly.” The director returned to the camera. “It’s your last show, make it a good one, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

With her remaining arm, Candice reached behind and fumbled with the hook of her bra, a utilitarian white piece, arching her back and puffing out her generous chest. The director swung the camera around, framing her curvy silhouette against the fading light from the hotel curtains. After a few attempts, Candice managed to finesse the hook. As the bra began to slip from her tits, she reached back forward and held them in place with her forearm, just long enough to tease the viewer.

Then, Candice let the bra fall from her arm and gently fall to the floor. It seemed cutting off her arm had flipped a switch in Candice. She was no longer bound to the habit of neatly folding her clothes; they were probably all going to the incinerator once the director was done with her anyway. All that time she’d spent learning about matching suits and color tones, and the pseudoscientific, subliminal effects they would have on members of the jury, all of that would be going to waste.

Because she was going to end up like that arm of hers, a dismembered doll.

When it came to her skirt, Candice swayed from side to side as she undid the zipper and hooked her thumb on the waistline. A fellow lawyer friend (who, incidentally, had met a similar fate as Candice was about to) had always recommended choosing skirts that were half a size too tight, and today’s attire was no exception. She squirmed in her skirt, not just out of a desire to show off for the camera, but out of necessity, for she no longer had another hand to help pull it down.

Finally, the skirt came loose, taking her leggings and panties with it as she rolled the fabric down her thighs, revealing just how much squirt was already between her legs. She’d cum during her little demonstration, but neither her nor the director realized just how hard she’d cum.

Her eyes flicked to the cauterization collars in the director’s hands. Four more collars to go. She could experience that exquisite torture four more times in her rapidly shortening lifetime.

Enough of this. Enough of pretending to be a good girl, neat and proper. She pushed and yanked at the remainder of her clothes, practically tearing off the sopping wet mess of cloth that used to be her skirt, panties, and stockings. She kicked her leg to get them off and stamped her foot to free herself, stumbling in the process; she was not yet used to the sudden change in her weight distribution. Not that she’d ever get a chance to become so.

“Finally,” the director said. “Let’s get to the good part.”

As he hovered the cuff over her remaining arm, Candice pulled back. “W-Wait. You forgot.”

“Excuse me? You’re company property now, remember?”

She shook her head, the last vestiges of the outstanding and meticulous lawyer she used to be. “Not yet. The contract. I haven’t signed the contract.”

She was right. With how Candice had hijacked the filming with her infomercial, he’d completely forgotten. “Come on, you’ve already cut off your own arm. There’s no backing out now.”

“But I could,” she said. “I want to sign it. I need to.”

The way Candice leaned into the camera, that pleading look in her eyes.

“Well, whatever, be my guest. Everyone’s got their own fetishes, I guess.” He rummaged through his bag and handed her the papers and a pen. “I’m not really in a position to judge.”

“Thank you kindly.” Candice returned to the hotel couch and retrieved her wallet, fumbling with it against her abdomen to retrieve her driver’s license. Then, without any further hesitation, she signed the documents and held them up to the camera, reciting from memory. “I, Candice Green, hereby waive my rights, privileges, and status as a human being. As of the signing of this document, My life is forfeit, and I am now the sole property of Sensual Snuff Films LLC, to be used per their sole discretion.”

That was it. A glorious final farewell to her personhood.

“I’m yours, sir. Use me, fuck me, destroy me as your heart desires.”

The director smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

From there, it was a whirlwind. The cuffs were snapped around Candice’s neck and her three remaining limbs. The director pinned her to the bed, lined his cock up to her mouth, and plugged it shut. Now officially and legally unconstrained, the ensuing skullfuck was on another level of brutality.

For her part, it was everything Candice could have asked for. Given that she’d signed her life away, her new owner would’ve been well within his rights to just end her life with the push of a button. Being alive to experience being used like this was a privilege, not a right. Each rough thrust, each savage violation of her throat, they were all reminders of the gratitude she felt.

Gratitude, and also, absolute, sheer fucking ecstacy.

With her remaining arm, Candice stuffed her fingers in her neglected pussy, rubbing her slit in time with the brutal pace at which her owner pounded her face. He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her forehead into his rock-solid abs, over, and over. And from Candice’s slit, her girlcum crested over, and over, in front of the camera.

She was seeing stars. She was being battered to a pulp. She couldn’t think straight. Each of his cock’s blows to her skull seemed to annihilate more and more of the person she’d once been.

And yet, the embers held on. As much as Candice wanted to embrace the snuff slut in her, she could not stop thinking about her journey up until this point.

She remembered the criminal trial she’d attended back when she was a law school student. It was a high-profile case, a celebrity accused of killing his equally-famous girlfriend during sex. The defense’s argument had been that she’d wanted it, and they’d played the tapes for the world to see.

That must’ve been the start, Candice realized. When she knew she wanted to end up just like that woman.

As her memory continued to drift, the warming sensation around her remaining bicep jolted her back to reality.

“I hope you had a good time touching yourself,” the director grunted. In his hand, the remote.

Candice’s eyes widened, sparkling with unabashed excitement. Gone was the reserved woman— perhaps she’d never been real to begin with, her current performance suggested. The cuff buzzed and heated up and burned. The anticipation was killing her. Candice’s fingers went into a frenzied overdrive, the last time she’d ever be able to masturbate. She screamed into his cock, still sealing her lips.

And then, and then, and then!

A white-hot chop. The pain consumed Candice’s consciousness momentarily, as if dozens of flashbangs had been set off directly inside her skull. Her body flailed beneath the director. Her pained shrieks were muffled by his dick, transformed instead into wild convulsions of her throat walls, as if to wring his shaft for every drop of semen.

She didn’t even realize that he had cum too. She didn’t realize that the combination of his jizz and cock had completely closed off her windpipe, until moments after the fact, when she was sputtering and coughing, kept alive by pure instinct. The pain was so good, so liberating, her whole body was shivering with pleasure for minutes afterward. Even her fingers, now separated from her, continued twitching in her pussy as Candice’s head rolled to the side, dazed and fuck-drunk, drenched with tears and sweat.

The director dismounted her head and repositioned in front of her slit. He pulled her dismembered arm out of her hole and casually discarded it, before spreading her thighs.

But, then again, it felt like they were in the way. So, he reached for the remote.

“W-Wait, sir…” Candice muttered. Still now, enough of her intellect remained such that she could puzzle out what he was doing. Clearly, he still had work to do to destroy her utterly. “I’m still recovering…”

He pushed one button. And then another. Seconds later, Candice was howling, gasping, thrashing in pain. She was just a torso with a head, now. The director shoved her meaty legs off the mattress, vowing to decide what to do with them later.

For now, he had a sex doll to destroy.

At the start of round two, Candice was already near catatonic. She had not been prepared for him to cut off both of her legs at once like that. She had assumed he would take them off one at a time, and she had been dead wrong.

But she knew she couldn’t complain. Why not? There was a reason, probably, but she couldn’t remember what it was. And she didn’t care what it was, either.

All she cared about was the dick drilling her pussy, the pulses of hot pain emanating from her four stumps, and her impending snuff.

It was bliss. A dizzying, melting bliss.

She felt herself sinking into it. And she didn’t fight it. She let that wondrous, painful bliss wash over her very being.

The director was no less brutal to her lower hole than he had been her mouth, but he was starting to reach the point of diminishing returns. With each pump, Candice’s moans became less and less coherent. She’d managed short sentences at first, “Kill me! Fuck me! I’m gonna die!” etc. But as her mind crumbled, it devolved into single syllables, “Yes! Yes!” And then, it was just gasps.

And now, as was plain for the camera to see, Candice’s moans were just sharp gurgles and breaths for air. If the director could chart his effort and her mental state on a graph, he was reaching an asymptote, the limit of ‘mostly dead’ that could only be approached, but never crossed, with his current trajectory.

So, with his second climax still far in the distance, he decided there was no real reason to keep Candice alive. He pressed the last button.

Candice didn’t have any last words. She didn’t have any last thoughts, either, having long since surrendered eagerly and wholeheartedly to the masochistic, poisonous pleasure. By the time the collar cut off her head and converted her to a sex doll for good, she had already been one in all practical terms. All the cauterizing collar did was make things official.

With the collar’s work done, her head rolled to the side. The director picked it up has he continued fucking her torso, and showed it to the camera. A big smile was frozen on her mouth, lines of drool and cum dribbling from the edges of her puffy, abused lips. Her eyes were rolled up, wide with sheer, raw pleasure, her flushed red cheeks stained with joyous tears.

The cauterizing collar on her neck seemed to work differently from the others. After decapitating her, it split into two, one to keep her body fresh, the other to keep her head in a half-alive stasis, still circulating oxygen to her head and tricking the meat into thinking it was still alive. Perhaps it was more enjoyable to her this way, the director thought. She could enjoy the sensation of being snuffed just that little bit longer.

The director set the head aside and pointed it at the camera, letting it watch as he continued to defile her corpse’s holes. The Cauterization Collars were truly a handy invention. The only complaint he had was that they appeared to seal off her throat hole and prevent it from being used. Aside from that, though, they were neat, convenient, and fun.

The fantasy of using them on other Sensual Snuff Films subjects got him going again, finally bringing himself to pour his hot semen inside her half-dead pussy.

Perhaps he ought to invest in a few sets for personal use.