As you approach the theatre, you begin to wonder whether this show will really offer any more than the fakery of the regular one, or simply the same illusions with a better salesmanship. Of course, you'd attended one of the regular shows: Despite the outrage, almost everyone had, although few other women dared to go unaccompanied. The show had been entertaining enough. The screams and the purported mutilations had been surprisingly convincing, but the illusion was never quite complete. As the same 'dead' actresses kept returning for the next torture the pretence became ever harder to maintain and you left not entirely satisfied.

After this you had started taking an interest in the rumours of a special staging of the show, more
secretive and exclusive, offering a more 'authentic' experience. It took a lot of subtle enquiries, but eventually Lord Halesworth let slip that he was able to obtain an invitation, and you were able to persuade him to take you to the next show.

When the evening came, you took special care over your appearance. Lord Halesworth will likely expect some reward for this favour and you expect the show to put you in the mood to oblige him. After putting on a pair of white stockings and silky white knickers, you took a moment to admire yourself in the mirror, pleased with your flat stomach and pale, lightly freckled skin. At 27 you consider your physical appearance to be near its peak: still youthful but no longer a girl, your skin smooth and unlined, and your average sized, but well-shaped breasts still high and firm. You put on a sheer white brassiere and a corset before putting your long red hair up and adding some light makeup. Finally you donned an evening dress in a green silk that matched your eyes and low-heeled shoes of the same colour.

You enter the theatre and wait while the couple in front presents their tickets. The usher holds out a velvet bag from which the woman draws out a white ball. She hands it back to the usher as he guides them into the theatre.

"It's nothing to worry about." says Lord Halesworth, seeing your enquiring look. "Just a little game all female patrons are expected to play."

You hadn't been worried, merely curious, but now you start to wonder if you should be. Arriving at the front of the queue, Lord Halesworth shows your tickets and the usher offers you the bag. After a moments hesitation you reach in and draw a black ball. Taking back the ball, the usher directs you towards a plain door that obviously does not lead to the auditorium. Looking around, you see a pair of muscular men standing either side of the exit and watching you closely. They are wearing suits, but do not seem sufficiently well-dressed to be patrons. Now you really are worried, but decide it's best not to make a fuss.

Leaving Lord Halesworth behind, you are lead backstage, where you see a pretty girl standing with her hands tied behind her. Another rope is tied tightly around her elbows, pulling them together. She looks about 16 or 17. She stands little over 5 foot and is slim, the swell of her breasts barely noticeable under her simple shift dress. She is lightly tanned and her golden hair hangs loose to the small of her back. In front of her stands a woman, who you recognise as the compere from the earlier show, holding a knife. She is wearing a top hat and tails over fishnet stockings. Her jacket is fastened with a single button and while she previously appeared to be wearing a leotard, tonight you see she is wearing nothing else. She cuts through the shoulders of the girl's dress and pulls it of, leaving her entirely naked. The girl seems dazed and frightened, but makes no attempt to resist. The room is draughty and unheated, and the girl's nipples harden in the cool air.

The compere gently strokes the girl's cheek then gives her nipple a playful tweak, before turning to you and ordering you to strip. You consider refusing, but reluctantly comply. Although the men you saw at the entrance remained there, a big man sits in one corner with his face hidden by a hood, and there are a number of burly stagehands scattered around the room. When you have removed your dress the compere ties your hands behind your back. She then ties a second rope around your elbows, pulling your shoulders back and causing your breasts to thrust out.

There is a commotion as the bouncers enter, dragging a struggling woman between them. She appears to be in her mid 30s, with dark hair framing an attractive face. The compere orders her to strip and, when she refuses, punches her hard in the stomach. She starts to double over but is pulled back upright by the men flanking her. The compere slaps her twice, more gently, across the face.

"Well?"

The woman glares at her for a moment, her ample bosom heaving as she struggles for breath, then nods. As the compere turns away you see a glint of moisture in the shadows between her legs: evidently she is relishing this. Seeing you noticing, she approaches you, running her finger along her slit and touching it to your mouth. Unthinkingly, you part your lips slightly, allowing her to slip her finger into your mouth so you taste her juices.

"Good girl. I think I'm going to enjoy you."

She runs the fingers of her other hand lightly over your chest before giving it a light slap and turning back to the brunette, who has stripped down to her black stockings and lingerie. The bruise darkening on her stomach stands out against her pale skin. The compere quickly ties her arms behind
her as the bouncers return to the foyer.

The compere walks out on stage as the curtain goes up and begins her introduction. The hooded man stands and herds the three of you on to the stage behind her, his trousers indecently tight, the bulging muscles of his bare torso gleaming with oil. Three nooses hang over the stage, the other end of the ropes hanging down to coil loosely beneath them. He stops the blond girl beneath the
right-hand noose. You find yourself in the middle, with the brunette to your left. The compere approaches the blond with a pair of dildos. The girl whimpers as the compere eases one into her. A
trickle of blood runs down her thigh as the compere steps behind her to insert the second. Perhaps she was a virgin. The compere produces another pair of dildos and turns to you. Slowly she removes your knickers, running her palms down your legs from your hips to your ankles as she does so, and inserts the first dildo.

"I suggest you all try to hold on to these." She looks meaningfully towards a brazier at one side of the stage, in which stand a number of iron pokers and various other implements. "Otherwise we'll have
to find something to replace them with."

She trails her free hand up your arm as she walks behind you, resting it on your shoulder. Standing close behind you, you feel her breath on your ear. You gasp as she savagely jams the dildo into your arse. Laughing, she turns to the brunette, slides her knickers off, and inserts another pair of dildos.

The girl shivers as the masked man approaches her. He places the noose around her neck, adjusts it carefully, then takes the other end of the rope, pulls in the slack and ties it to a device located towards the back of the stage. While he is doing this you look out into the darkness in front of the
stage. The theatre is almost empty, with just ten or fifteen people seated at the front of the stalls. Apart from the woman you saw arriving they are all men. The hooded man settles the noose over your head, draws it snug around your neck and ties the other end off. It is tight enough to be uncomfortable, but not quite enough to restrict your breathing. He repeats the process one more time with the brunette, who now looks to be on the verge of tears but makes no move.

At the side of the stage opposite the brazier three long wooden handles stand in a barrel. The hooded man takes one of these and puts it into the device behind the blond girl. As he pumps the handle back and forth, a ratchet mechanism starts winding the rope onto a drum. The girl gives a little squeal as the noose draws tight about her neck and pulls her up onto her toes. The man continues to work the handle and her feet leave the ground. She remains still as she is raised a few more inches then starts slowly kicking her legs. The audience watches raptly, the only sounds the creak of the rope as the girly sways gently at its end, and a barely audible wheezing rasp as she struggles for breath, her small breasts heaving.

Her face begins to turn blue and her struggles gradually fade then, finally, cease. Her bladder lets go and the dildo is flushed out. The compere takes a poker from the brazier and presses its glowing tip to the girl's clitoris. There is a hissing sound and the smell of burning flesh drifts across the stage, but the girl shows no reaction. The compere thrusts the entire length of the poker into her. She gives one small, final, twitch then hangs still, thin streams of blood running down her
shapely legs to splash on the stage.

There is a brief round of applause from the audience. When it dies down the hooded man pulls another handle from the barrel. He inserts it in the next mechanism and starts pumping. Feeling the noose tightening around her neck, the brunette starts to panic, screaming and begging for mercy. Her cries are soon cut off by the tightening noose. She is lifted on to her toes then starts kicking
vigorously as her feet leave the stage. She continues to flail, occasionally stretching down towards the stage, the long muscles of her legs taut as she strains fruitlessly to reach it. It must seem tantalisingly close, yet those last few inches might as well be a mile. Before long her struggles dislodge one of her dildos, which slips from between her lips to clatter on the stage.

The compere uses a pair of tongs to take a glowing object from the brazier. As she displays it to the audience you see that it is a metal dildo, with several rings of small spikes angled back along its length. The hooded man puts a heavy glove on one hand and she gives him the dildo. The brunette's struggles become more frantic as he approaches, but he easily catches her legs with his free arm. Holding her steady with a hand on her buttocks, he slowly works the red hot dildo into her. She tries to scream but, unable to draw breath, can only produce a hoarse, whistling grunt. She bucks her hips and her other dildo falls out.

"Oh my," smiles the compere, "it seems she enjoyed that so much that she wants another."

She plucks another object from the brazier with the tongs and holds up a metal butt plug. The man takes it in his gloved hand. Using his bare hand to spread the brunette's cheeks, he pushes it into place. She jerks her hips forward but clearly no longer has the energy for much of a struggle.

To your surprise, you realise you are getting wet and begin to worry how long you can hold on to your own dildos. Squeezing your thighs together, you try to work them in deeper. You feel them rubbing together inside you then pressing forward on your g-spot. You shudder as a sudden orgasm rips through you and a slight moan escapes your lips. Embarrassed, you look out at the audience, wondering if any of them noticed. The men are all staring intently at the brunette, but the woman is looking directly at you, her face slightly flushed and one hand buried in her skirts.

Meanwhile, the torturer has taken a poker from the brazier and touched it to the hanging woman's side. He repeats this on her other side and across her stomach until her abdomen is a mass of burns, the darkening bruise from the compere's earlier blow lost beneath them. He replaces the poker as it starts to cool and moves on to her thighs. She continues to kick feebly but cannot avoid his attentions. He replaces the cooling poker once more and pulls down a cup of her brassiere, exposing one well formed breast. He touches the poker to its outer curve, then the inside, before pushing up from below, bouncing it on the tip. Letting it fall once more, he presses the poker firmly into her nipple, holding it in place as she writhes with briefly renewed vigour. When her struggles subside once more he returns the poker to the brazier and selects some kind of clawed pincer device. He pulls down the other cup of her bra and positions the device over the white globe of her undamaged breast. Slowly squeezing the handles, he drives the claws deep into her soft flesh. He pulls on the device and the skin around her breast stretches and gradually starts to tear as it begins to separate from her chest. He starts to twist the device and the tears widen, blood running over her belly. Before he can tear the breast completely off she passes out. He pauses for a moment then disengages the claws, leaving her mutilated breast to hang from her ribs. He steps back as the compere approaches with a poker. The brunette continues to hang limp as she touches it to her clitoris. The compere rips out the dildo and, as blood pours down the woman's thighs, thrusts in the poker. The brunette's eyes fly open and her body gives one final spasm as she briefly regains consciousness, before hanging limp once more.

This time the hooded man doesn't wait for the applause to die down. He takes the last handle from the barrel and starts working the mechanism behind you. The noose tightens around your neck. Breathing becomes difficult as you are pulled up onto your toes. Suddenly he stops. You balance on your toes, straining to breathe.

"Now for the grand finale." announces the compere.

She turns and approaches you holding a knife. Her fingers brush your hip as she passes to stand behind you. She cuts the ropes around your elbows then, after a brief pause, slices through the laces of your corset and removes it. When she comes back into your view she is displaying a coiled whip. A number of small metal hooks are attached along its length. Judging by how carefully she holds it, they are viciously sharp. She hands it to the hooded man as he moves behind you. The torturer cracks the whip experimentally a few times. You wince as it whistles through the air, tensing in anticipation of the blow. Suddenly he brings it slashing down on your back. You would cry out but the noose prevents you drawing sufficient breath. He continues to flog your back, the hooks lacerating your skin, until it is a torn and bloody mess. Then he shifts his attentions downwards to your bottom. Here your hands should provide a measure of protection, but he expertly swings the whip in from the sides, striking first one cheek then the other. Soon the blood starts to flow here too. You feel it running down your legs and soaking into your stockings. There is a pause as the torturer steps closer. His next stroke wraps round your flank to stripe your stomach, driving out what little breath you have. After a while he adjusts his aim upwards, the whip curling round to strike your delicate bust. Your diaphanous brassiere is quickly shredded, its tattered remnants stained with your blood. You are on the verge of blacking out when a hook catches in your nipple, the pain shocking you back to consciousness. He shifts his aim back down, the whip curling round your hips to tear at your upper thighs and strike your most sensitive parts. When you think the pain can't get any worse one of the hooks pierces your clitoral hood. Somehow you find the breath to scream as blood sprays across the stage.

Your vision starts to blur and you are near collapsing when he stops. The compere advances to stand close in front of you, looking you in the face. She steps closer as the torturer starts pumping the handle once more, and you feel the material of her jacket brushing your tender nipples. Trying to remain still as your feet leave the ground, you become very aware of the dildos filling you. Suddenly your body tenses in orgasm. When it subsides you open your eyes to find yourself looking directly into the beautiful grey eyes of the compere.

"Twice!" she whispers, too quietly for anyone else to hear, "I was right about you."

She steps back as you involuntarily begin to kick your legs and the dildo slides from between them.
The compere picks up the tongs and retrieves the metal dildo from the brazier. She displays it once more to the audience, a few scraps of charred flesh still clinging to its spikes. The torturer dons the thick glove again and comes forward. Moving behind you, the compere hands him the dildo. She reaches round to place her hands on your still bleeding chest. She squeezes hard then gently runs her hands down over your torn and sensitive skin. She caresses your hips then slides her hands round to your buttocks, holding you steady as the torturer inserts the dildo between your moist, quivering labia. The pain is excruciating as the searing heat of the dildo scorches your delicate womanhood, the overwhelming agony unlike anything you could ever have imagined. With the dildo firmly in place the compere walks back in front of you, sensuously licking your blood from her fingers, as the torturer fetches a poker from the brazier. He touches it first to your inner thighs, just above the tops of your stockings, then your bum, then works up your body to your abused breasts. He presses it to your cleavage, then their lower curves, before pressing it to each nipple in turn, burning them to blackened nubs.

The torturer sets the poker aside and picks up the clawed device. Pausing to run an appraising eye over your chest, he places it over your least damaged breast and starts to squeeze. The claws pierce your yielding flesh, scraping your ribs, until you feel the points grinding together. Your skin stretches and tears as he begins to pull, more blood flowing over your body. The tears widen as he
continues pulling and twisting. Your vision begins to blur again, but you cling on to consciousness as your breast is torn from your body. He holds it up for the audience to see, then gives it to the compere. She assesses it briefly, weighing it in her hand and running a thumb over the remains of your nipple, before tossing it aside to pick up a knife. She carefully inserts it into you in front of the dildo. With a smile, she draws it smoothly up, bisecting your clitoris and slicing upwards until it grates on the bottom of your rib cage. The creamy upper slopes of her breasts are speckled with your blood, cruelly mirroring your own freckles. Withdrawing the knife, she turns away as your guts tumble out, trailing down to pile beneath you. She turns back, holding a poker, as finally, mercifully, everything fades into darkness.