Name: Angelina Johnson
Age: 15
Description: see image. Bright young student, virgin, and a genuinely good person. Desperate for romance and sex, with at least a dozen crushes at school, but she’s too shy about that side of herself to admit it.
Type of death: Botched Assassination
Scenario: Expecting some redhead prostitute in her late-20’s, an assassin is surprised to find the house occupied by a black teenager, home alone in her bed and rubbing her pussy. The client gave the wrong address, but Angelina seen the assassin’s face and gun. To make matters worse, the girl knows his intended target. The unfortunate teen needs to die, otherwise she could ruin the whole operation.
Bonus: Angelina, realizing that she doesn’t have much time, asks the assassin to take her virginity before it’s too late. If not, she would like to finish masturbating before being snuffed out.

>>5031

OVERCONFIDENT FIGHTER

Christie thought she was a tough little cookie. She would never be weak again, her ten-year-old self once thought, after she finally beat the shit out of the stupid bitch who bullied her the school year prior. If she could just keep training, and never get up, nobody would ever make Christie Monteiro their victim again. Anyone who tried usually ended up in the hospital, with a bad case of “falling down a flight of stairs” even if it was a single-story building.

In recent years, death matches became the new favorite pastime in the States, with recreational murder being legal so long as everyone involved has signed a contract. This new form of entertainment saw thousands of casualties, and only a few dozen survivors, every year, but the prize, enough money that a person could live comfortably for the rest of their life, drew in plenty of naive wannabe badasses. Christie, never afraid of anything, having just celebrated her twenty-first birthday, figured the annual Bare Fisted Murder Tournament in Chicago would be a breezy path to financial security and fame.

Thirty minutes ago, the Brazilian babe posted a dozen picture of herself, clad only in latex bra that only covered her nipples, and panties which hugged her ass cheeks, on Facebook and Instagram, with the caption “READY TO KICK SOME ASS!”. Hundreds of people, from family and friends, to guys she barely knew from high school who added her, flooded her with comments that she would never read as she headed for her first, and final, match. Now she was staring across a patch of dirt at a burley pile of muscles that was her opponent, as he charged towards her, bellowing at the top of his lungs, surrounded by thousands of spectators blasting the arena with an unintelligible roar of cheering, chanting, and hundreds of conversations.

Christie stood her ground, her eyes set on his crotch, and her right foot ready to swing the moment he got to close. He crossed that threshold and stepped sideways as Christie’s foot swung upwards, connecting with his knee rather than his balls. Before Christie could make another move, his massive fist slammed into her face at full speed. She went sprawling to the ground, dizzy and a sharp pain pulsating from her forehead. A sharper agony erupted in her skull as she attempted to lift herself up, and a feeling of nausea swept across her stomach.

Before she could make another attempt to stand up, the man’s ass crashed into the center of her stomach as he body slammed her. Christie grunted, and clots of blood flew from her mouth as he crushed her intestines.

“Ain’t you a pretty little thing,” he said, looking down into her face. “Think I might play with you before I break yer.”

“Fuck you!” Christie spat. His fist slammed into her mouth, sending a fresh wave of agony oscillating through her face. She gagged as one of her teeth, dislodged and coated with specs of blood, ended up in her throat.

“Wanna say anything else with that hot little mouth of yours?”

Tear drops spilled from her glaring eyes, as Christie’s body trembled beneath the weight of her opponent. He stood up and unzipped his pants. I’m going to be raped, she thought. The possibility that she could die in this tournament was something Christie thought a distinct possibility, sure. She, like many of the hotshots who took part in this competition, felt it was a very remote possibility that they would die. The fact that it seemed she would die in her first match, after only delivering a kick to her opponent that didn’t manage jack shit, was horrific beyond any outcome Christie had considered. But, she was going to be raped. Her first death match, and her opponent was going to rape her and snuff her out, like some prostitute having a bad run with some gangbanger. Not if you fight, a voice whispered; the voice of the girl who swore never to be someone’s victim again; the voice Christie thought died moments ago when the mountain man punched her in the face.

As her opponent’s erect nine-inch cock sprang forward, throbbing and hungry for her snatch, Christie reached out and yanked on his member as hard as she could. He bellowed out a scream which drowned the collective voices of the spectators, and immediately grabbed Christie’s arm. He pulled her into the air, and grabbed her bra with his free hand, ripping it off as he tossed her athletic body over his shoulders. The men in the crowd began hooting as she landed on her back with her bare breasts pointing up at the sky.

Still gripping his dick, he pushed the piercing agony emanating from his crotch to the back of his mind as he focused on making the little bitch pay. He leaned back and let gravity do the rest, crashing down onto Christie’s face. Muffled screams could be heard from beneath his ass, as her nose shattered, and another wave of piercing agony washed over Christie’s skull. Her screams intensified as more of his weight shifted on top of her, as he leaned back, laid on top of her, and rolled over her body. He planted his hands on her breasts and looked her in the eyes, with a wide, maddening smile.

He grabbed her right arm with both hands, lifting the upper portion while pushing back on her forearm until he heard a distinct snap. Christie screamed again, more extreme than ever as the worst pain in her life shot up her arm and enveloped the limb. He repeated the process with her left arm, and her screams became more erratic, changing in intensity as the pain overwhelmed her, sending her in and out of consciousness. He sat back, grabbing her panties as she laid on her back screaming into the air.

With a few mighty rips, he removed her panties, and exposing her plump pussy to his sore, yet eager, cock. It was wet, from the excitement no doubt, ready, and quickly penetrated by a dick whose owner was too impatient for foreplay.

Her arms useless, and body wracked with constant and unending pain, Christie could only cry like a helpless child as he thrust his member in and out of her. A part of her even welcomed it, eager for the release of endorphins which would at least bring some respite to her suffering. As the pain faded, Christie felt a resurgence in her resolve to fight, even as her screams became moans carrying the pleasure she felt as her final orgasm built up. His seed, warm and sticky, sprayed into her womb, and moments later, her pussy contracted around his member, milking every last drop of semen, as both groaned their satisfaction.

When it was finished, Christie laid there, here breasts rising and falling with each breath, with a smile on her face, while the lake of semen flowing from her hole gave her a strong urge to vomit. Her foe got up, put his dick away and zipped up his pants, while her mind tried to figure how she felt about what just happened.

Before she could recover, he reached down and pulled Christie to her feet. He gripped her shoulder-length hair in two thick strands and wrapped it around her neck. Her eyes bulged, as Christie realized what he was doing, when he pulled the strands tightly and lifted her off the ground as high as she would go. Christie gagged and started flailing helplessly. He held her high in front of him, moving around to give everyone in the crowd a view as she asphyxiated on her own hair.

The voice in Christie’s head urged her to fight, even when he ignored each kick that connected, and her arms hung uselessly. Her body began to weaken, her vision fade, and she watched the crowd shouting and cheering for her demise. The voice also faded, and was replaced by the memories of her old elementary school mates laughing as they watched Emily Rochester shoved her into the cafeteria trashcan. Those laughing school children seemed to meld with the crowd of spectators, watching her die with her titties bouncing and legs kicking. She closed her eyes, and the world faded as her brain shut down. Shortly after, she voided the contents of her bladder and bowels onto the ground; an embarrassment she would have been happy to know she missed.

The man held her lifeless body up, continuing to dangle it for the crowd like a ragdoll, for almost three minutes after she passed. He let go, and her body crumpled to the ground. A team of medics and the referee came out onto the field. After confirming that Christie Monteiro was dead, the referee declared her opponent the victor.