by Matt Shaw
“I’d forgotten about that,” I’d told him.
“Kill me…” he whined once more. The broken record of a pathetic man begging to be put out of his misery like a limp animal. I think not.
“Did you forget?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Not even sure whether he heard me. “About my friend?” I continued. Again - no facial expression from Harry suggesting he knew what I was talking about.
Talking about what had happened - how we had met - I can’t believe I have only just remembered my friend. Another life lost because of these assholes. I’d left the so-called ‘interview’ in the coffee-shop feeling uneasy about the whole meeting. It was one thing to be promised a stack of money but - that didn’t ensure I’d be safe from possible trouble. Richard’s words played through my tired mind.
“And don’t forget - you should take your own chaperone,” he had advised. “If a company says ‘no’, that they don’t want you to take someone with you, then walk away. A legit company wouldn’t think twice about permitting it. Some, like me, would even advise it.”
“Like hired security?” I had asked him.
“Could even be a friend,” he’d replied, “just so long as someone is with you and knows you’re safe.”
My mind drifted to my friend, one of my oldest friends. His name was John.
Was John.
He was dead now. And it was because of these fucks.
Harry started to laugh through the pain. For the first time since being hit with the hammer, he looked directly at me. Eye to eye. A smile, that fucking smile, etched on his pained face. “How could I forget?” he laughed, “He screamed. He begged for his life. Even cried.”
I turned away; scared that he could see the upset in my face, the tears in my eyes. Shake it out of your system. Forget it (for now at least). Make them suffer. Make John proud from wherever he lies. Make him proud. I turned back to Harry, “You’ve begged me tonight,” I whispered. “Is that how my friend sounded? You’ve cried too…Another uncanny impression of my friend?”
John hadn’t begged for anything. Harry was just trying to get a rise out of me. He nearly managed it too. Nearly. I know John didn’t beg because they hadn’t given him a chance to do so. They didn’t give him the privilege. They snuck up on him and they killed him.
“Fuck you,” Harry hissed. “Why don’t you do the world a favour and kill yourself?” he spat. “Shit for blood, you’re nothing but a waste of oxygen.”
“Because of you,” I reminded him.
“Kill yourself and be with your boyfriend.”
“My boyfriend? John? No. You’re mistaken. John was my friend.”
* * * * *
John looked at me with wide eyes. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know whether to believe me, or not. Not that I’d ever joked about things like this in the past. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever spoken about my normal sex life in the past. Not since finding out he had a ‘thing’ for me anyway.
John was a friend who’d stuck with me since school. We went to college together and still remained friends when he went on to university and I went on to drama school. Once he had told me that he loved me. I guess he hoped I would have said I felt the same but I didn’t. He was always just a good friend to me. Why would I want to ruin that with messy feelings of love? He was like a brother to me. A protective brother who I could discuss anything with. Which is one of the reasons I wanted to tell him about my move into the adult film industry.
“Your mum and dad don’t know about it, I’m guessing?” he said, when he finally managed to string a sentence together.
I shook my head, “Only you.”
“And this is what you want to do with your life?” he asked.
I had already worked on three ‘assignments’ and I felt comfortable with what I was doing. I actually felt as though I was at home on the sets, strange as it may sound. I’m sure there are others in the industry who don’t feel this way - perhaps they even feel used by the system - but, so far, I was having a ball.
“So - what are the names of the films you’ve done?” he asked, a cheeky grin on his face.
“Don’t!” I gave him a playful slap on the arm. I knew what was running through his mind; a sneaky viewing of my films. “If you ever come across them…”
He started to laugh. I rolled my eyes.
“Very good,” I continued, “if you ever see the films - you can’t watch them. Promise me.”
“What? Deny myself the chance to sleep with you?” he laughed.
“You’re disgusting!” I gave him another playful slap on the arm. I knew he was just teasing me.
“Look - if you’re happy, and you’re safe…I’m pleased for you. I’m surprised,” he continued, “fucking surprised, to be honest, but - if it’s what you want…Well…Good for you. Your secret is safe. Just promise me one thing,” he finished.
“What?”
“Be safe.”
I smiled at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, “You’re sweet.”
“I mean it, if there is anything you ever need, give me a ring.”
* * * * *
Harry spat, “You think it’s my fault that your friend is dead? You’re wrong.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s your fault. You killed him. You invited him to the set. You told him to be there. You brought him along to his death. You’re to blame.” Harry laughed. “You killed your friend. Just as you killed everyone else. Just how much blood is on your hands?”
It was Harry who killed him. Harry and his friends. Not me. Yet - part of him - was right. A small part admittedly but there was some truth in his sentence. I had taken John along. I did take him to his death. Once again I shook the thoughts from my mind before putting my hands around Harry’s neck. I applied pressure as hard as I could, cutting off his circulation. His skin went purple as his eyes bulged. I want to show him exactly what I felt but - in the meantime - there’s no harm in showing him what John went through in his last moments.
* * * * *
I was sitting on the edge of the bed in the middle of what looked to be an abandoned warehouse. I was wearing the cat-suit as had been requested but this wasn’t the reason I felt uncomfortable. The bed in the warehouse (heated with small heaters dotted around the room) was the reason I felt uncomfortable. It just felt unprofessional. Seedy. Even the cameras, three of them in total, set up around the room to capture various angles in one take, looked as though they were bottom end of the market. Had it not been for the fact they had given me the money as soon as I had walked in, with John on my arm, I’d have believed they couldn’t afford me.
John was on a small plastic chair next to the wall. A few people milling around him with drinks in their hands, taking sips, as we waited for the action to begin. Looking around I didn’t know any of the faces here (other than John, Tom and Harry) and couldn’t tell what their roles were either. Probably the busiest set I’d ever been on. I guessed three would be on camera, obviously Harry would direct and Tom would be my co-star but there were two extra people who just seemed out of place. Neither tried to talk to me or John which didn’t help with making me comfortable. And speaking of comfort - John looked as though he was really out of place. He kept shifting in his chair as though desperate to get up and leave. Even the sight of me, my breasts spilling from the cat-suit, failed to get a reaction from him - something which surprised me considering the way he often spoke to me if I dared bare any flesh.
“Sorry,” I mouthed to him.
He winked - almost as though to say everything was cool but I knew it wasn’t.
Tom sat next to me. He was wearing jeans and a white tee shirt - no shoes or socks - and seemed perfectly at ease with where the shooting location was.
“Is it always in a warehouse?” I asked him, referring to the shoot.
“We move around a lot,” he said.
“Any ideas when we’re going to start?” I asked him.
“Soon. Just waiting to take care of something
.” He smiled. For some reason, hard to put my finger on it, his smile set me on edge as much as the film set had. From across the room John made a funny yelping sound which caught my attention. I turned to face him and screamed when I saw that a man was standing behind him clutching either end, of what looked to be wire, looped round John’s neck. John’s face was purpling by the second and his eyes were bulging from his skull as his arms flapped about pointlessly. I went to jump up - to run across to help him - but Tom grabbed me around the waist and pinned me to the bed.
“Watch your friend,” he sneered in my ear, “watch the life slip away from him.”
I was crying out for John, screaming how sorry I was, as we both continued to struggle against the people pinning us down. Panic shooting through my body as I realised no one was coming to help. Worse than that, some of the bystanders were watching the scene unfold with their dicks in their hands - stroking them in time with John’s gasps.
Soon enough - as one man shot his load onto the concrete floor with a sigh of pleasure - the man strangling John let go of the wire and John’s body slumped (lifeless) to the floor. I screamed before I felt a pair of hands wrap around my own neck; a fear that I was going to go the same way as John.
* * * * *
It took every ounce of willpower I had to stop from throttling Harry to death there and then. I released my hands from his neck as tears streamed down my face. He gasped for breath - a disappointed look on his face (I believe) that I hadn’t just let him die. I wanted to. God only knows I wanted to but I couldn’t. Not yet. Not like that. It was too easy for him. Too peaceful compared to what he (they) did to me. I owed it to myself - and the girls who’d been before me - to make him suffer.
“You don’t get away with it that easily,” I told Harry as I took a couple of steps away from him. “No way do you get away with it that easily. You’re going to suffer like no other person has suffered before and - given what you do to people, what you did to people - that is saying something.”
I reached down to the floor and picked the hammer up.
“I remember the first hit,” I told him.
* * * * *
Tom let go of my throat and I gasped for air. He’d put so much pressure on, for so long, that my vision had started to blur and I started to see stars. I looked to the side, to see if anyone was going to help me but no one was coming. Instead - they were all cheering. Some of them (the on-lookers) were standing with their pants pooling round their ankles. Harry was busy flicking the cameras on.
“Careful, guys, you don’t want to shoot your load too soon,” he laughed as he ran to the next camera, “you’ve paid a lot to be here, may as well get your monies worth.”
I turned back to Tom, still sitting on top of me, and went to beg for him to get off. His fist was clenched and held up high. Before I could get any words out, before I could utter a single sound, he brought the fist crashing down onto the side of my face. I screamed from both the pain and the shock; the first time I’d ever been punched in my life. I prayed for him to get off, I prayed for him to stop but he didn’t. He raised his fist again and brought it back down.
* * * * *
Harry’s scream filled the room as I hammered him directly on his left kneecap.
“I’m curious,” I shouted over his cries, “how much did they pay to stand there and watch what you had planned for me? How much was I worth?” I didn’t need Harry to confess the exact price. I knew it wasn’t going to be a cheap rate - not with the money he’d offered me for coming along; although I knew as soon as the first blow connected with my face that I wasn’t going to be getting paid. “How much was I worth?” I asked him again as I brought the hammer crashing down onto his other kneecap. Another satisfying scream filled the room, along with the horrendous sound of cracking bone. I wasn’t sure how he organised such events and I knew I’d never get to know. I didn’t care. It bothered me that I’d never find the men who’d paid to visit the set to - basically - jerk themselves off whilst watching Tom and I but I hoped they’d disappear back under the rocks they came from if Harry was no longer around to invite them to such trips. The most important thing for me, since starting this, was to ensure Harry and his gang paid the ultimate price.
I’d lost count of the number of blows I’d taken from Tom. I wonder if Harry will lose track of the amount of hits he suffers too or whether he’ll remember each and every one up until the minute I take his life? I raised the hammer again and swirled it around in my hand so that the edge - the bit used to remove nails from walls - was pointing downwards. Without a second hesitation I brought it down into his shoulder. He screamed again. I hope he remembers the hits. I hope he remembers each and every last one of them.
* * * * *
I opened my eyes. Not sure how long I’d been out for. I tried to move but couldn’t. My arms and legs stretched out; bound to the bed by cold, hard chains. I started to cry when I remembered where I was and what had happened.
I was still in the cat-suit. The front zipper was undone, exposing my breasts. And I must have been exposed around my crotch too, given the cool air breathing against it. I pulled at the restraints, desperate for them to break or come undone at least, but there was no movement in them.
I wailed out. A hope that someone would take pity on me.
Harry’s voice came from the corner of the room – invisible from my position on the bed, “And ACTION!”
Panicked, I looked from side to side to see if I could see him. My heart skipped a beat when a handful of masked men walked into the room wearing nothing but red velvet robes. They approached the bed, without saying anything, and I realised the robes were open at the front with no clothes on underneath. Each man was either semi or completely erect. They stood around the bed, without blocking the view from the previously-positioned camera. It was then that I realised that the people I’d seen earlier - the ones I believed to be part of the crew - they were all nothing but spectators. They only ‘filmmakers’ had been Tom and Harry. Everyone else was just here for the ‘entertainment’ factor. More panic. Slowly, the ones at the foot of the bed moved to the side to make room for another masked man. Unlike the previous - this one was wearing a black velvet robe. Like the other men, there were no clothes underneath, just an erect penis and a pair of Dr Martin boots.
“Please. Let me go. I’m scared,” I stuttered over my words. Could taste blood in my mouth.
The black robed man climbed onto the bed and moved up until his body was pressing against mine. With no words, and with the help of his left hand, he thrust hard into my arse - holding my leg up as far as the restraints permitted with his right hand in order to help with the angle. I screamed out in pain and continued to do so with each of his hard thrusts. The men standing around the bed stroking their cocks gently - as though not wanting to get too carried away until the black-robed man was near completion. My mind darted to the horrific possibility that, when this man was done, they’d each take it in turn too. I closed my eyes and continued to scream as he continued to pound.
Just as quickly as he started, he suddenly pulled out. I waited for him to roughly penetrate me again but the penetration didn’t come. Was that it?
THE FILM
“That wasn’t it though, was it? That was just the beginning. And what you’ve suffered so far, that’s just the beginning too.” I bent back down to my bag of toys and dropped the hammer in. Seconds later I pulled out some garden shears. I stood up to my full height and laughed as I gave them a test ‘cut’ by slicing through the air. Snip. Snip.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Harry stammered over his words. More music to my ears.
“What do you think?” I asked. I opened the shears up and moved them down to his cock so that a blade was on either side of it. I closed the shears up - just enough - to ensure the blades were touching skin.
“Ready?” I asked him.
“Please…Don’t…”
I laughed. I had no intention of using the shears on his penis. It
’s not as though they cut my vagina with them…
* * * * *
“Open your eyes,” I recognized Tom’s voice. He was the man in the black-robe. I opened my eyes slowly. The men around the bed were still watching me, still with pricks in hand. Tom was standing, still masked, at the foot of the bed. He had a pair of scissors in his hand. “These men here have paid a lot of money to watch this,” he explained, “and they want a show. Not much of a show if you keep your eyes closed.”
“Please let me go.”
“Ssh! They want to hear your moans. They want to hear your screams. They don’t want to hear your pleas for mercy.”
I fought again against the restraints - still with no joy.
Tom crawled up the bed, holding the scissors up, and ran the cold (open) blades against my bruised cheeks, across my neck, down my bosom. I shivered with fear and nervous anticipation all the way. Tom leaned down and suckled on my breast; my body betraying me with a sudden stiffening of the nipple. He sat up and smiled at the effect his mouth had had. He held the scissors up and opened them up to their fullest potential. A wink from his left eye. With no warning, no words, he moved the scissors down to my breast and clamped the blades shut on my nipple. I screamed as blood immediately dribbled from the fresh (sore) wound. The men around the bed - wanking their pricks furiously.
* * * * *
Harry screamed as loudly as I had when I cut his pink nipple off too - using the garden shears. I didn’t stop at the one nipple, though, like Tom had done with me. I moved on to the second and - snip - sliced it from his shaking body. His first scream hadn’t even had a chance to die down and so just continued into a longer, more drawn out one.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” I said.
Harry was still screaming. I still wasn’t done. Tom had stopped at the one nipple before discarding the scissors and moving on but - no - that wasn’t enough for Harry. I wanted him to feel what I felt but, more so, I wanted him to feel more. The pain for people who’d gone before me. I remembered what he’d said, on the film set, when he leaned in close to me whilst they set up another take - having terminated the recording temporarily.