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Edited by "Charon" Michael Hartwich, 1 year(s) ago

This is the Original Story from "Wilde Spiele", written by Citrusblood. Thanks for using it.

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Gunfighting Girlfriend
by citrusblood

I
The glances and smiles in the hallway, the notes passed in class Catherine Lang was flirting with me. It felt good. She was pretty and feisty, a combination any sophomore guy would like. The attention she was giving me felt like a gift from
above.
We studied math together in a big group of kids. Eventually we arranged to meet without the others, after school at her house. Our friends knew what was up, and they snickered when we told them our plan.

II
I liked Cathy s house. It was large but cozy, and it was usually empty for a few hours after school. Both of her parents worked, and her younger brother was often at a friend s house. It invited mischief.
The first time I went there, we actually did study math for a while. Cathy got bored and turned on the TV. We sat close to each other on the sofa as she flipped through the channels. The mid-afternoon programming was the usual mix of odd sitcom reruns and kids cartoons. Cathy stopped for a minute on an old, 60s-era spy flick, right at the moment a female character was sneaking up behind a man. The woman quickly looped a garrote around the man s neck.
Ooh, she got him! exclaimed Cathy as the woman strangled the man to death. Cathy seemed to take an unholy pleasure in the male character s demise. I grew hard.

III
Cathy s brother Peter left the house to play with his friend down the street. As soon as the door shut behind him, Cathy slammed shut her math notebook. Let s watch TV, she said, grabbing the remote.
We snuggled up on the sofa. I put my arm around her; she looked at me, smiled, and sank into my side. She lazily flipped the channels, pausing briefly on a violent kung fu movie. She didn t say anything and finally settled on a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
I spoke softly in her ear about something. We seemed to melt together. Our hands ranged freely, and our lips met. We made out for the first time. I wondered if she could feel my erection through my jeans.

IV
The house was cold, but Cathy looked sexy in winter clothes, anyway. We made a perfunctory review of our algebra notes, but she got that look in her eyes again.
Are we girlfriend/boyfriend now that we ve kissed? asked Cathy.
I guess.
Good.
The makeout session was longer this time.

V
We stayed warm by the fireplace, Cathy and I, as we lay on the floor looking at our math notes. We playfully bumped our hips against each other; she was in a spirited mood today. The fire danced in her mischievous eyes.
Let s play something, she said, jumping up to her feet.
Play what?
Umm, how about hide and seek? said Cathy as she danced out of the den. You have to try to find me!

I climbed the stairs of the house, listening for signs of Cathy, feeling like a little kid again. I never realized that hide and seek could be such an exercise in flirtation, but I discovered I was getting stiff once again. I searched room by room, finally stepping into her little brother s. There were toys everywhere; I was glancing at them on the floor when Cathy popped up from behind Peter s bed. She held a toy gun in her hands.

Bang! You re dead! she said in a pert voice.

The toy gun made machine-gun sounds as Cathy depressed the trigger. For a second I was too stunned to do anything, amazed by her childlike glee at having surprised me with a fake gunshot. But my years of practice as a little boy playing war and cops and robbers immediately kicked in; I shook and jerked, pretending to get riddled with bullets. I crumpled to the floor, a half-shocked smile on my face. My erection surged.
Cathy stepped by me; she had an excited grin on her face. Now you ve gotta try to get me, she said, pointing to a toy basket. My brother s got another gun like this one.

I lay dead for a moment, thinking about Cathy s silly game. I was excited to play it with her. I grabbed the second toy gun and pursued my girlfriend. As I was peering into one of the bathrooms, movement at the corner of my eye made me swivel into the hallway. Cathy was loitering with her back to a doorjamb, her gun raised in the air. She could ve easily leaned around and shot me, but she didn t. I took advantage of the lapse and fired my gun at her. It lit up and vibrated with sound.

Cathy let out a throaty yell, and then staggered around the doorjamb into the hall, her whole body shaking in rhythm with the bullets. Her lips were slightly parted in a snarl of mock agony, and her eyes were shut. Locks of her dark hair whipped past her face as her head bobbed up and down. Cathy s arms flapped loosely at her sides, palms out, like she was being nailed to an invisible cross behind her. I couldn t ignore the way her breasts bounced with each shake, fluttering around inside her sweatshirt. Her knees buckled as she pretended to slide down the wall, finally tumbling to the carpet. She lay beautifully sprawled out, motionless quietly in repose. My throat dried up from arousal.

I stepped past Cathy and made some smart-aleck remark about beating her, even though I knew she could ve blown me away if she d wanted. She didn t respond, instead making the most of her death performance by remaining perfectly still.
I waited in ambush downstairs at the foot of the staircase. I couldn t shake the image from my mind of Cathy jerking and bouncing as I shot her down. She was something of a ham, a clown who liked to perform for anyone who d give her an
audience. Everyone told her that she should be an actress. It was an endearing part of her character.

My dick was a periscope in my pants, trying to get out of there to look for more gunplay. My stomach was in knots, filled with insatiable lust. I couldn t tell what I wanted more: to be gunned down again by my sexy girlfriend, or to watch her
dance erotically to my bullets.

As I pondered it, I saw Cathy roaming around upstairs, apparently unaware of my location. I was going to sneak up on her. I was going to climb the stairs and shoot her in the back before she saw me; or, better yet, I was going to grab her from behind and pretend to strangle her, just like that scene we watched in the old spy movie the other day. I started to climb the stairs on my hands and knees so she wouldn t spot me, imagining in my mind how it would feel to take Cathy from behind, feeling her fight and squirm in my grip, as I gently pretended to choke her. I could picture her playing along with it, bucking like a bronco at first until her struggles finally subsided and she died in my arms.

I was close to the top step, holding my gun ready, when Cathy suddenly jumped out of a bedroom, her machine gun blaring loudly at me.
Die, sucker! she shouted with the squeeze of the trigger. I dropped to my belly on the stairs, forcing my whole body to flop around as Cathy wasted me. She kept on shooting me, allowing me to act out a terrifically exaggerated death performance. My cock was flapping around just like my other limbs. When the sound of the toy gun ceased, I fell limp and began to slide down
the stairs. As I slid, my shirt snagged on the steps and rode up on my back, bunching up around my shoulders. I braked my fall with my feet, causing my sneakers to slip off. My cock brushed roughly against each step as I slid bump, bump, bump
down the stairs. I was ready to explode.

I came to a stop at the bottom, where I let myself rest in half-disrobed disarray. Cathy pranced down the stairs and sat down on the step just above my head. She nervously banged her knees together, opening and closing her legs, affording me a
view of her crotch. Whoa, look what I did to you! said Cathy. Your clothes almost came off. We wouldn t want THAT to happen, would we?
I just moaned feebly. What? Did you say something? I thought you were dead. I slowly raised my hand holding the gun. With a wicked smile on my face, I leveled it straight at Cathy s crotch. Her eyes popped open wide and her jaw dropped in
astonishment.
You re not gonna shoot me THERE, are you? She said it as if she were indignant about my choice of target, but her body
language said something else she didn t even try to close her legs. In fact, I swore she opened them up a little wider for me.
I pulled the trigger and let the electronic sound of the toy gun echo in the empty house. Cathy let out a squeal and clapped both hands to her crotch. She threw her head back and shrugged her shoulders rapidly as the gunfire sounded. Her legs
kicked wildly on either side of me, and I crawled in closer between them, holding the barrel of the gun just inside her thighs. She fell back on the stairs and continued to twitch as I made a few, final trigger pulls. Dead, her butt dropped one step so that her crotch collided with my face. I could smell the pungent fragrance of her snatch, seeping through her denim jeans.

Cathy was panting hard. She tilted her head forward to look down at me. She fumbled with her button and zipper.
You killed me, said Cathy breathlessly. You shot me right in the pussy! Instant death, I said, equally short-of-breath. My cock was aching to spill its load now. Cathy tugged open the fly of her jeans. Kiss me down there, she said. I nuzzled into her crotch, softly brushing my lips across her pink underwear. I could taste her juice on my tongue; it was salty and funky, but tasty. My hot breath seemed to get a rise out of her; Cathy moaned as I exhaled against the soft fabric. She tugged down on her panties, and I could see a small tuft of moist hair emerge. My cock was throbbing now. I wanna fuck you, I said, as sweetly as such a coarse thing could be said.

Cathy just moaned in response. I couldn t take anymore; I creamed myself. I buried my face in her panties and felt my whole body shudder with the release of my cum. She squeezed my head between her thighs and drew me in. I was lost in ecstasy,
stifling my cries as I pumped sticky cum into my underwear. I was a wet mess, but I didn t care.

Cathy suddenly pulled away from me and quickly zipped up her jeans as she jumped to her feet.
My brother s home! she hissed.
My ears had been covered by Cathy s legs, and I didn t hear him come through the front door. I quickly pulled down my sweatshirt, slipped on my sneakers, and straightened myself up. I looked down to see a small wet spot forming on my crotch;
I covered it as best as I could by tugging down on my loose sweatshirt. Cathy wiped perspiration from her face and fluffed her hair, descending the stairs to give her brother a curt welcome.

What are you doing home already? asked Cathy. Brian had to go to the store with his mom, said Peter. The boy started up the
stairs. I gulped hard; the toy guns were left out on the stairs. Peter immediately noticed them.
What are my guns doing on the stairs? he asked.
Cathy shrugged her shoulders. Dunno. She couldn t think of a good lie. Peter snorted at his sister, picked up the guns, and retreated to his bedroom. I turned to Cathy and we both sighed.
Sorry, she said.

VI
The next day at school I ran into Cathy at her locker. She smiled sheepishly. Sorry about yesterday, she said. Are we still friends?
Of course. Hey, did your brother say anything to you about the guns?
He figured we d been playing with them. Said we were too old to be using them.
Little does he know, I said.
Cathy snickered. So, uh, do you still want to study math with me after school?
Yeah.
She coyly tugged at my sleeve. Do you, uh, wanna have another shootout some time?
Hell yeah.
Good, she said. I do, too. My brother has soccer practice tomorrow afternoon,
so we ll definitely be alone. Cathy formed a gun with her thumb and forefinger,
poked it into my belly and made a pow! sound before walking to class.
VII
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GF GF.txt
Maybe we were still too embarrassed by the last close call, but the next time we got
together to study math, Cathy and I just talked.
So how badly do you wanna have sex? she asked me as she kissed my neck.
Real bad. It was an honest answer.
I do, too, said Cathy. She bit her lip and gave me an apologetic look. But I
don t know if well you know If I m ready to do it yet.
My heart sank. Why not?
She saw the disappointment in my face and quickly backpedaled. Oh, I don t mean I
NEVER want to do it with you I just meant that, well right now maybe we should go
slower
You mean, just kissing? That feels like a step backwards to me.
No, no not just kissing. I mean, I want to try more things with you But I just
don t know if we should go all the way yet.
I wondered what more things we could try together
We rolled onto the floor, tonguing and groping so wildly that I forgot our
conversation.
VIII
We went several days without seeing each other after school, and the separation was
making us horny. We passed dirty notes to each other in class, hoping the teachers
wouldn t catch us. I walked home with Cathy, holding her hand on a blustery
afternoon.
We have a test on Friday, said Cathy. We really should study this time.
Don t worry we ll pass it, I said. I don t want to study today.
I squeezed Cathy s hand. She tugged on it and swung it back and forth playfully.
Inside her house was warm. Cathy took off her knit cap and shook her hair out. She
looked around.
Peter? Are you here? she called out for her little brother.
There was no answer. Cathy gave me one of her distinctive impish looks. She then
put her two hands together, one behind the other, in the best imitation possible of
a machine gun. She made a raspy, syncopated pff-pff-pff sound as she swept her
pretend-gun across me. I rocked on my heels, throwing both hands to my chest and
crying out. I dove to the floor of the foyer, rolling around as if in total misery.
Cathy kept pumping me with her machine gun, stopping and starting a new burst just
to watch me bounce with each hit.
I have to make sure you re dead this time, said Cathy as she bent down toward me.
She placed her hands just inches away from my crotch and let out another, short
pff-pff-pff. I arched and covered my groin with my hands, as if she d just
blasted me in the balls. NOW you re dead for sure. She left me lying there on
the floor as she went upstairs. I m gonna get the guns.
I was thrilled. I raced upstairs after her. Cathy leaned out of her brother s room
with a gun in each hand.
You re gone! she cried as the two toy guns made their loud, rat-a-tat sound
effect.
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GF GF.txt
Once again I jerked in time to the shooting. I threw my arms out and groaned,
moving my body as convulsively as I could. I kept convulsing even as I dropped to
the carpet, kicking my feet and bouncing up and down on my butt. Cathy finally
stopped shooting me, and I lay still for her satisfaction. I was wearing soft,
loose sweatpants, and I was positive she could see my erect cock bulging through the
fabric. As she stood over me, she gave me another, quick shot from the guns. I
twitched for her amusement.
Here; take one of the guns, said Cathy, throwing a plastic gun onto my belly as I
lay dead. I guess it s only fair.
I confronted Cathy in her parents bedroom. She took cover on one side of the bed
while I hid around the corner of the doorjamb. We traded shots with each other,
punctuating our little gunfight with phrases like gotcha, missed me, and so
forth. Ending the stalemate, Cathy charged over the king-sized bed, crawling on top
of the sheets as she dashed toward me. I opened fire on her, and she acknowledged
her defeat by flopping hard against the bed, thrashing to and fro on the covers.
You got me! she cried out.
Cathy played dead for a second, then darted toward me again. But I nailed her once
more, and she fell halfway off the bed, her left side dangling over the edge.
Slowly she slipped off and fell with a thud on the floor. She rolled and lay
sprawled out, knees bent wildly askew.
I waited just outside her parents bedroom, crouching low. Cathy barreled out of
the room, not looking, and I pumped her with my machine gun. She jumped backwards.
No! she cried out. You killed me again!
Cathy jerked around, her arms flailing at her sides in the form of crucifixion. She
grimaced in what could either be described as utter agony or orgasmic ecstasy it
was hard for me to tell the difference. I wanted to have a better view of her
jiggling tits, but the heavy fleece vest she wore obstructed them. I stepped closer
and continued pumping her with shots. She rammed her ass against the wall, banging
against it furiously. She rolled around now and slammed her chest and hips into the
wall, looking as though she was fucking it where she stood. Cathy rolled again,
this time slipping toward the floor, her movements growing slower. She sank onto
her ass, still jiggling and jerking, and I didn t stop shooting. She toppled to one
side and then onto her belly. Her ass stuck into the air as she humped the floor
violently. I pumped and pumped her with shots, imagining my cock pumping her cunt
full of hot cum. Cathy then rolled onto her back, never tiring from her spastic
death throes. She was practically sweaty from her deliriously wild performance.
She must ve known the effect it had on me, just how arousing it was, because when I
finally stopped shooting her and she went still, she had the faintest of smiles on
her face. My cock led the way down the hall
I hid in Cathy s bedroom, backing up against the wall. A few minutes later, Cathy
barged through the doorway, her toy gun blazing at me. I noticed her aim was a
little low, so I played along by grabbing my crotch and cupping my hands under my
bulging package.
Aaagh, you got me in the balls! I groaned, stumbling and shuddering from the
girl s withering attack.
Instant death! said Cathy, happily repeating the line I d used on her when I
blasted her in the pussy.
I squirmed and flopped on the floor of her bedroom like a fish out of water. Cathy
jolted me with a few, gratuitous machine gun blasts, watching me jump every time.
My prick was pressing upward so madly now that there was no way she could miss it
protruding from my pants.
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GF GF.txt
Cathy placed her foot on my throbbing cock in a gesture of victory. I thought I
would lose it right there, but she took the pressure off and stepped away.
Come and get me! she said as she skipped out of her room.
I converged on a bathroom door. I swung around just as Cathy was emerging. Our
eyes met simultaneously; I could see the thrill of excitement on her face. We fired
at each other, pumping each other with our fantasy machine guns, filling each other
with our make-believe lead. We did a death-dance together, a wild, uncontrolled fit
of jerking and thrashing, slowly dropping together to the floor. Our backs slid
down opposite walls, and we kept firing at each other. Cathy was breathing hard; my
heart was racing. We landed on our butts and let our guns fall at our sides.
Cathy s feet were stretched out between my legs, parting my thighs. We let our
eyelids droop and our heads tilt to one side, simulating our mutual deaths. Then,
Cathy opened one eye and smiled at me.
We fucked up each other, she said in a low voice. We re both dead.
I know, I said, barely hiding my hand reaching for my aching cock. We wasted
each other at point-blank range.
Cathy watched me gripping myself and pushed my legs further apart with her feet.
Do it. Take it out and jerk off.
She didn t have to ask twice. I yanked down the elastic waistband of my sweatpants
and let my cock spill out. It was long, pink, and taut. I cradled it in my hand
and looked at Cathy. She unzipped her pants and quickly slid them down her hips.
Next she tugged down her panties, so that we were exposing ourselves to each other.
I looked at the juicy tangle of Cathy s snatch and began to whack myself. Cathy
slid her fingers into her folds and parted the lips, exposing her fleshy wetness.
She caressed herself and glided her fingers expertly around her mound, shuddering
with each pass. We sat entwined like that, masturbating together with abandon.
Of course, I came first. It only took a few seconds. My rock-hard cock sent little
jets of cum spilling forth. My whole body writhed with each pulse, my muscles
relaxing only after I d shot the whole load. I took deep breaths and watched Cathy
jerk off. It seemed to take forever, and she kept her eyes closed for much of the
time. But when she came, I knew it. Her feet kicked hard against my thighs; her
head shot back and her whole body tensed up. A wave of orgasmic joy rippled through
her, and her pussy seemed to drip with her flowing juices. It was unlike anything
I d seen before. I sat there in awe, my sticky residue covering my skin.
Cathy looked at me, but didn t smile. We just stared at each other for a minute,
wondering what we d just done. Then, without a word, Cathy crawled over to me and,
without pulling up her panties or jeans, melted into my arms in a quiet embrace.
We were dead. Together. Fucked and killed at close range, left in a twisted heap,
our bodies locked into one mass.
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Edited by "Charon" Michael Hartwich, 1 year(s) ago

one of the best stories. Thanks for posting.

Chez Marquis Kylie on the horse
( i really do miss him .... )

It's a chamber with only one possible purpose, a snuff chamber. Walls, floor and ceiling are all made of the same striated grey concrete. In the middle of the chamber is a large wooden bondage horse; arrayed around this, in easy reach, are several trays containing a variety of torture implements. Six very obvious video cameras record the victim's suffering from every possible angle. The chamber's only exit is quite invisible from the inside, and I always bring the girls in blindfolded. When the blindfold finally comes off, they see a room of death, a room with no door. Even the least sophisticated girl understands quickly: she is going to die here, after a long evening of pain.
Tonight my celebrity victim is Kylie Minogue. Frightened and whimpering, she stands very still in a see-through blue minidress, and I've rarely seen anything so lovely. The blindfold is off. She knows. She forms words, begs, creates linguistic irrelevancies with her full, wet pink lips. I smile and strap her ankles to the legs of the wooden horse. The thick leather of the straps juxtaposes nicely with the thin, delicate straps of her high heeled shoes. Now I force her to bend forward, so that I may secure her wrists to the front legs of the bondage horse. The wooden beam splits her body nicely: it rides up hard against her pubic mound, and separates her splendid spherical breasts.

Kylie is bound; now the torture can begin. I slip the choke chain around her neck and draw it tight. The slender silver links caress her throat; she gags. The chain is meant for use on a dog, a bitch. It's perfect for Kylie. I play with her breathing for a few minutes, just to show her who's boss. She learns very quickly that I am in complete control of her body: she lives or dies at my command. She'll serve me well now that she understands that.

The time has come to enjoy her unwilling twat. I lift the flimsy, translucent blue fabric of her skirt. Kylie's flawless, heart-shaped ass smiles up at me. Her red panties dwindle to a thong in the back. The cheeks of her ass are round, tight, firm, smooth. Perfect. I have a fierce desire to bugger her. I choose a scalpel from my tray and slice away the thong. The same tray provides KY jelly for my turgid cock. I force my way into her; I can tell by the tightness that this is a new experience for her. She cries and sobs as I rape her ass; naturally, this only encourages me. Kylie's job is to articulate her suffering as I violate her. She may not know it, but she's performing admirably.

I use the choke chain as I rape her ass, drawing it perilously tight and holding it there, strangling her very nearly to death. I have to be careful. Letting her off too easily would be a tragic waste, but then again I have to be sure that she's in enough pain, and that she understands the inevitability of her eventual death. It's a fine line. I let my experience guide me. Strangling women is an art form. You have to listen to their bodies, and let them tell you when they've had enough. It's easier when you're inside them. Then the data flows from their tortured bodies straight into your cock.

Using the chain, I'm able to stimulate some pretty impressive responses from Kylie. I could easily come in her tight ass, but that wouldn't be humiliating enough for her. I withdraw and move around to the front of the horse. Kylie's tear-stained cheeks are framed by soft, red-brown hair. She's sobbing gently to herself, having discovered by now that I will not hear her pleas. I present her with my throbbing purple member. It's slick with KY and shit. Kylie shakes her head, furrows her brows in disgust and mouths more meaningless protests. I tighten the choke chain until she begins to gag. I leave my cock right in front of her face and hold the chain taut, watching her body spasm as it strangles. I'm quite prepared to snuff her right now if she doesn't relent...but of course she does. She nods desperately and I release the chain. Her slender body shudders as she fills her lungs with much needed air. I stuff my cock into her unready mouth. I can see that she's fighting her gag reflex. I make her job harder, thrusting mercilessly into her warm wetness. To her credit, she manages to suck me a little, and even licks some of her own shit off my prick. It doesn't take me long to come: I toss a huge and satisfying load down her throat, and quickly resume the torture.

Having satisfied myself, I can concentrate on hurting her now. I choose a stiff, braided leather whip. It's one of my favorites, a well-worn weapon with which I've whipped to death perhaps half a dozen young beauties. Now it will taste Kylie's soft, pale flesh. I begin with her ass. Pert, perky and exposed, it makes an ideal target. The horse forces her to keep her behind up in the air, where it's quite easy to whip. I lash her without the slightest hint of regret or mercy. Soon her sweet cheeks are aglow. Pink and swollen, her buttocks cry for relief. I give them none. I layer the strokes across tortured, protesting flesh. I whip her ass until the blood runs down between her cheeks. And all the while she twists and screams on the horse.

I whip her back as well, working my way up her sleek, svelte body. I whip her through her translucent minidress, not bothering to remove it. The thin blue fabric provides her with protection which is at best minimal. And in any case the dress (like her flesh) soon lies in ribbons. Pink sores become angry red welts as the stiff leather lacerates her back. Her firm, proud breasts jiggle in their lacy red bra as her tortured body convulses.

I had intended to whip her to death. It's an immensely satisfying way to snuff a woman. When you whip a girl to death you know for certain that you've hurt her as much as possible before allowing her the blissful release of death. The thousandth stroke may kill her, but the first nine hundred ninety-nine are pure pain, and that's beautiful. So I work on Kylie with the whip. But as I do so, I notice something wonderful. Watching her suffer has made me hard all over again. And so I choose a different death for her. I set aside the bloody whip and return to her ass. Bruised, battered and bloody, it's more exciting than ever. My cock enters her easily this time, its way prepared by a heady mix of blood, KY and shit. Her body feels softer this time, more pliable. The fight has gone out of her. She yields. The torture has made a true woman of her: she accepts my cock without protest.

I draw the choke chain tight as I fuck her ass. It will take a lot to make me come again; perhaps it will take her death. That's fine. I play with her, letting her breathe a little, then denying her that boon for a time. Always the power is mine. The choke chain makes her an object, a hole to fuck. My cock is the piston, her ass the cylinder of a beautiful fuck-engine. Her throat completes the circuit, adding pain and a hint of death to my pleasure. Yes. I let her draw a deep breath, and decide that it will be her last. I tighten the chain and hold it. I fuck her ruthlessly now, pounding towards an unavoidable conclusion. Her bound body bucks beneath me, trying to escape (but not really wanting to). Her tortured gurgles give way to an eerie silence: her strangulation is real, immanent. A few more strokes and I erupt into her, filling her dying ass with my load. I hold the chain tight, to make sure. Yes. She continues to spasm around me for a moment or two more, then goes limp, her duty completed.

Hi Joke,

danke für's posten :-) Jetzt kommt mal etwas Leben in diese Gruppe.

Viele Grüße
Charon

Hallo Charon
Erstmal vielen dank das ich für die group die ich gemacht habe Werbung machen darf .
Ich werd auf jeden Fall noch ein par Sachen hier posten .
Grüsse
liljoke

Freshwater Claudia written by Chez Marquis

Have you ever fucked a drowning woman? I have, and it was the greatest fuck of my life. Of course, I'm sure that was partly due to the fact that the woman in question was none other than Teutonic goddess Claudia Schiffer. Fucking her would have been a pleasure under any circumstances. But fucking her as she squirmed and struggled under six inches of water...that was sublime.

Here's how it went down: as soon as I got my hands on Claudia, I knew I was going to rape and snuff her. It was just a question of how. Since she was sitting in front of me, handcuffed and ballgagged, I talked it out. How should we do it, Claudia? The rack would make you arch your back and show off those fantastic tits of yours. That'd be nice. Electrocution? I bet you have nice, sensitive nipples. Crucifixion is a tempting possibility. You're in great shape; I bet you'd last for days. Or I could slow hang you. God, I'd love to see you hang, Claudia. That fantastic, Amazonian body of yours, six feet of blonde power, limp and helpless, dangling from a noose...that's when I thought of the drowning tank, and I knew at once that it was the right torture for Claudia. For the ultimate swimsuit model, drowning was the perfect fate.



I had already removed Claudia's sweater and jeans, leaving her only a white, translucent leotard. I was delighted to find that it was the kind that unsnapped at the crotch for easy access. That would do just fine. Her breasts showed nicely through the thin fabric of the garment. I could see the soft, perfect curve of them, the dark circles of her aereola, the sweet bumps of her nipples. I have always been a great admirer of Claudia's breasts, and now here they were, right in front of me, tempting me, taunting me. And I was about to fuck gorgeous Claudia as she died a slow, painful death. I couldn't believe how lucky I was.

Gently, I lifted Claudia's silently squirming body and carried her over to the drowning tank. The tank is an integral part of my dungeon; it's designed to allow slow, controlled drowning, drowning that lasts a long time. The idea is simple: it's basically just a glass tank, large enough to spread a woman's body out on the bottom of it. There's a pump which, when activated, fills the tank with ten inches of warm water--cold water, after all, is not conducive to maintaining a good, solid erection. The water flow is controlled by a float, rather like you find in a toilet tank; when the water level reaches ten inches, the float is tripped, and the water recedes a couple of inches, allowing the victim to breathe. Then the water begins to rise again. But this time it rises a little bit higher. The victim is submerged once again, and this time she has to stay under a little bit longer. Then the float is tripped, and she gets a precious breath. But now she knows that when the water rises again, she'll have to hold her breath longer still.

Most women I've drowned in this way last through twenty or thirty cycles; the drowning process takes about an hour, and is tremendously fun to watch. I think the fear of drowning is really basic to most women. I've been able to get some terrific fear responses out of women in the tank.

I laid Claudia's beautiful body on the floor of the tank and secured a thick, leather strap around her neck. The strap is necessary to keep the victim's head down. Apart from this, I generally use no other bondage except for handcuffs. I like to keep the victim's legs free; if she wants to kick, that's more than all right. I activated the pump. Claudia began to wiggle deliciously as the water flowed over her body. Her sultry blonde mane spread out around her head like a halo. My cock stiffened as the water rose up around her armpits and began to pool on her belly. Soon the warm water had covered her throat, her thighs. Her crotch was drenched, and the wet leotard clung to her pussy like a second skin; her blonde bush bulged enticingly against it. The water rose to cover her chin, her cheeks and her full, red, blowjob lips, which were still wrapped seductively around her ball gag. Now only her flared nostrils and the tops of her breasts were above the water line. My eyes fixed on her glorious mammary mounds: the dry areas of her breasts were described by twin circles, which were rapidly shrinking. Soon only her nipples were above water, and then they too were submerged. Her nipples were blood red through the tight, thin, wet cloth. Claudia was entirely underwater.

She kept her eyes open, and I appreciated that, because it made it much easier for me to judge her level of pain and terror. It was very important for me to have a good sense of Claudia's progression through the torture, because I had to time my rape carefully. I wanted to hold off for a while, because there was no way I could last through her entire hour of suffering, and I wanted to be inside her when she died. Ideally, of course, I'd like to come at the moment of her death, but that was often hard to arrange.

Claudia's tortured body was achingly gorgeous as it writhed and wriggled under the water. I wanted her desperately, but I forced myself to wait. She made it through the first cycle easily, gasping for breath as the water level receded below her nostrils. Her magnificent chest swelled as she fought to pull down enough air before the water rose again. And of course, she was fighting a losing battle; when the water rose over her face once again, she wasn't quite ready for it, and this time it was harder for her. Again, she managed to hold her breath, but already the strain was evident, and there was a look of quiet desperation in her soft eyes.

I watched her carefully as she fought her way through fifteen cycles, each longer than the last. Claudia was in peak physical condition, but she was starting to wear out. Between cycles her breathing was ragged now, uneven. I decided to give her a few more cycles, then avail myself of her body. At the end of the eighteenth cycle, she couldn't quite make it to her next breathing period. She inhaled some of the water as it receded, and she spent too much of her rest period choking and gasping, not breathing. It was time.

I stepped into the tank and unsnapped the crotch of her leotard, revealing her moist blonde pussy. I entered her as the water rose over her once again, finding her splendidly tight. I did not move at all, for that's one of the major advantages of this particular brand of rape: the victim does all of the work. As the water flooded over Claudia's face once again, her entire body stiffened involuntarily. Every muscle in her well-sculpted body went taut as she was submerged. She was drowning, and her body knew it. As much as she might have feared and hated me, there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent her body from squeezing my cock. She fucked me with the rhythm and the assurance of the highest paid call girl. Yet raping Claudia was infinitely better than fucking a pro or even a willing amateur, because Claudia's every motion was uniquely, undeniably genuine, born of the purest pain and horror.

I savored the tightness of her, the flex and pull of her cunt muscles as she suffered through three more cycles, then a fourth, then a fifth. I was getting close, and I knew she was too; neither of us would last much longer. I stared down into her eyes, which were now under water most of the time. Gagged and drowning, she pleaded silently for mercy, begging for her life. I smiled and shook my head.

Finally the moment was at hand. Claudia opened her mouth, wanting, needing to breathe. This time she was in the middle of a cycle; the water hadn't even begun to recede yet. But she couldn't wait! Bubbles rose up through the water as she emptied her lungs one final time. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had done. That's right, Claudia. There's no air. Nothing to breathe but water. Go ahead. Take that final step. You have no choice. You're committed now. I'm with you, Claudia. Do it.

I felt my cock pulse inside her as she teetered on the brink of drowning for what seemed to me an exquisite eternity. Then suddenly her body shook with the violent spasms of her death throes. That was enough to push me over the edge, and I erupted inside her with a tremendously satisfying orgasm. I felt her body relax around me, her duty to me discharged, her suffering finally at an end. And I gave silent thanks to Claudia for the sacrifice she had made.

Chez Marquis Hanging Mrs Peel

"Ah, good morning, Mrs. Peel! Good to have you back with us." He pressed a button; the rope began to tighten almost immediately.
"August de Winter!" Emma gasped. "I should have known it was you. Mmm! So, you mean to hang me?"

"I should think that would be rather obvious. You can feel the hemp digging into your lovely white throat, can you not?"

"Of course," Emma gasped. In point of fact, she was already having considerable trouble breathing; the taut rope loop was performing its function admirably, and her windpipe was already half closed. "But I would have thought you'd come up with a more creative way to dispose of me. I mean really, a simple slow hanging...painful, yes, but hardly original."

Out of necessity, Emma held her breath as she waited to see if her gambit would work. It was often possible to manipulate megalomaniacs by appealing to their egos in this way. But de Winter was clever; he might not fall for it. Meanwhile...she flexed her wrists. It was difficult to tell for certain through the thick black leather of her jumpsuit, but they felt handcuffed. And apparently her lockpicks had been confiscated. That could make the cuffs a bit of a bother...

"You should try what I have to offer before you dismiss it, Mrs Peel," he drawled, his voice thick and Scottish. "I think you might find that it's fairly original after all. You see, the rope splits in two at your neck. Half of it forms your noose, but the other half runs down behind your back. I've used this part of the rope to bind your ankles. I think you'll find that if you straighten out your legs, you can hold yourself up a bit, and take some of the weight off your throat."

"I see," Emma whispered. She stretched her long, muscular legs until her body was ramrod-straight. The noose was still tight at her throat, but her ankles now bore a good share of her weight. "Yes, that IS better. Thank you."

"You won't be thanking me for long. Picked up that trick in Sri Lanka. They understand how to hang a woman there. Keep her at attention until her legs get tired. Then enjoy the show."

"I have very strong legs," Emma pointed out.

"Yes, I know," de Winter replied, and poured himself a cup of tea.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Getting tired yet, Mrs. Peel?"

"A little, yes," she admitted. What was the point of hiding it? The spasms in her thighs and calves were becoming increasingly acute. It wouldn't be long now.

"De Winter," Emma began, trying to keep her voice calm. "I know you want me. I've seen how you look at me." He was looking at her now. She knew that she was exquisite: sassy red hair falling just past her shoulders, with a bit of a flip at the bottom to make it extra sexy. Her exotic, mysterious face, with its full red lips. Pale flesh at her throat vanishing beneath the painted-on black leather of her jumpsuit. Her breasts--massive mammary weapons, high and hard, round and perfect, sheathed in the thin skin of a baby cow. Her narrow, slender waist, her full womanly hips. Oh, yes, he wanted her.

"So?" He sounded unconcerned.

"So why don't you take me down." She gazed right at him, her dark eyes smoldering.

He chuckled. "A worthy effort, Mrs. Peel. And a tempting offer. But no: I shall enjoy you just as much this way, and then I shall be rid of your interference."

She raised an eyebrow. Was he serious? No straight man should be able to resist her--but then again, he WAS a British aristocrat...

"You can't do this," Emma protested, her voice beginning to crack. Her legs were wobbly. How much longer could she keep them straight ? "Steed will be here soon..."

"I think not." He approached her, grasped the ring of her jumpsuit's zipper and pulled it down. He opened the suit all the way to her navel, letting the inner halves of her splendid, round breasts spill forth. He took a moment to admire the soft, creamy cleavage. "You're going to hang, Mrs. Peel. Nice and slow. At your convenience, of course."

"Damn you, de Winter! I--" But at that moment, her legs buckled. With the noose taking her full weight once more, she quickly began to strangle.

"That's it, Mrs. Peel. Let it happen. Your body was made for the noose."

She squirmed in tight black leather as she hanged, and it was undeniably a beautiful sight. Her firm, proud breasts bulged. Her hips rocked back and forth in a sensuous dance. The same dance was in the way she walked, in the way she made love and in everything she did. Now it was in the way she hanged.

Her magnificent face became a mask of pain: brows arched, mouth open, she gagged softly, drool spilling down her chin. Sweat poured into the "V" of her infinite cleavage.

She noticed something as she struggled. From time to time the random contortions of her body would cause her to straighten out her legs, putting some of the weight back onto her ankles. A rather wicked side effect of the Sri Lankan method: her tortured convulsions actually produced brief reprieves from time to time. She supposed that this would make her last much longer.

"Take your time, Mrs. Peel," de Winter said, pouring himself some more tea. "I've no further appointments today. And I know that this strong young body of yours has a bit more fight in it."

In fact, the Sri Lankan rope configuration meant that poor Emma was almost never fully hanged. She experienced a grueling endurance test, a war of attrition. She was losing--she had to lose, of course--but it was viciously slow.

De Winter surveyed her body as she hanged: the spherical, half-naked balloons of her breasts, her flat belly, her sweetly flared hips. She understood that he was raping her after all; he was simply using a noose to do it.

She continued to twist and squirm in her bonds for some time. The pain built within her gradually, eventually becoming intolerable. She tried to scream, but lacked the air to do so. Even the occasional respites weren't reviving her much now. She was exhausted. Her contortions were slowing. She was too tired--and in too much pain--to move much at all. That meant she couldn't stretch her legs, couldn't put her weight onto her ankles any longer. And that meant it was over.

Now she hanged for real. Limp, unmoving, she gagged as the noose finished her. Her tongue rolled lasciviously out of her mouth. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her skull. Her marvelous breasts jiggled as she died. There was a sharp hiss as her warm piss hit the inside of her leather jumpsuit. Her head rolled forward onto her magnificent chest, and she was done.

Oh wow ... these are terrific! Those last three especially... thank you!

I do not know if Chez Marquis still has a mirror site somewhere around the web .
Maybe a search can help about that .
It seems he randomly appears somewhere and then vanishes again .
I definetly try to post all the stuff that i have saved and thats a ton .
He is really a terrific writer .