Message-ID: <27480asstr$974488202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "john kirk" <able_vybor@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Danya's Dance Of Death episode one
Date: Fri, 17 Nov 2000 14:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


_________________________________________________________________________
Get Your Private, Free E-mail from MSN Hotmail at http://www.hotmail.com.

Share information about yourself, create your own public profile at 
http://profiles.msn.com.


<1st attachment, "Danya1.txt" begin>


DANYA'S DANCE OF DEATH
(a fantasy based on a real female)
starring
DANYA GORDON (age 33)
by John Kirk copyright November MM
(MMMMFbg/abduct/rape/torture/scat/ws/violence/snuff)

EPISODE ONE
ACQUIRING THE MEAT

I didn't know how at the time, but this message arrived on my pc one night, 
not long ago:

"Danya Gordon is a lovely leggy blonde with a moderately pretty face (not 
unlike Zoe Ball) and a sweet-natured personality of the sort that just makes 
you burn with desire to degrade and humiliate the bitch, to utterly debase 
and destroy her.  You know the feeling.  Cunt's eyes are blue and its 
slightly wavy moussy blonde hair is cut in a bob falling to the nape of her 
long neck and to a fringe just above her eyes.

"Its tits are a good handfull at about 36C, I'd guess.  Good meat for 
torture.  The whore has a very shapely arse, quite pert.  She is slim and 
has long legs.  I've never seen her in the nude so you'll have to imagine 
for yourself what Danya's cunt is like.   The whore has two children, a boy 
aged about four, and a girl of almost two.  I don't know their names but I 
will find out every essential detail about the meat.

"Yes, I've already designated Danya and her babies as victims.  They are 
easy pickings and will provide much entertainment to the lucky men who will 
join me in using, abusing and killing them.  Here's your chance to join me.  
I know you like this sort of amusement and might get a thrill out of making 
money out of their executions.

"So, if you're interested in raping, torturing and killing Danya Gordon and 
her children, the deal is this.   I will provide all the necessary 
intelligence on the victims, devise a workable plan to get them safely into 
our hands, deliver them to point of abduction and ensure we take possession. 
   You will provide suitable vehicles (and drive), the torture equipment, 
the video gear and recruit an experienced cameraman.  I have another person 
in mind to provide the brute force and the firepower, a safe location for 
the entertainment, and to dispose of the used bodies (or parts thereof).

"There will be only four of us.  Just enough, not too many.  No names or 
other personal information will be exchanged at any time other than those of 
the victims.  Contacts will be kept to the minimum necessary for my plan to 
work.  We will each invest time and money in this project and take equal 
shares in the fun and the profits, of which there will be plenty.  I have an 
order for the video worth  100,000 on delivery plus another  50,000 for 
copying rights.  We will own Danya and the children for at least a week for 
the making of the video.  You will need to have that time free.

"Please answer this message within seventy two hours to avoid 
disappointment."

My cock leapt into my mouth and my heart fell through my anus.  Or something 
like that.  I recognised the writing style although not the name L_ PEARLIK. 
  Clearly an anagram (and not a very good one) of RAPE KILL.  I was sure I 
knew this person but couldn't place him.  In any case, I wasn't going to 
miss an opportunity like this if there was even the remotest chance this 
wasn't a joke or a set up.  Then I noticed the 'view attachment' sign at the 
foot of the message.  It was a telephoto lense jpg of Danya Gordon in a very 
tight and very small yellow cotton halter neck top showing her fat tits 
beautifully and tight blue jeans.  I was smitten and knew I had to take part 
in raping and killing this gorgeous creature.

I replied "thank you for your intriguing message.  I adore Danya Gordon 
already.  She is, as you say, 'a good handfull' and, I think, she is very 
pretty.  Yes, I want to rape and kill her and her children, whatever they 
look like.  I accept your terms and will begin work on preparing my part of 
the operation as soon as I hear from you again with a few little details 
like when you plan the snatch.  I can anticipate, from what you say, the 
sort of equipment we will need for torture but will need, at some point, to 
know where to deliver it to.  I presume I can pass on as much information as 
you have so far given me (as well as the answers to my questions) to a very 
sympathetic cameraman I have in mind for the team?  One last question - why 
me?  Look forward to your response asap.  ABLE_VYBOR." (an equally not very 
good anagram of BABY LOVER).

His response came next morning after what, for me, had been an almost 
sleepless night masturbating over Danya's picture.  It said "I know your 
work.  You are perfect for this job and I will enjoy working with you again. 
  Remember Tina and Amber in Italy? (Oh shit!  How could I forget?  This was 
Derek.  He and I, together with some pals of mine from France, had shared 
over a month of pleasure and made good money out of terminally torturing 
Tina and her little girl.  I knew instantly I was going to enjoy this.)  
Glad to have you on the team.  I'll let you know the location within a week. 
  The equipment must be on site a month from now.  Yes, tell your cameraman. 
  I'll be in touch.   L_PEARLIK."

The month passed in a frenzied whirl of activity yet seemed to drag by like 
eternity.   I pulled in Albie, my cameraman, and warned him to stock up 
tapes and battery power for two weeks' worth of almost non-stop taping and 
lighting.  The torture equipment was little trouble.  Most of what we would 
need was already in one of my lock-ups and I needed to buy only a few items. 
  I also got a gynaecologist's examination table, just for the fun of it, at 
an auction.  It was complete with straps!  I thought it might make an 
entertaining addition to the decor and I'd always wanted one.  I had a set 
of gyno's instruments already.

Derek sent word that the location would be underground chambers just below 
the surface at a disused coalmine in a very remote part of Wales and that 
the snatch would take place just one week after I'd delivered all the 
equipment and supplies.  Next, the vehicles needed organising.  The 
difficult bit.  I won't bore you with the entrails of it all (Danya's proved 
to be much sexier), but I delivered the goods and chattels on time in a 
Transit which went down a flooded mineshaft never to be found again, 
probably, and waited for Albie to pick me up when he delivered the video 
gear a day later.  I stole the other two vehicles in different parts of the 
country, changed the number plates, and resprayed them both myself.

That final week seemed to go on forever.  Derek kept sending jpgs of photos 
he'd taken of the whore and, finally, some of her cute little kids.  He said 
it was to keep our spirits up but I knew he meant them for identification.  
At last, on the day of the abduction, we all met for the first time together 
as a team at a country pub over fifty miles from the snatch zone.  The plan 
was, at last, unveiled to us over lunch.  Derek had done what appeared to be 
a brilliant job.

Thursday was the one day of the week when Danya's children's nursery was 
closed afternoons and they went, instead, to the house of a friend of hers 
not far from the supermarket where she worked.  Regular as clockwork, the 
blonde babe would walk from the store, across the company car park and along 
an alleyway which empties out onto the street of her friend's house.  She 
would then walk back along the alley with 2 year old Amy and 4 year old Jaky 
(pronounced 'jay-key').  Poorly lit, the path would offer good cover for 
stalking the meat.  The staff are obliged to park their cars at the outer 
perimeter of the car park and this meant Danya's would be, at most, within 
about fifty feet or so of the alleyway.

Plan A called for Carl, Derek's muscleman, to come up behind Danya just as 
she was exiting the alley, stick a gun in her back, and tell her to walk to 
her car, open it and get in the driver's seat with him and the children in 
the back.  The meat would then be ordered to drive to a pre-arranged spot 
about two miles away where, unlit by street lamps, they could be transfered 
to a waiting unmarked dark blue van.  Plan A could, inevitably, suffer the 
fate of most plans and go wrong.  It just needed too many people about in 
which case, the only option would be to abort for another day.  This seemed 
unlikely since it was midwinter and likely to be raining.

Plan B, however, was strong enough to hold up if needed.  This required the 
dark blue van to be in the car park right at the end of the alleyway with 
the sliding side door open.  I was to be in the bushes at that point ready 
to help Carl with the abduction and Derek would be lookout to signal plan A 
or B.  In either case, I would follow Danya's car to the hand over point or 
simply drive us all away from there.

It had to work.  It did.  I was in the bushes pretending to pee, Carl was 
following Danya and the babes and closing fast.  I could see him pulling the 
pistol from inside his black leather jacket.  To my right, Derek flashed his 
torch down at the ground indicating plan A.  I walked to the van, slid the 
side door closed, got in the front and started to roll across the tarmac.  
 From the corner of my eye, I could see Carl right up behind the blonde bitch 
and saying something to her.  I picked up Derek and we coasted past Danya's 
car just as Carl was getting in the back with two very bemused looking 
children and the whore was sitting at the wheel.  Finally, our pleasure was 
underway.

Fifteen minutes later, we were all at the commonland car park under the 
trees.  It was dark and it was raining.   This place had been chosen for 
lack of lighting.  One of the two lamps had been broken by vandals, the 
other flickered balefully.  I parked the van so the side door faced away 
from the street, a hundred yards away, and leaving enough room for Danya's 
car to stop between the van and the trees, hopefully invisible to passing 
traffic.  Clearly, Carl had worked his brutal magic on the female.  She 
rolled to a stop just as Derek was leaping from his door to run around the 
Toyota and point yet another gun at poor Danya.  Meanwhile, I slid open the 
door and turned on the inside light and Carl was muscling two very 
frightened looking little wailing children out of the back of the car.

I could tell immediately the boy was a fighter and Carl seemed to know it 
too.  Instinctively he handed Jaky to me while he slammed Amy head first 
into the opposite wall.  She hit hard enough to be dazed and slumped 
sideways onto the floor.  Holding Jaky by both hands I held on to the 
struggling boy whore while Carl wrestled the child's ski jacket off.  Carl 
snatched a small pair of metal cuffs, all conveniently hung on the van's 
walls along with the other restraints, and clipped them to the boy's wrists, 
enabling me to let go of his hands and reach for the ball gag while the big 
man tied the little boy's ankles with nylon rope.  Jaky continued to 
struggle and scream although, with the gag secured in his mouth, he 
thankfully was unable to make much noise.  While I pulled a cloth hood over 
the boy's head and fastened it with cords which ran down under his armpits 
(round the neck might have choked him), Carl brought the little mite to his 
knees with a hard kick to the backs of his legs.  This enabled me to fasten 
a cord around his ankles and hand the ends to Carl who tied them tightly to 
the boy's handcuffs.  Finally for the moment, we lifted the child off his 
knees and hung the cords, now running over his shoulders from a steel hook 
on the ceiling.

Now we could pay attention to sweet little Amy who lay on the floor 
whimpering.  Cuffs on little wrists, rope round tiny ankles, legs bent 
behind back and roped to the cuffs, gag in mouth, hood on and tied down, she 
was ready in less than a minute.  We dumped the sobbing baby girl in a 
wooden box, shut the lid, and nailed it down.  There were two little holes 
near her head allowing a little air to circulate but small enough to allow 
very little noise to escape.  Next we restrained the boy with ropes circling 
around his body and tied them off to six hooks around the van.

During the four little minutes it had taken us to do all this, Derek had 
been explaining things to a sobbing Danya, still sat behind the wheel of her 
Toyota.  He had the keys to the ignition in his ski pants pocket and the gun 
pressed to her pretty neck.  She had her hands on the steering wheel where 
she'd been ordered to put them.  He told me later the conversation was 
pretty one sided since he didn't give her a chance to say anything other 
than "what....",  "who....",  "why....", and "please don't hurt my ch....".  
  His part of the discussion was more intelligible and ran along the lines 
of "you've been abducted, Danya.  And your babies, too.  I'm not yet 
prepared to tell you why or what we're going to do with you but, if you'll 
just shut the fuck up and stop interrupting me, I will tell you that if you 
don't cooperate with us, your pretty kids will die (much wailing) first and 
then we will kill you too.  If you do as you're told, you won't get hurt (he 
lied).  You're going in the van in a minute with your kids and then we're 
all going for a long ride.  I'll tell you more when we get there.  Until 
then, you will behave yourself and keep fucking quiet.  If you make a lot of 
noise or try to escape, I'll kill Amy first, (more wailing) then Jaky and 
then you.  And I won't give you a fucking second chance.   There's no one to 
rescue you, bitch, and you wouldn't want to try to escape from where we're 
going so don't even think about it.  And for even trying you will suffer 
more than you can possibly imagine.  Now get out of the car and stand in 
front of it with your hands on your head.  Slowly."

Just as we'd finished roping up Jaky, Danya got out of the car and walked 
round to the front where she put her hands on her head.  Derek got out and 
went round behind her, holding the gun to her neck and taking one of her 
wrists in his and twisting it behind her back and then up between her 
shoulder blades.  The beautiful whore was crying.  Tears streamed down her 
pretty face.  But she didn't struggle.  At six foot two, Derek stood at 
least six inches taller than Danya and she was no match for his powerful 
build.   And, making any chance of escape impossible for her, Carl leapt 
from the van.  A huge, powerful brute of a man, he towered even over 
Derrick.  A vicious and evil psychopath, the nigger was six feet eight 
inches tall and built like a brick shithouse with arms as strong as train 
couplings and almost as big.  Derek had whispered to me at lunchtime that 
Carl had a fourteen inch penis.  I didn't believe him.  No one has a 
fourteen inch penis but, quite sincerely, I hoped I would be proved wrong.

The nigger grabbed Danya by the hand she was still holding on top of her 
pretty head and twisted it like play putty up behind her back to meet its 
companion, held by Derrick.   "Ooooooowwwww!" the luscious bitch wailed, 
crying all over again.  I arrived with the cuffs and snapped them on then 
squatted down to fit another much tighter pair around her ankles for which I 
had to slide her jeans up her legs, giving me my first ever chance to touch 
the woman we were going to rape and torture and murder.  Derek whipped a 
blindfold out of a huge pocket in his ski jacket and quickly tied it around 
her head before we started to shuffle the lovely whore to the van.  We 
wanted to give her no chance to see her children until we arrived at the 
mine.  Once she was sitting on the floor of the van with her long legs over 
the doorway sill, it was time for Derek to take off.  He drove the Toyota to 
meet us at the second stopping point where it would be loaded into a truck 
big enough to carry all of us and the van, too.

As he drove off, Carl and I swung Danya's legs into the van and I slid the 
door closed.  To speed things up, I gave Carl the ether-soaked rag and he 
held it firmly to Danya's face while she struggled and went limp.  The meat, 
laid out on her side on the floor, was chained by her wrists and ankles to 
the wall of the van, a bunch of her lovely blonde hair tied in a knot by a 
length of string which was tied off taut to a hook in the roof, and leather 
restraining belts tied around her body and lashed to metal eyes in the floor 
  Finally, Carl fixed a gag to the tart, while I went up front and got the 
wagon rolling with a huge sigh of relief.

Travelling at a safe and unremarkable pace, the journey to the rendezvous 
with the truck took three hours, during which time the nigger had to use the 
ether rags on Danya again and on the little boy.  Amy's little whimpering 
noise barely mattered.   And I had to talk him out of getting his end away 
with Danya.  Much as I wanted to see if he'd got a fourteen inch prick and 
wanted to see cute Danya Gordon being hurt with it, I figured we all wanted 
the meat in best condition for the start of filming.  Talking of which, 
Derek had met up with Albie at the truck half an hour before us.  By the 
time we arrived, the tailgate was down so I could drive straight up it on to 
the back of the trailer.  The Toyota was hidden behind a tarpaulin across 
the centre of the trailer and the Transit was parked in the back half.

While Carl got the tailgate up and closed the rear doors, shutting the 
others inside, I went to the tractor and got it started with one great 
throaty roar.  With Carl up in the cab, we moved off into the night again.  
Total stopping time, three minutes.  I was well pleased.   We all were.  
We'd got our bitch and her baby children.  We'd get to do anything we liked 
with them for a whole week or more and we'd share  150,000 for it.  A great 
night's work.  Four and a half hours later, I gently and carefully rolled 
the truck across the broken paving of the yard towards the buildings at the 
head of the pit.  It was nearly three in the morning, pitch black and 
raining.  And there were a couple of hours more work to do yet.  Carl and I 
opened up the back and got the tailgate down so Derek could drive the 
Transit out and straight across to the entrance to the pit shaft.  While he 
and Albie began to unload the meat, still trussed, into the building, I 
drove the Toyota to the open mine shaft I'd dropped the other van into and 
consigned it to the same fate.  Carl meanwhile had closed up the trailer and 
was driving the truck towards me for directions on where to put it.  We 
dumped the trailer, looking as though it had not been used for months, in a 
field furthest from the access road and then hid the tractor in a small 
warehouse near the pit head.

By the time we got back to the pit head, the other two had got the fuckmeat 
into the building and Derek had stripped the Transit of everything I'd 
kitted it out with.  I drove it to a shed about a hundred yards from the 
gate, covered it over with an old oily tarpaulin, and shut the doors on it.  
The keys went into my pocket for safe keeping.  Meanwhile, Danya was 
stumbling down and her children were being carried down the concrete steps 
of the emergency stairwell to the dark smelly dampness of the top gallery.  
Half a mile down the narrow tunnel was a concrete bunker carved out of the 
rock face.  The bunker was a warren of tunnels, corridors and rooms which 
led off of each other.  God knows what it had been used for, but nothing 
could ever have been as exciting as our plans for it.

The sex objects were dumped unceremoniously, still bound and gagged, in one 
dark chamber while we set about organising the torture chamber/film studio, 
the supply room and our sleeping/living quarters.  Albie tested the studio 
lighting for just a few seconds.  The two hundred fully charged truck 
batteries would have to last at least a week so we could not afford to waste 
an ounce of juice.  Using the battery powered nightlights and highbeam 
torches I'd supplied, we lit the three important areas.  The flesh toys' 
cell was immaterial.  In any case, they would be spending most of the rest 
of their pitifully short lives in front of the camera.

I had not wasted the day I spent waiting for Albie to collect me a week 
before.  The torture chamber was all set up with the birthing table in pride 
of place in the centre.  Along one wall were rusted but apparently quite 
strong horizontal and some vertical iron bars forming a sort of railing 
sixteen feet from floor to ceiling.  These would be useful as a scaffold, 
and to tie off ropes and chains of which there was a plentiful assortment.  
Conveniently, also, there were six one foot diameter eyes and two similar 
hooks suspended from the ceiling.  These would be ideal for hoisting the 
subjects up in the air and dangling them or, perhaps, for hanging them.  
Among the other torture instruments I'd supplied was a Black & Decker 
Workmate (ideal for milking or crushing breasts), a large assortment of 
whips, canes, flails and paddles, and bottom plugs ranging in size from 
little ones meant for enlarging tiny children's cute bumbums right up to a 
massive twelve inch long and ten inch diameter monster which would probably 
find itself inside Danya's lovely backside within a few hours.

Dildos were in plentiful supply, all shapes and sizes including an evil 
monstrosity twenty five inches long and twelve inches in diameter.  There 
was also an assortment of torture dildos, again ranging in size from tiny 
ones for Amy up to a fifteen inch by eight inch steel one covered in 
hundreds of very nasty little razor sharp spikes and blades.  We had 
electrocution equipment (although the power supply was, again, a bit of a 
worry) and an old steel bath I'd found in a nearby room with its plug 
miraculously still attached.  Water was in plentiful supply since, in some 
of the corridors, it dripped through the ceiling fast enough to fill a 
bucket in five minutes.  And I'd supplied a gas cylinder and placed a burner 
under the bath just in case we decided to boil one alive.

Then there were my gynaecologist's instruments and a set of surgical ones 
I'd bought, at great cost, I might add.  A big supply of needles and sharp 
knives (including many serrated ones) was also available.  Finally, I 
brought my tool kit so we would have a plentiful supply of pliers, hammers, 
pincers, nails, screwdrivers, a hand operated drill, handsaws of various 
kinds and a big metal vice which could be bolted onto the workmate.  I felt 
we would have everything we needed for a week or more of extreme fun.

Albie and I had supplied the food, mostly tinned, and it was stacked up in 
the supply room, along with most of the torture equipment and the video 
tapes and batteries.  In our sleeping chamber, we had a mattress each and 
sleeping bags.  We would be comfortable for the duration.  I had not planned 
for the creatures' comfort since I'd assumed they did not deserve them, but 
I had provided a bit of high nutrient food in case they got very weak and a 
first aid kit for when we damaged one more than we wanted at any particular 
time.  This, whilst it is pleasant to see, can get in the way of a good 
movie.

Derek called us all together and briefed us on the scenario for day one 
which would commence after we'd had a few hours' sleep.  He warned us not to 
go too far, too fast, especially with the little ones.  It's easy to do, of 
course, when you're nearly out of your mind with lust in the middle of a 
torture session.  The plan was to make the children last at least three days 
and Danya for a week.  More, if we could keep the whore alive that long.  
However we ended up killing the babies, he told us, the buyer had insisted 
that they die, preferably slowly and in appalling agony, in front of their 
young mother, that she be completely conscious and fully able to see what 
was happening to her children.  In fact, it was part of the contract that 
the manner of their deaths was to be described to Danya in every intimate 
detail and that, if at all possible, she was to be forced to take some 
active part in the scene, even if was just her temporary freedom of movement 
(under guard, of course) to allow her to make some pitiful attempt to stop 
us killing her children..  He'd apparently insisted that he wanted to see 
Danya pleading her young heart out to save her babies' lives and, hopefully, 
begging to take their place.  At the very least, he demanded the young 
blonde mother do a lot of  screaming and crying and be revived immediately 
if she fainted.  Finally, there was a request that a way be found to force 
Danya Gordon to eat all or part of one or both of her children either while 
they were being killed or immediately after their murder.  We all agreed we 
would like this and the best way to achieve at least part of the idea would 
be to force the fucking bitch to eat bits of one child for fear of having 
the other murdered also.  Quite how we would get her to eat the second child 
without starving her nearly to death was some thing we'd worry about when 
the time came.

We were asked to refrain from masturbating off camera to which we all had a 
good laugh, wondering how the hell we could stop ourselves, and finally, 
Derek suggested we ungag the meat and remove most of their bonds.  Simple 
tethering by both wrists should be sufficient down here behind several dozen 
heavy steel doors, the inner three of which we'd padlocked.  We left them 
standing, shivering for the next six hours while we ate and slept.  They 
remained fully clothed except for outer wear and were bound by rope around 
the wrists behind their backs.  All three of them were roped together by 
about a foot of rope between each wrist binding and Danya, who was at one 
end of the line, was tied to a steel eye we found conveniently high up on 
the wall above her.  They could not sit down which, of course, is how it 
should be.  They were sex slaves, after all.  We owned them.  We would use 
their lovely bodies for our own pleasure (and the buyer's), we would torture 
them and we would kill them.  Their lives belonged to us.  They deserved to 
be left standing up.

In episode two, Danya discovers, to her horror and our amusement, that Carl 
really does have a 14" prick.


<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+