{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"8dfc7cc9-529e-4d40-b69a-5408303d1454","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2018-09-07T19:01:11.893Z","title":"Sara's Last Show","slug":"saras-last-show","shortId":"SqksGSSd","authorNote":null,"disclaimer":null,"type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"Sara enlists the help of a friend to produce a show for her dying husband. Of course, she will not survive it.","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"da057720-d41d-40a7-ab6d-ebaa00fd210f","title":null,"summary":"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLast Show\n\nChapter 1 \n\n“You want me to help you do what?”\n I had t","wordCount":3677,"readTime":18,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"\n\n

Last Show

Chapter 1

“You want me to help you do what?”

I had to restrain myself so as not to scream; we were, after all, in a public place.

“You heard me,” Sara said, “I want you to help me impale myself.”

“You are fucked up crazy. How can you ask me to do that?”

I hadn’t seen Sara for seven years or so; since she married that old Dom, more than twice her age. That was the day I decided enough was enough and I broke off our relationship.

Sara and I had been best friends since high school, her choice, not mine. I always wanted more, but she wanted what was not mine to give.

Perhaps I should begin, at the beginning.

Sara was, and is, a very attractive girl. Even now, at twenty nine, she retains those sky blue eyes, those freckles and that red hair with gold highlights that drove me crazy throughout high school. That she liked me should have made things easier, but that was not how it worked out.

Problem was: Sara was a masochist, a very submissive masochist who also was extremely intelligent. I was, and am not at all sadistic, nor really interested in that kind of stuff. Not that I don’t enjoy a bit of extreme porn here and there, but it’s just not my thing. I know; Sara and I tried it once.

It just did not work. I could not bring myself to hurt her, not enough, not by a mile, as much as she needed to be hurt.

That’s why we remained best friends.

Until I could not take it anymore.

You see, Sara was a really smart and savvy girl, even then.

“Will you help me?” she said.

What she wanted, back then, was for me to vet her prospective Doms.

“I need to be totally vulnerable,” she told me, “and that is dangerous.”

“You don’t say,” I replied.

“I need you to help me, to keep me safe.”

“And just how do I do that?” my annoyance showing in my voice more, perhaps, than I intended.

“You are good with information, I want you to research them, find out if they’ve been in jail, arrested, that kind of thing.”

And that I did for many years, reliable old John, who could be trusted to find out who was safe and who wasn’t. All those years wasted, jerking off, thinking of what she was going through, jealous, yet unable to give her what she wanted. Until she found Gustav.

She met him and, after I pronounced him safe, she went with him, into his home, into his dungeon, into his life.

One day, I received an envelope, in the mail. An old fashioned wedding invitation.

She was marrying the old codger.

I tore up the invitation. I sent the RSVP back, with regrets, and a handwritten note:

“You don’t need me anymore.”

That was seven years ago.

Yesterday, I received a note, by snail mail asking to meet me. So here I was, listening to this madness.

Only the sight of her eyes, of the tears glistening on the red rimmed eyelids, kept me there.

“He is dying,” she said.

“He’s been in hospice for a while,” she dabbed with a tissue at her eyes, “He is coming home tomorrow, it’s only a matter of days now.”

Then she told me her plan.

“I’ll do it.”

***

Chapter 2

I drove the rented van to the house and found the garage door open, as she’d told me it would be. I parked the van inside and closed the garage door. In the back were three TV cameras, borrowed from my job at the station, two of them, tripod mounted remote units and one, a hand held one. A powerful laptop allowed me to mix and select the feed, just as they do for a football or golf game. In fact, this was the exact rig we used for high school football games; portable and effective.

I put on a white bunny suit and latex gloves before entering the large enclosed patio.

Sara had described the contraption that would end her life; even so, I felt an unnamed emotion climb up my gut when I saw the upright, sharp steel pole standing in its place, by the old fashioned, wheeled airplane staircase. Where she found that, I could not tell. Maybe some old aviation memorabilia store, somewhere. She had modified the staircase and now it sported motorized, remote control wheels. There was a narrow, rectangular piece cut of the landing, where passengers would walk into the plane; the pole rose through it, like a malevolent steel penis.

I went up to his room. The picture windows opened to the patio where she planned to suffer her final torment for him. He lay in the bed, a shriveled stick of a man, barely able to lift a hand in a mute salute when I entered. Bedridden, he would be unable to watch from the window his loving wife’s sacrifice.

That’s where I came in.

On the wall, across from the bed was an enormous flat screen TV.

My job was to be the producer and director of Sara’s last show. I set the laptop by the picture window, where I would be able to see her, without cameras. I kept the hand held camera in the room. I set one of the fixed cameras at the same height as the tip of the pole, aimed at it. I did not think I would need to move this camera much. The second one, I set at the same height, but from the side. I arranged three sets of klieg lights to make sure the illumination was perfect. I could feed more light as needed as the sun set. We would start at two o’clock and I didn’t think it would go on after sunset but, nevertheless, if it did, I would be prepared.

Their amateur camera sat on a tripod, where it would not record my system. I could turn it on by remote control.

The Blue ray player on the bedroom’s entertainment system was set to record the feed from the two fixed cameras. Not the one from the hand held one. Inside the laptop, a blue ray recording drive would preserve the live feed that would appear on the flat screen.

I met Sara downstairs, in the kitchen. She wore a white linen kimono with the name of some spa written in Chinese characters on the back. Her red and gold hair fell in long curls on her shoulders.

“Do you have everything?” she asked.

“Yes, I set up the cameras and the controls.”

“I mean everything.”

“Do you still intend to go through with it?” I replied.

“Yes, I am not going to survive my husband. This is the last and only thing I can do for him now. I will not deny it him.”

I nodded.

“Do you have everything?” she asked again.

There was something else in the van.

“Yes, everything,” I replied.

“I’ll go say goodbye,” she said.

“Before you go, there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Yes,” she said.

“May I see you, naked, just once.”

In all these years, I had never seen her naked body. Only once had I seen her glorious buttocks, that day that I spanked her, not hard enough. That was all.

“I guess you are entitled to it,” she said with a sad little smile on her lips.

She dropped the kimono that slid in a puddle of linen around her feet.

Her skin was alabaster white, covered by cinnamon freckles on her arms and shoulders. Her breasts were heavy, firm, crowned by areolas the color of fine strawberry ice cream, the one without artificial coloring. My eyes dropped to her sex where her fiery pubes had been trimmed into a perfect equilateral triangle. Her thighs had not lost any of the tone that I remembered from gym class.

“Shall I turn around?”

“Please.”

Her hair fell on her shoulders, like an inverted flame. Her back was glorious, her spine melted into the most perfect ass I had ever seen. I could barely resist the urge to grab those glorious globes and bury my face between them. She must have felt it too.

“You can see, but no touching,” she said.

After an interminable minute, I said:

“No more, go before I lose my resolve.”

She donned the kimono and went upstairs.

I returned to the van. There was something else there.

Being on the news beat at the TV station put me in contact with some of the, less savory elements of our society. Some of them owed me a favor or two.

She knelt, naked, on the back of the van, her hands bound behind her back and tied to a chain on her waist. Her eyes were covered by a thick blindfold, padded at the ears. I had personally plugged her ears with thick latex plugs before blindfolding her. She could see or hear nothing. I lifted the blindfold on one side, keeping her eyes covered, and removed one of her ear plugs.

“Do you know what you must do?” I asked.

She nodded, “Yes sir.”

“Do you have any questions?”

She shook her head.

I replaced plug and blindfold and helped her out of the van.

I guided her up the stairs to the old man’s room. She was beautiful, with long black hair and dark oriental eyes, now unseen under the black blindfold. Her firm breasts were smaller than Sara’s and crowned by dark nipples that just begged to be bitten into. Her pubic hair was long and straight, but did not hide the folds of her sex. I did not untie her hands until we reached the bedroom. Once there I released them only to tie them in front of her.

I led her to the bed where I saw the white tarp with which Sara had covered the bottom of the bed. Her husband’s scrawny legs lay on top of it, as did the bottom part of his body.

He saw us arrive and opened his emaciated thighs. His cock and balls sat between them. His pubic bone, hairless from the chemo, jutted out of his body like a ship’s prow.

I helped the oriental whore kneel on the bed and guided her head and hands to his package. She felt his genitals with her hands and began her work, taking his cock and pushing the foreskin back with her lips.

“Thank you for doing this for us,” he rasped.

“It’s nothing,” I said.

***

Chapter 3

A small IV, inserted in the folds of the old man’s neck provided a steady stream of painkillers that had kept him in a daze until now. Sara had reduced the dosage to allow him to enjoy her performance as well as the ministrations of the blindfolded oriental beauty now kneeling between his legs. A remote control, sitting attached to the bed by his right hand would, when the red button was pressed, deliver a series of drugs, dilaudid first, to numb any pain and ease him into sleep, followed by propofol, the same stuff Michael Jackson used, and finally, potassium chloride that would stop his heart, if it was still beating after the dilaudid and propofol. He wasn’t going to survive his wife by more than a few seconds.

I looked through the picture windows. Sara, still wearing that white kimono, stood at the top of the stairway.

I turned the cameras on, and checked that all the equipment was functioning correctly. I panned out on camera #1, fixed on the tip of the spike, until all of Sara, standing on the stairway could be seen. I turned the klieg lights on so I could close the diaphragm on the camera that brought the tip of the spike into focus. I fed the image of a kimono clad Sara, standing behind the steel spit, on to the large screen TV.

“Is everything ready?” the field directional microphone picked up her voice clearly.

“Yes,” I answered turning the gain down on the microphone to avoid feedback.

“Tell me when to start,” she said, “and, goodbye.”

“1,2,3...Action!” I said, and turned the gain back up.

A sharp intake of breath from the bed behind me accompanied her shrugging off the kimono, and the sight of her nude body, standing close by the steel shaft.

“Enjoy the show, my beloved,” Sara said, looking directly at camera #2, focused on her face.

The tip of the spike reached just where her clit would be, hidden between the folds of flesh. She approached the spike until the cold metal touched her intimate skin. I zoomed in with #1, until the shiny tip of the spike filled the screen with her pink flesh as background and a few fiery curls visible at the top. I panned out with #2 and fed both images, side by side on to the screen.

Sara toyed with the tip against the converging folds that hid her clitoris, more for her man’s entertainment than for her own. I could see that she was dry, there was not a trace of moisture on the petals that would, otherwise, be glistening. Whatever the extent of her masochism, she was now scared, very scared. She lifted one of her legs and inserted the tip of the spike into her vagina. Her fingers played with her pearl for a while, perhaps trying to excite herself, or maybe just to please her audience. #2 focused on her face while #1 continued showing her lips stretched around the glistening steel.

“I shall press the kill switch now,” she said.

Leaving the fixed cameras as they were, I used the handheld to capture her as she pressed the green button on the handrail of the staircase, feeding that image to the big screen.

The staircase began to descend, very slowly and the spit penetrated deeper into Sara’s tunnel. #1, fixed on the tip of the spit would track its progress along Sara’s body. It now showed her pubic hair meeting the tip of her cleft in a neat triangle of red curls. I zoomed out a little, so the grooves at the tops of her thighs would be visible too. #2 began her descent, as yet only minimal, following her face down. I kept this one zoomed in on Sara’s face, her wide open eyes, and her luscious lips opening.

“It’s going deeper into me, it is so big, bigger than anything I’ve ever had there.”

Once again, I fed the handheld image into the TV screen.

“It’s reaching my cervix,” she said standing on tip toe on the slowly descending aluminum landing.

I fed #2 on a close up of her face and a wide angle take from the handheld into the screen.

The sound of swallowing from the bed announced his first orgasm of the evening.

On the landing, her toes lost their purchase on the aluminum surface, for a second, they hovered on thin air. I zoomed the hand held on them.

A heart rending scream and her feet suddenly reaching the aluminum surface announced that the sharp tip of the stake had penetrated the flesh inside her pelvis. Whether it was through the cervix, behind, or in front of it, I could not tell. I rapidly fed #1 alongside # 2. Her fingers clutched at her pubis, nails digging into skin now glistening with sweat under the klieg lights. Her screaming died down as the tip of the spike made its slow way into her abdominal cavity. A red liquid, too thin to be only blood began to drip along the steel spit.

“It must have hit the bladder,” I thought.

Her screams had turned into loud moans as the steel intruder slowly pushed its way through her abdomen casting her bowels aside. Her hands, along the surface of her abdomen followed the progress of the spit, now reaching her navel.

Behind me, the sounds of sucking and slurping announced the revival of the old man’s spirits.

I alternated between #2 and the handheld, leaving a close up of Sara’s face, tears now streaming from her blue eyes, on the left side of the screen. Under my white coveralls, a raging hard on demanded attention, but it would have to wait. I did not have the chance of a retake, and had to juggle the three cameras to give old geezer in the bed the best view.

A new muffled scream from her lips and on # 1 her hands clutched at the cleft of her chest. The close up of her face showed her gasping, desperate breathing and the unmistakable look of terror in her eyes. The spit had entered her stomach and now, her screams acquired a new urgency as her stomach acid escaped through the tear that the spike made and burned its way on her bowels.

And still the staircase continued its fateful descent.

A series of screams, muffled by the pressure of the spike on her stomach and diaphragm, hindering her breathing. She gasped twice and #2 showed a trickle of dark blood from the comissures of her lips.

The spike must be entering her chest.

I lowered the gain on the microphone and told her:

“Lean forward, if you want the spit to miss tour heart.”

She must have heard me, as I saw her upper torso leaning forward a little, constrained by the metal shaft that impaled her body.

I kept the handheld fixed on her body, zoomed out, while #1 immobile, followed the tip as it made its way up through her body. Judging by it, the tip of the spike was reaching her upper thorax. I saw her knees fail and her body fall on the spit. I zoomed in with the handheld and saw a bulge at the base of her neck, as the metal intruder pushed its way up through her throat.

Sara wasn’t screaming anymore. She did not have enough breath for that, all her muscles straining to push air in and out of her lungs through the partial obstruction of the spit in her neck.

Her face made retching motions as the spike reached the back of her neck. I wondered what would happen now. I wondered if she would tilt her head back and the spit would emerge, covered with gore, through her lips.

She did not do so.

The platform stopped her descent. I zoomed out #1 to show the bottom half of her body, on her knees, with the spit deep inside her body. #2 showed Sarah’s tortured face, her lips, now covered with blood that she could not swallow, and her lovely blue eyes. She blinked once, twice, three times with her gaze lost in her own private hell. Her pupils dilated into wide pools of black.

Behind me, a click announced that the man followed his beloved into the wild blue yonder.

I turned off the equipment.

***

Chapter 4

With my cock straining at the fly of my jeans I could not wait any longer. I pulled the whore off Gustav’s dead body where she was attempting to coax life into his withered, dead cock. I made her kneel at my feet and shoved my own raging hard on into her waiting mouth. She got to work with gusto, and slobbered all over it with apparent satisfaction. I could feel my come rising in my belly but no, this was not what I wanted. I pulled my rod out of her eager mouth ignoring her whimper of disappointment; whether true or faked, I no longer cared. I turned her around and pushed her head down on the floor, her rump now available for my inspection and use. Her shaved pussy and puckered ass now beckoned. My cock, glistening from her saliva needed no further lubrication.

Steadying it with one hand, I shoved it in her smaller hole, ignoring her grunt of pain, this one surely real. I held her hips and penetrated her ass deeper, until all my cock was buried deep in her. I began to thrust and she responded with gasps of ersatz arousal meant to excite me and hasten my climax. They were not needed. The events I just witnessed were enough. I spurted my load inside her bowels, it seemed like it would never end.

When I finished, I pulled out and offered my cock for her to clean. She did so, trying to hide the disgust on her face. I led her back to the van, taking the tarp with us. I left her, kneeling on the tarpaulin, with her wrists shackled to her ankles while I returned to the house.

There were just a few things left to do. I disconnected all my equipment, leaving only a small amateur handheld video camera that would feed to the DVD on their bedroom. The DVD on the camera recorded a far poorer version of the events than the one I offered the late Gustav. Now, when the cops came, they would see Sara’s show on the DVD, as if recorded by a single camera on auto. There would be no evidence of my, or the whore’s presence in the house. I took all my equipment into the van and turned the engine on. Before I left though, I realized I had to do something more.

I returned to the patio where Sara’s inert body lay, impaled on the vertical spit. I approached her and gazed once more at her face. Even now, pale and inert, her beauty transcended her death. I felt the pain of her loss clutch at my chest. I reached out with my hand and touched the face that was already growing cold.

My fingers drew her eyes closed.

“Goodbye Sara,” I said before leaving.

I wondered if the cops would notice.

The End.

Find all my books here:

http://www.amazon.com/Polecat/e/B007P0BYVM/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

***

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