Pure Fucking Metal

Pure Fucking Metal

Book 1: Astaroth

1



         "Now that right there, plain and simple, is Pure Fucking Metal!" He was shouting over the brutal bass of the death metal blaring from the speakers.

         He walked up beside the only other person in the dimly lit room, a nude, bound, blonde femal. She was crying and had her eyes squeezed shut, tears pouring from them and over her cheeks.

         "You can hear the guitar neck practically melt as Pisslips thrashes that shit. It's like he shot music in the face, then tried to put the pieces back together and ended up with this riff."

         The blonde cried and wished for death. The loud music was excruciatingly painful to her untrained ears. She preferred the moronic harmonies and simplistic sounds of pop radio, which sounded nothing like what she currently heard.

         "This is Black Asstronaut's first album. They turned more goth after this, but this is still one of the greatest metal albums of the last fifteen years. If you don't like this, just go on and get the fuck out of here."

         She didn't move. She was on her knees with her arms behind her back, lashed to her ankles. This prevented her from moving even an inch.

         He grabbed her blonde hair and pulled her head back. She felt like he was going to snap it right off her neck. Her captor leaned close and placed his mouth to her ear.

         "What is it going to take for you to love this?" he screamed. "You just aren't making any progress at all."

         He reached behind his back and removed a nine millimeter handgun from the waistband of his blue jeans. He brought the weapon around and cocked it in a clean, quick motion.

         "For your sake, I hope there's a heaven, because hell is made of metal."

         He squeezed the trigger and two bullets shot from the barrel of the fun into her skull.

         Her body slumped to the ground and her turned from her, slipping the gun back into his waistband. He opened the door and walked from the chamber, leaving the metal to play. Soon the room would be occupied again.

         The door to the room across the hall was open a crack. He had left it ajar on purpose. He gave it a shove and walked in. There, on the floor was a brunette with big tits, laying face down. Her arms and legs were now nubs, so he wasn't afraid of her escaping.

         "I see your soundtrack has run out. It appears as though you need something different to pique your interests."

         He walked to the CD player, seated upon a shelf hanging from the wall, opened the tray and removed the disc. He leafed through a book of home recorded discs and found the one he was looking for. He dropped it in the tray, pushed it back into the player and waited for the disc to spin.

         "Now that you're heard some 'Isudice?', I need to let you hear some of the exact opposite kind of metal, Rape of Grace. See, Isudice? are more of a depressing band, where as all of the lyrics you'll hear on this Rape of Grace disc are about pleasure derived from the sexual assault of a complete stranger."

         He pressed play.

         "You'll love it."

         The music started and he began to slam his head up and down as he stomped across the room, pumping his fists.

         "This is the most amazing music in the world. I hope you like it!" The girl just lay on the floor not moving. The man came and placed his foot on her side and rolled her onto her back. "I don't see you moshing you fucking cunt! Get to thrashing."

         When she didn't move again, he dropped down on top of her, straddling her hips and grabbed her nipples between his fingers. He squeezed and pulled them from her, stretching her tits skyward.

         The brunette let out a scream and gritted her teeth.

         "That's the kind of scream we need for this. It's fucking perfect. You're coming around nicely. Maybe soon we'll start writing songs. You're gonna be a star."

         He released her nipples and stood. He walked to the door, then turned back. "I put the CD on repeat this time, so it on't run out again before I come back. Keep practicing."

         He closed the door all but an inch, as it as before and walked on to the next room in line. The door had a giant pentagram painted on it in blood. He pushed on the door, careful not to smear the wet blood, and walked in. Inside the room was a woman with absolutely no hair on her body, even her head was shave completely bald.

         He flipped on a light a twelve black lights, spread around the ceiling flicked on. The buzz was inaudible over the blaring black metal black metal.

         All over the room there were various writings on the walls. 666, inverted crosses, and pentagrams were the most prominent images. On her chest, running between her breasts and down her belly was an inverted cross, carved into her flesh. The crossbar was below her bellybutton and almost to her pubic patch. The tip of the cross fell an inch above her clit, the other end running up to her chin.

         Below the chair she sat tied to was a pile of shit. The chair's seat was cut out so she could relieve herself freely.

         He walked over to the table that supported the stereo and removed a pair of latex gloves from a box.

         He approached her and reached under the chair, into the pile of excrement. "Let's have a little Bible story, shall we?" He pulled out a shit covered book from the pile of feces.

         He walked back to the table and turned the music off to allow her to give him her full attention.

         "Matthew 28:1 - After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb." The woman in the chair stared at him as he flipped a few pages and began again. "Mark 16:1 - When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body."

         She began to cry.

         "Well, those two don't match, lets just throw them out." He tore the pages from the Bible and tossed them to the floor. He slammed the book shut and replaced it under her again, burying it deep in the pile of shit. He righted himself, then slapped her in the face with the shit covered glove.

         "Can't you see, you filthy fucking whore, your Christ isn't fucking real!?! All of this shit, which is all your Holy Fucking Buy-Bull is, it's just made up for you to feel good about yourself."

         He slapped her in the face again.

         "Fuck your God! He is not real. I swear to you, if Christ comes back, we will fucking chop his head off. We killed him once and we will do it again if his bitch ass ever returns. Do you still believe in him?"

         "Yes," she mumbled.

         He punched her in the face.

         "How about now?"

         "Yes."

         He punched her again.

         "Now?"

         "Yes."

         "Then I guess we're going back to Diabolic Stigmata for some more blasphemous Black Metal."

         He walked over to the table and turned the music back on. Before he left, he strolled over to her once more and punched her in the face three times before kicking her in the chest and knocking the chair on it's back. She grunted as she hit the floor.

         The he left.

         The next door was locked multiple times from the outside. He began the arduous process of unlocking each of the padlocks. He was pleased to see the progress of his greatest success.

         Once he was finally in the room, he saw that the black haired woman was punching the wall as sPLINTERED rIBS blaster from the speakers. There was a blood mark on the stone wall and her fists were bleeding from all ten knuckles.

         "I see you're enjoying the brutally sadistic sounds of sPLINTERED rIBS. I'm so glad to see that you've made progress since your training began.

         The woman paid him no attention, she just continued punching the wall, attempting to break the walls of her prison of pain.

         Slowly he walked up behind her, careful not to disturb her, and snatched her upper arms in his tight grasp. Using his greater size and strength, he pulled her arms back and snapped a pair of cuffs on her wrists. He took a step back, pulling her with him, then pushed her over and unzipped his jeans.

         He removed his member and inserted himself into her filthy mound. He held the cuffs with one hand and held her hair with the other. As he began to slide his cock in and out of her and pushed her face against the cold, stone wall.

         He moved his hand from the cuffs and her back, rubbing it down her thigh, squeezing the skin and pinching her legs and ass. Soon he was slapping her thigh firmly and her pale, white skin was bright red.

         In a moment, his thumb was against her asshole and in another, it had broken through the tight rim and was rubbing around her insides.

         As his thrusting against her beautiful cheeks increased in ferocity, almost to the beat of the double bass of sPLINTERED rIBS on the stereo. He held her hair, pulling her head back and slammed her face against the wall with each down stroke on her hips.

         Her cheeks were bloody and her eyes were swollen and black. The sickening thump of her face, soaked with blood, against the equally bloody wall, was enough to make even the most vile libertine shiver.

         Then, as his cum flew out of his deck and he removed it from her, covering her pussy in his juice. He pulled her hair back hard, then smashed her face against the wall, knocking her unconscious.

         As he dropped her and then pissed in one of the corners, she snored on the floor, blood dripping from her nose and mouth. Then he zipped his pants, pressed repeat on the track so she could listen to the song she was raped to over and over again, then he was out of the room. Soon she would be just right for his plan.

         Knowing now how ready she was for the next part of her training, he needed someone to fill her cell. Along with the bitch from the first cell who was now a corpse, that made two people who could be trained to work for him. For his plan that would change the world.



         At the end of the wall was a ladder. He climber it rung by rung and it took him above ground and into a closet in the back bedroom of his home. One he had replaced the trap door and covered it over with the wooden crate full of old clothes, he exited the closet and walked into his kitchen.

         There, on the kitchen counter, was a laptop computer. He logged onto his social network profile page and looked at the messages that others had left for him. Just his luck, there were to women ho had responded to his message from earlier.

         One was a nineteen year old blonde named Sandy. Her profile said she like animals and country music. He decided that it would be quite easy to break her, so he sent her a message that instructed her to meet him for dinner that night at seven. He arranged the meeting a decent restaurant a few miles from his home.

         The other was twenty-five, a little older than what he usually went for, but by looking at the pictures she put up, it was abundantly clear that she was a whore and would work for his cause. If the pictures weren't enough to convince a man, the one interest she placed, 'sex', definitely would.

         He sent her a quick message, complimenting her on her fine ass and asking if she wanted to meet up because of similar interests. He then logged off and walked to the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into the shower to prepare himself for his dates.



         After his shower he cooked some lunch and went back to the computer. Sure enough, the whore had sent back a message stating that the two of them should meet up later that night. She suggested nine and gave her address.

         Once he was content with his plans for the evening and sent his approval of visiting her home, he logged out and finished his lunch.



         The time passed quickly and at six-thirty he started up his filthy can and drove it down the road to the restaurant he had chosen to meet Sandy at. It was only a few mile from his home, so he arrived very early. He waited in his van smoking a cigarettes until he saw her walking up, recognizing her from her profile picture.

         Once she was inside of the eatery he exited the van, dropped his cigarette and squished it, then entered. Sandy was standing, waiting to be seated. He watched her from the door, she wore a skirt, a little longer than the knees. A light sweater hung from her shoulders and she held a tiny purse in the crook of her left arm. He looked down and saw that she wore flats with no socks.

         "Just one today," the hostess half asked, half stated, grabbing a menu from below the counter.

         "No, I'm waiting for one more," Sandy said, looking behind her. He saw that her face was prettier than it appeared in her pictures, but maybe it was the makeup. Her voice was soft and almost a whisper.

         "Actually, I think I'm here," said the man, stepping forward.

         "Oh Marcell, you scared me," she said, placing her hand against her chest.

         Marcell was on of his many aliases. He'd been through dozens of names for different purposes over the years.