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Goretober 2016!

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Valerie Whittaker was walking her way home from the studio late at night; she was a popular model in Dubai and had just finished a very important shooting session that she knew her fans would love. Miss Whittaker had long chocolate hair, caramel skin, and deep brown eyes, she was gorgeous and she knew it. She walked quietly, humming a song she was listening to through her headphones, until a man stopped her. Valerie looked up and gave a small smile, taking an earbud out as she looked at the taller man who was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. The unnamed man flashed a strange smile but Valerie didn’t notice, she thought he was a fan.

“Hello!” she flashed her bright, signature smirk. The man’s face stayed hard and emotionless. The girl’s smile fell slightly, growing concerned, “Sir? Are you alright?” Once again, there was no real response except the slow, steady breathing pattern coming through his nose. The noise became more eerie by the moment, leaving the model to stare at him, eyes widening in realisation, but it was too late. The man made a sudden and quick move to cover her mouth with a cloth. She struggled against him as best she could, passing out moments later from the chloroform on the old, red stained rag.
The lights slowly came into her line of vision, they were bright and fluorescent, causing her dark eyes to close quickly. Once she adjusted beneath her eyelids, she opened them again, looking around slowly as her sight focused, unblurring everything. She went to get up, but was immediately stopped by the leather restraints around her wrists and ankles that were causing her to be spread eagle style on the table she was on. Feeling a sudden burst of cold air come over her caused her to look down at herself. She saw that she was only in her bra and panties, everything else having been stripped and her soft skin was now exposed to the strange whisk of air. Valerie looked over to where it came from, seeing a dark figure in the doorway. Her heart leaped in fear as she arched her back off the table to try to get away.

A harsh, loud laugh came from the figure as the door slammed shut, a loud bang of metal coming from it. Chills ran down Valerie’s spine as she heard the heavy footsteps nearing. A pale, cold face, dressed in a white lab coat, leaned over her, looking at her like a lion to a gazelle. She looked back up at him, terrified.

The deep laugh came through again, “Now look at you, this is how people really want to see you.” His voice was cold and condescending. A camera came into view seconds later, moving up and down the young woman’s body, showing everything off, “Say hello to your fans, Miss Whittaker.”

Tears rushed to her eyes and she clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head vigorously. The man slid his hand down her flat stomach slowly, smirking evilly down at her. She shook her head and released a whimper, “Please, no please, stop.”

He let out a harsh laugh and looked behind him, “All your fans want to see me take these off,” he tugged at her underwear.
Valerie started crying harder, “No. Who are they? They don’t want this. I-I don’t want this! Please!” She pleaded, but the man ignored her begs, using one hand to rip the fabric off of her, revealing even more of her, hand going up to her breasts. Her abductor moved along the table, behind her head, fingers working the front clasp of her bra.

Valerie leaned her head up and bit his arm. The man yelped and groaned in pain as he yanked his hand away from her, slapping her hard across the face in under a second. He walked away from the model, setting his video camera down, looking over the monitor in front of him before turning and taking off the restraints.

Valerie instantly jumped up and went to run before a hand grabbed her wrist tight enough to bruise. He yanked her over to a metal pillar in the center of the strangely lit, damp room. She finally got a good look around her prison. One corner had computers and recording equipment. Up on the monitor screens was a live video of the two of them, and on the other was a black screen with neon green writing on it, showing comments. The messages were vulgar, dark and mortifying. ‘Throw her on the ground and treat her like the slut she is, 13.’ ‘13, tie her up and leave her there to starve.’ ‘Kill her 13, she doesn’t deserve to live.’ The model swallowed thickly and screamed in pain as the man shoved her to her knees, hearing an excruciating. She tried to get up but her ankle wouldn’t allow her the ability to, and even if she had, he already had rope to tie her up with.

The man that everyone else had been calling 13 tied her wrists tightly together, then bound them to the cold metal and walked away behind her. She turned her head to see what he was doing, instantly regretting her decision as he opened a cabinet filled with gags, flogs, knives, and other torture devices. Before Valerie could tear her eyes away, she watched him grab a whip from the storage area, walking towards her again. 13 caught the young woman’s eyes on him and he snarled, cracking the whip hard over her untouched back, drawing out a pained scream.

13 glanced at the monitor and smirked, “They really like that, don’t you want to please the fans?”

Valerie shook her head desperately, “No, pl-please stop. Please, I’m s-sorry!”

“You would do anything for the fans, wouldn’t you, Valerie Whittaker.” He laughed cynically and cracked the whip down over and over again, listening to her indulgent screams and cries for help. He watched as the crimson liquid ran down her back with each crack of the whip. Once she lost consciousness, he grabbed his camera and showed of the deep lacerations in the once perfect caramel skin, bragging about his job. The video ended as he ran his fingertips through her delectable blood, licking it off his fingers.