Author's Note: Some of you who read my first story "Game of a Lifetime" were revolted, upset, and disturbed. Others liked it. If you thought my first story was sick and gave you nightmares, please do not read this story. It is not my intention to expose anyone to material they do not consider enjoyable. For those of you who are just are not shocked easily, enjoy.

For much of our childhood, Sarah and I were just like any other pair of identical twins. Our mother dressed us alike, we had the same hairstyle, and mostly liked doing the same things. I thought we were both pretty happy. Afterall, we had a lot going for ourselves. Our mother had raised us by herself and would have done anything for us. We attended first a private school in New York and then went to Boarding School in England. We had a good, catholic upbringing.

We were very fortunate to have grown up with money and luxury. I guess you could say that were rich; definitively not middle-class. Mom had inherited a nice fortune when her first husband, our father, passed away before we were even born. For all we know, they loved each other very much, even though mother hardly ever spoke of him. He had made a lot of money in banking, reasonably attractive, and quite a few years older than our mother. Mom keeps a picture of her and our father on her night stand. It must have been taken on their wedding day, although we're not quite sure. And what a picture it was. He looked conservatively handsome in a tuxedo, but she was a real stunner. She had long blond hair and wore an amazing wedding gown that had a long train in the back, but was more like a micro mini skirt in front. She must have had a very tight corset under the gown that made her waist look tiny. Her breasts were huge. Mother always said that the breast implant was his idea. She had our natural breasts, not small, but nothing too exciting either. To please his obsession with large breasts, she had agreed to a series of breast implants that gave her something like HH cups.

Mom never spoke much about our father, and we assumed that it had something to do with their marriage and ultimately his death. We never knew all the details, but from what we could figure out from old newspapers, his death was apparently caused by an accident during a masochistic self-bondage session that went wrong. Mother was out of town when it happened, so she was never a serious suspect. Nevertheless, she had to go through a trial where the prosecutor tried to pin the accident on her. He said that she forced him to tape his self-bondage sessions while she was away just to have blackmail material in case he every wanted to divorce her.

Fortunately, the jury didn't believe a word. Afterall, he had insisted on her massive breast implants before they got married. If anyone was obsessed with sex, and had any kinky tendencies, it was him, not mom. The mother we knew had always been nothing but proper and conservative. She even had the breast implants removed almost immediately after father's death.

But this is not about mom – this is about my sister Sarah.

Three months ago, just after we turned 18, both of us started our freshman year at Georgetown University in Washington DC. Because we have the money, we had rented a nice apartment in the heart of Georgetown. We had each our own room with en-suite bathroom, and shared a living room and kitchen. We were the only ones in the building to have access to the basement. It was largely unfinished and we had just kept a few of our furniture pieces that we no longer needed down there. The only other thing was a work bench with some tools, a few nails, ropes, and the like. The basement was completely below ground, there were no windows and just a little light that was barely enough to see. To be honest, it scared me and I avoided going down there from day one.

When we started orientation week, I was in for a rude surprise. From the first day, Sarah had turned into a different person. I thought we had both taken after mother in being true ladies – well dressed, well behaved, polite, and respectful. But when she came out of her room so we could walk the few blocks to school together, she looked like a slut! Gone was the modesty, the properness, and out came what looked like a cheap whore.

I should perhaps explain that Sarah and I have been blessed with our mother's genes. We're both 5'6", about 110 lbs, have modest, but perky breasts, and long straight hair. We never made much of it since mother always had us dress very conservatively. But today, it struck me that underneath her slutty outfit, Sarah looked absolutely stunning. It may be hard to imagine, but until we got to college, we did not date.

Now I found myself trying to talk some sense into Sarah. I don't even know where she got the 6-inch heels on her feet from – nothing that I ever saw in our house. I tried to talk some sense into her, but to no avail. That day, we walked together to school, but didn't speak a word. It was too embarrassing to be seen with her. And it was still obvious that we were twins so there was no pretending that I didn't know her. Once we got entered the Campus through the main gate, it didn't take long before Sarah to be surrounded by at least half a dozen boys. Georgetown may be a catholic University, but boys are still boys.

I could barely watch as Sarah spent the day flaunting every bit of her body in front of students and professors. Her skirt barely covered her behind and rather than sitting in the back of our orientation class, she placed herself in the front row, never even crossing her legs. Her top wasn't much better. The bright pink tank-top was at least two sizes to large, kept slipping off her shoulder, and every time she bent forward, I'm sure everyone could see her breasts. Perhaps the most embarrassing part of her outfit was her ear-rings. At first, they just looked like super-sized hoops with letters going through the length of the hoop. It wasn't obvious from a distance, but from a little closer the letters were very visibly spelling -P-A-I-N-S-L-U-T-.

That evening, we had our first of many sister-to-sister talks. I learned a lot about my sister. Perhaps we were not so much alike after all. Turns out, she was addicted to sex. And even though I had a hard time believing it, she hated her body. She hated her flat chest, she hated her skinny legs, she hated her feet, her fingers, and even her pussy.

I found it hard to believe that what I heard came from my own twin sister. For the past two years, while we were still living at home, she had begun to develop more and more elaborate ways of torturing her body and getting off on the pain. The added humiliation should her mother ever find out only added to the satisfaction she felt when the combination of pain and stimulation pushed her over the edge. We talked for a long time that evening. I'm sure I didn't fully understand what was going on with my sister, but she was either very sick, or completely crazy.

Over the next couple of weeks, I understood much more about the depth of my sister's emotional troubles. And while I was coming to grips with how she handled it – sleeping with every guy who fell for her cheap and slutty looks – I was also increasingly worried about how this would all end.

I was right to be worried. Today, Sarah was going to be arrested for homicide. And in a bizarre twist of fate, I had provided the key piece of evidence. Barely four weeks had passed since we arrived at GU.

Last night, by accident, I found a very disturbing video. I was looking forward to watching the end of a taped episode of 'Monk' that I had started watching last night. But when I turned on the TV/VCR, rather than seeing Monk, I saw a home video that Sarah had apparently taken. What I saw shocked me, even after everything I had found out about Sarah since we started school a few weeks back.

"Hi Tom. You're probably wondering why I have asked to you come over to my apartment only to leave you waiting in my room. You have apparently found the note on the bed and figured out how to turn on the TV and VCR. I guess you wouldn't be watching this video if you hadn't." On the screen was my sister, looking relaxed and pretty calm. The video had apparently been shot in our basement. The light was pretty poor and the picture was a bit grainy, but there was no doubt what it showed.

Sarah was standing naked in front of the camera, speaking directly to it. "I want you to watch very carefully. You probably know at this point that I'm a bit crazy...sorry I made your sack bleed last time I chewed in your balls! What you don't know is that I crave pain and humiliation. Watch carefully. And when you're done watching, I want you to go down to the basement room, turn on the video camera that I have already set up, and do to yourself what I'm going to do to myself.

When you are done, leave the video in the camera and leave. I will come by later this evening to get the video and watch it. If I like it, I'll be you're painslut for the rest of this term – no limits, no safeword. Can you imagine walking me across campus on a leash attached to my clit-ring? I know you're thinking about medical school. How about performing a labiaplasty on me, you know, cutting off my labia, and also removing my clitoral hood so that my aching clit has no place to hide when you punish me? I know you don't just want me to wear my 'painslut' earrings, you want to permanently mark me. Look what I've got for you". With that she held a sheet of paper in front of the camera. I had to rewind it to read it carefully. It said ' TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: I, SARAH COLLINS, SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER 056-11-4536, HEREBY GRANT PERMISSION OUT OF MY OWN FREE WILL TO MY MASTER, TOM O' BRIAN, TO INSTRUCT A TATOO ARTIST OF HIS CHOICE TO PERMANENTLY MARK MY FOREHEAD WITH THE WORD – PAINSLUT.' It even looked like it was signed by her and had the seal of a notary public on it. I think she was really serious about it.

As difficult as it was to keep watching my sister, it was also strange that I could not get myself to turn off the video or turn away. In an odd way, I had never seen my sister so completely in charge, confident, and full of sexuality. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I was getting seriously turned on. My pussy was getting seriously wet. Without thinking I had taken off most of my clothes and began to stroke my own clit gently.

As the video continued, Sarah stepped further back from the camera and I could see the rest of the room. All the way in the back, right next to the workbench, there was a small stool. A rope with a noose at the end was tied to a beam in the ceiling. Sarah stepped on the stool and reached over to a nearby table. Although she was a good distance away from the camera, I could clearly make out a long needle that she picked up. It was more like a skewer, at least twelve inches long.

She held up the skewer in one hand, and reached for a little gas burner. Slowly, she held the skewer over the flame, bringing it to the point where the tip was glowing bright red. I feared what was coming next, but still was glued to the screen when she pulled out her small left breast and with one quick move pushed the skewer deep through the base of her breast. I could almost smell the burned flesh of her tits. And she didn't even flinch. After a short pause, she took another skewer, heated it, and pushed it through her other breast.

"Do you think you can take this?"

After a short pause, she took a long pitch black plastic bag from the table. It was clearly open at the top and the bottom, more like a plastic sleeve. She pulled one end over her head down to her shoulders. Then she took the hangman's rope and placed it around her neck – she pulled hard and tighted the rope. Then she pulled the nozzle from a short hose from the ceiling and inserted it through the top of the plastic sleeve. With a short string, she tied off the top of the sleeve with the nozzle inside. It was easy to tell that her breathing was now almost completely cut off. With every breath she took, the plastic was sucked in and stuck to her face. When she exhaled, the plastic expanded like a balloon. Most of the air she got was now just rebreathing her own used-up air supply.

At this point, I should have been scared for my sister's live, but to my own disgust, this was when I had my first orgasm. My pussy was dripping wet and my stroking had become more and more furious. I had never experienced anything like it – it was sick – I was getting off watching my sister struggling for air, with her breasts tortured and burned.

Sarah then reached upward to where the nozzle entered the plastic bag and turned a small lever – immediately, a deep yellow liquid started flowing into the bag and began to accumulate around her neck. With everything else I had seen, there was little doubt that this was piss, not apple juice. What she was doing was pretty obvious. Unless she would begin drinking the piss as it reached her mouth, she would have little more than a few minutes before it would fill the bag beyond her nose, suffocating her.

But as long as her hands were free, I knew she could free herself if there was any trouble. That comfort did not last long. Just seconds later, she had pulled a pair of hand-cuffs off the table and snatched one side around her left wrist. She then fed the other end through her legs, reached with her right hand behind her back, and locked it on her writs.

For the next 5 minutes of the tape, I masturbated at least as vigorously as Sarah did. She had repeated orgasms as she used the back and forth motion of the hand-cuff link to stroke her clit. I could hear on the video how the handcuff pulled on the piercings in her pussy. I couldn't tell whether she also had a piercing in her clit, but at this point, nothing surprise me. Seeing my sister in a state of complete ecstasy, gasping for air, and crying in pain was too much. When I finally calmed down after several orgasms, the tape had run out. I never even saw how it ended.

And then it struck me. Why was this tape in the VCR? Would Sarah not have taken it out knowing that I was going to come home? What if this was not some old video, but actually part of a game Sarah is playing with this poor fellow right now?

I quickly threw on my jeans, raced down to the basement. I tried to open the door, but it was apparently locked from the inside. "Tom! Tom!" I was truly scared to death. What if there was no answer and this poor fellow Tom was hanging by a rope?

I tried to listen, but could not hear a sound. I didn't have a choice, I had to break the door open. Fortunately, that was not actually all that hard. Sarah had already repaired the lock once when it had gotten stuck and it never quite worked after that.

When I burst in, the camera was still mounted on its tripod, and a young man was standing on a small stool with his head through the noose of a hangman's rope. Over his head was a plastic bag – just like in Sarah's video, the breathing was labored and getting faster. With each breath, the bag clung to his face before filling with the used air again. Only then did I notice that his hands were handcuffed just like Sarah had done with one hand in front and one behind. As I looked, he was rapidly masturbating. His dick was enormous and looked like it was about to burst. I watched for no more than a minute before his cum shoot toward the camera, it was an amazing explosion like I had never seen before.

I just watched as his breathing, still starved for fresh air, calmed down. With the thick black plastic over his head, there was no way he could see me, and I was pretty sure that he had not noticed me coming in so I watched him for a bit longer. His excitement quickly gave way to frustration. With his hands cuffed between his legs, there was no way for him to reach to his head and loosen the rope. Without getting to the rope, he would continue to rebreath his oxygen-starved air. Eventually, he would succumb and if he didn't find a way to free himself, he would slowly asphyxiate.

His frustration turned to desperation. I watched him as he tried desperately to get one leg through his cuffed arms, but every time he tried a bit harder the stool began to wobble and he stopped. The only thing worse than being deprived of fresh air would be to knock over the stool and be strangled to death. He was already beginning to panic and his breathing became more and more desperate, getting shorter and shorter.

As I saw him struggle, I was getting very turned on again. I closed the door behind me, then I moved behind him. I should really have some fun with him, but I didn't want him to see me. I was getting a bit worried that me might pass out before I could have my share. Because I had pity on him, I took a nail from the workbench and poked a small hole through the plastic right where his mouth was. He seemed to notice it in a desperate move sucked fresh air through the tiny hole in long deep breaths. When he exhaled, the tiny hole made a nice whistling sound. Watching him for a while was like watching a very erotic art display. Tom had a hot body, I guess he was about 22 about 6' tall, and not an ounce of fat on him. Seeing this adonis of a man fight for his life just between panic, desperation, and exhaustion was awesome. I had another orgasm just watching him.

"Sarah?" He startled me for a second when he called for my sister. Of course! He would think that it was Sarah who had returned to collect the tape!

I stayed silent. "Sarah? Is that you?" I figured there was no way he would be able to distinguish my voice from hers – not with a plastic bag over his head. "Yes." What now. I was too turned on to just leave an opportunity like this one, but I had to play the part of Sarah.

"You disappoint me, you bag of scum" I couldn't believe my words – where was I going with this?

"I don't see any skewers in your breasts, and I don't see you drinking my old stale piss".

"I'm sorry Sarah, I tried, but just couldn't". He suddenly looked pathetic. This strong young man, barely getting enough air to stay conscious, his hands cuffed between his legs, begging me to understand.

"You failed. But I will give you one more chance". I still had not quite thought of where I wanted to go with this, but I could see that his dick was already getting hard again. So I played along.

"OK, since you were too weak to push red hot skewers through your flimsy breast, I will have to do it for you. That's just to punish you for being such a baby. If you want to earn me as your painslut, you'll have to endure more pain yourself." I had to think quickly about what I could do to him. And just like that, I had this image in my head of this stud of a man nailed to a cross – all my memories came rushing to my early fantasies as a teenager. I had always wanted to be the one nailed to a cross, feeling how large nails would be pounded through my palm, hearing how the bones in my hand would splinter as the nails were driven merciless into the wood. Now was my chance to live out this fantasy through somebody else's pain. "Are you ready to take more pain?"

"Please, hurt me!" Tom's dick was now more erect than it had been before. It would not take much to push him over the edge and I had to act fast.

"Alright, but first I will release your hands from the handcuffs. I will then tie them to the ceiling beam as if you were suspended from a cross. Can you guess what's coming?" I didn't give him much time, unlocked the hand-cuffs, and secured his hands with some rope to the ceiling beam, stretching his arms out as far as they would go.

"OK now. Since you are so close to earning me as your painslut, let me share a little fantasy with you that I've had since childhood. You know that I'm catholic. I'm sure that has something to do with my wish to be crucified one day. When you're my master, here is what I want you to do as soon as possible. You must know the tall cross that stands right in front of the little chapel on campus. That's where I want you to crucify me. I've checked it out and know that it's completely quiet there in the hours before sun-rise. I want you to take me there, have me step on a ladder, and then drive two railroad nails through my wrist. I know that you will be shattering my bones and I may suffer permanent damage, but that is what I want. When I'm secured, I want you to push the ladder out from under my feet, leaving me suspended from my torture arms. I figured that I would need to last a couple of hours before I would get rescued. Without any support for my body that might be hard and I don't want to die too quickly. I leave it up to you how you want to give me support, or if you just want to watch me die of asphyxiation as my body tires and I lose the strength to pull my chest up to breath."

As I was saying these things, I wanted to impale myself on his amazingly hard penis and get relief right now, but I had to go through with what I started or I might never have another chance.

"But for now, I will drive these nails through your palm into the beam above you. I'll be nice and will try to avoid any bones, so you better keep still or I may cause some serious damage."

Tom began screaming even before I started to drive the largest nails I could find through his hand – what a whim. "Shut up you pig – I know this is what you want." I showed no mercy. The nails were pretty large, at least 6 inches long and good quarter inch wide. They would hurt badly and might damage bones even if I tried to avoid them. I didn't matter. At this point, I was so getting off on hurting him that I did not spend a second thinking about any consequences for him.

As I drove the first nail into his left hand, he let out a scream that could probably be heard throughout the building, but I didn't care. I quickly moved on to the second nail but took little care in placing the nail on his palm. I could hear how his bones splintered and it took at least 5 or 6 swings with the hammer to drive the nail all the way in.

My work was done – almost. There was only one more fantasy that I wanted to live out this evening. From the workbench, I took a roll of duck tape. Starting at the top of his head, I began to wrap the tape tightly around his head. After a couple of turns I had his eyes and years covered. Then I covered his nose but was careful to avoid the tiny hole that I had given him to sustain his life giving breath of air. I tightened up the tape considerably when I began to wrap it around his neck. Not enough to suffocate him, but enough to make his breathing more labored. His dick was still hard and glorious.

"You seem to enjoy this game a lot. You deserve a reward. I will now give you the best blow job you've ever had. I will suck on your dick as long as it takes for you to shoot your spunk into my mouth. But you better take a deep breath because until I can taste your cum I'll be shutting off the last bit of fresh air." With that I took a small piece of the duck tape and sealed the small hole by his mouth.

Tom began to panic and I began to work my mouth up and down his shaft. I is hard to put this in words, but feeling him struggling for air and for his life while taking his hard rod deep down my throat was incredible. I was in no hurry and wanted this moment to last forever. I worked him well but didn't want him to cum quite yet. I stopped and moved up to his head – he was still struggling, but I could tell that he was slowly losing his strength. He would not last much longer. Through his taped head I gave him a passionate kiss while wrapping my legs around his body. This pushed him off the stool and we both sank a few inches before the noose around his neck and the nails in his hands stopped the fall.

He was still alive, but barely. It was now time for my ultimate fantasy. Just a few more seconds and Tom's struggled ended. He was dead. Time for me to finish the blow job. I swallowed every last drop of his glorious cum.

Just a few hours later, Sarah was arrested by the policy and charged with murder. An anonymous caller had tipped off the policy that they had heard screams coming from the basement. In the basement, the police found Tom – and a video tape showing the killer. Being the good citizen I was, I fully cooperated with the police and showed them the tape I had found upstairs. All evidence pointed to Sarah. Poor Sarah.