The Art of Death

Serena's long red nails tapped against the arm of her chair as she waited for the live-stream to start. Her fans, 300 thousand and more~ were already tuned in, their cocks  bristling with precum from their live feed. It's not every day that one get to watch a goddess die on air.

Not every day, but it had been far more often after the porn goddess Theresa's much lauded on- air suicide by beheading 3 years back. Taking in the amount she raked in for her studio after her death, and her daring will that stipulated her head would decompose live on air on a bodyfarm for her tireless fans. There were now more "suicide babes" and "necro sluts" than one ought to have expected only a few years ago. By now it had began to make as much money for the industry as generative AI and was often cited as a main factor that revitalized porn as an industry. 

When the countdown timer finally ringed, Serena Risi rose before the adoring cameras, her voice smoky and flirtatious. "Bella, bella, bella. Amore, amore, amore," she bellowed, her hand tracing over her full hips as she beamed.

Her pale, rosy skin glowed under the harsh lights, her silky smooth skin was flawless under the fishnet mesh. She looked like a living, breathing masterpiece of flesh. The camera men, lined up around her nudity, bowed and kiss her curves as if she's their goddess. She squealed in delight, feeling the rush of stubby unshaven chins' adulation. 

The comments section exploded with excitement, and the donation ticker began to climb. Serena smiled, her full lips curved into a seductive grin.

"I've been watching you since the beginning Serena," one fan's comment bubble blurted. "You've always been my favorite."

"I can't believe you're really doing this," another blurted. "I'll never forget this moment."

The live-stream camera zoomed in on her light-flooded face, capturing every detail of her appreciative response. Serena's smile widened, her eyes gleamed with pleasure. "Oh, but I am, my love. And you'll remember this moment for the rest of your life."

With a winsome toss, her silky blonde mane cascaded behind her back, framing her high cheekbones and full, rose colored lips. Her eyes were a gentle shade of icy gray, sparkled with excitement as she looked into the lens. 

"I am here to give you the greatest gift of all. My body, my soul, all for the beauty of art."

The resplendent crystal chandelier dappled the room into a swirling mosaic of prismatic lights. The noose already drooped in place, the hoop neatly suspended from the center of the gargantuan light piece. So that her death would be like a dream. 

Rising, she sauntered a few steps back over to the tall barstool behind, already a well-tied noose was suspended meaningfully waiting her. A minimal design so as to not compete with her lively death, and made of beige polypropylene with fiber core so that even if she wanted to, the grip would never loosen. For which an additional 3 million credit as part of the package was awarded to her choice of donation in advance. 

Serena reached up, her fingers traced over the noose as she spoke.

"I am here today to honor art.” 

“As many of you know, before I became your goddess, I was a professor of art history.”

Though she was still smiling, her voice had taken on a wistful pleading twinge. 

“...And unlike with you and your generosity now, in that life there was never enough to do anything, or for anything. In the decades I knew you, half of the pretty murals I spent my life studying, have faded into nothing due to disrepair and disasters, or left to one day plastered over when none came to rescue them.” 

“Many of the most incomparable works by our masters are in danger of being lost forever.” She cleared her throat, “I have bought a new life with your generosity, but I still cannot save that world.” 

Perché il suo cuore prova sempre la stessa cosa nonostante abbia provato così tanti volti?

She tugged the noose meaningfully. By now, the watching fans had turned to millions globally. 

She takes an affected deep breath, her ample breasts rising and falling with the motion under the fishnets. "So, my dears, I am here to give them my all, and all proceeds will go towards the restoration of those broken wonders." 

“I hope beauty can honor beauty."

“I've only ever drawn silly things...always better at teaching” 

She closed her eyes, hiding behind a self effacing wry smile. “But I so loved artists. For them I'd charge nothing for a pretty night.”

Then she opened them again, expect this time wide with brightness and faith,

“But I found others who will help me in making my final act worthy of art.” 

As if in explanation, her netted toes then grazed over the patch of ground directly beneath the chandelier- noose and barstool, where a large square piece of Japanese washi paper- the size of a picnic blanket was laid out. Serena's lips curled into a knowing smile as she ran her soft feet over the smooth surface. It had been prepared by an anonymous Japanese sponsor and connoisseur, intended to capture her post- mortem fluids for the sake of art. 

She turns to the cameramen, her eyes lighting up with mischief as she speaks. "Wouldn't you?"

Before the small sea of camera shutters and fans. There were 3 nearby around her at all times, their cameras had trained on her every move. 

"I promise you,” she said, a wicked glint in her eye. Serena was not shy, and she knows her fans wanted to see every inch of her as she died. 

They were all from separate sponsors, each ensuring that their assigned section of her body would be captured in stunning detail. One exclusively focused on her pretty face, her high cheekbones and broad nose highlighted by the bright lights. Another captured her full body, her wide hips, silky hourglass figure, and ample breasts on display for all to see. The third zooms in behind her on her hips, her sex and anus to the premium paying fans. 

"They will document every part of me."

The cameramen nod eagerly, their eyes bright with excitement as Serena scampered to them. She kisses each one erotically In turn, as if they were old lovers.

In fact they were in a sense, several hours ago, in her backroom. After all she amply believed it'd be better their balls were dry and no erections would came again to their spent cocks when it was her limelight to writhe, and their solemn crafts would not be sullied by frissons of intrusive ardor. 

“And you will also help make this beautiful death.”

"And you, my sweets...”

Her gaze trailed behind and met the back row of cameras and her fans as she spook.  

“You will be with me every step of the way. My every breath, my every heartbeat. You'll be there with me as I leave this world, and I could not ask for anything more."

“Let my death be remembered on your cocks!” 

She took a deep breath, her eyes closing as she slips the noose over her head. The cameramen watched as she tightened it, the ends of the rope disappearing out of sight as she climbed up and slithered onto the barstool.

As her feet tipped the smooth surface, she could feel the eyes of her millions of fans upon her. 

Serena took one last look at the shutters and fans, her eyes shining as she spook. "Grazie, my loves. Grazie for everything. Now, let's make art together."

~

With a final smile, she kicked her feet off the stool, her fish-netted body suspended in the air as the polypropylene noose cut in around her neck. The cameramen watch in awe as her body convulsed. 

The fans gasped from their seats. The audience at home, millions strong, could see every inch of her body, every muscle flex, every vein bulge from their streams. 

She began to writhe and squirm, her body wracked with spasms as she struggled to breathe but no breath came. She could feel her organs shifting, her bowels stuffed from the inside out.

Serena felt the rush of blood to her head, the world spinning around her as all of her rested on her crushed beet red neck. Her legs swung back and forth, her arms flailing wildly as she fought for breath. 

Her lips twisted into a drawn grimace as she gasped. But the fiber cores within the noose only crushed her flow tighter. 

From the back of her hammering ears, she heard the sound of the donation ticker hitting 1 million. 

Now her twisted neck had turned purple in color. She swung her legs passionately, trying to give the best show possible even as the world narrowed to the crushing of her throat.

One of the cameramen, a tall man with a shaved head, eagerly stepped forward and begins to fervently snap glimpses of Serena's wild dance. The flash of his camera illuminated the dream-lit room, brightening the spittles of stark white drool that had began to drip from her purpled gurgling mouth. 

Instead, she only responded to him with an incomprehensible gurgle.

Her silken legs continue to thrash about, her toes curling and uncurling as she tries to hold on, to grip even air. Her cheeks were purple now, as were her shoulders. 

"Oh fuck, she's cumming!" one among the fans shouted, the cameraman trained on her hips shook as he scrambled low to steady beneath her. He aimed his lens upwards, framing her hips and "Look! A level 8 squirt!"

It came, a first series of agitated dapples on the expectant washi paper. In synch with the rhythmic spasms of her firing body. 

And then, with a loud plop, her body released its contents, a stream of balling shit slithered out of her yawning anus and onto the washi paper below.

Serena's final, visceral gift to her adoring audience trickled down, soaking into the delicate fibers.

The crowd went wild, they cheered and jeered as the Serena's droppings exploded into an incriminating pattern. Then another, then a scalding torrent from her coal- hot bowels.

The audience raced to respond to the spectacle before them. They cried out in delirium and some even began to masturbate, their hands moving furiously over their cocks as they watched the half- corpse thrashing wildly and fouling the stately room like a dog. The donation meter raced upwards, reaching levels that the organizers of the event had never dreamed possible, racing from 3 to 7 million in a blink. 

La Dea dello Sperma

Amazingly, she had given them more than 3 minutes of this.

Finally, her body began to relax, her frantic arms slipped from the locked position, her kicking legs flailed as she began to lose consciousness. But the cameras were undeterred, their shutters were still capturing every second of her dying. 

One cameraman got close, capturing the expression on her face as her eyes rolled back in their sockets and her wine- dark tongue stuck out.

"Look at her tongue!”

4 minutes.

The crowd roared with excitement as Serena's feet continued to mindlessly kick out, her legs thrashed wildly as her body went limp. each kick was followed with an encouraging peel of rabid applause in the final throes of death. 

"Her legs are still moving! Is she still alive?"

"I can't believe she's letting us watch this. She's such a sick freak."

5 minutes. Accompanied by the sound of the donation ticker hitting 9 million. 

All for the repair donations.

At last, with a final rattling gurgle, she let herself go. Her body went limp, her legs dangled listlessly at her sides as the life drained out of her. The crowd fell silent, awed and entranced by the spectacle they had just witnessed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the passing of our beloved Serena Risi. She took her own life just moments ago, and we are all here to pay our respects to this incredibly erotic woman." 

The host with her black high heel pumps stepped forward with mic in hand, taking care to avoid a large spatter of Serena's shit beneath, her eyes locked onto Serena's lifeless body. "As you can see, Serena has left us in all her glory," 

The cameramen didn't stop filming, even as Serena's body went still. They captured every detail, every last twitch and shiver, as her silent shape swung gently from the noose. They zoomed in on her face, capturing the rictus grin that remained even in death. They panned down her body, captured the way her skin turned blue and her bloated eyes glazed over. And as they did, the donation meter continued to climb, 11 million, 12 million.

She placed a empathetic looking hand on that supple netted shape.

"And so, my dear fans, we say goodbye to our beloved Serena," she says, her voice dripping with her best attempt at sadness. After all she couldn't help but feel an orgasmic sense of satisfaction. The ratings for this event were through the roof, and her boss already gave her 2 stacked raises in a row just now.

"But fear not, for she has left us with one final gift."

With her manicured hand, she turned the nude suspended body around, so the purpled face was directly facing the camera. The audience gasped as they saw Serena's face twisted in a final, deathly orgasm. The camera flashes continued to illuminated the room like a strobe light, casting eerie shadows on her dark contorted face. The host reaches out and gestured to one of the cameraman so those streamers at home could get a close up of the fresh dead woman's wet swollen tongue in extreme close ups, so close that the dead saliva grazed over the tightly focused camera lens.

13 million.

È davvero San Giovanni? O qualche donna smarrita?

"Don't worry, folks," the host said, her voice trembling with excitement. "Serena wanted this to be a memorable experience for all of us. She'd agreed to be embalmed and be made available for you all to rent at a reasonable price. And yes,” the woman winked at the cameras, “migrants are welcome too."

At that, the crystalline- lit room erupted in bellowing cheers. The men, many of them already in their 40s or older gave each other high fives with with their cock- stained hands, heedless of their opened breeches, and the lesbians in the room began to finger each other into puddles of celebratory orgasm right on their own chairs. The chat box practically turned into fireworks.

15 million, 19 million

While the room and infinite rooms outside cheered and spilled their seeds at the spectacle.

One of the 3 cameramen, a younger man with a wild look in his eyes entrusted with capturing her ass, steps forward and begins to snap photos of the feces-streaked paper. He continues to snap photos for several minutes, his camera clicking furiously as he captures the patterning. 

He remained there, crouched and unmoving, until the last tremor passed through her lifeless form. Until~ as he had suspected, a final, reluctant wad spilled from her anus onto the calligraphy paper below.

Already, a nearby team was already awaiting beside him. The Japanese sponsor's own team, who as soon as her last clump was deposited pulled out all manner of utensils and began to faithfully laminate and spray over the spatterings until their wild scandalous shapes were preserved for public display in Japan. 

Only then did he rise, his camera still raised, capturing the gentle sway of her body as it hung from the noose for his own use later. He had been in the end the most faithful to her instructions, and she had told him before that she's love him for that. 

After all, she was the best professor he ever had.

The host looked up at Serena's body once more, admiring the way her skin had turned a sickly blue, the way her lips were tinged with purple. She couldn't help but think about how much money this event was going to bring in, how much that corpse would bring in later, how it would secure her place as one of the most sought-after show hosts in the business. 
"This is history in the making, folks," she sang, 

"Serena Risi, our goddess, is all yours!" 

21 million.