My names’ Tiffany Myers, or Tiffany Pearls as my screen name introduced me: I changed it when I got into adult movies about seven years back now. It’s what most of the porn stars do, change their names. You know, I didn’t really want my mom or sisters coming across my face on the cover of some porno movie. (Although they wouldn’t have been the first to come over my smiling features - sorry, that was nasty).
   I had a thing about sex back then and, well, you know, I had to have it at least three times a day or I’d start getting all cranky and upset. I’ve had the looks to back my desires up too, right up to my cute cheerleader ass; so getting laid was never a problem.
   I used to go out and find a guy I liked the look of, a smart guy with a cute body, and fuck the hell outta him just to get me off. It’s a bad way to go, fucking every guy I met, as you get to attract the wrong kinda attention - Losers, deadbeats and the kinda guys who like to slap girls about for the shit of it; they all ended up at my door and then in my bed.
   It was fun at first having guys dropping their lives for a chance to shoot me up the ass, but the novelty grew off fast and I learnt my lesson when I met a guy called Romeo who liked to punch girls when he came. I lost three teeth to that loser before I told him to go fuck himself rather than waste my time.
   That was when I realised I had to learn some kinda self-defence, get into karate or kickboxing, something that’d make the next fist-happy dickhead think twice about getting overly physical with me.
   The lessons lasted three months, by the forth I was sucking the instructor’s dick in the showers after practice when his wife came in, ‘caught us at it. She was a black belt too, and I was a sprinter that night; I was outta there before they started wreaking the place.
   So, I bought a gun. Yeah, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I lived in LA and it ain’t always the nicest of places to be walking about in. ‘Real stupid to go out on your own after dark, especially in my old neighbourhood.
   Well, I meet this guy - yeah, I was screwing him before I knew his name - but he was in porno and asked me if, seeing as I fucked like a pro, I wanted to maybe earn some cash doing fuck-flicks. Sex plus cash? Sure I said, and was spreading my legs for hard dollars before the week was out.
   I was good at the job, hell, I’d had a lotta practice, and made a few cool flicks with some of porn’s largest names and biggest dicks. I got fucked from all angles and did the nasty stuff you’d never want anyone you knew, living or dead, to see what you’d been up to or what had been up you.
   I got into a dodgy scene one time, a bad guy with bad urges. Really, this guy was a scary fucking psycho. He didn’t take any shit from the girls he hired, and always beat the hell outta any girl that questioned his directions from behind his ancient camera gear.
   So why did I, or any of us girls, stay with him, do his flicks? Are you fucking lame? The money! The cash was so good: almost ten grand for a days work! Who wouldn’t, right?
   So, this guy, Devlin he called himself, he made me and two other girls suck off this dead guy whilst some freaks in hoods and pyjamas tossed their loads over us. It was fucked up. But the weirdest thing, the thing that freaked us girls out was the dead guy: he came! Yeah, as if on cue from the pyjama guys, the dead dick starts shooting jizz all over the place like a fucking fire hydrant, spewing freezing seed over our faces and in our hair. One girl, Tammy Blu, she puked. I think the camera guys caught that all on tape too, zooming in as she wretched like a teenage piss-head. I felt like I was two gags behind her.
   I got my cash at the end of the day and vowed I’d never answer his calls again.
   Can’t say I wasn’t glad to be gone, but I sure missed the money. It goes real fast in this town, especially as I’d gotten me a little friend that loved me night and day, a buddy that wouldn’t let me down when I needed to go up: Mister Cocaine, my white-powder friend.
   Yeah, I kinda bagged a whole Columbian Villa’s worth of that stuff, I couldn’t get enough of it, that white flaky shit that’s so smooth when you get the good stuff, and I was snorting some fine shit when I was at an all time high of five grams a day. Well, it was cheap, to me, and got passed around on set a lotta the time, just to keep us girls horny and the guys rock-hard. Rock hard, you get it? Jeez!
   By the time I was twenty four I‘d been on the cover of almost every hardcore adult magazine, had fucked every major name in the industry, and had boned just about anyone that could get me a fat dose of my white friend Charlie. I was famous, in a way.

Well, you remember how coy I was earlier about doing those things that’d shame our moms? Well, the fucking irony of it is, my mom happened to hear about my movie career, and with a little Internet surfing on my nephew’s computer, there I was, literally laid before her in all my wet glory. The resulting phone call fucked my world up harder than any cock I could mention.
   The rest of the family hated me so much: I didn’t even get an invite to her funeral eight months later. The doctor said it was pneumonia, but I knew she’d died of a broken heart as sure as if I’d reached in and crushed it with my own hands. I felt so sorry for what I did to her, I tried to keep it from her for as long as I could, but by the time she heard about my job I was so full up on coke that she’d have to have been my dealer to get any sense from me.

So I got real low, got a bad habit, and got myself into a shit load of debt with a bastard called Moses Ferrill. Ferrill owned most of the hardcore industry in LA at one point, and was real pissed at having other, more professionally ethical, companies working his patch.
   He asked, no, he fucking demanded, that I do another sick-flick with that guy called Devlin I mentioned. Well I said no, sure, but after the beatings, well, I kinda came round to his way of thinking.
   So, we drive out to this house in the middle of nowhere, a real big mansion with acres of land. Christ knows where the place was, but it was fucking huge, and spooky too, like the Addams Family or something.
   There was me and two other girls, Cindy and Ella, and we got taken up to this big room at the top of the house. We were told to get into these weird clothes, like bad sixties nightgowns with symbols painted on ‘em, and to wait until they called for us. It was weird, and very creepy, the way they acted and dressed; it was fucking Twilight Zone.
   But Cindy was a real pro and said that it was all part of the act, it was the scenery, the location that was fucking with us, making us scared. Well, we laughed, snorted coke, and everything was cool. For a while.
   We were downing this bottle of champagne, getting good and loaded for the shit fest ahead. You know, laughing and thinking about the cash and not the fucked up sicko with his pyjamas on. This guy comes in and shows us down the stairs and into the main hall.
   This place is like a courtroom, with isles and a box at the front where the judge sits. Come on, I’m sure you’ve seen similar things at the movies right, so it looked like one of them. It was really cold and stank of shitty incense or something weird like you get in churches sometimes. Not that I was a big churchgoer.
   There are all these goons in those black robes again, all chanting as we get lead in by the guy who’s eyes are now getting really demented, kinda burning with lust.
   It all goes quiet and this guy, Devlin, he comes forward from the jury seats at the side and strides up to Ella. She’s really got the fear by now, and is shaking like a wet kitten.
   He gives her this box. I don’t see it real good, ‘cos of the light being so dim and all that, but its sides flash like gold’s decorating it. I guess it’s real expensive, ‘cos Devlin’s holding it like its worth all the cash in the world.
   Cash relic or not, he hands it to Ella.
   “Play with this whilst your friends fuck you.”
   He claps his hands and we start eating each other out, fingers and tongues going to work on Ella. She gets into it, ‘cos we’re pros and all, and soon she’s gushing up a lake for the cameras – which I guess are hidden, right?
   She’s coming when things get weird. The box she’s been working on changes in her hands. Its faces slip and a piece juts out, only to slip back inside again – a new shape is made. Yeah, I don’t see this too well as I’m kinda busy between Ella’s legs, but I get what happens next.
   The air goes eerie, like static, and a bad feeling runs up my spine.

The wall at the far end of the room opens up. Yeah, it opens wide. It’s dark inside, but we can see things moving in there – bad things. Twisted things. I know this ain’t no set piece, ‘cos the guys in hoods look shat up and start shuffling back.
Devlin cries out for them to stay where they are, that this is what they dreamed of, that the gods of pain would show them the wonders of the flesh. But I hear them cry. I hear them scream out in fear. I ain’t far behind them.
   Then the dark opens up, and figures come out.

I’ve seen and starred in some filthy S&M flicks in my time, but the monsters that march from the shadows make me wince.
There’s four main figures in all, but behind them other things crawl.
   The first is a man. He’s tall, pale, and has a fucking head full of nails; Nails, rammed into his skull. He’s scraping a knife on a sharpening stone like he’s stroking his cock, all smiles and slathers. The next one is a woman. She’s tall, looks real pasty, and has these strange tattoos over her body that look like they’ve been scored on using blades. She flicks a studded tongue over her lips as she looks at the collection of robed folk shaking before her with black, shark, eyes. The third is a mess. Its face is battered up, like someone’s hacked into it and then melted the waste with a blowtorch. Its mouth is snapped open by sharp bits of wire that sink into its skin. The wires don’t stop him from chattering at us, though.
   The last one has a mask of dark steel glued to his face by razor wire. Its tall, well built, and has these long claws for fingers. They’re wet with blood and glint, waiting…
   Those things I said were crawling behind them, well, they creep about the room like dogs. As one crawls closer to us, I see that it used to be human – used to be because the thing’s body is a squashed mess of ribs and muscle, all compacted down into a ball of cruel red. Set into its face is a whirling camera lens, recording every sickening moment of what happens next.
   “Let the celebration begin.” The tall guy says.
The woman rubs herself and looks me right in the eyes, “Such a collection of pretty gifts…which one shall we open first?”

I feel Cindy shake, and Ella throws up. She starts screaming. The lead figure, the guy with nails rammed into his head, smiles at the sound and nods to Ella.
   Hooks - A shit load of hooks fly out and rip her lips from her face. She crawls on the ground looking for them like she’s lost a contact lens. I freeze, but I know I’m crying, really wailing, ‘cos I can feel the tears cooling on my face like icicles.
   I wanna go home now more than anything in my life; I wanna see my mom and tell her I’m sorry. But she’s dead, and maybe, I’m hoping, I will be soon.
   Devlin starts shouting again.
“ Welcome, my gods! Bring forth the glory of your realm. Take these offerings and show me the way. I am your summoner: do my bidding and the glory of this world will be –
   His scream is something else.
   Chains snap out and grab at his flesh, they snag him up and hold him wide, snatching the robes off his body. The nail guy, he strolls up to Devlin and whips out the biggest fucking machete I’ve ever seen…and plants it in Devlin’s guts. In a few whips of his hand, the pinheaded guy rips out Devlin’s innards and trails them to the floor where they land with a flap. One of the camera things gets up real close for this.
   Devlin’s still screaming when the chains pull his body to shreds.
   The guys in robes are running about, trying to find a way out of the place but all the doors are locked and won’t open.
   The chattering thing is marching about, picking off people like he’s plucking apples off a tree, a camera thing following every sick moment with its eye. One guy’s head is crushed and the chatterer delves into his brains with those teeth of his, gnawing away through bone and blood like a rabid dog.
   I see a flash of movement as three guys who’re keen to make a get away attack the masked one. It slices them in a criss-cross of moves that see them falling in chunks to the floor. It strolls away from the carnage, looking for more. It soon finds it.
   All about us now, the room is filled with a web of chains and hooks…and the screams of dying people. These monsters don’t care who Devlin was, so they sure as hell don’t give a damn that these guys were his pals. They die. Horribly.
   Then the woman is standing before us. She touches herself again and slinks her hands over pierced, dead breasts.
   “God, please don’t…” Cindy cries.
   The woman smiles, “This is going to hurt. But in the future, you’ll learn to relish every moment of it.”
   Long cords of chain whip out from the dark and latch onto Cindy’s arms and legs, pulling her to the floor, spreading her wider than she’s ever been spread before. I see little tears appear in her joints and blood starts to gush out of them. A camera thing sneaks up and presses its face into Cindy’s as she screams.
   A tug later, and she’s a sobbing torso, no arms, no legs, just her mouth and body begging for it to stop.
   The woman thing, she gets down on her knees and starts to lap at the gash between Cindy’s legs (well, where her legs used to be). That tongue of hers is not just a studded piece of flesh, it’s a fucking weapon, and when she uses it on Cindy, there’s a mix of bliss and agony on Cindy’s face. It takes forever for her to die, the mashed things catching it all in their living lenses.
   Ella is up and running. She’s at the door we came in by, but the chatterer thing, it’s on her. It forces its fingers down her throat to drown out her lip-less screams. Then it takes away her eyes with its teeth. I remember seeing her crawling about, crying and wailing, before chains came from the tear in the wall and dragged her off into the screaming darkness beyond.
   Then they turn on me.
   It’s the nail headed man that reaches me first.
   “Such a pretty thing. So wanton, so eager to feel. Come, let us redefine your meaning of pleasure, of pain.”
   I’m not keen, so plead, “Please, let me go! I didn’t call you. I don’t have any part in this!”
   “Ah, but you do.” The woman says, wiping gore from her chin. “You play the starring role, Tiffany. Please, put up a good fight and be sure to give the camera your best side.”
   I scream, and the camera things close in on me as the woman drags her tongue over my body. I try to run, I try to escape, but the chatterer holds me down, laughing at me in terrible nips of his maw.
   I swear, though the woman is horrible beyond description and her tongue is like glass on my hole, I come so hard I think I’m gonna explode.
   When the hooks dig into my skin and the pokers nail me out on the floor, I’m gagging on blood and hoping for death.
   It doesn’t come.
   It still hasn’t come.
   I hang here in the halls of Hell, locked onto a wall as a living rehearsal, a practice piece for beginners of their kind - fledgling Cenobites - to hone their butchery skills upon.
   As they repeatedly slice me to ribbons, I remember the nail guy’s words as they dragged me off to Hell, “This is the highlight of your career: you shall go down further than any human in your trade has ever gone before.”
   I guess he was right…