u/FineAside8367

“Well, here we are: home sweet home,” the man said as he led the hobbled thing into the men’s restroom. “Obviously, we wouldn’t risk putting a volunteer like you in the executive suite or anything, but this isn’t a total dump.” 

Rendered sightless by its hood, the new sanitary unit made no move to look around at its station. Instead it just stared ahead, obediently awaiting further instructions. 

At a glance, it would be hard to believe it had been a fully-functioning person only two weeks prior. Its limbs now ended abruptly above the knees and elbows, capped with black latex that matched the hood covering its head. A plug-gag had been neatly stitched into its mouth, with a little chain to avoid losing the plug.

The handler fastened the fuckpet’s leash to the wall nearby with the sound of rattling chain. The hobbled creature glanced towards the noise and swallowed hard, as if that was the moment reality set in. It wouldn’t be leaving this room for a long time. 

“Now, I know you weren’t given the benefit of proper reconditioning, like most of our sanitary nuggets, but expectations remain the same. We have a chart right here on the wall to track your performance.” He tapped the whiteboard for emphasis. The fucknugget acknowledged it with a vague, unseeing look. “Any reported issue gets you a strike. Three strikes in a week means you’re out, just like baseball. Do you remember what that is?”

The sanitary unit nodded slowly. 

The handler gruffly laughed. “Most of our fucknuggets don’t nod when we ask them that. You’re really still in there, huh? I’ll never understand you volunteers.” He leaned down and ran rough fingers along the small of the new fuckpet’s back, where the word “slave” was tattooed in an elegant font, a relic of pre-conversion life. “I guess this is a kink thing for you? We’ll see how that holds up after a few days here.” 

The man’s hand kept wandering, soon landing between truncated legs. There, neat stitching marked the thing’s pussy, where it had been sewn shut. “I hope this particular alteration wasn’t a total surprise. We can’t have you focused on anything but your job, you understand.” Still, grazing his fingertips across it spurred a tremble and gasp from the nugget. “Maybe someone will give this ruined cunt some attention if you behave really well.” 

He stood back up and continued explaining: “As I was saying: three strikes and you’re out. Probably best not to discuss the details, but suffice to say a different fuckpet will be stationed here the following week if that happens.” 

That grim implication actually got a rise out of the new sanitary unit. It looked up sharply and gave a vague, muffled moan. 

“Calm down, calm down,” the handler half-heartedly consoled. “You’ll likely be around for a few months at least. Though I hope you were aware there isn’t exactly a retirement plan in this line of work.” He laughed again. 

The fuckpet looked down, clearly processing this information. 

“Anyway, I think you know the rest- just behave, present your holes when told, clean up any messes you make, and do your best to keep the patrons in a good mood. Understand?” 

The hobbled thing nodded and gave a muted “Mmhmm,” still facing the tiled floor it couldn’t see. 

“Any questions?” 

That prompt elicited another look from the fuckpet, arching its head. “Hm?”

The man answered with a light chuckle, before adding: “Right. I didn’t think so. I’ve gotta take a piss before I move on. Come here.” 

The fucknugget did as it was told. The short limbs resulted in its breasts almost scraping the floor as it crawled forward. Then, as it had practiced, it planted its leg-stumps before leaning back onto them, managing to “stand” upright. Its plug-gag was pulled open, presenting a pink, wet hole which contrasted starkly with the black latex covering the rest of its head. The petgirl stuck its tongue out expectantly. 

“You can handle simple instructions pretty well, huh?” The man asked disdainfully as he started pissing in the open mouth. To the new sanitary unit’s credit, it barely flinched as it gulped down the warm, straw-colored fluid. The vast majority went where it was supposed to, but some still urine landed on the thing’s hood or dribbled down its bare chest. “I hope this is everything you thought it would be. It would be a real shame to be regretting this already.” 

No one could see it, but the new sanitary unit smiled what little bit it could around the plug-gag. 

— 

The sanitary unit’s first shift was more or less typical for such a thing. Plenty of men pissed in its mouth, of course, as expected. Some streams were more acrid and tough to drink down than others, but the fucknugget took them all in stride. The hobbled thing licked the floor and facilities clean between visitors, as it had been trained, which served well to keep it occupied. 

It earned its first load of cum during the lunch break. 

“Did you see what the new girl is wearing today?” The man spoke salaciously, as he face-fucked the sanitary unit. The gagged thing gasped between thrusts, emitting occasional, guttural moans. “Here’s hoping she sucks at her job and ends up here in a few weeks.” 

His buddy laughed and took a long draw from his cigarette. “Yeah, she’d make a wonderful sanitation nugget. I suspect this one won’t be around long anyway.” He tapped the whiteboard, where “VOLUNTEER” was printed in big letters. 

The busy man chuckled, throwing off his vigorous rhythm. “You’re a volunteer, huh?” 

There was no answer from the fuckpet, aside from the GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK of its mouth and throat being used. 

“Why would you ever do this willingly? You must have been a kinky fuckin’ bitch before.” He turned back to his friend. “Hey, remember what happened to that last volunteer?”

His colleague nodded. “I certainly do. Mark never was able to retrieve his belt. Someone said it was still around the nugget’s neck when its body got tossed in the cart at the end of the week, with the other… retirees.” 

They both laughed uproariously. 

“You’re lucky I-” The man groaned in pleasure as he began unloading. “-like this belt, nugget.” He kept the hooded head right where he needed it, delivering a hot load directly into the sanitary unit’s esophagus. “You want a turn too? I warmed it up for ya.” His grip still didn’t relent.

The other man blinked pointedly as smoke billowed from his nose. “I did, but you took your sweet time today.” He stepped forward and pressed the business end of his cigarette against the busy fucknugget’s breast.

The hobbled thing’s guttural lamentations reached a new pitch as it tried pointlessly to retreat from the pain. However, its head was still held in that death grip. The cigarette stayed right where it was, hissing as the smell of burned flesh filled the air. The muffled screams changed, taking on the distinct cadence of something that used to be someone trying to speak. That wasn’t allowed. It also used its meager arm-stumps to pathetically push and shove against the thighs of the man holding him, breaking another rule.

This prompted another round of laughter from the two.

The cigarette was finally withdrawn, though it left a nasty, red burn behind.

“Rough way to start your new career, fucknugget,” the man with the cigarette said as he filled out the first strike on the whiteboard. “But rules are rules: no talking, no resisting.” He tapped on the board once for each rule where they were spelled-out explicitly, not that the sanitary unit could see. “That won’t be the only time someone puts a cigarette out on your skin, or way worse. You’ll need to toughen up. I’ll give you some leniency and just leave the one strike for that fuck-up.” There was almost the slightest hint of compassion in his tone. 

Finally, the fuckpet was left to collapse to the tiled floor. It gasped and shook for a moment, but managed to dutifully gather itself back onto its truncated legs before long. Then, it worked its way upright again and looked towards the two visitors, ready to obey.

“Attagirl,” the same man praised in an appropriately patronizing tone. He strode forward and patted the hobbled thing’s head. “How about this: if you’re still here Friday afternoon, I’ll pop by to fuck you in the ass, as a treat. Does that sound good?” He caressed its cheek.

The hooded fucknugget nodded hesitantly.

“And if you already have three strikes by then, we can really have some fun instead!” A harsh slap on the freshly-marred tit caused the fuckpet to recoil and yelp, which both men found hilarious.

“This damned thing will be lucky if it doesn’t have three strikes by the end of the day at this rate.”

“We’ll see.” There was one more demeaning pat on the head. “This one may surprise us.”

Underneath the hood, around the gag, the fucknugget was smiling once again.

Greetings! This is a one-off I wrote today to shake off some writing rust. I hope you enjoy it!

---

“Did it really need to be both feet?” Stacy asked as she poked the cellophane wrap that tightly covered her former appendages. The pale, though still warm flesh compressed against the light pressure. The young woman wrinkled her nose. “Wouldn’t one have been enough?”

“I’ve already told you…” Her mother replied impatiently. “One wouldn’t have been a big enough meal for your dad.” She slid the greeting card across the table toward her indignant daughter. “You only have size five feet-” She quickly corrected herself, smirking: “Well HAD size five feet.”

Stacy rolled her eyes, though her gaze remained settled on the pair of feet set before her. She had to admit- it made for an elegant, little package: both appendages laying soles-up in the container, big toes held together with a black cable tie. However, the fact that they were her feet- had been her feet, anyway- definitely skewed her perspective on the matter. It was impossible to forget where they had come from, between that tiny, very familiar freckle on the sole of the left foot… and the dull ache emanating from both her ankles.

The freshly-footless girl poked the sole of her former foot again, fascinated, despite herself. Parts of her had been taken away and would serve as a birthday gift, nothing more than meat. Well, hopefully nothing more than meat, anyway.

The girl looked up and asked shyly: “He’s not gonna like… use them, right?”

Stacy’s mother furrowed her brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as we both know, that dude likes feet. Like… a lot. He won’t be tempted to… you know…” The girl couldn’t quite say it. Instead, she pantomimed with both hands, wrapped around an invisible something.

“Jesus, Stacy, you can be such a prude sometimes.” Her mother replied, initially ignoring the actual question. Instead, she reached over and slid the packaged pair of feet her way. They were replaced by a pen that she opened with a click, to accompany the blank greeting card. It was the older woman’s turn to prod at the plastic-wrapped flesh her daughter had generously provided.

Finally the answer came: “To be honest, he just might. Who could blame him? These are pretty cute.”

“Oh my god,” Stacy groaned in embarrassment. She put her head in her hands, still not acknowledging the pen.

“Listen, dear, it will give me a break.” Stacy’s mom grinned impishly as she pressed on a meaty big toe. “You have no idea how much my legs ache during a proper foot job. At least you’ll never need to give one of those.”

The girl’s fingers parted just enough to show wide, mortified eyes. “MOM! TMI! No more, please!”

Her mother continued, enjoying the embarrassed reaction too much to stop: “Hell, maybe we’ll eschew dinner and get these size 5s taxidermied instead. Then, your father can just use them when he’s craving some feet action.” She pushed her finger against the gap between both arches, for emphasis.

That suggestion elicited more grumbling from Stacy, who folded her arms on the table and buried her face within. This conversation was somehow worse than having her feet unceremoniously hacked-off with a cleaver. Gifting her feet to her father was weird enough, of course, but the thought of her dad using them to… ugh! The young woman emitted another groan.

Then, she spoke without moving, muffling her voice: “You are kidding, right? You guys wouldn’t actually do that.”

Stacy’s mother let the question hang in the air a little too long. “We’ll let your father decide. It’s his present, after all. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave them laying around for you to see or anything.” Then, she finally outright instructed her daughter: “Now, fill out the card or I’ll tell you what else we can do with these cute, little feet. Your dad can’t have all the fun…” Elegant fingers traced along the wrinkled soles in the package.

That upsetting implication got Stacy moving again, shaking her head in exasperation. She began scrawling a heartfelt note without delay, desperate to hear less. Still, her eyes kept wondering back to that package on the other side of the table… and the stroking fingers. 

“So, assuming you pervs don’t keep my severed feet around as a freaky toy, I’ve just gotta worry about how I’ll get around without them.” The girl paused her writing to kick out one foot-less leg, frowning at her bandaged ankle-stump. “Couldn’t at least buy me a wheelchair or a pair of prosthetics?” Of course, Stacy knew where this line of questioning would lead. She wanted to hear it.

“Well, as I’ve said, we’ll worry about that after the holidays.” The woman had noticed that same freckle and scrutinized it as she continued. “Thanksgiving is next month and I’m afraid you may be celebrating it in the oven if you can’t get your grades up. As you know, it’s dean’s list or-”

“-or dinner.” Stacy cut her off before she could finish reciting her alliterative ultimatum for the umpteenth time. “How could I forget?”

Stacy heard that phrase echoing around her head all day, thought about what it implied… what would happen to her in just a month’s time. That was one reason parting with her feet hadn’t been as concerning as it should have been. Already, her grades were past the point of recovering in time. Her goose was cooked. Soon, she would be too. This line of thinking caused her to shoot a look at the massive oven waiting for her just across the room. Soon.

In less than thirty days, Stacy’s doting mother would bind her neatly into a steel tray. She’d oil and season every inch of her young flesh. Some of those inches might cause some… powerful reactions from the turkey girl. That was okay. Hopefully there would be an apple lodged firmly in her mouth by then, to cut down on the volume of the inevitable moans she wouldn't be able to contain.

Then, her mom would slide her tray into the oven and shut the door without a single parting word. That part was important to Stacy’s little fantasy. Who says “I love you” or “Goodbye” to a mere turkey? You just slam the door closed and go about your day while the bird starts roasting. Ideally, Stacy would be facing the glass, able to see as her mom goes about preparing everything else, as her family continues their holiday traditions without her.

Stacy wasn’t sure how long she’d last in the oven. Sometimes, meatgirls started out at a very low temperature, steadily increased to provide a longer spectacle. Would her mom go that route? The footless turkey-to-be certainly didn’t hate that idea. Roasting alive was the last thing she’d ever do. May as well get the most out of the experience.

Finally, after hours and hours of roasting, Stacy’s golden-brown form would grace her family’s dinner table. Her father would stand over it, sharpening his carving knives, licking his lips as he hungrily stared down his former daughter. Stacy’s usual seat between them would remain empty for the entire meal, and every meal that follows, as her perfectly-tender flesh is sliced and served- a generous portion for each plate.

Chief among her most delicate, prized cuts- the cunt filet will be the first to be claimed. That wedge of flesh will land on her father’s plate with a meaty, wet thud, heavy and thick from her rather stimulating time in the oven. Then, her dad will take his knife and fork, carve away the first perfect bite, lift it to his lips and-

Distantly, someone was talking to Stacy.

“Hello? Earth to Stacy!”

The young woman shook away her daydream, finding herself staring once more at the partly-written greeting card note. Her loins felt quite a bit warmer than when she’d first slipped away into fantasyland. Stacy did her best to shake it off as she resumed crafting the note.

“You know, you get this interesting look in your eyes every time I mention Thanksgiving…” Stacy’s mother mused, staring her down. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re looking forward to being our turkey-girl.”

Stacy’s breath caught in her throat upon hearing that moniker from her mom for the first time. Best not to react, to reply. She was dangerously close to tipping her hand more than she cared to. Speaking of her hand, it trembled and shook as she finished writing. The girl gritted her teeth, hoping these physical reactions would escape notice. 

Her mother said nothing, just staring, observing.

Stacy finally had to speak, sounding as nervous as she feared: “Well, uh, yeah totally. Roasting alive? Sounds like a f-fun time. S-sign me up!” She fought the urge to cringe. Her attempt at sarcasm was futile. She just had to hope her mom didn’t press her any further on the subject, for now.

Keen eyes continued to watch as Stacy slid the greeting card beside the gift. The nerve-wracked girl gave a sort of half-smile, unsure what it was supposed to relay.

“Who said anything about roasting alive?” The woman asked. Her eyes narrowed as she placed the card on the packaged feet. Stacy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Your father has been itching to use his new axe. That seems like an appropriate way to snuff a turkey-girl.”

Stacy swallowed hard. Her core muscles trembled. It was true- she hadn’t been outright told she’d be going into the oven alive. She just assumed that was the case. It was traditional. Being beheaded would put an early end to her little fantasy, quite literally cutting it short. Getting called a “turkey-girl” again helped soften the blow though, just a little.

“Whatever, uh, you guys decide is best,” was all Stacy could muster, initially, as she tried to wrap her head around… losing her head.

The end result would be the same, she supposed, just with her uncooked countenance looking down upon her roasted form, serving as a tasteful centerpiece. Would she do her own makeup before getting the chop or would her mother take care of that after? It was bizarre to imagine her severed head propped-up on the table as her mother meticulously applied mascara around unflinching eyes.

She pictured herself being walked to the tree stump in the backyard, nude, with her hands tied behind her back. She’d be told to present her neck and would obey without hesitation. The doomed girl would steal one last look at her father as he hefted the massive blade. Again, no parting words for the turkey-girl- nothing more than one strong chop that will send her head tumbling. Stacy could only hope her headless body simply slumps forward and doesn’t do anything too embarrassing.

The turkey-girl-to-be found herself liking the idea more and more by the second. She’d just need some time alone to really think about it a little more enthusiastically, maybe with her vibrator to help. Yes, that sounded lovely.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” Stacy asked, having regained her composure. “I guess I’m gonna, I dunno, crawl to my bedroom and get some rest. Getting your feet chopped off is surprisingly exhausting.”

Her mom smirked. “I wouldn’t know.” That earned another eye-roll from Stacy. “No, I suppose that’s all for now. We’ll keep your father’s gift in the fridge until he gets home. You’ll help me prepare dinner if he decides to go that route.”

Stacy had just started to climb out of her chair and onto the floor. “Are you kidding me? That’s kinda messed up.”

“I’m not kidding one bit, Missy. They’re your feet, after all. You’d know best how to prepare them.”

Stacy groaned again as she began her long, laborious crawl across the tiled floor. “Whatever. Yes, I’ll help you cook my severed feet IF Dad decides he wouldn’t rather keep them around as a perverted, incestuous sex toy. Wonderful.”

Her mom wasn’t finished with her taunting and teasing. “If you think that’s bad, just imagine what kind of fun we could get up to with your freshly-severed head…”

The footless girl’s face went white. She turned to face the woman who presented this mortifying implication. “You wouldn’t.”

“Maybe we would. No gag reflex to speak of then, after all!” The woman laughed heartily.

“Oh my god, MOM! I’m gonna go drown myself in the tub now, okay? And NO I don’t want to hear what you two sickos can do with my dead body after you fish it out.”

Stacy slowly made her way to her room, trying and failing to dismiss that last notion her mom planted in her head. It was disgusting, depraved, and… more intriguing than she’d ever, ever admit. She imagined her eager father leaving the axe embedded in the bloody stump and stepping closer and closer and she looked around and blinked her last. Then, he’d lift her disembodied head, unzip his pants, and…

“They better at least clean my head off when they’re done,” she grumbled to no one in particular as she closed her bedroom door behind her. “I deserve to look nice and pretty on my little pedestal.”

Stacy continued emitting vague complaints as she crawled into her bed. There, she could at least be thankful her dad didn’t have a thing for hands instead, as she put her fingers to use and continued mulling over Thanksgiving plans. It was going to be a long month, particularly if she kept getting called a “turkey-girl” and particularly if she knew her dad was fooling around with her severed feet. Wait, no, she hated that idea, right?

—

“Happy birthday!”

Stacy’s father smiled warmly, not initially clocking the familiar nature of the gift on the counter. His daughter was seated on the other side of the countertop, resulting in her footless legs being hidden out of sight. Still, a cute pair of feet made for a damn good gift. He was pleased.

“Aw, how thoughtful, dear.” The man set the greeting card aside initially, to get a better look at his gift. “These certainly don’t look cheap, though they’re a little on the small side. You gonna cook ‘em up for me?”

Stacy and her mother shared knowing glances.

“Mom said I should. I’d know them best, after all.”

Stacy’s father nodded aloofly, still not catching on. What finally got him on the right track was spotting the freckle, right in the middle of the left sole. An eyebrow arched. He looked at the two women in turn, then finally read the greeting card before looking under the counter to confirm his suspicions. His eyes lit up with joy.

“Oh wow, I can’t believe it. Sweetie, you shouldn’t have!” The man had perhaps never looked so excited. He wore a big, stupid grin that showed no signs of relenting any time soon.

“I know.” Stacy answered, unsure what else to say. “But I did. Best birthday gift ever?”

“Of course it is!” Stacy’s dad didn’t waste a second. He ripped into the cellophane and freed the chilled, pale feet. He held them up by the bound big toes, so the whole family could get a good look at the prized gift his daughter had provided. “They’re just perfect.”

Stacy couldn’t help but blush, not expecting to feel so weirdly proud in that moment. She had to admit her severed feet did look equal parts adorable and meaty, dangling like that. The big question lingered in the air: what would her father opt to do with his gift? She had to know.

“Well I hope you enjoy them, Dad. Whatever you…” she gave a wry smile, more flirtatious than she’d perhaps intended. “...Ya know, decide to do with them.” What was she saying?

“I figured they were supposed to be dinner, right?” The man asked. “Hence the packaging. Look at these plump, little toes.” He pinched one for emphasis. “Plenty of meat on these piggies.”

Stacy surprised herself with a light gasp. Hearing her “piggies” described so succinctly as nothing more than food had one heck of an effect on her. “Of course, Dad. D-dinner. How do you want them prepared? A simple oven roast?” She started to sink back into daydream mode, picturing her big toe disappearing into his mouth, before teeth chomped down and pulled the roasted flesh away.

Stacy’s mother cut in, explaining. “What I think our footless daughter is trying to suggest… is that she’d be okay if you wanted to use her feet a different way.”

“Oh.” The man caught on, looking from the dangling feet to their former owner. “I see. You sure you don’t mind, sweetie? I could definitely get up to some fun with these. I just hope your mom wouldn’t get jealous.”

It was the older woman’s turn to roll her eyes.

Stacy couldn’t actually look directly at her dad as she replied. “Yeah it’s, uh, fine. They’re your gift. Do what you’d like with them.” She was glad no one had outright spelled-out what they were all talking their way around. That may have been too much. The girl continued, finding more resolve: “You either enjoy a wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime meal of your daughter’s feet or keep them around as a lovely, useful keepsake.” She mustered a timid smile as she finally looked his way.

“Well,” her father began, letting the feet rest on the counter. His wandering hands continued exploring the flesh that he had been gifted. He pondered the decision. “Both options are great. You decide, Stacy. They were your feet, after all.”

“Oh, uh.” Stacy was briefly flummoxed. She had already more than accepted either possibility. The girl had considered them both plenty during her rather busy, restless afternoon in her bedroom. In a way, each option was a preview for what was coming on Thanksgiving for the turkey-girl-to-be. Part of her eaten now, then the rest on the big day. Or her dad using her feet… then using her head after the big chop, assuming he would actually do such a thing. Maybe using her feet would warm him up to the idea? Warmth and weight began to emanate between her thighs. Stacy had her answer.

“I’d, uh, like you to keep them, Dad. To get them taxidermied and whatnot. I think that would be nice.”

The man beamed. “Yes, that would be nice. Are you really, really sure you’re okay with that? It could get awkward.”

“Awkward” was exactly what Stacy increasingly wanted, if not something outright twisted and depraved. “Yes, Daddy.” Her voice hitched as she spoke, hinting at something bubbling beneath the surface. “Do whatever you’d like with them. Don’t worry about me getting grossed-out. I know you’re both probably gonna see a whole lot of me next month anyway, right?”

Her mom contributed to the conversation again, hands landing on her daughter’s shoulders in a controlling gesture: “Yes, no clothes or dignity for the turkey-girl, I’m afraid.” She explained to her husband: “She likes it when you call her that.”

“Is that so?” The man asked, attention directed at Stacy.

She could only nod as her heart pounded in her chest. Her loins screamed for attention she couldn’t deliver. She’d probably melt if they called her that one more time.

“Well, turkey-girl, if you really are okay with your feet being kept around as a novelty, I’ll need you to prove it.” The man pulled out a pocket knife and cut the cable-tie that bound the two feet together. “Why don’t we head to my armchair and I’ll show you how I plan to use them? Better yet- you can help. Does that sound good?”

Sarah twitched and trembled, unable to hide her flustered state. Again, all she could manage in reply was a meager nod. What was about to happen? She was excited to find out.

“Of course, you’ll need to crawl across the dining room, since walking is off the table for you now. While you do that, why don’t you carry one of these for me? You can use your mouth, since your hands will be busy helping you hobble along.” Stacy’s father’s voice grew increasingly firm as he continued his instructions. The girl was already sliding down to the floor obediently. Why? Why had she encouraged this? What was she doing? “There we go, open wide.”

Stacy did as she was told, staring into her father’s eyes. Her reward was one of her former feet, shoved heel-first between her lips. She bit down to keep it secure, surprised to find the flesh so cold.

Her father stood, resulting in both parents towering over her as Stacy stared up at them, severed foot held dutifully in her mouth. The man snapped his fingers and pointed towards his armchair. The footless girl didn’t hesitate one single second, turning that way and beginning to crawl. Each step caused her inner thighs to rub together, providing a welcome, albeit pitiful amount of stimulation to her needy loins. Why had she worn jean shorts? Something lighter would have felt so much better!

Stacy’s dad easily beat her to the armchair. He sat waiting when she arrived, holding his hand out expectantly. Stacy leaned forward and dropped her severed foot into his hand. Then, she put her head down demurely, awaiting further instruction. Was this really happening? Maybe she actually had drowned herself in the bathtub and this was some kind of heaven for secret sickos like her?

The turkey-girl-to-be wasn’t shocked when she heard her father’s belt unbuckle. Still, the sound sent a chill down her spine. This was happening. That was quickly followed by the sound of his zipper then, pants and underwear were tugged down. Stacy couldn’t look up, just staring forward at the pattern on her dad’s boxers, now settled around his ankles.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Turkey-Girl…” Stacy almost moaned just hearing that moniker again. She’d need to thank her mom for figuring out that little nickname. “I’ll handle these feet, putting them right where I need them to be. You, just get up here and help me out with that mouth.” Stacy’s eyes went wide. Of course, she knew that was a possible direction this could be going, but still had trouble believing it. “Sound good?”

Once more, there was just a nod in reply.

“Eye contact the whole time. Do you understand?”

Finally Stacy looked up, meeting her father’s eager eyes, seeing the hard cock waiting for her. Her former feet were already lightly gripping the shaft from either side. It was… quite an image.

“Yes.”

Her mother chimed in, having apparently settled on the sofa nearby to watch: “You haven’t given a blowjob before, right Stacy? Just start nice and slow. Don’t try to take the whole thing at once. Don’t ignore the head.”

Stacy spared a side-eyed glare towards her mom as she sidled close enough to feel the heat radiating from her dad’s rigid cock. She could have done without the woman’s backseat blowjob advice. Her mother knew she was a virgin. Although that was true, she had done plenty of research, as well as practiced the act a few times. So, she started out by lightly sliding her tongue around the head. As she’d been told, she locked eyes with the man throughout.

“Well, maybe our little Turkey-Girl knows a few tricks,” the man growled, before closing his eyes in obvious pleasure. He kept massaging himself with the severed feet. The increasingly-warm flesh bumped into Stacy’s face intermittently as she worked. She didn’t mind. This is what they were for now.

No one had said pleasuring herself wasn’t allowed. So, Stacy managed to slide one hand into her jean shorts, finding her most tender flesh as primed as she expected. Her breath hitched as her fingers worked, as she put her mouth to use. More and more of her father’s cock found its way in her mouth.

“You’re recording this, right dear?” The man asked.

“Of course. It will be a fun, little watch to accompany our Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe I’ll share it with the book club.”

Stacy’s face burned brighter than she’d ever thought possible. Knowing her incestuous, degenerate act was being recorded was bad enough, but several of her friends’ moms were in that same book club. The video was bound to circulate amongst her social circles. Heck, getting her head popped-off might end up being the easy way out if so. She couldn’t help but moan as she considered this humiliation, shrill voice muffled by her dad’s thick shaft.

“Aw, that’s so cute,” the man said in a patronizing fashion. “I’m enjoying it too, sweetie.”

“Oh, Stacy, those shorts look like they’re giving you all kinds of trouble down there.” Her mother observed. “Why don’t you pop them off and keep doing what you’re doing? Turkey-Girls don’t wear clothes anyway.”

The footless girl didn’t need to be told twice. She reluctantly withdrew from the drool-covered dick just long enough to quickly and efficiently strip down. Then, not a single second was spared before she assumed the position once more, eyes relaying an apology to her father for the disruption. To her benefit, it became much, much easier for her fingers to do their job.

Before long, Stacy managed to slide the entire length of the meaty cock down her throat with each guided movement. The sides of her former appendages accompanied her face the entire way, dead toes resting just beneath her chin as the man used his daughter’s mouth and severed feet simultaneously in an unmatched act of debauchery. Deft fingers worked overtime, before pivoting to something more careful and controlled to avoid climaxing before her task was finished.

“I’m close,” the man warned. His body trembled as his breath hitched.

Me too, Stacy wanted to say, but her mouth was very occupied. She felt a new sensation along her dad’s shaft before his cum finally made an appearance in her throat in a hot spurt. Eyes went wide with momentary panic, but the footless girl locked-in and began swallowing it down. She didn’t stop masturbating and something about the look in her father’s eyes finally pushed her over the top. She twitched and moaned as more and more of the warm load squirted directly into her esophagus.

The dutiful daughter didn’t relinquish the hard cock (or stop fingering herself) until she was certain her dad was finished. Then, she let the semi-erect shaft slide out of her mouth and began to catch her breath. Still she didn’t relinquish her gaze upon the man who would soon chop her head off.

“Well, holy shit,” was all the man said initially. “Hell of a job, Turkey-Girl.”

“Bravo, Stacy. Are you sure you’re a virgin?”

Stacy ignored her mother’s little quip and focused on gathering enough breath to speak clearly. Then she finally asked: “We’re gonna do this… often, right?”

To drive the point home, she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around a lifeless big toe, staring up at her father all the while. The man nodded calmly in reply. Stacy grinned around the toe.

It was going to be an interesting month.

Let’s face it, you’re terrible at being a person. The relentless nature of everyday life, the endless grind, work, chores, and obligations- it’s all just too much for you. You’re much better suited to a simple life, serving one singular purpose. I’ll take you, break you down, and make you into something useful, something that isn’t a constant burden to everyone around.

 You can’t handle being a person. So, I’ll make you an object. 

You’ll be my fucktoy, serving my every carnal whim and desire. Sure, that will involve some grisly modification first, but trust me- it’s necessary. You won’t have nearly the volition you have in your current form, in your current life. You won’t need that. All you’ll have to do is crawl to me when I call and present one of your little, useful holes until I’m finished. That doesn’t sound so bad, right? 

It might take some time to accept your new role. I’ll help you along the way, provide guidance and encouragement. It may seem heavy-handed at times, but I want to ensure you thrive in your new position in this world. So, when you’re bloody, beaten, and broken, crawling back into your cage at the end of a busy day, it may hurt. However, you’ll know you finally have a purpose, something you’ll eventually excel at. 

—

Greetings! I’m looking for an RP partner who will fill a rather extreme slave/sex toy role, which will eventually end with some manner of brutal, humiliating execution. Although the excerpt above may skew more consensual, I’m fine with any consent level for this setup. I’d prefer to actually RP the modification portion of this story, which can be as simple as chopping off hands and/or feet, or as extreme as removing your character’s entire limbs (though that’s a tough RP challenge on your side for obvious reasons). 

The dynamic between our characters prior to this new, twisted relationship is wide open. I’d love to hear your ideas for that part. 

I’d prefer experienced RPers, or at least avid readers with solid writing skills. 

Kinks: Body modification (amputation, piercings, tattoos, branding), impact play, asphyxia, forced sex/oral/anal, forced nonsexual romance, snuff,  cannibalism, incest

Limits: raceplay, celebrities, scat, inflation, impregnation